Tuesday, 21 January 2014
Thursday, 30 August 2012
I've received many strict canings in my time, but as I hear the soft rattle of one being chosen, the sudden swish of one being tested against the air, I fill with fear. The longer I wait, the more I become convinced that I won't be able to bear it. I find myself breaking, begging, for another spanking, a paddle, anything but the cane.
It never works.
I'm told to be quiet, to behave, to wait.
The cane has been chosen now, I can hear footsteps moving close. I ache to dart my eyes across, catch a glimpse, discern which cane is about to strike my bare flesh. I don't dare.
My skin heats with anticipation as I hear the cane thud against your hand, once, twice, and then crack through the air, impossibly hard. Against my will, I flinch. It doesn't touch me.
I'm told that if I move again, I'll receive 24 strokes instead of 12.
The cane rushes down, and again deliberately misses.
My adrenaline reaches the point where I half want the cane to strike my skin, to stop the suspense, the ever building tension.
I press my eyes shut, and this time I feel more than hear the cane swish towards me, and finally, eventually crack against my exposed skin.
Posted by Unknown at 07:43