This girl hasn’t been very good about keeping on top of her blog or being on the phone much lately. I know. I do apologize. I don’t really have an explanation other than …life. You know how it goes, one day you’re swimming along and everything’s great and then all the sudden you’re flying over a ginormous waterfall. So it goes. In the meantime I wrote this little reminiscence for your reading pleasure.
I still carry the cane marks from our last scene. The slightest examination of my thighs reveals numerous sets of twin red lines crossing the flesh with large elliptical dark spots blossoming out from underneath. In the last few weeks of our play you have come to be so mean with that cane, turning an instrument that I had once dearly loved into a cruel device, capable only of eliciting terror in me.
At first you would gently take me down, coaxing me into a deep sub-space through the unending rhythm and gradually increasing intensity of the strokes. When you hit me hard, you’d always give me a long moment in between to take a shuddering breath and process the unique, two-fold pain of the cane. Towards the end you would just wail on me as hard and fast as you could, making me scream and cry and wrestle painfully against my bondage.
In truth, I love canes. I think they leave the most beautiful marks, and when I have the time to enjoy it, I find the pain from their impact to be absolutely exquisite. It rushes through my whole body, radiating out from the initial point of contact. And sometimes it was just wonderful to be deep inside that shell that you made, the shell of my self, the part I had to leave to wander the landscape of my own space. I don’t know how else to describe it, that place. It was a little like wonderland.