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Asking for it: II

Posted at 08:18 on 17 Apr 2009 by Pandora / Blake

Tags: dominance and submission, kink, seasonal spankings, Thomas Cameron

The highlight of last week, in terms of play, was definitely the belated birthday spanking I got from Tom. (I still think it's horribly mean of him to beat me for his birthday as well as mine, not least because he's seven years older than me...) We hadn't planned to play that evening; in fact, I'd forgotten that I'd been promised 32 strokes to mark the passing of another year. I was working from home, and I still had work to finish when he arrived that evening. He relaxed with a book while I wrapped things up as quickly as I could.

By the time I'd emailled my client the finished project, I was feeling tired and frazzled. Tom was already installed on my sofa, so I couldn't use his arrival as a way to signal to my brain that it was time to stop concentrating on work and start relaxing. I went over and gave him a cuddle, but I couldn't seem to chill out, and the prospect of starting to cook dinner without a proper break was daunting.

So, I asked for a spanking. Politely and submissively, of course; despite my tentative bratting with D., I still hate the idea of being a demanding sub, all BEAT ME NOW. Tom smiled, kissed my hand, and said he was pleased with me for asking. So that was okay.

Upstairs, I obeyed his instructions to pull down my jeans and stack up pillows in the middle of the bed. I'd expected to go over his knee, but instead he held me in place with a firm hand on the small of my back while he spanked me with the other. It was lovely. Some of my thoughts were still snagged on work stress, but I tried to ignore it and focus on the sensations. He started lightly enough that I was soon squirming and making appreciative noises, and then he built it up, holding me in place the whole time, until each slow smack was so hard it seemed to melt my flesh to the palm of his hand for an instant. It hurt like hell, but only for a second or two, and then there was that hot stinging, spreading glow, and his hand on my back was warm and reassuring, and after a while I was definitely not thinking about work any more.

When he finally stopped I was flushed and giddy and full of energy. I wanted to bounce onto his lap, or make dinner, or do something else affirming and wenchly, but he had other plans. One gentle kiss, and back over the cushions I went. He found my medium straight-handled cane, and started to deliver my - his - birthday strokes.

They were swift, crisp, and shocking. By the end of the first six my giddy mood had fled, and I was clinging to the pillows for dear life. The next six and I was silently begging him to slow down, give me time to recover between each one, but I didn't dare plead out loud, and he kept on at the same relentless pace. Each biting stroke elicited a gasp that turned into a sob as soon as the next layered it, and the next, so that at the end of each set of six tears were running down my face. I struggled, helplessly, against the hand that still had me firmly pinned to the bed.

I felt well and truly sorry for myself. This wasn't what I'd wanted. I'd wanted a friendly, loving spanking, enough to ground me in my body and rejuvenate me for the evening. I didn't want to be pushed, I didn't want to cry, I didn't want my recently-achieved good mood to be torn apart by the flashing cane. This wasn't what I'd asked for!

But, of course, that was entirely not the point. This wasn't about what I wanted; this was my Dom's birthday caning, and my duty was to accept it with good grace. So I tried my hardest to be obedient. What my body wanted to do was jump up and refuse to go on, but my head and heart forced it to stay in place. I sagged onto the bed, weeping hot tears into the crumpled pillows.

Four firm strokes to round it off and it was over, and I was being cuddled, and it was all okay. I don't know if Tom would have preferred me to enjoy his birthday spanking unreservedly, but I didn't resist (even if I wasn't particularly brave) which I guess is what counts.

I suppose if I'd been allowed to keep my temporary euphoria I would only have crashed back down later on. The security of being caned whether I wanted to or not was rewarding in a different way.


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