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.
12.28.2010
12.11.2010
The Bet--A continutation
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
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
11.25.2010
Until You Cry
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.
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.
11.14.2010
Hot Spanking Story--How Dare She....
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.
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.
11.08.2010
Waiting
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."
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."
10.29.2010
Better Not Pout
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.
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.
10.18.2010
Spanking Party
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.
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.
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