A Kinky Dance

I heard him swinging it behind me.

Heard it, because I was bent over the side of his bed waiting for him as he switched from the paddle to, what I was now hearing – the whippy bitch cane.

He walked back to me swishing that cane back and forth in the air making sure I could hear what he had.

Fuck.

I have a love-hate relationship with that whippy bitch cane.  It doesn’t take much for him to turn a rapid tap-tap-tap across my ass from a delicious pain to a pain that makes me swear up a storm until I finally have to stand up to make it stop.  It’s skinny in a way that when he strikes my skin hard – it almost feels like it is cutting into my skin in terms of the pain I feel. Especially on top of paddle marks.

That fucking cane…..she can make me dance.

She can make me shiver and shake around as I try to work through the pain.

She can make me sing too – from moans to whimpering ’til she pulls from my lips the profanity filled prose that makes him chuckle, then ask “you aren’t swearing at me, are you?”

“No, Daddy, I’m swearing at her – that whippy bitch of a cane.”

“Why don’t you stand right there – put your hands above your head.”

“No thank you, Daddy”

He laughed openly then – then called me a funny girl before telling me to assume the position.

I did – and I grimaced knowing what was to come. That fucking whippy bitch cane – he seemed to know how to wield it so it struck my nipple sending me into another series of dances around the room as I made my own music of profanity.  He did this over and over again knowing how much it fucked with me – always.  He was the mad conductor with his cane – and I was dancing and making music at his hand.

And as he did it – he smirked at me.

“Oh, you don’t like that one? I have others,” he taunted.

Then he went to his toy bag and pulled out his other two canes.

“Stand still – hands above your head.”

I looked at his amused face as he was trying to figure out his target.  He swung the cane as though to hit my breasts then struck my abs – then the front of my thighs, before hitting my breasts.  The mind fuck as he made me guess and anticipate where it would strike before striking me elsewhere.  The repeated action amused him, mad me laugh and yell and dance and entertain him more.

“Sit down on the edge of the bed” he told me.

I sat on the edge of the bed suspecting what was to come only to have it quickly confirmed as the cane came down hard on the fronts of my thighs.  I jumped up and danced around with the pain before I sat back down again.

“What’s funny,” he observed, “is how much you swear and dance and cry out from the pain, yet your pussy is dripping, your phermones are filling the room, and you keep coming back for more, you silly girl.”

And more he gave me until my thighs had some nice stripes, my breasts had a few too, then he turned me over and put some on my ass.

And I danced and sang my song of profanity – and he chuckled and laughed

And we both got high off of the scene until we collapsed into bed – flying high on the energy, energy that drove us to even more play of a different sort.

I guess, in hindsight, I shouldn’t curse that whippy bitch of a cane too much.  Led to a fun play session – and lots of stripes for me on my body.  Reminders of where he had been – what we had done.

The curse of loving something you hate too much, I guess.

That fucking cane.

And don’t even get me started on Fucking Fred.

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