The cane
Even the thought of it can reduce me to tears. I’m an ugly, sobbing mess before it touches my skin because I know what it’ll do to me.
It marks my skin, yes, but it digs so much deeper…
It falls, it cuts, it peels me away. That pain reaches into my mind and finds what I hide and makes me see it. I am raw clarity, deep vulnerability, and honest tears.
I breathe, I brace, I exhale sound. It’s the sound of agony and pleasure, the sound of me being split apart and knit together.
Cleansed seems clichéd, but there’s something to be said about the power of pain. It heals as it hurts and it makes me beg even when I don’t want to…
“Please, sir, spank me.”
“Please, sir, cane me.”
Please… May I have another?
