So far, 2013 has been a painful year. But don’t think I’m complaining.
Let me tell you a story of when I was a little, lazy arsed girl. The youngest child who was perhaps too pandered and pampered by her parents. I had a humbly-sized bedroom as a teenager with a faulty old television that had a habit of distorting the picture requiring a decent whack to the side to return it to normal. My father, the ever-caring individual he was, gave me a long, metre-length dowelling rod to allow me to whack it from my bed to save me little legs from getting up and down every five minutes to bang the side of the box. Skip ahead a few years and said rod lay unemployed when I was bought a new TV after my GCSE results at 16.
Unused and forgotten in my old childhood room until New Years Eve, 2012.
Mister and I stumbled in having returned from a party, house empty and warm. My fancy dress outfit was lying crumpled downstairs in the living room having from me being partially undressed by him wanting to have at me in my underwear – strapless black bra, those purple French knickers and the obligatory Special Occasion stockings and suspenders. The black stilettos were still on – for now. He dispensed of his costume’s hat leaving him in a shirt, black trousers and white cravat (it was an interesting theme for the fancy dress).
Soon the silent house was filled with my echoing murmurs of pleasure as he stroked my body further into arousal, firmly smoothing his hands over my curves, slipping my hosiery from my legs without unclipping the stockings from the belt. His fingers crept into the cups of my bra finding my warm flesh and set about hardening my nipples with his flicks before stooping a little, to kiss my breasts above the bra in that beautiful way that sends my head swimming.
Of course through all of this, his free hand was clawing its way up and down my back and gripping twists of hair, leading me about like his ragdoll. Strong kisses and wicked smiles shared between us had me placed kneeling on the end of the bed by this point, facing Mister who was still standing on the other side of the metal bedstead.
I wanted more from him. More of him. He didn’t disappoint me.
Reaching up to his neck, he unfurled the cravat and used the white length of cotton to bind my wrists to a length of the bedstead. This was interesting role-play, indeed. A little more restricted in my movements, I twisted around to see him now standing behind me, along the flank of the bed, eyeing my buttocks hungrily. His desires swept over him and he kissed his way down one side of my back, licking and stroking with his tongue all the way to my bottom which he then gave a playful little bite making me squeak and giggle.
It was now that he spied the metre stick of cane languishing in the corner of my room. One spanking implement left untested until this moment. We’ve run the gauntlet of palm, leather paddle, wooden paddle, suede tasselled flogger, leather tasselled flogger. Now was time for a caning. After the querying eyebrow raise from him and the nod of excited assent from me, he swished the stick through the air. The sound met his approval and started out gently and slowly tapping at my skin, each tap a little harder. As they progressed, I squirmed happily, wiggling my hips as the sting and bite set in. After a minute or so of this, he had gauged my initial limits and took Serious Aim.
The sting was sharp, making me wince and hiss. This was a new sensation, much different to the other implements we had used before. It hurt, and it made me yelp out, but I still wanted another. I wanted desperately to reach behind me and smooth out the sting with my hand, but in being tied I bore down and held tightly. Every two or three swipes and Mister paused to do just that himself, checking in with my and asking how it felt and if it was too much. Both of my hands were now gripping onto the metal frame, my rings jarring in my ears as they clanged with each jolting re-positioning of my hand due to the sudden impact. A rhythm of this cycle continued for fifteen minutes or so until my limits were met for the evening. I rolled onto my side, curling my legs up into myself. I looked up at him and let him know,
Your arse is looking beautifully red now. I’ve given you welts, you know.
This was new. I think there has only been one other time when Mister has given me welts – one intense session with the suede flogger where his aim had whipped me using the very tips of the tassels. I contorted myself now to try to see for myself; I like to view the marks, you see. My eyes widened with surprise and a touch of glee. After he released me, I felt over those raised lines, felt the heated skin beneath my fingertips. That curious sense of pride swept over me and my smile lit up my face as I looked into his eyes, pulling him towards me on the bed and welcomed in 2013 in our intimate style.
* * *
Since this venture into canes, we’ve been to our local DIY store to purloin two rods of differing thickness for our personal use. Mister has sanded them and stained them a lovely shade bringing out the grain in a pretty fashion. I feel there is more to follow on my caning adventures!