Knowing that they'd be going directly to bed once this was done, Sam takes a few moments to change his clothing. Most importantly, he changes his jeans for soft flannel pajama pants, getting rid of his shirt as well.
Once that's done, he goes to the closet, pulling out the flogger and the one cane that they own. Like the black collar, it doesn't see a lot of use. There's too much bite to it for Sam to really be comfortable using it much and it tends to pull Castiel out of subspace. So it's relegated to punishment, which is what Sam needs tonight.
He walks up behind Castiel, placing his hand between the man's shoulder blades. More specifically, over the anti-possession tattoo that had been inked there, along with the three letters around it -- Enochian for Sam's name. He traces the letters, feeling the tension in his muscles. "Two stripes with the cane across your shoulders. Another two across your ass and another two across your thighs," he says steadily. "One for your impatience at the bar, the second for your disobedience here. I will not hesitate to add a third if I must." For whatever might drive him to say two. "I had plans, Castiel. Plans that did not involve teaching you a lesson to remind you who is the master here."
Not the one in charge. They were partners and equals, for the most part, and they both had the power to end a scene. But 'master' was a good word to use because it didn't have awful connotations for either of them. "Once I'm done with the cane, I'll use the flogger. For the moment, I think forty strokes will remind you of your place." Forty strokes was the high end of what Sam would normally administer when they played, more than enough to send Castiel floating. The stripes from the cane would prevent that tonight, focusing each stroke along the sharp lines of the caning.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2014-01-22 07:48 pm (UTC)Once that's done, he goes to the closet, pulling out the flogger and the one cane that they own. Like the black collar, it doesn't see a lot of use. There's too much bite to it for Sam to really be comfortable using it much and it tends to pull Castiel out of subspace. So it's relegated to punishment, which is what Sam needs tonight.
He walks up behind Castiel, placing his hand between the man's shoulder blades. More specifically, over the anti-possession tattoo that had been inked there, along with the three letters around it -- Enochian for Sam's name. He traces the letters, feeling the tension in his muscles. "Two stripes with the cane across your shoulders. Another two across your ass and another two across your thighs," he says steadily. "One for your impatience at the bar, the second for your disobedience here. I will not hesitate to add a third if I must." For whatever might drive him to say two. "I had plans, Castiel. Plans that did not involve teaching you a lesson to remind you who is the master here."
Not the one in charge. They were partners and equals, for the most part, and they both had the power to end a scene. But 'master' was a good word to use because it didn't have awful connotations for either of them. "Once I'm done with the cane, I'll use the flogger. For the moment, I think forty strokes will remind you of your place." Forty strokes was the high end of what Sam would normally administer when they played, more than enough to send Castiel floating. The stripes from the cane would prevent that tonight, focusing each stroke along the sharp lines of the caning.