Reaquainting my bottom with the belt and more

Despite the whole falling down the stairs thing, I had had a lot of pent up spanking energy the last couple of weeks. And what was really keeping us from playing much was hosting my dad for a few days as he's been having a particularly bad time of it lately. But once we had some time to ourselves last Tuesday night and our cuddling on the bed could lead to groping and petting, all sorts of things happened.

Like A.'s member swelling and myself getting a bit dewy. And me scraping the splint on my finger down his dick (which made it swell more). And my ass getting butt plug-fucked. And, of course, spanked.

At first I did the topping from the bottom bit. "Please don't spank me with your belt!" I begged.

"You so want to get spanked...Say it! I want to hear you tell me what you want," A. demanded.

Hmph! I hate asking!

But as I was naked on all fours with my ass high in the air hungry to feel that belt on my ass, I quickly gave in.

"I want you to spank me," I admitted just above a whisper. "I want you to whip me with your belt."

And, dear reader, he did. And oh did it hurt! Within a couple of strokes, I was swimming in nausea (the room spinning every time I turned my head didn't help matters any) and shocked at how much it stung. I thought about stopping the whole thing but kept thinking I would adjust to the pain. Instead I just kept thinking "oh God -- make it stop!" Thankfully A. sensed this from my yelping and moving about and lightened the strokes, then stopped completely and went about trying to increase my endorphines the old-fashioned vanilla way.

And I didn't even get a decent orgasm out of it. Even worse, I was soooo sore the next day (worse than falling down 23 stairs!). I mean, some of those muscles haven't been used for, like, eight months.

Needless to say, it kind of put me off spanking for a bit. At least any spankings with implements. I was still craving the odd hand spanking. But frankly, my friends, I was rather afraid of encountering that belt again. Or straps and ping pong paddles. And hairbrushes, canes and riding crops were too hideous to even contemplate.

So when A. announced the night before last that he wanted to finally break in our new futon-cum-spanking bench, I was a bit reticent. I mean, I was sorta in the mood for a spanking, but more of a little girl over the knee hand spanking sort. And I certainly wasn't in much of a submissive or sexual mood. I had been feeling annoyed with everything since the night before, though I didn't know why. As I watched A. get out just about every implement we own, I felt even more ambivalent and slightly sick.

Yet I think it was that fear that finally pushed me to go ahead with it. If I wussed out, the fear would just grow and it would be even harder to meet up with that belt again. Or any other implement for that matter.

So I stripped as ordered (except the cast boot on my left ankle that I sprained in September which the doctor said on Monday I have to wear all the time now, not just when I leave the house, because it's still not healed), though pouted a bit to myself as I did. Sat naked on the bed while he went out for a smoke. Contemplated my impending thrashing, still feeling petulant and afraid, yet also determined. When he returned, I timidly made my way to and over the new bench. As I rested my arms on the seat of futon and laid my ample bottom right on top as my feet dangled several inches above the carpet, my emotions felt like two weather fronts about to collide in the form of a nasty storm. My eyes were already slightly moist. This was it. This just might be the time I actually cried.

After giving me several smacks with his hand, A. decided he wanted my bottom a bit lower. I jiggled my hips down so that my toes touched the floor. He smacked me a few more times, then started softly with the strap. But the edge of the top of the futon was pressing against my pelvis -- you know, the pelvis that always hurts -- and the nausea started trickling back.

"I gotta move," I practically whined. A. fetched a couple of pillows to place under my pelvis as I scooted my bottom back up on top. This was bit more comfortable and after I took a deep breath, A. continued with the strapping.

"What's that like on a scale of 1-10?" he asked after a succession of progressively harder strokes.

I always find that a difficult question to answer in the midst of a spanking because at that moment it will feel a lot more painful than if I have time to compare it with other spankings. On the other hand, each spanking is unique and this one in particular had some very specific conditions attached to it making this a necessary question.

"Um...maybe a seven or so," I answered.

"Let's see if we can get it up to an eight or a nine."

Ugh.

"I'm going to give you 12 strokes. Count them, please."

I groaned aloud reflexively before I remembered that was serious transgression.

"Yes, Sir," I said as submissively as I could. But it was too late.

"Was that a groan I heard?" A. asked as he patted my head.

I stopped for a second to consider if somehow I could spin it as something else but quickly decided to just apologize and hope he had mercy.

"I'm sorry, Sir."

"Right. That will be an additional six."

D'oh! I almost groaned aloud again by accident but stopped it with a deep breath just in time.

A. brought the strap down with a reasonable amount of force. Certainly not full force, but definitely harder than he had been. After the first six strokes, he changed sides so my left cheek wouldn't feel left out. At nine and ten, I was getting close to my limit, especially as the strap kept landing just inside my cheeks. At twelve he rubbed my bottom and switched sides again.

"Now for the extra six. Continue counting, please."

I think it was during those six that my endorphine spigot finally turned on (in addition to another sort of spigot). When he finished with the extra six and groped my bottom, I eagerly pulled my legs apart. His fingers wandered a bit, just as I'd hoped they would.

But he wasn't done with that strap yet. And I wasn't quite finished pouting either. Indeed, a part of me was even just a little irritated that I was getting aroused. Yet I couldn't deny that I was hungry for that strap even as it hurt so much. When he switched to the ping pong paddle and it kept hitting me just inside where my thigh and cheek meet, I so wanted to plead and beg him to stop. And I also wanted more. More, more, more, more, more...

Of course he did stop -- with the spanking, that is -- and turned his attention to more intimate areas. I still didn't come (I'm not sure if I can in that position), but I did feel all nice, warm and fuzzy when I laid down a few minutes later (which I made sure to do earlier this time as I didn't want to get too sore again).

However I still felt like crying. As I got ready for bed I thought about asking A. to spank me more. To give me a hard spanking full force with the hairbrush until I bawled my eyes out. But when it really came down to it, I knew I probably wouldn't get the release I needed that way.

No, I needed to do it in a less kinky, less fun way -- sitting down with myself and being aware of my feelings. So I went to bed and A. went back to work at the desk in the kitchen and I pouted and cried my way through my frustration at having to spend so much time going to doctors appointments lately and being too tired to do much of anything else. And having a broken finger that makes typing hard. And a stupid ankle that STILL has to be in a cast boot. Yeah it was definitely wallowing. But somehow by letting myself wallow, I went to sleep feeling a lot better.

And by pushing myself over the back of that futon, I was able to feel a lot better about getting thrashed. Which is good because tomorrow is my birthday -- the most spankable day of the year.

How do you think I should get my 35 whacks?