Sometime later, you took me into the bedroom to begin the caning, only you weren't starting with the canes. You had me over your lap, and had other implements by your side. I was surprised and scared. I was expecting the canes, and the canes only, for some reason. You started with your hand, which soon enough was stinging my sore bottom (this wasn’t the first spanking of my visit). You started in with the other implements but I don't remember what they were, only that I was squirming and fighting you. Every nerve fiber in my body was on alert, and each time you paddled or strapped me, I jolted from pain, from fear of more pain, and from pure anxiety about what was to come.
I remember that you put your leg over mine and grabbed my right hand. I knew this to mean that even greater pain was on its way. You needed to restrain me, and started paddling me hard with the bathbrush. Was I bare for this? I can't even remember. But I do remember that I couldn't take it, and started thrashing violently. You spanked my thighs, the intense pain of which is usually enough to settle me down. But this time, it did not. I felt like a wild horse over your lap. I have no idea how I did this, but I grabbed the bathbrush from you, and you reached for something else. My stomach tightened. I knew whatever it was, it would be worse, but I couldn't stop the fight. My body had taken over my reason.
And somehow you sensed that. You said something you've never said before, "You're very agitated tonight. Let's pause for a moment so you can settle down. Why don't you have a glass of wine?" So we left the punishment chamber, I put on my shirt, and we strolled casually into the living room for a drink.
This was a good idea. The warmth of the wine, of your touch on the couch, of our conversation blanketed my nerves, cloaked them with enough tranquility to be able to face the punishment I knew was in store for me. I knew it was not possible to avoid it, and I would have been deeply disappointed if you had even suggested that. I desperately wanted the caning, but I also wanted you to want it for me. I needed you to need it for me, because at times, my will to go forward was losing out to my fear. So when we returned to the bedroom, I was almost relieved when I asked you what you were doing, and you said you were getting out the cuffs. I knew I was going to be tied. It was the only way for me to take this.
I remember feeling terribly alone there, as you were securing me fast to the round bed. I remember missing Sarah. I wanted to hear her say, "Let me hold you, baby, you'll be all right." I've become accustomed to being soothed while being punished, and suddenly I realized I would be experiencing this pain by myself, without the cradle of Sarah's body and words. Tears welled up in my eyes, and at some point, you noticed. You asked if I was crying, and why. I was scared, I said. That was true, but it was not the whole truth. I missed Sarah.