His Hands

I've had a sort of hands fetish for a long time. This is something that can be very entertaining when sitting through long dull high school or college lectures. Even if the teacher or prof has old, stubby, grizzled hands, that's alright because there are plenty of other hands to look at and imagine that they are spanking hands.

College Guy and I have a picture on Facebook of me cuddled up against him, his hand around my shoulder. That hand is just about the first thing I look at when I see the picture. How his hand is capturing my shoulder perfectly, holding me against him. How it's relaxed but confident in its claiming of me.

Holding his hand while walking through the downtown streets of our city, watching him sleep in on a lazy Sunday morning one of his hands grasping the corner of our bed, his hand around both of my wrists, holding me captive with my legs above my head, pinned up like a pretzel,  while he spanks me hard and fast, one hand, grasping, strong, unyielding while the other stings and punishes. His hand on my head bringing it close to him, down, guiding my head towards him, then other times on my face, fingers cruel, steely, grasping, forcing me to look him in the eyes and tell him "Yes, Sir."  His hands supporting my shoulders, bringing me towards him, pressing me against him as he says, "You. Come here",  then as I lie on my stomach whimpering his hand trailing down to my butt, rubbing soothing, "You're okay, Bonnie-jo."

Stay Very Still

I recently saw the optometrist and received a new contacts and glasses prescription. Seeing the dentist would have been a lot less stressful for me. I knew that they were probably going to blow that puff of air in my eyes and put drops in them to dilate them. Even though I wear contacts everyday, I still hate people putting things in my eyes or trying to do things to them while I stay still and try not to blink. It feels so invasive, uncomfortable, and scary.

Before I saw the actual optometrist, a female assistant measured my eyes. She told me to stay very still, and as I sat there, squirming and edgy, I asked "Is this the part where you blow air in my eyes?" I couldn't stay still thinking about it. "No, that's the next thing, " she replied. So I did stay still.

Then it was time for the air blowing. "Keep your head right in that position." "Umm..try not to move." "No...don't move your head away." "Yes, keep your head right there." "Please try not to move because I can't get a good view." "Uhmmm..." "Allright, just relax..." "No, don't move yet, try to stay still..." This went on for awhile as I stayed in the desired position for all of 2 seconds before I would see a bright light approaching my eyes which quickly resulted in a jerk of my head. I was almost giggling by how I kept jerking my head away from where she wanted it. It's like I had no way of controlling myself. I remember thinking,"I can't possibly do this because I'm not used to making myself do anything. I need someone to hold me here. Where are their restraints..." Hahah...

Finally she gave up on me. "We'll try again some other time..." she told me. I asked her later, when I was picking out frames if she was going to try again. "No, 'some other time' means like next year." She replied airily.

Then I saw the doctor himself. I like doctors, by the way. I like them a lot. I think one of the perfect spanking fantasies or role plays would be the doctor/patient one. Anyway, as I sat on the raised leather seat/table and he asked me questions about my eyes, I felt like fessing up right away and saying "I couldn't do the air blowing thing.  I'm sorry..." But I stayed quiet.

He asked if I had brought sunglasses with me, so that I could protect my eyes after he dilates them. I said yes, but began squirming inside. Great, great..eye drops. Sure I put my contacts in every day. But I so hate other people touching my eyes---

Without further ado, he leans over me, and I before I can think, he has lifted up my eyelid, BAM! one drop is in my eye. It is stinging like crazy, but before I can get more nervous and actually worry about holding still, he's lifted up my other eyelid. His finger slips a little, but he quickly moves it back and SLAM! the other eye is stinging and watering as well.

"The drops may sting a little," He warns me brusquely. "Here is a tissue for your face." My eyes are watering and dripping down my cheeks. I take the tissue and wonder how that all just happened.

I can't stay still. But he somehow managed within seconds to do exactly what he needed to.

Doctors get things done. I think they would be awesome spankers. 

Protect Me, Spoil Me, Spank Me

Sometimes I feel horribly childish and spoiled.

And that's exactly how I wish I could live. Just like that. Childish and spoiled. That's my fantasy. That's what I've always wanted.

Before I was ever actually spanked, my fantasies weren't always about being spanked. I mean, they were, but my thoughts were more about what led up to the spanking, who did the spanking, how I was forced into the spanking, and the time after the spanking, when I was comforted. The percentage of time spent thinking about the spanking itself was very small in comparison. It was at least under 25% of my fantasy thought time. Probably much less than that even.

College Guy thinks maybe I don't want responsibility. Maybe that's true.

I want my magician back sometimes, because he is a full grown man and has kids of his own. Maybe I could be a child with him. But, I couldn't and I know it, or at least, I need to know it.. He wanted a woman all along. I could never trust him enough to be that child. I always kind of knew that. From the moment that he told me about previous email buddies of his, I knew what he was attracted to. There was the woman he told me about who wanted to be told to flirt with other men in the bar, to dance with them---all because the one man she was really with was forcing her to. " I bet you'd like doing something like that, Bonnie-jo. You'd be good at it." He told me once, when he first met me. I'd nodded and smiled, thinking to myself. "Sure, in your fantasies, I'd like that. Tell me more of what I'd be good at in your fantasies."

And, who knows, because he did plant many seeds in my brain. And that one grew on me too. It has haunted me since. Maybe I do want to go to a bar. Maybe I do want to flirt with a man there. Maybe I do want that man I'm flirting with to be hot and bothered, to want me. And then the man who owns me for the evening will come and cut things off short. Tell me that he needs to take me home with him, that he is going to take care of me tonight. Maybe I want that kind of protection. To flirt and dazzle and enchant and then to be taken home to somewhere safe. To Someone safe. How lovely would that be?

I would still get to be a child. There would be no danger involved. No consequences for actions, for flirtations, for being in a place where people are taken advantage of.

No, I would be protected, spoiled and well spanked. Perfect.

A Cane Breaking

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

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

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

"Why? What's wrong?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I was thirsty!!" I defend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No." I said.

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

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

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

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

"No. Get over the couch. Now!"

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

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

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

"I don't care."

"12 strokes."

"I don't care."

"24 strokes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sensitive to Hard Spankings

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

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. 

Running Away

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.