The gift of punishment

He caned me, yesterday.
My Master caned me.
He caned me and he spanked me.
He left me with screaming welts and a beautiful pink glow.
The wood strip with which he beat me
shed large splinters on the ground.

It was a punishment I had asked for.
Not so much as punishment,
but as an anchoring.
A centering.
A reminder of who I am

Something bad happened the week before. The details aren't important. What does matter is that my balance was shaken, and I lost the sense of who I am. I lost the swirl of submissiveness that normally surrounds my head and my heart, even when I am seemingly at my clearest. Even when focused on something else. There is always that clear internal pulsing light of submission.

My balance was shaken.
I was shaken.
I floated away.
And I didn't like it.

So I told him. I told him how I felt and what had done it and that I didn't like it and what I needed. He rarely hurts me anymore. Oh, he'll twist my nipples quite evilly, and there's no denying the pain of the werewolf's jaws as they sink into my neck. He'll give my bottom a hard smack now and then, and maybe a few lashes with the flogger to get his blood roiling. But he no longer lets the sadist loose on me since I had an odd reaction the last time he did.

I'm not a masochist, we do both know that. But part of me misses the pain. Not so much the pain itself in its application, but the submission. It takes effort and devotion to submit to the pain. And the discomfort that lingers is a reminder of that submission, and of the pleasure that he takes in hurting me.

Still, the decisions are always his, and he has decided to take another route. He is a wise man, my Master, evil but wise, and I trust his judgment. I also know that he will always do what he wants, what he thinks I need.

I spoke of needing a clear, painful punishment to center me and bring me back.

He thanked me for my honesty, and said he had other methods to correct the situation, if he deemed it necessary. Not long after, for about a day, he reduced his communications to me to the bare minimum.

Silence,
isolation,
these are the worst things you can do to a submissive.
The worst.
And the best.

Because as I realized that I wasn't hearing from him, I yearned towards him. I felt my body and soul physically stretching towards him, and I began to feel smaller and younger and more and more submissive. I knew exactly what he was doing, but it didn't matter. He was pulling me back towards him, I felt myself prostrate on the ground at his feet, small and submissive and weeping while blessing the chains that enveloped me.

That was Monday.
He came to see me Wednesday.
He came to see me Wednesday and ordered me to have the cane ready.

It was early in the morning that he gave his instructions for preparations. A couple of hours later, he asked how I felt, knowing the cane was waiting for me.

Well, how would you feel?

The visit lasted half an hour. There were various things he said and did. It was all very personal, to him and to me and to us, so I won't display them here. The important things are these:

• He said, for the first time, that he was my Master. I felt a pride behind his gift, pride in the progress I'd made. I felt an intimacy behind it, too, and my own pride, and my joy, and my gratitude, and my love. He chained me to himself tighter than ever at that moment.

• He hurt me. He gave me what I knew I needed. And that was a gift, too, not only because I was frightened and he reeled me in, but because he did not reject my plea for pain as a way to show that he and only he, is the one in control. He hurt me enough to imprint the required lesson on my brain, and to make me feel treasured. Rather than tossing me away for having another difficult reaction to something that happened between us, he showed that I was worth enough to him to give me a painful correction. And left me with no doubt of who always has the control.
  

• He rewarded me for my honesty. He said the caning would have been worse if not for my honesty. But I know the value of honesty in BDSM. It is a necessity. And it's what makes it so rich and so beautiful and so intimate.

In truth, D/s is not about kinky sex practices. It is about honesty and trust and the purest form of intimacy you can have.

So here I am, a day and a half later.
And my butt is still sore,
and my heart and soul are happy,
and the sadist is my Master.

There is a peaceful, faraway smile on my face as I head off to bed.

Oh.
Didn't I tell you?
I have permission to cum tonight.