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This is a real life account of my first journey into Subspace. Special thanks to the man with the cane, for all his help in taking me there, and to my Sir, for allowing me the freedom to choose to go where I needed to.
* * *
The cane connected to backside with a frightening speed. I expected myself to jump, but I remained still. I expected myself to gasp out loud, but my lips remained silent. I expected my gaze to falter, but it remained steady. Watching him.
I watched him readjust his position, tugging up the legs of his jeans to get better balance as he pushed his body down into position. The cane nestled loosely in his fingers, yet the grip confidant, expert. He sized up his partner, gauging the distance; examining the path the rod would take before it met its target. Aware of his audience, but not focused on them. No, the focus was the trembling figure before him, the submissive form bent over the table, her head buried into a pillow. More precisely, his focus was her backside, the cane in his hand, and the magic the two would make when joined.
A hand on her back and a gentle inquiry to if she was all right. She was. He examined her intently for a moment, choosing his mark and tapping the cane gently to claim it. The tap again, this time firmer, more aggressive. Whisking the rod through the air, testing the space, perhaps reassuring himself that all was well, and giving her time to prepare for the coming impact. Perhaps he liked the touch of fear the whisk added to the atmosphere.
No blink, no gasp. My gaze stayed steady. I watched him gracefully follow the stroke through, watched where his cane went, what his hand and body did. I watched his eyes. I remember hearing his partner gasp, maybe even jump a little, but my focus was not on her right then. I felt a strange sympathy, but my interest, my fascination was with the man and his cane.
* * *
Someone handed me the rubber ruler, giggling and motioning for me to toss it out of the way of her Dom. I started to toss it on the table, and then stopped. It was HIS ruler... the man with the cane. I shoved it in my pocket, not really understanding my intentions. I was not a brat, not prone to bratty instincts. I felt a flash of annoyance at myself, shoving the ruler behind the toaster and running to catch up with my friends.
* * *
Later, back in the party suite, I was about to leave the room. I was sleepy, a bit moody. It had been a long day, and I was frustrated, wanting something but not sure what it was. I noticed the rubber ruler sticking out from the corner of the toaster and irritably yanked it out, tossing it on the table. He was there, I knew he would notice. I suddenly wondered what I was doing. Bratting HIM? Had I lost my mind? He, who would make a watchband leave marks that lasted for days. A pencil was simply a miniature cane. A crop could leave a mark with one stroke; never missing its target, for his aim was too precise. He looked at me, but didn't say anything.
Suddenly I was worried he wouldn't say anything. A smirk played my lips and I made a smart-ass remark, indicating to the ruler, leaving little doubt that I HAD bratted him.
Now he took notice.
He took the ruler, a smile on his lips. I liked that smile, that smile meant he wanted to hurt me. My face flushed a little and I fidgeted, unsure of my subtle decision. He motioned for me to turn around and I did, legs spread slightly and palms gripping the edge of the table. He smacked me with the ruler, six times, hard fast strokes.
I yelped in surprise, the sting was sharp and deep, harder than I had expected. I indignantly squealed an inquiry to ask if he intended to give me 12 swats, one for each inch. He stopped with those six.
I didn't hear his reply, but I didn't need to, the consent barrier was crossed. I rubbed my stinging behind and mock glared at him. He ignored the glare, picking up a heavy razor strap and adjusting it, leaving one end sticking out, the other settled firmly in his palm. He looked at me, then at the thick and worn strap. He didn't need to say anything; I knew what he was asking.
I nodded, adjusting my position so my legs were spread, palms gripping the table again and my tail end positioned for him. I closed my eyes and waited. The strokes came hard, fast and even, impacting my bottom over and over, side to side. I bit my lip, hair falling down into my face as I tried to remain still, little gasps and ouches escaping my lips as the intensity built. He started out light, building the pressure until I was squirming and dancing from foot to foot, trying desperately to avoid the flying strap.
He stopped, a hand on my back. I looked at him, taking a deep breath. He didn't say anything... he didn't need to. I watched as he doubled the strap up, making the two ends even, and readjusted it in his palm, looking back at me questioningly, his eyes locking into mine. I took another breath, and nodded.
* * *
I flopped face down on the couch with a giggle, my blood pumping through my veins, little gasps accompanying my breathing. Oh my, what a scene. My backside was warm and tingly from the strap, but the pain was subsiding. I felt giddy, a silly grin plastered on my face, yet my body didn't want to move. I snuggled into the couch, closing my eyes, not really aware of anything else around me. Ohhh, did I love that strap.
My mind wandered for a bit, to what, I really can't recall. It took me a few moments to notice what He was doing. The cardboard tube, a little battered around the edges, peeling duct tape fancying one end. Two curved cane handles stuck merrily out of the open end like candy canes nestled innocently in a stocking. He sat on the floor, emptying all the contents of the tube onto the low pile carpet. I watched intently, my eyes locked to him and my breath quickening. Was I really ready for this?
My Dom had caned me earlier in the day. A light, experimentive caning, introducing me to the feel of the slender implements. I had enjoyed it, the sharp sting that made me suck in my breath and hold it there, waiting for the pain to pass. Sometimes the next one had come before I was ready, making me squirm and whimper. This was different though, my Dom was GOOD, but the man with the cane, he was an expert. A cane in his hand was a wand in the hands of a wizard. Both worked magic, I has seen it with my own eyes. Now I was going to feel it. I felt a little dizzy at the thought.
He selected a cane. I don't recall which one, and I bit my lip, worrying about my Dom. I hadn't asked him permission to play with the man and his cane, and protocol required that I do such. I was too much in a daze to give the issue much thought, just a fleeting nagging that I was doing something naughty, which made it all the more desireable in a way. A test. Somehow, I knew it was ok though, I had watched him, he was safe, he knew what he was doing, and he would not harm me. Oh he would hurt me all right, but he would not harm me.
I nodded and closed my eyes. Consenting.
My mind whirled with thoughts, in no coherent order. This was a pain I couldn't handle, I told myself. I didn't want this, couldn't accept it. Then why was I so fascinated? Why couldn't I tear my eyes from him all day, from his graceful moves and twinkling knowing gaze?
The selected cane whooshed through the air, leaving a whipping break in the silence that I sensed rather than heard. I didn't flinch, but my grip on the pillow tightened a bit as I felt him settle the cane onto my behind, claiming his target. I nodded, ever so slightly, indicating I was ready for the claim. He didn't need the nod, but I did.
I was trembling before it even started, gripping that pillow and trying to look relaxed, pretending I wanted this, pretending that I was a painslut; pretending that I could just fade into a space I didn't believe existed and everything would be just fine.
I felt the cane tap again, but before I could pull my mind back into reality, my backside exploded with a thin, hot line of pure pain. I sucked my breath in deeply, quickly, and held it, my fingers sinking into the pillow as the burn quickly chased behind, colliding with the pain and merging into something I can only describe as pure bliss. All my worries, my doubts, sank into my skin with that single stroke, like a shot of liquor; burning and settling and blooming into a glow that left you wanting more and more.
And oh did I want more. My trembling fingers loosened their grip on the pillow, my body relaxed... submitted... to the scene. Not to him... no, I was not submitting to him, for our relationship was not one where that submission was appropriate at that time. I was submitting to where he was taking me, the first step into a space I didn't believe in, to a pain that I couldn't tolerate, and an implement that I didn't understand. He had no idea what he was doing to me, no idea just how much of a virgin I was not only to the cane, but to the space he was leading me to. I didn't tell him. Not just yet.
I barely noticed the preparation for the second stroke, but felt the impact to my ass, spreading like wildfire to my mind where I embraced it, cradled it with my submission. Again, and again... pauses to switch canes that I was dimly aware of, occasionally nodding to a murmured inquiry that I didn't understand and had no need to, the reassurance of his presence WITH me was all I needed. Each stroke was a spark of acceptance; accepting the pain, the lingering burn, accepting my loss of control, letting my grip on reality slide, and submitting not to Him, not to the cane, but to myself.
I was in subspace and I didn't even know it.
* * *
I lay sprawled on the couch, my whole body trembling, and my mind blissfully blank. Every move reminded me of the raising welts on my backside, and I absently rubbed my fingers over them, feeling the heat of the puffed skin. I shivered, goose bumps prickling at my flushed skin. I was shaking, all over, inside and out. I didn't understand, at that moment, where I had gone, where I was. I didn't need to know. I was floating and I was in love.
In love, with a thin rattan dowel rod they call the cane. In love with what it was doing to me and where it was taking me. Oh I couldn't define it, not right then and there, that came later. At that moment all I needed to do was embrace that space and make it mine. Mine and His.
It all started with that first stroke, one I would never forget. A stroke that pushed me off the edge of my carefully tailored and self imposed title as a submissive that only craved discipline. This wasn't an implement of discipline. Everything had changed then and there; I would never be the same person I was but a split second before that stroke landed. Everything was new and different, just waiting for me to grasp it, explore it, conquer it, grow with it, and push it further... with just one stroke at a time.
Thank you, the man with the cane said.
No, I thought... thank you.
Copyright 2001 serijules All material property of and copyright Pet Tricks LLC and the respective authors. Used with permission at VNWR.com. Copying or redistribution is prohibited. All rights reserved.