He used this, his hands and a cane.
When it came to the cane, he sat up at the head of the bed, placing the thumb of his free hand in my mouth to let me suck it while he caned me. I got into a certain kind of headspace pretty quickly from that.
caning
So I might be starting to like pain a little more.
Maybe.
My favorite impact tool is the cane.
She hates it.
So I’m having fun at Sir’s or something.
Hmph.
The Adventures of Sir, Sweetheart and Mr. Purple, Part Nine
I had no idea what to say to the Southern Gentleman as I waited, so I just kept quiet until Sir walked back into the room. He reached down and squeezed my ass before hitting it once with the cane. I grunted in pain, squeezing the couch with my knees as he hit me again. My feet aimlessly shifted as I sought to retain my composure.
“See how nicely she marks?” Sir offered.
SG chuckled as I cried out from a particularly hard swat. “Is she always that loud?”
I would have said something snarky, but I was too caught up in the pain. Combined with the humiliation of being displayed and my extremely high level of arousal, I was practically drunk with sensation. But the endorphins had not kicked in yet and the hits still hurt like crazy. I felt my eyes well up with tears and I wailed.
“Is she crying?” SG asked. There was some concern in his voice, but there was something else. He seemed absolutely intrigued. He’d never really done the whole pain play thing with me. And, suddenly, I was stuck wondering if he was worried or if he was hoping that the answer was yes.
“I’m crying,” I exclaimed, my voice strained. “Show him. Show him how I’m crying.”
Sir chuckled and grabbed me by the hair, turning me around and sitting me back down on the couch. The sore, raw skin of my ass touched the couch and I winced a bit. But I could feel the wetness pooling between my thighs and I wanted so badly to be fucked that I was delirious from need and pain.
Sir and SG were talking, but I could barely keep track of it all. Instead, I was looking at the little box that showed was SG was seeing. I looked at myself, something I hate to do in these situations. I like to keep some degree of cognitive distance and seeing myself tied up is hard. Blame my shame issues.
But this time, with my makeup running down my face and my arms cuffed behind my back, I couldn’t make myself look away. I wanted to see myself.
Suddenly, the image faded and Sir was lying me down on the couch. He hooked two fingers into my pussy and started massaging my gspot. I shivered underneath him.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He smiled, “rewarding you.”
The Adventures of Sir, Sweetheart and Mr. Purple, Part Three
I was rather exhausted, so we ended the night with me sucking Sir’s cock and taking a little nap right after in his arms that turned into a few hours of sleep. I woke back up and Sir had me brush my teeth and get ready before he tucked me in and put me to bed.
The following afternoon, Sir had me take off my clothes and lie down on my stomach. He put my new cuffs on and secured them together over my head. “Are you ready, girl?” he asked, running his hand over my bare ass.
I should clarify that lately I’ve been opening up to him about wanting to explore some territory that I had been previously closed the door on. Basically, in the past, I’d had my trust betrayed to such a degree that I backed away from some of the more extreme forms of submission that I really do want. Time and again, Sir has proved himself trustworthy and so I opened up to him about some of the things that I wanted.
To avoid any more digression, I’ll leave it at this: I wanted to be encouraged to endure the pain Sir gives me and not just safeword on the first instinct. Because I wanted to deepen my submission to Sir, and because he enjoys inflicting pain, I wanted to get better at taking this pain.
So, I let him cane me. To make sure I would be able to handle the pain and as a preemptive reward for doing it, Sir allowed me to have Mr. Purple on in my pussy.
First, he started caning me. The first hit was unexpectedly painful – I’d never been caned before – and I cried out. He worked his way up, spacing out his hits, checking in with me while I squirmed and shrieked.
Next, he moved over to his set of floggers and crops and returned with a new toy that he had made. It was leather and consisted of two thick tails, an impossibly threatening and mean-looking tool he waved with a smirk. “It’s called a tawse,” he explained, “they used to use these to punish schoolboys.”
I could only take two hits before I was screaming, and Sir switched over to the strap before returning to using the cane. Strangely, the hits stopped hurting and were instead just a series of thuds that almost felt kind of good. My cries subsided into moans. “Are you hitting gentler, Sir?” I asked.
“No,” he replied, “that’s just the endorphins.” When we finished, he held me and told me how proud he was. And, honestly, I was pretty damn proud of myself.
Still, for the whole ordeal, the marks were still gone by that evening.
I’m staying at Sir’s an extra day.
Here’s something to tide you all over before my return.
Meet Mr. Purple.
The white is so, so pretty.
But those marks look so, so owie.
And yet I kind of want to try both?
White Leather
Chained, Part Six
Popcorn and Penthouse bent me over the bed and took turns spanking and flogging me, making me yelp and squeal into my ballgag. I squirmed when they stroked the skin, blushing in response to their chuckles and little quips about how fun it was to do this to me.
“Do you want to get caned?” Penthouse asked me and I heard him rummaging for something.
I moaned, nodding and trying to look over my shoulder. I had never been caned before, but I couldn’t manage to crane my neck to a degree to fully see it beyond watching something long and brown swish through the air and collide with my ass.
Having seen other caning pictures and now seeing my own ass: guys, those pictures must’ve taken a fuckton of caning. And it must have HURT LIKE CRAZY.
But I liked it. I loved the stinging, I loved the way they rubbed over it afterwards, and I loved the way they cooed over how red it was.
“She’s a good girl,” Popcorn commented at one point.
Penthouse reached up and patted my hair, smoothing it off my face. I looked up and saw his grin. “Yeah,” he replied, “she is.”
See, I could use this kind of discipline right now.
I could also use the kind of discipline that would make me work on my gosh-darn term papers.