A Cane Breaking

It had been a long while since I had been spanked hard. I hadn't realized this until College Guy had me over his knee, my bottom bare. He spanked me lightly, taking his time, and the desire for punishment surged inside of me.   I can only compare this feeling and need to be hurt and hurt a lot to the need to orgasm, although the two are not really linked much. The intensity of feeling when starting down the road to either of those is what links the two.

I wanted him to be in control so badly that if he wasn't going to be, he might as well have stopped spanking me right then and there.

So, I pushed away his hand and whimpered, trying to make it look like I was not in the mood. He asked "What? What's wrong?" in a kind tone. "Nothing!" I said in a small voice. He started peacefully spanking me again. I was lying on our bed and he was sitting next to me. I wriggled slightly away from him and put my hand in the way. He laughed and I rolled on my side and tried to push him off the bed with my knees. "Hey, there." He said, a smile still on his face. "What are you doing?" We kept going on like this for a bit until I couldn't hold back. I let out some kind of grumbling "Arggghghghghg!" and then "Stop spanking me. I don't even want you to spank me. Just stop."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Because", I spouted. "I don't want to hear your whimpery 'what's" and 'what's wrong's'. I want you to tell me 'Stay there.' and 'Stop moving now'. Ok?"

Immediately he pressed me down into the bed, his hand solid on the small of my back. "Stay there then."

This was good and we proceeded to continue. Somehow, I didn't end up listening to him, and he dragged me into the corner, which hasn't happened in awhile. Then he went into our living room and left me there.

I don't know what came over me. In the past I've done fairly well with respecting corner time. But this occasion was different. I felt so naughty, rebellious and awful that I couldn't stand just standing there. The corner he used is right by our front door, so I peered out the peephole for awhile. Nope, no one came by. That got boring, so I played with the shadows my bottom made against the wall. Boring. All I could think was "He doesn't know I'm not obeying. I need him to know." So I began randomly shifting my feet in the carpet, then stamping them.

He came back over with the hairbrush, and warned me with more than words to stay quiet. He left. I stamped. He came back. He pressed me into the corner and spanked hard. He told me to stay there just a little while longer.

But I got thirsty, so I walked into the kitchen and turned on the tap, filled up a glass. The sound of the faucet brought him over to me quickly. He was grinning. "What are you--?"

"I was thirsty!!" I defend.

"I can see that," He smiles, taking the glass from me. He sits down in a folding chair by our table and pulls me over his lap so fast my hands hit the carpet loudly as I slightly catch myself.

The hairbrush connects with my butt fast and hard, and I begin wondering what hurts more, the brush or the bathbrush. He makes me apologize and I do. "When I tell you to stay in the corner, what do you do?" SMACK!
"I stay in the corner."
"You say in the corner, what?" SMACK SMACK!
"I stay in the corner, Sir."
"When I tell you to not stamp your feet what do you do?
"I don't stamp my feet..." SMACK SMACK SMACK!

We went on like this for awhile. And I thought to myself--okay, this is a good hard spanking. I'm done now. He's done enough. I've scratched the itch. I will be good now.

But something inside of me said--No! You need so much more. You need to fight him more. You need to be punished more. You need to resist and be conquered more. And he's leaving on vacation for awhile and you need to do it now when he's here.

So I did. I said something saucy, and he quickly grabbed the bathbrush. That hurt, but surprisingly, it didn't hurt all that much. At one point, he stopped to rub my bottom with one hand, let the bathbrush dangle in the other hand. I could see under the folding chair perfectly from my position, and the dangling bathbrush was just too tempting. So I grabbed it.

We played tug of war for awhile with that, and then he stopped moving. "Get up, Bonnie-jo." I knew that voice. Something bad was going to happen. So I sent stiff over his lap and didn't move. "Get up, now."

"No." I said.

He pushed me off his lap. It wasn't a violent push, and it didn't hurt me because I was trying to cling to him and the fall was a slow one, but all the same, I was surprised.

He went off to search our closet and I knew exactly what for.

He came back with the cane. "Get over the arm of the couch." This has sort of become our signature caning position--me stretched over the arm of our black leather love seat, my feet on the ground. I absolutely hate it.

"Pleeaase!" I whimpered. "I want to stay on the bed! Please, please, please can you do it on the bed?"

"No. Get over the couch. Now!"

He actually hadn't caned me for weeks and weeks, and suddenly, I was really scared. The last time I was caned it was for something very serious. And it hurt. It hurt way more than I like remembering.

"I'm staying on the bed." I said.

"You were starting at only 2 strokes, Bonnie-jo. But I'm upping it now. "

"I don't care."

"12 strokes."

"I don't care."

"24 strokes."

I grin up at him wickedly, a mixture of fear, resignation, and pure silliness, "How about one thousand, huh? How about that? Think you could do that?" I sound angry and realize I almost am.

"Okay, one thousand." He says, "Now get on the couch." I dig my fingers and toes into the bed and stick my bottom out, hoping he gives in. Nope.

He drags me to the couch and pushes me over the arm. "College Guy," I say desperately, "You can't cane me a thousand times, I wouldn't be able to walk."

"We'll see how far we get." He grits out.

But I'm already sliding off the couch. "No, no,no! I can't!" I whimper. But he pushes me back down onto the couch. He lets go so he can take aim with his cane and I flip over so that the front of me is facing him. "I don't want to be caned!" I beg. He flips me over. I flip back over. He pulls me up and holds me by my arm and I fall to the ground. We do this routine over and over again, and each time he flips me over or drags me off of the ground, I get more of a rush. This is actually turning me on. A lot. Plus it's fun. When he pushes me down into the leather couch and holds me there, I love how it feels. When I slip from his grasp, I love the feeling that he is angry. And when I fall to the ground, I love that I'm making him work, that he has to chase me, that he has to pick me up and muscle his way to make this happen.

"Bonnie-jo, stop this." He is saying as we dance this, or he's saying something of the like. But I am not listening. On the one hand, there is the cane facing me. On the other hand, there is this thing we are doing, this thing that builds a spanking up and up and up until the buildup is almost more enjoyable than the spanking itself.

Suddenly, though, I hear him say, "Allright, I'm done!" And he moves away. Then I hear, "Where is your book?" I crane my neck to watch as he stalks away and then comes back. "I'm throwing your Erica Scott book away." And he tosses it in the trash.

My first thought was that he didn't like spanking me, that he didn't like me being a spanko. I'm reading Erica Scott's Late Bloomer right now and loving it. But then he came back, "And Hunger Games? I'm throwing that away too." What??? I just sat on the couch, frozen. He had never done this kind of thing before. Did he think I was a child? Was this like taking away someone's phone or computer when they'd been bad? What was he doing. I felt angry, but I also felt untouchable. If he was trying to make me cave or control me in this way, he could think again. I had money. I would buy more books. Besides, my stuff was not what mattered. What mattered was myself and that I was strong. Didn't he know that? I felt like he was being so petty and that his attempt to be truly hurtful was weak. I don't know...maybe that was just a defense, because my next action surprised us both.

I picked up the forgotten cane from the ground, sat on the couch, placed my sock covered foot in the middle of the cane, and broke it. It broke easily, but it didn't break cleanly. Wood fibers clung, to one side of it while splintered pieces jutted out in all directions. I laid the cane on the floor and smiled over at College Guy.

I can't remember his exact words and don't want to get them wrong. He said something like, "Do one more thing and we're through, we'll break up."

And I just laughed. I thought it was hilarious how easily the cane broke and how utterly stricken he looked.

"So that's it? You want to be broken up?"

He was taking it so seriously. Why was he taking it so seriously. "No, College Guy. Of course not, no. I don't."

I could try to remember every sentence of the rest of our conversation, but honestly, I can't remember. He told me to take my books out of the trash. There had been a new garbage bag in the trash container and there really was no garbage in it. So the books were unscathed. We were both angry. I was angry that he felt like I took away all his control by breaking the cane. He was angry that I was unapologetic and he could do nothing about it. A new cane was bought on Cane-iac that night, plus a new paddle, a Lexan one. In the end, we both ended up apologizing. Note to readers:this all happened on a Friday night and the new implements arrived on a Monday. Cane-iac's shipping services are awesome to say the least, and I only payed a regular shipping fee. :)

I just wanted to tell all you strangers out there that spankings aren't always fun and games and easy. Some of them are messy. This one was. There will be messy things to come. I can feel it.