As the first rattan stroke lashed down, my memory of beatings past surfaced. I remembered distinctly how I’d grown to like the sting, which wasn’t...what was meant to happen in a punishment. Yes, I liked the bite and the sting, and maybe the shame too! A second stroke broke my nostalgic reverie as it hit just below where the first had landed. Both marks throbbed and ached as my tormentor paced around the room, whipping the cane through the air. He cackled and admonished me, “I hope I’m getting. I was filled with his breath, him with mine. There was a musky smell to our mingled breaths, and from other parts of us, a sweet mouth taste, the touch of skin and tongues, blood roaring in our ears along with the rush of water.We tried to make the two of us into one, arms and legs and bodies squishing against each other. When he grabbed my ass and lifted me I spread my legs, wrapped them around him. He jammed me back against the cold shower wall. I love a strong man. I welcomed his. More

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