I got spanked yesterday. Punished, actually. Last week I’d had a Diet Coke when I wasn’t supposed to, yada yada, and he’d pronounced sentence: a sound hairbrushing. I didn’t totally agree with the severity of the punishment, but we talked about it and ended up more or less agreeing. (Mostly he listened to me patiently and then said, "Yes, but you’re still getting spanked.")
So he pulled me over his knee, lifted up my skirt, and pulled down my panties (there’s something much more embarrassing about having a thong pulled down–no idea why). Gave me a slight warm-up with his hand and moved on to the more serious stuff. He started with a rice paddle, which stung like the dickens (and I HATE sting). He even used it on my thighs, though he claims those spanks were "light." Then he moved to a hairbrush and started spanking hard and fast, with no breaks and no mercy. I was kicking and bucking like crazy, trying to do anything to get out of the path of the brush, but he held on tight and spanked inside my bottom and thighs when I twisted to get away. And THEN he took the mean hairbrush and did the same thing all over again. Needless to say, it was a very thorough hairbrushing.
But when he was done and we were snuggling on the bed, I knew I wasn’t done.
This has happened before, where I still feel guilty about something and know that he hasn’t punished me enough to get rid of all the guilt. It used to happen more often when he was getting used to my limits and my tolerance (both of which can be incredibly high). But this particular offense I didn’t feel guilty about. I accepted the punishment and I was sorry I’d had the stupid Coke, but I wasn’t wracked with guilt. Not even panged by guilt. So to get to the end of a very serious hairbrushing and realize that I needed more put me in a bit of a situation.
Fortunately, M is both understanding and attentive. He was murmuring soothing things like, "You’re my pretty girl, you’re my sweet girl, etc" and when he got to "You’re my good girl" I started shaking my head. I couldn’t help it–I just didn’t feel "good."
He said, "Do you need more?"
I nodded and shook my head simultaneously.
"That seems a little confusing."
"Usually that means you need more. OK, up you go, I’m getting the paddle."
So I propped myself over four pillows and got paddled. Probably about 10 hard strokes with one of the serious wooden paddles. When that was done, he put his hand on my back (amazing what he can tell just by doing that) and said, "Ten more." Yikes. They came pretty evenly spaced, except for Seven and Eight, which were right on top of each other. By Ten I was flying. But I wasn’t done.
He knelt down in front of the bed to look in my eyes and knew. Said, "What do you need?"
And I whispered, ever so softly, "I think you should put me in the corner and then (gulp) cane me."
Caning is a Big Deal for me. I’ve always been terrified of canes; they seem so painful and formal and distant that they don’t fit into most of my fantasies. But M really loves canes and has managed to convince me that they can be erotic. Lately, though, we’ve started talking about them as punishment. And so this was a very big step. He nodded in understanding and led me to the corner.
At this point it really crossed a funny line. I was no longer truly being punished, since I had literally asked for this part. But it was still a discipline setting and so the same rules applied: "No rubbing, no touching your bottom, and no touching the wall. And if I see you doing any of those things, I’m going to flip you over my knee and take the hairbrush to your bottom until you’re really sorry." I was very well behaved, even when he started swishing the canes in the air and brought one down on a pillow with a THWACK that made me jump.
M pulled me out of the corner and into a hug, which surprised me a little, then led me over to the pillows again. He gave me three hard ones each with two different canes and I was surprised at how little they hurt (at this point I think I was completely flying). And then he knelt down in front of me and just looked in my eyes. I said, "Strap, please."
We don’t really have a great strap for me, since I like heavy and thuddy, but he pulled out the heaviest one we have (a big one from The London Tanners, one of these ) and gave me about 20 with it. It wrapped into some places I’d normally hate, but at that point I was so grateful for the bite because it was the only thing I could feel.
And then I was done. Finally. I needed to be pushed hard, past where I really wanted to go, and M took me there. It was an odd sort of punishment because it turned into something different, but I’m so grateful he was willing and able to go there with me.
Course, today I’m sore like crazy. It made going to Curves very interesting and it’s made me think twice about sitting anywhere. But the Arnica’s helping and tomorrow there won’t be anything but twinges.
(P. S. When we went to sparkle and Chris’ house later in the evening for dinner, all they had were wooden chairs. And by that time all the endorphins were gone. And do you think there was any sympathy there? None at all.) 😉