Thursday, 29 July 2010
The odd part of my training, and I am realising that now my life is full with rules and protocols I strictly observe, is that the rules and protocols were seldom “decreed” from the blue but sort of softly suggested. It is true that each time I was so pleased to obey my strongest instinct and go for what He was demanding, learning that a slave – I was a slave before knowing it consciously – always wishes to make her master happy, even if the master’s requests are inconvenient to the slave.
“Soft” humiliation and disgrace was ramping up day by day, soft because, as some of you now know, much more was coming up. You’ll read that later. What I wanted to write today is how I quickly understood pain would be part of my life. That was very new to me as well.
I have not been punished by Master very early in our relationship. I guessed it was bound to happen. When it came, I accepted it but also incredibly I enjoyed it. This proves what Master told recently to me is fully true: “Take care in the progression in educating your slave, everything is cheerfully and gratefully accepted if well driven.” Thank you, Sir, for the care and trouble you took in training me!
Early in March, I was punished very badly for the first time. I came directly from work to His house without changing dress. I was wearing a knee-length skirt and fashion tights. The dressing code was already clear at that time: always stocking and suspenders, and the shortest possible skirt to fit with, unless given permission to do otherwise. When I saw His face I instantly knew I was crazy. My heart pounded.
I hesitantly came forward. I was trembling. When I stopped a few feet from him, he said “Now, don't you have something you want to ask me?” I tried to look into his eyes, but my gaze slid away as I said haltingly “Sorry Sir. Please—please punish me.”
“Punish you? For what?”
Blushing furiously, I stammered, “For—for wearing tights and a skirt of classic cut... without your permission.”
Because He was staying silent, and my inexperience, I added in a strangled whisper “Because—because—I'm your property." My pussy heated, and I felt my nipples harden as I said it.
As expected, Master told me dryly time had come for proper punishments. I shivered, and my panties became wet not because I was aroused but because I peed slightly. He ordered me to undress but my stiletto heels, go and stand in the corner of the dining room with my hands on my head.
“You’ve got to learn, my cane will teach you!” He said. I responded “Yes Sir, thank You Sir,” hoping that my deep submission would soften His anger, but that was a mad idea.
I took off my clothes and put them in a neat pile, and then went and stood in the corner opposite from the door, hands on my head, legs spread. After a while, He told me to come and led me over to the table and told me to lie over it. I laid myself on the table, He took ropes in a drawer and proceeded to spread my legs and bind them to the two rear table legs and the same with my arms at the front. I was totally exposed as He was binding me and now totally immobile tied to the table trying to calm my breathing as I felt my heart beating. I knew what that meant, and though my heart sank I knew I deserved it.
Master took a cane and said “I also know just how you will be turned on as you get by it. Count out loud” I rested my cheek on the cool of the wood, wishing for the ordeal to be over, but hoping on the other hand it would never start. It started though and twelve evenly paced strokes cut into my backside. Some were harder than others, and made me gasp and wiggle, but all were just about bearable. I then heard he had put the cane down and then all of a sudden I felt His fingers inside me, teasing and probing. He said “hmm well, if anything, you're even wetter than I thought, I wonder if caning you harder will make a difference?” As He had been talking His fingers had been gently teasing my clitoris bringing me closer and closer to orgasm until, just when I was close, he withdrew, leaving me craving his touch. I did not have long to ponder that thought, as within seconds he had picked up the cane and slammed it into my buttocks. I counted through another 12, harder this time, longer for the count to leave my mouth. As the twelfth stroke hit I could feel my body relax, knowing he would give me a rest.
He said “Alexia I’m punishing you and you are dripping wet! Any explanation?” It was hurting and I knew it would probably only get worse, yet I was turned on. I said no, don't know why, I'm not enjoying the punishment. Again His fingers probed to the contrary, and I genuinely couldn't understand why, I wasn't enjoying the experience on any conscious level. He said “Harder, I think, this time. Let's see if that has any effect.” I screamed, each stroke was like a brand of fire but I managed to continue counting knowing that if I didn’t it might make things even worse. I tried desperately to move away from the source of the pain but was tied too firmly to the table for it to make any difference. He rubbed the cane along the crease between my buttocks and my thighs, I gulped, resisting the urge to plead with him for mercy. Tears were rolling down my face. After what seemed like an eternity, we reached 36. By this point He had brought me to such a place in my head that I wanted to take as much as He wanted to give. He walked to the head of the table, bent down to my level, dried my tears and cleaned my face. And then it was over, He untied me, holding me to Him as I stood on shaking legs. And as all good-girl canings should, it ended with a hug. I swore I'd always be a good girl, and always dress according to the rules.