Wednesday, 5 November 2014

Reflections of the cane


Well, I hate to disappoint you all, but it didn’t happen. I wasn’t punished last night after all. Mistress was delayed so she got home late and by the time she did, it was late and she just wanted me to serve her dinner and then relax after a hard day of work.

She even apologized for not having the energy to discipline me.

I understood and was relieved I avoided the cane yet again. But with relief came a tinge of disappointed. As I said, I still don’t know if I can face going back to regular discipline and the thought of being secured for a thrashing fills me with dread. But I had done my best to prepare myself for the worst. Can you understand my bitter sweet feelings?

This morning, after Mistress leaves for work I go to face my demons – or more specifically, to look in the cane cupboard. I need to try and embrace my lost willingness to accept discipline.

I get dress in my baggy PVC punishment pants, my longest PVC mackintosh and shiny boots. The feel of the pants and the sweet musty odour of the mackintosh stimulate my senses.

I pull the two Dragon canes from the umbrella stand that resides within, locked away in the wardrobe. One is thick and offers a deep thuddy feel. I run my fingers over the soft texture of the leopard-skin handle that Mistress so loves to grip. It’s a stark contrast to the thick, unyielding rattan cane, beautifully sanded smooth, it’s varnish bearing a multitude of hairline cracks where the rod has flexed so much over the years of use.

I forcefully disturb the air with its whooshing sound. I wince at the impact such a full-blooded stroke would have on my bottom. The  deep, thudding sensation that builds from a narrow line of impact into a bruising sting across my entire buttocks.  I shudder at the thought.  I pause to think how many strokes of this rod has been applied to my bottom over the years. It must be in the hundreds.

I look at the thin Dragon. My nemesis. This is the cane that, with Mistress’ help, has tipped me over the edge. It’s shorter than the thicker Dragon cane and so innocuous to look at. I pick it up. It’s so light but just flexing it’s shaft reveals just how whippy it can be. You wouldn’t think such a lightweight rod of rattan could evoke such a powerful effect on an adult.

I slice this through the air and the high-pitched thwip sound makes my stomach churn. I know  this sound so well. And I know what 36 strokes feel like. That intense burning sting that focuses on that thin line of impact and just builds and builds with burning agony. You wouldn’t think such a lightweight rod of rattan could bring an adult like me to the point of tears.

I put the cane back on the table and stare at the two rods of torture. I sit and think of how I got to this moment in time.

My years of fascination with corporal punishment, tied up with my schoolboy fear of the cane.  How my fear turned to fetish and a need to experience the cane.

I think of how Mistress has embraced my strange ways and embellished it to the point that it became a desire in her to punish me.

I think how my fetish has turned back in to fear – that same fear of the cane I felt at school.  And I realize that no matter how much I may fight it I am going to continue to feel it’s disciplinary sting. It’s something Mistress has decreed. And she knows, that deep down inside of me, there still exists a need in me to experience its devastatingly delightful dsicplinary effect.

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