How we must shock people sometimes. Take dinner last night, in a local hostelry, with kinky friends.
Quite shameless, we started to discuss Haron’s recent hard caning from a friend. I was surprised when she piped up that, severe as it had seemed from my vantage point, it had been a less daunting thrashing than many I’d given her.
Why, I’d wondered? Were a stranger’s blows less intense than a lover’s?
Pace, it seemed, was part of the answer. Our friend had laid on his improbable number of strokes metronomically, in very quick succession. My canings are typically much slower – more calculated, perhaps: allowing a girl to savour each stroke to its peak, mentally and physically, before she takes her next stripe.
And there was another dimension. With our friend, the silence had been broken only by the swish of the strokes, and by Haron’s shrieks and sobs. He himself had remained silent. Whereas I, of course, talk incessantly: commenting, counting, scolding. The voice, it seems, is the harshest implement.
How I’d love to really get into this topic, not flippantly, but in depth! But to keep it short I have to agree with Haron (and a silent little prayer has gone up every morning and every night since I read the original post that I have MUCH less experience here) that it is the scolding and the commentary that gets to me too. So you see Abel you need merely give light taps really and boost up the “you need discipline girl” stuff and that’ll do!
Please tell…what was the improbable number of strokes?
You talk a lot? No way….
Candycane – twice improbable, plus another impossible, with an extra dose of unbearable… (I’ll leave it to Haron to tell if she wants to!).
Wanda appears to want to earn the same 😉