Caning Sue

First times are important. When I first came to be spanked by the man who is my Owner and Master, my soul mate and my Love, I was married to another. I’d come, by a long, and not all that unusual route (for those who share this kind of kink), to know my masochistic and submissive side. Like so many women, who find their truth in this life “later” rather than “sooner,” I had commitments and ties that would eventually need to be broken and unbound. But that future was still ahead.

When I found my way onto the Internet, found the world of other spankers and other BDSM’ers, it was as if I’d landed in some magical place I’d never ever dared to imagine. It was in this cyber wonderland that I first met the couple that would eventually turn into the family that now forms the center of my life – The Heretic and T, but again, that future was hidden in the unseen mists of a time still ahead. Lots of across the country emails and IM chatting led to a friendship that eventually led to cross-country traveling to meet at a BDSM conference where we played, did some “technical” training on the use of floggers and other implements, and got our first introduction to a public dungeon. There was some crossover playing between the two couples, but it was pretty limited and at the end of the weekend I was headed home again, still firmly attached to the man I married. But the die was cast. I was snared. We traveled again in the spring and spent a few more days together.

Then the time came for Thunder in the Mountains, a major BDSM event held annually in Denver, Colorado. Several couples made plans to travel and meet there, staying in our home. As the plans began to form, a conversation started, slowly at first, about including, as part of the festivities of the event, The Heretic caning me.

I’d been flogged. I’d been paddled. I was not a total novice by any stretch, but caning just scared the willies out of me, and He knew it. He loved knowing it, and played my fears to a fever pitch. For weeks He teased and tormented me and worried me like a cat plays a mouse. I sweated it and tried to behave with some sort of grace. I tried not to wheedle, whine, or beg, although at one point, He actually made it clear to me that He wished I would.

Eventually, of course, as these things do, the day arrived and the group gathered and the appointed hour arrived. I was all aquiver. The evening progressed and our bunch played and laughed and socialized and nothing at all happened for what seemed like forever. I thought I might just pass out. Or pout myself into a total snit. Finally, He remembered, or maybe He just got around to me, or maybe He figured He’d strung me along long enough. Came and found me and took me to the flogging frame – yes, we had one of those in our home…another long story, and began the long awaited caning. And…

It was the sweetest, gentlest, softest, and most sensuous of sessions. He never once crossed my lines. Never pushed my limits. Never forced me to a place I didn’t want to go. Cared for me and coddled me and babied me through the kindest session I’d ever had.

I was horribly disappointed. All that build up and all that anxiety and all that fear. And He took me as gently as a lover…the first time.

swan