"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.
"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.
Bonnie-Jo, Everything's okay!! If you don't want it or need it, then don't accept it! If College Guy had forced the issue, then this would have been the same as rape--non-consensual. No one should be expected to be bionic butt all the time! Also don't be swayed with the not-exactly- true "justification" of "You'll be disappointed!"
ReplyDeleteStay safe! Have fun! Bob.
Bob,
ReplyDeleteThank you for the comment and the words of wisdom. Yes, I'm really glad that College Guy listened to me. It's hard to always judge for him, if I'm playing a game with him--such as begging him to be dommy and push me into something. I do often do that.
But this time, I was serious. I just didn't want to be spanked hard. When he understood that, he didn't push the issue. I was proud of his intuition and thoughtulness, although, I felt somewhat guilty towards myself. I suppose it's because I"ve never felt so wimpy towards myself before.
It really wasn't him telling me "you will be dissapointed". The dissapointment was written all over my face and starting to flow from my eyes. I was ready to have a huuuuuge I'm-so-mad-at-myself-because-I-want-to-be invincible-fit.
That was what College Guy was concerned about. He told me not to be dissapointed in myself, and charcteristically threatened to spank me if I beat myself up over the caning episode....Hmm...I still feel a little badly about it all. And a huge attack of spankoness has hit me..where is College Guy when I need him...Oh yeah, hundreds of miles away...