Pure Punishment

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

My Magician

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Remote Corner-time

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

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

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

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

College Guy was displeased.

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

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

He didn't notice.

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

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

"Okay." I piped in cheerfully.

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

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

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

"Bonnie-jo!"

"Yes?" I answered sweetly.

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

"Yes."

"Then stop."

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

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

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

"Bonnie-jo, come here."

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

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

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

"Take them down." I hear.

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

"Take them down. Now."

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

Can't or Won't

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckles. Then says, "No."

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

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

"What?" He asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spanked by a Woman

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

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

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

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



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

She was in complete control, I realized that fast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lines

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