It was my Punishment Spanking morning. College Guy and I had planned it to fall towards the middle of his visit. It was to be on a day when the roommates would be away. And if they came home for some reason, we could postpone to the next day. I was ready for this ,sort of. When I have a real punishment coming my way, I feel a kind of peace that's hard to explain. This can scare me sometimes....it seems unhealthy--that I would need the promise of punishment, lurking in the distance, in order to feel my best.
So maybe I didn't actually feel my best beforehand. There were all the signs of me not feeling my best.
The day before I had been a complete brat, over and over and over again. And it wasn't even on purpose. We were trying out a new idea--I would be his submissive for the hours before my roommates came home. But it wasn't working out perfectly. Some stuff went well. But then there was the problem of my mouth. College Guy would say something, and I'd say something directly opposing whatever he said. Then I'd stare at him, my lips pushed out slightly, eyes squinting, daring him to do something. Maybe it was because I already knew I was getting spanked hard in the morning. This is what My Magician calls the Erica- Syndrome...But College Guy did do something about it. There was the time when he hauled me over his lap in the living room and delivered numerous swats to my bottom because I'd asked him "Why?" in a pouty tone. As he spanked and I yelped softly, trying not to giggle, he asked, "Do I need to grap the strap from my bag?" I don't remember what I said. Something like "No. " Then a few seconds later, I asked "Is your hand hurting yet, and maybe you should stop?" He got the strap. And I began to worry about the punishment spanking at that point. Cause that strap wasn't pretty. There were other spankings that day. I began to feel guilty about how often I was making him stop what we were doing to spank me. But only a little guilty. The rest of me couldn't get enough of it.
That next day, I got enough of it.
The Punishment was very much deserved, I thought. The night before, about an hour before we fell asleep, I curled up next to him on his bed, and just talked. I talked about what I felt about what had happened that was resulting in the punishment. That I didn't think anything could make up for it. For what I'd done. That I didn't know if I was going to cry. That he needed to be prepared for me not to cry. That I didn't want him to see me cry. That I didn't want to hurt him more, and I felt like him spanking me was just hurting him more.
He let me say everything I wanted to. And we snuggled next to each other, and he told me how he felt about it.
That he was so glad I could come to him and tell him exactly what I was feeling.
That I could cry or not cry.
That he wanted me to just be who I was in the moment.
That he wanted this too.
That this would help him deal with what happened. It takes a strong man to admit to such a thing.
The next morning I slept past my alarm. I rushed into the bathroom and heard his door open. What in the world? He is not about to say I missed my shower.... I'm getting a shower before my spanking.... I will make it happen... So I jump into the shower, with something like 8 min. before I am supposed to be out and eating breakfast with College Guy. Within a minute or two, he knocks on the door. "Yes?" I say nonchalantly. But I can't hear what he's saying throught he door, so I turn the water off.
"Hurry up, Bonnie-jo. You need to be done soon."
I fight back the urge to say, "We have hours and hours. Stop being so strict." But I know I am supposed to be giving this to him. I know I want to give this to him. It's the least I can do. I bite back my tongue and say sweetly, "Okay, I'm almost done."
I step out of the shower and hear him knock again.
"Open the door."
"I'm not done yet."
"Open the door now."
I grimace, pull the towel to my chest, and unlock the door. It swings open. "Good morning." I say, grinning. He smiles back. "You want me to make you some cereal; I'm making me some."
"Sure. You got up earlier than I expected. I...uh..I kinda slept in."
"I noticed." He turns my shoulder with one hand and slaps my glistening bottom hard. It would normally be a romantic moment, but I bite my lip, catch my expression in the mirror, and look down. Embarrassed.
He slaps twice more. "You will hurry up, do you understand?"
"Yes, what?" Slap.
I hardly taste my breakfast, and then he asks if I'm ready. He leads me to the corner and tells me to take down my jeans, my panties. Not off, just down. I put my hands on my head. He gives me 15 minutes. He says that if I need 15 more afterwards to wrap my head around what's about to happen, I can let him know. One minute goes by, and I know that I won't need 15 minutes more. I want this spanking over with.
I am out of the corner, holding out my wrists for the bongage rope. It's soft and black. He ties an expert knot, and I break my silence. "Did you google that?"
The knot is involved, and then it's done. My hands are clasped in front of me. For good. And all I can think is, I'm sorry....Why did I do what I did.... I lie over the love-seat's arm, and Gepetto, the bathbrush, is in his hands. The first stroke is like nothing I've felt before, or at least, so I thought at the time. I jump up, and simultaneously crumple in a heap at the foot of the love-seat.
I realize now that I hardly looked at him this entire time. I don't know why. Tops should have good voices, I have decided. Because sometimes, through the pain and emotional turmoil, it's all that will get in.
"Bonnie-jo, get up. Get back over the sofa."
I'm still gasping from the blow. " I can't!" I whimper. "Owwwwww. "
But somehow I'm back over the arm of the sofa, and he begins using the bathbrush somewhat more kindly, but not by much. "Did you think it wouldn't hurt?" He asks.
I remain quiet, except for more whimpering.
"Well, did you?" He smacks extra hard.
"I don't know!" I wail.
He lectures a lot. About who I let down. About all the reasons what I did was wrong.
Then I am over his knee. I dangle there for at least a minute, because he says he wants me to understand where I am, what's about to happen, that I am with him. Despite the pain and the anguish of the earlier bathbrushing, I am glad I am where I am. My breathing deepens, and I relax slightly.
After the handspanking, I am positioned back over the arm of the sofa. And he picks up the cane.
The strokes are well spaced out. I have time to writhe and sob after each one, then compose myself and wait. Until he comes to a certain part in his lecture.
"One of the hardest parts for me, Bonnie-jo, was that you yourself admit that you could have been in real phsyical danger. You have told me that you think there was a high chance of that. That you knew the situation was dangerous and you didn't get yourself out of it." The cane falls and I bite back a scream.
"You have joked around with this in the past. You have no idea what you're joking about. You need to be more careful. For yourself. I don't think you understand even the slightest what it would be like. So my job is to give you a taste of that, so you never play around with that idea again." And the cane falls faster. And I find myself biting back the word "No".
And this is where I stop thinking about what I've done. There does come a point where you have to. I hate what happened. I hate how stupid I was. But this spanking is hurting too much to focus on the pain I had caused our relationship and him. So I let it go, I stop thinking about it. All I can focus on is getting through this spanking.
"What did you get out of your experience, Bonnie-j?" His voice drifts down to me through the muddle of my brain. The cane stops. And I look up at him.
There is some kind of retort at the back of my brain. Something like, "It made me feel beautiful and powerful." But I say nothing.
"It's not a rhetorical question."
"Uhmmm...." I try to think what the right answer is. He is way too young to be playing the what- color- am- I -thinking- of- professor- game.
The cane falls fast. Then again. And I'm trying to wriggle away, but he has one hand on my upper back, holding me in place.
"I want an answer. Maybe if I cane you enough you'll think of an answer--"
And I blurt, "Wait! Well...well...nothing really." It's the best answer I can come up with.
He takes it.
We switch to the 3-holed paddle, but by this time, I see an end in sight. I know I will live past this spanking.
I don't remember much else that follows. The spanking continues, but most of the details are gone in that buzzy, dark place called sub-space.
At the very end he puts me in the corner. He doesn't know it, but now the tears trickle down my face. It is usually this way. The full impact of what happens in a spanking comes at the very end.
I sniff a bit and surreptitiously wipe my nose on my shoulder, my hands clasped on top of my head. I still feel pathetic for my offense and for the reason this spanking happened.
He comes up behind me, "I"m getting some water from the kitchen; would you like a glass?"
"No, thank you." I say coldly, not meeting his eyes. I don't deserve water. I don't deserve anything. But what I want now more than anything is a hug that doesn't end, because I'm about to fall apart.
He comes back from the kitchen with his water and leads me to the couch. I cuddle next to him and bury my face in his shoulder, and just breathe. It's going to be okay.