It takes nothing to draw blood with a knife – the words even feel right together: knife-blood, blood-knife. A single-tail whip, such as a bull whip, with its thin waxed cord moving at the speed of sound, will draw blood readily; indeed it takes great skill to stop it doing so. But a cane; a cane is different. A cane doesn’t want to draw blood; it has to be forced. It has to be swung fast, hard and repeatedly.
Unlike the knife or the whip, the cane is a blunt instrument and has no means of slicing neatly between the surface skin cells to release the blood underneath. Instead it has to destroy those cells, battering them with blow after blow until they cease to exist. Alternatively all the surface tissue, both the skin and the underlying muscle, has to be destroyed in a single blow that sinks deep into the flesh, as a Singapore style punishment cane will do. Only then, with the protective layers utterly obliterated, can the blood reach the surface.
It follows that any caning that produces blood is a serious caning indeed.
So what were my thoughts a couple of months ago, when the Mistress who has been leading me willingly into heavier corporal punishment scenes, showed me a cane red with my own blood for the first time? Showed me this cane in fact:
I shiver slightly now, just looking at the blood on the cane again. Not from memory of the beating that led to it being there, but because this is MY BLOOD. Furthermore, it wasn’t shed as a result of an accident or injury. It was shed as the result of a deliberate choice; as a result of an action so premeditated that I had planned it weeks in advance and was paying for it.
I found I had two conflicting reactions that somehow existed simultaneously.
On the one hand:
It pulls me up short. This is new and uncomfortable. Shocking. Until now this has been play; demanding, violent, even extreme, yet explainable as a form of recreation. The pain and the pleasure, the erotic and the severe are colours on a palette from which the Mistress creates swirling pictures of sensation and emotion with artistry and panache. But Blood. Blood is a discordant vermillion streak through a scene of harmonious blues and greens. It can’t be ignored. Blood speaks not of kink or play but of behaviour norms breached, of dark and forbidden fantasies. Blood speaks of self abuse. If I deliberately participate in activities that make me bleed, are my kinks out of control. Am I safe? Am I safe from myself?
And yet, in the same mind, at the same time, this is going on:
Yes! Blood! HA! I never went this far before. We just moved up a level in this game we play. It’s exciting, thrilling, breath-taking. It’s debauched and illicit. The blood on the cane renders worthwhile the fight to overcome the pain, the stubborn perseverance with which I allowed her to beat me. I had kept quiet that she might feel the freedom to let her demons out and just thrash me at will, unfettered by yells of pain or safe words. This is my reward; to know that I let her beat me till I bled, till HER cane was red with MY blood. I’m proud of this, pleased with myself, pleased with my gift to her. My blood. On her cane. What could be hotter than that?
It makes no sense for these two reactions to live together. Yet they well represent the constant conflict that exists in my sense of self; the conflict between the mostly pleasant, mostly hard working family man and the masochistic, rapacious, hedonist.
For more blood go here:
I long for the cane. I lust for it, i am so proud that i have a girlfriend who uses the cane on me… And i am euphoric afterwards, although i wince every time i sit down for the next day or two. The first time it was hard enough to bleed i felt uncomfortable as she wiped me with a damp towel… And apologetically splashed hot water on the sheets. By the 3rd or 4th time it felt normal and right and appropriate.
All that is true of the kooboo or dragon cane, which stings like mad but because of my nature is good for me. The synthetic cane, on the other hand, is never something i accept willingly… There are only certain positions in which i can even accept it without jerking around or screaming safe words. But she orders it sometimes
I really appreciate this post. The conflict you showed in your two sets of thoughts is similar to some self questioning I’ve been doing in regards to receiving pain, especially if blood is involved. So, thank you! It is really helpful to see it from the perspective of someone so actively in the kink lifestyle.
Aurora x
Yep, totally get those conflicting emotions. When he makes me bleed I always have a mixed reaction like that
Mollyxxx
I’m absolutely terrified of the cane but this leaves me longing to experience that, I love it when he draws blood from me!
This almost makes me want to be hit, just once or twice, with a cane. Coming from someone who says canes are an absolute no, you’ve made quite the impression.
It’s surprising to me that the two reactions so far to this post come from people saying it made them want to be caned. I’m not sure I expected that.
A cane is certainly a special thing. There are only two things that matter in a first time caning:
– The choice of the cane
– The choice of the caner
The rest is down to understanding and communication.
First of all, I hate the cane. With a vengeance.
But…
Reading this, reading how much you can take and reading the two reactions on the end, makes me crave to be pushed to the edge, to be tested for how much I can take. I will never ask for it, because you know ‘be careful what you wish for’, but I am totally intrigued!
Rebel xox