I had some punishment/correction incoming for failure to clean the boots, if you remember from my last post. I also have been less than snappy in my responses, lately. Lethargy, plus sloppiness equals cane strokes. Thirty of them, to be exact.
So, nose pressed to the wall, I attempted to take them stoically. In my mind, I always stand up straight, grunt like a man, and take them like Spartacus. In reality, I'm often whimpering by the fifth one, and squirming around by the sixth. To get to thirty really took some willpower. When it was done, there was atonement and submission, not bad things.
Caning is a funny thing. Well, not funny when it is happening. I have a true love/hate relationship with the cane. I hate the sting, the burning kiss it leaves. But, I love the lingering afterglow, and the headspace that it puts me in. This morning, I received my ten "maintenance" strokes, just-because strokes to remind me of my position. My bum is still glowing as I sit and write this hours later.
I am also back in the cage. I have mixed feelings. I have enjoyed the week-plus of freedom, and the thought of the long road ahead is daunting. I know there will be highs, but there will be lows as well. I'll be reporting on both, here.
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