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, 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."


"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.