Remember the Lovely Stuff

The other day, he spanked me hard.  We didn't have much time left before he had to leave for work, and we could hear our upstairs neighbor moving about, so he switched to the cane.  He caned me lightly to moderately, and since I was so warmed up, it actually felt mostly good.  Then, he did something he's never done before.  He told me I had to hold my position, and he was going to cane me 6 times in succession, and I needed to remain still.

I went into submissive trance mode, stretched my hands out on the bed, making my body a straight line, pushing my bottom slightly into the air.

"Good, girl," he said.  The cane came down 6 times.  Number 3 is when it gets hard to take.  4 is bad too.  By the time 5 hits, it almost doesn't matter, and I became aware that my hands were moving, lifting myself up against the bed.  Then 6 happened and I was free to move, to curl up, to feel what had happened, to whimper and shake just a little.  To breathe again.

He stroked my bottom, rubbing it, bending over me as I lay on our bed.  He kissed my head.  Then stepped back.  "Okay, one more time.  Are you ready?"

I loved him for saying it, because one taste of anything lovely is never enough for me.  But for some reason, my body wouldn't cooperate the way it did before.  And I knew why.  I knew when I do something well the first time, it always makes the second time mentally harder.  Because I no longer do not know how bad it is going to feel.  And I also can't claim that I can't do it, because I just did it a minute ago.  So, I squirmed and did not stay in position and lifted my feet to protect my bottom, pleading with him, telling him I wasn't sure I could do it.

"Do you want me to take it down some--how about 4 strokes?"

"No, I don't." I say grumpily.  "I want 6." So much of me wants to do it again.  It's just hard to decide to stay still.  I know I'll eventually be still again.  But it's like wading into a very cold pool from the kiddie side.  It takes awhile to do, and it's hard to move all that fast.

Finally, he grows tired of my wiggling as he keeps trying to begin the caning, and I keep making him step back and wait for me to be ready.

"I don't have any more time, Bonnie-jo.  We'll do this tomorrow.  I need to get to work."

"But, I'm ready now!!" I plead.  I must do this.  I must.

He brings the cane down 6 times.  It's just as bad as the last time, but the thrill that goes through me when I make it through the strokes without moving is intense.  I am proud of me, but more so,  I am so thankful that he has played this game with me.  It's so lovely.  I want to remember the lovely stuff.

I lay there for a bit as he moves around the room, getting his work clothes together.  Suddenly he comes back to the bed and reaches for me, grabbing my bottom in both of his hands.  He grits out, "Your ass..." in a sort of grumble, moan, curse, as he digs into it with his fingers.  "What--?" I ask.  "It looks amazing." He says.  And that feeling, that kind of appreciation and even objectification, is so lovely indeed.