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The Cane

November 14th, 2006

I don't know what it is with me and emotion. Or me and my
five senses for that matter. For some reason I just… can't… describe them.
Regardless of how deeply I feel them, they just won't place themselves on
paper. And it's only my emotions or senses. Hand me a character, or even a real
person, and tell me the type of emotion they're feeling or the sense they're
using and I'll blather on about it, describing it to a T, with no problem
whatsoever. But tell me to do the same about myself? Forget it.

So… here's a little exercise in "rayne describing her
emotions and senses." I decided to start with the cane because it's still
fresh in my mind.

I don't think, Master dearest, that you truly understand
what the idea of the cane does to me. Just the idea. Or maybe you do and that's
why you do things the way you do.

Let's start with why I was being punished in the first
place.

Master has this coworker that he brings home for lunch
occasionally. Well, more often than not, usually, except for lately. They've
been friends much longer than I've known Master and I try – gods do I try – to
be respectful and understanding of their (utterly mismatched) friendship. But
the guy just drives me nuts. He never – and boy do I mean never – shuts up.
He's in his fifties, so naturally he thinks everything he says is correct – I'm
right and because you're only twenty-six you're the equivalent of a child and,
obviously, are wrong. He eats like a slob: smacking when he chews, burping
constantly, and the worst? Picking food off of the pizza. I mean, come ON!
Other than that, he's generally the nicest guy in the world.

Well, Thursday is payday for me. And Master needed the check
in the bank. Like two days before, needed. So we made plans for Him to come to
my store (ha… my store. Like I'm the only one who works there or something.
Why do I do that? I don't say anything else is mine. Except my teddy bear. But
Master said she was mine!) and pick it up. When he left for work, he said he
was going to go home for lunch so he could play with our new Digital Rebel,
figure out what to eat, come to the store when I called and go deposit the
check. I thought this meant alone time. Time for him and I to spend together
during the day that we don't get anymore because of my job or his coworker. I
was, apparently, wrong.

I called on my break and he was still at the office. I
figured no big deal. It's four miles away. Except when he showed up, the
coworker was in the car and he obviously wasn't intending to spend any time
with my whatsoever. I was crushed. And I was mean. Master came into the store
to find out what was going on and I was mean then as well. I was sad. I was
hurt. And as soon as I sent him on his merry way, I knew I was out of line.

Master doesn't have to check with me before he brings his
friends to lunch. He has no obligation to spend any time with me unless he
wants to. And he's not obligated to let me know what's going on in his day so
we can coordinate our plans. And even if he was supposed to do any of these
things, I have no right to be a bitch. Regardless of what I am feeling
emotionally.

When I got home from work, I got on AIM and he asked me how
things were. How we were. If I was okay. I told him I was fine. We were fine.
But it wasn't until he told me I was out of line that I apologized. I don't
know why. Maybe I thought that it didn't count if he didn't mention it? In any
case, what happened after he made sure things were okay caught me completely
off guard.

He apologized.

He told me that he felt bad that my feelings were hurt. And
he made sure to tell me in a way that I would know he wasn't being sarcastic or
mean. He genuinely felt bad that my feelings had been hurt.

Then he told me that, while he felt bad that I had been
hurt, he would be out of line if he allowed my behavior to go unpunished.

So there's what happened. What led up to me being caned.
Unfortunately, things (especially my work schedule) have been a little crazy
and he was way too tired to punish me by the time I got home or by the time we
went to bed. Every morning we'd get up and every morning the cycle would start.

"I'm going to beat your ass for Thursday."

Instant panic. I'm not talking butterflies in the stomach
nervousness. I'm talking instant, gut wrenching, painful fear. My hands shake,
my body trembles, and I'm on complete guard expecting a cane or a hand to fly
out at any second. I cringe every time I have to step within hitting distance
of Master. I flinch every time he so much as breathes different. I force myself
not to back up when his hand comes toward me but honestly I just want to turn
and run and lock myself in the bathroom (Why the bathroom, you ask? Because
it's our only locking door.) with my back to the door so he can't get to me.
And I cry. Well before the beating starts and well after it's over. I cry. Huge
gasping sobs, quaking shoulders, desperate wish to curl into a ball and maybe
even disappear (magic trick, disappear… not run away disappear). I just know
I resemble a little girl who's just been punished by her parents. Just thinking
about it makes me want to cry again.

I don't know what scares me the most. His anger, or the
thought of him completely letting loose and taking his anger out on me. I don't
know that that would ever happen. He's hit me out of anger before but he always
backs up and cools off. Oddly enough, I usually still get punished after these
times, which I find unfair but I'm a slave so it doesn't matter.

Yesterday we were talking (I was off), and he said that when
he came home for lunch he was going to beat me. That left all day for me to
fret. And boy did I. The whole cycle from start to finish. Except this time I managed
to talk myself out of my fear for a few brief but blissful moments. Then he
came home. The panic settled in my gut and spread like wildfire to the rest of
my body. I was trying desperately not to let it show, but I was scared. I
choked down my soup and sandwich even though I felt like vomiting and I sat and
waited.

By the time he told me to get undressed and go lay face down
on the bed, I was a nervous wreck. My body wouldn't stop shaking and no matter
how hard I tried I couldn't relax my glutei. They just wanted to be tense even
though I know it hurts more when they're tense. When it was over, I was
hysterical. I didn't want to get off the bed, but I did. I walked into the
dining room, stuffed my thumbnail (it would have been my thumb except Master hates
that) in my mouth and crossed my arms. He said he had to go and I walked to him
but refused to look at him or lift my head. When it was obvious he didn't want
to leave without a kiss goodbye and that I was beginning to irritate him, I
lifted my lips to his and started to sob again.

He told me to go sit down and pointed toward the back of the
house (where our computer room is). I don't know why that was (and remains)
significant for me. It just was. The sobs quieted a little and I started
sniffling more than blubbering and things slowly started to be okay.

I read blogs by slaves who take hundreds of lashes from a
cane. And I want to die. I can barely take five. The first one sends me into
hysterics. the rest after that I take because I have no choice. I don't think
I've ever taken more than forty in one beating. Hundreds? Surely hundreds would
kill me.

And my ass is still sore. It doesn't always last this long.
Sometimes the pain is gone as soon as the lashes stop. Sometimes there's
bruises and throbbing pain for days. But no matter what, I still find myself in
situations in which the cane is a threat and then, eventually, a reality. You'd
think I'd smarten the fuck up and keep my mouth closed.

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