There were no signs to warn me that anything was about to happen. Normally I ‘sense’ it. This time I did not. When I walked into the bedroom, my focus was on Master T. It was only when I turned away from Him that I saw the cane and the collar on the bed.
“You will count back from twenty,” He said, “twenty for each buttock.”
I winced and counted. Loving it and hating it at the same time. I loved that He unexpectedly used the cane. I hated that I had to count. I loved that I could feel the pain He inflicted on me. I hate that I could not lose myself in the pain. The same happened when He told me to turn around so He could hit my breasts. I had to count back from 20 again. I wanted to find that peaceful place inside me, to endure the pain, to feel it, to love it, to ride the wave of hurt. But I could not. By the time He used the whip on my ass and breasts, I was a crying mess. I did not have to count anymore, but I could not calm myself down either. He took me in His arms afterward, hugged me, kissed me, held me. I calmed down. Before I fell asleep in His arms I told Him that the counting made it difficult.
The next morning I thought a lot about the night before. Why did I cry so much? Why could I not find peace within myself? Why could I not focus? The crying had a cleansing effect, relieving me of some work stress I felt in the preceding week. Thinking it all through, trying to analyze it, I realized that I did not focus. No, that’s not entirely true. I did focus. I focused on the counting. I had to focus on the counting as I did not want to lose count. I could not focus on finding that peaceful place inside me and to just let the caning happen and absorb the pain. Because I focused on the counting, the pain felt almost unbearable.
I guess there is some kind of psychological effect in play too. I have experienced spankings and whippings and canings with and without counting. It did not happen every time, but there were times that I felt one with the pain. That I could keep calm and focus. All of the times that I have managed to just let it happen, to absorb the pain, I did not have to count. It almost feels as if I am being punished when I have to count. This might go back as far as my childhood. As I said in my post yesterday, I grew up with corporal punishment in school and at home. In school, before we were punished, we were told how many lashes we would get. Deep in the back of my mind that must still have some effect. It might just be the reason why I feel like I am being punished when I have to count the lashes. I know this is something I have to work on, because I have to count when Master T tells me to. His words: you do not count because you are being punished, you count because I want you to.
I might be totally wrong about the psychological side of it feeling like punishment when I have to count. There might be other factors at play here. Maybe, even if I did not have to count, I might not have been able to find peace within myself. Maybe if Master T had tied me up and then told me to count when he used the cane, it might have been better. Or maybe even that would not have helped. Maybe I was fighting it too much and therefore the pain felt worse? Maybe my mindset was just not what it should have been? Maybe Master T should use the cane and the whip on me more than He does now? And maybe I should not be analyzing this at all!
All I know is that I hate the counting as it feels like I am being punished. This is something I have to work on.
How do you feel about it?
© Rebel’s Notes
The prompt for this week’s Wicked Wednesday was #peace
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