Catch and Release

It's difficult to describe our time together as "scenes," as I never really know what sort of energy will inspire our time together. Sometimes our play is light, other times, like when punishment is involved, things are a bit more serious. Most times it's a combination of energies which ebb and flow naturally with each other, very much like the brackish water of estuaries where such diverse life is found.

With a long and busy summer coming to a close, I found myself stressed out beyond what I could take on by myself. I naturally found our weekly rendezvous to provide me with small doses of relief in an otherwise busy schedule. In our room, together, the cacophony of mental noise quieted down to a whisper until I could hear only the gentle clapping of spanking against my bottom. Those claps would soon crescendo into wild applause as my bottom repeatedly rose to meet his hand, begging for more. But these simply maintained my sanity, and I was due for a full lobotomy.

It was only a minute, but it felt like forever. I was kneeling in front of the couch, my eyes closed and my wrists tied behind my back. While I was away, I often practiced my submission in this pose, substituting my panties for his silk tie. Like the week before, he is on bended knee, his left hand gently on my sternum holding me steady. His right hand is armed with a cane, gently resting on my bottom, in preparation for flight. The first snap of the cane is cruel by nature. With each stroke I relax into the pain. It's different this time as the novelty from the previous week was gone but the pain inside of me is great, greater than any stroke that he could possibly deliver. This doesn't seem to phase him, and just makes him work harder. As the sharp stings intensify as they layer upon each other like a nightmare game of pick-up-sticks, I begin to cry out in pain, both physical and emotional. I fall forward, but instead of inviting the cane with my bottom high in the air, I bury my head into the couch, lying at a forty-five degree angle from the floor. He continues to cane me through the soft sobbing of my false protest. My whole body shakes as the stress that has built up slowly escapes my body. When he knows that I have had enough, he lowers his cane, unties me and tries to pick my head up. I don't want him to look at me, to see my crying eyes. He allows me to keep my head down, as he sits on the couch and pulls me towards him. I sit, kneeling at his feet and my head in his lap. I let the tears quietly roll off my face while he holds my head, stroking my hair. When I'm ready, I crawl onto his lap and he gently brushes my hair out of my face, making room to kiss the tears that represent the profound gift he has just given me.

We slowly come out of that very intense experience. My adrenaline is running high and our quiet whispers of love slowly transform into more casual discussions. As time is running out, he whispers to me that he isn't done yet. I get giddy with excitement, hoping he brings out the bigger cane, usually saved for our grand finales. I bend over the end of the spanking horse, the preferred place to receive such a caning. With all the hard work already done, I relaxed as I admired him through the mirror, watching him go through his own ritual before he took the cane to my bottom. I smiled as I recalled the silent exchange of emotions as he held me, just moments before. After the first few cane strokes, I quickly became aware that his work from before was unfinished. I stopped smiling, stopped watching and instead closed my eyes and put my head down against the padded vinyl. I let my arms hang loosely to either side, resting on a support bar. My breathing slowed down and I could no longer feel anything and everything at the same time. He paused between strokes and I whispered, "Please don't stop." I surrendered completely to the submission, and finally, felt numb.

After a few more strokes, he stopped. I took it as a false kindness for him to tell me it was enough, as my heart screamed out for more. It was only afterwards when the endorphins started to wear off and I was brought out of That Space that I realized my bottom was not in agreement.

The experience was profound, and left me wondering if all of that really happened. The noise had stopped, and I found that among the most sacred of rooms we have built together. But nothing was going to keep me from leaving that space, as I was caught, caught behind the red, horizontal bars that didn't keep me captive, but in fact, provided me the release I so desperately needed to find.