Cane Me, Sir

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Back in May I did a post about life getting in the way and causing us to lose our focus. Once we spoke about this, we decided that we will have a regular date night and ever since we did. Every Sunday. Sometimes the session lasts for 10 minutes; other times far longer. Ever since we started with these sessions, Master T has used the RVS cane on me. This cane makes no noise at all and hurts in a different way than a cane made of rattan or bamboo or any other material. The RVS cane doesn’t bend, which means when it touches my bottom, all the energy it builds up during the swing, enters my body. The surface hurts, but the pain travels deep into my flesh too. It’s not a sting, but a thump. I have to count the strikes. Thirty of them. Thirty on each buttock that is.

Now, several weeks into the date nights, I sometimes find myself wanting more. More strikes yes, but as Master T warns me time and again: we have to watch out not to damage anything permanently with the RVS cane, since it doesn’t bounce back. I know this, but I still want more. I want him to continue until I slip into another world, into subspace. I want to feel the pain. I want to wake up the next morning and feel bruised.

However, I don’t think this is possible with the RVS cane.

Which has awakened another thought in me.

I have mentioned before that I have a love-hate relationship with the cane. This doesn’t really go for the RVS cane, as it doesn’t deliver the stinging pain of a ‘regular’ cane. The ‘regular’ cane is a bitch. It hurts like hell, stings like hell! The moment it touches my bottom for the first time, I want it to stop. I want to get away. I hate it. But the moment I stop, I want it to continue. I want to feel it again. I want to test my limits. I want to see how much I can take. I want to admire the lines on my bottom the next morning. Want to relive the sting each time I sit down.

I find myself longing for the ‘regular’ cane.

It’s been ages since I last felt it. Partly because the last time we had a play date is too long ago (and it wasn’t a very successful date either) and partly because we cannot use the regular cane at home, because of the noise. This doesn’t make me long for it less. I want to be pushed to the limit again, I want to cry because it hurts so much and at the same time beg him to stop and beg him not to stop.

Cane me, Sir.

That’s what I want to say.

I want to stand on my knees, look up at him and say this words: Cane me, Sir.

I want to beg him to hurt me more.

I want to beg him to mark me.

I want to beg him.

Cane me, Sir.

Sometimes I hate the limitations we have.

© Rebel’s Notes

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2 thoughts on “Cane Me, Sir

  1. Oh yes! Every word. With me though, it’s the belt (or tawse – the one they used in schools to punish us). I love the belt, but I fear it too. When he’s thrashing me I long for it to be over, while yearning hungrily for the next stroke. It is such a strange contradiction; pain and pleasure, fear and longing, all encompassed in a yard of stiff, hard, beautiful leather.

    Chloë

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