The Cane Queen

When I lived out on the left coast many moons ago, life was much different. I had broken up with a dominant, was living in my own place, and enjoying my single life greatly. I had no rules, only my own. I attended parties up in San Jose and San Francisco. I played with who I wanted to play with, and I started topping girls at an unusually quick pace *grin*.

I had one particular bottom out there who I’ll call P. P was a cane slut. Her gay Master showed me a few cane tricks, and I began topping P. in earnest any time she and I went to a party together. I started topping other girls with canes. I quickly became addicted to the squeals of glee, and I earned the title of “Cane Queen”. I have several canes of my own in the closet, in addition to a huge bag of other toys that are sadly in need of use.

I was relating this story to a dominant on the phone one night, when he asked me how I felt about the cane being used on me. I had to answer him truthfully, “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had one used on me.” *gulp*

Yea, I knew what was coming next. So do you, don’t you?

He made mention of the fact, with a slight hint of amusement in his voice, that “we’d” have to remedy that. And then proceeded to use the example for punishment.

*gulps more*

You don’t suppose that my lovely, beautiful canes would take any pleasure in hitting their Mistress, do you? (of course they will. They’re fickle little bastards)

It’s not that I’m afraid (ok, maybe a little) of them. It’s just that that’s typically not the kind of pain I can process easily. There’s nowhere to go with that sting that keeps on stinging. As punishment, I’m sure it’s quite effective.

Maybe I’ll burn them before we play *grin*