dorei

I love a good caning. I love the whistling sound it makes before it strikes me, cutting into me, leaving various lines and welts. Bind my breasts tightly until the discolored flesh stands out before you, a tempting, easy target, defenseless against your onslaught. When you cane a bound breast, it can split the skin if you strike too hard. And I want you to strike it hard. I want to bleed for you.

Suspend me from the cross, and batter the insides of my thighs, faster and faster, without surcease, without respite, pausing only to lick the tears that roll down my cheeks as I cry and writhe in my bondage to you. Cane the delicate skin behind my knees and on the soles of my feet. Leave no small part of me unmarked by the passage of that narrow piece of wood. Make me scream.