Post Number: 19
|Posted on Saturday, August 25, 2007 - 04:03 pm: ||
Well, I got the first installment of my series of spankings. He was actually nice and lumped three transgressions into one punishment. The downside to this was that ultimately, it made the spanking much more intense, but at least I got them out of the way.
It started with corner time. I had never done this but had recently asked for it. It was--surprise, surprise--boring as hell. I must say, though, that I enjoyed the anticipation. I could also hear him in the bedroom, digging around in the toy box. It's funny, all the times he's blindfolded me have made me aware of the way each implement sounds. As he was pulling them out, I was getting a pretty good idea of what I was in for.
After ten minutes in the corner, he called out that I could take a seat on the couch. He came out a few minutes later and knelt before me. He rubbed my arms and gently explained that my spanking would have four parts--a warm-up and then clear episodes dedicated to the three different things I'd done.
Then he pulled me down to the floor, so that I was on all fours. I was wearing his college t-shirt and some hipster panties. When he pulled up the shirt, he started cracking up. The underwear said "Miss Tease" in big letters across the butt. I always do my best to inject some levity into my punishments, you see. Most of the time this works against me, but this time I got him.
Anyway, he started with a none-too-gentle hand warm-up. After a few minutes of that, he instructed me to go to the bedroom and get the long lexan paddle. He then returned me to the corner, hands on the wall, and started to whack away. At this point, I made the grave mistake of mouthing off. He stopped with the lexan, and walked away. When he came back, he was holding our new fibo cane. Our new, much hated fibo cane. I was instructed to drop my underwear, and count off fifteen. Yikes, that thing hurts. I promised myself to keep my ideas to myself for the rest of the punishment. After the caning, he came back with the lexan paddle for a couple minutes. Once I began to hop from one foot to another and really claw at the walls, he was kind enough to remind me that this was still just the warm-up.
After that, he gave me another time-out. I stood there, rubbing like crazy, while he went to the kitchen. That could only mean one thing, and when I heard the ice cube tray crack, I knew I was right. Argh, I hate hate hate when he incorporates water!
He led me into the bedroom and had me lay on the bed over some pillows. He iced down my bottom. You may think he was doing this to help me feel better after the cane and the lexan. Ah, you give him too much credit. He did this because he is a science geek and loves physics and so he often incorporates the principle of adhesion into our punishments. I don't know the scientific hows and whys to it, but I can tell you that when he wets down my bottom and then goes after me with a paddle, it hurts about ninety bazillion catrillion time more than usual.
And boy, did it. He picked up the BC (ahem, CB) paddle and really swung for the fences. He had me kicking and howling and rolling off the pillows after only a few strikes. I always underestimate that paddle anyway--we have so many other seemingly more severe toys--I'm always surprised at just how much that thing can sting.
I mentioned in another post that he records my misdeeds in a small notebook, and that I recently had the ingenious idea to write in the notebook. Twice. Anyway, I got punished last week for the actual writing, but what he was more mad about, and what I was punished for last night, was the way I told him and the way I tried to get out of punishment. You see, I decided it would be a good thing to admit to during sex. He'd be in a better mood, and maybe look more kindly upon me. Wrong. I also decided it was smart to insist that it was "an accident." Yeah, I fell and two paragraphs of writing magically appeared in your book. And then I kept trying to get out of it. So as he was going after me with the BC, he kept asking, "Was it an accident?" and making me say, over, and over, "No sir, I did it on purpose." He really likes to drive the point home this way. I may not like it, but it does seem effective.
After admitting for the millionth time that I didn't have a spontaneous writing accident, he finally let up. For about two seconds. Then I got another (mercifully short) round of the cane.
And then he iced me down again. This time, though, it really did make my poor red butt feel better. He did this to be nice, and even dried me off to spare me from another wet round. I am very grateful for this small act of kindness, because the next round hurt enough without any help from science.
Anyone out there have the DD strap from the London Tanners? I wonder if I am alone in the experience I always have with it. For the first, say, five smacks, I think, "Ah, this isn't so bad. I'll be fine." And then the pain just mounts and mounts until I am a moaning, kicking, rolling wreck. Well, this is how it went for round two. He swung and scolded and swung and scolded some more, and a blubbered and begged and blubbered and begged. And you know what the jerk's repetitive phrase for this round (the round addressing telling him during sex) was? "Mitigation makes it worse." Do you have any idea how hard it is to say "mitigation" while getting strapped?? Let me tell you: it's not easy at all. I'm no dummy--I'm a teacher and am the master of quite a vocabulary--but as he hit me with that darn thing, I stumbled over the word again and again. He does this on purpose. He's a meanie.
Then there was more ice, and then the thing we affectionately call the oar. It's some sort of wooden cooking utensil. I have no clue what its real purpose is--maybe stirring army-sized portions of chili? It's about two feet long and very solid. It stings like the dickens. He hit me slowly but hard, really letting the burn set in after each stroke. He finished of with a quick volley, though, that almost made me forget my name.
After that, there was more ice and one hell of a decision to make. Would I take one round of the rubber paddle or three times the strokes with a mixture of Jokari, our huge bath brush, and the short, thick lexan?
Well, I hate the rubber paddle more than words can describe, but I'd have to be an idiot to go for the extended, multi-implement round. I suffered from some slight distress as I heard myself asking for the rubber paddle, let me tell you. It's really not the type of thing I ever thought I'd ask for! He informed me that for our final round, for trying for over a week to get out of any sort of punishment, for bugging the heck out of him, I'd receive twenty-five smacks from the rubber.
To be honest, I think I sort of started crying before he even started. I'm really afraid of that paddle. I know I was crying in earnest by six. I was sobbing by eighteen. After twenty, he stopped for a minute and let me compose myself. No matter, though. At twenty-two I was blabbering again. Twenty-three came down like a ton of bricks, but I was happily surprised when twenty-four and five were mercifully not nearly as hard as the rest. I laid there, crying into my pillow, a little too embarrassed by my tears (this is only the second time I've ever cried) to face him. He leaned over and whispered in my ear that I was all done, and that he loved me. I apologized (I have learned only to apologize at the END of spankings. If I say sorry during a spanking he says that I would say the sky was red if he told me to and that apologies don't mean anything and then he hits me harder). He said, "You're forgiven," and kissed my neck.
Then there was some more ice, and what happened next is none of your business!
Sorry if this was too long. It certainly felt like an eternity while it was happening! I thought, though, that since I get no sympathy whatsoever from him, I might try you guys!
Post Number: 541
|Posted on Sunday, August 26, 2007 - 02:26 am: ||
Owie, Claire!!! I don't think I could have taken that much. You certainly have my sympathy.
But, I can't, for the world, imagine what got into you to write in the bloody book in the first place. Seriously. You had to know how it would end. Maybe you needed the "attention"?
Post Number: 31
|Posted on Sunday, August 26, 2007 - 06:38 pm: ||
Double Owie!! You have all my sympathy too. I can't imagine the ice, its bad enough when he swats me after a shower. I would think the ice might make it hurt alot worse. Especially if it wasn't enough to numb everything. Just make it really cold.
Post Number: 229
|Posted on Monday, August 27, 2007 - 07:37 am: ||
You gotta hate those stupid notebooks (i have one too) mine is never up to date. But you are a tougher woman than i am, sounds like you handled it very well.
Once a princess always a princess
Post Number: 301
|Posted on Monday, September 03, 2007 - 02:16 pm: ||
wow claire I could not have made it through that much without bawling like a hysterical two year old! what on earth did you write in that silly notebook? Learned your lesson eh? well you've got my sympathy too!!
Naughty little soldiers are always caught shaking in their combat boots.