So Hard To Say I'm Sorry

I was 5 and something happened with one of my brothers. Perhaps he pushed me and I pushed back. Then one of us fell. Scraped a knee. Ran crying to mommy or daddy. It was ruled that we had to tell each other we were sorry. I remember wondering what sorry really meant, wondering why it was so hard to say.

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.