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This story was entered in the Soc.Sexuality.Spanking
summer short story contest in 2001.
Dance of the Cane
By zprymantis@smilingwithteeth.com
It's like fucking. That's the only way I can explain it. Fucking with a
cane. I know it makes no sense, but it's like love, lust, sex and
music. Instead of body parts grinding together and emotions pouring out
in shared body fluid there is the stroke of the cane, the burn of the
flesh and the release of tension. A moment is reached where the people
are gone and in their place are two dancers, moving together,
performing, religious fervor.
Listen to their voices, chanting, and a language rich with symbols. It
makes me horny and I don't know why. It makes no sense.
They continue to watch though the mirror.
************
Resting on pillows, she listens intently, following his movements
around the bed, the subtle changes in his voice, all feelings of
modesty long since abandoned when her panties first came down. Now,
like a reminder to her exposure, making her more naked then complete
nudity ever could, white cotton against the deep red of her
well-spanked flesh, bind together her thighs.
Eighteen cane strokes land, not measured and far apart, more like
lightning, unpredictable and sudden, cutting the air then penetrating
the plump padding of her bottom cheeks, causing her to cry out and beg.
Still there is a quality to her voice that contradicts her words; it
seems as if she hasn't yet had enough. His tone is powerful,
controlling and tense as he picks up the larger cane and explains the
new position, on her knees bottom high, the flesh rounded out and
tight. He strokes the air, preparing, tapping her bottom, and
encouraging her to relax and take all he has to give. You see her
bottom relax and stretch up to offer a submission as the cane lands
hard across the middle.
She lurches forward in pain and cries and his voice guides her back up
into position with a soothing "that's a good girl". That is the moment
that somehow changes things. The one in submission is now the master
the one with the cane is now the slave. Strength and power reversed
this time as the cane stroke lands, and like one they count together
the remaining strokes. Five to go, four to go, three to go - nothing
will stop them before the end where for some reason once determining
the end, no matter what, they both must reach it. Two, one, the final
stroke must be the hardest, taken in silence as he places the cane
gently down.
Then comfort for each of them as they hold each other tightly and kiss.
Understanding what each has given up for the other.
© 2001 by zprymantis@smilingwithteeth.com, not to be
reposted or distributed without permission
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