The Spanking Appointment

One of the things that has irritated me about being sick and in so much pain the last few months has been that I haven't really been able to enjoy the memory of past spankings, which is often one of the funnest parts of being spanked.

Good news today is that I can remember this event that I wrote about in my journal at the time without immediately tensing up and getting that slightly sick feeling. :)

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March 30, 2004

I got so thrashed last night.

We’ve been doing these “spanking appointments” and yesterday it was announced that I was to report to the bedroom for a spanking at 6 pm. It always gives me butterflies in my tummy – the good kind.

About 4ish, we decided on a whim to play a game of poker, which of course, we turned into spanking poker, especially as he’s still teaching me how to play and it seems to be a good pedagogical tool. I won the first game, lost the second, won the third, lost the fourth, and then held him off for an hour before finally losing the last. Indeed, it went on for so long he had to change the appointment to 7.

As I stood to drop my trousers for my third spanking, this time 12 strokes with the wooden spoon as, appropriately enough, chosen by the cards, he smiled. “Mmmm…Michelle’s bottom…I get to see it again after sooo long.” I love how he makes me feel sexy. “You know,” I said. “I think I should get less strokes since I played so well.” He put his arms around me and kissed my head. “True. If the world were fair.” I still got 12 strokes.

When the appointed time arrived, he came to the bedroom to find me in the requested panties and bra, bent over the chair as instructed. “This is going to be a severe spanking as you’ve already had a warm-up,” he explained. He had the riding crop in his hand, his favorite new toy he picked up in a charity shop the week before I arrived. (Most of his implements are from charity shops. The British donate the perviest stuff.) I cringed. “This will help prepare you for the Flogging Room day.” A Victorian period scene we’re planning to do not long before I leave at the end of April. “It will only end when you say the words ‘mercy, please.’” I nodded. “What do you need to say for the spanking to end?” “Mercy, please,” I mumbled.

The riding crop came down with full force on my backside. I yelped. By the fourth stroke, I felt nauseous and almost said the words. But I couldn’t wuss out after only four strokes. And my pride was still smarting from losing that last poker game. I dug my fingers into the floor. Buried my face into the pillow underneath me on the seat of the chair. Soon the strokes were landing on my thighs. He patted the crop on one thigh, then seared my flesh. Stepped to the other side and did the same thing.

Just say the damn words, I told myself. But my pride and curiosity about just how far could I go left me mute.

And so the strokes kept coming. Some in the middle of my ass. Some on the side, which would make me almost jump up from the chair. Some in rapid succession. Some with a second or two in between to catch my breath. When he tapped my thighs, the words would form in my mouth but simply linger along my tongue, despite the tears forming in my eyes as the crop bit into my legs. I’ve never had to use a safe word before because a spanking was too hard. I wanted to keep it that way.

“We’re almost done.” He rubbed his hand along my back. “Almost.” I pursed my lips together. I just had to hold out a bit longer. Several more center strokes. Side strokes. Thigh strokes. Then he put the crop in the corner. “Okay. We’re done.”

It took me a moment to gather my strength to stand up. I was shaking and breathing heavy, convulsive breaths. As I came upright, he drew me against his chest. “My brave, brave girl.” I sniffled and clutched him. “You are one tough cookie.” He kissed my head. “And stubborn. Very stubborn.” I chuckled a little and sniffled some more. Still shaking, still breathing hard.

“You better lay down on the bed.” He rubbed arnica gel on my ass as I laid there wiping my eyes, telling myself that it was over now. The shaking slowly subsided as he skated ice cubes along my throbbing cheeks and thighs. “Now these are the kinds of marks you don’t see in those pictures online.” That made me smile a little. Then he laid down next to me. “Alright. Big cuddle.” And as he held me, I really cried. From relief that it was over. With left over tears from the sadness I wrote about earlier that day. Grateful that he was there to hold me. “You won that one,” he said. I grinned.