Science – the caning experiment

Image by the brilliant Stuart F Taylor

This glorious story about a caning experiment is written and read by Joy as it Flies

After I was tied up this morning, obviously my mouth and arse were used. Goes without saying. He took my photo and then had me stand with my knees bent while he caned my thighs and cunt. We had planned a science experiment wherein he would prove that I do actually enjoy being caned on the soles of my feet, by doing so and then seeing how easily he could push the dildo into my cunt – any resistance at all and he’d take me at my word.

In the end the results were corrupted by the fact that being tied makes me wet, and being hit while I’m tied makes me wet, and having hemp rope rubbing against my clit when I move makes me the wettest, wetter than a March Wednesday. He threw ten or so horrible strokes at my soles, pushed his fingers inside me and then into my mouth – I couldn’t argue with the taste of myself, but I could and will in future continue to argue with the solidity of his experimental method.

He threw me on to the bed and fucked me until I was gasping like a floundering fish, gnawing at my shoulders until I begged him to stop. We lay on the bed, his arm across my neck, his cock still hard inside me as I danced my hips back and forth. Anal orgasms just aren’t the same. They’re absorbing, and empty the mind, leaving me docile and dopey for a little bit, but after being fucked in the early evening, and sucking his cock before bed, and the morning alarm call where my lapping at his arse was soundtracked by the repeated clicking of his camera flash, I needed to come from clitoral stimulation. Anal orgasms are a sort of centering, collecting sensation: marvellous, and addictive, almost meditative – but I needed to feel myself explode.

We got up and showered, and when I washed myself it was as if a button had been pressed. As I lathered my hard, sensitive nipples and swollen lips I knew I was lingering longer than was necessary; I was touching myself with a concentration that was no longer about hygiene, for a period of time I no longer get to enjoy unpermitted. I asked if I could make myself come when he’d gone, and he smiled and said yes (he always does – I always ask permission, but he never denies it). I didn’t think I could wait, though. I knew he was in a hurry, but suddenly so was I. I asked if I could use my dildo, because my cunt felt empty; he said yes. I asked if I had to wait until he’d gone, whether I could instead make myself come while he got ready to leave…

So there I lay on my back, as he pulled on his trousers and socks, collected his car keys, phone, stray coins. The sun was shining bright through the curtains, the radio playing ‘Oh Happy Day’ by Aretha Franklin. My cane-striped thighs thrown wide, wet hair in my face, pushing my hips back and forth onto the dildo, devotedly rubbing my clit, I turned my head to one side so I couldn’t tell if he was watching me or not. I hoped he wasn’t: a quiet part of me was ashamed of my desperation, another larger part of me wildly turned on by the idea of him being less interested in my orgasm than he was the location of his asthma inhaler.

I felt him standing over the bed, and the tip of the cane being prodded painfully hard into the centre of my nipple, and then heard the swish as it landed on my thighs and the tops of my buttocks. I rolled onto my back and pushed against the dildo faster, my hand moving furiously, my mouth wet and open. I’m going now, he said, and I moaned no, wait until I’ve come, please, please wait. He stood watching as I bucked hard against the pink rubber cock and circled my finger into a sea of wetness, yelling the arrival of my climax with a short sharp throaty cry.

I lay grinning and dumbly lifted a clay-heavy hand goodbye. He quietly closed the door behind him. I pulled the dildo out, and sucked it clean of its slick coating, and then, remembering he’d originally said I could come when he’d gone, fucked myself to orgasm again. And again. It wasn’t cheating. It was necessary. This is what happens when I have rope rubbing against my clit for any period of time – I have to make myself come. It’s science.

We can do an experiment to prove it, if he likes.


If you enjoyed this gorgeous caning experiment post, you can find more of Joy’s amazing work on her website, or head to the audio porn page for more sexy stories read aloud.  

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