Caned

I lay in bed awake, holding on tight to him, too nervous to move lest I wake him up. I knew what was coming. We talked about this the day before, and I watched him pack his cane case as we headed to the hotel – I was going to get punished. For real. We’ve played at punishments before, and even tried some disciplinarian routines early in our relationship, but it never quite worked – I knew I still had ultimate control over how far we went and how much I took, not just through safewording – but simply being done with play when I didn’t feel like taking any more pain. The offenses were often made up – or the punishment wasn’t agreed upon, and felt like a fight rather than a resolution (him feeling I needed to be punished for something that transpired between us, and me disagreeing, of course). I can see now that we weren’t quite ready.

But something has changed recently in our relationship. I’m not sure when exactly, but I have decided, after yearning for it for quite some time, to actually be his submissive. Since we have been in a D/s relationship from the start, what does this mean, and more importantly, what does it change? Well, I don’t think I trusted him as fully before…. I mean, of course I trusted him – to respect my boundaries, not to hurt me (beyond what I wanted myself), to love me, and to take care of me. But it took me this long to finally trust that he does have my interests in mind, he’s not just in it for what it gives him. And trust not just with my mind, but with my whole self. Maybe it was the trip to Hedo and the threesome that he made possible for me. Or maybe it was just time…. In any case, I realized that I was ready for him to take full control of my sexuality – what I do, when I do it, and whom with, the final word and final veto on all my desires. I just know now that when everything falls together, I will get what I want and need – and I trust him to know it and make it happen. And if I have to miss a bunch of opportunities that may seem perfect or very wanted now just because my daddy doesn’t approve, I trust that he has a good reason and most likely those perfect opportunities aren’t as great as they seem.

With this came the other realization that brought me to my current predicament – I was now ready for him to discipline me. I’d have to agree with the reason for punishment and see that I need and deserve it – that was my caveat. But it would be up to him to decide the time, severity, and methods of my punishment, and I would have to take it no matter what. And that is how this Sunday I found myself lying awake next to him, dreading what was to come, a nervous wreck from anticipation and fear. I knew it would be bad. I knew I’d have trouble taking it. I knew I had no choice. But I also knew I deserved it and would be better off for it. After all, I asked him for this just two days before.

His eyes finally opened. He asked me if I was alright and if I was thinking about my punishment. When I nodded, and said I was scared, he answered sternly – I know. You should be. I swallowed heavily, shivers running down my naked spine. Still holding me tight (or was it I who was holding on to him for dear life?), he told me his verdict – 15 strong cane strokes with the tearjerker (the nastiest, whippiest cane in his arsenal), on each side, without a warm-up. Since we were in a hotel room he didn’t want me to make too much noise, and so I was told to bite on a pillow to muffle my screams. Those words almost broke my resolve to take the punishment like a good girl.  I think by this point I was shaking with fear, clinging on to my teddy bear. Then he told me to go pee while he prepared the bed.  

I came out of the bathroom to pillows arranged on the bed and my daddy waiting for me to take my place, bottom up, ready for my caning. I sighed, and climbed on top. I think I said that I wasn’t ready, begging for him to wait just one more moment, and then I felt the cane gently tapping against my bottom, my daddy taking aim. I took a deep breath and told myself to relax as I heard the swish of the cane through the air – I’ve been caned before, caned hard and long too, this couldn’t be that much worse…. And then it hit me. The impact of the cane threw me forward, but the pain, the actual sting came a few seconds later. Nothing could’ve prepared me for it. I screamed and almost jumped off the pillows, wailing, jerking my feet, clenching my buttocks – anything to chase away that brutal pain. I never realized before exactly how much the warm up helped... I never thought a caning – or anything, for that matter -- could hurt that much. It took all the strength I had to stay in place, and get back in position for the next stroke. I have no idea how I survived them, but I know they didn’t get any easier to take. After the first 15, I begged for a break, and my daddy took me to stand in a corner – since a break from the caning didn’t mean a break from the punishment. I was told again not to rub or even touch my bottom, so even time in the corner didn’t allow the sting to dissipate. Even without touching, I could feel the welts form across my buttocks – raised, red, angry welts. I sobbed lightly (I have a hard time crying when I’m in pain), and thought to myself how much I’d never, ever want to be punished like this again. Yes, my pussy was wet, but the pain of those 15 strokes – and the fear of the 15 still to come was more than I could handle and call pleasant. I’d do anything not to have to take them. I would do anything to avoid a punishment like this. And yet… I can’t explain why or how, but I was glad that I was finally getting it, and fully aware that this is exactly what I’ve been wanting my entire life.

And then I was taken back to bed, over the pillows, for the remainder of my punishment. At 12 I reached my limit and I knew it. I don’t know how I took the last three – but I remember that the very last stroke was an extra hard one.