I was slowly led into the outer room of the hotel suite. Everything felt huge and empty as I concentrated on what I knew to be sure: his hand on my arm, his voice asking, “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” I responded, At least mostly.
His hand brushed down, from my shoulder to my elbow, “I'll be right back.”
Seconds later, I felt him slip something around my neck, fiddle with it, then take one of my wrists in his hand.
He had said this spanking was going to be “a surprise, something different”. I had searched my brain to come up with what that meant. And this was a good surprise. I've always had a doctor-fascination, and part of being tied up feels like you are about to be operated on or “treated” or something....I know, I know. That's a bit weird. Don't freak out folks, if you can help it.
But the good doctor was having problems with my wrist-shackles, or whatever he was trying to use. After many fumbles and attempts (which were producing giggles from me), he sighed, “Alright, when all else fails, try something else.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said brightly, fairly sure there would be no castigation for my sucking-up even though it broke the Punishment -Spanking- Rule about not talking.
His new plan worked and before I knew it, my hands were fastened near my head, apparently to the collar-like thing on my neck (of which I was trying not to think much , never having fantasized about a collar, and actually having a great dislike for them, thinking them hideous, something I'd not told My Magician).
The rest is hard to remember in detail.
I stood in position, bottom out, in what seemed like the largest open space I'd ever been in. He had a crop, and it hurt in a way nothing had hurt before. The blows would come fast, then stop , then come again when I was still trying to recover from the first bunch.
It was different than anything I'd ever experienced. There was nowhere for my captured mind to flee.
At first, I tried to think. It' s going to stop soon. It won't be as hard in just a bit. But there was nothing to focus on in that darkness. Only the next blow. Then the next. When one stopped, one started.
My knees started to crumble, and my mind could not breathe.
Then his arms were around my waist, and I was falling across his lap. Whimpers smothered by the sound of the crop starting up again. I felt trapped, angry. About to lose control.
Incensed, I blurted, “I'm just done, okay?” It was not a question, but a statement. And a statement I did not expect him to agree with.
The crop stopped, and his hands were on my wrists. One quick movement and they were released, the mask sliding off. Confused and ashamed, I slipped off his lap and knelt on the floor. Peeked up at his face.
“Are you okay?”
I felt confused by the concern on his face and squinted, nodding fast. “Yeah, yeah, of course.”
“Give me your hands, I'll take those off.”
“Just a minute,” I mumbled, jerking my hands back, realizing how sweaty they were—something that happens whenever I'm spanked. Appalled that I had almost wiped them on the knees of his jeans (seriously, it would have been convenient), I rubbed them against my bare thighs.
“Are you sure you're alright?”
“Uhm hmm.” I nodded hard.
He rose, sat on the couch, patted the seat, “Sit down, it's okay, you're fine.”
I sat cross-legged at the end of the couch. It's over, don't cry now. But I'm not a spanko anymore. Something's wrong. Something's wrong with me. Why couldn't I take that?
We sat for a bit, saying nothing.
“Bonnie-jo, you don't look happy.” He prodded.
I attempted a smile, “Yeah.”
“You know, we don't have a safe word. We never did. That can be very dangerous if you don't know someone well. And I don't feel like I know you well enough to gauge when you mean stop, and when you don't. That's why I did.”
“I'm glad.” I breathed.
More awkward silence....or was it a “right” silence? I didn't know.
“But,” I began, “I'm mad. I'm not mad at you, just at me. Why couldn't I keep going? I don't like it that I wanted to stop.”
“We all have limits, Bonnie-jo. You were taking a heck of a spanking. You did fine.”
I realized a bit later, after more breathing and calming down in general, that I'd forgotten my childhood fear of the dark. I'd slept with the light on for a year or two, and my biggest worry about the “Millennium Bug” had been that the electricity would go out, and I'd somehow die of terror. (Water, food, heat—those were non-issues.) I still don't like completely dark rooms when sleeping, refuse to stare out into one, dealing with the issue by closing my eyes and falling asleep.
I told My Magician about this forgotten fear, and my reaction began to make so much sense.
“You know we aren't done yet, Young Lady, we're just taking a break.”
I nodded happily, the world beginning to right itself. He waited for awhile, letting me get fully adjusted to the safe, lighted world.
“You know what I had to use to tie your wrists? The cuffs I brought were too large and were slipping off.”
“No, what?”
“My watches. Luckily I just bought a new one so I had two on hand.”
Later, still okay with the tying part of the plan, just not the being blind part, I lay across a bench, wrists back in the famous watches. My ankles were in cuffs too, and each appendage (it does sound like an operation, doesn't it?) was fastened to a leg of the bench. There was a cane, and there was some lecturing. Then the perfect amount of spanking. I was whimpering and sorry and writhing, and then it was over.
And if he ever asks me again, "Do you trust me?" I will.
