This morning I found myself naked and on my hands and knees in the bathroom, gloves on, cleaning the floor and toilet with a bleach solution. Later I would rinse some miscellaneous linens in the shower as well. Madame was also doing some kitchen work, food prep and cleaning, but of course she was clothed while her boy was naked.
After the cleaning, she took me to the bedroom where she showed me the cane she would beat me with. I had done nothing to deserve a caning, other than being her property. I’m okay with that. There are two points in this mornings play that really stood out to me, as if my crawling naked on my hands and knees in the bathroom was not notable enough! First, that she had on her kitchen apron. Standing there with a cane in her hand, waiting for me to walk through the doorway of the bedroom, I naked and smelling slightly of bleach. That apron, so very mundane, so very matter of fact, so “not very dominant”, but she simply taking time to put stripes on her boy.
And she caned me. Nothing too severe, but there were a few places where it really hurt, as is the intended consequence. The second item that really played out strongly to me was when she moved to the other side of my body and took my right foot in her hand, then struck me with the cane. That touch… that lovely exquisite touch of her hand, so tender, but yet so constraining and deliberate. I at once felt owned, protected, disciplined and bound. Bound by her hand, bound to her spirit, as she held my foot and ankle and let the cane whoosh down against my naked flesh.
I am amazed at how such seemingly little things can be so powerful in their ability to touch me.