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.