A FEW WORDS ON CANING

I love to cane. I have been aware of canes since I was nine years old. At that time, I was growing up in Japan, a voracious little lover of history who wanted to grow up QUICK! I studied everybody, Cleopatra, Anne Boleyn, and a book I found at my father's bedside. That book was called "Scream My Darling, Scream" by a British writer called Angela Pearson. I had been seeking a new, modern image of how a woman could tease, beguile and conquer the world through studying the powerful women of the past. After reading the book of short stories, I realized a truth: With beauty, sensuality, control (and just a touch of sadism), a woman can rule the world...or at least her corner of it.

Two stories covered caning. They were both terribly sexy, but in totally different ways. One concerned "Second Level Maid Glenda" who used to serve young Master Peter breakfast in bed. One day, entering a little early with his soft poached eggs and tea, she notices he's only wearing a sheet and in a state of arousal. On the settee next to the bed, lay a cane. As Peter was obviously flirting with her, she decided to pick up the cane and use the tip to raise the sheet and study and study him properly. Peter got even more aroused and began to make improper verbal advances.

Glenda decided to let him have her if she could cane him first. From then on, every morning she would bend Peter over a chair, giving him ten to twenty strokes of the cane on his raised buttocks. Each day, increasing the severity. After a week, drops of blood would hit the carpet and dampen it after their most intense bouts.

When Peter's bottom became too bruised to take any more caning, Glenda insisted upon caning his inner thighs instead. I made a point once, of caning a man every day on his thighs for a week and the results were indeed spectacular!

The other caning story concerned a male prisoner whose job assignment had luckily (?!) changed to cleaning the Warden's home. The Warden had a beautiful daughter, she was young, blonde, sensuous and cruel. The convict fell in love immediately. Informed of his cleaning duties, the convict attempted to perform them admirably. He was thwarted at every turn by the Beautiful Blonde.

By the end of the day, he was in fear of being fired for ineptitude. At that point, the Warden's daughter ordered him to make coffee, handed him a cigarette and matches (his first in weeks) and said it was time for a little talk. "You have no experience as a houseboy. That's perfectly clear. If I send you back, they'll probably put you on laundry duty for the next two years. If you stay, I promise you a hot bath, cigarettes and the all the coffee you want every day on one condition: You Let Me Cane You."

Not just any cane, mind you, this was a one-inch thick crook-handled walking stick. Just looking at it made the convict feel faint. Looking at her made him hard again, so he agreed to her conditions. "Very well...bend over, grab your ankles and stick your bottom out. I will remove your trousers." Within moments, his bottom was bare, and the cane was descending. And two years of very sexy, very real, Hell was beginning...

The vision of raised welts is one I have always treasured. I rarely raise blood as I much prefer those lovely double stripes of purple-black or moist red all over your bottom and thighs. Those of you who are true afficiandos probably recall my early Nu-West film "Stephanie Locke: School Mistress" where I spanked Eve Howard to tears and caned Michelle to orgasm. That film is still considered one of the most brutal in corporal discipline history. Michelle actually bleeds and Eve, much to my horror, was bruised for weeks. If you've never seen me with hair to my waist and a tight black leather dress...or if you've dreamt of me as the ultimate governess in a prim skirt, hair up, this film is for you.

When I started caning in the early eighties, it was a very esoteric art form. At that time, the classic British cane was made of a reed called "Naughily" (sic). So many canes had been cut over the last 150 years, that they were literally on the endangered plants list, and a ten year moratorium on their harvesting was in place. A British cane, the kind you could twist in a loop or knot, was like the Holy Grail. There was only one shop in all of America where you might find a cane. Sam's Umbrella Shop in Times Square. Rumor had it that the back room had an elephant leg stand filled with umbrellas and if you were very lucky, one or two canes. Needless to say, living in Hollywood, I never got one.

I saw two canes in five years, and both were smuggled into the country and then back out. By the time I got to Nu-West in '87, Americans had started making their first rattan canes, and Ed Lee had several. As I was one of the few women in America capable of caning at that time, the film captures a moment in time when the caning revolution was just beginning. Now you can find canes everywhere, including Shadow Lane.

As for me, I am still caning naughty boys and girls. Perhaps someday, if you find the courage, I shall enjoy caning you as well.

- Mistress Stephanie Locke -