Sensitive to Hard Spankings

I think I'm growing into more and more of a wimp by the day. Is it the full time job? Maybe it's having drunk wayyyyy too much wine at some Christmas celebrations this past weekend? Or maybe it's the fact that although I still dream about spanking at night, and although thoughts of it still distract me at work sometimes, I don't enter a spanking in some kind of fantasized other world, one in which endorphins and heightened excitement numb me to what is happening and there is a slight disconnect between mind and body, or should I say, mind and bottom.

Today I was to be punished, and College Guy told me I could pick between 6 cane strokes or 50 bathbrush strokes. I've picked between these choices before, and last time, I picked the bathbrush. Silly me. I was thinking that bathbrushes could never hurt as much as a cane, and that's perfectly true. Still, he gave me no warm up and it felt like he was swinging nearly as hard as he could on a my not-warmed-up bottom.

That was last time. So this time, I deliberated. And deliberated. And then deliberated some more. College Guy got antsy watching me scrunch my face in concentration and saying "Wait, wait, I'm thinking" and wordlessly began holding up fingers in front of my face, like a referee at a soccer match. I tried to put his fingers back down, but he has strong fingers.

"If I get to 10 and you haven't picked yet, I'm picking the cane", he warned, and then "Come on, Bonnie-jo...nine......"

"Okay, " I rush. "The cane the cane the cane. But can't I have it lying on the bed."

"No. I want you over the arm of the couch."

I like the bed. It's comforting. I can concentrate on relaxing better. There are covers to cry into as well.

Anyway, so I got over the arm of the couch, with a pillow underneath me and looked over my shoulder at him. Just a small note to anyone out there: don't look at the person caning you. It cements in your mind what is  about to happen. It's horrible. Don't do it unless you're prepared to start wiggling in uncomfortable anticipation. And, if you're like me, you'll also start whimpering "I can't, I can't"  and simultaneously hoping he feels sorry for you while also hoping he doesn't give in.

Well, he didn't give in. That first cane stroke made me squeal. The second had me sobbing and sitting on the floor. I was angry. Why did it hurt so much? What was wrong with me? And what was wrong with him in being okay with treating me this way?

He told me to get up, but I stayed on the floor wiping at my eyes and glaring at him with my most reproachful face. Who did he think he was?

He sat down on the bed next to our couch and pulled me to him so that I was on my knees, clasped between his legs.  "Bonnie-jo, do you remember what you said before you told me what you had done?"

"Uhh...a bunch of lies?"

"After that. You said if I broke up with you over this, you would understand."

I just nodded. Although the confession of what had gone on seemed so far behind me, that I couldn't imagine him breaking up with me over it, I tried to latch onto that one thought, that him breaking up with me would be so much worse than a spanking. He wasn't threatening to break up with me if I didn't take this punishment. That is not him at all. He was just trying to help me see how important this spanking was, and more so, how weighty what I had done to deserve/need the spanking was.

So we agreed to let him use the bathbrush and switch from the cane. I went over his lap, and he immediately pinned my legs with his leg. It was foreboding, nah, it was downright frightening. Two slaps of that wicked brush on my cheeks and I was whimpering and slightly hyperventilating. It was weird for me. I felt out of control as I wiggled under his pinning leg. Swats number 3 and 4 were dealt, and I began sobbing.

It was weird. And thankfully College Guy saw that too. He stopped and rubbed my back, saying "You're okay, you're okay." He just sat quietly, stroking my back and then my stinging bottom.

Then, "Bonnie-jo, I've decided to give you a warm up. You're way more sensitive and you need it."

My sobs and breathing quieted as he began slowly and methodically slapping my bottom with his hand. It didn't even hurt at first, and then it began stinging, but only moderately. I didn't understand why he was being so kind, but oh, how it warmed my heart. And it made me feel guilty at the same time. I didn't deserve his mercy.

After the warm up had gone on for a minute or so, I put my hand back. "I'm good now. I think I'm warmed up. I don't want you to do it too much." I was trying to take at least part of the punishment I deserved and needed, but I think he saw it partially for what it was, me trying to be helpful, but also as something un-submissive.

"Move your hand", he said as he unnecessarily moved it away himself. "I will let you know when your warm up is over."

"I'm just trying to help." I explain.

And then he broke out the bathbrush, and I cried again, but not as much this time. And at one point, he told me, because I've been worried about making two much noise in our small apartment complex, and I've told him how scary it is not to be able to make as much noise as I want to, anyway, he told me at one point, "Just so you know, you're not being too loud. You might sound louder to yourself than you actually are. You're doing fine, okay."

He warms my heart. And even though I did doubt him in the middle of parts of the spanking, when all I could think was "am I crazy?" and "he must be!", I knew that he loves me. And I know it even more now than before he spanked me. Thank you, my College Guy.

A Spanking and a Hug

I had been caned 6 times and hair brushed over College guy's knee. But the more he spanked, the more horrible I felt. It's like I had been expecting that the spanking would make up for my actions, would somehow equal them.

"Do you want more, Bonnie-jo?" He asked.

I sat up on our bed and scootched away from him.

"No, I don't. But, if you're still mad at me, I want you to let your anger out. So do what you want to do."

"I don't need to do that."

And I'm not sure if I was just trying to put it on him, as I always do. Really, I was angry at myself. I was angry that I once again was dealing with a problem that would not go away, no matter how much time I spent trying to fix it.

I said something bratty and difficult and he pulled me over his lap again. He spanked the way I knew he would--so fast I could barely catch my breath and stifle my yelps into the bedspread. It was close to what I wanted. Really, I just wanted to stop feeling bad, my usual self-serving plight. But then he suddenly stopped the hairbrush  and lay down on the bed with me, pulling me to him.

It's kindness that brings me to real tears. It almost always is. So I made his shirt wet and sniffled as he held me tight to him, telling me that it was alright, it was alright.

And even though I attempted to pull away angrily at least 5 times, I know now that it probably is going to be alright. Probably. 

Running Away

Since my childhood, I have been fascinated with thoughts of running away from a man, only to be chased until I could run no longer, or to be caught up in his arms and spirited away to some kind of punishment for the induced chase. Games like tag satisfied my thirst at least partially in my elementary school days. I invented a game that consisted simply of getting all the boys to chase all the girls and drag them off to "jail" during our recess or lunch times. I would personally be so hard to chase and drag to "jail" , that the boys soon tired of the game because it was "too hard".

When I first met College Guy, I fantasized about running away scenarios. I thought that when we first met, perhaps he would put me in the corner before the spanking. I would comply but sneakily watch him and bolt when his back was turned. Some kind of chase scene would ensue. I wouldn't get far, of course. But I would probably get as far as the door, when his hand would close on my upper arm, and I'd be dragged, protesting and apologizing and trembling, back into the room and over his knee. And I'd pay for the extra effort I'd forced him to put forth. Oh yes, I'd pay dearly.

There are purely physical reasons for why I'm fascinated with the chase/run/capture game. The adrenaline is lovely---then there is the absolute freedom of running, the middle part where the chaser begins to gain on you and you think "oh nooo", the climax and drop when the chaser catches you, and then the cycle happens again as you realize that you are now in more trouble and the adrenaline kicks back in, sometimes at an even higher level then when you first decided to make him chase you.

But there are also psychological/ emotional reasons for my interest in running away and being caught. It's a major reason why I like spanking and d/s  in the first place. The running away is akin to disobedience. It's blatant disobedience, or at least, it's a show of fear and a lack of control. For the guy to then chase and conquer and drag back shows caring, desire, and a special kind of forgiveness that is necessary for me to feel loved. It's the feeling that I was not perfect, I was annoying, disobedient, and rude, and instead of writing me off, he went after me.

When I first met College Guy, I never ran away from a spanking. I wanted to be perfect and polite, and I didn't know how he'd react to it. Now, however, I run away frequently, most times, just for fun, or even out of habit. "Get off my lap and grab me the hairbrush," he'll say after warming me up with his hand. I'll slide off his lap and grab the hairbrush. I'll hand it to him, then as his other hand reaches out for my wrist, I'll back up, causing his hand to swipe at empty air. The chase will be short and sweet, but it will have served it's purpose. I'll know that I am not "too hard" for him to handle. And I'm not too rude or disobedient. I can give in to the instinct to struggle, to pout, to protest, and he can handle it. Knowing that he can handle it is an awesome feeling indeed.

I just want you to be my top

It's been a long month or so. And I've been thinking thoughts. Some of My Magician's words come back to haunt me, and I find myself saying, "Maybe I want to be free..."

Free to flirt, to go to clubs and dance hard and long, to ogle guys and wonder if they have wives, hoping that they don't, free to not have decided on someone. But most of all, I want to be free of two things: (1.) To not wonder if I've made a mistake and am going to be unhappy and  possibly have to live with that mistake, and (2.) To not have to hurt someone and be responsible for someone else's pain if I decide that they were that mistake.

It's been a long month and a bit of a struggling month for College Guy and I. We've had a good week among what has seemed like turbulent ones.... The newness of the move has worn off. I finally said goodbye to My Magician for the last time--we were still emailing here and there and I needed to cut ties or loose my sanity. I also thought that saying goodbye to My Magician would stop me from discussing him with College Guy--the seemingly never ending discussions that simultaneously make me feel relieved and depressed all at once.

So today was the day my period ended. I knew I needed a spanking, but I wasn't sure if I would be able to stomach one. I was worried and still am about College Guy and I, what we are, what we should be, and how I should or should not control it. Or if I even can.

The spanking turned  a discussion that turned into me crying and wailing because I was trying to explain to him why we maybe should break up. We didn't especially get anything figured out, but we talked. Sometimes talking is all you can do. Then he said, "Okay, you ready for the rest of your spanking now?" I said "Whatever." It didn't really matter to me. I was past it mattering.

But the spanking got stingy and hard and I began moving a lot. He asked me a couple of questions and I remained silent. I decided he wasn't getting any "Yes, Sir's" today. That decision cost me dearly. What followed was him wearing me out. It was needed. I wanted it. I guess not saying "Yes, Sir" does the trick...

"Whether I am your boyfriend or not, as long as you are over my knee, you will call me Sir."

But I still didn't answer. The breaking point happened when I ended up in the diaper position. It only took about 6-8 bathbrush strokes and my resolve was broken.

At one point he told me to stand up and led me, naked and snuffling, to the corner. He placed my hands on my head and nudged my elbows up against the wall. But he didn't leave me there. He stood behind me and pulled me slightly against him, and I leaned ever so slightly against his frame. His hands came up to hold my breasts, and I told him, "Maybe I don't mean it about what I said...."

He led me back to the bed and pulled me firmly over his knee, as I murmured softly, "I just want you to be my top."

At least I know something. It helps to know a little, even if there are still so many unanswered questions.

Rich with Spankings

I am rich with spankings. I am spoiled, pampered, surfeit. From the time that I have moved in with College Guy until this moment, I believe there have been at least 50 spankings I could have written about. Some of them were smaller than others, but at least half of them have probably been good ones. That makes 25 posts I could have given you all. I am lazy and spanking-fat. But, mark you, I am not complaining. Not in the least. 

I can't catch you up, so let me try to make a kind of list, not one that will do them justice. But hopefully one that will make you understand how good I've got it. Because I do.

1. Daily swats, the hello ones, and the ones that I know are coming because of an extra saucy word or a bratty tone. The double-swats that mean, "Oh damn, you're hot and I just had to do that" and the ones that mean "I love you" and "It's alright. Stop worrying."

2. Spankings during arguments, spankings which I hated and almost convinced me that I didn't like spankings.

3. A spanking for sleeping in past my alarm (something I haven't done for a really long time and shan't repeat again) and I believed it involved the cane.

4. A spanking when I asked him to cane me and he did it so perfectly that I decided death by caning would indeed be the best way to die. 

5. A spanking where he sat on the side of the bed and lowered my head down, past his knees, so that all that was pointing up was my bottom, so that he could see all there was of me. And spanked. And spanked. 

6. A spanking where I evaded his grasp and ran around the room until he caught me.

7. A spanking where I wouldn't stay in the corner, and I ended up bent over his knee in the kitchen, my hands on the floor, him kneeling hair brushing remorse back into me.

8. Spankings where I've struggled so much, College Guy has been forced to sit on the small of my back and doggedly spank my wriggling bottom. These have perhaps been the most shameful of my spankings.

9. Errotic spankings, where we're doing "other things" and the spankings are natural, perfect.

But I haven't been writing about them. I don't know if it's because I am spoiled. I don't have to fantasize anymore about what College Guy will spank me about next time. I don't have the need to run my last spanking over and over again in my mind, because I know that in the next couple of days, it will be replaced by another. 

Sometimes, though, I wonder what will happen to my fantasy world. We shall see.

Thoughts

Sometimes I hate spankings. I lie over College Guy's lap and squirm as he splatters my bottom with hard fast spanks from either a hair brush or a bath brush, and I think to myself, "What the Sam-hill am I doing???" (okay, minus the Sam-hill part and you may substitute other words at your discretion).  It hurts and it makes me angry. I can't catch my breath, I can't even properly focus myself in order to cry. I  wisely fight the urge to tell him he's spanking me wrong, that he needs to slow down, that if this awfulness lasts any longer someone (and not me) might get hurt....

But he never spanks me that way for long. And it's always a spanking for something I've done. Something mean I've said. An act of direct and blatant disobedience. It's always warranted. So I struggle and whimper and yelp, and he pins my legs with his and wallops away.

But then, after the walloping slows, or stops, this odd thing happens to me. Sometimes, I almost want to cry because of the feeling and how odd it is. The pain fades or changes, and then, I don't want him to stop. I will be red-faced, sore-bottomed, and teary eyed. He will stop. Rub my back, spread some lotion on, kiss my cheek, ask me if I'm okay. And all I want to do is ask for more. I know that if he starts again it will hurt again and I'll want it to stop. But I hate it when he stops. I always hate it. 

Cigarettes and Paddles: 4th of July Fun

"I promise you, Bonnie-jo, if you ever take a single draw from a cigarette, I will blister your bottom."

College Guy had promised me this months ago, and I don't remember how the subject even began. I hate cigarettes and have only tried them once or twice. I've never had the urge to want to like them. I'm never going to like them. I felt it was a useless threat. It would never deter me from anything, and I'd probably never even use it to get a good hard spanking. 

While we were still living apart, I once told College Guy "I almost smoked a cigarette today just so that you would know that I am not a good person and just so that I you could plan a horrible spanking for my future." He understood how I felt, how I needed him to tell me that he didn't expect me to be perfect, how I needed the assurance of hard spankings for the future. But I resisted the temptation to smoke just to spite my good judgment. Just for the thrill of it. 

Fast forward to a 4th of July celebration with friends more than a week ago.. Add a pool table, some low lights, R&B, and about 5 random mixed drinks in each of our systems, just buzzing away. We all laugh, shoot pool, talk, and sip on our 6th random mixed drinks. And alcohol, as usual, makes me feel super excited and super depressed all at once. One of our friends, a dude, tells College Guy and I that we have something he wishes he had, that we are good people, awesome friends. I don't like being put on a pedestal. This and other random emotions swirl around in my head, and  before I know it, I'm reaching for the half-smoked cigarette this friend of ours had propped against the ashtray.

I had forgotten College Guy or his threat. My only thought was that I had drunk too much and I was so sleepy. There was no coffee in sight, so I figured a nicotine high might help. The cigarette was halfway to my mouth when out of nowhere (or so it seemed, for I had forgotten he was sitting right next to me) College Guy appeared, grabbed my arm and plucked the cigarette from my fingers. He stuck it back in the ashtray and bit out these words, "What do you think you are doing? Do we need to go home right now?"

"Huh?" Was my only reaction. And then I realized what I had done.

"I'm sorry...."

"You will be."

We were visiting family so we stayed in a hotel the next night. There was no time for a spanking as we were  with family, chatting and hanging out. The next morning however, College Guy set his alarm so that he could wake up when I came out of the shower. Once again, I must have been taking too long for his stern approval, because he barged into the bathroom and the tub and told me that I had been in there long enough and to get out.

And then followed a not-fun spanking.

"Do you want me to get dressed first?" I asked him meekly after toweling dry from the shower.

"No."

"I didn't think you would."

He put me in the corner for a little while, but once again, since we were on a time schedule because we were traveling back home, the corner time didn't last too long.

The hand spanking made me cringe. Hand spankings are usually one of  two things: sexy/hot, or foreboding/predicting. And once in awhile, they just plain hurt in a very unexpected way. This one hurt and was foreboding.

I was  paddled, hair brushed, sorority paddled, and bath brushed. We thankfully had not brought the cane, but College Guy had promised he'd cane me later when we got home. I never cried. It wasn't that kind of spanking. It was over with soon enough, and we had to get going and check out of the hotel. I felt duly punished though. I think my favorite part was really the worst part of the spanking---I believe it was when he was using the sorority paddle. That thing hurt so much, and I kept popping up and wiggling from my stretched out position on the bed. And he kept securing me with his hand on my back. Pushing me back down. Putting me exactly where he wanted me. And then paddling, paddling, paddling.

We packed up all our stuff and rushed out the door to meet more family for a quick breakfast before more traveling. As we carried our suitcases down the outdoor steps to the ground level, we passed a cleaning lady and man with their cart of supplies.

We were opening the doors to College Guy's car when we heard a shout from behind. We spun around and lo-and-behold, the guy who had gone into our room to clean it was waving our maple, circular paddle from the top of the stairs.

Ahhhhhhh!!!!

"Oh, hey, thanks," I shout out to the man. Then I run towards the balcony of the stairs as the man begins to crouch down and try to hand the paddle through the metal rungs to me. I vaguely hear College Guy muttering something about "Just dropping it" behind me.

I reach as quickly as possible up while the man reaches down, and within seconds, I have our paddle. Cheeks aflame, I say, "Thank you so much."



"At least it will make a good blog post." College Guy consoles. Yeah, I suppose it might.

Magic Man

"...it seemed
We'd seen each other in a dream
Seemed like he knew me...he looked right through me...yeah

'Come on home girl,' he said with a smile
'You don't have to love me yet, let's get high awhile,'
'But try to understand, try to understand,
Try, try, try to understand...He's a magic man'" (Magic Man, by Heart)

I heard this song on the radio the other day, and of course, it made me think of My Magician. That may or may not be a compliment, but it's true. And I miss him. College Guy says he doesn't mind if I find someone else who is older to see every now and then. But I guess I'm still missing what I had.

Life living with College Guy is interesting. I believe I have some sort of writers' block, and I apologize to you all. You probably wonder sometimes if I'm going to stop writing completely. Life gets hard to write about when it gets complicated. I miss long and almost-brutal spankings in hotel rooms where no one could here me cry out. I miss freaking out every single day about if my butt looked good for the week leading up to seeing College Guy. I even miss the long car rides to and from meeting up with him.

In exchange for all that, though, I love having someone to talk to, to hang with, to work with, to eat our dinners on top of the roof in the fading sun with, etc. It is good to have  a real live person to live with, rather than to wait for a telephone conversation at the end of the day.

College Guy and I got into a heated discussion the other day, and he said something that hurt a bit, something I've heard before, something that he apologized for later. It's not like at the moment I hadn't been doing things that I apologized for too....Anyway, what he said in a moment of true frustration was, "You don't want a real live human being do you? I guess you don't know what you want..." It was a low moment for both of us, and at the moment, I felt like he was completely right.

I'm still not sure if he is or not.

Of course I want a real person. But I know a lot of times my expectations for how much of a struggle a dom can take from me and still "win" is too high to expect of anyone. I wonder if this is more normal ( I hope, lol) than some people may think. Does not everyone have some kind of fantasy of what they want out of a significant other that is way too difficult for a real person to fulfill? Isn't compromise a major struggle in relationships? Conversation explaining what one would like, conversation about what one knows is impossible, conversation about what one will be working on, these are the conversations that strengthen a couple against the battering ram of time.

My Magician was a real person too, but the fantasy, magic-ness, or unrealness of how I saw him was a direct result of how little I saw him, the kind of contact I had with him, and more than anything, how I was determined to make him like me whenever we saw one another in person. I tried to be perfect in his presence. 


There is something about being able to show someone your worst and have them say, "It's okay. I still accept you." We'll work this out.

My Magician did that a lot. Said, it's okay, I still accept you, We'll work this out. And I showed him my worst sometimes.  But this was all via email or phone conversations. Don't get me wrong. It was still important.  It was still tons important. But it wasn't as real as it could have been.

There comes a time, though, when one must let their fantasy, their unreal-man stay in their head and accept the real man, men, or people in their lives. Not that the real people don't have room for improvement and growth. Because they do.

And furthermore, there comes a time when I must accept myself, my own realness, and let the little perfect rebel-girl  stay in my head. This 24-year old woman typing these words is who I really am. There comes a time when one must give up the remorse that they cannot be a 12 year old child. The adult that I am is a gift and one that I must take hold of and accept.  Not that there isn't room for improvement. And not that I can't be both rebel-girl and mature-woman when the time is right. Because I can.

A Caning on the Table

My bratting takes various routes in the effort to be seen and heard. It's not always something that happens daily, at least not in a strong way. But I seem to go through phases. Last week, College Guy had finally had enough of one of those phases.

Sometimes I brat because I want attention. Sometimes it's because I actually want a spanking. Sometimes it's because I know I'm stressed or in a bad mood, and I want that rush of adrenaline that happens when I feel myself in danger of being spanked hard. When you know that someone loves you but will still hurt you in a specific, focused way, well, that brings the best kind of adrenaline rush. And adrenaline rushes tend to take my mind of off the other daily stresses of life.

It was nighttime, and I did not like facing the idea of going to work the next morning. My job starts at 8am and lasts all day. It actually may have been awhile ago, longer than just a week or so, because I can't remember the details of it. All I remember is being sleepy, grumpy, and not wanting the morning to come. So out of the need for that adrenaline rush, I started play-slapping College Guy. It was really wherever I could reach at the moment, and it really wasn't all that hard, although a couple of the slaps may have stung. I don't know what I was thinking.. He would warn me to stop, and I would, but then I would do it again. These kind of things are sometimes like a bag of Doritos for me. Once I start, I can't stop until I play the whole thing through. He told me to go get my hairbrush. I refused. He told me if I did not he would get the cane and use it on me. I stalled, then when I could feel him about to get up to find the cane, I protested, "I'll go get the hairbrush!!!" He ended up giving me a good OTK spanking with my hairbrush and telling me I'd be caned the next day, when I wasn't so tired. "Cane me now." I pleaded. "Sorry, I think this is one of those things you need to think about and wait for." Ughghg.

The next day was a Saturday though, and after coming home from work, we both forgot about my supposed caning. I introduced College Guy to his first club, and the night progressed happily, with no caning for me. The next day, Sunday, however, he announced to me. "You have a caning today."

 We had just returned from a garage sale from which we had purchased a round, solid wood table for our apartment.  College Guy put a pillow on the table, and positioned me against it. "Keep your hands right here, don't move them, keep your body on the table. Keep your feet down." He slipped my dress up over my hips, and I gripped the tables edge in my hands and thought that when I purchased the table at the garage sale, I had no idea what a good buy it was.

I lay there quietly, perhaps whimpering a bit. The emotion of the scene was the type I tend to really crave every once in awhile and the type College Guy does not tend to dish out that often. He traced my bottom with the cane, then began tiny test- thwacks with it, not really a teasing action, but more of a sinister one. Like a cat playing with a mouse before he eats it.

The first cane stroke or two were normal. Painful, scary, but not too bad. The truth is, for some reason, ever since we moved in together, the cane had not been hurting like it had in the past, So I wasn't as horrified as I possibly should have been.

Then, something happened that has never happened before.

He drew back and let that cane rip. It was only one blow, but it hit higher than he has possibly ever hit me before, at the very top of my bottom. It was high, and it hurt. The skin there is somehow so much more sensitive to cane strokes, I guess.

One blow had never hurt me that much before. And I broke my hold on the table and stood up straight for a second. Somehow, though, I didn't end up sitting on the floor telling him I wanted to be done. The next second I was positioned back on the table (I really can't remember if I just went back or if he pushed me back down.) But I was sobbing. Sobbing from one cane stroke. The fact that I was crying scared me too.

Then he began to talk. One of the worst things about a top talking to me when I'm already in a partial sub-space like I was this time is that it's so hard to hear. I think something happens with one's blood pressure and it messes with the ears. Or something. Maybe it's must a mental thing. So, I kept saying "what?" and tried hard to concentrate.

He talked about how he usually gives me lots of leeway with bratting , that he lets me be fairly free with it...."Don't you agree, Bonnie-jo?"
 --"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
 "Yes, Sir!"

He continued caning me between the scolding. When he started up again, I almost freaked, thinking he would aim high again. "You aimed really high that one time, you know." I whimpered.
 "I know and I'm sorry. That was not intentional." He said. Which did help.But only a little bit. He might miss again, was my thought.

"You've been bratting a lot the past few weeks. So this caning is going to be harder than it normally would be. Do you think that's fair?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You understand what I mean about it being harder because it's been more frequent? It's not like I'm going to spank you this hard if you brat again in the future. But this time it's built up."

"I understand." But inside I was almost praying, "Dear God....." even though I don't believe in him. It's a weird feeling, but he had me in the palm of his hand. I suppose I would have started begging and such if the spanking had gotten too bad, but the dominess of it all had me fast. I wanted to obey him in this. I wanted to take this spanking. I didn't want him to continue. But I wanted to be obedient. Once again, I think this was partially  because I really did feel bad for slapping him over and over again two nights before.

Somehow, thought I got through the rest of the caning. I had real stripes when he was done, although they only lasted out the night and were basically gone in the morning.

To Just be Over His Knee

College Guy pulls me over his lap and I make an oof noise of surprise. He spanks softly then pulls down my shorts and panties. This is the kind of spanking I love--all hand, with hard ones and soft ones. And each soft one making me ache for another hard one.

He's sitting crosslegged on the floor, and after a couple more swats, he pulls his Calvin and Hobbs comic book from where he'd left it by my side. Propping the book on my back, he stops spanking me.

Pure silence fills the room as he reads.
I try to lay obediently, and really, it's not a hard task. I feel so relaxed, so peaceful. It's the perfect place to be.

Then, without warning, SWAT SWAT. Two spanks rain down on my cheeks.

Then he reads.  I try not to fidget. Half of me wants to--to sqirm and rub against him, even to annoy him, so that he'll grab an implement and do something that will last longer, that will somehow kill the instatiable feeling inside.

The other half of me feels completely opposite. He's never let me just be this way before.
 To just be over his knee.
 To not wonder what I'm thinking or learning or doing or feeling.
To put me there and expect me to just stay there.
 I love it. It seems perfectly dommy of him and subby of me. I think about this, and I breathe, I close my eyes, and then SMACK SMACK! His hand falls heavily again.

We spend long minutes like this, minutes that feel heavy with our closeness.

A Virgin Spanko Wimp

After we had been meeting for some time, College Guy and I began exploring other areas that were not spanking- related, areas that were much more vanilla, or at least, much more the norm. For me, however, these activities were scarier than any spanking could ever be. And equally exciting.

There is no easy way to put this, and I hope you all don't think I'm making this up, but the truth is that I am a virgin. College Guy and I have never had vaginal sex. Writing that fact in this post is incredibly embarrassing to me, and not because I'm ashamed of some kind of personal convictions. My virginity, while at a time due to religous conviction, is presently only due to fear and discomfort while trying to have sex. I feel it is my own stupid fault and due to great wimpiness.

Here I am, a spanko with huge pain tolerance. My bottom can withstand just about anything. But when it comes to my pussy, I am, well, a pussy.

I grew up very conservatively, with anything sexual outside of marriage denounced as horrid sin.
This, I believe, is some of the problem. I don't know what the rest of the problem is.

I have come a long way though, mostly due to College Guy and his patience coupled with unyielding persistence.

How I need his persistence.

When we first met, he could hardly touch me "down there", without me freaking out. And he, being a virgin as well (aw, ain't it cute, I know..I know..) didn't really know what he was doing. He googled info on what to do and we talked a lot. We've dabbled  with a lot of different ideas and ways of playing. It's been a growing experience, but the growth, I feel, has been slow on my part.

But there has been some growth.  Half the time when he touches me now, I don't slap his hands away and try to flip over onto my stomach so that he'll only touch my bottom. One time, he strapped my hands for knocking his hands away from my pussy.

"You will use your mouth and not your hands to tell me what you want, young lady. You will talk to me. Do you understand?"

But I still have huge problems with it all. I have learned to tolerate and actally greatly enjoy outside stimulation, but any attempts to enter me and my fight or flight insticts gear up full-force.

And yet I want him inside me. I want to have sex. And just as importantly, I want to kill this huge fear of losing my virginity and of intercourse in general.

I don't know how to fix my problem. All I know is even though he tells me, "As a guy I have the easier role, you know. All I have to do is put this thing inside of you. I know it's all a lot more difficult for you", I think he has the harder role. Because I get so afraid and so upset, and he is the one who has to keep it together and not let me dissuade him from trying.

Last night, he tried harder than I've ever seen him try.

And I was fighting him harder than perhaps I've ever fought before.

I'm not quite sure how the Bonnie-jo logic works with this, but it's something like the following: I'm so afraid of sex and perhaps even more so afraid of not being able to take the pain that comes with losing one's virginity. So I've convinced myself that something is wrong with me. It feels unnatural to me. So I must be different from everyone else. The only way I can possibly have sex is to let it be done to me. The only way I can "let it be done" is if I stop fighting and just receive it. And the only way I can stop fighting is if College Guy makes me stop. I can't stop on my own. Stopping on my own would be the same as not being afraid. The fear of this is very much a part of who I am. So I need for him to take it over, make me obey him. So that I can do what he wants and not what I want, which, in the moment  of trying to have sex, is to not have sex.

I hope that makes sense. I want sex. But in the moment of trying, I don't anymore. So I need him to take it, to make me do what he wants. If he doesn't, I"ll get what I want. But I won't ever really get what I actually want.
So fastforward to our attempts that night to finally have sex. College Guy is trying to get me to stay still. I'm squirming and wiggling and freaking out whenever he gets close to entering me. Soon, I'm outright just trying to get away. We've done this before. In the past, he's just said, "Okay, we'll try later." And given me a big smile. Usually I end up crying out of frustration and he ends up comforting me and telling me I'll get there some day. But not so last night. Last night, he got more conrolling and more angry the more I squirmed and wiggled and was difficult.

It was 3 am and we were both becoming more and more emotional and frustrated. I was sniffling and depressed and he was fed up.

Finally, he said. "I want you to at least give me a minimum effort here. You're not even trying the slightest bit to stay still. You're being a baby. Either try or let me do something else with my night."

"I can't help it!!!!" I shot back. Then, "I need to lose my personality, I need to be broken, then I could do it."
For 3-4 seconds we held each other's angry and frustrated gaze.

Then I suddenly find myself on my back, his shoulder somehow up against my raised legs. In seconds his finger (or fingers?) was inside of me, all the way inside. My reaction was a half scream/half moan, and then his other hand spread over my mouth. My hand was on his hand with the finger inside me instantly. I could feel his hand/arm shaking with the strain of trying to stay inside as I attempted to pull away.

"We are going to stay this way for a long time. You're going to wait until this feels more normal. Take your hand off my arm please." His voice is curt and matter-of fact.

I just breathe and slowly, slowly, I inch my hand off of his arm, I place both hands on the ground where we're lying. It's my best attempt at letting go all night.

"Now breathe, Bonnie-jo. Come on. In. " He takes a dramatic breath of air. "And now another one." I try to slow my breathing as I whimper against his hand. I can tell he's gone all the way inside. Something is stinging oddly and I'm trying to not think so that I won't completely freak.

I turn my head under his hand but he keeps his clasp on my mouth. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be a jerk. I'm just covering your mouth for the neighbors."

"I know. It's okay. It's okay." I mumble into his hand.

He keeps encourgaging me to slow my breathing. I try. Then he jostles his finger and pulls back a tiny bit, then pushes forward. I twist my head away from his clasping hand. "Take it out! Take it out!" I sob. "Please."

"No." He keeps up the slight motion for a couple more seconds, then slides his finger out. I immediately curl up and dissolve into tears, but they are those short-spent kind. In seconds I'm smiling up at him and feeling sleepy.

"We've gotten farther than we've ever gotten before."

"Yup."

"I want you to know I'm fine with doing that. That's something we're going to need to do until you get used to it. And I don't mind. We won't be doing it every day, but I'm thinking once or twice a week."

I just groan....but inside, I'm hugely excited. Maybe, just maybe, we can win this battle together. Maybe.

Real Discipline--Gum Littering

I fidgeted in my seat as College Guy and I drove home from our Memorial weekend  visiting his family. It had been a fun but stressful weekend as I'd forced myself to spend time with both absolute and semi-strangers. It was the first time I saw College Guy more than buzzed--not the funnest thing for a girl who likes her guy in control.

The first week I spent with College Guy in our apartment had been exciting, new, but sort of mild on the spanking-side of things. A couple of things were going on. We weren't sure about the thickness of our walls or the hoped -for deafness of our neighbors. And I also think College Guy was intentionally not wanting to overwhelm me with anything that first week.

Then the second week, I, with my usual rotten timing, began my period, and that hampered things considerably.

So by the time our Memorial weekend with family and friends arrived, I was wishing things could be different. I was honestly afraid that my memories of discipline would remain memories.  Maybe College Guy didn't even want to spank me really hard anymore. A couple hours before we left his mom's house for the drive back to our apartmentthough, he told me, "When we get home, you're going to get some discipline."
"Why?"
"Because you're overdue. And because you've been intentionally trying to annoy me all weekend, haven't you?"
"Yeah."
"So you're going to be disciplined. Okay, Bonnie-jo?"
I rolled my eyes. "Whatever you feel like doing." What I meant was, Whatever you do will not be enough for me, pure and simple.

Still, I was a little excited and anxious about what would happen. I had to keep reminding myself that I could not get my hopes up. It's not going to be hard. Be prepared for it to be just a medium-ish spanking, I told myself.

But the feeling of restlessness and anger that had been pushing at me all weekend began to rear its head as we drove down the highway.  I said some snotty, unfeeling things. He got that hurt look on his face and became quiet. I apologized, and we talked it all through. But it wasn't enough. I fidgeted in my seat, chewing a stick of gum. And then I did something I've never done before. I rolled down the window.
"I'm throwing my gum outside." I announced.
"No, Bonnie-jo, put it in a wrapper, that's litter--"
"Nope. I'm throwing it." And I did so. (and I still feel slightly guilty..ugh...littering is awful...but, you see, my needs at the time felt more important)
His voice became angry and terse, just how I wanted it. "So you have hundreds of dollars at your disposal that you don't mind wasting on a littering ticket, is that how it is?"
I snap back, wide-eyed, "It's fine! I made sure no car behind us was close enough to see. You just need to calm down a little. Relax!"
"We'll talk about it when we get home."

My heart sank and fluttered. It had been the response I'd wanted. At the same time, the goofy smile on my face fell as I saw his "huffy face" as he calls it. He really was upset. But somehow, the converstation after that exchange lightened up, and we talked and relaxed the rest of the trip.

Within minutes of stepping in the door of the apartment, I was bare-bottomed and standing in the corner by the front door. He began puttering around in the kitchen, putting away everything in the dish drainer. This was oddly unsettling because I know it's not something he'd normally do. He must be super agitated, was the thought that spurred my heart just a bit faster, but I reminded myself again that the spanking would be dissapointing because our walls were so thin.

He came up behind me, and I waited for him to turn me around and lead me somewhere. Instead, he slapped one cheek and then the other so hard and so quickly that I bit back a surprised yelp. It really hadn't hurt, but suddenly I was breathing a lot faster, and my face was flushing. It's not going to be a hard spanking, stop acting like it is, I told myself.

He paces away, turns on his videogame for background noise (spanking for nerds 101....), and comes back to stand near my shoulder.
"What's about to happen, dear?"
"I have no idea." I smirk over my shoulder. In a way, I'm actually being totally honest.
He attacks my bare cheeks again, one hard slap to each side.
"What's about to happen?"
I sigh apologetically, "You're going to spank me because I was trying to annoy you." My voice sounds oddly adult to my ears. I feel so small at the moment.
"And you were doing it all weekend long."
"Yes."

"Come get over my knee."
I drape myself over his lap and he spanks hard and fast with his bare palm. Soon, I'm kicking slightly. I saw him bring the bathbrush to my chair, and suddenly, I don't want a discipline spanking anymore. He pauses, then, "That's all the warm-up you're getting."
"Nooo..." I start.
He brings the bathbrush hard onto one cheek, then the other. "You should have thought about that before you littered when I explicitly told you not to. You did that purely to make me angry, didn't you?" The bathbrush is always a shock to me, but it's usually bearable when he just brings it down on my bottom. That, however, never happens.  He softly tap-tap-tapps my left sit spot, letting me know in all clearity what is about to happen. Then CRACK, it comes down hard and I jerk  my entire body away from him. He is prepared for the struggle though and CRACK! brings the brush down on the right sit spot. I bring both legs up in a kind of fetal position, and he pauses, gently  pushing my legs back down with his hand.
I whimper softly.
"It's been a long time, hasn't it Bonnie-jo?"
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, Sir." I say. And a simultaneous feeling of relief, peace, and fear mix in my chest.
"Does it feel like you remember?"
"Uhmm..I think it feels worse."
But this does not stop that brush. It comes down again and again, and I stifle my yelps for our neighbors' sake.

He orders me back to the corner. There is a bit more of the bathbrush, 20 strokes, which he counts. Then 10 of the cane, which oddly don't hurt that much (I have no idea..and I really shouldn't be admitting such things) which I count. Then I'm over his lap for lotion and aftercare. I lay back on down on my stomach and watch him play his video game. It's all over.

Or is it?

I don't want it to be. I want more and I feel stupid and wrong and unhealthy for it. Sometimes, I'm afraid I'm insatiable.

He looks up from his game. "How are you doing?"
"Fine."
"Fine? Really?"
"Yup." I say and give him a smile that quickly leaves my face and that was only sort of aimed in his direction--one withouth any eye contact. He reaches over to place a comforting hand on my arm. I take his hand in mine and throw it off.

He gives me his quizical look, like he's trying to figure out what phrase I'm trying to mime in a Charades game.

Then, he sighs, "Get up."
"No."
He drags me up and propels me over to the refrigerator. "Put your hands here and here. Do not move them."
He goes and gets the cane, and I can care less. Well, for a moment I can care less. He reaches for my hips and moves them out, then takes aim, and in that moment between the taking aim and the following blow, I wonder why I threw his hand off my arm. There is no going back now.

Our movements become a sort of dance, one that we both attempt to lead. He conducts me with the cane, tapping the front of my pelvis lightly, "Stick out your bottom more. Don't move it."
"I can't help it. " I whine, as I stick it out more.
"Try your best."
SWISH!!!!
And I involuntarily move my bottom towards the refrigerator and away from the cane and in doing so break it's impact.
The cane taps back at the tops of my thighs, and I reluctantly stick my bottom back out. Then he moves it in between my legs and taps at my inner thighs, and I sigh, because that almost feels good. And I spread voluntarily.
SWISH!! It hurts and I'm immediately drawing forward and drawing my legs together. He taps at the places he wants to move again, and I move them for him.

"Do not move your hands from the refrigerator, " he tells me. "If you do I'm adding strokes."
But my hair keeps getting in my eyes, and at one point, I move a hand to push it back. "I said do not move your hands."
"I didn't move them." I protest.
"And now you're lying to me?"
"Uhh..."
"I'm going to cane you for a good long while, do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir."

And  little later....
"I'm sorry."
He looks at me with kind eyes, "Don't be sorry...unless it's about the lying."
"Yes, it is."
"It's okay." And I understand what he means. He's meaning that it's okay for me to be moody, bratty, and even annoying. He will deal with it. Lying he is not okay with. And neither am I, of course. The interesting detail is that it wasn't an intentional lie. I wasn't paying attention to whether my hands had moved or not. All I meant by claiming they didn't move was a blatant contradiction to whatever he was claiming at the moment. He could have said that 2+2=4 and I would have claimed it did not.

And then he finished the spanking with the tiny wooden hairbrush that usually I can handle very well, but this time it had me sqirming so much that my hands-on-the refrigerator-butt-stuck-out-position wasn't cutting it and he pulled me down into a make-shift-otk, with him kneeling on one knee in front of the refrigerator, me over the one knee. Then I was put back in the corner, and the time seemed much longer than usual.

You know, I still felt insatiable as I stewed in that corner. It isn't a fun feeling. Becaused I didn't really want to be spanked. It was more like I wanted him to erase my feelings. I wanted that oblivion that horrible spankings can bring.

I realized though, after he finally came and got me and said, "How about some ice cream?" and we sat down to cuddle and share a bowl of mint chocolate chip that I realized for another time that spankings don't fix everything, even though I always wish for them to and secretly think they will.

They just help.

Living Together

I have now been living with College Guy in our own little apartment for more than a week. It's been good--stressful and scary, but good. I've always been the type of person that detests change, that balks at it, that tries to circumvent it. So even though I wanted this change, this move to a completely new state and completely new way of living, it still makes my heart thump a bit harder than it is used to.

My parents hate that we're living together. They believe that cohabitation is morally wrong and will only hurt us. It is hard to know that they are afraid for me and wishing I would make other choices.

I knew spanking would not be the same in an apartment complex with thin walls. With the hotel situations we've had in the past, we always knew we could just leave in the morning; whatever our next-door neighbors had heard that night would be a one-night thing. But in a apartment, you have to think a bit more about who is hearing you. The dreaded cane has now become friendlier, for it is quit.  I do like hard spankings, after all, so deprive me enough of those and even the cane begins to look good.

It's an interesting phenomenon, but I've noticed with myself and other bloggers, that as a blog continues past the one-year birthday, it becomes harder and harder to write. There seems to be blogs that are either super old with experienced bloggers plugging away at them, or there are blogs that are fairly new and have only been recently active. I feel that my issues have become complicated, and they are no longer about the things they used to be.

A blog that was once about my spanking exploration with two men while I went to college has now become a blog about a fairly seasoned spanko living with her boyfriend and working in the "real world" (gag!). It could very easily become a blog about kinky sex....and it could also just become a sort of diary where I complain about living with a dude, share recipes, talk about the dream I had last night, and generally bore my poor readers.

Thus, I think I'm going to need to either terminate it,
or,
I could start telling you about my sexual exploits in more detail and my thoughts on those more erotic themes.

I wanted to keep this blog as something about purely spanking but maybe it's time for it to graduate and become about something more. Maybe. I'll think about it.

Watching another man spank me

College Guy told me long ago, "I'm not interested in watching another man spank you. Ever." We had talked about if he were ever to meet up with my Magician and me. They were sort of in agreement in what they both told me would be acceptable in that scenario. My Magician said he didn't want to spank me in front of College Guy. He would only settle for telling College Guy what to do to me--he would only settle for that top level of command. College Guy, however, told me he wouldn't mind that scenario--that he would be the one benefiting from it because he would be the one getting to give the spanking. He said that were the two to switch, were I to go over my Magician's lap, he wouldn't watch. He said he'd watch my face, talk to me, whisper encouragement maybe, but he wouldn't really watch.

This whole scenario was not appealing to me. I told him that the two would never meet then, because my idea of fun was entirely different than his. I wanted him to watch. I wanted him to watch another man spank me, to tantalize himself with it, and to know that I was his to spank harder. My Magician was right about the chain of command--watching and telling the other man what to do was the better role.

So at the Spanking Party College Guy and I attended a few days ago, I did not believe my eyes when I stepped off into a corner to be spanked by the guy who was running the party. He and  I had picked out a leather flogger, and as I settled down onto a spanking bench, College Guy stood 5 or so feet in front of us, watching. I shot him a nervous smile. "You don't have to watch if you don't want."

"I want to."

The man who ran the party was very nice to me--starting with a flogger always puts you in the "nice" category. I had picked a belt for the next implement, and that made me wiggle and squirm a bit. It must be hard to spank a girl in front of her top. I had played with this man one other time, and I think I sensed that he was a bit worried. As soon as I made any kind of noise or squirmed more than a little, he asked me how I was doing and if I was okay. Perhaps that's just party protocol.

He ended with a hand spanking, and I could have stayed on that spanking bench for the rest of my life and been hand spanked until I died of old age.....It was amazing!!! I have learned that I tend to be a little stupid when a top ends with a hand spanking; I tried it with College Guy that same night. Hand spankings make you think you can take anything. Hand spankings are evil because they make you think you like spanking. College Guy ended one of the spankings with only hand, and it was lovely, of course. So lovely, that I had to pipe in with, "Is that all you've got?" And, he, of course, then grabbed his trusty bath brush and told me without words that he had a whole lot left...Not the best idea...

So this other top hand-spanked me, and I almost fell asleep while he did it. And College Guy watched the whole time.

"Alright, Bonnie-jo," the top told me."Ten more, and then you're done."

"Okay," I murmured sleepily, wishing I could protest and get some more out of him.

"Make her count them." College Guy said.

He wasn't meaning to be rude, and the top thankfully was abnormally low-key for a top and didn't mind. He had me count them, and I took the opportunity to mess up the count repeatedly..I even counted in Spanish. They both ended up confused about what number I'd said and what it meant, and in the end, I had to translate the numbers I'd skipped over into English. I've always been the type to tell on myself.

But I thought later about what College Guy had done. He had watched another man spank me. And he had told the man one thing to do...Perhaps he's wouldn't have been okay with My Magician telling him how to spank me after all.

One more week

One more week and I will be living with College Guy. For now, I must make due with family visiting for my grad (so I'm deleting all the history on my computer, just finished cleaning up my photo albums, and will conclude with posting on here as I won't be able to do it for at least a week).

And then, I move to live with College Guy.

I've been thinking about my last post, and there is a lot that I left out of the whole story. That last spanking I wrote about was the last real spanking he gave me--definitely not the first of the trip. And every other spanking during the trip had hurt. After every other spanking, I'd picked myself off of his lap and been glad that he stopped when he did.

We had actually attended a spanking party a bit earlier in the trip, and the last spanking at the party had hurt almost too much. Later he told me, "I think you're much more pain sensitive around other people"--to which I soundly protested, "I am not!" But he had a point. I'm still not sure what one is supposed to do when they are being spanked around other people and the spanking starts hurting a lot. Normally, I whimper and wail--it's like my mouth is a channel for the pain or something. At partys though, I start off giggling. Then when it starts hurting and the giggles turn to whimpers, I try to quiet down. I'm just so afraid I'll start yelling and really scare someone else, or make College Guy look like he's being mean or dangerous.

I knew he wanted my last spanking at the party to be his--like Michael Buble's "Save the Last Dance for Me". And he warned me he wasn't going to be nice during it. I"ll have to blog about the fun at the party some other time, but this last spanking is important because, once again, I almost freaked out because of how hard it was. I was over his lap on some kind of hard leather mattress thing that worked great for OTK. He'd warmed me up sort of long with his hand (I will never say "long" because can hand spankings ever be long enough?), and had switched to a new hardwood, circle paddle one of the partiers had just given us. I knew some people were watching, so kept trying to smile and giggle, but that tactic became increasingly difficult. So I turned my head away from the people and hid, trying to keep my whimpers quiet. But the freak out began...What if I couldn't keep quiet? What if I cried in public?
I kicked my legs up, trying to let him know this was not fun. "Settle down." He told me sternly, running the paddle's cool wood along my calves. "Keep your legs out of the way, do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
Darn it, at least the people are far enough away to not hear me talk. "Yes, Sir." --Very softly.

And he kept spanking with that darn paddle. I began to breath hard. To wiggle hard. At one point I told him, "I think I'm done.." He'd warned me that I would get the spanking he wanted to give me that night, and I had been glad and happy that he was going to control it, to do what he wanted. But at that moment, I wished I could take it all back. "College Guy.."
"What?"
"I'm done now."
His response was only, "You're done when I say you're done."
I sighed and lay back down, somehow more at peace with it. But that peace lasted only seconds.
"I'm going to do 20 with this paddle and then you're all done. You're going to count them out loud. Do you understand?"
I was almost burst into tears right there and then. I tried to breathe through the feeling, deeply slowly.
"Bonnie-jo...Bonnie-jo, I asked you a question."
I sat up to look at him, "I really don't know if I can do 20..I'm scared of what I might do with all these people..."
"I"ll take it down to 10. Lay back down."

That was scary. Somehow I made it through. But during counts 3-8, I was one frightened woman.

So how did I go from that--from being scared of 10 swats--to challenging College Guy to basically cane me until his arm gave out? I have no idea...but the feelings during those opposing moments were so different, so alien from one another. Throughout both, I was still a spanko. But both were so extreme.

Where, I ask, is the middle and how do I get there? :(

I'm sure I'll find it. Still the extremes are kind of fun too. This way I get to experience the raw fear discipline can bring, and I also get to ride the high of that "He can kill me with his bare hands and I won't feel a thing. I am woman! Hear me roar!"

One last thought, College Guy told me that if I got in the same kind of mood I was in on Sunday too often, he knew exactly how he'd deal with it. He said he'd not spank me at all. He'd wait an hour, a day, or however long it took for me to leave the mood, and then he's spank me very hard....when I wasn't feeling brave anymore. :) I like that a lot.

Scary Spanking Mojo

I scared myself yesterday...because my spanking mojo came back with a vengeance. I have struggled a bit for the past semester with the thought that I  might not really be a spanko. It seemed as if whenever College Guy and I were able to meet up at a hotel for the night (only twice in the whole semester..way too little time!), I would go through initial excitement over him spanking me and then quickly spiral down down down into a freak-out because the spankings hurt and I didn't like the pain part of it. He would always lighten them up (only a bit if it were a punishment one) and we'd proceed as though things were normal.

It's interesting to try to figure it all out. The best explanation we have come up with is that my spanking pain level changes based on a lot of things, but particularly on how tired I am and the mood I'm in.

Usually, College Guy has spanked an exhausted Bonnie-jo. This last semester has been slightly horrendous in how busy it has constantly made me.

Yesterday, however, I was not tired. Not mentally and not physically. College Guy had been visiting me for the weekend, and we'd done a ton of fun, relaxing things. It was our last day together. I'd made us noodles with chicken and alfredo sauce .We drank a bottle of wine and snuggled on the couch.

We had been doing spanko and sexual things all weekend. I felt like I should be giving him a break, and I knew I had tired him out a bit as we lay on the couch together. But wine does funny things to me, and the more I tried to concentrate on the movie we were watching on Comedy Central (good channel, btw), the more I wanted to....hmm...do something...

I wanted a spanking, I wanted to have sex. I wanted something. But for some reason, my request came out oddly, "So when do I get to give you your birthday spanking you promised me I could give you?" I purred into his ear. I know, I know, folks...you're shocked. The truth is, College Guy told me that even though he is the top and I'm the bottom, I can give him the number of birthday swats around his birthday if I want to. I had not done so, because honestly, I never wanted to. But in the heat of the moment, I felt like if I couldn't have my naked bottom over his knee, at least maybe he'd let me have his. Weird logic, I know...and it was only 2 glasses of wine....

He crawled over my lap good-naturedly, and I took my time. It was kind of fun..and at one point, when my hand came away, I actually saw a pink mark underneath it. I can see the draw just a little bit. Still, as I neared the end, I began to worry a bit. Number one, how can he claim that he's "neutral" about me giving him a playful birthday spanking? And two, what was he going to do to me afterwards? Or would he do anything?

I finished and he promptly got up and told me that I knew he would have to pay the favor back. I was glad. But my mood was worse. Part of me was freaked that I had just spanked him and almost enjoyed it. And part of me was more freaked at how far I would go to get any kind of reaction out of him--to do anything kinky--I was hungry for it. So hungry. Like a vegetarian ready to eat a steak.

He told me to get over his lap and I did something I do when I decide to be entirely selfish and try to get what I want exactly how I want it. I fought him; I stiffened up. He tried to flip me over and I tried hard to stay on my back.

The rest is hard to remember. He started "Bonnie-jo-ing" me, sternly, warningly. I didn't answer. He counted, telling me it would be Gepetto and not just his hand if he got to count number 3. I missed the number. And the whole time I was watching his reactions hungrily, loving them, telling myself inside, "See he really can take control. Just because it's not always this way doesn't mean it's not there, ready to come out for later. It's going to be okay. He can do it."

He motioned me over his lap as he sat on the couch we'd just been watching tv on. I gave him my most seductive look and sat on his lap, "Please don't spank me" I said, making my eyes wide, kissing him. Yes, playing dirty and lying--that's what I was doing. But I was over his knee in no time and being bath brushed, and I wiggled and whimpered my way through it. But really I just wanted more. And I hated myself for it. Not because it's wrong to want more spankings!!! Please don't get me wrong folks. I just felt so guilty for the way I felt I'd dragged this spanking out of him. I'd played dirty. I hadn't asked him for it. I hadn't waited for it, for a time when he actually wanted to spank me too. He'd already spanked me just that morning. I'd forced him to punish me. I'd given him little choice.

He realized the spanking wasn't getting through. "Get up for a second."  He stalked off to my bedroom. Then I heard. "Bonnie-jo, where's your cane?"

"Nooo, don't cane me. " I tossed back.

He came around the corner of my bedroom door and shot me a look, hands on hips. "You will tell me where it is, or I will paddle you with the huge paddle. Choose which one you want."

It was a hard choice. But I found the cane (it took a bit of searching).

I handed it to him and he walked over to the couch. "Kneel on the couch." I winced through the caning, but I wasn't even feeling that. Not really.

It was his words that hurt more. His kind, loving words. "Why are you doing this? What's going on? Talk to me. We don't have to be doing this. If you can tell me what's going one we can talk this out."

I refused to talk though. And shot him dirty looks whenever he mentioned talking. He said something about needing to "break me a little bit", that he felt that was what I was asking for. I responded with some kind of throaty moan.....yes, it was true. That's what I wanted.

At one point he asked me a question. I didn't respond. "You can't even say 'Yes, Sir' right now, can you?" I just stared ahead, out the window in front of the couch I was kneeling on. Shook my head the tiniest bit. Glared out the window.

And then he stopped caning me like in a normal caning. You know, the kind-top, Swish!!!  then 8 seconds of a break, then Swish!! then 8 seconds of a break. This was consecutive cane strokes, one after the other after the other. Swish! Swish! Swish! Swish! That got through to me fairly fast, but in a way, I still didn't want him to stop.

But he did. And I knew why. I had been struggling because of how fast the strokes had become and he had pulled me over the arm of the sofa, my head angled toward the ground. "Watch your head near the end table, dear. " He threw out in the middle of the flurry of cane strokes. "I will!" I assured between sobs. (Yes, a nice sign we are true spankos. It's kind of like having two totally different conversations at the same time.)But then he broke off mid-stroke, paused, and touched my bottom gingerly. I started sobbing...not because I was hurt or in pain, but because I knew he was going to stop now. Of course, just  my luck, I was bleeding a tiny bit. I felt guilty. I knew he doesn't like it when that happens and that it has to be a very important punishment for him to think of continuing and working around the spot. I felt wrong enough making him spank me--no way would I try to act out and make him continue now.

My weeping picked up in intensity. I just didn't want it to be over.  "Are you okay, dear?" He asked, and I gasped and caught my breath, trying to stop crying. "Yes, yes, I'm fine."

"Keep both hands on that floor, do you understand? I'll be right back."

"Yes, Sir." I breathed.

He stepped into the bathroom and brought back a tissue to apply to the tiny spot on my bottom.

I got back up into the kneeling position I'd started out in. "Look at me, Bonnie-jo." He said in a compassionate, kind voice. I was so upset and I felt so ugly. I couldn't' look at him when I felt so despicable...I was afraid he'd see how I felt all over my face and think I really was horribly ugly. "No..." I sobbed into the couch corner, hiding. I knew I had to get it together though. Sooner or later, he'd move my hair back and pull my face to look at his. So I breathed slowly, deeply, cleared my throat, sniffled. Moved my hair from my face. And looked at him.

"I'm sorry." I said.

"It's okay. But what just happened?"

"I don't know..I ...I got scared. I was afraid I was too much for you...."

"Alright. I want you to go stand in that corner for 5 minutes. I think it's important you have some time to think and calm down. Leave your jeans and panties down."

I waddled over and stood in the corner. "It's okay, girl, you're okay. You're going to be fine. You can do this. You're not crazy to have wanted that. " I whispered this to myself, quietly. "Get it together for him. Stop. Stop, now. Breathe. It's over now. It's okay. It's okay."

It helped a bit. And when I came back to him, we talked it all out. Many times during that talking-it-out conversation, I almost reverted back to where I'd been, ("Watch your step, missy, I will cane you again, you're not out of the woods yet"--was his threat) but no matter how much I still wanted him to cane me, I knew it was an emotional  slippery slope at the moment. I needed to get out of the funk. The only way to do that was to talk and to stop freaking out.

I'm still kind of scared though. I'm still not quite sure what happened. It was like nothing that he did would be enough. Nothing. I scared myself into believing it.

It's going to be an interesting ride. In very little time, I will no longer be a college student. I"ll walk down the aisle, receive my diploma, and move to College Guy's state.

He'll still be College Guy, but I'll no longer be a "College Spanko". Exciting times, scary times. I want to do justice to these moments. I hope I will.

It's going to be an interesting ride.

I Miss Him

Can a girl be so spoiled as to have a great top/dom/boyfriend like I do...and still miss her Magician?
I know I am. I'm that spoiled.
We've decided that it's best we don't see each other for awhile, and maybe indefinitely. I don't use words like "FOREVER". I refuse. Only God uses a word like forever. And part of the time, it's about hell being forever, so I don't like to follow in those kinds of  footsteps. No. Forever is not in the picture.
I really do hope to see him again.
And I miss him.
But I'll get over it, I suppose.
Maybe it's that I'm an all-or-nothing kind of person. Maybe I can't ever give myself fully to one man--my boyfriend--and then only give a part of my self to someone else. Maybe it's all or nothing. I'd like to think that's why things aren't working out. That if our situations were different (And I wouldn't trade College Guy for anyone), my Magician and I could continue where we left off.
It would be nice to think that the problem wasn't with ourselves.
Even though it was probably both--the situation, but also ourselves...
I want to blame him.
I want to blame me.
I want to blame him so that he'll make it better. Change it. Fix it. Make it stop hurting. Please. Work some magic.
I want to blame me so I can let go of it. I want to say, "I couldn't help it. It's how I am. I can't change the way things are. So, it was inevitable. And it was my choice. So it's ultimately my fault. But it's not my fault because I couldn't help how life progressed."
How nice, to think that something that hurts is inevitable. Can't be helped. Not my fault. Not his fault.
More than anything else, I want him to not blame me. I hate that, and I think that's part of the reason I'm attracted to punishment spankings. It may be unhealthy, but there's something lovely about showing someone that you will "pay for your sins".
But we lived far apart. I haven't seen him for almost a year. Our only contact was through weekly emails. It's not like the pain should last too long for either of us, right?
I hope not.
And I feel guilty. I have College Guy. It is more than enough. And...am I leaving him with nothing?
Of course not.
Of course not. I couldn't ever envision him wanting when it comes to female attention. It will happen. And he will be fine.
Still, I wonder about it. And I miss him.

The Conclusion

After our "break", I am back on the bed, with my feet on the floor, hands still tied behind my back. And I am rambling about why I had squirmed out of the rope on my wrists earlier: " I think I thought I was going to cry, and I didn't want to, and I almost couldn't. And I was afraid that if I did start crying, it'd be too much of a crying scene."
"You know I don't mind your tears," He says.
"I know."
I can't remember actually all that went on next. Maybe it was more of the wooden paddle...with some caresses worked in there somewhere too. And then a tiny bit of the cane.
At one point, I wiggled down the bed-side, hoping to make the cane-stroke miss my sit spot. "You move like that one more time and you are in huge trouble, Bonnie-jo."
"I'm sorry..."
"If I hadn't seen you move, I could have easily hit your back. And that could have been dangerous."
"Hmph." I grumble. "I'm sure it would have felt better than what you've been doing."
Finally, he says, "You're almost done. 20 strokes of the cane---"
And I interrupt with whimpers and wiggles that put emphasis into my words, "No, no, no, no, I can't..I can't...Please no..." And I feel the panicked feeling coming back, and the feeling where I want to cry, but can't, and am holding back, for dear life.
"Hush. Yes, you can. And you will. They won't be fast, okay? They'll be really slow. You can do this."
I groan. "Okay, I know I can too."
"Okay."
I still myself now. Sometimes I react to a stroke, and he lets me squirm after each one, and then I still myself again.
Waiting.
Towards the middle of the 20 strokes, I'm sobbing after each one, but it's that kind of sobbing that is forced, the only way to let out the pain, and it dies down seconds after each stroke's fury dies down.
And then it's over.
I can't remember exactly how the rest goes. But I know that I wanted to cry when it was over. The need was the hugest I've ever felt. I needed that release, and was concentrating on working up the tears.
But College Guy doesn't  know. He hears me sniffling and he is intent on comforting, of course.
"I"m going to go get my lotion and take care of your bottom, okay, Bonnie-jo?"
I'm sniffling, and I don't  answer. Hoping my silence will give him a clue that something is wrong. The tears aren't coming. And I suddenly want him to spank me more. I want to cry so badly.
He pulls me into a sitting position on his lap, and I curl up, trying to bring the tears forward, but they're not coming.
 So I roll over onto his lap. This is the position that feels right still. No others do.
"Do you seriously want me to spank you more?"
I whimper, the tears are almost there. I'm grasping at them. Arghgh!! They're not coming!
"Bonnie-jo."
I don't respond.
"My lotion is over there on the table. I would get it and use it. But you are on my lap. Can you get up and bring it to me?"
I'm angry. I want to cry. I get up and attempt stomping over to it. But I'm slightly dizzy and feel kind of weird, like I'm tipsy or something. I manage to pick up the lotion (it's actually Aloe Vera, but let's call it what he called it....), and I don't hand it to him. I toss it at him.
"Here." I say.
"Get over my lap."
I do so. And as he touches my bottom, rubbing the lotion gently in, it stings slightly, and I sigh into the bedspread. And then, through the kindness of his touches, I get what I wanted. I cry. It begins softly, and soon I can feel my body shaking gently with the sobs. I don't think I've ever cried this hard before in front of him. But I console myself that it's not really in front of him. The bedspread hides my face. And he can't really see.
My tears fill me up, and my shaking subsides, as he continues to smooth my bottom, gently up my back, then down my legs.
Then he asks me, "Are you okay?"
And I say, "Yes, I am now."
He leaves to get a bucket of ice, and I stretch out on the bed while he's gone, almost falling asleep.
He puts the ice in the bag, and I say petulantly, "You don't have to do it, I can do it myself."
His hand comes down hard on my sore bottom and I yelp.
 "No you can't," He says. " I'm doing this."

Details

It seemed like a rush. He kisses me fast, we say our hellos. Grabs my bags, and then he is off in his characteristic fast walk that I have to push myself to keep up with. We are on the second floor of the hotel. But no matter. He picks up my rolling suitcase and carries it to the next floor, no time for elevators, with me trailing behind him, chattering away "How do you feel? One year since we've been to this very same hotel. And we're dating now..." He answers my questions as he walks, throwing them over his shoulder. And then we are at the door, in the door, putting my stuff in corners of the room.

"I have to go to the bathroom, give me one minute." Our beginnings have become a sort of dance, with me characteristically prolonging the inevitable. And I'll let you in on a secret, it's usually because I want to start up so badly that I try to savor the moment.

I pop back into the room moments later.
"Lose the flip flops" he says, "And get on the bed." We spend a bit of playful time there, and then it is on to business. He puts me over his knee. I had been promised a thorough warm-up before this spanking--this spanking that was going to be the"somewhat erotic-but really hard spanking" I had asked him for. We had a bit of discipline to get out of the way first, but then it was supposed to be a spanking that would be nice and awful all at once.

I still have my jean shorts on as the OTK paddle thuds softly onto my rear end. I bite back what I want to say, namely, "What are you doing? Why are you going so soft? Where is your hand for this warm up? Where is my bare skin getting warmed? What do you think you can possibly do through my shorts?" But the combination of his implement of choice and the degree of clothing I have on is more acceptable than me losing the shorts and him continuing with the implement. So I wisely keep my mouth shut.

And soon I am biting back little squeals because these shorts are awfully short, and he has begun using more force and  interspersing little spanks to my unprotected thighs.

Then,
"Get into the corner, now."
"Which one?"
"That one over there."
I giggle. The room has random lamps and other objects in the way of all of its corners. "That's not a corner."
"Move it."

I do so, and he adds, "I want your shorts and panties down but not off."
I take my time pulling them down and leave them more on than off. He lets out a sigh of disgust and pulls them all the way down for me, smacking my butt for my insolence. I try to hide my grin but give up struggling with my face. I'm grinning. But after a moment of standing with my hands on my head, my smile fades. My butt starts itching/stinging in a way I've never felt before. It hurts in tiny little splatters, here and there, like pins and needles. I stamp my foot, trying to get some relief.

"Don't move, Bonnie-jo."
ARRRRRRGGGGGGGGG. It is perhaps the most annoying moment of the whole spanking, the moment that employs the most self-discipline, but I get through it.

"Turn around and come over here." He is sitting on the couch. "Kneel in front of me."
I do so, feeling very submissive and serene. It's all going to be okay.
Reality check.....
He begins, "This is the discipline part, okay. I'm going to give you 100 with Gepetto." Perhaps he talks more, but this is all I hear for awhile.  My mouth has dropped open. I'm looking down, trying to fight the many impulses: get up, run away, cry, beg, tell him no.
He is lecturing me on what I did--procrastinated on days when I could have gotten lots of needed schoolwork accomplished. When he starts numbering what I've done and how this is the third time he's addressed it, I fill with shame.
"Look at me!" He grasps my face in his hand, forcing my eyes to his gaze. Whenever he does this it's a rush for me: first adrenaline, then embarrassment, then this submissive feeling where I meet his gaze. But today, I keep moving my eyes.
"Bonnie-jo," He warns, my face still in his hand. "If you do not look at me I will cane you."
So I do. I meet his gaze and don't break it. He has said the magic words.
"Do you have anything to say?" He asks me.
"No, yes, uhhh..no...yes..What..What about the rest of the spanking?" I quaver.
He smiles. "I'll give you time between this and the rest of it. You'll be able to make it."

I place myself over his lap, and begin whimpering before he has even touched me. I can tell he feels some kind of pity, because he says before he starts, "Just try to focus on getting through it, okay." I don't hear through my whimpers, so I say "What?" And he repeats himself. Has anyone noticed how hard it is to listen when you're thoroughly in dread of a spanking?

I try to just exist as he spanks. At first  But then he pauses. I didn't know pauses were allowed in discipline, but these ones are so helpful. "Take a breath, Bonnie-jo." He says. And when he begins again, I have new resolve.

When he is done, he tells me to get up. Pulls me into the bathroom. Firmly pushes me down, onto the closed toilet seat. "Sit here. No, sit, all the way on the lid. I want you to stay here, feel that sting, and think about what you did. It cannot happen again. The procrastination is stopping. It will stop. Hands on your head. I want you to think about it."

Later, the "fun part" has begun, and discipline is over. I'm on the sofa on all fours, and he has his belt out.  As each stroke falls, I arch my bottom out, ready, hungry for more. Well, at 4 out of 5 strokes I want more. Every 5th or so stroke has me yelping and falling back down onto the sofa. And then I raise my bottom up again to meet him, wondering how long it will take for me to use up my desire for this. Yes, belts are nice things, but what's to come isn't so nice. And I know this. Thankfully, he sets down the belt frequently and uses his hands in other ways, not spanking, if you know what I mean.

Then he ties my hands behind my back. I have decided that being tied up isn't a feeling I particularly like, and I never really have. What turns me on is the tying part. The process of being tied, the rope placed around you, the feel of him threading it through, the drag of it on various and sundry body parts as it wisps at flesh, the way he tightens it just enough, tests it to see how it will hold. This is what I love. But then I am immobile and slowly but surely spiralling into a slight claustrophobia--just enough to make me very turned on and very sensitive, and speedily approaching the limits of my feelings of any kind of control over myself.

It is at some point during the caning that follows, a caning, I should add, that is a very kind caning as far as canings go--cane swipes with much space in between swipes to allow me to breath and him to soothe my burning skin with his hand and his kisses. But during this caning I reach a kind of climactic need, a need, I'm not sure for what. I feel like I want to cry, to scream, to sob, to fall asleep,  and to cum, all at once. The feeling is too powerful and I don't know what words to use to let him know. So instead, and I still don't know how this happens, because that rope was on tight to start off with, I wiggle my wrists out of the bondage rope.

He doesn't notice for a bit, and then he does. "That was foolish."
"I know, I know.." I laugh. "Uhh...it was just too much. I didn't know what to do."
"You could have used your mouth and let me know."
"I know, I know...I was scared."
"Is that an apology?"
"Oh. Yes, yes, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I should have talked to you." I crawl off his lap and he gets of the bed.

"Bonnie-jo, I'm going to punish you for that. You can't just go and do what you want without talking to me. 6 swats with the three-holed paddle."
I moan. "Okay, okay."
"Keep your feet on the floor."
These swats hurt like hell. And I suddenly realize that this sorority-style paddle can really hold its own alongside that cane. It is almost a relief to know that after these 6 swats, I have the cane to look forward too.
He ties me back up. "If you need a break, you need to let me know with your mouth."
"Hmm..speaking of which." I say suggestively, "That's a good idea. I can think of a really good break."
He smiles. "Do you want to?"
"Yes, but I'll need a glass of water first, or else it won't be a very good one."

Pleasure through Pain

It was because of our"really-hard spanking session, with some erotic stuff thrown in" that made me think about it. That was the only name we could really come up with for the spanking College Guy and I planned for this past weekend when we saw each other for another Saturday--a day stolen away from the normal others, a day to play hooky, a day to pretend like we were normal boyfriend and girlfriend just hanging out , a day that became one of the most tiring days of my busy life. I found myself fighting sleep at 10pm...knowing I'd have to wake up at 5 am the next morning to speed the 4 hours back to my job, my life, and my city.

It had been a heck of a spanking. And it had been a spanking for nothing, well,  almost for nothing. I'll give you details later, but it's late, and they'll take too long to write out. For now, I just want to tease out how it made me feel--like a brat, and not a sub. What am I? I'm still asking myself this.

I know what I want to be--the perfect play partner/spanko girl, of course. Strong in my own opinions, but able to learn from new ones,  fun enough to take a joke and to throw one back out at the top, but cognizant of the time to play and the time to be serious, innocent but wise, a little girl needing a man's help, and a woman that can stabilize her boy in a fast-paced, hurtful, at times foolish world.

This is what I want to be, when I actually think about it. But underneath everything, my most animalistic desire is to lose control, and to become...I'm not sure what...

I had asked College Guy for a "really hard spanking", one that would force me to submit to him, to sub to him. To give me the rush I craved, and hopefully, to give him one too.

But I feel that somehow I never really submitted. Instead, I  whimpered, cowered, wailed, fought, and wept throughout the ordeal. I faltered and withered and he stood firm. It felt good. It felt absolutely right. I balked at the spanking, and he spanked me while telling me I was okay. I loved it. But what was it?

Towards the beginning of the spanking, he sat on the couch in the hotel room and pulled me over his lap. There was some discipline with the bath brush to get out of the way. 100 spanks with the bath brush. It was the part of the spanking we "had to do" before the erotic,  horrible but fun part....It was deserved, but I still began softly crying the moment I was over his lap. Funny how it's getting easier and easier to make noise during his spankings. He counted them himself, silently,  and towards the middle, as I began to tire myself with fighting to wiggle off his lap, he stopped spanking, stroked my back. "Shhhh...take a breath." He soothed. "Calm down, Bonnie-jo." My body instantly responded to his voice and hand, and all of the fight went out of me. I took several deep breaths. "You can do this, " He told me. "I'm going easier on you then normal, even." It was true. I knew he was trying to save me for the "fun" spanking coming. "Yes, Sir, I know." I sighed.

I'll save the details of the "fun" spanking. Let's just say most of it was not very fun.... Most of it was hard and hurt a lot. Towards the end, he tied both of my hands behind my back, and bent me over the bed, feet on the floor. Then the cane came out. "Noooo" I began, remembering the last time we tried the cane. But he did not listen to me. And I was glad. SWISHHH!!! The cane would strike and I would respond with yelps and gasps and wiggles. Then his hand would stroke my bottom , my back, soothing, preparing for the next strike. Then a pause.I would moan and grumble, knowing what was coming.  SLICEEEEEE!! Down it would come again.

He told me he was going to end with 20 cane strokes. "No...I can't." My weak protest. But it was "not an option"--one of my favorite phrases I love to hate that frequently come out of his mouth. I whimpered and sobbed before and after and during each and every following stroke. To me, cane strikes slow down reality, much like some kind of drug. But he was there, fighting the battle with me, the battle against the pain and the  fear involved in that cane and the time that stood still in its presence. My whimpers grew to a kind of high pitched intensity, and once again, he broke in with comfort, "Shhh, hey.. You're okay. You're okay. Just a little more. You're almost done."

It was perfect. In the past, I would have scolded him or made fun of  him for comforting me. "You're supposed to be cold," I would have said. "I don't want you to care about what I'm going through. I want you to not care." But that's not true at all. And I realized that this time. I loved it that he cared. I didn't understand how he could bring down the cane full force on my welting bottom while simultaneously soothing me, saying "You're doing great", but that is what he did. And that was what I come back to every time when I fantasize about this spanking. It's the soothing hand through the pain...the pleasure through the hurt....the comfort through forcing me to face my fear. Pleasure through pain. Not because of pain. But next to it. Beside it. Through it.

Too Weak and Fucking Afraid to Be Good

(I wrote this post at least a week or two ago, but decided against posting it (but have now decided to in case someone doesn't realize how crazy I can sometimes get). It was probably on a Monday. I'm beginning to hate Mondays. On Mondays, I'm supposed to do 3 hours of homework. How many have I done today? One solitary hour. What is my excuse for my laziness? I don't have one. I've been doing a lot nothing. And I don't like myself. I don't like the ways I'm feeling, the choices I'm making or want to make. I want a spanking so bad. Anyway, here is the post. Enjoy.)

College Guy called me weak the other day, and it hurt. It was because I was refusing to define some term in a discussion we were having. It was a small thing. I was digging in my heels for no  reason, or so he thought. It hurt and it didn't hurt. I've always wondered how we can define things anyway. I'm such a relativist..at least..I like to think I am. "Relativist" is a word I'm trying to define myself by, and that is just nullifying and ironic in itself.

But I am weak. And I am afraid. There are good things about me--especially when I'm happy. I'm fun to be around, when I am happy that is. And I can be counted on to be loyal...that is..if I'm happy.

Everyday College Guy asks me how I'm feeling. "How are you feeling? Are you okay today?" Like I'm already  a member of his client list and he's checking in. I'm usually good. I"m usually happy. And if not good, I know I'll be feeling better. I make sure to ask him too. Make it even. Make it less than what it is.

But today I"m not okay. Today I'm weak. Today I"m afraid.

I love him. Or at least, I want him. I want him in the most selfish way possible....meaning that I want him physically, emotionally. I want him.

This makes me undesirable in my own eyes, perhaps in his too. You know, you don't want to get married...because as soon as a guy knows he really has you, he doesn't want you anymore. Just when you were getting used to the idea. That's what I wonder if dating is like.

I"m too scared to be good. Being strong in a relationship and fighting for it takes guts.
It's not that I don't see that.
I"m afraid.
I"m so fucking afraid.

This is why I need to be punished, and punished as hard as I can possibly live through. Otherwise the pain of this will be too much. And the fear of this will consume me. And I"ll end up----fat, overly-masterbated, and stark raving mad. Hating myself, possibly hiring someone to kill me (by spanking please, can you go that way?)

I want College Guy now. I like him now. I like him.
Do you know how scary that is? What if I make him hate me? I don't know if I'm freaking out and letting go by not trying as hard now because I feel it's inevitable....I don't know.