Caning and hockey and sleeping and stuff

And then there's the good stuff. Like her beating me with the rattan yesterday before bedtime, simply because it's the Hockey World Cup, and Sweden played Norway with 3-0 in goals when we shut the teve off and I get ten strokes for every goal. For no particular reason, except that she thinks it's fun and it makes me a little bit more invested in the game when we watch it (at least I look up and goes "Awww" when someone scores a goal, instead of shutting it out completely). Oh, and it's also sexy.

She didn't stop at thirty, but then again I didn't think she would. I had lost count by then (I lost count by two, or something) but there's a difference in the quality of the strokes when she moves from striking a preset number, to simply continuing because it feels good. It's not harder, per se, but different. Both are nice.

Well, nice and painful and difficult, I mean, someone is beating on my bare ass with a big stick, it's not nice as in cuddly-feely-feels good. But it's nice. It's good. It makes me feel that I'm owned and alright and that everything is as it should be. It makes me feel like myself, all the way deep down.

And then she hooked the chain to my collar and we spooned and eventually fell asleep, and gloriously little S slept all night which makes all the difference in the world.