Planes and Butterflies

College Guy visited me more than a week ago, and I think that we both had a lovely time. On the last day he was here, we went for a drive and attempted to find a trail or park.. It was a cold, dreary day, but as we hopped out of the car to explore the trails, I breathed the fresh air in and something in me relaxed. I really need to do more hiking and exploring the outdoors. I miss that.

As the cold air blew on us from all sides, and as I felt my toes begin to freeze, College Guy remained cheerful.

"Keep your eyes open for a good looking switch," he told me.

My walk turned into a skip. "What?" I laughed, spinning around to face him, then spinning around again. "What?"

"I'm serious, Bonnie-jo, I'm going to switch you at some point. This is half the reason why you didn't have to drag me out here."

I pick up a random stick and throw it away, declaring it too dry and old. He picks up a huge one--probably about 4 feet long.

"Uhh..." I eye it. "That's kinda big." I take it from him and start to attack the ground with it. "Besides," I say as I smack it repeatedly on the ground, "It's breaking, see."

Before we left for the hike, we had been watching tv on the sofa. One of my roommates was in her room, so I was sitting demurely cuddled by his side. At one point, my trip to see my family for Christmas came up.

"My plane is probably going to crash, and I'm going to die." I tease. He hates this. I know it's not superstition, and I realize that it's mean of me. But still, it gets nice reactions. Sometimes.

His hands are suddenly around my chest and he pulls me down onto the couch, sort of back into him. It's too much PDA for my prudish public habits, and I hiss, "Let me up!! Hey, stop. Let me up!"

"Say you're sorry for what you said."

"Okay, I'm sorry that I said I'm going to die on a plane crash." He lets go.

I sit up, laughingly. "Guess, what? I'm going to die in a plane crash." I never learn. He grabs me again, but this time, I manage to evade his grasp. He lets it go.

Now, on the trail, College Guy has found a stick. We reach a bend in road, and there is a random post, right in the middle of the bend.

"Put your hands there, I'm spanking you here."

"Put my hands where? How? Show me." I stall.

I was hoping he might model the pose for me. No such luck. He unceremoniously grabs my arm and moves me towards the post as he brings the switch down hard, right on my jeans. "Oww!" I say.

"Keep still." The switch comes down again. It's more like a thick stick. And it's not breaking. Just hurting.

"I want you to understand that you are not getting away with saying depressing things like dying on plane crashes just to be depressing. Do you understand?" He brings the switch down again and again, and I wiggle my butt away away, trying to control the spots he keeps focussing on. My jeans are on, something that never really happens, but this hurts a lot. "Owww, yes, I understand!"

"Good girl."

He throws the stick down and we walk off down the trail, hand in hand.

Half a minute later, I peruse my trail map. "The Butterfly Trail," I say. "We could try that one. But all the butterflies are probably dead." He gives me a stern look. I smile cheekily.

"You haven't had enough, have you?" He says.

"No, I have too," I lie. "I"m just wondering, like how long do they live?"

He searches for another stick.

"No, wait, hey, I mean, do they live through the winter or do they all die and if they do, how do more exist?" (I guess I missed that part of elementary school science...)

But he didn't believe my curiosity and spanked me anyway. I'm not complaining.


The Bet--A continutation

Part One of "The Bet"

Part Two

"Close the door and I'll think about it."

He smiled. "You're funny, darling."

"Let's go see a movie. It's not even 10 yet. There's still some showing, I'm sure."

"Get out."

"I know what. We could--"

She ended the phrase in a shriek as he reached into the car, grabbed her arm, and pulled her onto the pavement. "Stand up, young lady, what will the neighbor's think?" He smiled.

She selfconsciously looked left then right. "Let me go right now, okay?"

He swatted her lightly, while holding onto her upper arm. She let out a tiny squeak of shock, and he lowered his head to her ear. "Shhh....someone might hear you. Now we wouldn't want the neighbor's knowing I tan your little ass whenever I think you need me to, now would we. ..?"

"Fine, fine, I'm coming. You're the one talking so loud anyway. Ow! You're hurting my arm---" And she jerked her elbow out into a three-sixty as she swiveled her wrist in a similar fashion, breaking his grasp.

The snow broke her fall somewhat, but it still dazed her as she fell to the ground, his hands around her knees. She felt a pressure on her back as the cold air hit her bottom.

"Hey! What are you doing? No, no, not here!" She twisted under his pinning knee as he pulled her jeans a bit farther down. "Stop it! Ahhhhh!!!" Her pleas turned into shrieks as a handful of snow met her wiggling rear end. "What are you doing? That's cold, damn it!"

"Preparing your bottom for the thrashing it's about to take. I didn't think of it until just now."

"I'm going to catch pneumonia or something. Let me up!"

"Nah...so you don't want to get spanked inside. We'll spank you outside." And his open palm came down hard across her bottom. Once, twice, three times.

"I'll go inside. I will. I will!! I promise I will. "

"Yes, well, we both know how you feel about promises lately."

 She stilled her squirming. "That's not fair."

"It's fair. You know it's fair. What you did was not fair. Do you have any evidence that supports this not being fair?"

There was a long silence.

She felt the weight on her back shift a little, then she heard a familiar sound. Woosh-wooosh-woosh---jingle.

(To be continued. I must go write a paper for class.)


Until You Cry

I used to imagine how hard a spanking might have to be to get me to cry.
 I remember the things I used to fantasize about when I was a young teen. It must have been some kind of spin-off from feelings I had as a small child. I hope no one freaks that I'm going here, but I want to be able to go anywhere when it comes to thinking about spanking. I was a good kid, and discipline didn't happen often. (And I would say it often happened when it shouldn't have, and didn't happen when it should have.) However, I knew the secret---cry soon, cry hard, cry loud. It makes the person stop a ton sooner everytime.
In my fantasies, however, I'd tell the man about to discipline me, "I'm not going to cry."
And he'd say, "That's perfectly fine. You don't have to."
It was always like this in my head, in the stories I'd make up in my mind. And in those stories, she (I) would always end up crying. But not because it was a must.
I cried with College Guy the second time I met up with him.
 My vanilla ex had recently been trying to get back together with me, and my emotions were all over the place.
There was a punishment spanking we had planned. I remember being sorry for the thing I had done. It was something that had caused undue stress to College Guy and something that had been irresponsible--I had not answered my phone for hours and hours knowing full well that I had agreed to talk to him, and that I had just flown back to college and he would want to know if I'd arrived safely.
The punishment spanking didn't make me cry though. I told him, "If I cry, it's because I'm so tired and stressed. It's not because of the spanking."
Afterwards, I told him I was worried about hurting him. I was afraid he was getting too close, falling in love with me.
He told me that I was a great friend and person. That I don't hurt my friends, at least not often. I was lolling on the hotel bed with just a hoodie and boy-short panties on.
" I don't think I'm a good person." I mumbled, running my fingertips in little circles on the bedspread.
"Do you want me to put you back over my knee?" He  threatened warmly.
I looked down and mumbled, "No...I mean..No, I'm not a good person." It was my story and I was sticking to it.
"Get over."
"What? Nooooo.." I grumbled as he grabbed my arm and dragged me over his lap, his back propped up against the headboard.
Between smacks, he asked me, "So, how are you a bad person?"
I hemmed and hawed. "Uhh..it's really just a feeling. I don't know. Ow. You already spanked me..."
He slapped each cheek harder and harder. Then paused, "For someone who keeps saying, 'I'm a bad person', you really don't have much to defend yourself with."
He spanked. He lectured. And I argued right back.
"Alright," he said. "Get up for a minute." He stalked off to his backpack and returned with Gepetto, the bath brush.
"No, no, no, you already used that on me." I whined.
He stretched out on the bed and patted his lap. "Now, Bonnie-jo."
I placed myself resignedly over him.
"I'm going to spank you until you cry, okay?"
But the question was not directed at me. It sounded like he was thinking out loud to himself.  But I put in my two cents anyway.
"No, no no! Please. You know I can't cry. Besides..ahhghghgh...no! I'm just depressed right now. About my ex and all. I know how to deal with this stuff. When I'm depressed, I have to distract myself until it passes. You can't fix it."
"I'm going to spank you to tears."
And then he started.
College Guy is right-handed, and yet I was positioned in the opposite direction over his lap. Not my fault. He'd pulled me there. And yet, that bath brush hurt unbelievably. If a bath brush spanks well with the weak hand/arm, you know you've got yourself a bath bruth that needs to get lost somehow. Or to be used as some kind of ceremonial incense.
I still had my hoodie on. But then it somehow came off. I must have been flailing about a bit. So now I only had on a black bra. At one point he asked me one of those "Yes, Sir" type of questions. I responded with an angry-as-I-could-make-it "Yes!!"
"Is that hostility in your voice?" He unecessarily asked.
Then he promptly undid my bra and slipped it off my shoulders. I had never been completely naked in his prescence before. "Noo..." I begged. But I didn't try to struggle.  It made me feel smaller, more vulnerable. And I lay still, as he smacked and smacked and talked and talked. I argued back at times, but I didn't feel like arguing as much as it progressed. It seemed like it would never end.
The smacks were very slow though. Hard. But slow.
He kept spanking and checking my face for tears. Spank, spank, spank...and then he would incline his head to the side to catch a glimpse of my face. Kind of adorably attentive now that I look back at it....
At one point, I began to struggle really hard again. It was the worst of the storm before the calm. He stopped the bathbrush, and I stopped the struggling. Had I won?
Then, "You are a good person, Bonnie-jo." Smack! "This is a two -way street." Smack! "You don't have to be perfect here." Smack! "It's about trust. It's about trusting your friends with the friendship you offer. You can trust your friends--"
And I lost it. It was because he said the things about trusting. I think that trust is one of the most baffling things about relationships. You're supposed to do it with God. And I never could much. You're supposed to do it with your friends. And I don't especially.
I began to sob deeply, but almost silently.
He spanked a little more. That helped me stop crying. It was a nice distraction from the tears.
And then it was over. I rolled off his lap and curled up in a little ball. And just breathed. He held me for a bit.
And, it didn't fix things exactly. But I felt better. And excited. We had crossed a boundary in our spanking relationship. It was a first for both of us.


Hot Spanking Story--How Dare She....

I think I could almost "get off" on this story.  It sends shivers in all the right places. It had me swirling down down down into that place where one's breath deepens, eyes glaze over, and there is nothing except a brain -swirly- feeling and the sure knowledge that something amazing is going to happen--namely, a very good spanking.
I love the buildup!
I'm in the middle of writing a paper for school, but in the midst of a break, I found this spanking story "How Dare He?" . The author amazed me. I have had a very similar fantasy that I've played over and over again in my head as a teenager. There was a chase involving horse riding--with a man intent on spanking in close pursuit of a naughty young girl.  There was a horse that threw the  mischevious young girl. There was an angry and concerned man who had to then spank the girl. Ahhhh.....how dare she take my ideas?? Hahha!
Really this story has made my night!
The email address of the author is at the bottom of the page. Just in case you want to write and tell them how amazing they are.



I changed clothes at a MacDonald's. My bulging backpack hid the school girl skirt, the knee length boots, the polo shirt and short double-breasted jacket. Stepping into the restroom was an easy task. But as I struggled into the clothing, I fought a momentary nausea. Get the job done, I told myself. I checked myself in the mirror. All was in order. Walked out the door and held my head high. One of the employees  watched me through the window between his floor sweepings.

I don't remember the car ride to that hotel lobby. The radio was on, and I was undoubtedly  attempting to console myself by singing to it. This is my recourse when life is scary. I'll do it when traffic is hectic. And I'll do it when I'm about to get spanked by a complete stranger. So I did it when I was about to meet My Magician for the first time.

We had talked a lot online.  And we had agreed to meet in a public place--first the hotel lobby, then drinks at the hotel restaurant. I was safe. But what if he was a cranky, gross old man?  And what if I wasn't safe?  I had decided I didn't care if I was safe. Kids, don't try this at home; I don't recommend it. But in the end, there are no absolutes....

I knew College Guy by this time. He had given me my very first spanking. We were very close. But I had wondered what it would be like to have someone to see just for discipline. Someone older, someone mature, someone who had been giving spankings for a long time. A mentor. An almost-father-figure. I was hoping against hope that such a  relationship was possible, that maybe I could have a relationship like that. Someone who wasn't looking for anything sexual. A strict disciplinarian. No drama. Just spankings. I had wanted that kind of relationship ever since I was 6 years old.

It was the moment of truth. I forced my shaking legs out of my car, and, cell phone in hand, stepped towards the hotel lobby doors. The doors were clear glass, and I saw a man sitting in a the only chair that faced the doors. Waiting.

He rose with a smile. He didn't really look like his pictures--it's always a relief to see someone in real life, I think, as opposed to what you imagine from a picture. I think we shook hands. Maybe. He commented that he didn't expect me to look so happy to see him. Yes, I was grinning like a fool....And then he inclined his head to the left and told me, "Come." It was a beginning.

The booth we sat in was leather. Black leather. My short skirt continually slid up. And I kept shifting in my seat, trying to get comfortable against the slippery leather. Waiting.

We chatted. I felt like I was talking to an old teacher from high school. It was normal, relaxed--except for the occasional double entendre concerning spanking. But he kept those to a minimum...in retrospect, I'm sure it was painful for him. I almost forgot why I was there. Then he said with a warm smile, "I think we're going to go back to my hotel room now, and give you a good spanking. Not too good, of course. We'll save that for tomorrow." The point of his statement had already been discussed at length. This night would be an introductory spanking. The next day would be punishment.

Before I knew it, I was in his hotel room. Christmas music played at a low pitch from  his laptop. "Bar-ump-ump-ump-uhmmm...Me and my drum..." 

"I have to go change, " I remember mumbling. His smile was suddenly gone. "Because...because..." I stammered. "Because I didn't wear the thong you told me too."

"I distinctly told you to wear a thong, Miss Bonnie-jo," He said sternly but not ill-humoredly.

" I know, but I was worried about my skirt flapping around in the restaurant." I replied meekly.

"Go change. Now."

I came back later, all shy and retreating. He was seated in an armchair, and he held out his hand.  I gingerly settled myself over his lap, and  he spanked slowly. Lifted up the skirt. Continued the spanks. My heart was thudding. I'm really here...I'm doing this...I can't believe it.

And then it started to feel really good. That perfect in-between-hurting -a -little- and -hurting- a -lot place.

As he spanked, he started to talk. "This is what needs to happen to girls like you, Bonnie-jo. You need to be spanked. You need to be spanked on you bare bottom." I giggled.

"And sometimes," He smacked extra hard, and I let out a small yelp. "Sometimes, girls like you need to be taught a lesson. Especially if they've been making fun of their discipliner's age when they've talked to him online." SMACK! "You had fun playing games and making jokes, didn't you, Bonnie-jo?" Smack, Smack, Smack, Smack!

"Yes!" I giggled. It really wasn't hurting at all.

"And that's fine with me." He paused the spanking and said, "But tomorrow, I expect there to be no games, no backtalk, no funny and cutesy Bonnie-jo. Tomorrow is about a serious spanking. Do you understand?"

I said nothing. I may have giggled.

"Do you understand?"

No answer. This is how you test your spankers, dear brats. Especially if the spanking is feeling amazing.

"Get up." He commanded. I rose. He kept his hands on my arms and pulled me gently onto his knee. "Sit."

"I know what you're doing, Young Lady. You want to push me into spanking you hard tonight."

I nodded. "Yes."

"It's not going to work. You'll get your hard spanking tomorrow. You may wish you'd never asked for it. But for now, you must wait."


Better Not Pout

My spanko mind must be entertained, so at work the other day, I brightened up when I saw the customer I was ringing up place a small wooden decoration on the counter between us. It read, "Better Not Pout". And I couldn't help giggling.

She giggled back. My mind raced, and the question, "Could she be a spanko?" flitted around my brain.

"That's awesome." I commented.

She nodded.

"Pouting is essential." I grin.

"Yeah, the boyfriend likes to pout. I thought I should get it."

I struggled to hold my smile. Ah well...I suppose she could still be a spanko....

For me, pouting is usually a plea for the top to take charge, or to continue in the road they've taken, despite my pouting. It's a test perhaps, to see if they'll back down and let me decide. And it's also an encouragement. Keep on doing what you're doing, it says. I like it. I need it.

So, why the blazes do I have to use reverse psychology to communicate? Why can't I say, "Yes, Sir...so it is, Sir...I will do better, Sir....Thank you for telling me, Sir" ?

I'm lying face down on the hotel bed, and my fuzzy blue blindfold is on. College Guy has  soft rope that he's attempting to use to tie my wrists behind my back. It's taking awhile, and I can tell he feels unsure.

"Almost done," he apologizes.

"That's fine. Take your time." I offer. I know what's coming after he gets me tied--lots and lots of bath brushing.

He fumbles around and I feel one of my wrists free of the rope. I surreptitiously bring it underneath my chest, out of his reach.

A half second goes by and I immediately realize how stupid the move was. I'm in a vulnerable place, and we're about to start the worst part of my spanking.

"Put it back, now."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!!" I plead. I mutter, "Stupid, stupid..." under my breath as I wonder what I could have been thinking.

"If you think for one moment you're in control, Bonnie-jo, you're very very wrong, and I will smack that thought right out of you."

Perhaps I'm stuck in my testing ways. Bratting is such a  large part of the fun. But also, it's sort of about being overthrown. If I don't put up a fuss, then it's way too easy for him, right? I want him to win but at some kind of cost.

Yes, in the end, it' s my decision to follow him. But I don't want to make it easy. That's no fun.

Does this make me selfish? Perhaps.

But I like knowing what I want. "Know thyself" and all that good stuff.


Spanking Party

I went to my very first spanking party the other day. After muddling my way through a crowded downtown area and calling the spanking host for directions because I didn't write all of the details he sent me down (no, he didn't spank me for it), I arrived at a two story warehouse-like building with warm lighting and wooden floors.

I didn't really know why I was there. But from the moment I heard the tell-tale "Thwack, crack, smack" sounds rising from the bottom floor and mixing with the warm rumble of chatter, I knew I was in the right place. At least, it sounded like the right place.

You never realize how loud a spanking is until you aren't the one receiving it. It was a small group, and although the area was large, it was all one open room. We were often arrested in the midst of conversation by the sounds proceding from the spanking side of the room. One of the tops, after a particularly punishing blow dealt by the paddle in his hand, remarked to the onlookers, "That one hurt my ears too." Guess you're a good spanker if you need to wear ear plugs.

I was in the mood for a good spanking. My Magician had told me, "Don't expect much, and you won't be dissapointed much. Just see how it goes." Well, that was the nice thing he said. There was also, "What are you going to wear? " "What? Your short-shorts? Those are my short shorts....You say the other short shorts?? Those are mine too!"

Me going to this party was a strain on both of them--College Guy and My Magician. Actually, the reason I was going to the party was because College Guy had told me about it. That's because he literally knows everything....(You think I'm being sarcastic...well...hehe... don't tell anyone.)

About 3 hours before the party, after getting off IM chat with My Magician, I started messaging College Guy.

"I have to get ready for the party. It's in only 3 hours. And I've gotten no homework done. Ahhh!! I'm nervous!"

"You don't need 3 hours to get ready, silly girl. Do some homework."


"You have time. Besides, I"m not asking, I'm telling."


"Stop saying that. I'm serious."  (Do I ever believe him? Nooooooo.)

"Why not? It's fun."

"Do a bit of homework before you get ready. You have time."


"Do some homeowork or I'll cane you."


 Don't try to tell a nervous brat to do homework. Not unless you enjoy being frustrated.

After about an hour of light hearted chatting, sharing, and giggling at the people getting spanked--I knew I was in the right group when an especially loud CRACK! was not met with concern but with giggles and smiles from the chatting participants--I decided to play. I didn't really want to. It's one thing to play with someone you know. And it's one thing to play in a group with someone you know. But to bare most of your bottom (I kept my panties on) to a group of strangers and let another complete stranger wack it...it was beginning to sound crazy to me. However, I was even more scared of me hating myself for being scared later, when the party was over and I had time to think about it. And even more importantly, I wanted a spanking--any spanking.

All in all, it was a good spanking. As far as the physics of spanking go, the dude did a fine job. There was a ton of variety in methods used. Short, fast, hard, gentle, straight on, sweeping up, both hands, one hand, and etc.  There was even one time when he would switch between his hand and the small paddle he was using right in the middle of  a bunch of strokes. It kept me wondering what would happen next. But I was confused. Confused during and more confused afterwards. Sure, I had that silly "I'm getting spanked" smile on my face the whole time. But afterwards, I curled up next to a newly-made-bottom-friend and struggled to keep the smile on my face.

I almost wish I hadn't played. I feel cheap because of how much I didn't get to experience. I missed the power play. Sure, I'm a spanko. But spanking is at most 75% of the picture. It might only be 50%. I miss My Magician. I miss College Guy. I miss being able to relax in their hands. I miss testing them. I miss the game that isn't really a game. I miss the reality.

Sometimes, I wonder if I'm what people call a "submissive". I hate that word. It doesn't even look nice. It doesn't look respectable. It looks like someone who is under something, shorter than something, groveling, bowing, begging, or silent. It makes me think of social problems, inequality, and ignorance. Am I a "submissive"?

"We are a bottom-driven group", the group host told all of us at the spanking party. "This means when the bottom says, 'Stop', you stop. This means if the bottom is good after one swat, you stop." I didn't like hearing this. I understood, but it took half of the fun away. I want to be pushed. I want to be stretched. I want to brat, and I want to be punished.

However, I realized, after a day or so of sulking because I didn't get my power-play-high, that there is no way to get a power-play high with a stranger. And if two strangers tried to attempt such a thing with one another, they'd be playing with fire. The only way to let complete strangers play like this is for the bottom to have too much control . A necessary evil, I'll admit. I'd so much rather play with the good kind of fire, like the kind I played with over the summer.

And in a way, I'm glad I had the reaction I did. It helped me realize how much I love what College Guy and I have and what My Magician and I have. Both people could never ever be easily replaced. They are a  precious part of my life, and sometimes, I feel like one of the luckiest girls in the world.


My Musical Mind

Song Lyrics:

1. "I'm a genie in a bottle, baby...gotta make a big impression, got like watchu do."--Christina Aguilera, Genie in a Bottle
2. "Your lips my biggest weakness, shouldn't have let you know. I'm always gonna do what they say." --Justin Bieber, You Smile
3. "Those schoolgirl days, of telling tales and biting nails are gone. But in my mind I know they still live on and on." --Lulu, To Sir With Love
4. "Just gonna stand there and watch me burn. That's all right because I like the way it hurts." --Rihanna, Love the Way You Lie
5. "Just leave with me now, say the word and we'll go. I'll be your teacher, I'll show you the rules."--Jason DeRulo, In My Head
6. "And when it's love, if it's not rough it isn't fun." --Lady Gaga, Poker Face


Canes and Breaking Implements

The cane was worse than the 3-holed paddle. I had no idea! We had something to talk about... It was all planned ahead of time. College Guy loves planning this stuff.  He plans it, then tells me about it weeks ahead of time, so that I can think about it/worry about it every moment of every day....I'm joking, I'm joking!! Me, worry about a spanking? In your dreams, bub!

Anyway, so I arrived at his college during rush hour traffic, picked him up outside the college (because when he heard I was so close he started walking to me). Traffic sped up and before I was ready for it, we arrived at our hotel.

It was my favorite hotel room so far. I am beginning to develop a great fondness for hotel rooms....sigh. Anyway, we had barely stepped in the door, when he said to me, "There's something we have to get out of the way, isn't there?"

I froze. "So soon?" I tried to look cute.

"That's the way it needs to be. Stand up."

I wanted this spanking as much as he wanted to give it to me, at least in a way. There had been a misdeed. I wanted to "pay for it". I know this isn't how he sees it, not really. To him it's reinforcement, it's a way to grow, and I love that.

I stood and shifted from one foot to the other as he unzipped my jeans. "Keep your feet on the floor." He commanded.

He was inches away from me and I thrilled with the feeling of vulnerability. My panties were tugged off in record time, and I had to catch my breath. "Put your hands straight up," He instructed. My breathing quickened, and my vision got slightly fuzzy as I realized the picture we made, the action he was about to perform. Like a 3-year-old being undressed by a parent.

I grimaced slightly and looked away trying to think of a happy place, as he neatly swept my shirt and camisole off my outstretched arms. The bra gave him a bit of trouble, but then it was off too. My socks came off somewhere in the middle, I have no idea when...Then he broke the chilled distance between us and I was spun around, one of his arms securely around my waist.

"Whose bottom is this for the next hour or two?" He breathed in my ear.

"Yours." I replied meekly.

Damn my earlier post entitled "Fantasy While Procrastinating on My Homework", because he read the awful thing and decided that this time he would tie me up and blind fold me. I truly hate blindfolds. My Magician didn't cure me of that completely. I knew this was going to happen, and I was scared.

He didn't tie me for the beginning of the spanking, but there was no warm up. The blindfold over my eyes, he gently pushed me over the edge of the bed. "Keep both feet on the floor. Do you feel this pillow at your finger tips. Yes, yes, right there. Hold onto that. Don't let go. That's your anchor. You need to hold that the whole time. Now, since you need practice, you're going to count. 'One, Sir', 'Two, Sir', okay, Bonnie-jo?"


I was refusing to say the words until absolutely necessary. He let it slip. He often does.

And he knew how scared I was. "I'm right here, Bonnie-jo. You're going to be fine. Are you okay?"


SWISH! The first one nearly took my breath away. After about count three, I was tensing and whimpering during each wait for the next stroke. And each time, it seemed he waited for me to still, and then SWISH!!! The cane fell with a new vengeance.

There was a huge dichotomy in the whole tone of the thing. It was a uniqueness that was all College Guy. He showed no mercy with that cane. None. But at various times his hand was on my back, stroking, consoling. At one point, after about count 7 or 8, at the point where I was having trouble talking without whimpering and moaning interrupting it, he said, "You're doing a great job, Bonnie-jo, hang in there." Or something of the like.

After that there was a proper warm up over his lap (way to finally do it up right), some bath brushing, In WHICH I BROKE THE BRUSH--I FREAKIN BROKE GEPPETTO--SURE IT WAS JUST THE TOP OF THE  HANDLE--BUT FIRST IMPLEMENT BROKEN--AND IT WAS A BATH BRUSH FOLKS!!!!! In case you are skimming my post, I'm hoping you'll see those words....because they are the most important part of the blog for sure. Anyway, after that I grabbed my knees for the grand finale--a paddling with the 3-holed paddle that turned out to be not so bad, but I think it was because half the time he was swinging lightly in kindness and perhaps fear of my anger should all the swings be like the last one--one which nearly knocked me over.

Would anyone like a cane? I might even throw in free-shipping....

On a side-note, I will be thinking about my next episode to "The Bet". Pink and Celine scared me by acknowledging it, and thus all my creativity has been dried up. If you only hadn't commented, I might have posted by now...

In my Astronomy class we are talking about Newton's laws and various aspects of physics. I hate science and spend some of the time in a constant struggle to climb out of my daydreams. However, I have been learning a few important facts. Force=Mass * Acceleration and Potential Energy is the kind that has the possibility of doing some kind of damage. I think brattiness is potential energy. We could develop a whole list of stuff that is Potential Energy that my prof never thought of before...



   Camera? Check.
   Japanese bondage rope? Check.
   Blindfold/Sleep Mask? Check.
   Three-holed Paddle? Check.
   Very cheap Arbor Mist stuff? Check.
   Panties of various types? Check.
   Cane? Check.
   Bathbrush? Check.
   Computer? Check.
   Sleep? Not yet, still packing...I'm going on a trip. I'm gonna see College Guy. We have stuff to "talk" about. And we have need for a break in the pandimonium of school and life. So I'm going. Leaving in about 7.5 hours. I had better get to bed.
   We have some new implements that we bought together in place of "Christmas presents". I think it's a little early for Christmas...but I know when to keep my mouth shut. I'm looking forward to the cane. The paddle can get eaten by a wild boar on the trip over for all I care.
  Can't wait. Can't wait.
  Can't wait to wish that I could wait. Can't wait to think "Oh %*$*...why did I come?"
  Can't wait.


The Bet

He said her name in that tone of voice. She peaked her head around the corner of the living room. He was on the couch. In the middle of the couch. He never sat there. Not smack dab in the middle.

She flew back to the bedroom, zipped on her coat, jerked on her hat and gloves, grabbed her car keys.

She scuttled by him, avoiding his  gaze. Her hand was on the door, thumb pressed on the top handle, when she felt his arm around her waist, his strong hand wrap gently but firmly around her wrist. "Where do you think you're off to?" The question was almost a whisper, and her breath quickened.

"I'm getting ice cream."

"Like hell."

She squirmed in his half embrace, dreading what was coming, and also...wondering..as always, wondering...would he give up this time?

She giggled. "I didn't realize that kissing me good bye was so important to you. Since when has that been such a big deal?" And she turned in his arms, snuggling in and reaching up for his face in a movement that had been honed with time and practice.

In a smooth move, he stepped backwards and her hands met empty space. So he was airing on the side of caution. Good, she liked a man to be scared of her.

To bad he hadn't thought more into the movement. Right on beat she spun, pulled the door open, and sped out, not bothering to close it. A nervous squeal rose in her throat as she dashed to her car, keys extended. The car beeped at her as the remote engaged, and she opened her door, jumped in, and moved to slam herself into safety, but the door wouldn't budge.

He was holding the handle. "Get out. I will come in there and drag you out. You don't want that."

"I don't want you." Yeah, she knew she didn't play fair. So?

"Get out."

They stared at one another, her brain starting to realize that she wasn't going anywhere.

"Why?" She decided to play dumb. "Why do you always think this will help us? Spanking me doesn't help. I like spanking."

It was dark outside. So she saw the sparks clearly as they flashed in his eyes. "I like spanking too. And I'm going to enjoy this spanking a hell of a lot more than you're going to."

"You wanna bet?"



    My favorite pair of jeans has 4 holes down the left thigh. And during class, my fingers will sneak down  and a  probing finger or two will sneak into one of the holes, smoothing the skin underneath. And then I'll just leave them there, trapped against my skin It happens unintentionally, but most times, when I realize I've been doing it for awhile, I jerk my fingers out, wondering if classmates had noticed my self-soothing movement.
    Freud would say that the actions was symbolic of another action, another self-soothing habit that he was all too interested in. Doesn't he wish?
    But I don't think that's why I do it. The feeling of my fingers on the previously untouched skin is good. But, after repeating the motion in my horribly long night class yesterday, I realized why I like it, why do it unconsciously. I like trapping my finger.
    I know it's just one finger, and I'm in control of the trapping part. I really don't know why I like it or have fixated on this tiny part of my life as a subject for my post.
    But it makes me think. It makes me think of holding hands. It makes me think of someone holding my wrist, my arm bent behind my back, as I writhe across his lap. It makes me think of a hand on my face, forefinger and thumb pressing just below my cheekbones. "Look at me. Look. At. Me." It makes me think of that place I always want to get to, that place where I can no longer fight and but more than that, I no longer want to.


My Toppy-side

"Why are you following me?" I ask this guy at college that is always running into me. For all of last semester and now this one, he's been "the stalker" in the movie that is my life. We were even in a class this semester, but thankfully, I ended up dropping it. Now I'm trying to find Henry James' "The Turn of the Screw". And this guy is dogging my every step.

"What?" He asks innocently.

I sigh. "Heel!" I command, and keep walking. He follows. I laugh. But it's not funny. I'm mocking.

I only do it because I hate it.

My first boyfriend ever is lying on his back in the parked vehicle. Vulnerable...controlled by his need. I see it as weak...and I laugh. I'm mocking.

"Say it again. Say it like you mean it." I purr.

"You're so good at blow jobs. You're like in the top 2%...." He breaks off in a gasp, and I allow the feeling to soar, then abruptly break off contact.

"I don't think I like the sound of 2%. I want to hear 1%." My voice is matter-of-fact, but teasing.

He chuckles. But I remain motionless.

"Alright, alright, you're in the top 1%.."

I laugh. Hilarious. Horribly hilarious.

I like to think that this is my "toppy-side". That it comes out when I don't like a guy. When I wish I could like a guy.

So I test him. And when he fails, I laugh. But I'm mocking.

This isn't fair of me. Some guys want to be controlled by women. Some guys are like me. It's what they long for.

"The stalker" in the library, when I told him to "heel" , responded with, "Oh, no, Missy, oh no. Don't even think about it."

I giggled. 'Well, you're still following me."

"You may be cute," he said, "But you're not that cute."

Which probably means that his "oh no" reaction was only reserved for those that were "that cute" and that everyone else couldn't boss him around. But some one "that cute" could definitely be the boss.

And I never want that. I'm not saying that I never want to have my own ideas. I do. I want to be able to tell a guy what I think he should do. I want him to tell me what he suggests I'd do. And then I want to figure out what I think is best.

However, I want him to know that when he wants it to be so...when we can push everyday life aside...I want him to control me. But only if he takes pleasure in it too.

I never want him to see being a top as mocking me. I am mocking when I play at it. It scares me every time I do it.


Fantasy While Procrastinating on My Homework

I stand in front College Guy's seated form. I'm close, vulnerable, but unrepentant. It's going to take a good deal this time. I don't realize that he already knows this fact.
He says little. In a few firm sentences which I barely hear or understand, he lets me know why I am standing before him, what necessitated his action.
He asks me if I have anything to say.
I have nothing. I have removed myself from the situation. I'm anything but resigned. I'm uncaring.
"Step back three steps."  This is not the usual beginning. "Turn around." I obey. It's not yet time to resist. "Take off your jeans and your panties." I do so. And I stand there. I could stand there for years, and it wouldn't faze me.
Nothing matters.
In a dreamy part of my mind, I hear him moving behind my back, then silence.
"Stay still, Bonnie-jo. Do not move until I tell you too."
I wait for a long time. Or maybe it's a short time. I do not care.
Then he is behind me. He slaps one cheek then the other, just hard enough to stir my desire for this, just hard enough to make me wish that I will be overthrown. His hand rests between my cheeks, moves a bit lower, and causes me to squirm slightly as he says, "I'm putting the blindfold on you now." I want to turn and see his face, but I hold still as he ties the silk cloth around my composed face.
His hands are on my shoulders, turning me around to face him, and he smooths back a strand of hair momentarily. Then he places his fingers on my mouth, and they linger there.
"This is going to be the most important part of you for the next hour or two, Bonnie-jo. Yeah, it may not feel like the most important part...but this is what is going to get you into the most trouble during this spanking if you don't play your cards right. And this is what could potentially make a memorable but shorter spanking if you do play your cards right. Do you understand?"
I don't respond.
He always reacts the same.
With complete silence. There is no wheedling or threatening, no anger, not even a "I thought as much". Just action.
I'm unceremoniously led to the bed. He places my hand on it. "Lay down. I want you in a spread eagle position. Now."
We've never done this before.
He ties each wrist to the headboard posts, and each ankle to the foot board posts.
I attempt to wriggle. I can hardly move a muscle.
And the fear comes creeping into my brain, like tiny ants under a door frame. No, please, no.
"I know you're a little scared right now, so I'm going to help you out." His hand is now resting on my bottom. He slaps it hard.
"I wouldn't normally do this  because I've spanked you for homework issues before. So technically, you shouldn't be getting a warm up, especially because your mouth seems to have a problem answering me in a proper way. But I'm going to give you one anyway."
I moan inside as the slaps come down hard. They hurt in the best way possible. And I don't want them to.  Sometimes, kindness hurts more than brutality, and the thought that he cares about my fear, that he cares enough to administer the warm-up, this thought I cannot stand.
A small moan catches in my throat, and I quickly draw a breath and let it out. His hand stops.
"Are you enjoying this, my dear?"
"I need an answer on that, I'm afraid, because if you are, then I'm not doing my job right."
"Uh, huh. Consider that all the warm up you're getting."
I find my voice and speak for the first time since this started. "You suck."
Silence. Then, his words hard, but slow and measured. "You are entitled to your opinion, but now is not the time to say that. Your mouth will open only when I'm asking you a question. Do you understand?"
He sighs, the first sign of frustration since we started. "You know, you are not doing yourself any favors today, Young Lady."

But I don't care what is about to happen. Please, please, please, spank me until I'm sobbing, begging you to stop. Spank me until I can't resist you any longer. Spank me until I'm promising you I'll be better, and not because you want me to be better, but because I want me to be better.

Spank me until I feel powerless, weak, open, so that I can feel like supergirl once again. 

Don't listen to my rude comments, my jibes, my protests, my explanations. Expect better of me. Spank me. Please, please spank me.


Taught to the Tune of a Hickory Stick

Well, college has begun again. I'm taking 18 credits, working part time, talking to College Guy long into the night hours so that I that I get small amounts of sleep (nudge, nudge), and thus, it's been a week since I've posted. I am committed to this blog, however, so although the length of posts may shorten (hmm..that might not ever happen), I will try to keep posting at least once a week, and I will continue to read others' blogs. I don't know if I could stand not to.

The first week back to school has been overwhelming, but I've managed to keep college in its proper realm and focus on what is important in life.

For example, my Logic prof was lecturing on premises, conclusions, and how to distinguish non-arguments from arguments.

(Slight pause while Bonnie-jo digs out her lecture notes and tries to find the spot that she wants to talk about. ) Okay, so it was only day two in Logic, and I probably don't have this completely understood. Basically, we talked about arguments in which the conclusion is implied but not stated.

Our Logic prof gave this example: "If your mom walks into your room and says 'This room is going to be cleaned by one of us, and I'm telling you now, I'm not going to clean this room!' , what is the implied conclusion?" Most of the class obediently answered, "I'm going to clean the room," while a few rebels muttered, "No way, no way..."

I, however, was trying to think up my own, more creative examples. I came up with two:

             *College Guy has somehow cajoled me over his thigh as he sits against the bed's headboard, Gepetto (the bath brush) in hand. "You can tell me what's going on in your head, Bonnie-jo. Or I can continue this all night long. We've got about 11 hours until checkout."

             * "I know you probably feel horrible about what you did. We'll talk about this. "---My Magician

Then in the auditoreum for my Astronomy class, I couldn't help but notice how sliding past people's knees to get to my seat makes me imagine what would happen if someone slid his legs out a bit, and I happened to trip...and whoopsie...a spanking in astronomy class....Sigh...yeah, I know that was a stretch.

Then, in my British Lit. class, we were studying an abolitionist text, in which the horrors and brutalities of various whippings were described. I'm not discrediting the absolute evil of what happened to these people. At least, I do not mean to. Still, I found it oddly embarrassing to participate in my groups discussion. And, in all actuality, this entire experience makes me angry at myself.

I'm not saying that spankings don't hurt, but I want them. I want the pain. These people had no choice. And, mostly, I hate that the thought of the horror they experienced is a springboard for my own, more comforting thoughts. These are the moments when I do feel a bit sicko-ish.

When I read or hear about people who have been abused and tortured, my mind will quickly flit to my own experiences with "torture". But I know this is simply a coping mechanism. Since I was about 10 years old and heard about "martyrs for Christ" and about how you "can't deny Jesus", I've worried and feared torture.

And in a way, although my attraction to it runs so much deeper on many different levels, spanking is a way for me to deal with my fear of pain. After a spanking, I feel like I can handle anything life throws at me. Particularly after a hard spanking dealt by My Magician, I feel like I've conquered something weighty, and anything else I come up against in life will be small potatoes.

But a spanking offers no more than psychological protection. There is (usually) no real blood. There is definitely no chance of death, or rape, or even broken bones. I have no idea what real abuse is like.

So...before I continue on that ponderous trail, I will close by assuring you I'm paying attention in class for the most part...just remembering what's important in life too. :)


Cracklin' Rosie Get on Board

"Oh I love my Rosie child,
She got the way to make me happy---"
(Neil Diamond)

I heard this song on the radio while jogging this morning. You better believe that it made my steps quicken. A huge smile broke onto my sweaty face, and I had to try not to giggle out loud. Do you guys do this.....make random/totally stretching connections with completely non-spanko-there-is-no-possible-way-to-make-this-a-that's-what-the-spanko-said-joke or song? Well, to explain my crazy mind, it was the "CRACKLIN'" part that got me going....and then the "ROSIE" part. Anything that is "cracklin'" on something "rosie" is quite alright with me, and it is "the way to make me happy---" I don't think I'm that crazy, do you?

This is going to be a Bonnie-jo makes 2 wierd connections at work blog.

I work at a clothing store, and about the second or third day of my first week, I was called into the security room--you know, the one with all the cameras--to do a quick orientation with the security guard working at our store. I sat at a small table, freaking out inside that I was in a dark, closed-in room, all alone, with a police officer. How lucky can a girl get? On the outside, though, I was the professional employee.

He shook my hand, and right away I knew he had that anti-social cop, awkward thing going on.

"You're not in trouble," he warned me. "The last girl I had in here got really scared. She thought she was in trouble or something."

"Ahhh..." I smiled. "No, of course not. I know I'm not."

"I've been working at this company for the last 5 years," He beamed. "See, it says so on that certificate by the door."

I craned my head to look.

"Just underneath the handcuffs." He directed.

"Oh. Yes. I see them...I mean, I see it, yeah, cool."

Suffice it to say, my day was made. It was a real pair of handcuffs....I resisted the urge to ask to touch them....

And item number two:

A couple of days ago, one of the managers/leads at my job called me over. I  have liked this girl from the moment I saw her. Tall, slender, short black hair, and  dark eyes...she had an edginess that I always admire. I learned later in the breakroom that I admire her personality too. She reminded me of the type of girl I've imagined My Magician's former spankee is like--my only contact being her blog....

"I'm a smart-ass..." This manager grinned at me. "I try to keep a lid on it, but I think people should just be brutally honest. I always say, why lie when the truth is so much more fun?" And later as she told me about her mom with cancer and her grandma that is still alive, "We always tell people that God's not ready for that much onery-ness in heaven yet. He doesn't want to have to deal with them. Not quite yet. Too onery."

Anyway, so this girl-crush of mine walked up to me the other day, and cautioned me on a couple of things I needed to focus on for work that day. That isn't the important part. The important part is that she had a long 6 by 14 or so flat piece of plastic in her hands as she told me about my duties for the day. Distracting.....At one point she looked down to see what she was holding...Actually, I didn't notice that she was holding a paddle-like object until she herself looked down and explained, "The only reason I'm holding this is because I tripped on the thing."

"Oh." I smiled. May be it was my fault you tripped...maybe you should do something about this....

But she didn't read my mind and walked away. I watched her walk, however, and my effort was rewarded, for she slapped her palm once with the offending object. I saw it with my own eyes!


A Great Way to Wake Up

I woke up in the hotel room to Cllege Guy's whisper, "Bonnie-jo,  you awake?"

"Uhmph...what time is it?" I muttered sleepily. I always mutter some similar question  when  first woken up. It's a die-hard habit I've had as a kid. Make them talk to you and they'll think you're awake and listening. Then may be they'll leave you alone and you can fall back to sleep.

"Almost time to wake up."


I flip over, pull my pillow over my head, and begin to breathe heavily. I'm almost asleep when I hear the bed jostle, then still. Padding feet plop over to the far corner, and rustling noises ensue.

My body is completely relaxed and grasping at sleep, but my mind begins to rebeliously awaken.

What's he up to? What's he doing? What's he going to do to me? He wouldn't spank me now, would he? I hope he will....

I sigh and kick off the sheet , buring my head  deeply in the pillow.

I'm aware of the picture I make---and surprised that I fell asleep in the state I did. A white bra and white lacy thong.....do you know how uncomfortable thongs (a.k.a. butt-floss)  are??  (Not to mention sleeping in a bra.)

I push my bottom the tiniest bit into the air as my spread-eagle sleeping position widens. Come on, College Guy, I think,  as I flex my telekinisis skills. Please spank me now.


Ahhh...just what I was hoping for. What a nice way to wake up....How perfect....But I lay still, pretending to be asleep. Let's see if he'll go away. Maybe I can make him feel guilty.

Slap, pause. CRACK! Pause. I'm now concentrating on not moving. It's beginning to hurt  a little bit. He has the strap, I'm sure of the fact. No sweet hand spanking first thing in the morning...what a monster....

 CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK. "Owww!!!", I whimper and try to roll away. "I'm awake, okay???"

His hand holds my back firmly to the bed. "I see you're awake. Isn't this a great way to wake up?"

"Uhh, huh...I'm getting up." I grumble.

"Not yet. You're not going anywhere just quite yet...."

Good Girl or Bad Girl?

I've always been the good girl.

Don't get me wrong, I've had my moments of mischef. But those were moments I could  count on one hand.

Teachers counted on me to watch the class when I was gone. My parents left me in charge. Other kids parents trusted me. But I remember the class clowns, the bad kids, the kids with "behavior problems". They received the attention, and not just the teacher's attention, but they held their place securely as the class' main entertainment. And they held my secret wish to be like them.

I remember wishing that my parents did not love me. Their love forced me, I felt, to be good, to not dissapoint. My parents had this special way of looking at me and my brothers with sad eyes and a long sigh, "I'm very dissapointed in you," they'd say. They didn't say it much. I made sure of that.

Well, needless to say, you can't live your life for someone else forever. You can't be  pefectly "good" in someone's eyes forever. No matter how hard you try.  So I finally failed to an extent. I dated a guy they didn't approve of and lived with him. It was a good  start on the road to being bad.

So when I met "My Magician", I told him  I'm not one of those spankos who secretly wants approval and wants to be "good". I felt I wasn't a submissive at heart. I thought I was a rebel through and through.  A good girl who wanted the chance to be bad.

So I've been given chances, and I've taken them. It's freeing. I can be bad!!!!!!!!!!! And I won't lose people right away if I do. They forgive me. And then they spank me too, but hey, works for me....

But what about when the relationship deepens and I do start to care? Where is the freedom to be bad? I feel like it's shrinking, and the more I care, the more it shrinks. I like caring, but I like being bad too.

Or do I?

I'm not sure.

Yes, it's fun to brat and annoy a top. It's fun to see what he will do, to see his tolerance level and response.

But what about letting someone down? What about when I hear, "I'm dissapointed in you, Bonnie-jo." What about when I have to confess the darkness inside of me? It hurts. It doesn't hurt as much as a spanking, but it lasts much longer, potentially a life time. 

It doesn't have to last a lifetime, of course. But the truth is that my choices can bring spankings, but my choices can also bring about a broken relationship. That scares me. A lot.

When I do something really wrong--like kissing an Irish guy in a bar when I'm dating College Guy--it overwhelms me. Maybe it's the fact that I'm not used to being bad. Or maybe it's that I actually want to be a good person. I don't know. I'm just incredibly surprised every time I feel horrible about something I've done. Is it that the values of my moral upbringing are still here? Probably so.

But when I dissapoint, things happen. It used to be this huge question mark with my parents---how hurt will they become? I've learned some about how hurt they can be, but even more so, I've learned that I have to be who I am. And College Guy or My Magician say they are dissapointed and spank me, they are not going away, they are not becoming a victim, and they are not wishing I was not their friend anymore. To me, a spanking equals acceptance, love, caring.

I get high on this. I am comforted by this. So no, I'm not a good girl yearning to be bad. At least that's not the complete picture.

I'm a good girl and a bad girl.

And when I'm bad, I am spanked.

So that I can be a good girl again.

P.S. But I still like being bad....at least for a couple seconds. Don't we all?


Fix Me Now!

   It's been at least 2 weeks since my last spanking. That is 14 days too long to go without a tender bottom. I'm feeling the burn, the emptiness, the ache, the yearn. Or maybe it's just that time of the month....But man, oh man, oh man.

   It's funny, but the more I need a spanking, the more I feel teary, weepy, depressed. You'd think it the opposite. That spanking would bring tears and not-spanking would bring happiness or a greatfulness--the greatfulness of being able to sit down without wincing (or in my case, of being able to stand up without wincing. Seriously, I think standing up hurts more, hours after a spanking. It  must be blood pressure or something....)

My vanilla ex and I used to argue about my need for a DD style relationship. I didn't want there to be that much DD, just a hint of control and some spanking. He argued that it was psychologically wrong and hurtful. That I'd become dependent on it, on giving up, on not taking control, on being submissive. It's times like these when I wonder if perhaps he was a bit right.

  A guy on a recent blog ( I can't remember which one, sorry, and haven't figured out linking anyway) asked the question. "Why can't she just ask for a spanking if she needs one?" He received much info on various bottom's perspectives, and I agree for the most part.
Most answers centered on the bottom not being in the right place emotionally to take control of the situation or of having issues of embarrassment, shame or being needy. I also add that it also feels wrong. If you are struggling you need to fix yourself. Anything else  seems needy in our self-reliant world.

"The day you ask me for a spanking will be a great day in history," College Guy told me not long ago.

"You'd really be okay with me doing that?" I marvel.

"I've been waiting for it."

"You have?"

"And when you do, I'll probably do some silly dance of happiness and then take you out to eat after I spank you."

With a promise like that, I know I'll have to give it a try. But for now, I live miles and miles and miles away from him. I want to ask for one now. I want him to fix me now. I have a new job I just started, new classes coming up. And I want courage now. I want to cry and cry and cry now.  Now, now, now, now.

Okay, so I'm hoping my rant made me feel better. Not sure yet.

We all have our struggles and problems, and mine are really not bad at all. If I were to try to count my blessings (which I certainly don't feel like doing at this whiny moment) I'd have a lot of them. Life is so often good.

So what do you do when life feels bad, when your heart aches for something that you can't have, when the lust creeps in, and all you can feel is the emptiness of want?

You keep on agoin', you look for good things to come, and you don't stop.

I think I'll give it a try. I'll give it a try, but ARRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGG, I want to be fixed NOW.


Why Can't You be a Sadist?

What does it take to be a good leader?

Yesterday I hung out with some very special friends. I watched him propose to her 2 years ago. I was at their wedding. I've been there for some of their bad moments, and they've definitely been there for some of mine.

They were a huge part of my life when I was dating my ex. It's hard to not think of him when I am with them.

And horror of horrors, they know to some degree that I am a spanko. Because my ex told them. And yet I am surprisingly not annoyed that they know. I'm so much more confident in my spanko/sexuality/emotional make-up then I was a year ago.

It has been more than a year ago that I decided to do something about my spanko feelings--and make a page on Spankfinder.....It was a frightening, whirl-wind time of life, when emotions alternately skyrocketted or hid in the dark.

So yesterday, as usual, my old friends and I discussed my ex and the changes that have happened. And then we began to randomly discuss what makes a good leader---aka: what had my ex done wrong in our relationship.

The dude- friend defined it with one word: CARING. (Oh, and also he is a conservative Christian who believes that the leading is the man's position and job---in his words: "God made horses with a purpose--to be ridden; God made men with a purpose--to lead". I completely disagree with the stereotype and box and rule--If a woman wants to "lead" and the man is cool with it, go for it. And, even though it hurts me to say it, spank him while you're at it....tee hee hee.)
Anyway, I thought he put it well. The ability to lead is the ability to CARE.

Now this sounds warm, fuzzy, and incredibly non-violent. Caring is for care-bears, Barney, babies, and maybe hospitals and nursing homes.

College Guy and I once had a discussion about this very idea. And it was a bit violent. Actually quite a lot.

I was in one of my dark moods. I don't remember what it was over. He said he was going to spank me.

"I don't want you to," I pouted. "I want you to do it and be not-caring. I don't want you to wish you didn't have to punish me and force yourself to do it anyway. I want someone to punish me who doesn't care. I want someone to spank me and not care that it hurts. Why can't you be a sadist?"

The look on his face was something I wish to never see again.

"I'm going to blister your bottom right now," He stated. "You're not thinking clearly, and you need a taste of what you're asking for."

It was not fun. I fidgetted, protested, and struggled over his lap until he finally had enough.
"Get up." He grabbed my arm and paraded me to the bathroom. I thought he wanted to spank me in front of the mirror, or maybe show me the damage he'd done. But when I saw his hand start towards the soap, I jerked out of his grasp and bolted to the hotel bed. Without thinking, I dove under the covers and pulled them over my head. It was a test. But it was as natural a reaction for me as breathing.

I'm sure you all are not surprised that he didn't give up. The covers were pulled down, the soap was placed in my mouth (only 10 seconds, yay!), and this calmer, more submissive girl was pulled back over his lap.

I was still fuming a bit when the spanking was over. But in hindsight, his caring resulted in a spanking. I was confused and I still can be confused about what I want, about what I think a guy should be, but in this case, College Guy cared and his care made us closer and made me trust him which makes me more likely to trust the next time.

I'm not saying that the guy should lead all the time, be master, rule the roost, that women should always submit. But there is something about it. I can't put my finger on it.
All I know is that last night's conversation with my good -but -vanilla -friends is still running around in my mind.

I once read something written about My Magician. Something written by a girl that had a spanking relationship with him years ago. She was musing about what it was that exuded from him when he wasn't doing anything related to spanking. "Authority" was the first word she used, but then she realized that "authority" wasn't enough. Finally she came up with the word "Dominance". And I agree; it is the right word to use.

My vanilla- dude- friend had gone on to compare good leadership to bad leadership. "I have this military friend whose first instint is 'Tackle it, shoot it, or drag it where you want it.' Basically, to muscle his leadership. That's all wrong. Being a leader is starting a vision, communicating the vision, and bringing the team together. But the team has to choose to follow. To want the vision to happen."

And as much as I desire someone to drag me and muscle me where they want me--over their knee, please--and to force me to submit, it isn't possible to live one's life that way. At least not too often. I would have to have a completely new spanker at least every 2 months---the poor guys hand/arm would be ruined and/or he would begin to develop arthritic hip-bones from trying to hold my kicking legs in place. Or maybe he'd develop blisters on his hands from the rubbing of wooden hairbrushes as he attempted to severly discipline me....cough..coughh..coll...b...bough...cough.. :)

Anyway, I think there may be something about freely choosing to follow, obey, or become "on the team". It's like graduating in a way. Becoming more adult.

My Magician makes it fairly easy to choose to follow. I have to fight my own instincts if I want to not submit. But that's probably because he is much older than me (did I say "much"? I meant "much much much much". Sorry for the confusion.) I have a thing about doing what older people say.

Perhaps it's the Dominance that the above author defined his personna as having. I have to decide ahead of time to disobey him. It can make a bratty girl feel quite pathetic.
"Take off your shorts, Miss Bonnie-jo." He says, but in this extremely pleasant, easy tone of voice.
My hands are moving to my shorts before I can think. No, I tell myself. Breathe. Wait. Push him a little. Don't obey. It'll be fun.

Oh, the lies I like to believe until they're spanked out of me!

So what is it that draws me to authority, to the age and maturity of My Magician? Why is it that I test College Guy in ways I would never even think of when over this older man's knee?Is it that My Magician is "better at it"? (I know, I know, I'm actually playing with real fire here, with real egos, self esteems, lives...lol. So no...there is no "better", but there definitely is "different".)

In my still-not-grown-up-and-still-sometimes-afraid mind, I see maturity, age, and the authority that comes with that as CARE. I respect the life My Magician has lived, the things he's learned and gone through in his spanko-journey, and I suppose I'm flattered that I get to be spanked by him. He's experienced. Almost a bit of a celebrity in the spanko universe. I get high on it. It makes him more mysterious.

I don't know him like I know College Guy. So with so many things, I have to just imagine. That mystery adds to the fear when he says, "I'm not done with you yet." When he says, "Wait there. I'll be back to finish your spanking."

But with College Guy, the fear is coming. It's sneaky, like spring or growing taller. And it's a different kind of fear. It's the, "I can't play games. I can't pretend. He knows what I'm up to. And because he knows, I have to be honest. I have to open up."

It's a good kind of fear. And I'm glad that he CARES.


3 Spankings--A lesson from College Guy

I was in the bathroom. Waiting for him. He didn't let me wait long.
"Are you ready?"
I nodded. Looking down. This was not happening. It was going to be so awkward. He took the soap out of its fresh hotel paper, then speared me with his voice, because I still was not meeting his gaze.
" This soap is going to be used for a unique purpose. You didn't say anything wrong. This soap is for what you didn't say. You went into things sexually that you did not like. You needed to say no. Open your mouth."
I just stood there. How can I do this and look dignified, I wondered?
"Open your mouth. Now!"
I tried.
"Stick out your tongue."
What?? Just stick it in my mouth, can't you??
"Do it. Now."
So I did. I did corner time with it in my mouth. 3 minutes. Big deal. See what happens when I'm treated like a child? I act like a child...hahaha...Okay back to my blog.
He took it out of my mouth and allowed me to rinse with water.
The rest is a blur. He took down my shorts, and I knew the moment that he grasped the button and started to undue them, the moment I involuntarily jerked away from him, a whine rising in my throat, I knew this spanking was not going to go well. At all. My attitude was the worst it'd ever been in his prescence.
I was begging to be broken. But my body was rebelling against my brain's need.
He started off hard and fast, with the bathbrush and lecturing coinciding.
"Ahhhhhhhh!!!!" I wailed, reaching back almost right away. "Please, please, please! Just wait. Just, please, please, please, can I have a warm-up??"
His voice was even-toned, "Bonnie-jo, I told you after you kissed that guy I was going to take away your warm-up. No warm-up."
The bathbrush began again. "But I need one! I really really need one! Ow!!!"
"Sorry." Was the only response I got.
It hurt and I couldn't concentrate on the spanking or the questions he was asking.
"What? What did you ask?" I kept saying, forcing him to repeat himself.
At one point, the t.v. (turned far up to cover the noise of the punishment) distracted me so much that I asked him to stop the spanking so I could tell him something about part of the movie that was on.
And then there was the issue of answering him.
"Yes." I would say.
He'd stop spanking. "Yes, what, Bonnie-jo?"
Four hard fast smacks on my sit spots opened my mouth.
"Okay, okay, okay!" I grumbled. "Yes.... Yes...."
He'd told me I could say "Yes, College Guy. (Allright, you all know that's not his real name. It sounds better with his real name.) Or "Yes, Sir." But either one didn't sound right to me. But it wasn't up to me. And I knew I should be obeying and choosing one answer or the other. But I didn't want to.
After much wailing, struggling, bratting, and me refusing to call him anything after my "Yes...", he asked me, "What's up? Why are you doing this?"
I didn't know. Mostly. So we stopped. But he promised me that this spanking wasn't over. It was going to be postponed. "You don't seem to be receptive today, something's off, I don't know what it is, so I'm going to finish this another day." Part of me was dissapointed. Not in him though. Mostly, though, I was glad. And tired and hungry and I just wanted to make it stop hurting. I ordered a huge pizza and Diet Coke, hoping that would brighten my mood. Then promptly fell asleep. So much for a punishment spanking.
I don't remember what night at his house it was, but I was about to go upstairs to bed. And I was worried about our relationship again. He'd said something cute to me, something about spanking something out of me. I was sleepy, depressed.....
"Maybe, " I replied. "But someday you'll get tired of spanking me. I'm going to annoy you by how much I need it. That's why we'll never work out for long." I looked off into the distance.
He smiled at me. "Get up for a minute." We were sitting side by side on the couch. I thought he wanted to kiss me goodnight.
I stood up, and he undid the string on my pajama pants. "Get over."
I complied. Pouting. The plastic clothes hangar he'd been playing with earlier was in his hands and descended hard and fast on my bottom. I covered my mouth with my hand as I thought of his sleeping family upstairs.
His voice came out through gritted teeth. "I'm not going to let you get away with saying things like that. If you think there is a problem in our relationship, then you tell me about it. We'll talk about it. But you are not allowed to say little undermining comments and walk away from them."
I huffed and attempted to get away, but he merely pinned my body between his legs.
"Stay still." The clothes hangar keept up a steady rhythm, and he continued talking. "Your first boyfriend used to let you get away with saying these depressing things, didn't he?"
"Yes." I said.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, [His name]."
"Atta girl. You're going to get better at that, you know."
I sighed, leaning into his body with my own. "It's hard."
"You're going to get better at it. And also, I'm going to be bringing one of these hangars with me wherever we go. Wherever. So any night, no matter who may be in listening distance, I can deal with you as I see fit. Do you understand."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, [His name]."
And then later, right before I headed off to bed, he asked me, "Are you feeling better now?" Or some such normal question.
"Yes." I smiled.
He smiled back, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Yes, what?" He half-whispered.
"Yes, [His name]. I blushed.


It was the morning before the day I left to drive back home. And it was the day College Guy had set asside time to finish my spanking. His brother left for the gym so that we could "have time alone".
When his brother drove out the garage door, I headed for the kitchen.
"Bonnie-jo, what are you up to?"
"I have to cut my fingernails. I hate hate hate long fingernails. It's an OCD thing. Who knows what dirt could lie underneath them?"
"Allright. When you're done come right downstairs."
I obeyed. Downstairs I sat next to him on the couch. My bathbrush and hairbrush laid out next to him.
"This isn't really so much a continuation of punishment for the summer stuff. This is to let you know that I can give you, my girlfriend, a hard spanking, one that goes farther than anything that could possibly be called fun. Take off your shorts."
I was quaking inside and obeyed. "Now your panties." "Get over."
It was still hard to stay still. And The Princess Bride was on t.v. I was getting distracted again.
At one point, he stopped the bathbrush, "Did you just laugh?"
"No" I giggled into the pillow.
"I'd like to know what is so outragiously funny that you would laugh right in the middle of this spanking."
"Well, I was just remembering how I used to hate this scene in The Princess Bride. The torture scene, you know? But somewhow, I mean, it's fitting, and ironic...Owwwww!!!" I yelped.
"You need to concentrate on this spanking. I can't believe you are watching the t.v. at a time like this!" He punctuated every other word with a hard smack from the bathbrush, and I was writhing after the second hit.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!!" I plead. "I'll pay attention. I'll stop."
He kept spanking. I tried to stay still. Then I lifted one foot and kicked the couch fairly hard.
"What was that?"
I lay still.
"Was that a kick out of frustration?"
How'd he guess? "Maybe."
The bathbrush started up again. And this time he was hitting spots more than once at a time. I call this "cheating". I hate it.
I put my hand back. He caught it in his. I pulled away. I squirmed. I whimpered. We repeated this pattern for quite awhile.
"So why do you think you move around less for your Mr. Magician?"
"Because. Because I'm trying to impress him with how strong I am. Because I'm closer to you and you know me."
He just responded by spanking harder. After awhile I continued, "Actually, actually, I think I changed my mind. It's because when I start to squirm, he does the leg pin thing right away. So I can't move."
So he responded by pinning me down with his leg and spanking harder.
I was beginning to hit that throughly warmed up and numbed point. I think of this as the "Danger Zone". You, as a top, are in danger if your bottom isn't sorry or well-spanked by this time, because she is going to be feeling endorphins and have great pain tolerance by this time. This is the time when you will have to spank even harder. Sorry to break it to you.
I wanted to be done, knew I wasn't really. College Guy knew it too.
"What are you fighting?" I was silent. He rained down blows on my thighs. "I asked you a question, Young Lady."
"Owwwwww!" I replied. "I don't know. I guess being sad."
"Bad answer," He camly replied. And continued raining fire on my wiggling and blistered bottom.
Then he stopped a bit and let me catch my breath. "You don't have to be sad, silly girl. But you do have to be serious. And you do have to let this open you up. You aren't doing that. Stop fighting."
"I want you to think," He continued. "Think about the things that happened this summer. Think about calling me after kissing that guy. Think about going to the library to print out directions for driving home. Except for this time, you would be driving straight home. No stopping at my house. Because we wouldn't be seeing each other."
He spanked. And he spanked. And he spanked.
And finally, I cried.