Naughty Word Caning

“Bring the slave to me fully prepared for punishment. Take the nipple jewelry out,” he told Jacek, and turned his back on them to walk down the left side of the apartment.

Master’s side.

Reah went into the slave hall side and was stripped down and flushed out in both orifices. The gold bars with rubies and diamonds were removed from her nipple piercings. A small thing, but it measured his displeasure. If he ordered them removed, she was the lowest of the low slaves until he put them back in. Only the gold chain he’d had sealed on her, and the flower bracelet on her wrist, remained to adorn her. Jacek did not even put a flower in her hair.

“Time to pay for what I said,” she muttered, and went through the narrow corridor between slave room and toilet room.

Preece was in the front sitting room reading a letter. His thin cane and the leather muzzle were already on the seat beside him. She was definitely going to pay for her impertinence.

“Let yourself out, Jacek,” he said, not looking up from the letter.

Jacek bowed his good night and departed, leaving Reah on her knees waiting in the silence. She waited a good while in posture with her arms behind her back and head bowed, knowing better than to speak out of turn when he was already unhappy with her behavior.

“Put the muzzle on.”

She knew how, and secured it firmly. Long minutes more with her jaw held shut and he all but ignored her, turning the paper over to read the back side.

“Sit on the slave chair,” he finally said.

The chair pseudi had been strapped in many times, held open for use by the men of the chamber. She sat on the edge of the seat, knowing he would place her however he wanted her configured. No doubt she’d get a caning across her puss with that super thin shaft that bit deep and bruised for days. She hated it and she loved it at the same time. She loved to hate it and hated to love it.

He was always quiet before issuing a punishment, his silence part of the whole to build her anticipation and clear his own mind for what he would do. He would be the picture of self-control, doing exactly what he wanted to the degree he wanted and going no further. At last putting the letters down, he stood to come toward her in that slow pace she knew too well. 


If Preece was one thing, deliberate would be that thing. Every action had a purpose for her or for himself. Everything was thought out, to the smallest motion and detail. While he disliked the reasons for having to punish, he could not say he did not like enacting it.


She lifted them to him and he pulled her arms backwards over her head to be locked into the cuffs attached by a very short leash to the back edge of the chair. Elbows pointed up, the position was at once awkward.

“Bend at the knee. Feet back.”

Her ankles were quickly cuffed to the chair’s front legs. This kept her buttocks toward the edge of the seat. She couldn’t go too far back because her arms wouldn’t bend that far. Couldn’t go too far forward because her ankles could not be moved. She was open from breasts to knee, and forced out even more when he shoved two pillows behind her into the void between her back and the curve of the chair. They would take her weight and prevent her from pulling her spine backwards more than an inch or so. She could not escape, no matter how she squirmed.

He brought the thin cane over, lovingly stroked its length between finger and thumb tips as he looked down at her vulnerability.

“You know very well not to use curse words when speaking to me. Your fucking country, is it? It’s my fucking country too, and I will not have you sounding like a common fucking whore.”

The cane swung down, landing across the top of both breasts at once and leaving a crimson stripe that swelled to a welt at once. The deep stinging bite of it sprang forth a scream and tears of an unexpected sort.

“My slave does not speak foul words or she is not permitted to speak until it is time to put on Queen’s clothes again,” he said, and struck again. “I did not give her the power of speech for her to speak like a street walking prostitute.”

So she knew the muzzle would probably be on until morning. Struggling in the cuffs, held in place and squirming, there was nowhere to go to get away from his punishment. There never was.

“My wife does not speak foul words or she does not get my love.”

A third strike, horizontal and landing just above her nipples and her screams went on for nearly half a minute as the pain of it worked its way through the layers of breast tissue and out over her skin in the tingling fire she both hated and adored.

“If my slave needs a beating, there are certainly better ways to go about it.”

Fourth strike slightly lower, directly onto both erect nipples. He wasn’t swinging nearly as hard as he could and she knew it. The stick caught her under the arms scant seconds into her screaming reaction to the measured and accurate strike. He was always so bloody accurate.

“Keep those arms up,” he said with a quick whap to the underside of her right arm.

Then between her thighs, back and forth smart and fast.

“Open that cunt.”

Her knees parted and he stood between them to give her a sharp vertical strike to the puss. Her bottom bounced on the edge of the seat, body twisting as her thighs pressed together around the cane.

Solid taps to the outside of a thigh.

“Open back up.”

Heaving for breath after breath, sweating with the effort of taking this kind of intense pain, she opened her knees. Another strike would be forthcoming but disobeying would get her far worse than obediently taking what he chose to dish out. He stepped between her knees and she got several more painful whaps to her labia. Unable to close against his legs, she could only screech and howl in the muzzle. The end of the cane pressed under her chin to lift it and make her look at him.

“The punishment for foul words keeps getting worse every time I have to issue it, doesn’t it?”

She nodded, whimpering with the continuing sting to breasts and puss and tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

“You’d think you’d learn the lesson already,” he said, moving aside to give her a strike to the top of her breasts where the first had been.

Three more, placing them as he’d done the others but landing one after the other in faster succession to keep her howling and sobbing in the extreme pain. This was no reward for a foul mouth and they both knew it. A few naughty words was not worth taking this harsh punishment.

He left her to suffer and cry it out, pouring himself a small whiskey and savoring every minute of her distress. He waited for her to calm and quiet before approaching once more. Just that motion, of turning to her with the cane in hand and taking his place, was enough to send her into a fit of fresh tears. 

He gave her a third set of stripes over the first two, to drive the lesson home before wiping the cane with the soft cloth and putting it back into its carved case. Hung in its place, he walked up behind the chair and crouched low to kiss her temple. Hands reaching around to cup her breasts, thumbs strumming those beaten nipples, and she keened a renewed cry with her back arching high. A different kind of cry, overloaded with pleasure and pain. Orgasmic.

“The punishment that keeps on punishing,” he said close to her head, and snapped his finger onto a nipple in one of those hard stingers Jacek had so liked to use in discipline.

She gave an involuntary yelp, a single note that greatly pleased the Beast in his belly.

“Will you be more mindful of your language?” he asked, and stung the other nipple to hear it again.

She nodded, screeching into the muzzle and writhing in the cuffs in a most adorable way.

“I will punish you harder next time, you know.”

He gave her a double stinger, his cock hardening to marble with the sounds  she made for him. He let her out of the wrist cuffs but held her arms there a moment while he smacked those already striped breasts. The color, bright red stripes crossing over each other across her white pale. Welts swelling long and thick from one side all the way to the other above her breasts and the twin lines on the fullness of both beautiful…

Out of the ankle cuffs with hard pulls. He could not wait any longer.

“Punishment is over except for the muzzle. Get on my bed. Face down, ass up.”

Excerpt from Peeper Ascendant


TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and twentysomething fiction books.

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She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.


  1. love love love hot hot hot sexy

  2. i’m drooling

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