Until You Bleed

I use the cane, because it’s sharp. We both know that it can make you bleed, if I hit you for hard enough, or long enough. It wouldn’t be fair to use the belt, for example, or the tawse. With either of those I could beat you for hours without breaking your skin.

So: the cane.

You lie face down and grip a pillow. Take audible breaths. Look up at me suddenly, as though you’ve just thought of something. “You’ll stop once there’s… like… how much blood?”

“Any amount of blood.”

“Any?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” You put your face back down in the pillow and I hit you with the cane immediately, before you’re ready to take it. You yelp, convulse. I can see you fighting not to move out of position. I hit you again four or five times, quick and hard, the sound of it hollow and loud in the small room, and you make a different noise with each one, peaking on the fifth, which is all you manage before you squirm up onto your knees.

I put a hand on your back and push you down. There’s no need to force you. Once you’ve taken a few breaths you go quite willingly. There are marks forming on your skin. Welts. Clean, sharp lines across your arse. They haven’t yet broken the skin.

After that I go slower. Aim for the same spot each time – the exact place where the curve of your arse meets your legs. Marks layer over marks. Ten strokes. You manage to stay in place, but you jerk with each stroke, sometimes whimper. I pause after ten. Consider what I’ve done to you so far. If I hit you hard enough we’ll be done in another ten strokes, I’m sure.

I give you a minute to breathe and shift against the bed. Then I line the cane up again, and start to hit you once more, as hard as before, but several inches below the marks I’ve already made.