The story begins here.
Derek Stevens watched as the twenty-something, fresh-faced Callie Rhodes gulped, her eyes widening as she watched his wife, Jenna, red-faced, tears streaming while being caned. He couldn’t see Jenna’s eyes because he was the one doing the caning, and was therefore deprived of the joys of seeing her face in the throes of her struggle with the pain. But he could observe Jenna’s client as she awaited her psychic advice from the “Spanked Psychic”. He could see how Callie’s sweet, dimpled face dealt with the absurdity of meeting with another person as that person was tied over a bench and being spanked. And then the waves of sympathy and empathy that caused Callie to grimace and bite her lip as if she were the one experiencing the caning, or was perhaps, next in line.
“Do you have a brother… Owww! … named Christopher?” Jenna asked, her voice tremulous with crying. Derek continued the steady swish-whack of the caning.
Callie nodded, “Yes… Well, I did. He died last year in Afghanistan.”
Jenna wore a short dress for these client sessions; one that presented a reputable business “front” and yet short enough to be pulled up over her hips as she was tied over the spanking block. Derek had worked out that with a bit stronger cane stroke and keeping up that steady pace of caning, he could still induce the psychic visions within Jenna and allow her to keep her underpants on for the sake of modesty.
“He… Ooohhh!… wants to give you a message. He says he… Ouch! … loves you very much and… Owww Owww! … look in the file box in the hall closet …. Mmmmph! … the one on the shelf you always had… Ow! … trouble reaching,” Jenna cry-spoke her visions, tears streaming down her the blushing cheeks of her face. She had learned quickly, not to wear makeup for these sessions.
“What does he want me to find there?” Callie asked. “Is it a good or bad thing? I need more detail.”
“Ouch!… He says that you’ll know when you see it,” Jenna replied.
The money Jenna was pulling in from her new business was quite good. She and Derek now had 6-year plan to retirement rather than a 20-year plan. But at times like this – at the end of a long afternoon of caning in front of clients, having her visions spanked out of her – she wondered if it was worth it. “Now”, she thought, “this bitch wants to ask a lot of follow-up questions. Gah!”
“Oh!” Callie said, “I know what he’s talking about. I looked for his rare coin collection for months after he died. Finally I gave up, and I had since forgotten… I can’t believe it! This is wonderful news… “
“Enough!” Jenna cried out, interrupting and startling Callie.
“Sorry,” Jenna continued. “It’s my safe word.” Derek had stopped the caning and left her strapped onto the spanking bench. He picked up a tube of lotion, rubbed it between his palms and began rubbing it over Jenna’s deeply red striped, and bruised bottom. She winced and frowned wishing she could rub her bottom. She would have been more gentle than Derek was being. He seemed to be treating her pain as if it were routine. Of course, it was.
Having given their client the information she wanted, received her Visa payment for the service, and closed down their work computers, Derek and Jenna relaxed on the sofa and put on some videos. She had put her hair up in a pony tail and wore a baby doll nightie as she lay across his lap. This was the time of day that after an afternoon of caning, she could have her bottom pampered instead of punished (although there was the occasional spank or twenty that Derek couldn’t help but give her).
“This seems like an obvious question,” Derek said. “Why don’t we use your powers to get rich? I mean… this is really not some moralistic TV show or movie where you have some kind of arbitrary restriction placed on you to keep you from taking advantage of your obvious advantage.”
“True,” Jenna said. “One problem though.”
“What’s that?”
“I need a person to concentrate on, not an inanimate thing, like an investment or a market,” she continued.
“Do you mean… What if you had a person to focus on? Someone rich? Someone who knew how to make money and you had them at your disposal?” Derek prodded.
“Well I suppose if that were the case… Wait. What are you thinking about?” Jenna asked and tried to push herself up from his lap.
He pushed her back down.
“Relax,” Derek said, “I’m just thinking out loud.”
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Jenna Stevens came by her career as a clairvoyant due to a very odd set of circumstances. Her boyfriend and dominant, Derek had returned from a business trip in one of those moods. He had purchased a carbon fiber cane while away and could hardly wait to use it on her. Although she was glad to see him return (their loving relationship was solid), the look in his eyes made her nervous.
They kissed and embraced at the door and then had dinner together. At first he didn’t mention the new toy, waiting for just the right moment to introduce it to her. But he could barely contain what Jenna would later characterize as an evil grin. And she could hardly contain her nervousness. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem, but she felt silly being nervous about something she technically didn’t know yet.
Finally, after their dessert of cheesecake and coffee were mostly consumed, Derek could no longer contain himself and said, “I’m going to cane you in an hour with my new toy.”
Jenna gulped. Although she’d had plenty of spankings from Derek, hearing that she was about to bend over to receive a painful caning on her bare bottom was still a startle for her. Yes, she did get incredibly aroused by the caning, but still there was the pain…
Derek reached into his duffle bag and pulled out what looked like a poster tube. He twisted and pulled off the cap and slowly, cruelly Jenna thought, extracted a 22-inch carbon fiber cane. It was thin and black and seemed somehow interwoven with destiny and unrelenting, painful transformation.
Derek swished it through the air and it made a quiet but fierce sound as if it were daring her not to listen to it. It seemed to say “Ignore my warning whisper at your peril.” It seemed to frown at her.
When Jenna finally found her voice again she asked, “May I ask… how many?” She hoped against hope that he wouldn’t say the number – his favorite caning number.
Derek said, “Why 36 of course. Six of six of the best.” Jenna mouthed the words along with him. This gesture might have been seen as disrespectful by some other dominants, but in Derek’s case, it was quite cute and enduring that Jenna knew exactly what she was in for, enough so that she could mouth the words of her own sentence.
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The appointed hour finally arrived and Jenna met Derek in their play room. She was wearing her mid-thigh tartan skirt, a button down shirt and tie, knee socks, and penny loafers – the prescribed caning outfit. Derek was almost salivating, but remained authoritative and calm. He wanted her nervous, but not too frightened to bend over for him.
“Approach,” Derek commanded, looking into her eyes and pointing to a spanking bench in the center of the room.
“Yes sir,” Jenna said.
She walked up to the bench, climbed up on her knees and bent herself over it. Derek had painstakingly adjusted the height of the knee rest so that it raised her bottom slightly higher than it would otherwise be, but still provided plenty of support for Jenna. She stretched her arms in front of her and waited for Derek to put the cuffs on her. He did so and then pulled the middle strap across her waist and fastened it into its buckle.
Next he put her ankles into cuffs and then raised her skirt, draping it over her back. Derek then pulled down her white cotton panties, before retrieving his new carbon fiber thing of beauty. Again he swished it, the sound he loved and she hated and loved and then hated again.
He measured his strokes carefully as any good spanker would when using a new toy. The first stroke landed almost perfectly mid-bottom. It left a fiery red line and a gasping, wide-eyed girl in its wake. Jenna knew this was going to be a challenge as she ground her pelvis into the padded bench. She couldn’t believe she was already thinking about her safe word, so she chided herself and resolved to soldier on.
The caning continued, more angry red lines formed across Jenna’s once pale bottom cheeks, and her gasping breathlessness turned into squeals and moaning. Derek allowed just enough time between strokes for her to absorb the pain in all of its glorious phases. The brief pauses gave him the chance to see how flushed her face was, watch to see the tell-tale parted lips indicating her arousal, and, of course, tears. He was surprised to see tears and arousal after 13 strokes. That gave him an idea of the intensity that he could administer with this carbon fiber cane. He felt powerful and a great sense of responsibility. Knowing he could actually torture her with pain, gave him a nervous thrill. He thought about the prospect for a moment and decided that course of action was better saved for another day’s indulgence. No, the remainder of her caning would be more like one would expect to give a school girl.
Derek began caning Jenna in a steady, faster rhythm. Although the strokes were less severe, the increased speed gave Jenna just as much of a pain challenge. She cried now like a child and her tear-wet eyes had a far away look as the stroke count climbed up towards 30.
It was at that point in her caning and in her life that things changed. She began to get visions in the middle of her caning – images as clear to her as if she were being shown a video. In the vision she could see a screen with a newscast indicating the date was 3 days into the future. She focused on what one news story was about.
“Mayor Fisk is going to lose the election,” she said out loud in her current, getting caned world.
Derek, surprised at the utterance, stopped caning. He had just delivered stroke 35 and immediately wondered if she’d been driven out of her mind with the pain.
“Don’t stop caning me!” Jenna said, as she felt the vision fade away.
“I’m happy to continue caning you, but you need to convince me you’re still here and sane,” Derek said.
“There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m just seeing visions. I see the future,” she said.
Derek, having walked around the bench to look closely into her eyes for signs of … he realized he wasn’t sure what to look for, but hoped he would recognize it when he saw it.
“How do you know it’s the future?” Derek asked.
“I just know. I just feel it,” Jenna said.
He stroked her hair and caressed her face as he said, “I guess we’ll see on election day in a few days.”
Jenna’s prediction turned out to be correct. Additionally, it turned out that they were able to re-create the same conditions – the carbon fiber cane, the spanking bench, the rhythm of the strokes – and achieved the same result. Jenna saw realistic visions of the future and they came true. But there was one catch. She couldn’t remember any details of the visions when she was not being caned. So if she didn’t tell anyone what she saw, the content of the vision would be lost.
Humans and money being what they are, almost immediately, plans were made to capitalize on Jenna’s gift. The “catch’ of her having to be caned as she gave her visions actually increased interest in her service from those who didn’t mind seeing a sexy woman caned over a bench. Clients would ask for her readings on them and then she would tell them while getting caned and tears streaming down her cheeks.
Thus began the career of a truly extraordinary clairvoyant.
