Chapter 9 Ev
NINE
ev
Iwas shaking, wasn’t I?
“Hey.” Danny all but barked at me. I’d first thought I’d ask Santos.
It made more sense. I felt closer to him, and he’d been recording all the videos for Sir Ismael and really getting into it, but caning my dick might have been a bit too much.
He had said he wasn’t a Dom. I hadn’t asked for more details, but if he wasn’t a Dom, it wasn’t a stretch to say he wasn’t a Sadist, and some subs liked to watch impact play even if they didn’t particularly like it on themselves, but did I want to push him there?
Did I, when part of me was still scared that he’d just say yes because it was me, and we lowkey needed better boundaries? I didn’t. “Are you into this or not?”
“I am.” I swallowed. Danny might not have been the smartest choice, either.
I’d gone to him because I knew he had done it before, and he liked it, and he was less intimidating than his Dom, but he was also very impatient.
And very bad at understanding that not everyone was like him. “But I’m scared, too.”
Danny lowered his phone. Santos had gone out to grab lunch with Carlos during the latter’s break, and Danny had the day off today, so it had seemed like the perfect time to get this out of the way.
I’d put it off for two weeks now. Sir Ismael wasn’t saying anything, but I felt the weight of disappointing him. The absence, too.
I could’ve told him I was backing down, that I wasn’t ready, but I hadn’t wanted to do that. I wanted to go through this. My toes curled at the thought, at the wrongness of the act and the rightness of pleasing my Dom. Of giving him what he wanted and going through my punishment like a good boy.
A good girl?
I should ask him.
I couldn’t ask him until I proved to myself that I could do this.
Danny did it. He said it was hot.
He’d brought me one of the canes they had at the cabin.
It was the closest to beginner level they had, and he explained I didn’t want one of the quote-unquote easiest ones because those broke easily, and dealing with splinters was the worst. I hadn’t planned to hit myself so hard that anything would break, but trusting the experts seemed like the responsible thing to do.
The cane wasn’t as heavy as I’d feared when Danny had mentioned it. It was relatively thin, too, and it wasn’t one of those that were covered with filaments and things that would make it burn ten times more. I’d read the stories.
“Scared as in you’re full of adrenaline, or scared as in you wanna bawl your eyes out and hide under the bed?”
I frowned. I hadn’t thought of it in those terms.
I wrangled my hands together as I considered it.
I was full of adrenaline, of anticipation and anxiety, because CBT was not something I did often.
I had done it when I was starting out and not being the most discerning.
I was pretty sure the reason I didn’t like it then had to do with the Dom I’d done it with—he’d focused too much on what a man I was taking the abuse, and there was nothing about those words that had done it for me.
I kind of wanted to cry, too. I didn’t know about hiding under a bed, but…
The thing was, I didn’t want to cry because I didn’t want to cane my dick. The prickling in my eyes was all due to the shame that came with not fulfilling Sir Ismael’s punishment and what he’d be thinking of me. I didn’t know if it was rational or if it made anything better, but that was all I got.
“Adrenaline,” I managed to whisper. “And…I don’t want to disappoint him.”
Danny leaned back against the bathroom wall. “What happens if you disappoint him?”
I frowned. “Does it matter?”
“Yeah.” He snorted. “Don’t get me wrong, am I driven by the thought of making León proud?
Fuck yeah. Do we use that whole don’t disappoint me shtick?
Yeah. But deep down, I also know that disappointing him is not a thing I can do.
Or, if it were, he wouldn’t do anything that I wouldn’t have begged him to do anyway. ”
I thought about it. I didn’t have an actual answer.
It might be because of the online nature of our dynamic, but I didn’t really know.
I couldn’t be confident to say that Sir Ismael wouldn’t ghost and block me if I didn’t do this, just as I couldn’t say what it meant that, even though the fear was there, it wasn’t making me back down.
“Okay, I’m hitting record,” Danny announced. “You can do it, or you can tell this Dom to fuck off.”
I gulped.
Danny was impatient, but he wasn’t this impatient. I didn’t understand what was going on. He had his phone angled at me again, though, and by the eerie silence, I was guessing it was recording.
I bit my lip. The cane was in my hand, and my dick was, for some unknown reason, at half mast between my legs, with no cage keeping it confined.
Shaky breath in, I closed my eyes. I’d first thought watching would make it better, but the darkness gave me a boost of bravery.
This wasn’t about Sir Ismael, not fully. It was about me discovering my limits. Playing with them in a controlled environment because I could keep myself safe, and Danny was here, too. I wasn’t alone.
The first strike had my dick deflating almost instantly, the sharpness reverberating across my stomach because I had hit more than my dick when I swung it down.
It wasn’t…
No, it hurt, and maybe it was because it was me doing it to myself and not applying that much strength, but it wasn’t…
It was bad. Just not as bad as I thought it would be.
Opening my eyes, Danny had repositioned his stance, but he wasn’t saying anything or looking any particular way. I supposed that meant I wasn’t doing it wrong.
I just had to do it nine more times. To hold on to the tears that pooled at the corner of my eyes, too, while I was at it.
After the first three, I just got into a rhythm where the strikes rained harder, where I wasn’t giving myself time to breathe through them, to let the pain dissipate.
Instead, it built up, turning into this red, pulsating, throbbing heat that eclipsed everything else.
It was only ten strikes. I knew it didn’t take long.
It felt long. It felt like a lifetime of that throbbing pain, of the motion of swinging the cane and hearing the rapid whoosh of air that came before I was hitting my deflating dick.
The head, the underside, the base. I hadn’t done it on purpose, but when I focused on it, angry lines covered the whole thing.
No blood, though.
I breathed out. The sight of the lines had me trembling, the cane clattering as it fell on the floor. The lines would fade quickly, though. My skin had always been like this. I knew that.
“You’re okay?” Danny asked.
I sniffled. He squatted down. He’d been smart when he suggested I stay seated.
I couldn’t find words, though. I knew I had to reassure him. In a way, he’d been the Dom in this, and checking in after was part of aftercare I’d owe him.
My throat clogged up.
“Color, Ev?”
“G-green.”
The whimper that fell out of my lips after uttering the word had more to do with my shame at not being able to speak up than anything else.
“Is it okay if I stay with you while you have your call?”
At first, the words didn’t make sense. It took a few seconds to remember. I had to call Sir Ismael after I’d gone through my punishment.
Could I talk to him, though? Could I send him the video? Danny placed the phone in my hands.
It bothered me that I didn’t know what he was thinking.
Maybe I should’ve taken my chances with Santos. At least I’d feel comfortable snuggling up to him now, and he could kiss it better, and I’d still feel bad about crying, but not as bad. I wouldn’t be fighting against myself not to shed a single tear.
“Yeah.” I didn’t know that it would help me, but I understood that he needed the reassurance, and I wasn’t selfish.
If he needed to stay around, for whatever it was that he was thinking, it would be the responsible thing, the right thing, to let him have what he needed.
I’d just remember to brave up and ask Santos next time, even with the risk of making him uncomfortable.
At least Santos knew more about Sir Ismael.
I wasn’t sure that he was his biggest fan, but it had to be better. “Okay.”
“You’ll need lotion for that, by the way.”
“I know.” He had said it before, but I’d read about it first. Sometimes I worried that the people at Plumas thought I just threw myself headfirst into stuff, but I didn’t. I did my research. I was just not the best at talking about it with everyone the way they were.
I shook it off.
My fingers were trembling when I curled them around the phone. Shame curled in my gut. It would be better alone, but I was with Danny, who did this for fun on a regular Tuesday. He must be thinking…
No. Not going there. I had to focus on getting my heart rate under control. On stopping my chest from heaving up and down as if we’d just run a marathon, and stopping the focus on my dick, and…
And figuring out what I was going to say when Sir Ismael picked up the phone, and it was confirmed that I was a mess.
Well, he already knew I was a mess. He had said that he didn’t mind if I didn’t have a lot to say, or if I wanted him to fill in the silences and guess what they meant.
He checked in, of course, and I knew to safeword if he took things in a direction that I didn’t, but…
This felt more intense than usual. More overwhelming.
“Hello, piggy.”
My breath hitched. Was the volume loud enough for Danny to eavesdrop? Did I want him to? If he did, maybe he’d stop being worried, but…maybe he wouldn’t.
“Hello, Sir.”
“You took your punishment.”
No sound. I moved a hand to my chest, pressing against the racing heartbeat.
“How did it feel?”
“I…” Deep breath. I was still shaking, but it was better. “Did I do good?”
Before Sir Ismael could answer, and before I could overthink the answer, a hand moved to my hair.