Caning

So last night.

Which actually began somewhat earlier on, as Sir slid His leather collar around my neck and locked it. This was followed by several hours of running about doing the things I ordinarily do in the course of any ordinary day.

Yes, we COULD have spent the evening decorating the Yule tree. Instead, we decided to fit in some "us" time, as the next few weeks are going to be very hectic, and we should steal away what little pockets of unhurried time we can when we can. If nothing else, "us" time is a very healthy way of mitigating holiday related stresses.

So early (for us, anyway) in the evening we headed upstairs. Not long thereafter he had me secured across the bed in a happy mesh of tools that amount to sort of human 'tinker toy' sprawl; long leather bondage 'mittens' that come up almost to my elbows locked on with shiny little chrome locks, ankle cuffs, leather tethers, spreader bars artfully placed, and a handful of caribineers and clips. Suffice it to say, by the end of his arranging, I wasn't going anywhere.

Once I was little more than a useful target, he selected a few of his favourite whips and 'had at' me. (Herein I'm afraid some of the details blur a bit, but happily so.) I do however, clearly remember the sharp cutting sting of the horsehair, and the jarring THUDs of the big black Moose flogger. Fortunately, there was little I could do other than 'take it', and enjoy it immensely.

Eventually, he set the floggers aside and I encouraged him to fetch a particular slapper/crop as marks were what he seemed intent upon, and that particular tool provides a great amount of precision and control. This led to its own fun (but regrettably, no marks the following day.)

But then, in a fit of being wildly unpredictable, his hand settled upon one of the bamboo canes. This was new. He's used artificial canes on me before, delrin, and lexan, but some of the pieces I've been picking up recently, rattan and bamboo, no, he hadn't used those on me before.

(Sure I've had bamboo and rattan close at hand for quite some time now, but recently I've been picking up some more, flexible rattan canes, and a lovely little whisk of birch, which I thank my lucky stars hadn't been soaked the half hour before, last night.)

So he let me see what I was in for, the bamboo, and I yelped, honestly, completely innocently

"But, ... those are for GIRLS!...

Oh, wait...!"

(The space between the two broken sentences was the time it took for me to come to my own frightening realization; 'I'M A GIRL! Eeeek!')

Honestly, I didn't see the connection- until of course, I did.

Ah, the many joys of being a S/switch and picking up toys for some later use, only to eep! find them used upon me when I expect it least.

Sir is nothing if not devious.

So this resulted in me being released, bent over the edge of the bed, and playing human target as Sir got the feel of new tools. (Lest anyone worry, Sir has damn good aim, and had certainly picked these up before using them upon me.) At the time, the pain was exactly the pain of a good 'first time out with a new tool' caning, the sensation so unique to caning; a sharpness, then the moments of feeling the blow moving deep under the skin, and then the pain 'blooming' slowly after each stroke.

None of the strokes were so hard as to actually leave a mark that lasted through 'til this morning, but I certainly had that tender/bruised feeling long after. Caning provides a certain sense of clarity, and being fully in the moment that few other tools give. Timing is everything, and giving each stroke the time it takes to develop and for me to process it creates a rhythm.

Eventually, we agreed to end with three solid strokes, which expanded quite happily into five.

Now for some people, these kinds of activities form a sort of foreplay, which leads into sex. For other people, doing such may be the point in and of itself, and therefore sex becomes irrelevant to such altogether.

Sometimes we find ourselves fitting under that latter category wherein the work is the work and sex just is extraneous to what we're doing. Usually, though, Sir and I do what we do, and extend that power and control and pain and ownership into our sex at some point in the course of what we're doing.

So while still very much in the state of mind I was in, Sir rubbed my (sadly more temporary than I would have liked) red marks and that lead into hard rough sex.

Later he tucked me into bed, got out some of the shall we say, more 'internal' tools (cold stainless steel to be specific), and spent a bit of time touching me before he finally left me to drift off to sleep.

I suppose this last bit is important to note in that there is a very real possibility that there will be some new piercings in the very near future, and obviously, fresh piercings require a certain gentleness that (happily) last night lacked.

This time of year for most ""visions of sugar plums dance(d) in their heads." For me? Well, I suppose you could say I'm dreaming of a pierced Yuletide.