Sometimes, I question my sanity
Nothing new there. More on that later.
Funny how tops have different approaches to starting a spanking. Danny used to bluster and threaten for a while, and I’d continue to push and provoke until he said, “That’s IT!” ST would spring it on me quickly and unceremoniously, and I never knew when it would be. Steve and I talk for a while, like old friends catching up, and then his tone changes. That’s when he’ll lean over to me and say, “Ready to go over my knee, baby?”
I’ve resisted a couple of times. One time, I even went across the room and made him come and get me. But most of the time, I simply smile and answer, “Yes.” Then I go close the windows, and come to him.
We’d had to postpone our Tuesday to Wednesday, then our Wednesday morning to Wednesday afternoon, because of his work. So we were both antsy and impatient. “I can’t wait to feel your bottom in the palm of my hand,” he said over the phone. Hot, hot, hot. The waiting can be fun… up to a point. By 2:30 yesterday, I was so over it, and was all about, “Will you just GET here already!”
His warm-up starts with the mildest of slaps, and gradually builds and builds. If he were to begin at the strength and speed at which he ends up, I would be in agony. But my body adjusts and warms to him, craves more, absorbs the flurries. His polo shirt and his face were damp at the end. Sometimes we banter, sometimes we don’t. Yesterday, I educated him on the difference between “farther” and “further.” He thought they were interchangeable. Tsk.
He’s been in quite the benevolent mood lately; once again, he told me I could choose the implements. Last week, I recall I chose one nasty one (the lexan paddle), just because I know I need the challenge. Yesterday was the same. This is where the sanity part comes in (or lack thereof). I retrieved the short OTK leather strap, my favorite. And then, before I could talk myself out of it, I also got the Delrin cane.
!!!!! (Are you crazy, Erica?) Like I said, there’s a part of me that relishes that challenge, that push. Not too much, just enough. A very fine line.
Bring it, honey.
Haven’t been caned for a while. And I was shocked at first; I’d forgotten just how much it hurts, that unique biting hurt. My mind wouldn’t calm down and absorb; my body fought. I struggled and squirmed, pleaded, moaned. I wanted him to stop. I didn’t want him to stop.
He talked to me, reminded me how much I needed this. Told me to breathe. Firmly but kindly told me to keep still. Ican’tIcan’tIcan’t. After two particularly hard strokes, I felt a sort of despair, and blurted, “What’s happening to me? I’m being such a wimp!”
Ugh. According to whom? Harder players? The benchmark for cast-iron ass? The Spanko Judges? Like it’s a freaking contest? Stupid.
“You are not a wimp,” he said, kneading the soreness. “Those were hard. You are taking this very well. You’re amazing.”
And then, I felt my mind switch over, and my body shift into a calmer state. I took in a deep breath, and I lay still. No more kicking, no more writhing. From that point on, I was able to absorb. I flowed with the strokes and the pain instead of struggling against them.
Mind over matter.
Yipes! Stripes! (Yes, I know I’m dating myself with that reference.)
He wasn’t able to linger much afterward, but it was OK. I was spent, particularly after the thundering orgasm I’d given myself while he watched. “Go,” I smiled. “Go be a dad.” It was time to return to real life. In my post-spanking blissful stupor, I leaned into my doorway and said goodbye.
If that isn’t “spank face,” I don’t know what is. 😀
And now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to try to corral my mushy and scattered brain, and do some work.
Thank you. ♥