Weekend Spanking Challenge - Spanking #1

The little red paddle I like so much for warm-ups, as featured in "Fierce Foreplay." I'm not currently filming or photographing my spankings, but I'll try to find some decent pics for each day of our Spanking Challenge. Probably from this film. It's my favorite of everything we shot.

By the time Mr. W ended my spanking last night with four good strokes of the cane, I was ready to start all over again. My bottom was so hot that the heat had risen into my face. The tears that had escaped intermittently in answer to the harder strokes were already drying, while certain other parts of me were so wet that I felt I’d never be dry again.  Even as we completed the session, his nails scratching and squeezing the marks that he’d left on my backside as he took me from behind, I’d asked, “Do you need to cane me just a few more times, Sir?” He didn’t. I just wasn’t ready for the sensory overload to end.

That was Thursday night. It’s now Friday morning, my bottom tender but not really bruised or welted, and I’m ready for round two. I have all day to wonder which implements he’ll use, how many strokes, and what marks will be left for tomorrow, when we attempt round three.

This weekend, we have accepted a self-devised Weekend Spanking Challenge. While doing some data entry at work yesterday, my mind wandered to what I wanted to blog about next, knowing that for the weekend, I wanted to post a descriptive spanking experience. We’d already planned a little playtime for last night, in the now time-honored tradition of “I’ll give you something to blog about.” At first I thought it might be time for a cold caning, with a spanking then administered over the welts, which Mr. W and I both like conceptually, although for me it’s less fun when the concept becomes reality. Not less hot, mind you, just less of a good idea when I remember how much that actually hurts. Then I started thinking about receiving a spanking on an already spanked bottom, then another, then another, and I texted Mr. W to see if he was up for administering a thorough spanking each night, starting with Thursday and ending Sunday. “Challenge accepted,” he texted back. And so the Weekend Spanking Challenge was set into motion.

We began the session last night with an over the knee warming with my favorite little red leather paddle. It’s not Mr. W’s implement of choice because it’s so light, but it sets me up perfectly for taking a much longer beating. It stings just right so that my vocal response is part pain, part pleasure, while my bottom develops that lovely barely pink hue, the color that cries out, “Beat me harder.”

In between whacks of my preferred starter paddle, Mr. W would insert a few smacks of our firmer leather paddle, the one that comes first in the parade of implements in my blog header. He then switched just to this paddle, and I almost backed out of the entire plan. There’s something about the pain of it that just makes me angry. I’ve never had an experience with an implement that makes me feel so much like reaching around and hitting Mr. W right back. I growl in response to it, or hiss. I feel, I imagine, like a rabid wildcat, ready to strike out and attack. Even as I began to cry, I was so very angry, and began to hold back my vocalizations in retribution.

The strange thing is that he’s not striking very hard with it. It’s the paddle itself. I think it’s cursed. Or possibly not broken in yet. We’ve had it for three years, but I hate it so much that it nearly ruins every spanking session. Diligent as he is, Mr. W keeps bringing it out, but I’m starting to think I may need to take it to a construction site and let some large machinery drive over it a few times, and if that doesn’t fix it, it can be buried in the foundation for all I care.

Fortunately, we then switched to a leather strap, saving the spanking, if not my bottom. It’s an extremely well worn leather barber strop, soft and pliable, and I could be whipped all day with it. He started by folding it over and smacking me a bit that way, easing me away from my paddle fury. Then he had me get up on my knees on the bed so he could let the full strap land across my backside. He warmed me further, letting that pink shade slowly turn to red. The whipping was steady, firm but not cruel, and he soon determined I was ready for the tawse.

The tawse feels much to me like the cane, though I can handle more strokes of it, and if I’m fully warmed, the combination of stinging shock and searing heat spread through my whole body with each stroke. We haven’t played heavily with the tawse in a long time, because I haven’t really been up for the full spanking process. Instead, we’ve spanked as foreplay, and even then I would often tell a story to Mr. W as he spanked me, so that we’d very quickly get on with the post-spanking activities. There is something to be said for a spanking described in detail, outloud, while naked and taking just a few strokes here and there until the story collapses into sex and moaning, but that is another post.

Back to the tawse. I have no idea how many strokes I took. I can’t even say how hard they were. They stung, certainly, and a few licked the insides of my cheeks as well as they licked the fuller parts of my bottom, though none went so far as to strike where I wanted to be struck in last Sunday’s post about the crop. I’d reached that spanking nirvana, the place where the hits can just keep on coming. I would fall forward or rear up in response to various strokes, two of which I can still feel distinctly this morning, one on each cheek, but the rest is a blur. For me, it’s like each stroke is it’s own small universe, in which everything exists in response to the pain of just that stroke, whether light or intense. By the end of the tawsing, there was a stroke that made me reach forward, losing the arch of my back as I buckled to the intensity. I thought, in that moment, that I would faint, or die, or at least leave my body. I was nothing but the specific point where the tawse had landed. And then I was fine, ready for the next small universe to overcome me, but by then it was on to the cane.

I had to correct my position, as I had managed to splay myself all over the place. I had blanket in my mouth, I was keeling off to one side, and my bottom was not nearly presented as a target or as a present. I knelt once again, knees at the bottom edge of the bed, legs spread and calves and feet in the air. I leaned forward, arching my back, pushing my bottom back towards Mr. W so that the cane could strike in full.

He tapped my backside with the cane and sawed it lightly back and forth, letting me know the first place the cane would land. “I’m going to give you four strokes of the cane, young lady,” he advised, “Are you ready?”

I’m never ready. I’m always ready. I don’t want it, and then I want more. This weekend, I’m committed to receiving it, whether I want it or not. Last night was a warm up. Tonight, I know there will be the wooden paddle this time, more leather of some kind, and of course, we will end with the cane, just a few strokes, because Sunday is the real caning day, the day this will all come to fruition and end with what I expect to be a fully welted bottom and mind-blowing sex, followed by Chinese take-out.

I’m committed to documenting our weekend here. Therefore, expect to see an update on round two tomorrow. Since I still have three spankings coming this weekend, we’re also up for suggestions of ways to mix it up. If you made it through this entire post, I’m happy to receive a few of your suggested strokes in thanks.

Continue reading:
Weekend Spanking Challenge - Spanking #2.
Weekend Spanking Challenge - Spanking #3
Weekend Spanking Challenge - Spanking #4