The Firm

Night of the Cane - 2003

The school scene has never been my biggest thing, but I've always had a real fondness for the cane as an implement of punishment and chastisement. This despite the fact that they never even HAD canes in bucolic New Zealand where I grew up.

Straps, yes, nasty thick rawhide things applied to the hand in a manner similar to a tawse, though, if I recall from my days as a particularly lippy ten year old, the humiliation of being sent out to the grim vestibule by the girls bogs and made to wait for your punishment, which the whole class could hear, was the worst. Besides, if you smiled sweetly and looked contrite, most of the teachers would only do a little tap, and then bash the desk as hard as they could for a realistic sound effect!

But I digress. That lippy ten year old grew up to be a card-carrying sadist, and who says Corporal Punishment did me any harm!

The cane is the weapon of chastisement par excellence in my opinion, and one which subs seem to either dread or crave the most, or both, in equal measure - I'm not particular!

It's the satisfying swish, the accuracy required, and the rapidly blooming marks. I'm particularly fond of using it as a genuine punishment, six of the best, without a warm up, just to see the fear in slut's eyes, and to admire those pretty purple stripes appear on tender white flesh.

I save my Victorian Governess outfit for Night of the Cane. It's gothic enough to be glamorous, and warm enough to protect one from the drafts at Chats Palace, the old theatre and community centre in Hackney which has been the venue for the last couple of years. So, feeling like a cross between Morticia Addams and Mary Poppins, I was driven to the venue, where we parked right outside.

We nearly ran over Master Peter and Miss Ruby Bottoms as we parked the car. Pete's pristine white lab coat proclaimed him the Science Master, and Ruby Bottoms was clearly failing in Biology. My joke about "Doctor Death the Virgin Surgeon" nearly got me an F as well, so it was time to move swiftly on!

Another Pete, dapper in full army mess dress greeted us with a smart click of the heels. He, Miss Deadly Glamour (aka Fraulein von Richthofen) and sub Alan were all dressed identically, to run the strictest uniform check ever. Not a pair of non-regulation knickers escaped inspection, some of them twice! Though I'm not sure how Fraulein von Richthofen's Bavarian accent and leather corset would go down in the officer's mess, and she's certainly no gentleman!

Periodically Ishmael's stentorian Shakespearian tones would boom out a change of workshop in the upstairs rooms, or a new class in the main hall. As the level in the red wine bottle fell, we noticed he got less RADA and more Stoke on Trent , but that's part of the charm of these occasions.

Through in the main hall, we were greeted by Mistress Holly, also in Victorian Gothic style, and Chrissie who was wearing a fetching new black rubber skirt. It's amazing how a new Mistress will do wonders for a T-girl's fashion sense, and Chrissie has been looking very cute lately.

Classes were already running, as a Master attempted to beat the rudiments of his subject into a pack of giggling and recalcitrant schoolgirls via the buttocks. It looked quite fun, (well, the missile throwing and paper airplanes bit, anyway, as far as caning is concerned it's better to give than receive in my book). My speculation that maybe next year I'd come in studded leather jacket over my school gear as the delinquent sixth former who hangs out in front of the school smoking cigarettes and worse with the local bike chapter (but enough about my schooldays) was greeted with snorts of derision.

He was followed by a diminutive Master (also called Peter, but I'll leave you to speculate why there was such a plethora of Peters in evidence at a Firm do) who gave a scholarly exposition on the correct use and care of the cane. What I could hear of it was very interesting, but unfortunately it was in the main hall, and, unlike the President, he was unable to project his voice over the people taking advantage of a lull in the proceedings to catch up on the latest gossip. The problem was partially solved by Ishmael bellowing a request that those who were interested in his talk gather their chairs a little closer.

Once some of the contestants had taken advantage of a few last-minute tips, it was time for the caning competition, hosted once again by fetish comic Ivor Dembina, of Sado Judaism fame. For once there were too many entrants, 26 couples all in all. A bit of audience participation later and it was decided to let them perform two at a time, so we would all have time to indulge in a bit of recreational spanking afterwards before closing.

Ivor and his young assistant Rosalie (adorable in a pistachio tutu which slut looked longingly at) cracked through the competitors at an astounding rate. Particularly memorable were Alex and Liz - I thought the combination of Alex's famous accuracy and Liz's winsome brat act was a winning combination, but it was not to be the case. My theatrical attempt at a backhand (in response to the judges request for more showmanship, honest,) with maximum swishing of the bustle (yes my bum does look big in it, that's the whole point) was regrettably more showy than 100% accurate, and I joined him on the losers bench.

A T-girl couple won third prize. I want the subby one's long black lace and purple velvet goth number, which her Mistress pulled up ever so slowly in anticipation of the main event. The second prize winners came all the way from Denmark, a tall languid goth boy in black eyeliner, (who walked off hands down with the Goddess award for Eyecandy of the Night, as judged by Fraulein von Richthofen, Mistress Holly and myself) and his cheeky bouncy little sub, who won everyone's hearts as she bounced and wriggled through her caning. (Sorry dear, but OWWW is not a safeword !)

Finally, Lucy Baily stole the show by caning her victim blindfolded, with enviable accuracy in the first ever caning by Braille in the history of the Firm, and was a deserving winner, though one or two people muttered that perhaps it was a little unfair to have professionals competing on the same stage as amateurs, which produced the eminently sensible suggestion of two prizes from someone at the next table.

The formal part of the proceedings over, it was time to get down to play. There was no shortage of naughty boys and girls in the bar, so I set myself up on a raised platform at the end of the room and started dishing out the discipline.

To my delight Caroline, the bouncy little Danish lass, came over and announced in broken English that she had found a boy to play with, and would I show her please how to use a whip! The boy was none other than Rubber Roy, one of my very first playmates, and you should have seen his face when he found out who was offering instructions!.

To make my evening complete, her gorgeous boyfriend came over, and we happily compared toys. He had a rather nice, very well made heavy black leather strap, so I showed him my new pride and joy, a butter soft four fold strap from Abbey Leather that hurts worse than buggery. Then it was time to show off the Cobra toys. Roy, who has always preferred great thuddy paddles (no subtlety, but different strokes and all that) took a few strokes of my horse quirt from Caroline and fled, so we tried it on her instead. She was made of sterner stuff, and took her punishment bravely, but OWWW is still not a safeword!

By now the bar had closed, and the unfortunate staff were vainly trying to shoo still playing perverts out the door. Never one to give up flirting, I mourned the fact that the cutest boy in the club was a dom, and gorgeous Jakob winked and said "Not always" in his delightful accent, before baring his buttocks. Alas there was only time for a quick six of the best, and a farewell hug, before Stimpy claimed my new friends for an impromptu photoshoot in the corner.

By now loyal Firm crew were carrying the set past us, slut was standing impatiently with her coat on, and the bar staff looked as though they were losing the will to live, so reluctantly, I headed out into the night.

Night of the Cane is an annual jewel in London's fetish calendar, offering a fine combination of quirky irreverence, serious instruction for the novice pervert, and have a go exuberance, seasoned by the camp theatricality for which the Firm is justly famous. As well as workshops, classes, and the caning competition there were people bending other people over just about anything that would stand still long enough, and energetically applying wicker to buttocks, and of course the famous fetish boxing ring.

Someone once tried to dismiss the Firm as "a bunch of cheerful bum bashers" and was astounded when we took it as a compliment! I guess some people just need a sense of humour transplant, and forget that kinky sex is supposed to be fun. Me, I like nothing better than a side serving of good old fashioned English eccentricity with my pervery, but then, I'm a colonial, and we love all that stuff.


(By kind permission of