* You can find the third part of Sunnygirl's Winds of Change story here.
I feel I need to speak a word about canes. Okay, two words – they suck! The last two times Nick felt that he really needed to get my attention he used the damn cane. I spent the first fifty-some years of my life completely cane free. I was a happy spanko. Once I came out I was more than content with our paddles, hairbrush, belts, flogger, and leather straps. I’d read about canes and in one insane burst of idle curiosity mentioned to Ronnie that I might like to see what one felt like. Geeze, I was just making conversation! Who knew she was going to send me not one, but two, of the damn things!
Spankos are terrible about things like this. Never mention something you’re thinking about trying unless you want the friggin’ thing showing up on your doorstep (provided you’ve supplied them with your address.) Now I sent her a dogging bat, but hey – they’re fun! It’s not a damn cane!
Maybe it’s cultural. When I was growing up kids might be paddled at school, but no one had ever heard of being caned. The closest we came down here in the south was being switched. That sucked too. It was one of those swift punishments – and angry parent, seeing something you did, usually outside, marches out, snaps off a switch from a willow tree or some horrible bush. They quickly strip off the leaves, grab one arm and you dance around is a circle as they stripe your legs from butt to calf in front of all your friends who were in the yard playing. For some reason in our neighborhood it was usually the mom or grandmother doing this. Father’s usually reached to undo their belt.
My dad never used anything but his hand and his voice. The few times he spanked me was when I ‘disappointed’ him and he sounded disappointed. Seriously, that would have been enough. I always felt terrible. Mom didn’t spank when she was ‘disappointed’ only when she was pissed! LOL! She was a typical mom and I loved he to death but she did stripe my legs a time or two, probably not nearly as often as I deserved.
The damn cane leaves marks too. Now actually I don’t mind the marks at all, just how they got there. It’s not that I normally have to worry about anyone seeing them. But the last time Mollie was here we went shopping together. When trying on clothes we grabbed a big room so we could tell each other how we looked. I never gave one thought to the two random, nearly parallel, marks I had just peaking out from my panties. But Mollie noticed.
“What happened?” she asked conversationally.
I looked to see what she was looking at and took a mental gasp. She wasn’t down looking with a magnifying glass, so I ran my hand over the spot and said vaguely, “Hmm… I don’t know. Must have been one of the cats.” She seemed satisfied.
So I put the blame on my poor, sweet little cats, but now you know why it’s really Ronnie’s fault!