The bad, the better and the experimental

So I had the big appointment with the hematologist on Thursday.

The bad news is that because my pulmonary embolism(emboli) was unprovoked (i.e. there's no obvious reason for it) and was a fairly serious one (I had clots in both lungs and fluid around the lung) I'm at high risk for a fatal pulmonary embolism. Therefore I will need to be on anticoagulants for the rest of my life.

The better news is that the bleeding risk may not be as bad as everybody makes out. I asked the hematologist what the risk really is.

"Well, because you're young, the risk for cerebral hemorrhage is about 0.5%."

Which, you know, is comforting. My brain suddenly bleeding would suck.

But that's not quite what I was interested in.

"So, what about, um, well, like...uh...hard impact like stuff."

"Oh, well, you're going to bruise more. But people who work in jobs where they bruise a lot do okay."

This still wasn't answering my real question very well. I was going to have to be specific.

"I..."

I took a deep breath.

"I..."

How to phrase it so I didn't sound like a total freak?

"I..."

I looked at him. Looked at the wall behind him. Looked at the floor. Looked back at him. Looked at the sink. Looked back at him. He had been smiling politely, waiting for me to ask whatever it was I was trying to ask. But the smile was fading as the seconds ticked by. I was just going to have spill it.

"I have a spanking fetish..." I looked at the wall. Then back at the doctor, who for a split second had that "what kind of freak are you?" look. But only for a split second.

"Well..." Now it was his turn to look away and think of an answer. "This is going to sound weird but --"

"-- That's okay," I chuckled. "I've just asked you a weird question."

"You're basically going to have to experiment and figure out what works."

"Yeah," I nodded. "I mean, I knew you weren't going to be able to say specifically what would work."

"Yes," he said. "Unfortunately I can't say 'yes, based on extensive research and clinical trials...'"

We laughed.

"I'm just worried about bleeding like I did in my knee seven years ago when I was on anticoagulants," I said. "I just never want to go through that again." And I don't. That hurt like fucking hell. Like beyond morphine hurt.

"Well, at that time you were post-operative so you were at very high risk of bleeding. And knee bleeds particularly are exquisitely painful. But, you know, you'll bruise more but other than that I don't know. You're young so your veins are strong."

Well, okay. Maybe this life sentence won't be the end of the world.

Upon hearing the news that we were going to need to experiment, A. got out the toys. Lined up the strap, the cane, and the riding crop on the bed. Made me strip down to my panties and bra and bend over the pillows he placed to the left of the implements, where he then left me while he went outside to smoke.

When he returned, it was knickers down. And just to be sadistic -- as well as maybe keep the bruising down -- he rubbed ice over my bottom before laying into me with the strap.

Normally I like the strap, as well as the belt. It will hurt when it first hits but a split second later turn into a very pleasurable sensation.

Not then. It just hurt. A lot!

Damn I'm so out of practice.

When I think about it, this was my first real spanking since the end of December. And that was the only significant one I'd had since August before that.

At any rate, he whacked me for what seemed like a long time. Hard (though he said later they weren't really that hard). And the business end kept nailing me right on the inside of my crack.

Yes, I kicked some. And squirmed to move my bottom out of the way (though not enough to really get it out of the way). And cried out into my pillows.

Then he did a "six of the best" with the strap. Those, he said, were fairly hard. And they sure felt like it.

By this point I was starting to get some anxious-looking red blotches along my crack. A. decided that was enough of the strap.

But that just meant it was time for the cane.

I have to admit, I've been kind of curious about how well I would handle the cane. I can report that while my blood vessels seem to handle it swimmingly, my endorphines were not kicking in like they should have. This time I knew he wasn't hitting me very hard. But it still hurt. To the point where I almost started crying.

I think my spanking virginity grew back like Mija's did.

A. didn't bother with the riding crop. Apparently there are limits to his sadism. Though he did utilize the strap and the cane later on my, um, womanhood. But that was after he cuddled me. And let his fingers wander.

Now that we know he can spank me without fear of me definitely bleeding internally or anything (I mean, there'll always be some risk), he's making use of all his pent up need to spank. He calls it "getting me back into practice." Indeed he's now decided that I'm to be spanked daily. Every night I'm to be on the bed at 6pm with my trousers and knickers down.

::gulp::

I think this is one of those "be careful what you wish for" situations.

So, the good news in all this is that he doesn't even have to spank very hard for it to really hurt. The bad news is that...well, he doesn't even have to spank me very hard for it to really hurt!

But, you know, the important thing is that my spanking life seems safe. :)