Thoughts on the Cane, Part 2
So after that extensive discussion on the cane last week (and thank you all for the wonderful feedback), guess what New Guy brought with him this evening??
I suppose I should have seen that coming.
I was in trouble from the outset, tonight. Do any of you who play often notice that sometimes, for reasons unknown, your tolerance is through the roof and other times, it’s practically nonexistent? Tonight was the latter, for me. Everything hurt hurt HURT; things he uses every week that I can usually absorb. Even his hand hurt. Oh yeah, I was screwed. Because I still couldn’t stop sassing him.
But really, how could I not? I mean, again with the damn questions! “Just once,” I snapped, “just once I’d love to hear you ask a question where you don’t already know the answer!” He didn’t approve of that remark. How did I know that? Guess.
I had to fight hard not to scream, and I kicked so fiercely, he accidentally clouted my foot with something. “That’ll teach you to keep your feet down!” he said. Ow. He was right about that. It is my humble opinion that bastinado sucks all to hell.
He had two canes — a thin whippy one and a thicker bamboo one. UGH! I hated that effing bamboo one — it felt like being hit with a broom handle! Of course, he probably wouldn’t have used that one… except I broke the thinner one. 😀 Tsk tsk.
Stupid me, I’d told him I had a cane as well, so he made me go fetch it out of the closet. After plenty of strap and tawse, that is. After my bum was so on fire, I thought I’d set off the smoke alarm.
My finale was 20 cane strokes. I was just about ready to lose it, and I begged him after stroke three, “Please, not so fast, please…” I guess some would say that’s topping from the bottom. Well, screw them. Let them take the damn caning and see how they feel about it. Anyway, good and compassionate top that New Guy is, he did slow down a bit, so I could catch my breath in between. Did I want him to slow down? Yes. Did I want him to stop? No.
Stroke 16 was low — I think I must have said something or another that was sassy, I don’t remember. I smashed my face into the pillow and screamed. Then came stroke 17… and I heard him laugh. “Well, you broke this one too.”
(No worries. It’s just what’s called tramlines… and two hours later, they’ve faded. No blood.)
I’d broken two canes in one session. I’ve never done that before. But I didn’t get to crow about it just yet. He gave me the final three cuts with that godawful bamboo cane (the only cane left!) and I started to cry.
The good kind of crying, though. The releasing kind. Oh, it hurt… but clearly, I needed the tears, even though I hadn’t known it. But he knew.
Don’t you worry about me. Shortly thereafter, once I’d calmed down, then it was time to crow.
In fact, I was downright hysterical.
Of course, the night was still fairly young, and we had time afterward to relax a bit. He sat on the couch and I curled up on my side and put my head in his lap. Nice, right? Cozy? But he couldn’t leave well enough alone. Kept reaching out and idly swatting the one cheek he could reach. When I protested, he said, “Oh, does it hurt when I do that?”
I replied by smacking him up the back of his head and repeating, “Does it hurt when I do that?”
Round Two. So unfair.
Then he kept poking his finger onto the one low cane stripe. I responded by poking my finger into his stomach. He didn’t like that, either. Sheesh! He started it!
I really don’t know why I’m so damn fond of this man. But I am. For many reasons… not the least being that he’s a very good sport. 🙂
This session ought to hold me for a while. At least a couple of days…