Posted at 23:23 on 9 Jan 2012 by Pandora / Blake
This weekend was Paul and Lucy's housewarming party, an epic gathering of kinksters which quickly accounted for my second, third and fourth spankings of 2012. But the first was on Friday night, at home with D.
Before new year we'd indulged our dressing-up hobby and gone halves on a gothic lolita "geisha girl" outfit a friend was selling. This was the first chance I'd had to try it on. It involved rather more fabric than is usual in sexy costumes - the sleeves alone could easily serve as a small tent - but it was nicely fitted on the bodice and short in the skirt. I particularly enjoyed being laced into the sash/waist-cincher, complete with large bow in the small of the back. The result was pleasantly snug, and made me aware of the contours of my body without revealing them.
Unfortunately, I realised the limitations of my new outfit when D instructed me to bend over the foot of the bed. I leaned forward to place my palms on the mattress - and instantly the fabric constricted around my underarms, painfully tight. We hadn't seen much of each other all week and I was feeling a little unsure of myself. Suddenly my self-consciousness bloomed into doubt and insecurity. Was this going to work?
I told D what was happening, and he stopped to think. He asked me what positions might not cause the constriction, but I couldn't think of any. The high heels he'd requested made me unsteady on my feet, and I needed something to lean on. But any of the options (wall, headboard) required lifting my arms at least 90 degrees. D was waiting for me to make a suggestion and I was feeling increasingly uncertain and frightened. Eventually, unable to come up with a better solution, I just bent over the bed again. D picked up the leather strap and started work. But as the first few spanks of the year landed on my overdue bottom, all I felt was miserable about the maddeningly painful tightness around my underarms. I was so distracted that the swats barely registered.
It was no good. I stood up and told D that it wasn't working. I felt like I was about to cry. He kissed me, attempting to reassure me, but I was closing up, trying to keep control of my emotions and not let him see how fragile I was feeling. Of course, that wasn't going to fly. He stopped, looked me in the eye and told me to kiss him properly. I tried to relax, but it was hard to let go when I was still trying to suppress the irrational rising panic.
D went next door and busied himself doing ... something, while I sat on the bed and tried to get a grip. He came back through and led me into the lounge with a smile on his face. I saw what he'd set up: the big beanbag on its end in front of the sofa, coming up to waist height. He helped me lean over it and I rested my forearms on the sofa as he picked up the strap again.
The strapping wasn't hard, but as the pain combined with my vulnerability I found the release I needed. The tears I'd been holding back started to flow almost immediately. The strap wrapped itself around my bottom - not with any great severity, almost with affection - and I sobbed and sobbed.
After a little while he stopped and used his hand instead. Suddenly I felt enveloped in warmth and comfort. Despite hurting as much as the leather, if not more, the familiar weight of his palm made me feel loved and safe.
He rubbed my bottom and came to see how I was doing. I sniffled up at him and attempted a smile. He was clearly concerned, and it was very important that he knew he didn't need to be. I mustered my courage and managed to say that hardest of things, in barely a whisper: "please don't stop." Once that was out, the words came easier. "I'm not crying because it's too much: I just need to cry."
He smiled, and stroked my hair. "Okay."
After that, of course, I didn't need to cry any more. But he didn't stop spanking me until I'd got what I needed.