This is quite long, and has not been proof read. Apologies on both counts!
You hold out your hand, and I take it. You move towards the sofa and sit down, and pull me towards you. I know what you want me to do, but I’m really not happy about it. Can’t you see I’m too big to go over your lap? I protest. You tell me to stop being silly and to do what I’m told. I put myself over your lap, resting my legs on the sofa and my head against the arm. I can feel you pushing up my skirt, but you’re leaving my knickers in place, thank goodness. You’re talking. Telling me that I have to listen and do what I’m told throughout the spanking, or else there will be ‘consequences’. Yeah, yeah, blah blah, just get on with it already, I’m not exactly comfortable here, you know.
You start in with your hand. It doesn’t actually hurt that much, but I suspect you’re being gentle with me. Just as I’m thinking this, it starts getting harder, your hand making contact with my bottom, covering all of it. You stop for a minute and ask me a question. “Which part of your bottom is the most sensitive?” Of course, I know the answer, but do you really think I’m going to answer?! I stay silent. You apply a sharp smack about half way down my thigh, and my leg rockets upwards in response. That stung! “The bit between my bum and my thighs” I mutter sulkily in response. Which, obviously, is exactly where you start smacking next. OK, I’m really starting to feel this.
You push my hair away from my face, and tell me to look at you. Urgh, I hate this bit. Spank me all you want, but don’t make me look at you while I’m in such an embarrassing position. I turn my head so it’s at least in your general direction, and half raise my eyes to yours. You tell me you’re spanking my sit spot because you want to make sure I feel this tomorrow. Somehow I don’t think you need to worry about that one. Your hand moves south and you start on my thighs…. And oh my god it hurts! I’ve never been spanked on my thighs before and I had no idea how much it stings. My legs keep coming up, I just can’t help it. You tell me to keep still, and even though my head is screaming ‘fat chance!’ I do actually try. You probably give me about five more swats on each side, and then tell me to spread my legs, as you want to spank my inner thighs. Again, much to my amazement, I obey… luckily you don’t dwell too long on that area. Instead you pause, and tell me to look at you again. I reluctantly turn my head towards you.
“So, what did we discuss about many strokes you were going to get with your new hairbrush?”
Oh crap, I genuinely can’t remember. We were talking about it on email like three days ago, do you have any idea how many emails I’ve received since then?! Then it comes to me. I hope…
“Um, twenty on each cheek…”.
“Per offence” you counter, “which makes forty”.
Damn. Well, if I’m right about this I don’t think that hairbrush is going to be too stingy, so forty on each cheek shouldn’t be too bad. You’re talking again.
“I’m not going to ask you to count out loud, but I suggest you keep count in your head, while you are thinking about why you are receiving these strokes”
Stroke number one lands on my left cheek, then two on my right, three, four, so far, so no too bad… five, six. Oh no, I realise I’ve been counting total number of strokes, not strokes per cheek, and as I’ve been thinking that thought, it’s made me lose count altogether. Well, you didn’t ask me to count out loud… A pause.
“How many strokes have you received”. Oh bugger.
“Urm, ten per cheek?” I ask hesitatingly.
“Were you not paying attention when I told you to listen and obey during this spanking?”
“Yes” I reply in a small voice. “But I lost count. I’m sorry”.
“Well, never mind, this hairbrush is not having any effect on you anyway. Go out and buy a new one please, a decent one, made of a nice, hard wood.” I protest that the hairbrush really is having an effect, though, truth be told, I’m lying through my teeth about that. At the same time I’m thinking to myself that there is no way on this earth I’m going to be buying myself a ‘proper’ hairbrush. You must actually think I’m insane. Whoops, you are talking again.
“Given that the brush is having no discernable impact, I’m going to use the belt on you instead. You will receive twenty strokes.” Wait! What?! Twenty strokes with the belt?! And there, before I can stop myself, it’s popped out.
“What did you just call me?” I stay quiet. You turn my head round to look at you. There’s no use hiding it.
“I called you an evil sod, but I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean it…”
“That’s six extra strokes you’ve just earned yourself. Now stand up.”
I roll off your lap and stand up. My skirt falls back into place. I’m starting to feel a little scared now. You reach over to me, and unzip my skirt. It falls to the floor. You guide me over to the sofa and tell me to bend over and hold on to the arm. You also tell me that you expect me to stay still to receive my strokes, and to count them. You ask me why I’m receiving these strokes with the belt. Despite my precarious position, the first thought that pops into my head is “because you didn’t like my hairbrush!” However, I still have some sense of self preservation, and with a massive effort I manage to swallow that answer and come up with a more appropriate one.
I can hear you undoing your belt. I’m properly scared now. You move my top upwards out of the way, and pull my knickers up into my bum crack. And then pause. I can’t bear the wait. And yet I don’t want it to start. I’ve read so many blogs and stories where people talk about the noise of the belt whistling through the air, but I genuinely don’t hear it. Or if I do, I certainly don’t register it. All I register is the sting as the belt lashes into my bum. I gasp, and my legs dance around a bit. I compose myself, and another blow lands.
“Are you forgetting something?” What? What am I forgetting? Oh. To count.
“I’m really sorry” I gabble “I was doing it in my head, I promise, I really promise, I just forgot to say it out loud!” For once I actually manage to look you in the eye, and I think you believe me, as you let it go and move on to ask “What makes a spanking hurt more?” I know the answer to this one. When it’s fast. We’ve talked about this before. I’ve told you I hate fast spankings, I find them so difficult to take. There’s just no time for me to process the pain.
“Well, these next four ARE going to be fast. I want you to try and hold as still as possible, and you don’t need to count out loud, but you do need to count in your head. Four more strokes rain down. I can’t help moving around a bit, but am able to answer you when you ask how many we have reached.
“Yes, that’s right, six. And think, if it hadn’t been for your smart mouth, you would have been nearly half way through. As it is, you still have the twenty to come that you earned. Count out loud again please”
I groan inwardly, and probably outwardly too. You start. Each stroke feels like a fire stick being slapped onto my butt. I try and count out loud, but by 11 I feel as if I’m being overwhelmed. I jump up, and away from the sofa arm.
“Back in position.”
I can’t. I really can’t do this. I tell you so. You counter that I can, and I will, and what’s more I will be getting four more to make up for my inability to stay still as you wanted.
Do I really have to do this? Bend over and hold on to that damn arm again? The fundamental answer, of course, is no. If I out and out refused to bend back over, used my safe word, you would stop. But if I did that, I would feel like a failure. So I bend again and spread my legs wider, like you tell me to.
By stroke nineteen, I really, really don’t think I can take anymore. Even though I am trying desperately hard not to cry, there is the odd tear dripping from my nose onto the sofa arm. I am determined that you will not see my cry, so I start to chew on my lip to distract myself. Another horrible stroke lands. This time I don’t jump up, just crumple up over the sofa arm. But I know by now that I can’t stay there, so I get up, and somehow get through the last four strokes. I stay holding on to the sofa. I’m not stupid enough to stand up without being told. Even I’m not that slow a learner. You move round to my side.
“Well done” you say “You know, everyone makes mistakes, even me. And looking back there, I think I’ve made one just now”. This is the part where he says I’m marked really badly, I think, which is not an issue, because I always do. Instead he comes out with “I seem to have neglected your left butt cheek somewhat, so I’m going to rectify that now. Stay in position, no need to count.” Sorry, what?! I try to stammer out something about me not minding at all, and my left cheek being able to live with being less spanked, but my breath gets taken away by the belt landing and pressing into me. I move again. And again, after each of the next three strokes. I’m learning fast though, and get back into position every time.
“I really don’t like the way you move around so much. Firstly, it’s not a respectful way to take a spanking” (WHATEVER, I think, you try and be on the receiving end of that damn belt) “but also it’s downright dangerous. I could catch somewhere or something I don’t want to catch, like your hands. So this spanking will only end when you have taken two strokes in a row with the belt and have remained as still as possible. And of course I decide what as still as possible means.”
My heart sinks, but there is no way on this earth I am going to take any more that two more with that stupid thing. I plant my feet and grip onto the sofa arm for dear life. Stroke one lands full over both cheeks. It hurts so much, but I am NOT moving. You pause, and then stroke two. Still not moving. See? I can do this.
You congratulate me, and tell me the spanking is over, but you make me stay bent over for a few more minutes (though it feels like hours) as you talk to me, remind not to be a repeat offender, and tell me that this time you were being kind to be, and if I give you back chat like that again, or move around so much next time, you will cane me. Gulp. And then it’s over, and I can get up, and you hold me and check I’m OK. And within about five minutes, I am. I’ve bounced back. Even though I can feel a painful red glow on my now very swollen rear end, I’m not subdued for long. It’s going to take more than that to keep me down. And no, that is NOT a challenge!
1 day ago