Curled up on the bed earlier this evening, Jack looked down at me. “What?” he asked, my face having given me away as it always does. I bit my lip and pondered, guessing it was still early enough in this conversation to reverse directions. I didn’t feel particularly guilty over what I was about to confess but I was 99% sure it would result in a spanking. Which is what I wanted, of course. The question was what kind of spanking? I was aiming for something light, but I can never be sure what I’ll end up with…
“Uhmm…” I bit the bullet and whispered the words that had stuck on my lips just a moment before. Watched somewhat nervously as his face darkened, eyes narrowed, and realized we had skipped way past any chance of a light, playful spanking. He slipped (maybe stalked would be more accurate) off the bed and out of the room without a word, reappearing a moment later with the cane. Big *gulp.* This couldn’t be good.
The cane and I, we have what you might call a hate-hate relationship. There is no love between us, no tenderness hidden deeply under the nerves and fear it produces. I am not brave where canes are concerned, and whimpered as I was guided onto my stomach, stretched out across the bed and bared. My mind whirled, trying to get a handle on his mood, then eased as his hand stroked over my bottom, coming to rest lightly on the small of my back.
The crack of the cane was shocking in the quiet room. But instead of tensing against it I let go, let the sensation flow through me and then out, releasing with it a hundred little worries and stresses. It hurt, oh god it hurt, but his hand was on my back, resting so gently, grounding me, as my body turned to liquid and my mind floated on the pain. The cane fell again and again, and my world narrowed, focused until there was only me and Jack, the cane, soft murmurs, flashes of pain, softer caresses between the heat of the strokes.
I don’t think I’ve ever just given in to the pain of a spanking like this before. I’ve surrendered to it, after struggling and fighting or just gritting my teeth and bearing it. But I’d never absorbed it like this, never felt this languid sensation that lulled me into peace; usually the peace comes after when the spanking is done and the cuddling has commenced.
My legs, usually busy kicking and squirming in a grand show of discomfort, literally could not move. Half way through I realized I had slid closer to the wall and managed to rouse my arm enough to press against it to keep my head from crashing into it. Jack gently turned me and resumed his work with the cane. Time moved on, stretched out, spun before us. And still there was only us, only tenderness and pain and all of the things that can only be said without words.
The rhythm slowed and changed. The cane fell less, replaced more often by his soothing hand and gentle voice. I could have gone on forever, happily. I think perhaps he could have too. After what seemed forever (and was in actuality about an hour) it was the cane that, having taken all it could, broke and ended our play.
No, I wasn’t smirking. Honest. I would never gloat over a broken cane, of course not. Well, maybe I would have, but not any more. I sort of think I like them now…