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.