Bonnie-jo--Life of a College Spanko

Sensitive to Hard Spankings

2011-12-19T21:28:00.000-06:00

I think I'm growing into more and more of a wimp by the day. Is it the full time job? Maybe it's having drunk wayyyyy too much wine at some Christmas celebrations this past weekend? Or maybe it's the fact that although I still dream about spanking at night, and although thoughts of it still distract me at work sometimes, I don't enter a spanking in some kind of fantasized other world, one in which endorphins and heightened excitement numb me to what is happening and there is a slight disconnect between mind and body, or should I say, mind and bottom.

Today I was to be punished, and College Guy told me I could pick between 6 cane strokes or 50 bathbrush strokes. I've picked between these choices before, and last time, I picked the bathbrush. Silly me. I was thinking that bathbrushes could never hurt as much as a cane, and that's perfectly true. Still, he gave me no warm up and it felt like he was swinging nearly as hard as he could on a my not-warmed-up bottom.

That was last time. So this time, I deliberated. And deliberated. And then deliberated some more. College Guy got antsy watching me scrunch my face in concentration and saying "Wait, wait, I'm thinking" and wordlessly began holding up fingers in front of my face, like a referee at a soccer match. I tried to put his fingers back down, but he has strong fingers.

"If I get to 10 and you haven't picked yet, I'm picking the cane", he warned, and then "Come on, Bonnie-jo...nine......"

"Okay, " I rush. "The cane the cane the cane. But can't I have it lying on the bed."

"No. I want you over the arm of the couch."

I like the bed. It's comforting. I can concentrate on relaxing better. There are covers to cry into as well.

Anyway, so I got over the arm of the couch, with a pillow underneath me and looked over my shoulder at him. Just a small note to anyone out there: don't look at the person caning you. It cements in your mind what is about to happen. It's horrible. Don't do it unless you're prepared to start wiggling in uncomfortable anticipation. And, if you're like me, you'll also start whimpering "I can't, I can't" and simultaneously hoping he feels sorry for you while also hoping he doesn't give in.

Well, he didn't give in. That first cane stroke made me squeal. The second had me sobbing and sitting on the floor. I was angry. Why did it hurt so much? What was wrong with me? And what was wrong with him in being okay with treating me this way?

He told me to get up, but I stayed on the floor wiping at my eyes and glaring at him with my most reproachful face. Who did he think he was?

He sat down on the bed next to our couch and pulled me to him so that I was on my knees, clasped between his legs. "Bonnie-jo, do you remember what you said before you told me what you had done?"

"Uhh...a bunch of lies?"

"After that. You said if I broke up with you over this, you would understand."

I just nodded. Although the confession of what had gone on seemed so far behind me, that I couldn't imagine him breaking up with me over it, I tried to latch onto that one thought, that him breaking up with me would be so much worse than a spanking. He wasn't threatening to break up with me if I didn't take this punishment. That is not him at all. He was just trying to help me see how important this spanking was, and more so, how weighty what I had done to deserve/need the spanking was.

So we agreed to let him use the bathbrush and switch from the cane. I went over his lap, and he immediately pinned my legs with his leg. It was foreboding, nah, it was downright frightening. Two slaps of that wicked brush on my cheeks and I was whimpering and slightly hyperventilating. It was weird for me. I felt out of control as I wiggled under his pinning leg. Swats number 3 and 4 were dealt, and I began sobbing.

It was weird. And thankfully College Guy saw that too. He stopped and rubbed my back, saying "You're okay, you're okay." He just sat quietly, stroking my back and then my stinging bottom.

Then, "Bonnie-jo, I've decided to give you a warm up. You're way more sensitive and you need it."

My sobs and breathing quieted as he began slowly and methodically slapping my bottom with his hand. It didn't even hurt at first, and then it began stinging, but only moderately. I didn't understand why he was being so kind, but oh, how it warmed my heart. And it made me feel guilty at the same time. I didn't deserve his mercy.

After the warm up had gone on for a minute or so, I put my hand back. "I'm good now. I think I'm warmed up. I don't want you to do it too much." I was trying to take at least part of the punishment I deserved and needed, but I think he saw it partially for what it was, me trying to be helpful, but also as something un-submissive.

"Move your hand", he said as he unnecessarily moved it away himself. "I will let you know when your warm up is over."

"I'm just trying to help." I explain.

And then he broke out the bathbrush, and I cried again, but not as much this time. And at one point, he told me, because I've been worried about making two much noise in our small apartment complex, and I've told him how scary it is not to be able to make as much noise as I want to, anyway, he told me at one point, "Just so you know, you're not being too loud. You might sound louder to yourself than you actually are. You're doing fine, okay."

He warms my heart. And even though I did doubt him in the middle of parts of the spanking, when all I could think was "am I crazy?" and "he must be!", I knew that he loves me. And I know it even more now than before he spanked me. Thank you, my College Guy.

A Spanking and a Hug

2011-12-14T23:03:00.000-06:00

I had been caned 6 times and hair brushed over College guy's knee. But the more he spanked, the more horrible I felt. It's like I had been expecting that the spanking would make up for my actions, would somehow equal them.

"Do you want more, Bonnie-jo?" He asked.

I sat up on our bed and scootched away from him.

"No, I don't. But, if you're still mad at me, I want you to let your anger out. So do what you want to do."

"I don't need to do that."

And I'm not sure if I was just trying to put it on him, as I always do. Really, I was angry at myself. I was angry that I once again was dealing with a problem that would not go away, no matter how much time I spent trying to fix it.

I said something bratty and difficult and he pulled me over his lap again. He spanked the way I knew he would--so fast I could barely catch my breath and stifle my yelps into the bedspread. It was close to what I wanted. Really, I just wanted to stop feeling bad, my usual self-serving plight. But then he suddenly stopped the hairbrush and lay down on the bed with me, pulling me to him.

It's kindness that brings me to real tears. It almost always is. So I made his shirt wet and sniffled as he held me tight to him, telling me that it was alright, it was alright.

And even though I attempted to pull away angrily at least 5 times, I know now that it probably is going to be alright. Probably.

Update

2011-11-06T10:26:00.000-06:00

Hey, everybody. Nope, I'm not dead. College Guy and I are still together and happy. We are both still spankos (I don't think the essence of that could ever change). I need to change my blog's name at some point, since I am no longer a "college spanko" and I don't know what to change it to, so that remains the same for now.

I get overwhelmed with how disjointed my life feels, while at the same time it is wonderfully comfortable, lovely, and peaceful. I suppose before I was living away from College Guy and bouncing between my part-time job and college schedule while trying to get some sleep at night, and all I had to think about was nightly conversations with College Guy and emails to My Magician. Now, everyday life as complete and full-blown spankos has become normal and not a once-every-couple-of-months indulgence plus webcamming extras.

Updates are in order. First of all, let's talk about the having sex department. I have still not had vagina +penis sex. But I have been making progress and so has College Guy in helping me. One day, probably more than 2 months ago, back when we first started having College Guy put his finger in me, I had a realization. "Could we try it with me over your lap?" I asked him. It wasn't an initial success, of course. But it got better, and one of the reasons it got better was College Guy announced "I've decided I need to do this to you once every day." My reaction was not entirely pleased, but I wasn't opposed enough to fight about it, at least not much. And now, sometimes, in the middle of an OTK spanking, I find myself spreading my thighs quite consciously and hoping he understands what I'm asking for. Some days it's alright and some days it still hurts some. But it's progress. And mentally, I'm much much more okay with it.

Although College Guy may be a creature of habit when it comes to poptart breakfasts, he is no such thing when it comes to being sexual or dommy. About a week ago, I was having a bit of a bad day. I was PMS-ing without realizing it, getting mad at silly things and feeling like crying, and on the way up to our apartment complex, I lightly slapped College Guy on his chest while taking issue with something he was saying. I have had a problem in the past with slapping him, not hard of course, but he hates it. I didn't even think about what I had done until I had set my purse down inside and took my jacket off. He didn't say a word. Just walked me over to the corner by our front door and placed my hands on my head. As I heard him quickly move the books, magazines, and random junk cluttering or little square table, my heart sunk. I was in no mood for a caning.

He soon brought me out of the corner, sat down and pulled me to him. I remember feeling way too close and him unzipping my pants. I helped him tug them off, slipped out of my panties, and he led me to the table on which he'd placed a pillow. He firmly pushed my hands down on either side of the table, wordlessly letting me know not to move them. I knew I'd disobey that command in seconds, since my favorite position while being caned is one hand holding the table and one hand over my mouth so I don't have to worry about neighbors hearing my squeals.

I knew it was going to be a bad caning because I went into it feeling nothing. If I can't get the slightest bit turned on or mentally excited about the d/s aspect of a spanking, then it's going to HURT like the dickens. I felt more like some adult who was going to be punished, like some kind of physical form of a speeding ticket. I did feel guilty. But excited? No.

The first couple of strokes were really bad, although I can tell when he's just warming up and trying to feel out where I am. He'll have a really hard stroke or two and then a couple that are not so bad. But the lighter ones were also making me want to cry really hard, and the fact that I felt so out of control of my reaction and the pain made me start crying almost instantly. I pushed off the table after only 3 or 4 strokes and ran for my bed, dove into it, and sobbed. College Guy pulled my hands away from my eyes, but I kept them mostly shut, just open enough to let my tears out. "Look at me." "Look at me now, Bonnie-jo." He kept saying. I fought him off a bit, trying to cover my face again, but to no avail. Finally, I wiped at my face and squinted at him, trying to catch my breath. I felt guilty, but terribly angry, both at myself and at him. I can't run away from a spanking. That's not how we work, and I knew it. But why did he have to persist in this when he knew I was in such an emotional mood?

"You're going to be okay." He told me. "But you will get your butt back over that table. Do you understand?"

"It was really hurting!"

"I know. Get back over."

"Please can't we do this tomorrow."

"No."

"Okay." I say. And I do.

Then I run back to the bed and cry more. I sense College Guy sitting next to me. "Do you want to be alone right now?" He asks. I nod "Uhhhmm-hmmm!"

And he lets me alone. It's not like him to not hover over me like some kind of mama bear, so the mere fact that he's exercising self control in this way helps me calm down. In minutes, I've dried my eyes, caught my breath, and have cuddled up next to him on our love seat. Movie time.

But this wasn't really the story I wanted to tell. The story I wanted to tell more is Part II.

We'll save it for the next time I post, shall we? :)

Running Away

2011-09-25T10:43:00.001-05:00

Since my childhood, I have been fascinated with thoughts of running away from a man, only to be chased until I could run no longer, or to be caught up in his arms and spirited away to some kind of punishment for the induced chase. Games like tag satisfied my thirst at least partially in my elementary school days. I invented a game that consisted simply of getting all the boys to chase all the girls and drag them off to "jail" during our recess or lunch times. I would personally be so hard to chase and drag to "jail" , that the boys soon tired of the game because it was "too hard".

When I first met College Guy, I fantasized about running away scenarios. I thought that when we first met, perhaps he would put me in the corner before the spanking. I would comply but sneakily watch him and bolt when his back was turned. Some kind of chase scene would ensue. I wouldn't get far, of course. But I would probably get as far as the door, when his hand would close on my upper arm, and I'd be dragged, protesting and apologizing and trembling, back into the room and over his knee. And I'd pay for the extra effort I'd forced him to put forth. Oh yes, I'd pay dearly.

There are purely physical reasons for why I'm fascinated with the chase/run/capture game. The adrenaline is lovely---then there is the absolute freedom of running, the middle part where the chaser begins to gain on you and you think "oh nooo", the climax and drop when the chaser catches you, and then the cycle happens again as you realize that you are now in more trouble and the adrenaline kicks back in, sometimes at an even higher level then when you first decided to make him chase you.

But there are also psychological/ emotional reasons for my interest in running away and being caught. It's a major reason why I like spanking and d/s in the first place. The running away is akin to disobedience. It's blatant disobedience, or at least, it's a show of fear and a lack of control. For the guy to then chase and conquer and drag back shows caring, desire, and a special kind of forgiveness that is necessary for me to feel loved. It's the feeling that I was not perfect, I was annoying, disobedient, and rude, and instead of writing me off, he went after me.

When I first met College Guy, I never ran away from a spanking. I wanted to be perfect and polite, and I didn't know how he'd react to it. Now, however, I run away frequently, most times, just for fun, or even out of habit. "Get off my lap and grab me the hairbrush," he'll say after warming me up with his hand. I'll slide off his lap and grab the hairbrush. I'll hand it to him, then as his other hand reaches out for my wrist, I'll back up, causing his hand to swipe at empty air. The chase will be short and sweet, but it will have served it's purpose. I'll know that I am not "too hard" for him to handle. And I'm not too rude or disobedient. I can give in to the instinct to struggle, to pout, to protest, and he can handle it. Knowing that he can handle it is an awesome feeling indeed.

I just want you to be my top

2011-08-17T23:05:00.001-05:00

It's been a long month or so. And I've been thinking thoughts. Some of My Magician's words come back to haunt me, and I find myself saying, "Maybe I want to be free..."

Free to flirt, to go to clubs and dance hard and long, to ogle guys and wonder if they have wives, hoping that they don't, free to not have decided on someone. But most of all, I want to be free of two things: (1.) To not wonder if I've made a mistake and am going to be unhappy and possibly have to live with that mistake, and (2.) To not have to hurt someone and be responsible for someone else's pain if I decide that they were that mistake.

It's been a long month and a bit of a struggling month for College Guy and I. We've had a good week among what has seemed like turbulent ones.... The newness of the move has worn off. I finally said goodbye to My Magician for the last time--we were still emailing here and there and I needed to cut ties or loose my sanity. I also thought that saying goodbye to My Magician would stop me from discussing him with College Guy--the seemingly never ending discussions that simultaneously make me feel relieved and depressed all at once.

So today was the day my period ended. I knew I needed a spanking, but I wasn't sure if I would be able to stomach one. I was worried and still am about College Guy and I, what we are, what we should be, and how I should or should not control it. Or if I even can.

The spanking turned a discussion that turned into me crying and wailing because I was trying to explain to him why we maybe should break up. We didn't especially get anything figured out, but we talked. Sometimes talking is all you can do. Then he said, "Okay, you ready for the rest of your spanking now?" I said "Whatever." It didn't really matter to me. I was past it mattering.

But the spanking got stingy and hard and I began moving a lot. He asked me a couple of questions and I remained silent. I decided he wasn't getting any "Yes, Sir's" today. That decision cost me dearly. What followed was him wearing me out. It was needed. I wanted it. I guess not saying "Yes, Sir" does the trick...

"Whether I am your boyfriend or not, as long as you are over my knee, you will call me Sir."

But I still didn't answer. The breaking point happened when I ended up in the diaper position. It only took about 6-8 bathbrush strokes and my resolve was broken.

At one point he told me to stand up and led me, naked and snuffling, to the corner. He placed my hands on my head and nudged my elbows up against the wall. But he didn't leave me there. He stood behind me and pulled me slightly against him, and I leaned ever so slightly against his frame. His hands came up to hold my breasts, and I told him, "Maybe I don't mean it about what I said...."

He led me back to the bed and pulled me firmly over his knee, as I murmured softly, "I just want you to be my top."

At least I know something. It helps to know a little, even if there are still so many unanswered questions.

Rich with Spankings

2011-08-13T19:38:00.000-05:00

I am rich with spankings. I am spoiled, pampered, surfeit. From the time that I have moved in with College Guy until this moment, I believe there have been at least 50 spankings I could have written about. Some of them were smaller than others, but at least half of them have probably been good ones. That makes 25 posts I could have given you all. I am lazy and spanking-fat. But, mark you, I am not complaining. Not in the least.

I can't catch you up, so let me try to make a kind of list, not one that will do them justice. But hopefully one that will make you understand how good I've got it. Because I do.

1. Daily swats, the hello ones, and the ones that I know are coming because of an extra saucy word or a bratty tone. The double-swats that mean, "Oh damn, you're hot and I just had to do that" and the ones that mean "I love you" and "It's alright. Stop worrying."

2. Spankings during arguments, spankings which I hated and almost convinced me that I didn't like spankings.

3. A spanking for sleeping in past my alarm (something I haven't done for a really long time and shan't repeat again) and I believed it involved the cane.

4. A spanking when I asked him to cane me and he did it so perfectly that I decided death by caning would indeed be the best way to die.

5. A spanking where he sat on the side of the bed and lowered my head down, past his knees, so that all that was pointing up was my bottom, so that he could see all there was of me. And spanked. And spanked.

6. A spanking where I evaded his grasp and ran around the room until he caught me.

7. A spanking where I wouldn't stay in the corner, and I ended up bent over his knee in the kitchen, my hands on the floor, him kneeling hair brushing remorse back into me.

8. Spankings where I've struggled so much, College Guy has been forced to sit on the small of my back and doggedly spank my wriggling bottom. These have perhaps been the most shameful of my spankings.

9. Errotic spankings, where we're doing "other things" and the spankings are natural, perfect.

But I haven't been writing about them. I don't know if it's because I am spoiled. I don't have to fantasize anymore about what College Guy will spank me about next time. I don't have the need to run my last spanking over and over again in my mind, because I know that in the next couple of days, it will be replaced by another.

Sometimes, though, I wonder what will happen to my fantasy world. We shall see.

Thoughts

2011-07-30T20:21:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I hate spankings. I lie over College Guy's lap and squirm as he splatters my bottom with hard fast spanks from either a hair brush or a bath brush, and I think to myself, "What the Sam-hill am I doing???" (okay, minus the Sam-hill part and you may substitute other words at your discretion). It hurts and it makes me angry. I can't catch my breath, I can't even properly focus myself in order to cry. I wisely fight the urge to tell him he's spanking me wrong, that he needs to slow down, that if this awfulness lasts any longer someone (and not me) might get hurt....

But he never spanks me that way for long. And it's always a spanking for something I've done. Something mean I've said. An act of direct and blatant disobedience. It's always warranted. So I struggle and whimper and yelp, and he pins my legs with his and wallops away.

But then, after the walloping slows, or stops, this odd thing happens to me. Sometimes, I almost want to cry because of the feeling and how odd it is. The pain fades or changes, and then, I don't want him to stop. I will be red-faced, sore-bottomed, and teary eyed. He will stop. Rub my back, spread some lotion on, kiss my cheek, ask me if I'm okay. And all I want to do is ask for more. I know that if he starts again it will hurt again and I'll want it to stop. But I hate it when he stops. I always hate it.

Cigarettes and Paddles: 4th of July Fun

2011-07-13T21:00:00.001-05:00

"I promise you, Bonnie-jo, if you ever take a single draw from a cigarette, I will blister your bottom."

College Guy had promised me this months ago, and I don't remember how the subject even began. I hate cigarettes and have only tried them once or twice. I've never had the urge to want to like them. I'm never going to like them. I felt it was a useless threat. It would never deter me from anything, and I'd probably never even use it to get a good hard spanking.

While we were still living apart, I once told College Guy "I almost smoked a cigarette today just so that you would know that I am not a good person and just so that I you could plan a horrible spanking for my future." He understood how I felt, how I needed him to tell me that he didn't expect me to be perfect, how I needed the assurance of hard spankings for the future. But I resisted the temptation to smoke just to spite my good judgment. Just for the thrill of it.

Fast forward to a 4th of July celebration with friends more than a week ago.. Add a pool table, some low lights, R&B, and about 5 random mixed drinks in each of our systems, just buzzing away. We all laugh, shoot pool, talk, and sip on our 6th random mixed drinks. And alcohol, as usual, makes me feel super excited and super depressed all at once. One of our friends, a dude, tells College Guy and I that we have something he wishes he had, that we are good people, awesome friends. I don't like being put on a pedestal. This and other random emotions swirl around in my head, and before I know it, I'm reaching for the half-smoked cigarette this friend of ours had propped against the ashtray.

I had forgotten College Guy or his threat. My only thought was that I had drunk too much and I was so sleepy. There was no coffee in sight, so I figured a nicotine high might help. The cigarette was halfway to my mouth when out of nowhere (or so it seemed, for I had forgotten he was sitting right next to me) College Guy appeared, grabbed my arm and plucked the cigarette from my fingers. He stuck it back in the ashtray and bit out these words, "What do you think you are doing? Do we need to go home right now?"

"Huh?" Was my only reaction. And then I realized what I had done.

"I'm sorry...."

"You will be."

We were visiting family so we stayed in a hotel the next night. There was no time for a spanking as we were with family, chatting and hanging out. The next morning however, College Guy set his alarm so that he could wake up when I came out of the shower. Once again, I must have been taking too long for his stern approval, because he barged into the bathroom and the tub and told me that I had been in there long enough and to get out.

And then followed a not-fun spanking.

"Do you want me to get dressed first?" I asked him meekly after toweling dry from the shower.

"No."

"I didn't think you would."

He put me in the corner for a little while, but once again, since we were on a time schedule because we were traveling back home, the corner time didn't last too long.

The hand spanking made me cringe. Hand spankings are usually one of two things: sexy/hot, or foreboding/predicting. And once in awhile, they just plain hurt in a very unexpected way. This one hurt and was foreboding.

I was paddled, hair brushed, sorority paddled, and bath brushed. We thankfully had not brought the cane, but College Guy had promised he'd cane me later when we got home. I never cried. It wasn't that kind of spanking. It was over with soon enough, and we had to get going and check out of the hotel. I felt duly punished though. I think my favorite part was really the worst part of the spanking---I believe it was when he was using the sorority paddle. That thing hurt so much, and I kept popping up and wiggling from my stretched out position on the bed. And he kept securing me with his hand on my back. Pushing me back down. Putting me exactly where he wanted me. And then paddling, paddling, paddling.

We packed up all our stuff and rushed out the door to meet more family for a quick breakfast before more traveling. As we carried our suitcases down the outdoor steps to the ground level, we passed a cleaning lady and man with their cart of supplies.

We were opening the doors to College Guy's car when we heard a shout from behind. We spun around and lo-and-behold, the guy who had gone into our room to clean it was waving our maple, circular paddle from the top of the stairs.

Ahhhhhhh!!!!

"Oh, hey, thanks," I shout out to the man. Then I run towards the balcony of the stairs as the man begins to crouch down and try to hand the paddle through the metal rungs to me. I vaguely hear College Guy muttering something about "Just dropping it" behind me.

I reach as quickly as possible up while the man reaches down, and within seconds, I have our paddle. Cheeks aflame, I say, "Thank you so much."

"At least it will make a good blog post." College Guy consoles. Yeah, I suppose it might.

Magic Man

2011-07-02T08:43:00.000-05:00

"...it seemed
We'd seen each other in a dream
Seemed like he knew me...he looked right through me...yeah

'Come on home girl,' he said with a smile
'You don't have to love me yet, let's get high awhile,'
'But try to understand, try to understand,
Try, try, try to understand...He's a magic man'" (Magic Man, by Heart)

I heard this song on the radio the other day, and of course, it made me think of My Magician. That may or may not be a compliment, but it's true. And I miss him. College Guy says he doesn't mind if I find someone else who is older to see every now and then. But I guess I'm still missing what I had.

Life living with College Guy is interesting. I believe I have some sort of writers' block, and I apologize to you all. You probably wonder sometimes if I'm going to stop writing completely. Life gets hard to write about when it gets complicated. I miss long and almost-brutal spankings in hotel rooms where no one could here me cry out. I miss freaking out every single day about if my butt looked good for the week leading up to seeing College Guy. I even miss the long car rides to and from meeting up with him.

In exchange for all that, though, I love having someone to talk to, to hang with, to work with, to eat our dinners on top of the roof in the fading sun with, etc. It is good to have a real live person to live with, rather than to wait for a telephone conversation at the end of the day.

College Guy and I got into a heated discussion the other day, and he said something that hurt a bit, something I've heard before, something that he apologized for later. It's not like at the moment I hadn't been doing things that I apologized for too....Anyway, what he said in a moment of true frustration was, "You don't want a real live human being do you? I guess you don't know what you want..." It was a low moment for both of us, and at the moment, I felt like he was completely right.

I'm still not sure if he is or not.

Of course I want a real person. But I know a lot of times my expectations for how much of a struggle a dom can take from me and still "win" is too high to expect of anyone. I wonder if this is more normal ( I hope, lol) than some people may think. Does not everyone have some kind of fantasy of what they want out of a significant other that is way too difficult for a real person to fulfill? Isn't compromise a major struggle in relationships? Conversation explaining what one would like, conversation about what one knows is impossible, conversation about what one will be working on, these are the conversations that strengthen a couple against the battering ram of time.

My Magician was a real person too, but the fantasy, magic-ness, or unrealness of how I saw him was a direct result of how little I saw him, the kind of contact I had with him, and more than anything, how I was determined to make him like me whenever we saw one another in person. I tried to be perfect in his presence.

There is something about being able to show someone your worst and have them say, "It's okay. I still accept you." We'll work this out.

My Magician did that a lot. Said, it's okay, I still accept you, We'll work this out. And I showed him my worst sometimes. But this was all via email or phone conversations. Don't get me wrong. It was still important. It was still tons important. But it wasn't as real as it could have been.

There comes a time, though, when one must let their fantasy, their unreal-man stay in their head and accept the real man, men, or people in their lives. Not that the real people don't have room for improvement and growth. Because they do.

And furthermore, there comes a time when I must accept myself, my own realness, and let the little perfect rebel-girl stay in my head. This 24-year old woman typing these words is who I really am. There comes a time when one must give up the remorse that they cannot be a 12 year old child. The adult that I am is a gift and one that I must take hold of and accept. Not that there isn't room for improvement. And not that I can't be both rebel-girl and mature-woman when the time is right. Because I can.

A Caning on the Table

2011-06-19T16:12:00.002-05:00

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.

To Just be Over His Knee

2011-06-06T20:20:00.000-05:00

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

2011-06-05T15:25:00.001-05:00

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."

"Yup."

"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.

Real Discipline--Gum Littering

2011-05-31T23:30:00.000-05:00

I fidgeted in my seat as College Guy and I drove home from our Memorial weekend visiting his family. It had been a fun but stressful weekend as I'd forced myself to spend time with both absolute and semi-strangers. It was the first time I saw College Guy more than buzzed--not the funnest thing for a girl who likes her guy in control.

The first week I spent with College Guy in our apartment had been exciting, new, but sort of mild on the spanking-side of things. A couple of things were going on. We weren't sure about the thickness of our walls or the hoped -for deafness of our neighbors. And I also think College Guy was intentionally not wanting to overwhelm me with anything that first week.

Then the second week, I, with my usual rotten timing, began my period, and that hampered things considerably.

So by the time our Memorial weekend with family and friends arrived, I was wishing things could be different. I was honestly afraid that my memories of discipline would remain memories. Maybe College Guy didn't even want to spank me really hard anymore. A couple hours before we left his mom's house for the drive back to our apartmentthough, he told me, "When we get home, you're going to get some discipline."
"Why?"
"Because you're overdue. And because you've been intentionally trying to annoy me all weekend, haven't you?"
"Yeah."
"So you're going to be disciplined. Okay, Bonnie-jo?"
I rolled my eyes. "Whatever you feel like doing." What I meant was, Whatever you do will not be enough for me, pure and simple.

Still, I was a little excited and anxious about what would happen. I had to keep reminding myself that I could not get my hopes up. It's not going to be hard. Be prepared for it to be just a medium-ish spanking, I told myself.

But the feeling of restlessness and anger that had been pushing at me all weekend began to rear its head as we drove down the highway. I said some snotty, unfeeling things. He got that hurt look on his face and became quiet. I apologized, and we talked it all through. But it wasn't enough. I fidgeted in my seat, chewing a stick of gum. And then I did something I've never done before. I rolled down the window.
"I'm throwing my gum outside." I announced.
"No, Bonnie-jo, put it in a wrapper, that's litter--"
"Nope. I'm throwing it." And I did so. (and I still feel slightly guilty..ugh...littering is awful...but, you see, my needs at the time felt more important)
His voice became angry and terse, just how I wanted it. "So you have hundreds of dollars at your disposal that you don't mind wasting on a littering ticket, is that how it is?"
I snap back, wide-eyed, "It's fine! I made sure no car behind us was close enough to see. You just need to calm down a little. Relax!"
"We'll talk about it when we get home."

My heart sank and fluttered. It had been the response I'd wanted. At the same time, the goofy smile on my face fell as I saw his "huffy face" as he calls it. He really was upset. But somehow, the converstation after that exchange lightened up, and we talked and relaxed the rest of the trip.

Within minutes of stepping in the door of the apartment, I was bare-bottomed and standing in the corner by the front door. He began puttering around in the kitchen, putting away everything in the dish drainer. This was oddly unsettling because I know it's not something he'd normally do. He must be super agitated, was the thought that spurred my heart just a bit faster, but I reminded myself again that the spanking would be dissapointing because our walls were so thin.

He came up behind me, and I waited for him to turn me around and lead me somewhere. Instead, he slapped one cheek and then the other so hard and so quickly that I bit back a surprised yelp. It really hadn't hurt, but suddenly I was breathing a lot faster, and my face was flushing. It's not going to be a hard spanking, stop acting like it is, I told myself.

He paces away, turns on his videogame for background noise (spanking for nerds 101....), and comes back to stand near my shoulder.
"What's about to happen, dear?"
"I have no idea." I smirk over my shoulder. In a way, I'm actually being totally honest.
He attacks my bare cheeks again, one hard slap to each side.
"What's about to happen?"
I sigh apologetically, "You're going to spank me because I was trying to annoy you." My voice sounds oddly adult to my ears. I feel so small at the moment.
"And you were doing it all weekend long."
"Yes."

"Come get over my knee."
I drape myself over his lap and he spanks hard and fast with his bare palm. Soon, I'm kicking slightly. I saw him bring the bathbrush to my chair, and suddenly, I don't want a discipline spanking anymore. He pauses, then, "That's all the warm-up you're getting."
"Nooo..." I start.
He brings the bathbrush hard onto one cheek, then the other. "You should have thought about that before you littered when I explicitly told you not to. You did that purely to make me angry, didn't you?" The bathbrush is always a shock to me, but it's usually bearable when he just brings it down on my bottom. That, however, never happens. He softly tap-tap-tapps my left sit spot, letting me know in all clearity what is about to happen. Then CRACK, it comes down hard and I jerk my entire body away from him. He is prepared for the struggle though and CRACK! brings the brush down on the right sit spot. I bring both legs up in a kind of fetal position, and he pauses, gently pushing my legs back down with his hand.
I whimper softly.
"It's been a long time, hasn't it Bonnie-jo?"
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, Sir." I say. And a simultaneous feeling of relief, peace, and fear mix in my chest.
"Does it feel like you remember?"
"Uhmm..I think it feels worse."
But this does not stop that brush. It comes down again and again, and I stifle my yelps for our neighbors' sake.

He orders me back to the corner. There is a bit more of the bathbrush, 20 strokes, which he counts. Then 10 of the cane, which oddly don't hurt that much (I have no idea..and I really shouldn't be admitting such things) which I count. Then I'm over his lap for lotion and aftercare. I lay back on down on my stomach and watch him play his video game. It's all over.

Or is it?

I don't want it to be. I want more and I feel stupid and wrong and unhealthy for it. Sometimes, I'm afraid I'm insatiable.

He looks up from his game. "How are you doing?"
"Fine."
"Fine? Really?"
"Yup." I say and give him a smile that quickly leaves my face and that was only sort of aimed in his direction--one withouth any eye contact. He reaches over to place a comforting hand on my arm. I take his hand in mine and throw it off.

He gives me his quizical look, like he's trying to figure out what phrase I'm trying to mime in a Charades game.

Then, he sighs, "Get up."
"No."
He drags me up and propels me over to the refrigerator. "Put your hands here and here. Do not move them."
He goes and gets the cane, and I can care less. Well, for a moment I can care less. He reaches for my hips and moves them out, then takes aim, and in that moment between the taking aim and the following blow, I wonder why I threw his hand off my arm. There is no going back now.

Our movements become a sort of dance, one that we both attempt to lead. He conducts me with the cane, tapping the front of my pelvis lightly, "Stick out your bottom more. Don't move it."
"I can't help it. " I whine, as I stick it out more.
"Try your best."
SWISH!!!!
And I involuntarily move my bottom towards the refrigerator and away from the cane and in doing so break it's impact.
The cane taps back at the tops of my thighs, and I reluctantly stick my bottom back out. Then he moves it in between my legs and taps at my inner thighs, and I sigh, because that almost feels good. And I spread voluntarily.
SWISH!! It hurts and I'm immediately drawing forward and drawing my legs together. He taps at the places he wants to move again, and I move them for him.

"Do not move your hands from the refrigerator, " he tells me. "If you do I'm adding strokes."
But my hair keeps getting in my eyes, and at one point, I move a hand to push it back. "I said do not move your hands."
"I didn't move them." I protest.
"And now you're lying to me?"
"Uhh..."
"I'm going to cane you for a good long while, do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir."

And little later....
"I'm sorry."
He looks at me with kind eyes, "Don't be sorry...unless it's about the lying."
"Yes, it is."
"It's okay." And I understand what he means. He's meaning that it's okay for me to be moody, bratty, and even annoying. He will deal with it. Lying he is not okay with. And neither am I, of course. The interesting detail is that it wasn't an intentional lie. I wasn't paying attention to whether my hands had moved or not. All I meant by claiming they didn't move was a blatant contradiction to whatever he was claiming at the moment. He could have said that 2+2=4 and I would have claimed it did not.

And then he finished the spanking with the tiny wooden hairbrush that usually I can handle very well, but this time it had me sqirming so much that my hands-on-the refrigerator-butt-stuck-out-position wasn't cutting it and he pulled me down into a make-shift-otk, with him kneeling on one knee in front of the refrigerator, me over the one knee. Then I was put back in the corner, and the time seemed much longer than usual.

You know, I still felt insatiable as I stewed in that corner. It isn't a fun feeling. Becaused I didn't really want to be spanked. It was more like I wanted him to erase my feelings. I wanted that oblivion that horrible spankings can bring.

I realized though, after he finally came and got me and said, "How about some ice cream?" and we sat down to cuddle and share a bowl of mint chocolate chip that I realized for another time that spankings don't fix everything, even though I always wish for them to and secretly think they will.

They just help.

Living Together

2011-05-22T13:34:00.000-05:00

I have now been living with College Guy in our own little apartment for more than a week. It's been good--stressful and scary, but good. I've always been the type of person that detests change, that balks at it, that tries to circumvent it. So even though I wanted this change, this move to a completely new state and completely new way of living, it still makes my heart thump a bit harder than it is used to.

My parents hate that we're living together. They believe that cohabitation is morally wrong and will only hurt us. It is hard to know that they are afraid for me and wishing I would make other choices.

I knew spanking would not be the same in an apartment complex with thin walls. With the hotel situations we've had in the past, we always knew we could just leave in the morning; whatever our next-door neighbors had heard that night would be a one-night thing. But in a apartment, you have to think a bit more about who is hearing you. The dreaded cane has now become friendlier, for it is quit. I do like hard spankings, after all, so deprive me enough of those and even the cane begins to look good.

It's an interesting phenomenon, but I've noticed with myself and other bloggers, that as a blog continues past the one-year birthday, it becomes harder and harder to write. There seems to be blogs that are either super old with experienced bloggers plugging away at them, or there are blogs that are fairly new and have only been recently active. I feel that my issues have become complicated, and they are no longer about the things they used to be.

A blog that was once about my spanking exploration with two men while I went to college has now become a blog about a fairly seasoned spanko living with her boyfriend and working in the "real world" (gag!). It could very easily become a blog about kinky sex....and it could also just become a sort of diary where I complain about living with a dude, share recipes, talk about the dream I had last night, and generally bore my poor readers.

Thus, I think I'm going to need to either terminate it,
or,
I could start telling you about my sexual exploits in more detail and my thoughts on those more erotic themes.

I wanted to keep this blog as something about purely spanking but maybe it's time for it to graduate and become about something more. Maybe. I'll think about it.

Watching another man spank me

2011-05-09T23:52:00.002-05:00

College Guy told me long ago, "I'm not interested in watching another man spank you. Ever." We had talked about if he were ever to meet up with my Magician and me. They were sort of in agreement in what they both told me would be acceptable in that scenario. My Magician said he didn't want to spank me in front of College Guy. He would only settle for telling College Guy what to do to me--he would only settle for that top level of command. College Guy, however, told me he wouldn't mind that scenario--that he would be the one benefiting from it because he would be the one getting to give the spanking. He said that were the two to switch, were I to go over my Magician's lap, he wouldn't watch. He said he'd watch my face, talk to me, whisper encouragement maybe, but he wouldn't really watch.

This whole scenario was not appealing to me. I told him that the two would never meet then, because my idea of fun was entirely different than his. I wanted him to watch. I wanted him to watch another man spank me, to tantalize himself with it, and to know that I was his to spank harder. My Magician was right about the chain of command--watching and telling the other man what to do was the better role.

So at the Spanking Party College Guy and I attended a few days ago, I did not believe my eyes when I stepped off into a corner to be spanked by the guy who was running the party. He and I had picked out a leather flogger, and as I settled down onto a spanking bench, College Guy stood 5 or so feet in front of us, watching. I shot him a nervous smile. "You don't have to watch if you don't want."

"I want to."

The man who ran the party was very nice to me--starting with a flogger always puts you in the "nice" category. I had picked a belt for the next implement, and that made me wiggle and squirm a bit. It must be hard to spank a girl in front of her top. I had played with this man one other time, and I think I sensed that he was a bit worried. As soon as I made any kind of noise or squirmed more than a little, he asked me how I was doing and if I was okay. Perhaps that's just party protocol.

He ended with a hand spanking, and I could have stayed on that spanking bench for the rest of my life and been hand spanked until I died of old age.....It was amazing!!! I have learned that I tend to be a little stupid when a top ends with a hand spanking; I tried it with College Guy that same night. Hand spankings make you think you can take anything. Hand spankings are evil because they make you think you like spanking. College Guy ended one of the spankings with only hand, and it was lovely, of course. So lovely, that I had to pipe in with, "Is that all you've got?" And, he, of course, then grabbed his trusty bath brush and told me without words that he had a whole lot left...Not the best idea...

So this other top hand-spanked me, and I almost fell asleep while he did it. And College Guy watched the whole time.

"Alright, Bonnie-jo," the top told me."Ten more, and then you're done."

"Okay," I murmured sleepily, wishing I could protest and get some more out of him.

"Make her count them." College Guy said.

He wasn't meaning to be rude, and the top thankfully was abnormally low-key for a top and didn't mind. He had me count them, and I took the opportunity to mess up the count repeatedly..I even counted in Spanish. They both ended up confused about what number I'd said and what it meant, and in the end, I had to translate the numbers I'd skipped over into English. I've always been the type to tell on myself.

But I thought later about what College Guy had done. He had watched another man spank me. And he had told the man one thing to do...Perhaps he's wouldn't have been okay with My Magician telling him how to spank me after all.

One more week

2011-05-04T22:24:00.000-05:00

One more week and I will be living with College Guy. For now, I must make due with family visiting for my grad (so I'm deleting all the history on my computer, just finished cleaning up my photo albums, and will conclude with posting on here as I won't be able to do it for at least a week).

And then, I move to live with College Guy.

I've been thinking about my last post, and there is a lot that I left out of the whole story. That last spanking I wrote about was the last real spanking he gave me--definitely not the first of the trip. And every other spanking during the trip had hurt. After every other spanking, I'd picked myself off of his lap and been glad that he stopped when he did.

We had actually attended a spanking party a bit earlier in the trip, and the last spanking at the party had hurt almost too much. Later he told me, "I think you're much more pain sensitive around other people"--to which I soundly protested, "I am not!" But he had a point. I'm still not sure what one is supposed to do when they are being spanked around other people and the spanking starts hurting a lot. Normally, I whimper and wail--it's like my mouth is a channel for the pain or something. At partys though, I start off giggling. Then when it starts hurting and the giggles turn to whimpers, I try to quiet down. I'm just so afraid I'll start yelling and really scare someone else, or make College Guy look like he's being mean or dangerous.

I knew he wanted my last spanking at the party to be his--like Michael Buble's "Save the Last Dance for Me". And he warned me he wasn't going to be nice during it. I"ll have to blog about the fun at the party some other time, but this last spanking is important because, once again, I almost freaked out because of how hard it was. I was over his lap on some kind of hard leather mattress thing that worked great for OTK. He'd warmed me up sort of long with his hand (I will never say "long" because can hand spankings ever be long enough?), and had switched to a new hardwood, circle paddle one of the partiers had just given us. I knew some people were watching, so kept trying to smile and giggle, but that tactic became increasingly difficult. So I turned my head away from the people and hid, trying to keep my whimpers quiet. But the freak out began...What if I couldn't keep quiet? What if I cried in public?
I kicked my legs up, trying to let him know this was not fun. "Settle down." He told me sternly, running the paddle's cool wood along my calves. "Keep your legs out of the way, do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
Darn it, at least the people are far enough away to not hear me talk. "Yes, Sir." --Very softly.

And he kept spanking with that darn paddle. I began to breath hard. To wiggle hard. At one point I told him, "I think I'm done.." He'd warned me that I would get the spanking he wanted to give me that night, and I had been glad and happy that he was going to control it, to do what he wanted. But at that moment, I wished I could take it all back. "College Guy.."
"What?"
"I'm done now."
His response was only, "You're done when I say you're done."
I sighed and lay back down, somehow more at peace with it. But that peace lasted only seconds.
"I'm going to do 20 with this paddle and then you're all done. You're going to count them out loud. Do you understand?"
I was almost burst into tears right there and then. I tried to breathe through the feeling, deeply slowly.
"Bonnie-jo...Bonnie-jo, I asked you a question."
I sat up to look at him, "I really don't know if I can do 20..I'm scared of what I might do with all these people..."
"I"ll take it down to 10. Lay back down."

That was scary. Somehow I made it through. But during counts 3-8, I was one frightened woman.

So how did I go from that--from being scared of 10 swats--to challenging College Guy to basically cane me until his arm gave out? I have no idea...but the feelings during those opposing moments were so different, so alien from one another. Throughout both, I was still a spanko. But both were so extreme.

Where, I ask, is the middle and how do I get there? :(

I'm sure I'll find it. Still the extremes are kind of fun too. This way I get to experience the raw fear discipline can bring, and I also get to ride the high of that "He can kill me with his bare hands and I won't feel a thing. I am woman! Hear me roar!"

One last thought, College Guy told me that if I got in the same kind of mood I was in on Sunday too often, he knew exactly how he'd deal with it. He said he'd not spank me at all. He'd wait an hour, a day, or however long it took for me to leave the mood, and then he's spank me very hard....when I wasn't feeling brave anymore. :) I like that a lot.

Scary Spanking Mojo

2011-05-02T18:35:00.000-05:00

I scared myself yesterday...because my spanking mojo came back with a vengeance. I have struggled a bit for the past semester with the thought that I might not really be a spanko. It seemed as if whenever College Guy and I were able to meet up at a hotel for the night (only twice in the whole semester..way too little time!), I would go through initial excitement over him spanking me and then quickly spiral down down down into a freak-out because the spankings hurt and I didn't like the pain part of it. He would always lighten them up (only a bit if it were a punishment one) and we'd proceed as though things were normal.

It's interesting to try to figure it all out. The best explanation we have come up with is that my spanking pain level changes based on a lot of things, but particularly on how tired I am and the mood I'm in.

Usually, College Guy has spanked an exhausted Bonnie-jo. This last semester has been slightly horrendous in how busy it has constantly made me.

Yesterday, however, I was not tired. Not mentally and not physically. College Guy had been visiting me for the weekend, and we'd done a ton of fun, relaxing things. It was our last day together. I'd made us noodles with chicken and alfredo sauce .We drank a bottle of wine and snuggled on the couch.

We had been doing spanko and sexual things all weekend. I felt like I should be giving him a break, and I knew I had tired him out a bit as we lay on the couch together. But wine does funny things to me, and the more I tried to concentrate on the movie we were watching on Comedy Central (good channel, btw), the more I wanted to....hmm...do something...

I wanted a spanking, I wanted to have sex. I wanted something. But for some reason, my request came out oddly, "So when do I get to give you your birthday spanking you promised me I could give you?" I purred into his ear. I know, I know, folks...you're shocked. The truth is, College Guy told me that even though he is the top and I'm the bottom, I can give him the number of birthday swats around his birthday if I want to. I had not done so, because honestly, I never wanted to. But in the heat of the moment, I felt like if I couldn't have my naked bottom over his knee, at least maybe he'd let me have his. Weird logic, I know...and it was only 2 glasses of wine....

He crawled over my lap good-naturedly, and I took my time. It was kind of fun..and at one point, when my hand came away, I actually saw a pink mark underneath it. I can see the draw just a little bit. Still, as I neared the end, I began to worry a bit. Number one, how can he claim that he's "neutral" about me giving him a playful birthday spanking? And two, what was he going to do to me afterwards? Or would he do anything?

I finished and he promptly got up and told me that I knew he would have to pay the favor back. I was glad. But my mood was worse. Part of me was freaked that I had just spanked him and almost enjoyed it. And part of me was more freaked at how far I would go to get any kind of reaction out of him--to do anything kinky--I was hungry for it. So hungry. Like a vegetarian ready to eat a steak.

He told me to get over his lap and I did something I do when I decide to be entirely selfish and try to get what I want exactly how I want it. I fought him; I stiffened up. He tried to flip me over and I tried hard to stay on my back.

The rest is hard to remember. He started "Bonnie-jo-ing" me, sternly, warningly. I didn't answer. He counted, telling me it would be Gepetto and not just his hand if he got to count number 3. I missed the number. And the whole time I was watching his reactions hungrily, loving them, telling myself inside, "See he really can take control. Just because it's not always this way doesn't mean it's not there, ready to come out for later. It's going to be okay. He can do it."

He motioned me over his lap as he sat on the couch we'd just been watching tv on. I gave him my most seductive look and sat on his lap, "Please don't spank me" I said, making my eyes wide, kissing him. Yes, playing dirty and lying--that's what I was doing. But I was over his knee in no time and being bath brushed, and I wiggled and whimpered my way through it. But really I just wanted more. And I hated myself for it. Not because it's wrong to want more spankings!!! Please don't get me wrong folks. I just felt so guilty for the way I felt I'd dragged this spanking out of him. I'd played dirty. I hadn't asked him for it. I hadn't waited for it, for a time when he actually wanted to spank me too. He'd already spanked me just that morning. I'd forced him to punish me. I'd given him little choice.

He realized the spanking wasn't getting through. "Get up for a second." He stalked off to my bedroom. Then I heard. "Bonnie-jo, where's your cane?"

"Nooo, don't cane me. " I tossed back.

He came around the corner of my bedroom door and shot me a look, hands on hips. "You will tell me where it is, or I will paddle you with the huge paddle. Choose which one you want."

It was a hard choice. But I found the cane (it took a bit of searching).

I handed it to him and he walked over to the couch. "Kneel on the couch." I winced through the caning, but I wasn't even feeling that. Not really.

It was his words that hurt more. His kind, loving words. "Why are you doing this? What's going on? Talk to me. We don't have to be doing this. If you can tell me what's going one we can talk this out."

I refused to talk though. And shot him dirty looks whenever he mentioned talking. He said something about needing to "break me a little bit", that he felt that was what I was asking for. I responded with some kind of throaty moan.....yes, it was true. That's what I wanted.

At one point he asked me a question. I didn't respond. "You can't even say 'Yes, Sir' right now, can you?" I just stared ahead, out the window in front of the couch I was kneeling on. Shook my head the tiniest bit. Glared out the window.

And then he stopped caning me like in a normal caning. You know, the kind-top, Swish!!! then 8 seconds of a break, then Swish!! then 8 seconds of a break. This was consecutive cane strokes, one after the other after the other. Swish! Swish! Swish! Swish! That got through to me fairly fast, but in a way, I still didn't want him to stop.

But he did. And I knew why. I had been struggling because of how fast the strokes had become and he had pulled me over the arm of the sofa, my head angled toward the ground. "Watch your head near the end table, dear. " He threw out in the middle of the flurry of cane strokes. "I will!" I assured between sobs. (Yes, a nice sign we are true spankos. It's kind of like having two totally different conversations at the same time.)But then he broke off mid-stroke, paused, and touched my bottom gingerly. I started sobbing...not because I was hurt or in pain, but because I knew he was going to stop now. Of course, just my luck, I was bleeding a tiny bit. I felt guilty. I knew he doesn't like it when that happens and that it has to be a very important punishment for him to think of continuing and working around the spot. I felt wrong enough making him spank me--no way would I try to act out and make him continue now.

My weeping picked up in intensity. I just didn't want it to be over. "Are you okay, dear?" He asked, and I gasped and caught my breath, trying to stop crying. "Yes, yes, I'm fine."

"Keep both hands on that floor, do you understand? I'll be right back."

"Yes, Sir." I breathed.

He stepped into the bathroom and brought back a tissue to apply to the tiny spot on my bottom.

I got back up into the kneeling position I'd started out in. "Look at me, Bonnie-jo." He said in a compassionate, kind voice. I was so upset and I felt so ugly. I couldn't' look at him when I felt so despicable...I was afraid he'd see how I felt all over my face and think I really was horribly ugly. "No..." I sobbed into the couch corner, hiding. I knew I had to get it together though. Sooner or later, he'd move my hair back and pull my face to look at his. So I breathed slowly, deeply, cleared my throat, sniffled. Moved my hair from my face. And looked at him.

"I'm sorry." I said.

"It's okay. But what just happened?"

"I don't know..I ...I got scared. I was afraid I was too much for you...."

"Alright. I want you to go stand in that corner for 5 minutes. I think it's important you have some time to think and calm down. Leave your jeans and panties down."

I waddled over and stood in the corner. "It's okay, girl, you're okay. You're going to be fine. You can do this. You're not crazy to have wanted that. " I whispered this to myself, quietly. "Get it together for him. Stop. Stop, now. Breathe. It's over now. It's okay. It's okay."

It helped a bit. And when I came back to him, we talked it all out. Many times during that talking-it-out conversation, I almost reverted back to where I'd been, ("Watch your step, missy, I will cane you again, you're not out of the woods yet"--was his threat) but no matter how much I still wanted him to cane me, I knew it was an emotional slippery slope at the moment. I needed to get out of the funk. The only way to do that was to talk and to stop freaking out.

I'm still kind of scared though. I'm still not quite sure what happened. It was like nothing that he did would be enough. Nothing. I scared myself into believing it.

It's going to be an interesting ride. In very little time, I will no longer be a college student. I"ll walk down the aisle, receive my diploma, and move to College Guy's state.

He'll still be College Guy, but I'll no longer be a "College Spanko". Exciting times, scary times. I want to do justice to these moments. I hope I will.

It's going to be an interesting ride.

I Miss Him

2011-04-16T13:41:00.000-05:00

Can a girl be so spoiled as to have a great top/dom/boyfriend like I do...and still miss her Magician?
I know I am. I'm that spoiled.
We've decided that it's best we don't see each other for awhile, and maybe indefinitely. I don't use words like "FOREVER". I refuse. Only God uses a word like forever. And part of the time, it's about hell being forever, so I don't like to follow in those kinds of footsteps. No. Forever is not in the picture.
I really do hope to see him again.
And I miss him.
But I'll get over it, I suppose.
Maybe it's that I'm an all-or-nothing kind of person. Maybe I can't ever give myself fully to one man--my boyfriend--and then only give a part of my self to someone else. Maybe it's all or nothing. I'd like to think that's why things aren't working out. That if our situations were different (And I wouldn't trade College Guy for anyone), my Magician and I could continue where we left off.
It would be nice to think that the problem wasn't with ourselves.
Even though it was probably both--the situation, but also ourselves...
I want to blame him.
I want to blame me.
I want to blame him so that he'll make it better. Change it. Fix it. Make it stop hurting. Please. Work some magic.
I want to blame me so I can let go of it. I want to say, "I couldn't help it. It's how I am. I can't change the way things are. So, it was inevitable. And it was my choice. So it's ultimately my fault. But it's not my fault because I couldn't help how life progressed."
How nice, to think that something that hurts is inevitable. Can't be helped. Not my fault. Not his fault.
More than anything else, I want him to not blame me. I hate that, and I think that's part of the reason I'm attracted to punishment spankings. It may be unhealthy, but there's something lovely about showing someone that you will "pay for your sins".
But we lived far apart. I haven't seen him for almost a year. Our only contact was through weekly emails. It's not like the pain should last too long for either of us, right?
I hope not.
And I feel guilty. I have College Guy. It is more than enough. And...am I leaving him with nothing?
Of course not.
Of course not. I couldn't ever envision him wanting when it comes to female attention. It will happen. And he will be fine.
Still, I wonder about it. And I miss him.

The Conclusion

2011-04-16T10:23:00.000-05:00

After our "break", I am back on the bed, with my feet on the floor, hands still tied behind my back. And I am rambling about why I had squirmed out of the rope on my wrists earlier: " I think I thought I was going to cry, and I didn't want to, and I almost couldn't. And I was afraid that if I did start crying, it'd be too much of a crying scene."
"You know I don't mind your tears," He says.
"I know."
I can't remember actually all that went on next. Maybe it was more of the wooden paddle...with some caresses worked in there somewhere too. And then a tiny bit of the cane.
At one point, I wiggled down the bed-side, hoping to make the cane-stroke miss my sit spot. "You move like that one more time and you are in huge trouble, Bonnie-jo."
"I'm sorry..."
"If I hadn't seen you move, I could have easily hit your back. And that could have been dangerous."
"Hmph." I grumble. "I'm sure it would have felt better than what you've been doing."
Finally, he says, "You're almost done. 20 strokes of the cane---"
And I interrupt with whimpers and wiggles that put emphasis into my words, "No, no, no, no, I can't..I can't...Please no..." And I feel the panicked feeling coming back, and the feeling where I want to cry, but can't, and am holding back, for dear life.
"Hush. Yes, you can. And you will. They won't be fast, okay? They'll be really slow. You can do this."
I groan. "Okay, I know I can too."
"Okay."
I still myself now. Sometimes I react to a stroke, and he lets me squirm after each one, and then I still myself again.
Waiting.
Towards the middle of the 20 strokes, I'm sobbing after each one, but it's that kind of sobbing that is forced, the only way to let out the pain, and it dies down seconds after each stroke's fury dies down.
And then it's over.
I can't remember exactly how the rest goes. But I know that I wanted to cry when it was over. The need was the hugest I've ever felt. I needed that release, and was concentrating on working up the tears.
But College Guy doesn't know. He hears me sniffling and he is intent on comforting, of course.
"I"m going to go get my lotion and take care of your bottom, okay, Bonnie-jo?"
I'm sniffling, and I don't answer. Hoping my silence will give him a clue that something is wrong. The tears aren't coming. And I suddenly want him to spank me more. I want to cry so badly.
He pulls me into a sitting position on his lap, and I curl up, trying to bring the tears forward, but they're not coming.
So I roll over onto his lap. This is the position that feels right still. No others do.
"Do you seriously want me to spank you more?"
I whimper, the tears are almost there. I'm grasping at them. Arghgh!! They're not coming!
"Bonnie-jo."
I don't respond.
"My lotion is over there on the table. I would get it and use it. But you are on my lap. Can you get up and bring it to me?"
I'm angry. I want to cry. I get up and attempt stomping over to it. But I'm slightly dizzy and feel kind of weird, like I'm tipsy or something. I manage to pick up the lotion (it's actually Aloe Vera, but let's call it what he called it....), and I don't hand it to him. I toss it at him.
"Here." I say.
"Get over my lap."
I do so. And as he touches my bottom, rubbing the lotion gently in, it stings slightly, and I sigh into the bedspread. And then, through the kindness of his touches, I get what I wanted. I cry. It begins softly, and soon I can feel my body shaking gently with the sobs. I don't think I've ever cried this hard before in front of him. But I console myself that it's not really in front of him. The bedspread hides my face. And he can't really see.
My tears fill me up, and my shaking subsides, as he continues to smooth my bottom, gently up my back, then down my legs.
Then he asks me, "Are you okay?"
And I say, "Yes, I am now."
He leaves to get a bucket of ice, and I stretch out on the bed while he's gone, almost falling asleep.
He puts the ice in the bag, and I say petulantly, "You don't have to do it, I can do it myself."
His hand comes down hard on my sore bottom and I yelp.
"No you can't," He says. " I'm doing this."

Details

2011-04-08T23:55:00.001-05:00

It seemed like a rush. He kisses me fast, we say our hellos. Grabs my bags, and then he is off in his characteristic fast walk that I have to push myself to keep up with. We are on the second floor of the hotel. But no matter. He picks up my rolling suitcase and carries it to the next floor, no time for elevators, with me trailing behind him, chattering away "How do you feel? One year since we've been to this very same hotel. And we're dating now..." He answers my questions as he walks, throwing them over his shoulder. And then we are at the door, in the door, putting my stuff in corners of the room.

"I have to go to the bathroom, give me one minute." Our beginnings have become a sort of dance, with me characteristically prolonging the inevitable. And I'll let you in on a secret, it's usually because I want to start up so badly that I try to savor the moment.

I pop back into the room moments later.
"Lose the flip flops" he says, "And get on the bed." We spend a bit of playful time there, and then it is on to business. He puts me over his knee. I had been promised a thorough warm-up before this spanking--this spanking that was going to be the"somewhat erotic-but really hard spanking" I had asked him for. We had a bit of discipline to get out of the way first, but then it was supposed to be a spanking that would be nice and awful all at once.

I still have my jean shorts on as the OTK paddle thuds softly onto my rear end. I bite back what I want to say, namely, "What are you doing? Why are you going so soft? Where is your hand for this warm up? Where is my bare skin getting warmed? What do you think you can possibly do through my shorts?" But the combination of his implement of choice and the degree of clothing I have on is more acceptable than me losing the shorts and him continuing with the implement. So I wisely keep my mouth shut.

And soon I am biting back little squeals because these shorts are awfully short, and he has begun using more force and interspersing little spanks to my unprotected thighs.

Then,
"Get into the corner, now."
"Which one?"
"That one over there."
I giggle. The room has random lamps and other objects in the way of all of its corners. "That's not a corner."
"Move it."

I do so, and he adds, "I want your shorts and panties down but not off."
I take my time pulling them down and leave them more on than off. He lets out a sigh of disgust and pulls them all the way down for me, smacking my butt for my insolence. I try to hide my grin but give up struggling with my face. I'm grinning. But after a moment of standing with my hands on my head, my smile fades. My butt starts itching/stinging in a way I've never felt before. It hurts in tiny little splatters, here and there, like pins and needles. I stamp my foot, trying to get some relief.

"Don't move, Bonnie-jo."
ARRRRRRGGGGGGGGG. It is perhaps the most annoying moment of the whole spanking, the moment that employs the most self-discipline, but I get through it.

"Turn around and come over here." He is sitting on the couch. "Kneel in front of me."
I do so, feeling very submissive and serene. It's all going to be okay.
Reality check.....
He begins, "This is the discipline part, okay. I'm going to give you 100 with Gepetto." Perhaps he talks more, but this is all I hear for awhile. My mouth has dropped open. I'm looking down, trying to fight the many impulses: get up, run away, cry, beg, tell him no.
He is lecturing me on what I did--procrastinated on days when I could have gotten lots of needed schoolwork accomplished. When he starts numbering what I've done and how this is the third time he's addressed it, I fill with shame.
"Look at me!" He grasps my face in his hand, forcing my eyes to his gaze. Whenever he does this it's a rush for me: first adrenaline, then embarrassment, then this submissive feeling where I meet his gaze. But today, I keep moving my eyes.
"Bonnie-jo," He warns, my face still in his hand. "If you do not look at me I will cane you."
So I do. I meet his gaze and don't break it. He has said the magic words.
"Do you have anything to say?" He asks me.
"No, yes, uhhh..no...yes..What..What about the rest of the spanking?" I quaver.
He smiles. "I'll give you time between this and the rest of it. You'll be able to make it."

I place myself over his lap, and begin whimpering before he has even touched me. I can tell he feels some kind of pity, because he says before he starts, "Just try to focus on getting through it, okay." I don't hear through my whimpers, so I say "What?" And he repeats himself. Has anyone noticed how hard it is to listen when you're thoroughly in dread of a spanking?

I try to just exist as he spanks. At first But then he pauses. I didn't know pauses were allowed in discipline, but these ones are so helpful. "Take a breath, Bonnie-jo." He says. And when he begins again, I have new resolve.

When he is done, he tells me to get up. Pulls me into the bathroom. Firmly pushes me down, onto the closed toilet seat. "Sit here. No, sit, all the way on the lid. I want you to stay here, feel that sting, and think about what you did. It cannot happen again. The procrastination is stopping. It will stop. Hands on your head. I want you to think about it."

Later, the "fun part" has begun, and discipline is over. I'm on the sofa on all fours, and he has his belt out. As each stroke falls, I arch my bottom out, ready, hungry for more. Well, at 4 out of 5 strokes I want more. Every 5th or so stroke has me yelping and falling back down onto the sofa. And then I raise my bottom up again to meet him, wondering how long it will take for me to use up my desire for this. Yes, belts are nice things, but what's to come isn't so nice. And I know this. Thankfully, he sets down the belt frequently and uses his hands in other ways, not spanking, if you know what I mean.

Then he ties my hands behind my back. I have decided that being tied up isn't a feeling I particularly like, and I never really have. What turns me on is the tying part. The process of being tied, the rope placed around you, the feel of him threading it through, the drag of it on various and sundry body parts as it wisps at flesh, the way he tightens it just enough, tests it to see how it will hold. This is what I love. But then I am immobile and slowly but surely spiralling into a slight claustrophobia--just enough to make me very turned on and very sensitive, and speedily approaching the limits of my feelings of any kind of control over myself.

It is at some point during the caning that follows, a caning, I should add, that is a very kind caning as far as canings go--cane swipes with much space in between swipes to allow me to breath and him to soothe my burning skin with his hand and his kisses. But during this caning I reach a kind of climactic need, a need, I'm not sure for what. I feel like I want to cry, to scream, to sob, to fall asleep, and to cum, all at once. The feeling is too powerful and I don't know what words to use to let him know. So instead, and I still don't know how this happens, because that rope was on tight to start off with, I wiggle my wrists out of the bondage rope.

He doesn't notice for a bit, and then he does. "That was foolish."
"I know, I know.." I laugh. "Uhh...it was just too much. I didn't know what to do."
"You could have used your mouth and let me know."
"I know, I know...I was scared."
"Is that an apology?"
"Oh. Yes, yes, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I should have talked to you." I crawl off his lap and he gets of the bed.

"Bonnie-jo, I'm going to punish you for that. You can't just go and do what you want without talking to me. 6 swats with the three-holed paddle."
I moan. "Okay, okay."
"Keep your feet on the floor."
These swats hurt like hell. And I suddenly realize that this sorority-style paddle can really hold its own alongside that cane. It is almost a relief to know that after these 6 swats, I have the cane to look forward too.
He ties me back up. "If you need a break, you need to let me know with your mouth."
"Hmm..speaking of which." I say suggestively, "That's a good idea. I can think of a really good break."
He smiles. "Do you want to?"
"Yes, but I'll need a glass of water first, or else it won't be a very good one."

Pleasure through Pain

2011-04-07T01:09:00.000-05:00

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.

Too Weak and Fucking Afraid to Be Good

2011-03-21T17:38:00.001-05:00

(I wrote this post at least a week or two ago, but decided against posting it (but have now decided to in case someone doesn't realize how crazy I can sometimes get). It was probably on a Monday. I'm beginning to hate Mondays. On Mondays, I'm supposed to do 3 hours of homework. How many have I done today? One solitary hour. What is my excuse for my laziness? I don't have one. I've been doing a lot nothing. And I don't like myself. I don't like the ways I'm feeling, the choices I'm making or want to make. I want a spanking so bad. Anyway, here is the post. Enjoy.)

College Guy called me weak the other day, and it hurt. It was because I was refusing to define some term in a discussion we were having. It was a small thing. I was digging in my heels for no reason, or so he thought. It hurt and it didn't hurt. I've always wondered how we can define things anyway. I'm such a relativist..at least..I like to think I am. "Relativist" is a word I'm trying to define myself by, and that is just nullifying and ironic in itself.

But I am weak. And I am afraid. There are good things about me--especially when I'm happy. I'm fun to be around, when I am happy that is. And I can be counted on to be loyal...that is..if I'm happy.

Everyday College Guy asks me how I'm feeling. "How are you feeling? Are you okay today?" Like I'm already a member of his client list and he's checking in. I'm usually good. I"m usually happy. And if not good, I know I'll be feeling better. I make sure to ask him too. Make it even. Make it less than what it is.

But today I"m not okay. Today I'm weak. Today I"m afraid.

I love him. Or at least, I want him. I want him in the most selfish way possible....meaning that I want him physically, emotionally. I want him.

This makes me undesirable in my own eyes, perhaps in his too. You know, you don't want to get married...because as soon as a guy knows he really has you, he doesn't want you anymore. Just when you were getting used to the idea. That's what I wonder if dating is like.

I"m too scared to be good. Being strong in a relationship and fighting for it takes guts.
It's not that I don't see that.
I"m afraid.
I"m so fucking afraid.

This is why I need to be punished, and punished as hard as I can possibly live through. Otherwise the pain of this will be too much. And the fear of this will consume me. And I"ll end up----fat, overly-masterbated, and stark raving mad. Hating myself, possibly hiring someone to kill me (by spanking please, can you go that way?)

I want College Guy now. I like him now. I like him.
Do you know how scary that is? What if I make him hate me? I don't know if I'm freaking out and letting go by not trying as hard now because I feel it's inevitable....I don't know.

Pure Punishment

2011-03-20T00:21:00.001-05:00

My alarm clock on my cell rings obnoxiously, and I grunt, sit up, and stumble around the foot of the hotel bed to College Guy's side.
The only outlet is there. I hit the off button and shuffle back to my side, crawl under the covers.
"What are you doing?" He asks me sleepily.
"I'm only going to lie here for a couple minutes. I"m getting up, don't worry."
5 minutes later, I'm in the shower.
I come back to the bed 15 minutes later, knowing that we have only about a half hour before we have to hit the breakfast in the lobby and be on our way. I'll have to speed the 4.5 hours back to the city I live in so I can arrive to work on time.
30 minutes for a punishment.
30 minutes for a punishment that I don't want. Just the night before he'd tried to use the cane for a "fun" spanking. The fun spanking that didn't happen because my tolerance levels had been the lowest I'd ever experienced.
But this punishment had been on the agenda for weeks--ever since I'd lost track of how much homework I had and spent a painful night working on a paper and a presentation and getting only two hours of sleep. That had been "unacceptable" and a punishment was in order.
This morning feels better than the night before. Maybe I'll be able to take this spanking.
I climb back onto the bed and College Guy opens his arms, pulling me in for a kiss. I snuggle next to him, and we chat. Then, a pause.
"Okay, Bonnie-jo, I want you in the corner. Now."
He's caught me off guard. I'd almost forgotten how this morning was supposed to go.
"So soon?" I stall and stare wide-eyed at him. How does he transition the way he does? I never knew anyone could do it so smoothly and quickly.
He tells me about a week later that after I'd asked that, he'd given me his "huffy-look" and I'd smiled and gotten serious all at the same time. He says that look on my face was his favorite face of the weekend.
I stand in the corner, hands on my head. He turns the tv on. And my prevailing thought is that he won't make me wait long, because we only have 30 minutes before we have to get going. And, even though I wish we had longer to spend with each other, I'm glad I won't be made to wait long.
Soon he tells me to turn around. He's sitting in a straight backed chair. I can't remember if there was a lecture. Probably not. (Lol, if there was one....ha..that would be hilarious.)
What I do remember is him grabbing my pants, zipping them off and tugging them down in seconds. A lonely blue thong remained. It was a new one, one he'd never seen before.  A small thread of decency. One that was removed in something like half a second. I think spanking parties should have panty removing contests. Which top can de-panty his girl first? I do think College Guy would win every time. I'm never prepared for how fast it goes when he's about to discipline. And I usually end up yelping in sheer surprise.
So I yelp and am pulled through the air. I land with a thump across his lap.
He begins with my sandal. It's one of my most hated implements, made from some kind of hard hard plastic, its sole made out of a sort of plastic/wood with ridges in it. He's lecturing and smacking, and I'm writhing and yelping.
I struggle and he talks. I try to listen so that I can give the appropriate "Yes, Sir's" , and he makes me say a lot of them.
Then he stops. "Now, you know you're getting Gepetto to end this. You're going to count, 'One, I will not procrastinate. Two, I will not procrastinate.' Got it?"
"Yes, Sir." I moan.
He shifts in his seat, grabbing the hated bathbrush, and then his leg comes over both of mine. He grasps my arm firmly and pulls it behind me. I suppose he wants to secure me before the onslaught, before I start performing dances I didn't know existed on his lap. But all it serves to do is make my sense of dread greater.
Each blow is hard and concentrated. And he's not moving to cover my whole bottom like some nice tops do. He's focusing on minute areas of my sit spots. Over and over and over again. We get to 10. I count it and let out a huge sigh.
Whammm!!! The bathbrush meets my bruised flesh again. "No..no.." I whimper. "I don't want any more... Please, please, can't we stop at 10?" Normally I'm not so wimpy, but this spanking is hard. And I'm still recovering from my vanilla-ish feelings of the night before.
"No, we cannot stop at 10. Do you think you deserve for me to stop at 10?"
"Nooo......but I don't want anymore." I grumble.
"Count."
"11, I will not procrastinate." SMACKKK! "Owww!!"
We reach 20 and I sigh in relief. But the bathbrush comes down again. I moan, and I count.
By the time we've reached 30, my counts are more like sobs and screams, you know....kind of a back and forth between two different styles:
   Style #1: This really high, my-finger-is-stuck-in-the-door, kind of voice, the kind guys use in movies when someone or something has just slammed into them in their most vulnerable spot.
   Style #2: This really weepy, I'm-feeling-so -sorry -for-myself kind of voice, the kind little kids use when they are crying because some other little kid knocked them down, and they are angry and want the other kid to get in trouble.
I've never found it so hard to count before, and once in awhile, he offers me the words, counts along with me.
SMAAAAAAAAACKKK! I sob and count.
SMACKKKKKKKK!!!!! The sobs get longer, and the counting starts lagging behind.
I focus on trying to talk through my tears. I've stopped any attempts at holding still long ago.
It seems to go on forever.
But finally, we are done.
I don't remember what number he went to. Something like a hundred? Nah, I think it was maybe 50? 70? I"ll ask him later. Funny how he remembers the numbers I get better than I do. You'd think it'd be the opposite.
I lay across the bed, and he rubs Aloe Vera into my smoldering bottom.
I tell him thank you for spanking me, even though I didn't want him to spank me. The harder the spanking is, and the more I react to it, the more I want to say thank you. Because I never want him to think that I'm not okay with what he did.
And he tells me later that he actually felt sorry for me every time we passed the 10's numbers and kept on going. Because he could feel and hear my relief and following disappointment each time. "You moaned at 21, 31, 41....I kind of felt bad for you."
Sure he did. Whatever.

My Magician

2011-03-06T00:09:00.004-06:00

I'm sure that most of you have forgotten the other guy who sometimes spanks me--not College Guy--the other guy. You know, the Magician guy. Underneath my blog's title, I say that there are two tops who spank me....but it has been awhile since I've seen My Magician. It's been over 6 months. It's almost been 9. We're trying to plan to see each other this next month. And I'm nervous but happy. It's been forever.

So, I don't really have anything to report on him especially--no scary, dramatic, involved spanking to describe. All I have right now are some reminiscings and a bit of info.

College Guy and I met in person only a month before I met My Magician. The competition, at least in the mind of College Guy, was steady and always present. But now that we've been dating for more than 8 months, we've grown closer, and I believe he feels less competition, less threat. 1.5 years ago (which is how long I've actively been a spanko) there actually was a bit of a threat, which top would I end up becoming closer too, etc. Still, this is hard for College Guy. We went into this relationship saying we could see other people for non-sexual spanking relationships--we're too young not to take advantage of something like that. And yet, College Guy hasn't met up with anyone other than me. And I've had many rendezvous with My Magician. It's been an interesting ride. Needless to say, there has been drama. I will admit that I have been partially to blame, and that a lot of it was out of my hands as well...it was just what happened.

When I first met My Magician, I was blown away by how perfect everything seemed. He was an experienced spanker, he was professional, well-educated and at least twice my age (I like old people). He had that Flight Captain/ Sports coach quality that always makes me wish I were either a stewardess or a dude that likes to wear a helmet and tackle other guys while trying to catch a ball.
The first time we chatted was in a hotel bar, and I remember the feel of the leather seat sticking to the backs of my sweaty upper thighs as my short skirt rode up. There was the lemon zinger that the waitress brought me, and I remember how mad at myself I was when I realized I would be slightly tipsy during my first spanking. After that first night, I hardly ever drank around him again because I never wanted to risk missing parts of a spanking because of tipsiness, and I especially didn't want to ever act out of control or embarrass myself.

That first night he told me my bottom was beautiful. I had been religiously attending aerobics classes for the month beforehand, and breathed a huge sigh of relief. He was using a flogger, and I remember turning to watch him in the mirror across from the bed I was lying on. I could hardly believe my eyes. Some part of my brain captured the moment as though I were outside of myself and was watching it all on a movie screen. The flogger fell lightly across the upturned and pink bottom in the mirror. The bottom did indeed look beautiful, the light from a nearby lamp glowing over it. The man with the flogger struck again and again, and the violence of the movement captivated me. That girl in the mirror is me...that bottom is mine.

It was validation, and I ate it up. This man who'd spanked at least 10 girls before me, this man who had been spanking well for years, this man wanted to see me again. I couldn't believe it. He had a list, and now I would be a girl on that list. I know it may sound unnatractive to some, but I loved that. And in the following months, we wrote emails back and forth (he lives quite aways away). I treated him like a sort of diary, in a way, but he didn't get to see me as I really was--he saw only the parts that I thought were dramatic, exciting, or romantic. He became the person I'd complain to about College Guy or any boy problems in general. And he was and is an awesome emailer.

But I never asked hard questions. I did at first somewhat, but the more I liked My Magician, the more I didn't want to know if the answer could possibly be one I didn't like. And I tried hard not to let him see the annoying, fearful, self-pleasing, and lazy person I could be.

The hard questions come back to bite you. So they did. And it made me take a fresh look at My Magician and at myself. It was a painful look.

Sometimes you have to be reminded who you actually are. I had to remember that I was an adult and that he was an adult. Even though I had attempted to play an adult around him, I still felt like and ultimately wanted to act like a little girl.

Things happened. I had done some very hurtful things to College Guy in the recent past; but on the positive, College Guy and I started growing into our relationship. The two men and their ideas of what I should be doing with them collided, and there was an argument, a line drawn in the sand. My Magician planned to see me after it had been way too long, and then, beause of this arguement and line drawn, he changed his mind and cancelled his flight only the day before. And I felt abandoned. Pure and simple. He was doing what was best for him at the time, and I know that now. But I wanted to do nothing more than see him, and tell him how hurt I felt. Maybe throw myself on the ground and kick and punch it like some two year old.

And then I asked a hard question and I didn't like the answer.

"A person's a person no matter how small" says Dr. Seuss...and I would add "no matter how tall", or no matter how high they are put on a pedestal in the mind of Bonnie-jo, they are still a person.

And yet, I still write him, and he still writes me. And I still like him and his company. I still fantasize about being over his knee. And we still are planning to see each other soon. But I don't know where that little girl went who played at being the adult. Maybe she grew up and is now that adult. Maybe I don't want her gone, but mabye it's better that way. Maybe.

Remote Corner-time

2011-02-26T10:03:00.002-06:00

The night before I had made a disparaging comment about the corner time coming in the morning, something like, "Seriously, we don't need to do the corner time thing...It's just a waste of valuable time."
His reply was shocking but slightly intriguing, "That is the last time I'm allowing you to complain about your punishment. One more time, Bonnie-jo, and we won't leave your pants on during the corner time, and I'm sure you don't want that.
No, of course I didn't want that...

The next morning, I took a deep breath, braced myself, and clicked "Accept" to College Guy's yahoo video chat request. I feigned a smile....you have to smile on video chat or else you don't look pretty. But College Guy wasn't worried about looking pretty, at least not for long. We exchanged our how are you's, and then his smile fell.
"Tell me why you're being made to stand in the corner."
"Because I was bratty....and uhhhhhmmmmmmm....because I didn't take your punishment seriously and didn't try to control how bratty I was acting." I replied, grinning sheepishly, staring at the corner of my computer screen, away from his eyes.
"Good girl." He pauses. "Now I want you to walk over and stand in the corner right behind you, so that I can see. You will not turn around at any time, you will not talk, you will stand there."

I flounced to the corner and stood, feet apart, bottom slightly stuck out, hands on top of my head with my elbows touching the wall. I wore his favorite jeans and t-shirt.

What does one do while in the corner? It surely depends on the person and situation. My first corner time was remote, just like this one, and in that one I was so new to all of this, that I'm sure the whole 15 minutes was spent yammering silently--"I'm getting spanked, whoooo-peeee!!!" Since then, corners have meant many things: there have been welcoming corners, the kind that breath new resolve into my overwhelmed soul and bottom between ass-whippings from My Magician. There have been corners after spankings by College Guy that squeeze down on my heart the moment I walk into them, bringing me back into my body, showing me that what just happened was real, that I really did do what I did, and he really did just punish me and show me he loved me, and in these corners I rest my head against the wall, catch my breath, and sob just a little. And then there are corners for the sake of corners. These ones aren't real at all, just an accessory to a spanking, a corner to make one's playground. In these corners you can distract yourself from your impending doom...play with your surroundings...test your top. He may be either pleased or displeased with your efforts at entertainment.

College Guy was displeased.

For one thing, he was distracting me. As I contemplated my misdeeds, I began to feel truly repentant. I began working on a single tear, and that tear was in it's mid-term creation, when I heard the sound. Chewwing sounds were coming from the computer behind me. Then a swallowing sound. Then more chewing. He was eating breakfast! The nerve! Chewing sounds have always been one of my biggest pet peeves. I used to tell my mom as a pre-teen that I didn't want to eat with everyone else at dinner, because I hated hearing other people eating. But I took a deep breath, and I let it out. I could handle this.

The clock ticked above my head. Then I heard his tv switch on. I thought about my misdeeds, but my misdeeds were getting kinda boring.
And my arms were getting tired. Was that an itch on my nose?.They say you shouldn't stand in one position for too long. Varicose veins, improper circulations, blood pressure problems, and increasing risks of heart disease and stroke may occur. Besides, how exact are web cams? So I moved, put pressure on the other foot, spread my legs wider. Changed my hands from the top of my head to the back of my head.

He didn't notice.

I moved again. Picked up a foot quickly and placed it slightly behind me. I sighed. Then drummed my fingers on the back of my head.

"Bonnie-jo. Stop. Moving." His tone was one a barber trying to trim the hair of a squirmy 4 year old.

"Okay." I piped in cheerfully.

Wasn't he getting bored though? I was getting bored. Stop this, I told myself. What did you do to get corner time? I went over it all in my head. It took less than a minute to think about. I payed my due. I felt sorry. Now what?

Wasn't he getting bored though? "If you don't drop your attitude, your bottom will be hanging out during the corner time, and I know you don't want that." He had said at some point the day before. Did I not want that? Maybe he wanted that.....Although he could have used a nicer, kinder phrase than "hanging out".

I moved. Tiny imperceptible movements. Would he see this one? No. How about this one? Not yet.

"Bonnie-jo!"

"Yes?" I answered sweetly.

"Look, maybe some of it you can't help. But you keep moving. Do you know you're moving? "

"Yes."

"Then stop."

"Okay. I"m sorry. I"ll really stop this time." And I do want to. And I do feel slightly guilty.

He's being too nice, I think to myself. When will he finally order me to pull my pants down? At least this is helping the 30 minutes go by. I move again. I'm beginning to crack myself up for some reason. It's probably all this silence. Concentrate, concentrate! On what? On staying still. But what for? He can't see if I'm making tiny movements,and I find it hilarious.

Wham! Something falls in his room, or perhaps he's opened a drawer. All I know is the sound made me jump out of my skin. I begin to giggle at how the sound scared me; my giggle reaches up up up into a loud chuckle.

"Bonnie-jo, come here."

I turn around, surprised that the room hasn't changed in my long absence. His eyes spear mine across the wide expanse of cyber-space.
"Why did you laugh?"
"Because---Because you made some loud noise, or something in your room did. And it scared me so much that I jumped into the air...."
He shook his head. "This is not working. They are going to have to come down. I'm sorry."
"What are? " I pretend.
"Your jeans. Get back in the corner,and pull them down. You may leave your panties on."

I do so and stand contritely for a minute or two. But I decide that I hate this morning's choice of panties. I had not been planning on showing these ones off. What do do if you don't like your panties?? Hmmm...I move. Then I move again.

I stamp one foot. Then I stamp the other. I sigh loudly.

"Take them down." I hear.

"I'm standing still!!" I complain.

"Take them down. Now."

I do so happily. The way the sun is shining in the room makes a shadow of my bottom on the wall. If I lean slightly to the left, the bottom moves. I play with the shadow, but very slowly, very quietly, and very carefully. Because next he'll be having me grab Gepetto the bath brush, and I know that I most certainly do not want that.

Can't or Won't

2011-02-23T17:38:00.001-06:00

First it is fear of failure, that she can't make the grade, can't do what is expected. As consolation to her fear, she thinks of him. Of him dragging her over his lap, of harsh blows and words, of tears and cuddles and new resolve at the end. But thinking of this brings her back to her predicament, what if she does fail? She must be spanked so that she won't fail. Or is it that she must be spanked or she will fail? "I need a spanking so that I can be sane...." the thought becomes. "Oh no, " the sister thought replies, "You must not fail all on your own. You don't NEED anything. " She feels guilty beause she is now thinking of spanking and how it will make her life livable, how it will keep her on the straight and narrow.

But what if she fails him? What if she needs this too often, this bad-girl spanking that makes her a good girl again? What if she's too much to handle?

The fear becomes greater than any resolve. She's too afraid to try anymore. Or too lazy? She doesn't even know.

He's given her tasks and she refuses to do them. Is it that she can't or she won't? She doesn't even know. It doesn't feel like a test....more like a tunnel she's falling into. Inside that tunnel are all the fears, questions, and self-deprecation. She feels dirty, and she thinks of him, of him spanking her, pulling her hair, slapping her face.

She touches herself. She's still not getting the tasks done. Why must he be so far away? Why can't he spank her now? If he spanked her now would it fix things or would it make it worse? Is this addiction...is this heaven...is this hell...?

She doesn't know. But she just can't be a good girl. Can't or won't.

I don't want a spanking, I want you to leave me alone

2011-02-20T00:44:00.001-06:00

"I have an idea, something I want to do," College Guy tells me weeks ago. "I want to test your limits."
"Okay." I say. We have brought this idea up on occasion. It is the stand-in for intense, punishment spankings when there has been no infraction. And, it's somehow more frightening to me than any punishment spanking.

"I want to test your limits with the cane."

"What? I'm really not sure if they are even made for that!!" I object.
"I'll be careful. I'll go slow. This is something I really want to do at some point. I want to know what it can do."
"I'm not sure if I like the idea...." I mutter.
"You don't have to especially like it." He replies.
"It might hurt a lot." I say.
" But it could be exciting. I will push you." He says it as though it's some kind of bribe, or gift-- some kind of benevolent gesture on his part. Half of my brain is trying to come up with a polite, warm response, because I am pleased he wants to do this, that he enjoys things that are more hardcore, that he doesn't mind seeing me in pain. The other half of my brain is telling me run away fast. He doesn't know what he's talking about. This is the cane! Canes aren't met for testing limits. They can't be!!

This past weekend we both drove from our separate cities and met halfway for a day. It was perhaps a waste of money, but I needed to see him badly. And perhaps he needed to see me badly too. Christmas break had been over long ago. Circumstances in life had been wearing at both of us, and I was feeling confused, directionless, and depressed. I needed a spanking. And more than that, I needed his arms around me, holding me. I needed to struggle--to brat and push--and for him to remain unmoving.

I was not disappointed. We made use of every hour of our short time. Towards the beginning of the night, my bottom sporting a perpetually pink blush because College Guy couldn't seem to leave it alone for long, he asked me if I wanted to let him test my limits with the cane. I was already in that state of mind where my brain turns to goo because of all the endorphins. It's not like we had only been engaging in spanking....:)

"Uhmm...I don't know... Yes, let's do it... Wait, no, I'm really not sure. I have no ide..... It might be really hard. And I don't feel like really hard.... What do you think? I heard people next door and it's already late and what if I make too much noise.... I'm really not in the mood."

My response was something like that. But then I felt he might be disappointed. And what else could we do? The cane was quiet. There were people next door and it was late-ish. "Okay, fine, lets try."

He put two pillows at the end of the bed. "Lean over these." I did so. He ran his hands down the backs of my thighs. "Keep your feet on the floor. And you remember our safeword, right?"

"Yes." I hate safewords. It's more of a competition if you have a safeword. "Can I say the safeword right now?" I falter, as I see him pick up the cane.

He raises an eyebrow. "Can I say the safeword at the beginning? " I giggle. " Safeword, safeword, safeword...Now will you stop?"

He chuckles. Then says, "No."

I brace myself over the pillows, and time slows. Suddenly, I turn to him, unable to withstand the pressure of trying to stay still, of waiting for that first strike.

I catch him in midair. If I had whipped out my camera and clicked, I would have the most amazing picture of a stern College Guy poised to strike some offending piece of flesh with an outrageously evil cane. "Wait! Stop!" I shriek. The cane had just started to move, the air had bristled with expectation. But he stops, lets his arm down, as though he were Abraham sparing Isaac.

"What?" He asks.

"I don't know if I can do this."

"You can do this. I know you can."

"Okay, okay." I close my eyes. Then open them. The cane is back in the air. I squirm. I suddenly roll of the pillows. "Wait, wait, wait!!" I whimper. He puts down the cane.

"Get back into position, Bonnie-jo. You'll be fine. You are fine. I know you can do this."

"Okay okay okay." I mutter and obey him. But as soon as I'm over the pillows, I"m rolling off again. We repeat this procedure numerous times.

He still has not used the cane. Not even once.

And then he puts the cane on the bed and invades my space, speaking softly but sternly into my ear as he pushes me over the pillows and slaps my bottom with his hand. SMACK "You will stay here, you will not move. I understand that this is hard, SMACK but there is only so much pushing you can do until I push back. SMACK Do you understand, Bonnie-jo?"

"Yes, I'm sorry. I'll stay still. I will. I'm sure I will this time." I say. I grip the bedspread with both hands. Any second now, I tell myself. I squeeze my eyes shut. You can hear a cane coming. But it always connects sooner than you expect.

WHHHHHISHHH!!!!! The blow is like nothing I've ever felt. It burns with an otherworldly pain, and the fear it strikes in my heart is worse than how much it hurts. I feel defeated, like some important part of me has been wrenched out of my body. I feel my spankoness is gone.

Instinct pushes me off the bed, and I sit on the floor protecting my stinging bottom and blinking back the tears. I realize I'm whimpering and the defeated feeling increases. I must get up. I must get away. I need to not cry. What must College Guy think? I don't want him to feel bad...I don't want him to think I'm a wimp. Oh noo...I'm going to cry! I can't cry. Not like this.

"Bonnie-jo?" He moves towards me. "Are you okay?"

I climb up and onto the king-sized hotel bed, grab both pillows and throw them up to the headboard. I'm signalling that I'm done. I"ve destroyed the pillows he had set up.

I can see the OH-NO-YOU-DON'T look in his eye.

I grab the numerous other pillows littering the bed to my chest, as though they were some long lost teddy bears waiting to comfort me, and I curl into a ball of disappointment and fear. What has just happened to me? Am I really a spanko? Why am I suddenly terrified of that cane? How could I do this to him? Will he like me anymore? What if we have to stop dating?

He pulls the pillows out of my arms. "Get up." But I've already checked out. "Bonnie-jo! Stop this." He moves around the room, in a kind of hurried way, as though time is escaping him, as though he needs to find an answer and fast.

I watch him , and I hug my knees as he picks up an armless chair and moves it to a more spacious area. He sits. "Get off the bed. Walk around it, and come here."

I don't want to do it. But I obey, sniffling the whole way. "Noooooo....." I whine as he pulls me over his lap. "Please!!!"

"Stop it." He says sternly, and gives me several swats with our tiny wooden hairbrush. The swats hurt like nothing else. Folks, this is a tiny implement. I've never been scared of it. But I am now. And I struggle across his lap, I put back my hand, I kick my legs. I am out of control. And he has hardly even begun. My struggles distract him for a time, but he pins my arm with his arm, fits his leg over my kicking ones, and I am caught, whimpering and begging.

"You don't understand----!" I begin.

"I understand that you are scaring yourself to death. That you are building this up in your head. You wanted to do this and now you think you failed. You're disappointed, and I won't have you being disappointed in yourself. If you are going to beat yourself up over this, then I'm going to show you right now that you can take a spanking. I"m going to do ten sets of ten with this hairbrush. And you're going to be fine."

"I don't want a spanking!! I don't want ten sets of ten!!" I cry. " I really don't want a spanking!" Then quieter. "I want you to just leave me alone...for a little while." And then even quieter. "Okay? Please?"

He pauses, " Do you promise to not think about this all night and to not tell yourself you failed?"

I'm silent. I failed, I think to myself. Where did my quasi-bionic butt go? Where did my spanko -self go? All I want to do is curl into a sobbing mess...what is wrong with me? But if I don't answer this right, he's going to spank me. I don't like spanking right now, not even with a friendly hair brush.

I stop fighting. I clear my throat and say in a professional tone, devoid of tears and whimpers and whining, "I will try my hardest not to. Is that good enough for you?"

He lets me up, and we collapse onto the bed. "You're fine," he tells me. But I'm not convinced. What just happened to me?

He is not done spanking me that night. But he is done spanking me hard. I don't want it. For once, I don't want it.

I know it was probably because I was tired and worn out from school, work, and life. It could even have been the piping hot shower/bath that he and I had indulged in beforehand. But for once, I truly felt sorry for those vanilla women out there whose SOs decide to introduce them in the joys of spanking. You poor dears.

Spanked by a Woman

2011-02-11T11:20:00.000-06:00

I had been bratting to her all night long. Little things--mocking eyes, snarky comments, sly glances. No, I was not flirting with her; I don't swing that way, at least not seriously. I was purely relaxing. Many faces at this Spanking Party were foreign to me, but I knew her from the party before. The feeling was one of friendship--that, and also a curiosity that wouldn't go away. What will she do about it? What will she do about me?

It was almost Midnight and time to leave our spanking-madness-getaway. Almost time to say our goodbyes, to wish everyone warm bottoms and hands, to step out into the frozen, dark night, and wonder if it was all just a dream.

Then she called me over. "Wouldn't you like a real spanking before you go, Bonnie-jo?" It was a wager, a challenge, an offering of a gift that I could not refuse. I was scared; she was perhaps the most intense top in the room, and she had been proving herself all night long. I looked over at her husband wondering if he was okay with her choice to spank me last.
"It's either you or me, " he smiled.
"I'll let you go, " I offered sweetly.
"No, I'll get some from her tonight, and more, " he said.

So I arranged myself over her lap, hoping I wouldn't regret this.
I think I did.
I've never been spanked so hard in front of people before. It was embarrassing. Roleplay offers a mask to those who can get into it. But I'm not good at roleplay yet. I'm usually always myself. So I played myself, and I cringed inside at all the real yelps, ow's, and ahh's I couldn't control.

The small crowd of mostly men chatted with her and one another as they witnessed my demise. It was an odd feeling, almost like I wasn't really there, just part of the entertainment--like a mediocre tv show, a fish tank with Siamese fighting fish, or an interesting appetizer.
I found myself wondering if their interest wained the harder she spanked, the harder I yelped. "Hmm..so the brat really is only human..interesting...so will the Steelers win the superbowl?" I thought they were probably thinking.

She was in complete control, I realized that fast.

It wasn't long until she placed her leg over both of mine, pining me to her lap and the couch.
"Do you trust me, little girl? " She asked sweetly.
I giggle. "Uhmmm...no not really."
She brings the paddle down hard. SMACK! SMACk! SMACKKKK!
I moan.
"Hmmm..now do you trust me?"
"Yes, Yes, I trust you!" I gasp.

My protecting hand flew to my backside within half a minute, but she grabbed my wrist on beat.

"Oh yes, we often frequent that restaurant..." She was adding to the conversation in the group. Then later, "Yes, but our eldest is just starting to..."
I tried to do what I often do in such a situation. It's a game that entertains me enough to sometimes get my mind off the spanking.

This is the difference between men and women. My dad once told me this in reference to teachers: "Guys are easier on girls, because they know how the guys think. It probably goes the same way with girls."

My arm went limp, so she loosened her hold. This is always my cue to yank my wrist out of their grasp, put my hand back on the floor the couch, etc, so that I can once again try to protect my bottom with it, just later. In a couple minutes I'll put it back, hoping to distract and slow the top.

No such luck. I pulled my wrist from her grasp, but, while continuing to spank me, she grabbed it and pulled it securely behind me. She wrapped her one arm around it and held it at the same time. I was stuck.

SMACK, SMACK, SMACK...the spanking continued. "Owwwww!!" I moaned at one point.
"Hah--hmmm" She giggled.
I stopped my struggling for a bit.
"Seriously, did you just laugh? I know you're enjoying this but did you actually laugh while I'm writhing in pain here?" I ask accusingly.
"That's right," She said.

Lines

2011-02-05T17:28:00.002-06:00

"I'm going to be dommy", College guy says Tuesday around Midnight. "Get the last of your homework done, and then finish your lines."
They were supposed to be due at Midnight, but we had spent too long chatting, and he feels partially to blame. So he gives me an extension. First he tells me, "You don't have to do the lines tonight. Just go to bed."
But I am in my I-can-do-anything mood. "No, I'll do them all tonight. I will!"
"Alright, good," is his smiling response.
One hour later, and I am annoyed at myself. It is so late. The word "discipline" becomes hard to concentrate on spelling. Try writing "discipline" 700 times and it will take on new meaning, if not scar you for life.
Every 50 lines, I update College Guy through IM of my progress.
"Go to bed," I tell him. "I'll finish them, but it's going to take me awhile.
"Nah, I want to be here," he says.
Silly boy.
"Can I listen to music whilst I write?" I type. "I did it last time."
"That sounds alright."
"Really? I think it's cheating." I admit.
"Then no, you may not." He returns.
Why must I be so honest?
"600!" I type once I reached that mark. "Go to bed, okay?"
"Bonnie-jo," He types, "The next words out of your mouth had better be '700'."
I sit crosslegged. I lay on my stomach. I keep writing.
After awhile, it is as though my hand is moving and my brain has stopped. I'm not thinking about the lines. It becomes a purely machanical process.
Finally, it is over, and it is around 2 in the morning. We call each other to say goodnight.
In the morning, I use sissors to cut the 7 pages out of my notebook. Wouldn't want someone to borrow my notes during class and see the things I've been up to!

Eye to Eye with College Guy

2011-02-01T21:10:00.000-06:00

This post is extra-special, everyone. College Guy read my post, just as I wanted him to. I didn't especially like the results of his reading it, but it lead to him wanting to tell you all some of his thoughts about what happened. So he emailed me this post. I do apologize profusely for how long it is....you see what I have to deal with on a daily basis though....? The lectures are punishment alone...groan...Anyway, enjoy this note from my College Guy:

Hello everyone, for a while now I’ve wanted to give a bit of my side of Bonnie-jo’s and my life together. Her latest post and the ramifications of it have given me a perfect opportunity to do so. So without a do the following is my recollection and thoughts on how everything went down and whatever thoughts on spanking, life etc. that may lead to.

A little bit of background information is necessary to bring everyone up to pace on what was going on this past Sunday. That Saturday night Bonnie-jo and I had had a discussion that wasn’t quite an argument but that was important enough to bring out some emotions from both of us. Happily, like they often do, this discussion ended well and I gave Bonnie-jo a simple order for the next morning, “Don’t allow this to keep you occupied all morning, make sure you get some homework started instead.” So the next day I wake up and get on my computer. To my delight Bonnie-jo was already on and we were able to talk immediately. I asked if she had gotten any homework done and she kindly pointed me to her last blog post. I needed to talk to my grandparents first (that’s important later) but after that I was not so shocked to see that Bonnie-jo had not done her homework, in fact she had in a way declared war on my order by broadcasting her willful disobedience to all of you and myself.

So I got on the internet to talk to Bonnie-jo again. I could never say I was not adequately warned about the mood she was in; in fact I tend to love the way Bonnie-jo brats, which I think in a relationship like ours is just as important as loving your partner's smile, or laugh etc; however I’ve made it clear several times that if she brats about serious orders or discipline, she can expect more discipline. She knew this too. We had been planning on talking on the phone before I headed back to campus, but Bonnie-jo recommended talking online, knowing what the conversation would entail, and because she had roommates in the near vicinity.

I agreed and immediately started trying to find out how far Bonnie-jo wanted to go with her disobedience. I talked about what she had used her morning for, and overall she had been productive, which I was happy to hear. From my point of view, Bonnie-jo had not broken the spirit of the law, which was originally to just not focus on things too much, but had very willfully broken the letter of the law, to do homework. Keeping this in mind I decided to take away her warm up from her discipline spanking. I know that may seem overly harsh to some and too light to others, but I judged it about right for Bonnie-jo and myself. For one thing we only get to meet so often, and if I spanked her for each individual act we would never have any time to talk, and it’s a lighter penalty than adding the cane or big paddle to her punishment. However, to my chagrin Bonnie-jo responded with, and I quote, “Fine :P” and more bratting. Obviously Bonnie-jo needed more, something immediate. I decided on lines, rather a lot of them as well (500), but Bonnie-jo had not had enough, she bratted continuously until she had added 200 more to her list (They’re due tomorrow). I should point out that I warned her at each step of the process, I’m a meanie but I’m not that big of a meanie. Still Bonnie-jo didn’t seem quite there, she wasn’t contrite. This wasn’t so obvious, and it’s something I’m only able to catch on to thanks to my gift of knowing Bonnie-jo for as long as I have. So as a final punishment I added the condition that she was to stand in the corner the next day under my supervision. It’s my understanding that Bonnie-jo is going to write her account on that part so I’ll leave that to her.

The bratting continued a bit from there, eventually resulting in Bonnie-jo questioning what would happen if she didn’t do anything that I had asked. This is a tricky spot for me to be in, and one I don’t like to address if it can be avoided. The truth is of course, and as I told her, that we would have to break up, as I have no means of forcing her to do what I say, and nor would I want to. I want to add here, that Bonnie-jo always always always has the ability to not agree to my conditions and rules especially if she has a reason. However if she just decided that I'm not worth listening to any more, obviously our relationship as a top/bottom would be over. I do wish I could have been there to give her the spanking she richly deserved by this point, but from where I was, if she decided she didn’t want to listen anymore, realistically there was nothing I could do. This brings me to the irony of our interest in control. No matter how dominate a relationship might be, the basis of that relationship is built on the acceptance of the bottom/sub. If a sub says, “Don’t do that”, a good dom will respect her wishes. This isn’t to say a good dom won’t push, I think that’s part of the feeling out process for our partners and ourselves, but the bottom line is, what the sub says goes. I personally enjoy this dynamic, as to me it is what allows the beauty of our relationship, the trust, to shine. What separates spanking and BDSM from abuse is consent, and power without trust is meaningless, at least to me.

Of course Bonnie-jo was merely taking her bratting to its most extreme limits, and the answer I gave her was not the answer she was looking for. I’m sure she would have liked to hear how I was about to trek across country and put her bare bottom across my knee for a session with Gepetto (she wouldn’t have wanted to hear the Gepetto part), however I’ve found that sometimes the only way to beat a brat at their game, is to not play their game. Of course bratting is not just a game, it is a fascinating dynamic to me; it is in a way a game of tug of war, yet it is also a method of letting out stress and of probing and getting to know your partner. Still sometimes you have to step away from it and bring everything back to reality.

On a final note I’d like to add that Bonnie-jo herself was a great help to me during that same conversation. My grandmother had hurt her back before my conversation with her, and she is experiencing quite a bit of pain. Something Bonnie-jo mentioned made me think of my grandmother, and once I explained that situation Bonnie-jo quit her bratting immediately for me, and indeed was somewhat frustrated that I hadn’t thought to say so in the first place. The dynamics of spanking and its transition and place through so many phases of life is another interesting topic but one for another time. It is sufficient to say that I’m extraordinarily happy that I’ve met someone who I can be there for and who can be there for me.

Sincerely,

College Guy

The urge

2011-01-30T14:15:00.001-06:00

Have any of you bottoms or subs ever felt this way? I'm not sure if it's a sadistic streak, merely childish, crazy, or something else. But it is alive and well and it is there.
I don't really want to physically hit him. But I have the urge to be "bad". Because I want him to hit back. I think I'm addicted to it. At least, that's my excuse, and I shall stand by it.
I try it sometimes, when I'm feeling extra stressed or tired or sad.
It will go something like this:

"Bonnie-jo, I don't like your tone"--College Guy
"Well, random fact, I don't like your tone"--Me
A small laugh. "Fair enough."--College Guy
"What????"---Me

So I try something else minutes later:
"This is an idea that we need to think through together."--College Guy
"Nah, lets not think. Lets just see how it goes."--Me
"I'm serious, Bonnie-jo. This is important."--College Guy
"Soooo important...." ---Me
"So we are going to talk about it some more."--College Guy
"Whatever..."--Me

It's hard when you live so far apart. I get to brat a lot more, but other than an occasional yahoo video punishment (and I abhore those), he doesn't get to do much about it. And that's hard.

One day, about a month ago, we were chatting online, typing away. And I was stressing over something.
"Is it warm in your room? Do you have your heater on?" He asked.
"Yes."
"Take of all your clothes. Do it now."
"Why?"
"Do it."
So I do. I've never typed to him naked. Of course, he can't see me. But the feel of the laptop on my bare skin, the radiation of its heat, the vulnerable and small way I feel---I love it.
"Do you know why you are naked right now?" He asks. "It is because, number 1, I like you that way and there needs to be no reason. Number 2, you needed to be put in your place."
I quake a bit at how arrongant that sounds, but I warm as the domminess of it surrounds me. "My place?" I ask.
"Yeah, I have some stuff I want to tell you. I've told you before. You still don't get it. Maybe you'll listen better this way."
And he talks.
But I still have the urge to push, to brat, to be 'bad". So I do. He asks questions. I say, "Yeah."
"I need a 'Yes, Sir' or 'Yes, College Guy' whenever you answer me, and that is all." He states.
"Yes, Sir."
At one point, he asks a question. I don't like the question. I don't like the topic. It's a sore issue, something we've been arguing about for quite some time. I wait a couple seconds to answer. "Yes or no, Bonnie-jo??" He prods.
"Yes." I answer. Then I type a face with the tongue pointing out. One of these dealios: :p
There is a pause. Then I see the words: "Get on yahoo chat."
"No, no no no!!!!" I type back. Yahoo chat is video. I am naked. I don't want that. How embarrassing.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I continue, "But I was joking. You said to me, ' Yes or no'. The joke was that I was picking one. You didn't say, 'Yes, Sir' or 'No, Sir', Bonnie-jo....because that would have sounded silly. But the joke was that was what I saw..."
He types back as I'm typing. "You pick this time to make silly jokes? When you know I'm serious. Get on yahoo."
"Nooooooooooooooo," I type back. "Please, pick something different. I hate yahoo. You know I do. And I'm all naked. And I'm tired looking."
We went back and forth and he gave in. In a way. He traded the "punishment" of yahoo chat for a 3-fold punishment that involved writing lines, a very hard spanking when I see him next, and something else that I'm not talking about. Not because it's sexual at all, just annoying. So....I suppose I got the better deal we shall see.
But seriously, all over me not calling him "Sir" and me typing a face with the tongue sticking out. Seriously folks?

My urge to brat had been kindly met with a hard hand. It was a good feeling. But you can't always meet it in the same way every time. Life has to go on. And it does.

Presently, I was supposed to get some homework done this morning. I did not. Instead, I wrote this post and did other things. He just got on chat and is attempting to talk. I'll let ya'll know how this goes. I still refuse yahoo chatting naked...ewww....

The Bet--Final Episode

2011-01-21T22:06:00.002-06:00

   She lay perfectly still in the snow, even though the snow was biting into her bare thighs. But she wasn't done fighting, only regrouping. She felt his hands on her upper arms, pulling her up.
   "Get inside, now."
   She reached down to pull her jeans up, but was distracted by a stinging CRACK of his belt.
   "Keep your jeans where they are. Inside."
   In seconds the hot air of the living room met their faces in a rough and dry kiss. He went to work right away---kicked off his snowy shoes, scooped her cooperating figure up, deposited her on the couch, and began to systematically strip her.
   "Are you going to check me for ticks or frostbite?" She quipped.
   He did not reply.
   When he was done, he man-handled her into the kitchen and the straight backed chair near the window. He pulled her shivering body over his lap. Each expletive that flew from her lips gave life to his resolve.
      The palm of his hand landed hard and fast, peppering her squirming rump.
   "Stop it, let me up!" She whined. "I'm cold still."
   His left arm snaked tighter around her lower waist, and he sat taller in the chair, pulling her lower torso closer to his chest, and angling her head closer to the linoleum. It was the securing before the onslaught. Through her breasts and stomach, she felt the muscles in his thighs tighten. It was her cue to completely lose it, to cry, wail, plead. Maybe it would soften his resolve, if ever so slightly.
   "I'm sorry!" She started. "Please, please, please---Owwww!"
   His open palm connected with her thighs. Hard, and then again. And then again. Three times on the same sweet spot. Then three fast and powerful times on her other thigh. It was rhythmic, composed, created to bring about a certain reaction, a certain penance.
   But to her there was not yet a meaning, only pure pain and the resulting anger. Anger at herself for bringing this upon herself. Anger at herself for letting him spank her, for wanting him to spank her.
   He knew how she fought. With showy composure and a steely self-control at first. Then came the word- fighting. Then the real- fighting. It was only after these things were forced into submission could he reach the delicate part he loved most of all. The part that was more her than she would ever admit or want him to know.
   "Owww, why do I have to be naked?" She complained between spanks in an loud whine. "Is this really what it takes to get you off?"
   He moved his blows half an inch lower, increased the number of smacks to four in each spot.
   "Because--Oww! Because we could easily find you something online, and I'm sure--OWW! Damn it!" She whimpered, kicking her legs a tiny bit and gasping out in a rushed string of words, "I'm sure there's some exceptionally violent stuff online. Just perfect for you. It'd-get-you-hot-really-fast! Ow!!" She wailed. "Ow, please, I'm sorry...." Her words digressed into a kind of whimpering mumble.
   He continued smacking her thighs hard. Once in awhile he moved a whack or two upwards, to where the two rounds of her cheeks jiggled in response to his attentions. He did it for two reasons: because he liked to watch it jiggle and because the contrast of the pleasure-ful bottom-smacks only added to the sheer pain he was inflicting on her upper thighs.
   He felt her body stiffen and attempt to roll away. With his free arm, he pressed her against him, hard, clasping her slim waist and hip-bone.He shifted her to his right so that her toes touched the ground. Then he slipped his right leg over her calves, pinning her between his legs. This was undeniably the most effective way to keep her where she needed to be.
Her body bucked, but he held on as he increased the hardness of the spanks. She was making no noise now, except for the occasional grunt as she attempted to break his hold on her wriggling body. SMACK, SMACK, SMACK. His hand came down like a mechanical apparatus, something not attached to him. In fact, it did feel more like an implement than a part of him at this point.
He knew by her closed mouth that she was close, ever so close to that lovely place he wanted her.She had passed the outer stage--the you-can't-spank-me-hard-because-I'm-too-cute-funny-sexy-angry stage. She was in no-man's land right now, and she was trying to find her way out. He was intent on helping her. It could be seconds or minutes away. Still, there was the possibility that it could also take hours.
It was sooner this time then he had planned on.
She stopped fighting. Her body went almost limp in his arms. He spanked her several times more, then stopped. Her breathing was deep, slow, steady. It was time.
He breathed deeper too, rested his hand on the curve of her cheeks, then moved up and around in a soothing caress.
Then her brought his hand down lightly on both cheeks. "Get up please." She moved to obey and he steadied her. Yes, the look on her face was right. It was time.
He scooped up his abandoned belt. "Follow me, my love."
In their bedroom he positioned her over the foot of the bed. "Try your hardest to keep this position. Do it for me. Feet stay on the floor."
"Yes, Sir." She breathed.
"Good Girl."
After about 5 hard belt strokes, he asked, "Why did you lie?"
"I don't know, Sir." Her voice was small, muffled.
He gave her 5 more, harder this time. She bit back a scream. "I'm going to ask you again, love, and I'm not going to stop until you give me an answer besides that one. You have to know of some reason, even if it's only a partial one."
She began to sob into the bed. "Because..." but the rest of her words were muffled and broken by the tears. He dropped down onto the bed and tangled his hand into her hair. "Shhhh...shhhhh... I need you to talk to me. Here, sit up."
She wiped at her nose, and searched his face with bleary eyes. "It was because I was afraid you wouldn't like the truth."
"I always like the truth."
"Only because I lie."
He brought her mouth to his and kissed it hungrily. "That makes no sense."
She kissed him back and then let out a long shuddering sigh. "Can I have a nap, please?"
He looked at her a bit apologetically. "No. No, I'm afraid not. You may, however, stand in that corner over there and think about what you've just said to me. Then we're going to talk more about this."
She slowly stretched and got to her feet. "You just want to cash in on your bet," She grumbled. "You still don't get that I like this."
"Oh I get that." He smiled. "I get that. Hands on your head."
The moment was passed. The process would have to be repeated. But it was alright. He had all night.

100 Things about Me

2011-01-17T15:59:00.003-06:00

Yes, I'm treating this blog sort of like a kinky facebook by posting this. Yes, I got this idea from someone else's blog. And no, you probably don't want to spend lots of time reading 100 thing about me. I thought it would be fun to see if I could come up with 100 things anyway.

1. I am a girl. :)
2. When I was 13, I was afraid there would never be a boy taller than me. Then I stopped growing.
3. I used to steal a certain boy's lunch box in 5th grade, just so that he would chase me.
4. I love chocolate, apples, wine, and anything Tai.
5. Books were my best friends growing up. And they are real.
6. Some books I'm really mean to and just skim for the "good parts". "Good parts" is dialogue and sexy action.
7. Up until age 15, I would never sleep away from home if I could help it.
8. I can play the violin.
9. I can tap dance.
10. I can swing dance (including a bit of lindy), waltz, and fox trot.
11. I am in my early 20's.
12. I love baking and cookies are probably my favorite baking genre.
13. My first day of school, some boy threw a kickball at me whilst I was running the bases, so I came home nursing bloodied knees. And was sure that school was a dangerous place.
14. I have never broken any bones. But I've had one concussion and split my chin open. It's too bad about the bones.
15. The only good thing about winter is Christmas and sledding.
16. I was a bit of a cry baby as a kid.
17. I still cry when I watch a sad movie.
18. I freakin' love sad movies.
19. I have changed my major at least 5 times.
20. When I was 7 or 8 I had many dolls and always a favorite one. I wouldnt' let them know though, and was extremely careful not to let my actions show the truth. I was afraid of hurt feelings and all.
21. I have been on a girl's soccer team.
22. I had asthma which caused me to leave the soccer team.
23. I have acted in one high school play and helped direct another.
24. I dream about plays at least once a week. Usually I'm forgetting lines.
25. I love the BBC.
26. Some of the best songs ever are those by Madonna.
27. Any kind of make-out that involves a car and shoving someone or being shoved up against it is totally hot.
28. Firm beds are the best beds. Soft beds need to be burnt.
29. I have been to Arizona, California, Colorado, Florida, Georgia, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Maryland, Michigan, Minnesota, Missouri, Nebraska, New York, Ohio, Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, Tennessee, Texas, Washington, and Wisconsin.
30. John Wayne used to be a crush of mine, and I don't really know why. Guess it was all that arrogant forcefulness. He's fairly annoying now.
31. I resolved to always wear dresses at the age of 8 and upon viewing "How the West Was Fun" with the Olsen Twins. Jeans are my favorite clothing item now.
32. I like holey jeans.
33. I have ridden for about 5 minutes in the trunk of a car, because there were too many people to fit in the car.
34. I used to blush ferociously. Now I just do so on occasion.
35. My parents were my best friends until I went away to college.
36. I used to read every single thing assigned in college, even the footnotes. I was afraid if I didn't, I would be lying when I said I'd read the material.
37. I have naturally light brown/dirty blond hair, but I continually dye it either black or dark dark brown.
38. I used to wish I was African American so I'd look cooler. Now I'm glad I have light skin because spankings show up better.
39. I hate sewing and am not crafty at all.
40. I would call myself a girly-girl leaning on the side of not being girly.
41. I'm afraid of deep water, needles, fire, and the dark.
42. After being rushed to the emergency room because of an asthma attack and being given an injection of something in the backside, I almost fainted. As the room started spinning and getting dark, and my stomach started fluttering all over, I thought, "See, girl, this is what you get for liking spankings and your own bottom...."
43. I drove for over 8 hours to receive my first real spanking.
44. I fantasized about the puma from "The Jungle Book" Disney cartoon when I was 7 years old. He made an awesome dom.
43. I once thought that belt-whippings were only for weak men with no arm muscles.
44. I once broke a wooden plaque in my parents' living room by paddling myself with it.
45. The only steak I met that I ever liked was a one-time occurrence.
46. Scrubs is the best tv show ever.
47. I can't sleep while wearing a thong.
48. I hate fat pillows. Only thin pillows will do.
49. I hate sleeping in cold air with piles of blankets. Too many blankets make me claustrophobic.
50. I love jogging-running, especially when doing it often.
51. I have been held at gun-point by a drunken man.
52. If I could morph myself into any actress, I think I would choose Audrey Hepburn. But it would be a hard choice.
53. I've probably seen more old black and white movies than any of you old fogies out there.
54. My favorite author is either Madeline L'Engle or Toni Morrison.
54. I don't like mystery, fantasy, or action books.
55. I once cheated on a test in Junior High. It wasn't exactly intentional, and I felt so guilty I confessed after class.
56. I have kept some sort of diary ever since I was 12.
57. If someone has an accent, it automatically makes them much cooler.
58. I love Euro-90's dance music.
59. Guys should always shave their facial hair.
60. Men and dress clothes are the two hottest combinations pretty much ever.
61. Leather smells amazing. Leather saddles, leather belts, leather shoes. Leather coats. Leather wallets. Did I say leather belts?
62. Short skirts may be more exciting to me than panties.
63. One day I would like to write a full length movie about someone who is kinky.
64. I love sandwiches---hummus, tuna, and tomato and mayonnaise being 3 of my favorite kinds.
65. Ice cream will make everything okay.
66. I can't stay still for long. Especially when sitting in classrooms at college. I'm continually switching sitting positions, sliding down in my chair, sitting back up straight, etc.
67. If I could be friends with myself, I think I'd only want to hang out like twice a month.
68. I love mountain climbing/hiking with no ropes.
69. Summer is the best season ever. Winter is the season of death.
70. One day I want to live on a coast, somewhere, somehow.
71. I used to want to join the army just because I liked the uniform.
72. Tables and desks are the furniture items that cause me to fantasize about spanking the most. Especially in classrooms.
73. I don't like gray cloudy days or rain or snow.
74. I love coffee, tea, hot chocolate, chai.
75. I could people watch for at least an hour every day.
76. My favorite car is a Porsche.
77. When I wake up in the morning, my first thought is usually about spanking.
78. I have worked in 3 libraries, 4 retail or grocery stores, and 1 restaurant.
79. My favorite color for panties and bras is stark white.
80. One day I will write a book about my life, and it will spark controversy about sex, religion, and such.
81. Some day I want to be tied up and spanked all day long---like a in a torture chamber.
82. I love it when people get mad. But if it lasts too long, then I feel bad. And then I usually apologize.
83. I love being told "no" by a top.
84. When I was 12, I would draw pictures of paddles and then scribble them out so no one could find the evidence.
85. Shirley Temple was my child crush and role-model for a long time. I still think she's adorable.
86. I think one of the best things about me is how hard I try if I decide I really want something. Deciding I really want it is the issue though.
87. My favorite color is blue.
88. My favorite pizza is every vegetable there is out there plus Italian sausage.
89. I was a vegan for a year.
90. I was spanked as a child and have actually seen (and heard) my siblings be spanked. Most times, it usually made me terribly angry.
91. I have been to a psychologist because I wanted to deal with my spanking kink. It didn't work. It merely disappeared for a time.
92. I have been spanked by at least 2 vanilla boys. Butt- slapped by at least 4 vanilla boys. Hmmm...nothing compares to the real thing by a real guy.
93. I love card games, hate monopoly, and love/hate games like cranium and any kind of acting/make-a-fool-of-yourself games.
94. My favorite implement is the dude's hand.
94. My favorite position is OTK. Next comes lying on a bed or arm of a sofa.
95. I am an early bird, but my awesome, top/dom-boyfriend is trying to reform me.
96. My life became 50% better when I found out that liking to be spanked hard was okay.
97. One of the primary reasons I dated my first boyfriend (vanilla) was that I told him about my spanking kink and he didn't run away screaming. I thought there might be no one else as accepting as he.
98. I will always be my daddy's little girl (real father of course).
99. I think it'd be fun to study some form of combat--martial arts, boxing, or wrestling. Maybe wrestling.
100. I love rooftops, towers, airplanes, mountains, and all high places. I would put sub-space in this category as well.

A School Girl Again

2011-01-12T22:49:00.000-06:00

School has started up once again. I am not in the mood for it.I hate every overwhelming moment of the beginning of the semester. But I am good at replacing my fear with other stuff. I know this precisely because my mind twists, tangles, and grabs at different professor's words and situates them in my own spanko world. And I then become highly entertained.

For example:

"You will submit each paper by...." says one prof...Submitting? Ooooo...that sounds cool. It's true, turning in papers is kind of like submitting. Submitting to the work. Submitting to the grade they give you. Oooooo.

"You will present on one reading..." says another prof. I like how he said "will" like that. Like we have no other choice. All authoritatively. It takes a certain kind of sternness to talk shy students into getting up in front. And it helps me cope with the idea that I must do so too when I can focus on the sexiness of the words...and not what they actually mean.

"You can't just have the beat in this kind of song; you must have a the lyric..." spouts a prof. And I think, no, it's the other way around. No music without a good beating.

"Your presentation is going to be a fairly intense process, " says another prof. "We're going to need to develop a good trust relationship in order for you to understand how you're doing in the process of creating it." And I think, hmmm....an intense experience involving lots of trust...this is going to be interesting. When do I get to visit your office?

Then the ultimate crowd pleaser: "We won't have quizzes unless you force me to give you them," says a very dommy and beautiful lady professor. "I will beat you with the stick if I have to, but preferably you are going to run after the carrot yourself."
Nothing needs be said about that one.

Punishment in the Morning

2011-01-11T00:16:00.003-06:00

It was my Punishment Spanking morning. College Guy and I had planned it to fall towards the middle of his visit. It was to be on a day when the roommates would be away. And if they came home for some reason, we could postpone to the next day. I was ready for this ,sort of. When I have a real punishment coming my way, I feel a kind of peace that's hard to explain. This can scare me sometimes....it seems unhealthy--that I would need the promise of punishment, lurking in the distance, in order to feel my best.

So maybe I didn't actually feel my best beforehand. There were all the signs of me not feeling my best.

The day before I had been a complete brat, over and over and over again. And it wasn't even on purpose. We were trying out a new idea--I would be his submissive for the hours before my roommates came home. But it wasn't working out perfectly. Some stuff went well. But then there was the problem of my mouth. College Guy would say something, and I'd say something directly opposing whatever he said. Then I'd stare at him, my lips pushed out slightly, eyes squinting, daring him to do something. Maybe it was because I already knew I was getting spanked hard in the morning. This is what My Magician calls the Erica- Syndrome...But College Guy did do something about it. There was the time when he hauled me over his lap in the living room and delivered numerous swats to my bottom because I'd asked him "Why?" in a pouty tone. As he spanked and I yelped softly, trying not to giggle, he asked, "Do I need to grap the strap from my bag?" I don't remember what I said. Something like "No. " Then a few seconds later, I asked "Is your hand hurting yet, and maybe you should stop?" He got the strap. And I began to worry about the punishment spanking at that point. Cause that strap wasn't pretty. There were other spankings that day. I began to feel guilty about how often I was making him stop what we were doing to spank me. But only a little guilty. The rest of me couldn't get enough of it.

That next day, I got enough of it.

The Punishment was very much deserved, I thought. The night before, about an hour before we fell asleep, I curled up next to him on his bed, and just talked. I talked about what I felt about what had happened that was resulting in the punishment. That I didn't think anything could make up for it. For what I'd done. That I didn't know if I was going to cry. That he needed to be prepared for me not to cry. That I didn't want him to see me cry. That I didn't want to hurt him more, and I felt like him spanking me was just hurting him more.

He let me say everything I wanted to. And we snuggled next to each other, and he told me how he felt about it.
That he was so glad I could come to him and tell him exactly what I was feeling.
That I could cry or not cry.
That he wanted me to just be who I was in the moment.
That he wanted this too.
That this would help him deal with what happened. It takes a strong man to admit to such a thing.

The next morning I slept past my alarm. I rushed into the bathroom and heard his door open. What in the world? He is not about to say I missed my shower.... I'm getting a shower before my spanking.... I will make it happen... So I jump into the shower, with something like 8 min. before I am supposed to be out and eating breakfast with College Guy. Within a minute or two, he knocks on the door. "Yes?" I say nonchalantly. But I can't hear what he's saying throught he door, so I turn the water off.

"Hurry up, Bonnie-jo. You need to be done soon."

I fight back the urge to say, "We have hours and hours. Stop being so strict." But I know I am supposed to be giving this to him. I know I want to give this to him. It's the least I can do. I bite back my tongue and say sweetly, "Okay, I'm almost done."

I step out of the shower and hear him knock again.

"Yes?"

"Open the door."

"I'm not done yet."

"Open the door now."

I grimace, pull the towel to my chest, and unlock the door. It swings open. "Good morning." I say, grinning. He smiles back. "You want me to make you some cereal; I'm making me some."

"Sure. You got up earlier than I expected. I...uh..I kinda slept in."

"I noticed." He turns my shoulder with one hand and slaps my glistening bottom hard. It would normally be a romantic moment, but I bite my lip, catch my expression in the mirror, and look down. Embarrassed.

He slaps twice more. "You will hurry up, do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" Slap.

"Yes, Sir."

I hardly taste my breakfast, and then he asks if I'm ready. He leads me to the corner and tells me to take down my jeans, my panties. Not off, just down. I put my hands on my head. He gives me 15 minutes. He says that if I need 15 more afterwards to wrap my head around what's about to happen, I can let him know. One minute goes by, and I know that I won't need 15 minutes more. I want this spanking over with.

I am out of the corner, holding out my wrists for the bongage rope. It's soft and black. He ties an expert knot, and I break my silence. "Did you google that?"
"Yup."

The knot is involved, and then it's done. My hands are clasped in front of me. For good. And all I can think is, I'm sorry....Why did I do what I did.... I lie over the love-seat's arm, and Gepetto, the bathbrush, is in his hands. The first stroke is like nothing I've felt before, or at least, so I thought at the time. I jump up, and simultaneously crumple in a heap at the foot of the love-seat.

I realize now that I hardly looked at him this entire time. I don't know why. Tops should have good voices, I have decided. Because sometimes, through the pain and emotional turmoil, it's all that will get in.

"Bonnie-jo, get up. Get back over the sofa."

I'm still gasping from the blow. " I can't!" I whimper. "Owwwwww. "

But somehow I'm back over the arm of the sofa, and he begins using the bathbrush somewhat more kindly, but not by much. "Did you think it wouldn't hurt?" He asks.

I remain quiet, except for more whimpering.

"Well, did you?" He smacks extra hard.
"I don't know!" I wail.

He lectures a lot. About who I let down. About all the reasons what I did was wrong.

Then I am over his knee. I dangle there for at least a minute, because he says he wants me to understand where I am, what's about to happen, that I am with him. Despite the pain and the anguish of the earlier bathbrushing, I am glad I am where I am. My breathing deepens, and I relax slightly.

After the handspanking, I am positioned back over the arm of the sofa. And he picks up the cane.

The strokes are well spaced out. I have time to writhe and sob after each one, then compose myself and wait. Until he comes to a certain part in his lecture.

"One of the hardest parts for me, Bonnie-jo, was that you yourself admit that you could have been in real phsyical danger. You have told me that you think there was a high chance of that. That you knew the situation was dangerous and you didn't get yourself out of it." The cane falls and I bite back a scream.

"You have joked around with this in the past. You have no idea what you're joking about. You need to be more careful. For yourself. I don't think you understand even the slightest what it would be like. So my job is to give you a taste of that, so you never play around with that idea again." And the cane falls faster. And I find myself biting back the word "No".

And this is where I stop thinking about what I've done. There does come a point where you have to. I hate what happened. I hate how stupid I was. But this spanking is hurting too much to focus on the pain I had caused our relationship and him. So I let it go, I stop thinking about it. All I can focus on is getting through this spanking.

"What did you get out of your experience, Bonnie-j?" His voice drifts down to me through the muddle of my brain. The cane stops. And I look up at him.

There is some kind of retort at the back of my brain. Something like, "It made me feel beautiful and powerful." But I say nothing.

"It's not a rhetorical question."

"Uhmmm...." I try to think what the right answer is. He is way too young to be playing the what- color- am- I -thinking- of- professor- game.

The cane falls fast. Then again. And I'm trying to wriggle away, but he has one hand on my upper back, holding me in place.

"I want an answer. Maybe if I cane you enough you'll think of an answer--"

And I blurt, "Wait! Well...well...nothing really." It's the best answer I can come up with.

He takes it.

We switch to the 3-holed paddle, but by this time, I see an end in sight. I know I will live past this spanking.

I don't remember much else that follows. The spanking continues, but most of the details are gone in that buzzy, dark place called sub-space.

At the very end he puts me in the corner. He doesn't know it, but now the tears trickle down my face. It is usually this way. The full impact of what happens in a spanking comes at the very end.

I sniff a bit and surreptitiously wipe my nose on my shoulder, my hands clasped on top of my head. I still feel pathetic for my offense and for the reason this spanking happened.

He comes up behind me, "I"m getting some water from the kitchen; would you like a glass?"

"No, thank you." I say coldly, not meeting his eyes. I don't deserve water. I don't deserve anything. But what I want now more than anything is a hug that doesn't end, because I'm about to fall apart.

He comes back from the kitchen with his water and leads me to the couch. I cuddle next to him and bury my face in his shoulder, and just breathe. It's going to be okay.

"There Is No Great Dark Man"

2011-01-06T07:57:00.000-06:00

I saw a movie a couple weeks ago on hulu. I love hulu because it's free. The movie was entitled "The Naked Civil Servant", and it's based on the autobiography of a blatant homosexual man living in England during the time when practicing homosexuality was against the law. The main character, Quentin Crisp, is always waiting for the man of his dreams to come along, the man he terms " a great dark man". In the end of the movie, he admits that there is no great dark man. It isn't the end of the world or hugely depressing; it's just a fact. It's a beautiful movie in my opinion. Quentin's dialogue and narration are spectacular, and it adds large ammounts of support to the fact that if I were ever to become a man, I would want to be a homosexual. And if I could ever change my sex, I might do so in order to be a man in love with a man. I'm sorry that such a thought makes many of my readers uncomfortable, but it's just my personal feeling. Guess I like men a lot.
But this post is not about homosexuality but instead about the wish for a great dark man, as Quentin wished for. I understand his thought, at least partially. I googled the phrase and found his autobiography on google books. Here he explains how women tend to wish for the same thing--a rough, violent, potentially dangerous man. However, women have to temper this attraction with an opposite attraction towards a kind, gentle, thoughtful nature--a man who would make a good husband and a good father for her children.
In a D/S, Top/Bottom kind of relationship, I find the same dualism. In my search for a man who can control and dominate me in certain ways, I know there will be a conflicting wish for a man who will also release me when I want to be released. You cannot always have what you want.
As a child I dreamed of this great dark man--except he was only half great and dark. The other part was light and not dark, kind and not cruel.This is always the case. One does not wish for a man that would like to confine, stagnate, bind, and kill. These are miniscule spices thrown into the mix, there only for aroma and flavor, and not for consistency. The consistency of a relastionship such as the one I want to have would contain things like respect for one another, mutual trust, forgiveness, joy, humor, sacrifice, thoughtfulness, ingenuity, and growth. I don't really know what I'm talking about. But I know that the elements of D/S can only be part of a relationship.
Still, that does not keep me from yearning for them. That doesn't keep me from fantasizing about a great dark man who would control in all aspects.
College Guy has grown into domness by leaps and bounds and at times by stealthy centimeters apparent only when something important needs to be dealt with in our relationship. And each time I see the changes, I thrill in the fact that I get to be his girlfriend and submissive.
But this is not always so. Sometimes I fight the very thing I supposedly want. When he wants to know my deepest, darkest secrets or desires or anxieties, I shy away from opening up. I'm afraid. Why should I give him more control if he is not the great dark man. Maybe there is no great dark man. Maybe there is no great dark man, as Quentin said.

Planes and Butterflies

2010-12-28T01:48:00.000-06:00

College Guy visited me more than a week ago, and I think that we both had a lovely time. On the last day he was here, we went for a drive and attempted to find a trail or park.. It was a cold, dreary day, but as we hopped out of the car to explore the trails, I breathed the fresh air in and something in me relaxed. I really need to do more hiking and exploring the outdoors. I miss that.

As the cold air blew on us from all sides, and as I felt my toes begin to freeze, College Guy remained cheerful.

"Keep your eyes open for a good looking switch," he told me.

My walk turned into a skip. "What?" I laughed, spinning around to face him, then spinning around again. "What?"

"I'm serious, Bonnie-jo, I'm going to switch you at some point. This is half the reason why you didn't have to drag me out here."

I pick up a random stick and throw it away, declaring it too dry and old. He picks up a huge one--probably about 4 feet long.

"Uhh..." I eye it. "That's kinda big." I take it from him and start to attack the ground with it. "Besides," I say as I smack it repeatedly on the ground, "It's breaking, see."

Before we left for the hike, we had been watching tv on the sofa. One of my roommates was in her room, so I was sitting demurely cuddled by his side. At one point, my trip to see my family for Christmas came up.

"My plane is probably going to crash, and I'm going to die." I tease. He hates this. I know it's not superstition, and I realize that it's mean of me. But still, it gets nice reactions. Sometimes.

His hands are suddenly around my chest and he pulls me down onto the couch, sort of back into him. It's too much PDA for my prudish public habits, and I hiss, "Let me up!! Hey, stop. Let me up!"

"Say you're sorry for what you said."

"Okay, I'm sorry that I said I'm going to die on a plane crash." He lets go.

I sit up, laughingly. "Guess, what? I'm going to die in a plane crash." I never learn. He grabs me again, but this time, I manage to evade his grasp. He lets it go.

Now, on the trail, College Guy has found a stick. We reach a bend in road, and there is a random post, right in the middle of the bend.

"Put your hands there, I'm spanking you here."

"Put my hands where? How? Show me." I stall.

I was hoping he might model the pose for me. No such luck. He unceremoniously grabs my arm and moves me towards the post as he brings the switch down hard, right on my jeans. "Oww!" I say.

"Keep still." The switch comes down again. It's more like a thick stick. And it's not breaking. Just hurting.

"I want you to understand that you are not getting away with saying depressing things like dying on plane crashes just to be depressing. Do you understand?" He brings the switch down again and again, and I wiggle my butt away away, trying to control the spots he keeps focussing on. My jeans are on, something that never really happens, but this hurts a lot. "Owww, yes, I understand!"

"Good girl."

He throws the stick down and we walk off down the trail, hand in hand.

Half a minute later, I peruse my trail map. "The Butterfly Trail," I say. "We could try that one. But all the butterflies are probably dead." He gives me a stern look. I smile cheekily.

"You haven't had enough, have you?" He says.

"No, I have too," I lie. "I"m just wondering, like how long do they live?"

He searches for another stick.

"No, wait, hey, I mean, do they live through the winter or do they all die and if they do, how do more exist?" (I guess I missed that part of elementary school science...)

But he didn't believe my curiosity and spanked me anyway. I'm not complaining.

The Bet--A continutation

2010-12-11T00:09:00.000-06:00

Part One of "The Bet"

Part Two

"Close the door and I'll think about it."

He smiled. "You're funny, darling."

"Let's go see a movie. It's not even 10 yet. There's still some showing, I'm sure."

"Get out."

"I know what. We could--"

She ended the phrase in a shriek as he reached into the car, grabbed her arm, and pulled her onto the pavement. "Stand up, young lady, what will the neighbor's think?" He smiled.

She selfconsciously looked left then right. "Let me go right now, okay?"

He swatted her lightly, while holding onto her upper arm. She let out a tiny squeak of shock, and he lowered his head to her ear. "Shhh....someone might hear you. Now we wouldn't want the neighbor's knowing I tan your little ass whenever I think you need me to, now would we. ..?"

"Fine, fine, I'm coming. You're the one talking so loud anyway. Ow! You're hurting my arm---" And she jerked her elbow out into a three-sixty as she swiveled her wrist in a similar fashion, breaking his grasp.

The snow broke her fall somewhat, but it still dazed her as she fell to the ground, his hands around her knees. She felt a pressure on her back as the cold air hit her bottom.

"Hey! What are you doing? No, no, not here!" She twisted under his pinning knee as he pulled her jeans a bit farther down. "Stop it! Ahhhhh!!!" Her pleas turned into shrieks as a handful of snow met her wiggling rear end. "What are you doing? That's cold, damn it!"

"Preparing your bottom for the thrashing it's about to take. I didn't think of it until just now."

"I'm going to catch pneumonia or something. Let me up!"

"Nah...so you don't want to get spanked inside. We'll spank you outside." And his open palm came down hard across her bottom. Once, twice, three times.

"I'll go inside. I will. I will!! I promise I will. "

"Yes, well, we both know how you feel about promises lately."

She stilled her squirming. "That's not fair."

"It's fair. You know it's fair. What you did was not fair. Do you have any evidence that supports this not being fair?"

There was a long silence.

She felt the weight on her back shift a little, then she heard a familiar sound. Woosh-wooosh-woosh---jingle.

(To be continued. I must go write a paper for class.)
:p

Until You Cry

2010-11-25T22:41:00.003-06:00

I used to imagine how hard a spanking might have to be to get me to cry.
I remember the things I used to fantasize about when I was a young teen. It must have been some kind of spin-off from feelings I had as a small child. I hope no one freaks that I'm going here, but I want to be able to go anywhere when it comes to thinking about spanking. I was a good kid, and discipline didn't happen often. (And I would say it often happened when it shouldn't have, and didn't happen when it should have.) However, I knew the secret---cry soon, cry hard, cry loud. It makes the person stop a ton sooner everytime.
In my fantasies, however, I'd tell the man about to discipline me, "I'm not going to cry."
And he'd say, "That's perfectly fine. You don't have to."
It was always like this in my head, in the stories I'd make up in my mind. And in those stories, she (I) would always end up crying. But not because it was a must.
I cried with College Guy the second time I met up with him.
My vanilla ex had recently been trying to get back together with me, and my emotions were all over the place.
There was a punishment spanking we had planned. I remember being sorry for the thing I had done. It was something that had caused undue stress to College Guy and something that had been irresponsible--I had not answered my phone for hours and hours knowing full well that I had agreed to talk to him, and that I had just flown back to college and he would want to know if I'd arrived safely.
The punishment spanking didn't make me cry though. I told him, "If I cry, it's because I'm so tired and stressed. It's not because of the spanking."
Afterwards, I told him I was worried about hurting him. I was afraid he was getting too close, falling in love with me.
He told me that I was a great friend and person. That I don't hurt my friends, at least not often. I was lolling on the hotel bed with just a hoodie and boy-short panties on.
" I don't think I'm a good person." I mumbled, running my fingertips in little circles on the bedspread.
"Do you want me to put you back over my knee?" He threatened warmly.
I looked down and mumbled, "No...I mean..No, I'm not a good person." It was my story and I was sticking to it.
"Get over."
"What? Nooooo.." I grumbled as he grabbed my arm and dragged me over his lap, his back propped up against the headboard.
Between smacks, he asked me, "So, how are you a bad person?"
I hemmed and hawed. "Uhh..it's really just a feeling. I don't know. Ow. You already spanked me..."
He slapped each cheek harder and harder. Then paused, "For someone who keeps saying, 'I'm a bad person', you really don't have much to defend yourself with."
He spanked. He lectured. And I argued right back.
"Alright," he said. "Get up for a minute." He stalked off to his backpack and returned with Gepetto, the bath brush.
"No, no, no, you already used that on me." I whined.
He stretched out on the bed and patted his lap. "Now, Bonnie-jo."
I placed myself resignedly over him.
"I'm going to spank you until you cry, okay?"
But the question was not directed at me. It sounded like he was thinking out loud to himself. But I put in my two cents anyway.
"No, no no! Please. You know I can't cry. Besides..ahhghghgh...no! I'm just depressed right now. About my ex and all. I know how to deal with this stuff. When I'm depressed, I have to distract myself until it passes. You can't fix it."
"I'm going to spank you to tears."
And then he started.
College Guy is right-handed, and yet I was positioned in the opposite direction over his lap. Not my fault. He'd pulled me there. And yet, that bath brush hurt unbelievably. If a bath brush spanks well with the weak hand/arm, you know you've got yourself a bath bruth that needs to get lost somehow. Or to be used as some kind of ceremonial incense.
I still had my hoodie on. But then it somehow came off. I must have been flailing about a bit. So now I only had on a black bra. At one point he asked me one of those "Yes, Sir" type of questions. I responded with an angry-as-I-could-make-it "Yes!!"
"Is that hostility in your voice?" He unecessarily asked.
Then he promptly undid my bra and slipped it off my shoulders. I had never been completely naked in his prescence before. "Noo..." I begged. But I didn't try to struggle. It made me feel smaller, more vulnerable. And I lay still, as he smacked and smacked and talked and talked. I argued back at times, but I didn't feel like arguing as much as it progressed. It seemed like it would never end.
The smacks were very slow though. Hard. But slow.
He kept spanking and checking my face for tears. Spank, spank, spank...and then he would incline his head to the side to catch a glimpse of my face. Kind of adorably attentive now that I look back at it....
At one point, I began to struggle really hard again. It was the worst of the storm before the calm. He stopped the bathbrush, and I stopped the struggling. Had I won?
Then, "You are a good person, Bonnie-jo." Smack! "This is a two -way street." Smack! "You don't have to be perfect here." Smack! "It's about trust. It's about trusting your friends with the friendship you offer. You can trust your friends--"
And I lost it. It was because he said the things about trusting. I think that trust is one of the most baffling things about relationships. You're supposed to do it with God. And I never could much. You're supposed to do it with your friends. And I don't especially.
I began to sob deeply, but almost silently.
He spanked a little more. That helped me stop crying. It was a nice distraction from the tears.
And then it was over. I rolled off his lap and curled up in a little ball. And just breathed. He held me for a bit.
And, it didn't fix things exactly. But I felt better. And excited. We had crossed a boundary in our spanking relationship. It was a first for both of us.

Hot Spanking Story--How Dare She....

2010-11-14T21:41:00.000-06:00

I think I could almost "get off" on this story. It sends shivers in all the right places. It had me swirling down down down into that place where one's breath deepens, eyes glaze over, and there is nothing except a brain -swirly- feeling and the sure knowledge that something amazing is going to happen--namely, a very good spanking.
I love the buildup!
I'm in the middle of writing a paper for school, but in the midst of a break, I found this spanking story "How Dare He?" . The author amazed me. I have had a very similar fantasy that I've played over and over again in my head as a teenager. There was a chase involving horse riding--with a man intent on spanking in close pursuit of a naughty young girl. There was a horse that threw the mischevious young girl. There was an angry and concerned man who had to then spank the girl. Ahhhh.....how dare she take my ideas?? Hahha!
Really this story has made my night!
The email address of the author is at the bottom of the page. Just in case you want to write and tell them how amazing they are.

Waiting

2010-11-08T20:51:00.000-06:00

I changed clothes at a MacDonald's. My bulging backpack hid the school girl skirt, the knee length boots, the polo shirt and short double-breasted jacket. Stepping into the restroom was an easy task. But as I struggled into the clothing, I fought a momentary nausea. Get the job done, I told myself. I checked myself in the mirror. All was in order. Walked out the door and held my head high. One of the employees watched me through the window between his floor sweepings.

I don't remember the car ride to that hotel lobby. The radio was on, and I was undoubtedly attempting to console myself by singing to it. This is my recourse when life is scary. I'll do it when traffic is hectic. And I'll do it when I'm about to get spanked by a complete stranger. So I did it when I was about to meet My Magician for the first time.

We had talked a lot online. And we had agreed to meet in a public place--first the hotel lobby, then drinks at the hotel restaurant. I was safe. But what if he was a cranky, gross old man? And what if I wasn't safe? I had decided I didn't care if I was safe. Kids, don't try this at home; I don't recommend it. But in the end, there are no absolutes....

I knew College Guy by this time. He had given me my very first spanking. We were very close. But I had wondered what it would be like to have someone to see just for discipline. Someone older, someone mature, someone who had been giving spankings for a long time. A mentor. An almost-father-figure. I was hoping against hope that such a relationship was possible, that maybe I could have a relationship like that. Someone who wasn't looking for anything sexual. A strict disciplinarian. No drama. Just spankings. I had wanted that kind of relationship ever since I was 6 years old.

It was the moment of truth. I forced my shaking legs out of my car, and, cell phone in hand, stepped towards the hotel lobby doors. The doors were clear glass, and I saw a man sitting in a the only chair that faced the doors. Waiting.

He rose with a smile. He didn't really look like his pictures--it's always a relief to see someone in real life, I think, as opposed to what you imagine from a picture. I think we shook hands. Maybe. He commented that he didn't expect me to look so happy to see him. Yes, I was grinning like a fool....And then he inclined his head to the left and told me, "Come." It was a beginning.

The booth we sat in was leather. Black leather. My short skirt continually slid up. And I kept shifting in my seat, trying to get comfortable against the slippery leather. Waiting.

We chatted. I felt like I was talking to an old teacher from high school. It was normal, relaxed--except for the occasional double entendre concerning spanking. But he kept those to a minimum...in retrospect, I'm sure it was painful for him. I almost forgot why I was there. Then he said with a warm smile, "I think we're going to go back to my hotel room now, and give you a good spanking. Not too good, of course. We'll save that for tomorrow." The point of his statement had already been discussed at length. This night would be an introductory spanking. The next day would be punishment.

Before I knew it, I was in his hotel room. Christmas music played at a low pitch from his laptop. "Bar-ump-ump-ump-uhmmm...Me and my drum..."

"I have to go change, " I remember mumbling. His smile was suddenly gone. "Because...because..." I stammered. "Because I didn't wear the thong you told me too."

"I distinctly told you to wear a thong, Miss Bonnie-jo," He said sternly but not ill-humoredly.

" I know, but I was worried about my skirt flapping around in the restaurant." I replied meekly.

"Go change. Now."

I came back later, all shy and retreating. He was seated in an armchair, and he held out his hand. I gingerly settled myself over his lap, and he spanked slowly. Lifted up the skirt. Continued the spanks. My heart was thudding. I'm really here...I'm doing this...I can't believe it.

And then it started to feel really good. That perfect in-between-hurting -a -little- and -hurting- a -lot place.

As he spanked, he started to talk. "This is what needs to happen to girls like you, Bonnie-jo. You need to be spanked. You need to be spanked on you bare bottom." I giggled.

"And sometimes," He smacked extra hard, and I let out a small yelp. "Sometimes, girls like you need to be taught a lesson. Especially if they've been making fun of their discipliner's age when they've talked to him online." SMACK! "You had fun playing games and making jokes, didn't you, Bonnie-jo?" Smack, Smack, Smack, Smack!

"Yes!" I giggled. It really wasn't hurting at all.

"And that's fine with me." He paused the spanking and said, "But tomorrow, I expect there to be no games, no backtalk, no funny and cutesy Bonnie-jo. Tomorrow is about a serious spanking. Do you understand?"

I said nothing. I may have giggled.

"Do you understand?"

No answer. This is how you test your spankers, dear brats. Especially if the spanking is feeling amazing.

"Get up." He commanded. I rose. He kept his hands on my arms and pulled me gently onto his knee. "Sit."

"I know what you're doing, Young Lady. You want to push me into spanking you hard tonight."

I nodded. "Yes."

"It's not going to work. You'll get your hard spanking tomorrow. You may wish you'd never asked for it. But for now, you must wait."

Better Not Pout

2010-10-29T23:51:00.003-05:00

My spanko mind must be entertained, so at work the other day, I brightened up when I saw the customer I was ringing up place a small wooden decoration on the counter between us. It read, "Better Not Pout". And I couldn't help giggling.

She giggled back. My mind raced, and the question, "Could she be a spanko?" flitted around my brain.

"That's awesome." I commented.

She nodded.

"Pouting is essential." I grin.

"Yeah, the boyfriend likes to pout. I thought I should get it."

I struggled to hold my smile. Ah well...I suppose she could still be a spanko....

For me, pouting is usually a plea for the top to take charge, or to continue in the road they've taken, despite my pouting. It's a test perhaps, to see if they'll back down and let me decide. And it's also an encouragement. Keep on doing what you're doing, it says. I like it. I need it.

So, why the blazes do I have to use reverse psychology to communicate? Why can't I say, "Yes, Sir...so it is, Sir...I will do better, Sir....Thank you for telling me, Sir" ?

I'm lying face down on the hotel bed, and my fuzzy blue blindfold is on. College Guy has soft rope that he's attempting to use to tie my wrists behind my back. It's taking awhile, and I can tell he feels unsure.

"Almost done," he apologizes.

"That's fine. Take your time." I offer. I know what's coming after he gets me tied--lots and lots of bath brushing.

He fumbles around and I feel one of my wrists free of the rope. I surreptitiously bring it underneath my chest, out of his reach.

A half second goes by and I immediately realize how stupid the move was. I'm in a vulnerable place, and we're about to start the worst part of my spanking.

"Put it back, now."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!!" I plead. I mutter, "Stupid, stupid..." under my breath as I wonder what I could have been thinking.

"If you think for one moment you're in control, Bonnie-jo, you're very very wrong, and I will smack that thought right out of you."

Perhaps I'm stuck in my testing ways. Bratting is such a large part of the fun. But also, it's sort of about being overthrown. If I don't put up a fuss, then it's way too easy for him, right? I want him to win but at some kind of cost.

Yes, in the end, it' s my decision to follow him. But I don't want to make it easy. That's no fun.

Does this make me selfish? Perhaps.

But I like knowing what I want. "Know thyself" and all that good stuff.

Spanking Party

2010-10-18T20:59:00.002-05:00

I went to my very first spanking party the other day. After muddling my way through a crowded downtown area and calling the spanking host for directions because I didn't write all of the details he sent me down (no, he didn't spank me for it), I arrived at a two story warehouse-like building with warm lighting and wooden floors.

I didn't really know why I was there. But from the moment I heard the tell-tale "Thwack, crack, smack" sounds rising from the bottom floor and mixing with the warm rumble of chatter, I knew I was in the right place. At least, it sounded like the right place.

You never realize how loud a spanking is until you aren't the one receiving it. It was a small group, and although the area was large, it was all one open room. We were often arrested in the midst of conversation by the sounds proceding from the spanking side of the room. One of the tops, after a particularly punishing blow dealt by the paddle in his hand, remarked to the onlookers, "That one hurt my ears too." Guess you're a good spanker if you need to wear ear plugs.

I was in the mood for a good spanking. My Magician had told me, "Don't expect much, and you won't be dissapointed much. Just see how it goes." Well, that was the nice thing he said. There was also, "What are you going to wear? " "What? Your short-shorts? Those are my short shorts....You say the other short shorts?? Those are mine too!"

Me going to this party was a strain on both of them--College Guy and My Magician. Actually, the reason I was going to the party was because College Guy had told me about it. That's because he literally knows everything....(You think I'm being sarcastic...well...hehe... don't tell anyone.)

About 3 hours before the party, after getting off IM chat with My Magician, I started messaging College Guy.

"I have to get ready for the party. It's in only 3 hours. And I've gotten no homework done. Ahhh!! I'm nervous!"

"You don't need 3 hours to get ready, silly girl. Do some homework."

"Noooooooo."

"You have time. Besides, I"m not asking, I'm telling."

"Noooooooo."

"Stop saying that. I'm serious." (Do I ever believe him? Nooooooo.)

"Why not? It's fun."

"Do a bit of homework before you get ready. You have time."

"Noooooooo."

"Do some homeowork or I'll cane you."

"Nooooooo."

Don't try to tell a nervous brat to do homework. Not unless you enjoy being frustrated.

After about an hour of light hearted chatting, sharing, and giggling at the people getting spanked--I knew I was in the right group when an especially loud CRACK! was not met with concern but with giggles and smiles from the chatting participants--I decided to play. I didn't really want to. It's one thing to play with someone you know. And it's one thing to play in a group with someone you know. But to bare most of your bottom (I kept my panties on) to a group of strangers and let another complete stranger wack it...it was beginning to sound crazy to me. However, I was even more scared of me hating myself for being scared later, when the party was over and I had time to think about it. And even more importantly, I wanted a spanking--any spanking.

All in all, it was a good spanking. As far as the physics of spanking go, the dude did a fine job. There was a ton of variety in methods used. Short, fast, hard, gentle, straight on, sweeping up, both hands, one hand, and etc. There was even one time when he would switch between his hand and the small paddle he was using right in the middle of a bunch of strokes. It kept me wondering what would happen next. But I was confused. Confused during and more confused afterwards. Sure, I had that silly "I'm getting spanked" smile on my face the whole time. But afterwards, I curled up next to a newly-made-bottom-friend and struggled to keep the smile on my face.

I almost wish I hadn't played. I feel cheap because of how much I didn't get to experience. I missed the power play. Sure, I'm a spanko. But spanking is at most 75% of the picture. It might only be 50%. I miss My Magician. I miss College Guy. I miss being able to relax in their hands. I miss testing them. I miss the game that isn't really a game. I miss the reality.

Sometimes, I wonder if I'm what people call a "submissive". I hate that word. It doesn't even look nice. It doesn't look respectable. It looks like someone who is under something, shorter than something, groveling, bowing, begging, or silent. It makes me think of social problems, inequality, and ignorance. Am I a "submissive"?

"We are a bottom-driven group", the group host told all of us at the spanking party. "This means when the bottom says, 'Stop', you stop. This means if the bottom is good after one swat, you stop." I didn't like hearing this. I understood, but it took half of the fun away. I want to be pushed. I want to be stretched. I want to brat, and I want to be punished.

However, I realized, after a day or so of sulking because I didn't get my power-play-high, that there is no way to get a power-play high with a stranger. And if two strangers tried to attempt such a thing with one another, they'd be playing with fire. The only way to let complete strangers play like this is for the bottom to have too much control . A necessary evil, I'll admit. I'd so much rather play with the good kind of fire, like the kind I played with over the summer.

And in a way, I'm glad I had the reaction I did. It helped me realize how much I love what College Guy and I have and what My Magician and I have. Both people could never ever be easily replaced. They are a precious part of my life, and sometimes, I feel like one of the luckiest girls in the world.

My Musical Mind

2010-10-13T21:58:00.000-05:00

Song Lyrics:

1. "I'm a genie in a bottle, baby...gotta make a big impression, got like watchu do."--Christina Aguilera, Genie in a Bottle
2. "Your lips my biggest weakness, shouldn't have let you know. I'm always gonna do what they say." --Justin Bieber, You Smile
3. "Those schoolgirl days, of telling tales and biting nails are gone. But in my mind I know they still live on and on." --Lulu, To Sir With Love
4. "Just gonna stand there and watch me burn. That's all right because I like the way it hurts." --Rihanna, Love the Way You Lie
5. "Just leave with me now, say the word and we'll go. I'll be your teacher, I'll show you the rules."--Jason DeRulo, In My Head
6. "And when it's love, if it's not rough it isn't fun." --Lady Gaga, Poker Face

Canes and Breaking Implements

2010-10-07T21:40:00.003-05:00

The cane was worse than the 3-holed paddle. I had no idea! We had something to talk about... It was all planned ahead of time. College Guy loves planning this stuff. He plans it, then tells me about it weeks ahead of time, so that I can think about it/worry about it every moment of every day....I'm joking, I'm joking!! Me, worry about a spanking? In your dreams, bub!

Anyway, so I arrived at his college during rush hour traffic, picked him up outside the college (because when he heard I was so close he started walking to me). Traffic sped up and before I was ready for it, we arrived at our hotel.

It was my favorite hotel room so far. I am beginning to develop a great fondness for hotel rooms....sigh. Anyway, we had barely stepped in the door, when he said to me, "There's something we have to get out of the way, isn't there?"

I froze. "So soon?" I tried to look cute.

"That's the way it needs to be. Stand up."

I wanted this spanking as much as he wanted to give it to me, at least in a way. There had been a misdeed. I wanted to "pay for it". I know this isn't how he sees it, not really. To him it's reinforcement, it's a way to grow, and I love that.

I stood and shifted from one foot to the other as he unzipped my jeans. "Keep your feet on the floor." He commanded.

He was inches away from me and I thrilled with the feeling of vulnerability. My panties were tugged off in record time, and I had to catch my breath. "Put your hands straight up," He instructed. My breathing quickened, and my vision got slightly fuzzy as I realized the picture we made, the action he was about to perform. Like a 3-year-old being undressed by a parent.

I grimaced slightly and looked away trying to think of a happy place, as he neatly swept my shirt and camisole off my outstretched arms. The bra gave him a bit of trouble, but then it was off too. My socks came off somewhere in the middle, I have no idea when...Then he broke the chilled distance between us and I was spun around, one of his arms securely around my waist.

"Whose bottom is this for the next hour or two?" He breathed in my ear.

"Yours." I replied meekly.

Damn my earlier post entitled "Fantasy While Procrastinating on My Homework", because he read the awful thing and decided that this time he would tie me up and blind fold me. I truly hate blindfolds. My Magician didn't cure me of that completely. I knew this was going to happen, and I was scared.

He didn't tie me for the beginning of the spanking, but there was no warm up. The blindfold over my eyes, he gently pushed me over the edge of the bed. "Keep both feet on the floor. Do you feel this pillow at your finger tips. Yes, yes, right there. Hold onto that. Don't let go. That's your anchor. You need to hold that the whole time. Now, since you need practice, you're going to count. 'One, Sir', 'Two, Sir', okay, Bonnie-jo?"

"Okay."

I was refusing to say the words until absolutely necessary. He let it slip. He often does.

And he knew how scared I was. "I'm right here, Bonnie-jo. You're going to be fine. Are you okay?"

"Yes."

SWISH! The first one nearly took my breath away. After about count three, I was tensing and whimpering during each wait for the next stroke. And each time, it seemed he waited for me to still, and then SWISH!!! The cane fell with a new vengeance.

There was a huge dichotomy in the whole tone of the thing. It was a uniqueness that was all College Guy. He showed no mercy with that cane. None. But at various times his hand was on my back, stroking, consoling. At one point, after about count 7 or 8, at the point where I was having trouble talking without whimpering and moaning interrupting it, he said, "You're doing a great job, Bonnie-jo, hang in there." Or something of the like.

After that there was a proper warm up over his lap (way to finally do it up right), some bath brushing, In WHICH I BROKE THE BRUSH--I FREAKIN BROKE GEPPETTO--SURE IT WAS JUST THE TOP OF THE HANDLE--BUT FIRST IMPLEMENT BROKEN--AND IT WAS A BATH BRUSH FOLKS!!!!! In case you are skimming my post, I'm hoping you'll see those words....because they are the most important part of the blog for sure. Anyway, after that I grabbed my knees for the grand finale--a paddling with the 3-holed paddle that turned out to be not so bad, but I think it was because half the time he was swinging lightly in kindness and perhaps fear of my anger should all the swings be like the last one--one which nearly knocked me over.

Would anyone like a cane? I might even throw in free-shipping....

On a side-note, I will be thinking about my next episode to "The Bet". Pink and Celine scared me by acknowledging it, and thus all my creativity has been dried up. If you only hadn't commented, I might have posted by now...

In my Astronomy class we are talking about Newton's laws and various aspects of physics. I hate science and spend some of the time in a constant struggle to climb out of my daydreams. However, I have been learning a few important facts. Force=Mass * Acceleration and Potential Energy is the kind that has the possibility of doing some kind of damage. I think brattiness is potential energy. We could develop a whole list of stuff that is Potential Energy that my prof never thought of before...

Checklist

2010-09-30T23:05:00.000-05:00

   Camera? Check.
   Japanese bondage rope? Check.
   Blindfold/Sleep Mask? Check.
   Three-holed Paddle? Check.
   Very cheap Arbor Mist stuff? Check.
   Panties of various types? Check.
   Cane? Check.
   Bathbrush? Check.
   Computer? Check.
   Sleep? Not yet, still packing...I'm going on a trip. I'm gonna see College Guy. We have stuff to "talk" about. And we have need for a break in the pandimonium of school and life. So I'm going. Leaving in about 7.5 hours. I had better get to bed.
   We have some new implements that we bought together in place of "Christmas presents". I think it's a little early for Christmas...but I know when to keep my mouth shut. I'm looking forward to the cane. The paddle can get eaten by a wild boar on the trip over for all I care.
  Can't wait. Can't wait.
Can't wait to wish that I could wait. Can't wait to think "Oh %*$*...why did I come?"
Can't wait.

The Bet

2010-09-20T09:45:00.002-05:00

He said her name in that tone of voice. She peaked her head around the corner of the living room. He was on the couch. In the middle of the couch. He never sat there. Not smack dab in the middle.

She flew back to the bedroom, zipped on her coat, jerked on her hat and gloves, grabbed her car keys.

She scuttled by him, avoiding his gaze. Her hand was on the door, thumb pressed on the top handle, when she felt his arm around her waist, his strong hand wrap gently but firmly around her wrist. "Where do you think you're off to?" The question was almost a whisper, and her breath quickened.

"I'm getting ice cream."

"Like hell."

She squirmed in his half embrace, dreading what was coming, and also...wondering..as always, wondering...would he give up this time?

She giggled. "I didn't realize that kissing me good bye was so important to you. Since when has that been such a big deal?" And she turned in his arms, snuggling in and reaching up for his face in a movement that had been honed with time and practice.

In a smooth move, he stepped backwards and her hands met empty space. So he was airing on the side of caution. Good, she liked a man to be scared of her.

To bad he hadn't thought more into the movement. Right on beat she spun, pulled the door open, and sped out, not bothering to close it. A nervous squeal rose in her throat as she dashed to her car, keys extended. The car beeped at her as the remote engaged, and she opened her door, jumped in, and moved to slam herself into safety, but the door wouldn't budge.

He was holding the handle. "Get out. I will come in there and drag you out. You don't want that."

"I don't want you." Yeah, she knew she didn't play fair. So?

"Get out."

They stared at one another, her brain starting to realize that she wasn't going anywhere.

"Why?" She decided to play dumb. "Why do you always think this will help us? Spanking me doesn't help. I like spanking."

It was dark outside. So she saw the sparks clearly as they flashed in his eyes. "I like spanking too. And I'm going to enjoy this spanking a hell of a lot more than you're going to."

"You wanna bet?"

Holes

2010-09-15T10:05:00.009-05:00

    My favorite pair of jeans has 4 holes down the left thigh. And during class, my fingers will sneak down and a probing finger or two will sneak into one of the holes, smoothing the skin underneath. And then I'll just leave them there, trapped against my skin It happens unintentionally, but most times, when I realize I've been doing it for awhile, I jerk my fingers out, wondering if classmates had noticed my self-soothing movement.
    Freud would say that the actions was symbolic of another action, another self-soothing habit that he was all too interested in. Doesn't he wish?
    But I don't think that's why I do it. The feeling of my fingers on the previously untouched skin is good. But, after repeating the motion in my horribly long night class yesterday, I realized why I like it, why do it unconsciously. I like trapping my finger.
    I know it's just one finger, and I'm in control of the trapping part. I really don't know why I like it or have fixated on this tiny part of my life as a subject for my post.
    But it makes me think. It makes me think of holding hands. It makes me think of someone holding my wrist, my arm bent behind my back, as I writhe across his lap. It makes me think of a hand on my face, forefinger and thumb pressing just below my cheekbones. "Look at me. Look. At. Me." It makes me think of that place I always want to get to, that place where I can no longer fight and but more than that, I no longer want to.

My Toppy-side

2010-09-08T19:32:00.013-05:00

"Why are you following me?" I ask this guy at college that is always running into me. For all of last semester and now this one, he's been "the stalker" in the movie that is my life. We were even in a class this semester, but thankfully, I ended up dropping it. Now I'm trying to find Henry James' "The Turn of the Screw". And this guy is dogging my every step.

"What?" He asks innocently.

I sigh. "Heel!" I command, and keep walking. He follows. I laugh. But it's not funny. I'm mocking.

I only do it because I hate it.

My first boyfriend ever is lying on his back in the parked vehicle. Vulnerable...controlled by his need. I see it as weak...and I laugh. I'm mocking.

"Say it again. Say it like you mean it." I purr.

"You're so good at blow jobs. You're like in the top 2%...." He breaks off in a gasp, and I allow the feeling to soar, then abruptly break off contact.

"I don't think I like the sound of 2%. I want to hear 1%." My voice is matter-of-fact, but teasing.

He chuckles. But I remain motionless.

"Alright, alright, you're in the top 1%.."

I laugh. Hilarious. Horribly hilarious.

I like to think that this is my "toppy-side". That it comes out when I don't like a guy. When I wish I could like a guy.

So I test him. And when he fails, I laugh. But I'm mocking.

This isn't fair of me. Some guys want to be controlled by women. Some guys are like me. It's what they long for.

"The stalker" in the library, when I told him to "heel" , responded with, "Oh, no, Missy, oh no. Don't even think about it."

I giggled. 'Well, you're still following me."

"You may be cute," he said, "But you're not that cute."

Which probably means that his "oh no" reaction was only reserved for those that were "that cute" and that everyone else couldn't boss him around. But some one "that cute" could definitely be the boss.

And I never want that. I'm not saying that I never want to have my own ideas. I do. I want to be able to tell a guy what I think he should do. I want him to tell me what he suggests I'd do. And then I want to figure out what I think is best.

However, I want him to know that when he wants it to be so...when we can push everyday life aside...I want him to control me. But only if he takes pleasure in it too.

I never want him to see being a top as mocking me. I am mocking when I play at it. It scares me every time I do it.

Fantasy While Procrastinating on My Homework

2010-08-29T14:03:00.005-05:00

I stand in front College Guy's seated form. I'm close, vulnerable, but unrepentant. It's going to take a good deal this time. I don't realize that he already knows this fact.
He says little. In a few firm sentences which I barely hear or understand, he lets me know why I am standing before him, what necessitated his action.
He asks me if I have anything to say.
I have nothing. I have removed myself from the situation. I'm anything but resigned. I'm uncaring.
"Step back three steps." This is not the usual beginning. "Turn around." I obey. It's not yet time to resist. "Take off your jeans and your panties." I do so. And I stand there. I could stand there for years, and it wouldn't faze me.
Nothing matters.
In a dreamy part of my mind, I hear him moving behind my back, then silence.
"Stay still, Bonnie-jo. Do not move until I tell you too."
I wait for a long time. Or maybe it's a short time. I do not care.
Then he is behind me. He slaps one cheek then the other, just hard enough to stir my desire for this, just hard enough to make me wish that I will be overthrown. His hand rests between my cheeks, moves a bit lower, and causes me to squirm slightly as he says, "I'm putting the blindfold on you now." I want to turn and see his face, but I hold still as he ties the silk cloth around my composed face.
His hands are on my shoulders, turning me around to face him, and he smooths back a strand of hair momentarily. Then he places his fingers on my mouth, and they linger there.
"This is going to be the most important part of you for the next hour or two, Bonnie-jo. Yeah, it may not feel like the most important part...but this is what is going to get you into the most trouble during this spanking if you don't play your cards right. And this is what could potentially make a memorable but shorter spanking if you do play your cards right. Do you understand?"
I don't respond.
He always reacts the same.
With complete silence. There is no wheedling or threatening, no anger, not even a "I thought as much". Just action.
I'm unceremoniously led to the bed. He places my hand on it. "Lay down. I want you in a spread eagle position. Now."
We've never done this before.
He ties each wrist to the headboard posts, and each ankle to the foot board posts.
I attempt to wriggle. I can hardly move a muscle.
And the fear comes creeping into my brain, like tiny ants under a door frame. No, please, no.
"I know you're a little scared right now, so I'm going to help you out." His hand is now resting on my bottom. He slaps it hard.
"I wouldn't normally do this because I've spanked you for homework issues before. So technically, you shouldn't be getting a warm up, especially because your mouth seems to have a problem answering me in a proper way. But I'm going to give you one anyway."
I moan inside as the slaps come down hard. They hurt in the best way possible. And I don't want them to. Sometimes, kindness hurts more than brutality, and the thought that he cares about my fear, that he cares enough to administer the warm-up, this thought I cannot stand.
A small moan catches in my throat, and I quickly draw a breath and let it out. His hand stops.
"Are you enjoying this, my dear?"
Silence.
"I need an answer on that, I'm afraid, because if you are, then I'm not doing my job right."
Silence.
"Uh, huh. Consider that all the warm up you're getting."
I find my voice and speak for the first time since this started. "You suck."
Silence. Then, his words hard, but slow and measured. "You are entitled to your opinion, but now is not the time to say that. Your mouth will open only when I'm asking you a question. Do you understand?"
Silence.
He sighs, the first sign of frustration since we started. "You know, you are not doing yourself any favors today, Young Lady."

But I don't care what is about to happen. Please, please, please, spank me until I'm sobbing, begging you to stop. Spank me until I can't resist you any longer. Spank me until I'm promising you I'll be better, and not because you want me to be better, but because I want me to be better.

Spank me until I feel powerless, weak, open, so that I can feel like supergirl once again.

Don't listen to my rude comments, my jibes, my protests, my explanations. Expect better of me. Spank me. Please, please spank me.

Taught to the Tune of a Hickory Stick

2010-08-28T01:10:00.001-05:00

Well, college has begun again. I'm taking 18 credits, working part time, talking to College Guy long into the night hours so that I that I get small amounts of sleep (nudge, nudge), and thus, it's been a week since I've posted. I am committed to this blog, however, so although the length of posts may shorten (hmm..that might not ever happen), I will try to keep posting at least once a week, and I will continue to read others' blogs. I don't know if I could stand not to.

The first week back to school has been overwhelming, but I've managed to keep college in its proper realm and focus on what is important in life.

For example, my Logic prof was lecturing on premises, conclusions, and how to distinguish non-arguments from arguments.

(Slight pause while Bonnie-jo digs out her lecture notes and tries to find the spot that she wants to talk about. ) Okay, so it was only day two in Logic, and I probably don't have this completely understood. Basically, we talked about arguments in which the conclusion is implied but not stated.

Our Logic prof gave this example: "If your mom walks into your room and says 'This room is going to be cleaned by one of us, and I'm telling you now, I'm not going to clean this room!' , what is the implied conclusion?" Most of the class obediently answered, "I'm going to clean the room," while a few rebels muttered, "No way, no way..."

I, however, was trying to think up my own, more creative examples. I came up with two:

*College Guy has somehow cajoled me over his thigh as he sits against the bed's headboard, Gepetto (the bath brush) in hand. "You can tell me what's going on in your head, Bonnie-jo. Or I can continue this all night long. We've got about 11 hours until checkout."

* "I know you probably feel horrible about what you did. We'll talk about this. "---My Magician

Then in the auditoreum for my Astronomy class, I couldn't help but notice how sliding past people's knees to get to my seat makes me imagine what would happen if someone slid his legs out a bit, and I happened to trip...and whoopsie...a spanking in astronomy class....Sigh...yeah, I know that was a stretch.

Then, in my British Lit. class, we were studying an abolitionist text, in which the horrors and brutalities of various whippings were described. I'm not discrediting the absolute evil of what happened to these people. At least, I do not mean to. Still, I found it oddly embarrassing to participate in my groups discussion. And, in all actuality, this entire experience makes me angry at myself.

I'm not saying that spankings don't hurt, but I want them. I want the pain. These people had no choice. And, mostly, I hate that the thought of the horror they experienced is a springboard for my own, more comforting thoughts. These are the moments when I do feel a bit sicko-ish.

When I read or hear about people who have been abused and tortured, my mind will quickly flit to my own experiences with "torture". But I know this is simply a coping mechanism. Since I was about 10 years old and heard about "martyrs for Christ" and about how you "can't deny Jesus", I've worried and feared torture.

And in a way, although my attraction to it runs so much deeper on many different levels, spanking is a way for me to deal with my fear of pain. After a spanking, I feel like I can handle anything life throws at me. Particularly after a hard spanking dealt by My Magician, I feel like I've conquered something weighty, and anything else I come up against in life will be small potatoes.

But a spanking offers no more than psychological protection. There is (usually) no real blood. There is definitely no chance of death, or rape, or even broken bones. I have no idea what real abuse is like.

So...before I continue on that ponderous trail, I will close by assuring you I'm paying attention in class for the most part...just remembering what's important in life too. :)

Cracklin' Rosie Get on Board

2010-08-18T17:36:00.002-05:00

"Oh I love my Rosie child,
She got the way to make me happy---"
(Neil Diamond)

I heard this song on the radio while jogging this morning. You better believe that it made my steps quicken. A huge smile broke onto my sweaty face, and I had to try not to giggle out loud. Do you guys do this.....make random/totally stretching connections with completely non-spanko-there-is-no-possible-way-to-make-this-a-that's-what-the-spanko-said-joke or song? Well, to explain my crazy mind, it was the "CRACKLIN'" part that got me going....and then the "ROSIE" part. Anything that is "cracklin'" on something "rosie" is quite alright with me, and it is "the way to make me happy---" I don't think I'm that crazy, do you?

This is going to be a Bonnie-jo makes 2 wierd connections at work blog.

I work at a clothing store, and about the second or third day of my first week, I was called into the security room--you know, the one with all the cameras--to do a quick orientation with the security guard working at our store. I sat at a small table, freaking out inside that I was in a dark, closed-in room, all alone, with a police officer. How lucky can a girl get? On the outside, though, I was the professional employee.

He shook my hand, and right away I knew he had that anti-social cop, awkward thing going on.

"You're not in trouble," he warned me. "The last girl I had in here got really scared. She thought she was in trouble or something."

"Ahhh..." I smiled. "No, of course not. I know I'm not."

"I've been working at this company for the last 5 years," He beamed. "See, it says so on that certificate by the door."

I craned my head to look.

"Just underneath the handcuffs." He directed.

"Oh. Yes. I see them...I mean, I see it, yeah, cool."

Suffice it to say, my day was made. It was a real pair of handcuffs....I resisted the urge to ask to touch them....

And item number two:

A couple of days ago, one of the managers/leads at my job called me over. I have liked this girl from the moment I saw her. Tall, slender, short black hair, and dark eyes...she had an edginess that I always admire. I learned later in the breakroom that I admire her personality too. She reminded me of the type of girl I've imagined My Magician's former spankee is like--my only contact being her blog....

"I'm a smart-ass..." This manager grinned at me. "I try to keep a lid on it, but I think people should just be brutally honest. I always say, why lie when the truth is so much more fun?" And later as she told me about her mom with cancer and her grandma that is still alive, "We always tell people that God's not ready for that much onery-ness in heaven yet. He doesn't want to have to deal with them. Not quite yet. Too onery."

Anyway, so this girl-crush of mine walked up to me the other day, and cautioned me on a couple of things I needed to focus on for work that day. That isn't the important part. The important part is that she had a long 6 by 14 or so flat piece of plastic in her hands as she told me about my duties for the day. Distracting.....At one point she looked down to see what she was holding...Actually, I didn't notice that she was holding a paddle-like object until she herself looked down and explained, "The only reason I'm holding this is because I tripped on the thing."

"Oh." I smiled. May be it was my fault you tripped...maybe you should do something about this....

But she didn't read my mind and walked away. I watched her walk, however, and my effort was rewarded, for she slapped her palm once with the offending object. I saw it with my own eyes!

A Great Way to Wake Up

2010-08-16T13:18:00.000-05:00

I woke up in the hotel room to Cllege Guy's whisper, "Bonnie-jo, you awake?"

"Uhmph...what time is it?" I muttered sleepily. I always mutter some similar question when first woken up. It's a die-hard habit I've had as a kid. Make them talk to you and they'll think you're awake and listening. Then may be they'll leave you alone and you can fall back to sleep.

"Almost time to wake up."

"Uhmmph."

I flip over, pull my pillow over my head, and begin to breathe heavily. I'm almost asleep when I hear the bed jostle, then still. Padding feet plop over to the far corner, and rustling noises ensue.

My body is completely relaxed and grasping at sleep, but my mind begins to rebeliously awaken.

What's he up to? What's he doing? What's he going to do to me? He wouldn't spank me now, would he? I hope he will....

I sigh and kick off the sheet , buring my head deeply in the pillow.

I'm aware of the picture I make---and surprised that I fell asleep in the state I did. A white bra and white lacy thong.....do you know how uncomfortable thongs (a.k.a. butt-floss) are?? (Not to mention sleeping in a bra.)

I push my bottom the tiniest bit into the air as my spread-eagle sleeping position widens. Come on, College Guy, I think, as I flex my telekinisis skills. Please spank me now.

Slap!

Ahhh...just what I was hoping for. What a nice way to wake up....How perfect....But I lay still, pretending to be asleep. Let's see if he'll go away. Maybe I can make him feel guilty.

Slap, pause. CRACK! Pause. I'm now concentrating on not moving. It's beginning to hurt a little bit. He has the strap, I'm sure of the fact. No sweet hand spanking first thing in the morning...what a monster....

CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK. "Owww!!!", I whimper and try to roll away. "I'm awake, okay???"

His hand holds my back firmly to the bed. "I see you're awake. Isn't this a great way to wake up?"

"Uhh, huh...I'm getting up." I grumble.

"Not yet. You're not going anywhere just quite yet...."

Good Girl or Bad Girl?

2010-08-16T01:00:00.000-05:00

I've always been the good girl.

Don't get me wrong, I've had my moments of mischef. But those were moments I could count on one hand.

Teachers counted on me to watch the class when I was gone. My parents left me in charge. Other kids parents trusted me. But I remember the class clowns, the bad kids, the kids with "behavior problems". They received the attention, and not just the teacher's attention, but they held their place securely as the class' main entertainment. And they held my secret wish to be like them.

I remember wishing that my parents did not love me. Their love forced me, I felt, to be good, to not dissapoint. My parents had this special way of looking at me and my brothers with sad eyes and a long sigh, "I'm very dissapointed in you," they'd say. They didn't say it much. I made sure of that.

Well, needless to say, you can't live your life for someone else forever. You can't be pefectly "good" in someone's eyes forever. No matter how hard you try. So I finally failed to an extent. I dated a guy they didn't approve of and lived with him. It was a good start on the road to being bad.

So when I met "My Magician", I told him I'm not one of those spankos who secretly wants approval and wants to be "good". I felt I wasn't a submissive at heart. I thought I was a rebel through and through. A good girl who wanted the chance to be bad.

So I've been given chances, and I've taken them. It's freeing. I can be bad!!!!!!!!!!! And I won't lose people right away if I do. They forgive me. And then they spank me too, but hey, works for me....

But what about when the relationship deepens and I do start to care? Where is the freedom to be bad? I feel like it's shrinking, and the more I care, the more it shrinks. I like caring, but I like being bad too.

Or do I?

I'm not sure.

Yes, it's fun to brat and annoy a top. It's fun to see what he will do, to see his tolerance level and response.

But what about letting someone down? What about when I hear, "I'm dissapointed in you, Bonnie-jo." What about when I have to confess the darkness inside of me? It hurts. It doesn't hurt as much as a spanking, but it lasts much longer, potentially a life time.

It doesn't have to last a lifetime, of course. But the truth is that my choices can bring spankings, but my choices can also bring about a broken relationship. That scares me. A lot.

When I do something really wrong--like kissing an Irish guy in a bar when I'm dating College Guy--it overwhelms me. Maybe it's the fact that I'm not used to being bad. Or maybe it's that I actually want to be a good person. I don't know. I'm just incredibly surprised every time I feel horrible about something I've done. Is it that the values of my moral upbringing are still here? Probably so.

But when I dissapoint, things happen. It used to be this huge question mark with my parents---how hurt will they become? I've learned some about how hurt they can be, but even more so, I've learned that I have to be who I am. And College Guy or My Magician say they are dissapointed and spank me, they are not going away, they are not becoming a victim, and they are not wishing I was not their friend anymore. To me, a spanking equals acceptance, love, caring.

I get high on this. I am comforted by this. So no, I'm not a good girl yearning to be bad. At least that's not the complete picture.

I'm a good girl and a bad girl.

And when I'm bad, I am spanked.

So that I can be a good girl again.

P.S. But I still like being bad....at least for a couple seconds. Don't we all?

Fix Me Now!

2010-08-12T15:58:00.000-05:00

It's been at least 2 weeks since my last spanking. That is 14 days too long to go without a tender bottom. I'm feeling the burn, the emptiness, the ache, the yearn. Or maybe it's just that time of the month....But man, oh man, oh man.

It's funny, but the more I need a spanking, the more I feel teary, weepy, depressed. You'd think it the opposite. That spanking would bring tears and not-spanking would bring happiness or a greatfulness--the greatfulness of being able to sit down without wincing (or in my case, of being able to stand up without wincing. Seriously, I think standing up hurts more, hours after a spanking. It must be blood pressure or something....)

My vanilla ex and I used to argue about my need for a DD style relationship. I didn't want there to be that much DD, just a hint of control and some spanking. He argued that it was psychologically wrong and hurtful. That I'd become dependent on it, on giving up, on not taking control, on being submissive. It's times like these when I wonder if perhaps he was a bit right.

A guy on a recent blog ( I can't remember which one, sorry, and haven't figured out linking anyway) asked the question. "Why can't she just ask for a spanking if she needs one?" He received much info on various bottom's perspectives, and I agree for the most part.
Most answers centered on the bottom not being in the right place emotionally to take control of the situation or of having issues of embarrassment, shame or being needy. I also add that it also feels wrong. If you are struggling you need to fix yourself. Anything else seems needy in our self-reliant world.

"The day you ask me for a spanking will be a great day in history," College Guy told me not long ago.

"You'd really be okay with me doing that?" I marvel.

"I've been waiting for it."

"You have?"

"And when you do, I'll probably do some silly dance of happiness and then take you out to eat after I spank you."

With a promise like that, I know I'll have to give it a try. But for now, I live miles and miles and miles away from him. I want to ask for one now. I want him to fix me now. I have a new job I just started, new classes coming up. And I want courage now. I want to cry and cry and cry now. Now, now, now, now.

Okay, so I'm hoping my rant made me feel better. Not sure yet.

We all have our struggles and problems, and mine are really not bad at all. If I were to try to count my blessings (which I certainly don't feel like doing at this whiny moment) I'd have a lot of them. Life is so often good.

So what do you do when life feels bad, when your heart aches for something that you can't have, when the lust creeps in, and all you can feel is the emptiness of want?

You keep on agoin', you look for good things to come, and you don't stop.

I think I'll give it a try. I'll give it a try, but ARRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGG, I want to be fixed NOW.

Why Can't You be a Sadist?

2010-08-02T19:54:00.001-05:00

What does it take to be a good leader?

Yesterday I hung out with some very special friends. I watched him propose to her 2 years ago. I was at their wedding. I've been there for some of their bad moments, and they've definitely been there for some of mine.

They were a huge part of my life when I was dating my ex. It's hard to not think of him when I am with them.

And horror of horrors, they know to some degree that I am a spanko. Because my ex told them. And yet I am surprisingly not annoyed that they know. I'm so much more confident in my spanko/sexuality/emotional make-up then I was a year ago.

It has been more than a year ago that I decided to do something about my spanko feelings--and make a page on Spankfinder.....It was a frightening, whirl-wind time of life, when emotions alternately skyrocketted or hid in the dark.

So yesterday, as usual, my old friends and I discussed my ex and the changes that have happened. And then we began to randomly discuss what makes a good leader---aka: what had my ex done wrong in our relationship.

The dude- friend defined it with one word: CARING. (Oh, and also he is a conservative Christian who believes that the leading is the man's position and job---in his words: "God made horses with a purpose--to be ridden; God made men with a purpose--to lead". I completely disagree with the stereotype and box and rule--If a woman wants to "lead" and the man is cool with it, go for it. And, even though it hurts me to say it, spank him while you're at it....tee hee hee.)
Anyway, I thought he put it well. The ability to lead is the ability to CARE.

Now this sounds warm, fuzzy, and incredibly non-violent. Caring is for care-bears, Barney, babies, and maybe hospitals and nursing homes.

College Guy and I once had a discussion about this very idea. And it was a bit violent. Actually quite a lot.

I was in one of my dark moods. I don't remember what it was over. He said he was going to spank me.

"I don't want you to," I pouted. "I want you to do it and be not-caring. I don't want you to wish you didn't have to punish me and force yourself to do it anyway. I want someone to punish me who doesn't care. I want someone to spank me and not care that it hurts. Why can't you be a sadist?"

The look on his face was something I wish to never see again.

"I'm going to blister your bottom right now," He stated. "You're not thinking clearly, and you need a taste of what you're asking for."

It was not fun. I fidgetted, protested, and struggled over his lap until he finally had enough.
"Get up." He grabbed my arm and paraded me to the bathroom. I thought he wanted to spank me in front of the mirror, or maybe show me the damage he'd done. But when I saw his hand start towards the soap, I jerked out of his grasp and bolted to the hotel bed. Without thinking, I dove under the covers and pulled them over my head. It was a test. But it was as natural a reaction for me as breathing.

I'm sure you all are not surprised that he didn't give up. The covers were pulled down, the soap was placed in my mouth (only 10 seconds, yay!), and this calmer, more submissive girl was pulled back over his lap.

I was still fuming a bit when the spanking was over. But in hindsight, his caring resulted in a spanking. I was confused and I still can be confused about what I want, about what I think a guy should be, but in this case, College Guy cared and his care made us closer and made me trust him which makes me more likely to trust the next time.

I'm not saying that the guy should lead all the time, be master, rule the roost, that women should always submit. But there is something about it. I can't put my finger on it.
All I know is that last night's conversation with my good -but -vanilla -friends is still running around in my mind.

I once read something written about My Magician. Something written by a girl that had a spanking relationship with him years ago. She was musing about what it was that exuded from him when he wasn't doing anything related to spanking. "Authority" was the first word she used, but then she realized that "authority" wasn't enough. Finally she came up with the word "Dominance". And I agree; it is the right word to use.

My vanilla- dude- friend had gone on to compare good leadership to bad leadership. "I have this military friend whose first instint is 'Tackle it, shoot it, or drag it where you want it.' Basically, to muscle his leadership. That's all wrong. Being a leader is starting a vision, communicating the vision, and bringing the team together. But the team has to choose to follow. To want the vision to happen."

And as much as I desire someone to drag me and muscle me where they want me--over their knee, please--and to force me to submit, it isn't possible to live one's life that way. At least not too often. I would have to have a completely new spanker at least every 2 months---the poor guys hand/arm would be ruined and/or he would begin to develop arthritic hip-bones from trying to hold my kicking legs in place. Or maybe he'd develop blisters on his hands from the rubbing of wooden hairbrushes as he attempted to severly discipline me....cough..coughh..coll...b...bough...cough.. :)

Anyway, I think there may be something about freely choosing to follow, obey, or become "on the team". It's like graduating in a way. Becoming more adult.

My Magician makes it fairly easy to choose to follow. I have to fight my own instincts if I want to not submit. But that's probably because he is much older than me (did I say "much"? I meant "much much much much". Sorry for the confusion.) I have a thing about doing what older people say.

Perhaps it's the Dominance that the above author defined his personna as having. I have to decide ahead of time to disobey him. It can make a bratty girl feel quite pathetic.
"Take off your shorts, Miss Bonnie-jo." He says, but in this extremely pleasant, easy tone of voice.
My hands are moving to my shorts before I can think. No, I tell myself. Breathe. Wait. Push him a little. Don't obey. It'll be fun.

Oh, the lies I like to believe until they're spanked out of me!

So what is it that draws me to authority, to the age and maturity of My Magician? Why is it that I test College Guy in ways I would never even think of when over this older man's knee?Is it that My Magician is "better at it"? (I know, I know, I'm actually playing with real fire here, with real egos, self esteems, lives...lol. So no...there is no "better", but there definitely is "different".)

In my still-not-grown-up-and-still-sometimes-afraid mind, I see maturity, age, and the authority that comes with that as CARE. I respect the life My Magician has lived, the things he's learned and gone through in his spanko-journey, and I suppose I'm flattered that I get to be spanked by him. He's experienced. Almost a bit of a celebrity in the spanko universe. I get high on it. It makes him more mysterious.

I don't know him like I know College Guy. So with so many things, I have to just imagine. That mystery adds to the fear when he says, "I'm not done with you yet." When he says, "Wait there. I'll be back to finish your spanking."

But with College Guy, the fear is coming. It's sneaky, like spring or growing taller. And it's a different kind of fear. It's the, "I can't play games. I can't pretend. He knows what I'm up to. And because he knows, I have to be honest. I have to open up."

It's a good kind of fear. And I'm glad that he CARES.

3 Spankings--A lesson from College Guy

2010-07-31T21:40:00.000-05:00

I was in the bathroom. Waiting for him. He didn't let me wait long.
"Are you ready?"
I nodded. Looking down. This was not happening. It was going to be so awkward. He took the soap out of its fresh hotel paper, then speared me with his voice, because I still was not meeting his gaze.
" This soap is going to be used for a unique purpose. You didn't say anything wrong. This soap is for what you didn't say. You went into things sexually that you did not like. You needed to say no. Open your mouth."
I just stood there. How can I do this and look dignified, I wondered?
"Open your mouth. Now!"
I tried.
"Stick out your tongue."
What?? Just stick it in my mouth, can't you??
"Do it. Now."
So I did. I did corner time with it in my mouth. 3 minutes. Big deal. See what happens when I'm treated like a child? I act like a child...hahaha...Okay back to my blog.
He took it out of my mouth and allowed me to rinse with water.
The rest is a blur. He took down my shorts, and I knew the moment that he grasped the button and started to undue them, the moment I involuntarily jerked away from him, a whine rising in my throat, I knew this spanking was not going to go well. At all. My attitude was the worst it'd ever been in his prescence.
I was begging to be broken. But my body was rebelling against my brain's need.
He started off hard and fast, with the bathbrush and lecturing coinciding.
"Ahhhhhhhh!!!!" I wailed, reaching back almost right away. "Please, please, please! Just wait. Just, please, please, please, can I have a warm-up??"
His voice was even-toned, "Bonnie-jo, I told you after you kissed that guy I was going to take away your warm-up. No warm-up."
The bathbrush began again. "But I need one! I really really need one! Ow!!!"
"Sorry." Was the only response I got.
It hurt and I couldn't concentrate on the spanking or the questions he was asking.
"What? What did you ask?" I kept saying, forcing him to repeat himself.
At one point, the t.v. (turned far up to cover the noise of the punishment) distracted me so much that I asked him to stop the spanking so I could tell him something about part of the movie that was on.
And then there was the issue of answering him.
"Yes." I would say.
He'd stop spanking. "Yes, what, Bonnie-jo?"
Silence.
Four hard fast smacks on my sit spots opened my mouth.
"Okay, okay, okay!" I grumbled. "Yes.... Yes...."
He'd told me I could say "Yes, College Guy. (Allright, you all know that's not his real name. It sounds better with his real name.) Or "Yes, Sir." But either one didn't sound right to me. But it wasn't up to me. And I knew I should be obeying and choosing one answer or the other. But I didn't want to.
After much wailing, struggling, bratting, and me refusing to call him anything after my "Yes...", he asked me, "What's up? Why are you doing this?"
I didn't know. Mostly. So we stopped. But he promised me that this spanking wasn't over. It was going to be postponed. "You don't seem to be receptive today, something's off, I don't know what it is, so I'm going to finish this another day." Part of me was dissapointed. Not in him though. Mostly, though, I was glad. And tired and hungry and I just wanted to make it stop hurting. I ordered a huge pizza and Diet Coke, hoping that would brighten my mood. Then promptly fell asleep. So much for a punishment spanking.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I don't remember what night at his house it was, but I was about to go upstairs to bed. And I was worried about our relationship again. He'd said something cute to me, something about spanking something out of me. I was sleepy, depressed.....
"Maybe, " I replied. "But someday you'll get tired of spanking me. I'm going to annoy you by how much I need it. That's why we'll never work out for long." I looked off into the distance.
He smiled at me. "Get up for a minute." We were sitting side by side on the couch. I thought he wanted to kiss me goodnight.
I stood up, and he undid the string on my pajama pants. "Get over."
I complied. Pouting. The plastic clothes hangar he'd been playing with earlier was in his hands and descended hard and fast on my bottom. I covered my mouth with my hand as I thought of his sleeping family upstairs.
His voice came out through gritted teeth. "I'm not going to let you get away with saying things like that. If you think there is a problem in our relationship, then you tell me about it. We'll talk about it. But you are not allowed to say little undermining comments and walk away from them."
I huffed and attempted to get away, but he merely pinned my body between his legs.
"Stay still." The clothes hangar keept up a steady rhythm, and he continued talking. "Your first boyfriend used to let you get away with saying these depressing things, didn't he?"
"Yes." I said.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, [His name]."
"Atta girl. You're going to get better at that, you know."
I sighed, leaning into his body with my own. "It's hard."
"You're going to get better at it. And also, I'm going to be bringing one of these hangars with me wherever we go. Wherever. So any night, no matter who may be in listening distance, I can deal with you as I see fit. Do you understand."
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, [His name]."
And then later, right before I headed off to bed, he asked me, "Are you feeling better now?" Or some such normal question.
"Yes." I smiled.
He smiled back, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Yes, what?" He half-whispered.
"Yes, [His name]. I blushed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the morning before the day I left to drive back home. And it was the day College Guy had set asside time to finish my spanking. His brother left for the gym so that we could "have time alone".
When his brother drove out the garage door, I headed for the kitchen.
"Bonnie-jo, what are you up to?"
"I have to cut my fingernails. I hate hate hate long fingernails. It's an OCD thing. Who knows what dirt could lie underneath them?"
"Allright. When you're done come right downstairs."
I obeyed. Downstairs I sat next to him on the couch. My bathbrush and hairbrush laid out next to him.
"This isn't really so much a continuation of punishment for the summer stuff. This is to let you know that I can give you, my girlfriend, a hard spanking, one that goes farther than anything that could possibly be called fun. Take off your shorts."
I was quaking inside and obeyed. "Now your panties." "Get over."
It was still hard to stay still. And The Princess Bride was on t.v. I was getting distracted again.
At one point, he stopped the bathbrush, "Did you just laugh?"
"No" I giggled into the pillow.
"I'd like to know what is so outragiously funny that you would laugh right in the middle of this spanking."
"Well, I was just remembering how I used to hate this scene in The Princess Bride. The torture scene, you know? But somewhow, I mean, it's fitting, and ironic...Owwwww!!!" I yelped.
"You need to concentrate on this spanking. I can't believe you are watching the t.v. at a time like this!" He punctuated every other word with a hard smack from the bathbrush, and I was writhing after the second hit.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!!" I plead. "I'll pay attention. I'll stop."
He kept spanking. I tried to stay still. Then I lifted one foot and kicked the couch fairly hard.
"What was that?"
I lay still.
"Was that a kick out of frustration?"
How'd he guess? "Maybe."
The bathbrush started up again. And this time he was hitting spots more than once at a time. I call this "cheating". I hate it.
I put my hand back. He caught it in his. I pulled away. I squirmed. I whimpered. We repeated this pattern for quite awhile.
"So why do you think you move around less for your Mr. Magician?"
"Because. Because I'm trying to impress him with how strong I am. Because I'm closer to you and you know me."
He just responded by spanking harder. After awhile I continued, "Actually, actually, I think I changed my mind. It's because when I start to squirm, he does the leg pin thing right away. So I can't move."
So he responded by pinning me down with his leg and spanking harder.
I was beginning to hit that throughly warmed up and numbed point. I think of this as the "Danger Zone". You, as a top, are in danger if your bottom isn't sorry or well-spanked by this time, because she is going to be feeling endorphins and have great pain tolerance by this time. This is the time when you will have to spank even harder. Sorry to break it to you.
I wanted to be done, knew I wasn't really. College Guy knew it too.
"What are you fighting?" I was silent. He rained down blows on my thighs. "I asked you a question, Young Lady."
"Owwwwww!" I replied. "I don't know. I guess being sad."
"Bad answer," He camly replied. And continued raining fire on my wiggling and blistered bottom.
Then he stopped a bit and let me catch my breath. "You don't have to be sad, silly girl. But you do have to be serious. And you do have to let this open you up. You aren't doing that. Stop fighting."
"I want you to think," He continued. "Think about the things that happened this summer. Think about calling me after kissing that guy. Think about going to the library to print out directions for driving home. Except for this time, you would be driving straight home. No stopping at my house. Because we wouldn't be seeing each other."
He spanked. And he spanked. And he spanked.
And finally, I cried.

2010-07-31T19:37:00.000-05:00

College Guy sticks his hotel key in the slot. It isn't working, and I chuckle, "This is one of the best parts of these meetings--the things that go wrong, the chances I get to laugh at you."

It was a small indication of my general mood. Bratty. But more than that. I was wary, and I wasn't going to make this easy on him. This is my second dating relationship, and I've been questioning it so often. It's one of my huge faults. And it's not just relationships. I've gotten better but I've done it with everything---colors, clothes, choices at restaurants---It's hard for me to keep my mind made up for long. My moods change, my emotions change, my feelings of romance change. I'm still trying to figure it all out, and thankfully, College Guy has been superbly patient.

We finally got in the door, and put our suitcases in various corners. I knew what was supposed to happen next. He'd promised me an OTK hand spanking the moment we got settled. But I was intent on letting it happen in my own time.

"Just a second." I told him and retreated to the bathroom. Poured some tap water into a plastic hotel cup.

He leaned against the bathroom door frame. Watching me.

"Just a second." I said again.

But the water was soon gone. I set it down and began fingering my hair, primping, dragging out the time.

Without a word, he took my primping hand in his and led me to the bed. And it was amazing. Period. I ahhed and owed and squirmed and giggled. But I knew that the real reason we were here was for something less amazing.

The punishment spanking for all my misdeeds of the summer.

Shall I list them for you? Honestly, I'm extremely scared to. But for anyone out there who wonders if these spanking relationships are just a bunch of bogus talk and are really about the spanker and spankee getting off on the spankings, well, it is not usually so. And it is not so with this boyfriend of mine.

The offenses were real. I'm not proud of them. I'm proud of being bratty, of laughing in the face of a Top or the threat of a spanking--why live life afraid? But I'm not proud of what I did. Let's start the list, shall we? (Caveat: No one instructed me to publish this post or to "confess" my crimes. I've already been spanked for this. I feel like writing it out because I enjoy things being as clear as possible. And since my readers shall never really know me, who better for me to confess to?)

1. During my summer away from home ( about a week after I arrived at my former roomate's house where I stayed) we met a random dude and went out with him and his buddy. I liked him at first--he had muscles, payed for our bowling game, and had that southern boy-all guy attitude. He wanted to take me fishing later on, etc. However, later that evening, back at my roommate's house, he became incredibly annoying. Begging her to let him smoke in her house. She told him no. But he wouldn't take no for an answer. He asked her at least 5 more times. I hated it and him. What a baby. I wanted him to go away and fast. But he did have nice muscles...Moving on.....

Somehow he talked me into letting him sleep there, on my couch, with me. I was worried---what if he had too much to drink? What if he thought I wasn't fun? So I let him. I didn't want to let him. But I let him.

I didn't want to kiss him. But I let him. Why? Pride. And my own shaking self esteem.

The kisses hurt. He had a beard that hadn't been shaved enough. And I didn't like this new kind of pain.

I was dead tired. It was 2 am. But suddenly, I had a grand idea.

"You want me to give you a blow job?

"I don't like them." He said, and changed the subject.

I couldn't believe it. So I showed him what he was missing. Yes. Even though I didn't like him. Even though I didn't want to. I suppose I wanted to for me, to show myself how wonderful I was. But afterwards, I thought of College Guy. I lay there in the sleepy arms of this Southern-dude, and all I could think was, OH NOOOOOOOOO.

College Guy and I weren't dating at the time. But I still felt terrible. And although he and I both knew the intimacy I had shared with the Southern-dude bothered both of us, he refrained from focussing on it, telling me what I did sexually with others was my business. "My problem with what you did is the fact that you didn't want to do it, Bonnie-jo. If you'd wanted it to happen, I'd be okay with it. I'm going to punish you for this the next time I see you. And it's going to be very hard. Do you understand?"

"Yes, yes, I do. Thank you. I feel so much better." And I did. My world had been righted once again.

The summer progressed without too much upheavel. It was an awesome one in fact. Karaoke, lake-swimming, sun-tanning, and random unnanounced dance parties with my roommate in our apartment.

2. Then one night I decided to go to a dance club. I was missing College Guy. I was missing My Magician. A 30-year old dude danced with me, told me I was good at it. I ate it up. We hit it off, talking and dancing until the club started kicking us all out.

He wanted to go out to eat, to keep on talking. I was thrilled. Maybe he could be a friend to me, like My Magician, just non-spanko. Who knows maybe he is spanko?

I wasn't hungry. So he suggested we sit outside his hotel room, as he was just visiting the area for a couple of weeks. I was feeling so comfortable. "I don't mind going in, " I said. I know my way around hotel rooms....I thought to myself. "Just as long as you know I just want a friend. No sex."

"Oh, I know, baby," He said. "I'm not interested in getting into your pants."

And he wasn't. But he was interested in me getting into his. And I complied.. I didn't really want to again. But I did it out of pride, and out of laziness. I hate confrontation. But I was wrong. I knew it afterwards. I had let myself down again. I hadn't been true to what I wanted.

"Did you want to do it?" College Guy prodded, a few nights later, as I confessed what had happened.

I was silent for a long time.

"Uhmmm...yes...I don't know...noo....arggg...."

"I'm adding it to the list, " College Guy warned me. "You need to do better."

3. I'd had a minor-but -major -for- me problem with drinking too much at one time. It was definitely tied into the above situations with guys. After about a month of the summer passed, College Guy gave me a limit. Two drinks per outing. Period. That's it. No more.

I'd messed up on the limit once--that night with the 30-year-old at the hotel. I had to give myself 200 (or was it 300, I forget) hard swats with my handy dandy bathbrush--nicknamed "Geppetto" by College Guy. (I have truly no idea why....) As you can see by the fact that I forgot how many swats it even was, self-spankings are not very memorable for me. But I knew what I had done was wrong, and I was sorry.

4. BUT........About a week before I left at the end of the summer (and by this time, College Guy and I were an offically dating couple), I went to a Karaoke Bar. It was packed. Packed with guys. Young guys. Cute guys---well, some of them anyway. They pulled me and my roommate into a huddle and we all sang Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody together. It was the start of a good night. Or rather, one that I wish had not happened.
Once again, I felt I needed an ego boost. And I was worried about me and College Guy's relationship. He thinks I'm some angel, some amazing girlfriend. But I'm not. I'll show him I'm not. I'm going to break his heart at some point. I'll just do it now and get it over with.
So I kissed an Irish dude. He even had a real accent. And I let him buy me a third drink--a Guiness Beer from Ireland. "I'm not supposed to go over 2 drinks," I confided to the Irish dude.
"Why not? Do you have a problem?"
I was afraid he'd take the drink away. "No, no, no, it doesn't matter. I just promised this guy I wouldn't...."
"You what??"
"Never mind."
It tasted like coffee. But that was the best taste in my mouth all night.
Minutes later, I knew I had to get out of there. The Irish dude wanted to dance and kiss, I wanted him to leave me alone, and I wished I could sing my Karaoke song I had planned --"She Will be Loved" by Maroon Five. But now the song was ruined. Because she wasn't going to be loved. Because I was sure College Guy and I were through.
I fled to the parking lot, dialed College Guy without thinking. Said a bunch of random stuff until I finally confessed what had happened. And I knew I'd hurt him.
He was more confident that it would never happen again than I was. And I still ask myself "Why?" "Why didn't he dump me?" And "Is this even healthy?"
It took me until the next morning to say the words "I am sorry." But I said them. And I meant them.
And I knew for sure I would be even more sorry later.
And that is where this spanking in this hotel room comes in. Can there be a spanking big enough for a summer like the one I'd just had?
You'll just have to see in the next post. :)

A Spanko-List and Sounds of Rumbling....

2010-07-21T12:04:00.000-05:00

Everyone's unique. And I'm glad it's so. However, finding the spanking community, and becoming un-guilty about spankoness has been a liberating movement in my life. But I'm still glad I'm uniquely spanko--and that in this category, I'm still my own special brand. And so are you.

I've been thinking about a list. I like lists. So here's a list of 10 spanko things--things that make me spanko.

1. At the grocery store I work at, I'm at the cash register. "Put the dog food on the very bottom" a man says to his son, as they place it on the bottom rung of a grocery cart. But I cringe as I hear "bare bottom". I know , I know, it's a stretch....but I heard it.
2. My family hired a man to fix something on our house. He may have been using a nail gun, or maybe it was just a hammer. But the sounds came loud and clear through my closed bedroom door as I lay on my bed, listening to the slamming, violent sounds, mind filled with images, body tensing in enjoyment.
3. I check out other female's butts more than some straight guys probably do.
4. One of the greatest things about R&B is the rhythm/ beat. It sounds like a spanking beat to me.
5. I had a fear-crush on every principal I've had in junior high and high school--also on every Dean of Students in college.
6. When I was eleven my little bro and I offered our kind services to our mother in making her a paddle. She politely declined. She probably should have been slightly concerned.
7. Besides being spanked for the obvious reasons as a child and for adult reasons as an adult (best reasons), I've also coerced two different girls to spank me when I was in elementary school.
8. I remember waking up one day (around age 12 or 13) and thinking, "I'm never going to be spanked again; I'm too old." It felt like I'd reached 95, and my life was over.
9. One of the top things I fear most in the whole world is Pain. And one of the most interesting things to me is also Pain. As a moth to the flame.
10. There's an in-built part of my brain that keeps track of potential implements lying around in my house or friend's houses. Just today my roommate left an old belt lying on the kitchen counter. I can never resist trying things like that out a little bit.

Okay, so that's 10. I'll stop now.

I'm leaving for College Guy's house tomorrow morning at 6 am. It's a long drive. But it shall be so worth it. We have some plans, but a lot of the time is going to be filled with spontaneity.
Friday night I'm going to get spanked, and spanked very hard. (Wow, that's day after tomorrow!!!!) The summer has been long and fun, but it had it's moments of severe mistakes. Mistakes for which my bottom will pay. I can't wait.

I'm an extremely fortunate girl. I have two spankers. This is hard on both of them, I know, but especially hard on College Guy. I don't like to put myself in his shoes, to try to feel a part of what he must feel. I'd rather continue feeling what I feel--pure enjoyment and pleasure at being intimately connected with the two spankers in my life. College Guy has his moments of annoyance at the way things are, but for the most part, he is handling it better then so many others ever would. I'm an extremely fortunate girl.

I didn't know College Guy was going to read my "So Hard to Say I'm Sorry" blog. But he did. I was hoping he'd read it later, since he'd told me before I left to see My Magician, "Bonnie-jo, be careful this time. This is not a time to test your limits with him." And I didn't test limits, but I did test. I did push. I wanted to so badly. So I did.

So College Guy called me last night.

"How are you?" I ask.
"I'm awesome. I just read your blog."
"Oh.... Oh, you did?"
"Yes."
"So, uh....That's..cool."
"Yes, and you know what I thought when I was done?"
"What?"
"I read the whole thing, and it made me smile, and I thought, this is why I'm dating her."
I'm stunned . "Really?"
"Really, really."
"So you're not mad I pushed him? That I tried to make him spank me really hard?"
"Nope. I thought about pretending to be." He chuckles. "But no, I'm not." He pauses. A different tone comes over his voice. "You know the part you wrote about me though, about being sorry? Or in your case, not being sorry?"
I wince. "Yes."
"I've been thinking a lot about that."
"Oh. That's good, or...maybe it's not."
He pauses, letting me squirm and wonder what he's thinking. Then he says, "Do you remember the word you used in the paragraph about not being sorry with me?"
"No."
"I've been thinking a lot about that word. I think it's a great word."
"Oh."
"See if you can guess it. It starts with a "b"."
I think. Then I know. It's when I said "He hasn't broken me yet."
"Okay, I know what you're thinking of." I say. I don't say the word itself because my roommate is in the room, and I'm suddenly squirming around on the couch, a certain look on my face. And I'm way too shy to so say the word in front of her. I'm making enough of a scene already.

He didn't promise anything. He didn't say, "That's what's going to happen, Bonnie-jo. That's what I'm going to do. I'm going to break you. " If he'd said that, I might have died of ecstasy right then and there.

No, he didn't promise. He left it at that. He brought up the word. Then he left it sitting there, and moved on to talk of other things. But the storm is rumbling. The lion is growing restless. The pot is beginning to show little bubbles that will soon begin to rise.

It's only two nights away.

So Hard To Say I'm Sorry

2010-07-20T01:38:00.000-05:00

I was 5 and something happened with one of my brothers. Perhaps he pushed me and I pushed back. Then one of us fell. Scraped a knee. Ran crying to mommy or daddy. It was ruled that we had to tell each other we were sorry. I remember wondering what sorry really meant, wondering why it was so hard to say.

I'm over College Guy's knee, and he's explaining why I'm going to get what I'm going to get. "When you tell me you're sorry, I will stop. But not until then." Later, I lay over the foot of the bed, my feet on the floor, bottom tensing in expectation, knowing that when he is holding my bath brush, I'm going to have a lot of trouble being still. It will hurt. And it won't take long. A minute later, after I've squirmed up the bed's foot and down it with his hand lightly holding me in place, the brush's punishing crack making me whimper, "I'm sorry," I say. "Really." I turn to look at him, trying to make sure he sees the sincerity in my eyes. But I know I could go for a bit longer. He hasn't broken me yet. I'm saying sorry because I don't want to force him to go longer. Because I know he cares. Because I care too. I'm not in a forcing mood. I really wish I hadn't done what I had done. So I am sorry. But the spanking hasn't forced it out of me.

Blindfolded and squirming as I lay stretched out over a pillow in a remote hotel room, I draw in a shaking breathe. My Magician ceases the strap's burning strokes, and my bottom ceases it's jiggling motion. "Stay there, Young Lady. I'll be back in 5 minutes to finish your spanking." I'm in an extremely good mood, so when he leaves I pop off my blindfold, sit up, walk over to the mirror, inspect the damage my bottom's portraying so far. I'm not sure if he just wanted me to stay in the room. What does "Stay there" really mean anyway? I sense I'm playing with fire, but fire can be so pretty. I think about putting the blindfold back on and laying back over the pillows. I decide against it. I've been in that position way too long already.

He stalks back into the room, and I'm sitting cross-legged on the bed, fiddling with the blindfold. I look up at his surprised face and I smile. "Hey," I say. He says nothing until he's standing over the bed. He doesn't look annoyed. "What did I tell you before I left here?" The tone is that of small-talk, of something not important. "Uhmmm, well, you said to stay here, I thought maybe in this room."

"I said 'like that', did I not?" The words get faster, harder, colder. "Did I not, Bonnie-jo?"

"No, I don't remember you saying 'like that'." I fiddle more with the blindfold. I'm glad he's picking up on what I did. I wanted him to. Badly.

"Get over the pillows. Now. " I obey, panties still on. Knowing he will want them off, but deciding
against doing things by guessing or intuitively thinking I know what he wants. I know his tone. It means I have to do exactly what he says, nothing more, nothing less. Or else.

"Get up. Take your panties off." There we go.

I grimace as I think about what his tone implies. This is going to hurt. Why did I push? I slowly pull the panties down, screw up my face in annoyance as I ease onto my hip and pull the panties around my knees and off. Taking off the things is much harder when one is sitting on a bed. And more embarrassing. He slaps my bottom hard. "Hurry up. And lose the attitude, Young Lady."

I barely get them off before he pulls me into a laying position. I've put the blindfold back on, but I know he has the wooden paddle, and I begin whimpering very quietly. My mind is castigating me for being stupid, and it picks up in crescendo as I feel him lock me into place, his hand holding down my back, his knee holding my legs still. I'm going to die, I realize.

He brings the paddle down with its usual intensity. It's a large one and it hits both cheeks with full force. Usually when he uses this, he waits between blows, so that I can feel the impact, pain, then the following warmth and glow before he strikes again. That is the beauty of this paddle, the after-warmth. But he doesn't wait.

I try to relax and take it. But the speed of the blows make this impossible. Before 5 seconds go by I'm struggling to get away. I can't. I realize now would be a perfect time to apologize, but I can't do that either. Maybe it's because I can't breathe. If you can't breathe you can't talk. But I know this is just an excuse.

"Okay, okay, okay!!!" I whine/wail, hoping that he can read my mind, realize how hard it is to apologize. But he keeps going. I start to kick hard. My toe grazes the paddle's edge, and I jerk my feet down. He hadn't even paused slightly at the presence of my foot, and I realize suddenly that he's not stopping, I can't distract him. I put my hand back, my last resort. But he just paddles away, spanking around it. I draw it back within seconds, because holding onto the pillow in front of me and generally clawing the bed seem to work better when handling this awful of a spanking.

"Okay, Okay! I shouldn't have done that! I should have stayed here." I push the words out, ready to grovel just a bit. But he doesn't seem to hear.

Why can't I say I'm sorry? Maybe it's because I'm not. I'm proud of myself. I think I'm clever and funny, and I'm pleased I could make him do what I wanted. I wanted him to spank me hard, to punish me hard. To force me to submit. At the same time, I'm becoming sorry. Very sorry. But it's not like I hurt anyone, I argue with myself. Sorry is a big deal.

It hurts. I squirm, fight, wail. Suddenly the words are on my lips, but it's as though I'm in one of those dreams where you're so tired, you can't speak. You try to talk, but your lips aren't moving, no matter how hard you try to make them.

I'm almost crying as I whisper/moan, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." At least it felt like whispering. Maybe it was louder and I didn't realize it.

But the spanking continued. When it ended, I drew my legs up to my chest sobbing softly. Completely spent.

"Lay back over the pillows." I didn't realize I'd come off of them in my struggling. I feel for them with my hand and get back into position.

His voice is right above my head. "Stay there until I get back."

After he leaves, I groan softly. "Are you happy now, Bonnie-jo?" I ask myself out loud, after I listen to see if he's really gone. "Are you happy now?" I don't answer. Because it's a complicated question.

I'm not happy. My bottom hurts, and I know he's coming back to finish what he started. To finish the job. To instill a lesson. And I'm a little scared.

But I'm also thrilled. He didn't let me get away with it. He's not a nice guy.

And I got a bit of practice at saying I'm sorry. Maybe I'll get some more. Here's hoping.

Punishment--the return of the Crop and Blindfold

2010-07-12T15:11:00.000-05:00

I was standing, hands at my sides, bottom bared, fingers lightly playing with the sides of my thighs. He was sitting in the leather chair behind me. Silence, then, “Do you remember what you told me I should do to you? Because of how serious this offense is?”

I froze, fingers stilling, then grasped an idea, “Yes.... but only if you wanted –“ I took a breathe, then, resigned, said quickly, hoping the speed could help me get the words out, “Blindfold- me –and- use -the -crop.” There was history to this. He’d done it before, and I’d freaked. It was the first time I’d told him to stop. Now the magic words “crop” and “blindfold” loomed before my brain, snickering at me, pointing accusing fingers, claiming I was too afraid. I hated being so afraid of anything.

“Yes, you did say that.” His voice was calm. “ You said that I could.”

But he didn’t. He went on to stand me in the corner. To use the strap (which I thought was the crop—--power of suggestion?). He put me over pillows, and used the strap again. Put me over his knee. Spanked hard, spanked long, then began to stroke my bottom, soothing my fast breathing. I looked over my right shoulder, confused. Were we done already? I didn’t deserve to be done yet. I didn’t deserve mercy.

The calming motion of his hand continued, broken up here and there by a firm, but un-stinging slap. “You’re going to learn boundaries. It’s part of becoming an adult. Adult is not a dirty word, Bonnie-jo.” I looked up at him, he was grinning. All I could think was that I still felt awful, that I wasn’t done yet.

“Now, I’m going to give you the choice. Do you want me to blindfold you and use the crop?”

I opened my mouth, closed it. Moaned softly. Opened my mouth and closed it again.

Finally, I said, “Okay, you see. It’s like…Arghh…It’s like I’m afraid of it. Because the crop hurts a lot, and the pain is centered all in one spot at a time. And when I can’t see, there’s nothing to distract me. I can’t think about anything else to distract me….Why am I telling you this? I shouldn’t be telling you this!” I blew out a breath of air.

He smiled. Waited.

“Okay, okay.” I said. “Yes, I want you to, kind of, because I don’t like to be that afraid of anything. I want to be able to do this.”

“Okay.” He rose, opened his “Magician’s” bag, brought out a pink mask, still in the package.

“Where’s the other mask, the one from before, the black one?” I blurted, trying to calm myself, but realizing that I was calm already. Did I trust him this time? Maybe I trusted him more? The thought was inviting as he slipped the mask over my head. It came down too far over my nose, smashing it in, and I pushed it slightly up. Then silence, darkness. He won’t let me down, I thought. I am in his hands, and he won’t stop caring.

I breathed, trying to deepen and slow the breaths. Then I felt him behind me. He took a wrist in each hand, and I leaned slightly back, almost touching his chest, feeling the tension, feeling him behind me, even though he was only touching my wrists. He slowly walked me to a wall. Placed my hands and arms on it. Moved his hands on top of mine and pressed lightly, waiting, as though gluing them there. Then he stepped away. I stood still.

He took my wrists in his again, and we walked backwards slowly, turned to the left. Did the same with the next wall. I felt his hands on my hips, as he tilted them towards him, away from the wall. He rolled the hem of my shirt slightly up, stepped away. And I waited. I remember thinking, this is why people like BDSM, this is what I never really understood. I trust him. I don’t care what happens. It’s about being alive, and knowing that everything is going to be okay, no matter how bad it’s going to feel. That you are in the right place with the right person and it’s going to be okay.

I heard him breathing behind me. Stepping closer. And then the crop touched my leg, ran up my thigh, my bottom. I don’t know how much time passed. It seemed long and it seemed short. I didn’t care. I didn’t tense in expectation. I didn’t wonder when it was going to come.

Then it came, one short burst of pain on the upper part of my bottom. I breathed. Then nothing. I stood there. You couldn’t even call it waiting. It was all the same, the blows and the non-blows, all part of the feeling that was washing over me. The game may have lasted minutes or seconds. I do not know. I stood there. And stood there. It came, sometimes hard and fast with multiple blows. Sometimes with slow, single ones. And even though the hard ones stung at first, each drifted away into that warm, numbing sensation that begs for more.

I heard him take a deeper breathe, signaling a change, felt his hands on my wrists again. We walked forward. I felt his hand on my back gently pushing me down and forward. The foot of the bed came up underneath me as I fell across it. I stretched out comfortably, arms above my head, unconsciously crossing my ankles, toes on the ground. He nudged my feet apart with his shoe. Then I heard him walk away, off to the right. The hiss of his Diet Coke bottle as he unscrewed the cap.

I waited, stifling an embarrassing moan, for this time it was one of pleasure, a plea for more. Shut up, I chided myself.

I felt his hand cupping my shoulder, squeezing softly, “Are you still afraid?”

I turned towards his voice, “No, not at all.”

“I didn’t think so.”

He used the crop again. Sporadically. And part of my brain told myself not to fall asleep. It was just so relaxing. Or maybe it was the way I was breathing. Slowly, deeply, hypnotically.

When he took the mask off, I sat up. Smiling.

“How do you feel?”

“I’m glad I did that. But, well, I felt like that wasn’t very good for punishment. You were too nice.”

He chuckled.“Oh. No, that wasn’t punishment at all. I ended the punishment a long time ago.”

A Bonnie-jo update: I love being a spanko

2010-07-12T02:43:00.000-05:00

Dear Readers,

In case you have been annoyed at my long absence --and I do hope you were annoyed, because that means you occasionally read and/or enjoy my blog--my roommate once again has been having major computer issues. Thus, here I am, writing after a month.

Updates are in order:

1. Most importantly, "College Guy" is now "Mr. Boyfriend". Should I change his name? Decisions, decisions....You'd think I would at least have a new code name for him now...but I'm still not sure how that's going to go down.

2. In less than a week I have another spanking with My Magician.(Oh, and btw, that last entry was about said Magician. I do realize I never clarified.)

3. In less than a 2 weeks, I'll be meeting up with College Boyfriend Guy...dang..this naming thing has to change. I need to get better at it. Suggestions anyone?? Yes, it is past 3 am. My brain power is spiraling.

4. And last but not least, I told my roommate/old college friend with whom I'm living with for the summer about how I met College-Guy-Boyfriend (at least the basics). I told her what I like. I told her about spanking...well, not the discipline part of it. But all the rest. Her comments were as follows:

--So you like being bruised? You just want to get really bruised? (To which I replied: No, I don't mind bruising, but that's not the point.

--Do you want to be handcuffed? (To which I replied, Yes, that would be nice.)

--I think the funniest part is that you call it being a 'spanko'!!! *followed by much giggling on her part* (To which I did not reply...oh yeah, or maybe like the aggreable wimp I am, I nodded and said it did sound funny as I died a little bit inside.

Because------I LOVE BEING A SPANKO!!!

Good night all.

I'm Not Done With You Yet

2010-07-12T02:32:00.000-05:00

We were drinking Diet Coke, laughing, joking.

Then a pause.

“I think its time we talked about your second issue now, Bonnie-jo, don’t you?”

With mock-sweetness, “Well, of course I think it’s time if you think it’s time.”

He said, with a fading smile, “Alright,good, put your coke down---“

I hate the talking part.It’s like when you’re in junior high, and the teacher calls on you; it’s like when you have to introduce your boyfriend to your father---my mind becomes numb, blank, stupid.

“Stand up.” He said as he stalked over to me. I obeyed, shrinking slightly backwards as he veered closer. He held the top of my jean cutoffs, and I looked away, off to my right, unable to grasp my embarrassment, as he undid the button, began the zipper.

They were tight (sunkissed skin so hot they'll melt your popsicle) shorts, and I moved my hands down to help, hoping to ease their descent over my tensing bottom. Hoping to ease his potential frustration if they didn’t come off in record time. But it was a mistake.

“Take. Your. Hands. Away.” The words was cold, precise. And I jerked my hands up, willing my panties to stay on as he tugged away. Not like they’d stay on for long….

He’d told me what I had done to deserve this. I had been childish, selfish, immature. I knew it was true. I’d broken a confidence. Acted on emotion. I hadn’t protected myself, and I hadn’t protected him. He said I’d be spanked like a bad little girl. I hated the “little” word, but I’d come here, ready to take what I was sure I needed, what I was sure I wanted. And part of me didn’t mind the “little” word at all, because I yearned to feel small, taken care of, secure, and thoroughly punished.

Two smooth tugs, and my panties were around my knees. I closed my eyes and felt him brush against me, in a backwards-side- hug, his right arm firmly around my upper chest, as he began to smack my bottom with his left hand. I stood there, face turned into his shoulder, knowing this was just the beginning.

He soon released me, saying, “Stay there.” I heard the slight woosh of the leather wheeling chair as he sat behind me. Waiting.

“Tell me again what you did and what you need to learn.”

I obeyed, hemming and hawing my way through the confession, never certain when he would rise to give my tensing bottom more slaps, the urge to peek at him over my shoulder growing in strength.

“Get into that corner in front of you, hands on your head.” I obeyed, stomping my feet slightly in annoyance. He didn’t seem to notice. I stood in the corner. Breathing heavily, but not out of fear. Out of anger. He’d awakened the brat in me, and I knew it was now safe to show it. So I did.

“Keep your hands on your head, elbows touching the sides of the walls. Stick your bottom out.”

I did.

“Stick. Your. Bottom. Out.” Seriously, how far can one stick one’s bottom out? Does he always repeat that in a scary tone just because he likes the words? I don’t doubt it.

And then the rain fell. The strap that I thought was the horrible-and most-feared-crop came fast and hard. I couldn’t help it. I twisted and turned and flinched and attempted to slide away, even though there’s nowhere to slide in a corner. He had a handful of my shirt, and just when I began debating what was more important—the well-being of my shirt or of my bottom— I found a sweet spot of relief. I twisted to my right, and began a slow, skulking descent down the wall.

“Stay still, Bonnie-jo. Stay. Still. You know you deserve exactly what you are getting. Keep still.” His voice was stern, annoyed.

I tried, but knew right away I was failing. My squirms increased as my whimpering grew louder.

“Alright, stay there. I’m not done with you yet.” It was a threat and a promise.

“Come here and get over those pillows.” I lay down, embarrassed again at the picture I made, bottom raised high in the air, completely helpless. He stood to my right, and I squinted up at him as he warned, “You are to stay still this time. No squirming around, back and forth. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” I said as I gasped at the reality, the potential for pain that lay ahead. In an attempt to obey well, I placed my hands above my head, held onto the pillow above me, burying my face in it, willing my body to relax, to stay still no matter what. Please be lenient, my mind begged him. But part of it was begging for the opposite—hurt me, please, I want to prove that I’m sorry.

I did a fairly good job at staying still. Some squirming, but mainly up or down, not twisting and turning and attempting to dodge the blows like I knew I had done in the corner. His right hand was light and warm on my lower back. It was merely there to center me, not to hold me there, and I knew it. I had to hold myself still, all on my own.

He was lecturing away as he let the strap fall. I gasped and whimpered, and when asked a question gave the appropriate “Yes” and “No” and “Yes, Sir.”

“Is this serious, Bonnie-jo?”

“Yes, Sir!” I whimpered.

The strap came down on my lower thigh, and I let out a soft howl. “No.” He replied. “No, this is not serious.”

“Yes, it is.” I argued, red-faced, squinting up at him. “This is serious!” If he thinks I’m not taking this seriously, I’m in so much trouble, I thought.

“No, Bonnie-jo.” He stopped the strap. I breathed slower. Confused. “This is an ass-whipping. This is not serious.” He began the strokes again, speaking between and around the sounds of the strapping. “What is serious is what you did. Your safety is serious. Your life is serious. My safety and well-being are serious. You didn’t take those things seriously when you did what you did. You need to set boundaries. Protect what is important.”

“Yes, Sir. I know.”

“I’m not sure you do. I’m not sure you do.” He sounded sad. “Back to the corner, I’m not done with you yet.”

Still Alive

2010-06-13T01:28:00.000-05:00

Dear Readers,

Hello. Bonnie-jo here, apologizing most vehemently for the long absence of posts. I moved to another state, just for the summer, and computer problems have prevented me from blogging.

So much has happened!! I do not know where to begin. Or what to not tell. I can't include all of the juicy tidbits, but I'll try to recall the pertinent stories and happenings.

Part of the reason for moving for the summer was that I was able to drive by College Guy's house and stay there for a couple of days.
The very first night I was spanked with a clothes hangar (they are almost silent). It was a reminder-spanking, one intended to help me on an issue that I was doing OK with, but one that I was going to need to keep a handle on especially this summer, in my new location. It was fun to try to be quiet as his mom and brother slept peacefully upstairs.

Little things happened during this last visit, things that made me feel like maybe I'm actually falling for him. Can tops be so firm that they make your heart melt? Can they insist that yes, they are going to spank you whether you like it or not, whether you're in the mood or not, whether you feel ready or not, because you need a spanking now, you've needed one for a very long time, and you're going to get one, all with a light in their eyes, a warmness to their voice? Well, College Guy certainly did.

Sometimes my thirst for more spanking scares me. I had woken college guy up, the morning I had to leave. The school girl skirt I wore the first time we met fell against my thighs as he pulled me across his lap, pushed the skirt up, and began to spank. His night-owl schedule slightly ruined by my morning presence, he never-the-less thoroughly reddened my bottom, so that I could leave for the rest of my trip, sore and happy. He finished it with me bent over the arm of the sofa he had minutes before been sound asleep on. I waited for each blow as he paced back and forth behind me, paddling me from time to time, making me think of My Magician and his direful pacing.

After the spanking was over and we were cuddled up on said couch, chatting and making out a bit, he asked, "Do you want me to spank you again?"
Oh how I yearned for more. But I had just been spanked. How greedy can I allow myself to be? "No." I told him. But what a lie it was.

Like I said, so much has gone on. And much is in the distance. There have been College Guy-directed- self-spankings over the phone--only fun ones. There have been long and hard converstations late at night, about issues that I will attempt to write about at a later time. Perhaps some reader out there will be encouraged by my struggle. Perhaps it's something others struggle with as well.

I have a meeting with My Magician scheduled in a couple of weeks. And the spanking is going to be exciting. Exciting =punishment (duh).

But for now I must go to bed, as it is almost 4 am. Good night, all. Sigh... it is good to be back.

I hate it when I blush

2010-05-02T15:33:00.000-05:00

I'm thinking public spankings aren't my thing. I blush way too much.

So last night I went to a friend's Japanese-style party. She made octopus dumplings, soy beans in the pod, and we all drank sake. I, of course, got a bit carried away with the sake part of the evening--it is awesome warmed up, in case you've never tried it that way.

At one point, we were all in a circle, getting ready to play Apples to Apples. Some people were on couches or chairs, some were on the ground. I was lying on my stomach in the shortest shorts I own...definitely feeling the sake, but excited about the game. The hostess of the party sat cross-legged next to me, and we were bantering about something.

At one point, she reached over and gave my butt a smack.

Too much sake..and I can't really remember all of the details...but she said something like, "I bet you liked that."

To which I replied loftily , "No I hated it so you should do it again."

Our slightly tipsy audience had grown a bit quiet, as she smacked a few more times, causing me to burst into a fit of giggling.

Then one of the few guys in the room said "Look at her blushing, guys! "( and my redness became that much deeper) " And did you see how she was arching her butt up at the end there...?"

"Shut up!" I told him, trying to breathe calmly and get my face to stop burning.

So there's my spanking in a vanilla/(who knows) crowd. It was short and sweet. And I don't think I'd like to repeat it. I hate it when I blush.

Yes Sir=Okay?

2010-04-27T00:06:00.000-05:00

When I first discovered the online spanking community, and when I first met both of my spankers, I thought the idea of calling someone "Sir" was awkward and fake. It's what people do in spanking movies, it's what might happen in role play, but as a part of real life, how could that feel okay?

When I first met College Guy, we didn't use the "Sir" word, not even during my first punishment spanking. But I was expected to reply to his questions respectfully.

When I met My Magician, I remember freaking a bit and telling him something like "You sound British (even though you're not) and overly domineering, and would I really have to call you 'Sir'?"

He replied that no, he wasn't British, not overly domineering in his humble opinion, and that 'Sir' could be reserved for punishments only. That I would probably want to use the word during them. And it's true. I had to be reminded once or twice "Bonnie-jo, now would be the time to be saying 'Yes, Sir' when I ask you a question". But, it took little getting used to.

With College Guy, however, it is another story. He is a bit younger than me, and we are good friends, equals, buddies. There have been some odd times when I've felt like using the "Sir word", but those times have been during extreme bouts of emotion brought on by engaging in some spanking pastime or perhaps emotional/intimate discussion.

However (this is the age of post-modernism, ya'll) I believe that there is a word we use that just might be a "Yes, Sir" stand-in. It's brought up a great deal.

Suppose we're talking about some homework coming up.

"You should get started on that paper at least by tonight, Bonnie-jo. Okay?"

"Uh-hmm.." I mumble.

"Okay?" There is a tone in his voice.

I giggle at the tone. "Okay."

This exchange of "Okays" happens frequently. He claims it's because he sees my reply of "uh-hmm" as a weak reply, one that I don't really mean. That "Okay" actually means something, an agreement that I will commit myself to.

How it that any different from "Yes, Sir"?

A My Magician Story--A Continuation

2010-04-21T21:59:00.000-05:00

I was slowly led into the outer room of the hotel suite. Everything felt huge and empty as I concentrated on what I knew to be sure: his hand on my arm, his voice asking, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” I responded, At least mostly.

His hand brushed down, from my shoulder to my elbow, “I'll be right back.”

Seconds later, I felt him slip something around my neck, fiddle with it, then take one of my wrists in his hand.

He had said this spanking was going to be “a surprise, something different”. I had searched my brain to come up with what that meant. And this was a good surprise. I've always had a doctor-fascination, and part of being tied up feels like you are about to be operated on or “treated” or something....I know, I know. That's a bit weird. Don't freak out folks, if you can help it.

But the good doctor was having problems with my wrist-shackles, or whatever he was trying to use. After many fumbles and attempts (which were producing giggles from me), he sighed, “Alright, when all else fails, try something else.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said brightly, fairly sure there would be no castigation for my sucking-up even though it broke the Punishment -Spanking- Rule about not talking.

His new plan worked and before I knew it, my hands were fastened near my head, apparently to the collar-like thing on my neck (of which I was trying not to think much , never having fantasized about a collar, and actually having a great dislike for them, thinking them hideous, something I'd not told My Magician).

The rest is hard to remember in detail.

I stood in position, bottom out, in what seemed like the largest open space I'd ever been in. He had a crop, and it hurt in a way nothing had hurt before. The blows would come fast, then stop , then come again when I was still trying to recover from the first bunch.

It was different than anything I'd ever experienced. There was nowhere for my captured mind to flee.

At first, I tried to think. It' s going to stop soon. It won't be as hard in just a bit. But there was nothing to focus on in that darkness. Only the next blow. Then the next. When one stopped, one started.

My knees started to crumble, and my mind could not breathe.

Then his arms were around my waist, and I was falling across his lap. Whimpers smothered by the sound of the crop starting up again. I felt trapped, angry. About to lose control.

Incensed, I blurted, “I'm just done, okay?” It was not a question, but a statement. And a statement I did not expect him to agree with.

The crop stopped, and his hands were on my wrists. One quick movement and they were released, the mask sliding off. Confused and ashamed, I slipped off his lap and knelt on the floor. Peeked up at his face.

“Are you okay?”

I felt confused by the concern on his face and squinted, nodding fast. “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

“Give me your hands, I'll take those off.”

“Just a minute,” I mumbled, jerking my hands back, realizing how sweaty they were—something that happens whenever I'm spanked. Appalled that I had almost wiped them on the knees of his jeans (seriously, it would have been convenient), I rubbed them against my bare thighs.

“Are you sure you're alright?”

“Uhm hmm.” I nodded hard.

He rose, sat on the couch, patted the seat, “Sit down, it's okay, you're fine.”

I sat cross-legged at the end of the couch. It's over, don't cry now. But I'm not a spanko anymore. Something's wrong. Something's wrong with me. Why couldn't I take that?

We sat for a bit, saying nothing.

“Bonnie-jo, you don't look happy.” He prodded.

I attempted a smile, “Yeah.”

“You know, we don't have a safe word. We never did. That can be very dangerous if you don't know someone well. And I don't feel like I know you well enough to gauge when you mean stop, and when you don't. That's why I did.”

“I'm glad.” I breathed.

More awkward silence....or was it a “right” silence? I didn't know.

“But,” I began, “I'm mad. I'm not mad at you, just at me. Why couldn't I keep going? I don't like it that I wanted to stop.”

“We all have limits, Bonnie-jo. You were taking a heck of a spanking. You did fine.”

I realized a bit later, after more breathing and calming down in general, that I'd forgotten my childhood fear of the dark. I'd slept with the light on for a year or two, and my biggest worry about the “Millennium Bug” had been that the electricity would go out, and I'd somehow die of terror. (Water, food, heat—those were non-issues.) I still don't like completely dark rooms when sleeping, refuse to stare out into one, dealing with the issue by closing my eyes and falling asleep.

I told My Magician about this forgotten fear, and my reaction began to make so much sense.

“You know we aren't done yet, Young Lady, we're just taking a break.”

I nodded happily, the world beginning to right itself. He waited for awhile, letting me get fully adjusted to the safe, lighted world.

“You know what I had to use to tie your wrists? The cuffs I brought were too large and were slipping off.”

“No, what?”

“My watches. Luckily I just bought a new one so I had two on hand.”

Later, still okay with the tying part of the plan, just not the being blind part, I lay across a bench, wrists back in the famous watches. My ankles were in cuffs too, and each appendage (it does sound like an operation, doesn't it?) was fastened to a leg of the bench. There was a cane, and there was some lecturing. Then the perfect amount of spanking. I was whimpering and sorry and writhing, and then it was over.

And if he ever asks me again, "Do you trust me?" I will.

A "My Magician" Story

2010-04-19T20:52:00.000-05:00

My knees made popping noises every few seconds (too much jogging on cement, I guess), but I had to keep pacing. As long as I could walk back and forth in that hotel bathroom, I wasn't scared. He's taking forever on purpose...he's probably watching t.v. or something, smiling to himself at the anxiety he knows he's causing. I bet he can hear me pacing. Fine, I don't need to pace. Fine.

I sat down on the closed toilet seat and became very aware of my attire.A white bra and white thong. I hopped off the seat and took a long look in the mirror. This was a first. The other times I'd been spanked, I'd at least had a shirt on. He said our relationship won't be sexual, I griped. Do I really trust him? But I knew I did,at least, as much as I could.

I worked hard to make my mind a blank as I waited. This bathroom -solitary-confinement was not about to get to me!

I remembered our conversation before I'd locked the bathroom door.

"Are you nervous for this spanking, Bonnie-jo?"

"Not at all."

He smiled indulgently. "Silly girl."

Finally, there was a knock on the door. Then it opened slightly,and a hand reached in and brushed off the lights.

I forced a smile in the dark, laughed, "Did you do that on purpose?"

There was a bit of fumbling, then the light came back on. "That was working too well, " he said ruefully, "I have to see to put this on you." He held a black sleeping mask, and quickly slipped it over my head.

(It is late, and I have homework and I'm too tired to write more...I'll finish the story another day. How evil is that? So sorry.)

Warning to all spankos

2010-04-16T16:42:00.000-05:00

A word to the wise: non-vanilla life can be damn painful, and I don't mean the good kind of pain.

I just need to voice frustration and pain. Maybe I just need to suck it up. But it's so hard.

You never can get exactly what you want. So how do you decide on something? Is choosing your friends (and then choosing between your friends) as simple and crude as comparing brands of bread at the grocery store? Why can't you have different kind of breads in your kitchen? Why does it end up in bread clashes?

And why do I have this great need for my various breads to understand me completely? So that I end up talking too much...like I'm doing right now. Kill me now.

My dad is helping me do my taxes, and I just realized I have an entire W-2 that I overlooked. Perhaps all that tax-return money I thought was mine really isn't after all. My dad is getting over a horrible cold and he spends his stronger moments ironing out glitches in my taxes. I feel guilty and spoiled.

May be it's warranted. May be it's not.

At the hotel where I met College Guy, we'd had a long day at the zoo and had returned after eating Thai Food. And I was in a bad mood. I was feeling ungrateful, dissatisfied with myself and him and everything in between. And I didn't know why. But the truth came out.

I stared down at the bedspread. We were supposed to be playing a board game, but instead I was grumbling and philosophizing about how terrible life was, and at one point, I told him that he wasn't giving me what I needed. That I needed someone to be mean. To punish me not because I needed it and they would help me. But to punish me because they wanted to hurt me, because they liked hurting me. He flipped. I remember the sound of his voice, like he was trying to speak past a lump in his throat, like speaking was difficult. I didn't look at his face.

"Stay there, I'm going to go get lotion. If that's what you think you need, then I'll give you a taste of it. You're so wrong, Bonnie-jo. You don't need that."

"Just leave me alone. Like I said, I don't want you to do it. I want someone who doesn't care to do it." I grumbled.

"I'm going to blister your butt, because that's what you think you need, but then we're going to talk about this."

"It won't help. Please don't!"

Then there was that look. And then in the strongest voice I've ever heard from him, "Get over the end of the bed. Now."

I ended up over his lap somehow. I couldn't keep still. It got to the point where I was biting the bedspread, fighting hard.

But it didn't change me. I'm still the same. Still, I like thinking about it.