"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!"
"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, [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, [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.
It was a small indication of my general mood. Bratty. But more than that. I was wary, and I wasn't going to make this easy on him. This is my second dating relationship, and I've been questioning it so often. It's one of my huge faults. And it's not just relationships. I've gotten better but I've done it with everything---colors, clothes, choices at restaurants---It's hard for me to keep my mind made up for long. My moods change, my emotions change, my feelings of romance change. I'm still trying to figure it all out, and thankfully, College Guy has been superbly patient.
We finally got in the door, and put our suitcases in various corners. I knew what was supposed to happen next. He'd promised me an OTK hand spanking the moment we got settled. But I was intent on letting it happen in my own time.
"Just a second." I told him and retreated to the bathroom. Poured some tap water into a plastic hotel cup.
He leaned against the bathroom door frame. Watching me.
"Just a second." I said again.
But the water was soon gone. I set it down and began fingering my hair, primping, dragging out the time.
Without a word, he took my primping hand in his and led me to the bed. And it was amazing. Period. I ahhed and owed and squirmed and giggled. But I knew that the real reason we were here was for something less amazing.
The punishment spanking for all my misdeeds of the summer.
Shall I list them for you? Honestly, I'm extremely scared to. But for anyone out there who wonders if these spanking relationships are just a bunch of bogus talk and are really about the spanker and spankee getting off on the spankings, well, it is not usually so. And it is not so with this boyfriend of mine.
The offenses were real. I'm not proud of them. I'm proud of being bratty, of laughing in the face of a Top or the threat of a spanking--why live life afraid? But I'm not proud of what I did. Let's start the list, shall we? (Caveat: No one instructed me to publish this post or to "confess" my crimes. I've already been spanked for this. I feel like writing it out because I enjoy things being as clear as possible. And since my readers shall never really know me, who better for me to confess to?)
1. During my summer away from home ( about a week after I arrived at my former roomate's house where I stayed) we met a random dude and went out with him and his buddy. I liked him at first--he had muscles, payed for our bowling game, and had that southern boy-all guy attitude. He wanted to take me fishing later on, etc. However, later that evening, back at my roommate's house, he became incredibly annoying. Begging her to let him smoke in her house. She told him no. But he wouldn't take no for an answer. He asked her at least 5 more times. I hated it and him. What a baby. I wanted him to go away and fast. But he did have nice muscles...Moving on.....
Somehow he talked me into letting him sleep there, on my couch, with me. I was worried---what if he had too much to drink? What if he thought I wasn't fun? So I let him. I didn't want to let him. But I let him.
I didn't want to kiss him. But I let him. Why? Pride. And my own shaking self esteem.
The kisses hurt. He had a beard that hadn't been shaved enough. And I didn't like this new kind of pain.
I was dead tired. It was 2 am. But suddenly, I had a grand idea.
"You want me to give you a blow job?
"I don't like them." He said, and changed the subject.
I couldn't believe it. So I showed him what he was missing. Yes. Even though I didn't like him. Even though I didn't want to. I suppose I wanted to for me, to show myself how wonderful I was. But afterwards, I thought of College Guy. I lay there in the sleepy arms of this Southern-dude, and all I could think was, OH NOOOOOOOOO.
College Guy and I weren't dating at the time. But I still felt terrible. And although he and I both knew the intimacy I had shared with the Southern-dude bothered both of us, he refrained from focussing on it, telling me what I did sexually with others was my business. "My problem with what you did is the fact that you didn't want to do it, Bonnie-jo. If you'd wanted it to happen, I'd be okay with it. I'm going to punish you for this the next time I see you. And it's going to be very hard. Do you understand?"
"Yes, yes, I do. Thank you. I feel so much better." And I did. My world had been righted once again.
The summer progressed without too much upheavel. It was an awesome one in fact. Karaoke, lake-swimming, sun-tanning, and random unnanounced dance parties with my roommate in our apartment.
2. Then one night I decided to go to a dance club. I was missing College Guy. I was missing My Magician. A 30-year old dude danced with me, told me I was good at it. I ate it up. We hit it off, talking and dancing until the club started kicking us all out.
He wanted to go out to eat, to keep on talking. I was thrilled. Maybe he could be a friend to me, like My Magician, just non-spanko. Who knows maybe he is spanko?
I wasn't hungry. So he suggested we sit outside his hotel room, as he was just visiting the area for a couple of weeks. I was feeling so comfortable. "I don't mind going in, " I said. I know my way around hotel rooms....I thought to myself. "Just as long as you know I just want a friend. No sex."
"Oh, I know, baby," He said. "I'm not interested in getting into your pants."
And he wasn't. But he was interested in me getting into his. And I complied.. I didn't really want to again. But I did it out of pride, and out of laziness. I hate confrontation. But I was wrong. I knew it afterwards. I had let myself down again. I hadn't been true to what I wanted.
"Did you want to do it?" College Guy prodded, a few nights later, as I confessed what had happened.
I was silent for a long time.
"Uhmmm...yes...I don't know...noo....arggg...."
"I'm adding it to the list, " College Guy warned me. "You need to do better."
3. I'd had a minor-but -major -for- me problem with drinking too much at one time. It was definitely tied into the above situations with guys. After about a month of the summer passed, College Guy gave me a limit. Two drinks per outing. Period. That's it. No more.
I'd messed up on the limit once--that night with the 30-year-old at the hotel. I had to give myself 200 (or was it 300, I forget) hard swats with my handy dandy bathbrush--nicknamed "Geppetto" by College Guy. (I have truly no idea why....) As you can see by the fact that I forgot how many swats it even was, self-spankings are not very memorable for me. But I knew what I had done was wrong, and I was sorry.
4. BUT........About a week before I left at the end of the summer (and by this time, College Guy and I were an offically dating couple), I went to a Karaoke Bar. It was packed. Packed with guys. Young guys. Cute guys---well, some of them anyway. They pulled me and my roommate into a huddle and we all sang Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody together. It was the start of a good night. Or rather, one that I wish had not happened.
Once again, I felt I needed an ego boost. And I was worried about me and College Guy's relationship. He thinks I'm some angel, some amazing girlfriend. But I'm not. I'll show him I'm not. I'm going to break his heart at some point. I'll just do it now and get it over with.
So I kissed an Irish dude. He even had a real accent. And I let him buy me a third drink--a Guiness Beer from Ireland. "I'm not supposed to go over 2 drinks," I confided to the Irish dude.
"Why not? Do you have a problem?"
I was afraid he'd take the drink away. "No, no, no, it doesn't matter. I just promised this guy I wouldn't...."
It tasted like coffee. But that was the best taste in my mouth all night.
Minutes later, I knew I had to get out of there. The Irish dude wanted to dance and kiss, I wanted him to leave me alone, and I wished I could sing my Karaoke song I had planned --"She Will be Loved" by Maroon Five. But now the song was ruined. Because she wasn't going to be loved. Because I was sure College Guy and I were through.
I fled to the parking lot, dialed College Guy without thinking. Said a bunch of random stuff until I finally confessed what had happened. And I knew I'd hurt him.
He was more confident that it would never happen again than I was. And I still ask myself "Why?" "Why didn't he dump me?" And "Is this even healthy?"
It took me until the next morning to say the words "I am sorry." But I said them. And I meant them.
And I knew for sure I would be even more sorry later.
And that is where this spanking in this hotel room comes in. Can there be a spanking big enough for a summer like the one I'd just had?
You'll just have to see in the next post. :)
I've been thinking about a list. I like lists. So here's a list of 10 spanko things--things that make me spanko.
1. At the grocery store I work at, I'm at the cash register. "Put the dog food on the very bottom" a man says to his son, as they place it on the bottom rung of a grocery cart. But I cringe as I hear "bare bottom". I know , I know, it's a stretch....but I heard it.
2. My family hired a man to fix something on our house. He may have been using a nail gun, or maybe it was just a hammer. But the sounds came loud and clear through my closed bedroom door as I lay on my bed, listening to the slamming, violent sounds, mind filled with images, body tensing in enjoyment.
3. I check out other female's butts more than some straight guys probably do.
4. One of the greatest things about R&B is the rhythm/ beat. It sounds like a spanking beat to me.
5. I had a fear-crush on every principal I've had in junior high and high school--also on every Dean of Students in college.
6. When I was eleven my little bro and I offered our kind services to our mother in making her a paddle. She politely declined. She probably should have been slightly concerned.
7. Besides being spanked for the obvious reasons as a child and for adult reasons as an adult (best reasons), I've also coerced two different girls to spank me when I was in elementary school.
8. I remember waking up one day (around age 12 or 13) and thinking, "I'm never going to be spanked again; I'm too old." It felt like I'd reached 95, and my life was over.
9. One of the top things I fear most in the whole world is Pain. And one of the most interesting things to me is also Pain. As a moth to the flame.
10. There's an in-built part of my brain that keeps track of potential implements lying around in my house or friend's houses. Just today my roommate left an old belt lying on the kitchen counter. I can never resist trying things like that out a little bit.
Okay, so that's 10. I'll stop now.
I'm leaving for College Guy's house tomorrow morning at 6 am. It's a long drive. But it shall be so worth it. We have some plans, but a lot of the time is going to be filled with spontaneity.
Friday night I'm going to get spanked, and spanked very hard. (Wow, that's day after tomorrow!!!!) The summer has been long and fun, but it had it's moments of severe mistakes. Mistakes for which my bottom will pay. I can't wait.
I'm an extremely fortunate girl. I have two spankers. This is hard on both of them, I know, but especially hard on College Guy. I don't like to put myself in his shoes, to try to feel a part of what he must feel. I'd rather continue feeling what I feel--pure enjoyment and pleasure at being intimately connected with the two spankers in my life. College Guy has his moments of annoyance at the way things are, but for the most part, he is handling it better then so many others ever would. I'm an extremely fortunate girl.
I didn't know College Guy was going to read my "So Hard to Say I'm Sorry" blog. But he did. I was hoping he'd read it later, since he'd told me before I left to see My Magician, "Bonnie-jo, be careful this time. This is not a time to test your limits with him." And I didn't test limits, but I did test. I did push. I wanted to so badly. So I did.
So College Guy called me last night.
"How are you?" I ask.
"I'm awesome. I just read your blog."
"Oh.... Oh, you did?"
"Yes, and you know what I thought when I was done?"
"I read the whole thing, and it made me smile, and I thought, this is why I'm dating her."
I'm stunned . "Really?"
"So you're not mad I pushed him? That I tried to make him spank me really hard?"
"Nope. I thought about pretending to be." He chuckles. "But no, I'm not." He pauses. A different tone comes over his voice. "You know the part you wrote about me though, about being sorry? Or in your case, not being sorry?"
I wince. "Yes."
"I've been thinking a lot about that."
"Oh. That's good, or...maybe it's not."
He pauses, letting me squirm and wonder what he's thinking. Then he says, "Do you remember the word you used in the paragraph about not being sorry with me?"
"I've been thinking a lot about that word. I think it's a great word."
"See if you can guess it. It starts with a "b"."
I think. Then I know. It's when I said "He hasn't broken me yet."
"Okay, I know what you're thinking of." I say. I don't say the word itself because my roommate is in the room, and I'm suddenly squirming around on the couch, a certain look on my face. And I'm way too shy to so say the word in front of her. I'm making enough of a scene already.
He didn't promise anything. He didn't say, "That's what's going to happen, Bonnie-jo. That's what I'm going to do. I'm going to break you. " If he'd said that, I might have died of ecstasy right then and there.
No, he didn't promise. He left it at that. He brought up the word. Then he left it sitting there, and moved on to talk of other things. But the storm is rumbling. The lion is growing restless. The pot is beginning to show little bubbles that will soon begin to rise.
It's only two nights away.
I'm over College Guy's knee, and he's explaining why I'm going to get what I'm going to get. "When you tell me you're sorry, I will stop. But not until then." Later, I lay over the foot of the bed, my feet on the floor, bottom tensing in expectation, knowing that when he is holding my bath brush, I'm going to have a lot of trouble being still. It will hurt. And it won't take long. A minute later, after I've squirmed up the bed's foot and down it with his hand lightly holding me in place, the brush's punishing crack making me whimper, "I'm sorry," I say. "Really." I turn to look at him, trying to make sure he sees the sincerity in my eyes. But I know I could go for a bit longer. He hasn't broken me yet. I'm saying sorry because I don't want to force him to go longer. Because I know he cares. Because I care too. I'm not in a forcing mood. I really wish I hadn't done what I had done. So I am sorry. But the spanking hasn't forced it out of me.
Blindfolded and squirming as I lay stretched out over a pillow in a remote hotel room, I draw in a shaking breathe. My Magician ceases the strap's burning strokes, and my bottom ceases it's jiggling motion. "Stay there, Young Lady. I'll be back in 5 minutes to finish your spanking." I'm in an extremely good mood, so when he leaves I pop off my blindfold, sit up, walk over to the mirror, inspect the damage my bottom's portraying so far. I'm not sure if he just wanted me to stay in the room. What does "Stay there" really mean anyway? I sense I'm playing with fire, but fire can be so pretty. I think about putting the blindfold back on and laying back over the pillows. I decide against it. I've been in that position way too long already.
He stalks back into the room, and I'm sitting cross-legged on the bed, fiddling with the blindfold. I look up at his surprised face and I smile. "Hey," I say. He says nothing until he's standing over the bed. He doesn't look annoyed. "What did I tell you before I left here?" The tone is that of small-talk, of something not important. "Uhmmm, well, you said to stay here, I thought maybe in this room."
"I said 'like that', did I not?" The words get faster, harder, colder. "Did I not, Bonnie-jo?"
"No, I don't remember you saying 'like that'." I fiddle more with the blindfold. I'm glad he's picking up on what I did. I wanted him to. Badly.
"Get over the pillows. Now. " I obey, panties still on. Knowing he will want them off, but deciding
against doing things by guessing or intuitively thinking I know what he wants. I know his tone. It means I have to do exactly what he says, nothing more, nothing less. Or else.
"Get up. Take your panties off." There we go.
I grimace as I think about what his tone implies. This is going to hurt. Why did I push? I slowly pull the panties down, screw up my face in annoyance as I ease onto my hip and pull the panties around my knees and off. Taking off the things is much harder when one is sitting on a bed. And more embarrassing. He slaps my bottom hard. "Hurry up. And lose the attitude, Young Lady."
I barely get them off before he pulls me into a laying position. I've put the blindfold back on, but I know he has the wooden paddle, and I begin whimpering very quietly. My mind is castigating me for being stupid, and it picks up in crescendo as I feel him lock me into place, his hand holding down my back, his knee holding my legs still. I'm going to die, I realize.
He brings the paddle down with its usual intensity. It's a large one and it hits both cheeks with full force. Usually when he uses this, he waits between blows, so that I can feel the impact, pain, then the following warmth and glow before he strikes again. That is the beauty of this paddle, the after-warmth. But he doesn't wait.
I try to relax and take it. But the speed of the blows make this impossible. Before 5 seconds go by I'm struggling to get away. I can't. I realize now would be a perfect time to apologize, but I can't do that either. Maybe it's because I can't breathe. If you can't breathe you can't talk. But I know this is just an excuse.
"Okay, okay, okay!!!" I whine/wail, hoping that he can read my mind, realize how hard it is to apologize. But he keeps going. I start to kick hard. My toe grazes the paddle's edge, and I jerk my feet down. He hadn't even paused slightly at the presence of my foot, and I realize suddenly that he's not stopping, I can't distract him. I put my hand back, my last resort. But he just paddles away, spanking around it. I draw it back within seconds, because holding onto the pillow in front of me and generally clawing the bed seem to work better when handling this awful of a spanking.
"Okay, Okay! I shouldn't have done that! I should have stayed here." I push the words out, ready to grovel just a bit. But he doesn't seem to hear.
Why can't I say I'm sorry? Maybe it's because I'm not. I'm proud of myself. I think I'm clever and funny, and I'm pleased I could make him do what I wanted. I wanted him to spank me hard, to punish me hard. To force me to submit. At the same time, I'm becoming sorry. Very sorry. But it's not like I hurt anyone, I argue with myself. Sorry is a big deal.
It hurts. I squirm, fight, wail. Suddenly the words are on my lips, but it's as though I'm in one of those dreams where you're so tired, you can't speak. You try to talk, but your lips aren't moving, no matter how hard you try to make them.
I'm almost crying as I whisper/moan, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." At least it felt like whispering. Maybe it was louder and I didn't realize it.
But the spanking continued. When it ended, I drew my legs up to my chest sobbing softly. Completely spent.
"Lay back over the pillows." I didn't realize I'd come off of them in my struggling. I feel for them with my hand and get back into position.
His voice is right above my head. "Stay there until I get back."
After he leaves, I groan softly. "Are you happy now, Bonnie-jo?" I ask myself out loud, after I listen to see if he's really gone. "Are you happy now?" I don't answer. Because it's a complicated question.
I'm not happy. My bottom hurts, and I know he's coming back to finish what he started. To finish the job. To instill a lesson. And I'm a little scared.
But I'm also thrilled. He didn't let me get away with it. He's not a nice guy.
And I got a bit of practice at saying I'm sorry. Maybe I'll get some more. Here's hoping.
I froze, fingers stilling, then grasped an idea, “Yes.... but only if you wanted –“ I took a breathe, then, resigned, said quickly, hoping the speed could help me get the words out, “Blindfold- me –and- use -the -crop.” There was history to this. He’d done it before, and I’d freaked. It was the first time I’d told him to stop. Now the magic words “crop” and “blindfold” loomed before my brain, snickering at me, pointing accusing fingers, claiming I was too afraid. I hated being so afraid of anything.
“Yes, you did say that.” His voice was calm. “ You said that I could.”
But he didn’t. He went on to stand me in the corner. To use the strap (which I thought was the crop—--power of suggestion?). He put me over pillows, and used the strap again. Put me over his knee. Spanked hard, spanked long, then began to stroke my bottom, soothing my fast breathing. I looked over my right shoulder, confused. Were we done already? I didn’t deserve to be done yet. I didn’t deserve mercy.
The calming motion of his hand continued, broken up here and there by a firm, but un-stinging slap. “You’re going to learn boundaries. It’s part of becoming an adult. Adult is not a dirty word, Bonnie-jo.” I looked up at him, he was grinning. All I could think was that I still felt awful, that I wasn’t done yet.
“Now, I’m going to give you the choice. Do you want me to blindfold you and use the crop?”
I opened my mouth, closed it. Moaned softly. Opened my mouth and closed it again.
Finally, I said, “Okay, you see. It’s like…Arghh…It’s like I’m afraid of it. Because the crop hurts a lot, and the pain is centered all in one spot at a time. And when I can’t see, there’s nothing to distract me. I can’t think about anything else to distract me….Why am I telling you this? I shouldn’t be telling you this!” I blew out a breath of air.
He smiled. Waited.
“Okay, okay.” I said. “Yes, I want you to, kind of, because I don’t like to be that afraid of anything. I want to be able to do this.”
“Okay.” He rose, opened his “Magician’s” bag, brought out a pink mask, still in the package.
“Where’s the other mask, the one from before, the black one?” I blurted, trying to calm myself, but realizing that I was calm already. Did I trust him this time? Maybe I trusted him more? The thought was inviting as he slipped the mask over my head. It came down too far over my nose, smashing it in, and I pushed it slightly up. Then silence, darkness. He won’t let me down, I thought. I am in his hands, and he won’t stop caring.
I breathed, trying to deepen and slow the breaths. Then I felt him behind me. He took a wrist in each hand, and I leaned slightly back, almost touching his chest, feeling the tension, feeling him behind me, even though he was only touching my wrists. He slowly walked me to a wall. Placed my hands and arms on it. Moved his hands on top of mine and pressed lightly, waiting, as though gluing them there. Then he stepped away. I stood still.
He took my wrists in his again, and we walked backwards slowly, turned to the left. Did the same with the next wall. I felt his hands on my hips, as he tilted them towards him, away from the wall. He rolled the hem of my shirt slightly up, stepped away. And I waited. I remember thinking, this is why people like BDSM, this is what I never really understood. I trust him. I don’t care what happens. It’s about being alive, and knowing that everything is going to be okay, no matter how bad it’s going to feel. That you are in the right place with the right person and it’s going to be okay.
I heard him breathing behind me. Stepping closer. And then the crop touched my leg, ran up my thigh, my bottom. I don’t know how much time passed. It seemed long and it seemed short. I didn’t care. I didn’t tense in expectation. I didn’t wonder when it was going to come.
Then it came, one short burst of pain on the upper part of my bottom. I breathed. Then nothing. I stood there. You couldn’t even call it waiting. It was all the same, the blows and the non-blows, all part of the feeling that was washing over me. The game may have lasted minutes or seconds. I do not know. I stood there. And stood there. It came, sometimes hard and fast with multiple blows. Sometimes with slow, single ones. And even though the hard ones stung at first, each drifted away into that warm, numbing sensation that begs for more.
I heard him take a deeper breathe, signaling a change, felt his hands on my wrists again. We walked forward. I felt his hand on my back gently pushing me down and forward. The foot of the bed came up underneath me as I fell across it. I stretched out comfortably, arms above my head, unconsciously crossing my ankles, toes on the ground. He nudged my feet apart with his shoe. Then I heard him walk away, off to the right. The hiss of his Diet Coke bottle as he unscrewed the cap.
I waited, stifling an embarrassing moan, for this time it was one of pleasure, a plea for more. Shut up, I chided myself.
I felt his hand cupping my shoulder, squeezing softly, “Are you still afraid?”
I turned towards his voice, “No, not at all.”
“I didn’t think so.”
He used the crop again. Sporadically. And part of my brain told myself not to fall asleep. It was just so relaxing. Or maybe it was the way I was breathing. Slowly, deeply, hypnotically.
When he took the mask off, I sat up. Smiling.
“How do you feel?”
“I’m glad I did that. But, well, I felt like that wasn’t very good for punishment. You were too nice.”
He chuckled.“Oh. No, that wasn’t punishment at all. I ended the punishment a long time ago.”
In case you have been annoyed at my long absence --and I do hope you were annoyed, because that means you occasionally read and/or enjoy my blog--my roommate once again has been having major computer issues. Thus, here I am, writing after a month.
Updates are in order:
1. Most importantly, "College Guy" is now "Mr. Boyfriend". Should I change his name? Decisions, decisions....You'd think I would at least have a new code name for him now...but I'm still not sure how that's going to go down.
2. In less than a week I have another spanking with My Magician.(Oh, and btw, that last entry was about said Magician. I do realize I never clarified.)
3. In less than a 2 weeks, I'll be meeting up with College Boyfriend Guy...dang..this naming thing has to change. I need to get better at it. Suggestions anyone?? Yes, it is past 3 am. My brain power is spiraling.
4. And last but not least, I told my roommate/old college friend with whom I'm living with for the summer about how I met College-Guy-Boyfriend (at least the basics). I told her what I like. I told her about spanking...well, not the discipline part of it. But all the rest. Her comments were as follows:
--So you like being bruised? You just want to get really bruised? (To which I replied: No, I don't mind bruising, but that's not the point.
--Do you want to be handcuffed? (To which I replied, Yes, that would be nice.)
--I think the funniest part is that you call it being a 'spanko'!!! *followed by much giggling on her part* (To which I did not reply...oh yeah, or maybe like the aggreable wimp I am, I nodded and said it did sound funny as I died a little bit inside.
Because------I LOVE BEING A SPANKO!!!
Good night all.
We were drinking Diet Coke, laughing, joking.
Then a pause.
“I think its time we talked about your second issue now, Bonnie-jo, don’t you?”
With mock-sweetness, “Well, of course I think it’s time if you think it’s time.”
He said, with a fading smile, “Alright,good, put your coke down---“
I hate the talking part.It’s like when you’re in junior high, and the teacher calls on you; it’s like when you have to introduce your boyfriend to your father---my mind becomes numb, blank, stupid.
“Stand up.” He said as he stalked over to me. I obeyed, shrinking slightly backwards as he veered closer. He held the top of my jean cutoffs, and I looked away, off to my right, unable to grasp my embarrassment, as he undid the button, began the zipper.
They were tight (sunkissed skin so hot they'll melt your popsicle) shorts, and I moved my hands down to help, hoping to ease their descent over my tensing bottom. Hoping to ease his potential frustration if they didn’t come off in record time. But it was a mistake.
“Take. Your. Hands. Away.” The words was cold, precise. And I jerked my hands up, willing my panties to stay on as he tugged away. Not like they’d stay on for long….
He’d told me what I had done to deserve this. I had been childish, selfish, immature. I knew it was true. I’d broken a confidence. Acted on emotion. I hadn’t protected myself, and I hadn’t protected him. He said I’d be spanked like a bad little girl. I hated the “little” word, but I’d come here, ready to take what I was sure I needed, what I was sure I wanted. And part of me didn’t mind the “little” word at all, because I yearned to feel small, taken care of, secure, and thoroughly punished.
Two smooth tugs, and my panties were around my knees. I closed my eyes and felt him brush against me, in a backwards-side- hug, his right arm firmly around my upper chest, as he began to smack my bottom with his left hand. I stood there, face turned into his shoulder, knowing this was just the beginning.
He soon released me, saying, “Stay there.” I heard the slight woosh of the leather wheeling chair as he sat behind me. Waiting.
“Tell me again what you did and what you need to learn.”
I obeyed, hemming and hawing my way through the confession, never certain when he would rise to give my tensing bottom more slaps, the urge to peek at him over my shoulder growing in strength.
“Get into that corner in front of you, hands on your head.” I obeyed, stomping my feet slightly in annoyance. He didn’t seem to notice. I stood in the corner. Breathing heavily, but not out of fear. Out of anger. He’d awakened the brat in me, and I knew it was now safe to show it. So I did.
“Keep your hands on your head, elbows touching the sides of the walls. Stick your bottom out.”
“Stick. Your. Bottom. Out.” Seriously, how far can one stick one’s bottom out? Does he always repeat that in a scary tone just because he likes the words? I don’t doubt it.
And then the rain fell. The strap that I thought was the horrible-and most-feared-crop came fast and hard. I couldn’t help it. I twisted and turned and flinched and attempted to slide away, even though there’s nowhere to slide in a corner. He had a handful of my shirt, and just when I began debating what was more important—the well-being of my shirt or of my bottom— I found a sweet spot of relief. I twisted to my right, and began a slow, skulking descent down the wall.
“Stay still, Bonnie-jo. Stay. Still. You know you deserve exactly what you are getting. Keep still.” His voice was stern, annoyed.
I tried, but knew right away I was failing. My squirms increased as my whimpering grew louder.
“Alright, stay there. I’m not done with you yet.” It was a threat and a promise.
“Come here and get over those pillows.” I lay down, embarrassed again at the picture I made, bottom raised high in the air, completely helpless. He stood to my right, and I squinted up at him as he warned, “You are to stay still this time. No squirming around, back and forth. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir.” I said as I gasped at the reality, the potential for pain that lay ahead. In an attempt to obey well, I placed my hands above my head, held onto the pillow above me, burying my face in it, willing my body to relax, to stay still no matter what. Please be lenient, my mind begged him. But part of it was begging for the opposite—hurt me, please, I want to prove that I’m sorry.
I did a fairly good job at staying still. Some squirming, but mainly up or down, not twisting and turning and attempting to dodge the blows like I knew I had done in the corner. His right hand was light and warm on my lower back. It was merely there to center me, not to hold me there, and I knew it. I had to hold myself still, all on my own.
He was lecturing away as he let the strap fall. I gasped and whimpered, and when asked a question gave the appropriate “Yes” and “No” and “Yes, Sir.”
“Is this serious, Bonnie-jo?”
“Yes, Sir!” I whimpered.
The strap came down on my lower thigh, and I let out a soft howl. “No.” He replied. “No, this is not serious.”
“Yes, it is.” I argued, red-faced, squinting up at him. “This is serious!” If he thinks I’m not taking this seriously, I’m in so much trouble, I thought.
“No, Bonnie-jo.” He stopped the strap. I breathed slower. Confused. “This is an ass-whipping. This is not serious.” He began the strokes again, speaking between and around the sounds of the strapping. “What is serious is what you did. Your safety is serious. Your life is serious. My safety and well-being are serious. You didn’t take those things seriously when you did what you did. You need to set boundaries. Protect what is important.”
“Yes, Sir. I know.”
“I’m not sure you do. I’m not sure you do.” He sounded sad. “Back to the corner, I’m not done with you yet.”