Thoughts

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

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

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

Cigarettes and Paddles: 4th of July Fun

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm sorry...."

"You will be."

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

And then followed a not-fun spanking.

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

"No."

"I didn't think you would."

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

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

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

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

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

Ahhhhhhh!!!!

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

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



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

Magic Man

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

A Caning on the Table

My bratting takes various routes in the effort to be seen and heard. It's not always something that happens daily, at least not in a strong way. But I seem to go through phases. Last week, College Guy had finally had enough of one of those phases.

Sometimes I brat because I want attention. Sometimes it's because I actually want a spanking. Sometimes it's because I know I'm stressed or in a bad mood, and I want that rush of adrenaline that happens when I feel myself in danger of being spanked hard. When you know that someone loves you but will still hurt you in a specific, focused way, well, that brings the best kind of adrenaline rush. And adrenaline rushes tend to take my mind of off the other daily stresses of life.

It was nighttime, and I did not like facing the idea of going to work the next morning. My job starts at 8am and lasts all day. It actually may have been awhile ago, longer than just a week or so, because I can't remember the details of it. All I remember is being sleepy, grumpy, and not wanting the morning to come. So out of the need for that adrenaline rush, I started play-slapping College Guy. It was really wherever I could reach at the moment, and it really wasn't all that hard, although a couple of the slaps may have stung. I don't know what I was thinking.. He would warn me to stop, and I would, but then I would do it again. These kind of things are sometimes like a bag of Doritos for me. Once I start, I can't stop until I play the whole thing through. He told me to go get my hairbrush. I refused. He told me if I did not he would get the cane and use it on me. I stalled, then when I could feel him about to get up to find the cane, I protested, "I'll go get the hairbrush!!!" He ended up giving me a good OTK spanking with my hairbrush and telling me I'd be caned the next day, when I wasn't so tired. "Cane me now." I pleaded. "Sorry, I think this is one of those things you need to think about and wait for." Ughghg.

The next day was a Saturday though, and after coming home from work, we both forgot about my supposed caning. I introduced College Guy to his first club, and the night progressed happily, with no caning for me. The next day, Sunday, however, he announced to me. "You have a caning today."

 We had just returned from a garage sale from which we had purchased a round, solid wood table for our apartment.  College Guy put a pillow on the table, and positioned me against it. "Keep your hands right here, don't move them, keep your body on the table. Keep your feet down." He slipped my dress up over my hips, and I gripped the tables edge in my hands and thought that when I purchased the table at the garage sale, I had no idea what a good buy it was.

I lay there quietly, perhaps whimpering a bit. The emotion of the scene was the type I tend to really crave every once in awhile and the type College Guy does not tend to dish out that often. He traced my bottom with the cane, then began tiny test- thwacks with it, not really a teasing action, but more of a sinister one. Like a cat playing with a mouse before he eats it.

The first cane stroke or two were normal. Painful, scary, but not too bad. The truth is, for some reason, ever since we moved in together, the cane had not been hurting like it had in the past, So I wasn't as horrified as I possibly should have been.

Then, something happened that has never happened before.

He drew back and let that cane rip. It was only one blow, but it hit higher than he has possibly ever hit me before, at the very top of my bottom. It was high, and it hurt. The skin there is somehow so much more sensitive to cane strokes, I guess.

One blow had never hurt me that much before. And I broke my hold on the table and stood up straight for a second. Somehow, though, I didn't end up sitting on the floor telling him I wanted to be done. The next second I was positioned back on the table (I really can't remember if I just went back or if he pushed me back down.) But I was sobbing. Sobbing from one cane stroke. The fact that I was crying scared me too.

Then he began to talk. One of the worst things about a top talking to me when I'm already in a partial sub-space like I was this time is that it's so hard to hear. I think something happens with one's blood pressure and it messes with the ears. Or something. Maybe it's must a mental thing. So, I kept saying "what?" and tried hard to concentrate.

He talked about how he usually gives me lots of leeway with bratting , that he lets me be fairly free with it...."Don't you agree, Bonnie-jo?"
 --"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
 "Yes, Sir!"

He continued caning me between the scolding. When he started up again, I almost freaked, thinking he would aim high again. "You aimed really high that one time, you know." I whimpered.
 "I know and I'm sorry. That was not intentional." He said. Which did help.But only a little bit. He might miss again, was my thought.

"You've been bratting a lot the past few weeks. So this caning is going to be harder than it normally would be. Do you think that's fair?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You understand what I mean about it being harder because it's been more frequent? It's not like I'm going to spank you this hard if you brat again in the future. But this time it's built up."

"I understand." But inside I was almost praying, "Dear God....." even though I don't believe in him. It's a weird feeling, but he had me in the palm of his hand. I suppose I would have started begging and such if the spanking had gotten too bad, but the dominess of it all had me fast. I wanted to obey him in this. I wanted to take this spanking. I didn't want him to continue. But I wanted to be obedient. Once again, I think this was partially  because I really did feel bad for slapping him over and over again two nights before.

Somehow, thought I got through the rest of the caning. I had real stripes when he was done, although they only lasted out the night and were basically gone in the morning.

To Just be Over His Knee

College Guy pulls me over his lap and I make an oof noise of surprise. He spanks softly then pulls down my shorts and panties. This is the kind of spanking I love--all hand, with hard ones and soft ones. And each soft one making me ache for another hard one.

He's sitting crosslegged on the floor, and after a couple more swats, he pulls his Calvin and Hobbs comic book from where he'd left it by my side. Propping the book on my back, he stops spanking me.

Pure silence fills the room as he reads.
I try to lay obediently, and really, it's not a hard task. I feel so relaxed, so peaceful. It's the perfect place to be.

Then, without warning, SWAT SWAT. Two spanks rain down on my cheeks.

Then he reads.  I try not to fidget. Half of me wants to--to sqirm and rub against him, even to annoy him, so that he'll grab an implement and do something that will last longer, that will somehow kill the instatiable feeling inside.

The other half of me feels completely opposite. He's never let me just be this way before.
 To just be over his knee.
 To not wonder what I'm thinking or learning or doing or feeling.
To put me there and expect me to just stay there.
 I love it. It seems perfectly dommy of him and subby of me. I think about this, and I breathe, I close my eyes, and then SMACK SMACK! His hand falls heavily again.

We spend long minutes like this, minutes that feel heavy with our closeness.

A Virgin Spanko Wimp

After we had been meeting for some time, College Guy and I began exploring other areas that were not spanking- related, areas that were much more vanilla, or at least, much more the norm. For me, however, these activities were scarier than any spanking could ever be. And equally exciting.

There is no easy way to put this, and I hope you all don't think I'm making this up, but the truth is that I am a virgin. College Guy and I have never had vaginal sex. Writing that fact in this post is incredibly embarrassing to me, and not because I'm ashamed of some kind of personal convictions. My virginity, while at a time due to religous conviction, is presently only due to fear and discomfort while trying to have sex. I feel it is my own stupid fault and due to great wimpiness.

Here I am, a spanko with huge pain tolerance. My bottom can withstand just about anything. But when it comes to my pussy, I am, well, a pussy.

I grew up very conservatively, with anything sexual outside of marriage denounced as horrid sin.
This, I believe, is some of the problem. I don't know what the rest of the problem is.

I have come a long way though, mostly due to College Guy and his patience coupled with unyielding persistence.

How I need his persistence.

When we first met, he could hardly touch me "down there", without me freaking out. And he, being a virgin as well (aw, ain't it cute, I know..I know..) didn't really know what he was doing. He googled info on what to do and we talked a lot. We've dabbled  with a lot of different ideas and ways of playing. It's been a growing experience, but the growth, I feel, has been slow on my part.

But there has been some growth.  Half the time when he touches me now, I don't slap his hands away and try to flip over onto my stomach so that he'll only touch my bottom. One time, he strapped my hands for knocking his hands away from my pussy.

"You will use your mouth and not your hands to tell me what you want, young lady. You will talk to me. Do you understand?"

But I still have huge problems with it all. I have learned to tolerate and actally greatly enjoy outside stimulation, but any attempts to enter me and my fight or flight insticts gear up full-force.

And yet I want him inside me. I want to have sex. And just as importantly, I want to kill this huge fear of losing my virginity and of intercourse in general.

I don't know how to fix my problem. All I know is even though he tells me, "As a guy I have the easier role, you know. All I have to do is put this thing inside of you. I know it's all a lot more difficult for you", I think he has the harder role. Because I get so afraid and so upset, and he is the one who has to keep it together and not let me dissuade him from trying.

Last night, he tried harder than I've ever seen him try.

And I was fighting him harder than perhaps I've ever fought before.

I'm not quite sure how the Bonnie-jo logic works with this, but it's something like the following: I'm so afraid of sex and perhaps even more so afraid of not being able to take the pain that comes with losing one's virginity. So I've convinced myself that something is wrong with me. It feels unnatural to me. So I must be different from everyone else. The only way I can possibly have sex is to let it be done to me. The only way I can "let it be done" is if I stop fighting and just receive it. And the only way I can stop fighting is if College Guy makes me stop. I can't stop on my own. Stopping on my own would be the same as not being afraid. The fear of this is very much a part of who I am. So I need for him to take it over, make me obey him. So that I can do what he wants and not what I want, which, in the moment  of trying to have sex, is to not have sex.

I hope that makes sense. I want sex. But in the moment of trying, I don't anymore. So I need him to take it, to make me do what he wants. If he doesn't, I"ll get what I want. But I won't ever really get what I actually want.
So fastforward to our attempts that night to finally have sex. College Guy is trying to get me to stay still. I'm squirming and wiggling and freaking out whenever he gets close to entering me. Soon, I'm outright just trying to get away. We've done this before. In the past, he's just said, "Okay, we'll try later." And given me a big smile. Usually I end up crying out of frustration and he ends up comforting me and telling me I'll get there some day. But not so last night. Last night, he got more conrolling and more angry the more I squirmed and wiggled and was difficult.

It was 3 am and we were both becoming more and more emotional and frustrated. I was sniffling and depressed and he was fed up.

Finally, he said. "I want you to at least give me a minimum effort here. You're not even trying the slightest bit to stay still. You're being a baby. Either try or let me do something else with my night."

"I can't help it!!!!" I shot back. Then, "I need to lose my personality, I need to be broken, then I could do it."
For 3-4 seconds we held each other's angry and frustrated gaze.

Then I suddenly find myself on my back, his shoulder somehow up against my raised legs. In seconds his finger (or fingers?) was inside of me, all the way inside. My reaction was a half scream/half moan, and then his other hand spread over my mouth. My hand was on his hand with the finger inside me instantly. I could feel his hand/arm shaking with the strain of trying to stay inside as I attempted to pull away.

"We are going to stay this way for a long time. You're going to wait until this feels more normal. Take your hand off my arm please." His voice is curt and matter-of fact.

I just breathe and slowly, slowly, I inch my hand off of his arm, I place both hands on the ground where we're lying. It's my best attempt at letting go all night.

"Now breathe, Bonnie-jo. Come on. In. " He takes a dramatic breath of air. "And now another one." I try to slow my breathing as I whimper against his hand. I can tell he's gone all the way inside. Something is stinging oddly and I'm trying to not think so that I won't completely freak.

I turn my head under his hand but he keeps his clasp on my mouth. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be a jerk. I'm just covering your mouth for the neighbors."

"I know. It's okay. It's okay." I mumble into his hand.

He keeps encourgaging me to slow my breathing. I try. Then he jostles his finger and pulls back a tiny bit, then pushes forward. I twist my head away from his clasping hand. "Take it out! Take it out!" I sob. "Please."

"No." He keeps up the slight motion for a couple more seconds, then slides his finger out. I immediately curl up and dissolve into tears, but they are those short-spent kind. In seconds I'm smiling up at him and feeling sleepy.

"We've gotten farther than we've ever gotten before."

"Yup."

"I want you to know I'm fine with doing that. That's something we're going to need to do until you get used to it. And I don't mind. We won't be doing it every day, but I'm thinking once or twice a week."

I just groan....but inside, I'm hugely excited. Maybe, just maybe, we can win this battle together. Maybe.

Real Discipline--Gum Littering

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or is it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They just help.