Weekend Spanking Challenge - Spanking #3

Another still from Fierce Foreplay. Though the position is different from the one in Spanking #3, the idea of caning atop an already sore bottom is much the same.

We knew going into the third spanking session of the weekend that we were only doing it because of the challenge. There’s been a flu going around and Mr. W wasn’t feeling great, so we’d established ahead of time that there would be no sex afterwards. Since our play is never for punishment and always, no matter how fierce the session might, a form of foreplay, the no-sex stipulation confused the mood. However, in hopes that he’d be feeling better for Spanking Number Four, we went gamely ahead with the plan.

This time, most of the implements came from a repurposed musical instrument case where we keep our lesser used toys. He laid out the riding crop, an odd wood paddle with a long handle and a spanking surface that is only about four inches long by an inch and a half wide, and a barber strop that is a bit stiffer than the one we used the first night.

He guided me to the corner of the bed and had me spread my legs and bend forward. This keeps the inner parts of my thighs available, since I can’t put my legs back together when I’m essentially straddling the mattress.  Then he made as if he was going to begin with the odd paddle. “You’re not beginning with that!” I demanded.

“You brought this on yourself,” he noted. It was such a punishment spanking thing to say, but he was right. I had committed to the experience and to documenting it, and what’s the point of documenting a four-day spanking experience if on day three, I don’t receive the full red-bottom treatment?

He put down the paddle and began smacking me with the crop. He was focusing on the center of my bottom, slapping the crop so that it would curve as my body curves, getting the inner part of each cheek, up and down the crack. I cried out with each slap. I have trouble with the sting of the crop on a regular day, never mind bearing it on my already sore backside. I began to think that I wasn’t going to make it.

I was yelping and whimpering and making a general fuss. He switched to the strop, which I’m usually better about handling, at least after the first few strokes. This time, I could not stop howling. The pain was intense and I couldn’t find anything erotic in it. When a spanking begins to really hurt, I like to remind myself of how hot my ass must look to Mr. W, how hard he’s going to be by the time we finish. Remembering this moment now as I write about it, I wish I’d been able to draw encouragement just from knowing that I was doing something new and challenging, that I wasn’t just arousing Mr. W but also, hopefully, readers around the world. Not to mention that even if I didn’t feel sexy in the moment, this weekend will now forever be an erotic hallmark of my spanking and writing life.  Instead, I felt a scream rising in my throat, the kind of wail that once released is so hard to stop. The tears that had been gathering began to pour. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” I said. “I can’t.”

For a moment, we both thought I meant that I couldn’t go through with the spanking. I took a deep breath. “Can I have the gag?” I pointed at the drawer. “I want to keep going, but I am making way too much noise.”

He took the gag out, placed the ball into my open mouth, and buckled it firmly in place. I returned to position; he returned to the strop. It still hurt every bit as much, but biting into the gag made me feel both safer and sexier.

After the strop whipping, he went back to the drawer and pulled out a double leather strap with each piece split down the middle. I’m not sure if I should call it a strap, a tawse, or a paddle, since it also has a handle. It’s by Cane-iac, and they call it the Angel Maker. Someday, once it’s worn in, I think it could become one of my favorites, although I doubt it will ever make me angelic. As it began to crack across my bottom, each smack making me bite down harder on the gag, I felt more as if I was in hell.

I grabbed the barber strop just for something firm to hold onto as the double-strap continued its rain of fire. When Mr. W began to spread the burn to my thighs, I tightened my grip on the strop, holding it now with both hands, pulling it close to my face. I inhaled and realized the strop smelled comforting. The old leather reminded me of our many trips to antique shops around Oregon, which is why we do have so many barber strops lying around. The scent was of excitement and anticipation, of finding something old that we would bring home to use as a new toy. I continued to inhale and made it through the rest of the double-strapping.

We took a moment to breathe. I maneuvered the gag out of my mouth; he rubbed my bottom gently with both hands. I reached back. My skin was warm and taut, the flesh so sore everywhere I touched that I stopped touching myself. There was no broken skin, just a very well-spanked bottom that wasn’t through being spanked.

“Ready?” asked Mr. W. I put the gag back between my lips and nodded. He lifted the odd paddle. I wasn’t going to get out of it again. He began tapping me, back and forth from cheek to cheek, and even that made me squirm and moan into my gag. He struck a little harder, then returned to the tapping, keeping up this pattern of one real smack for every ten taps or so. After four or five of the harder slaps with the paddle, he went back to the drawer and got the flogger from Spanking Number Two, the one that had felt so amazing at the end of the session.

It whipped across my thighs first, then across my bottom harder than I can remember it ever feeling. The leather, usually so delicious that even the stinging blows feel good, felt like a birch. The whipping was steady and my entire backside and thighs were begging for respite with none to be found. I spit the gag out again so that the ball was just under my chin. “Tonight, this does not feel fucking amazing.” He laughed and kept on whipping me.

Finally, he stopped. He soothed my bottom again. “Almost done,” he whispered. “This was my worst idea ever,” I whispered back.

He pulled the thinnest cane from the umbrella stand that holds all our canes in the corner of the room. “Yes, you really got yourself into it this time,” he agreed.

I kept the gag out of my mouth. I knew we were on the last implement of the night and that if I’d made it through everything else, I could handle the little cane. It would sting. I would probably cry. But then it would be over, and in lieu of sex, there would be freshly baked pumpkin pie. It had been in the oven for about an hour, and I realized the scent had wafted into the bedroom.

Mr. W began to cane me lightly, letting the pain be more about the little whippy stick slapping my thrashed bottom than about creating any new torment, but I still thought to myself, “We’ll see if I ever make you pie again!” Then as the cane-slapping continued, I took the thought back. I really had brought this upon myself, and for good reason. I began to review the implements we’d used, the moments of dialogue I wanted to remember, the kaleidoscope of emotions I’d experienced. The cane kept distracting me, but I began to feel like the spanking had been worth it after all for what I could write about it later.

After about fifteen slaps, a very different way to use the cane but an effective way to wrap up the spanking by combining the sensations of all the previous implements together in one stinging layer of heat, Mr. W took the lotion from my dresser and massaged my backside.The aftercare worked. I have just three small pink bruises, not even blue or violet like a regular bruise. I am completely and incredibly sore, but it’s impossible to tell by looking at my bare bottom.

Tonight, we finish the challenge. There will be a basic warm-up, followed by an actual caning, with at least twenty-four strokes, though Mr. W keeps teasing me with forty-eight. I hope he‘s teasing, that is. No cane-slaps are in store this time. He’s feeling much better than he was last night, and I feel ready to take this last part of my thorough beating. I’m anxiously awaiting the final session, and already aroused. I will be welted. I will be wet. And I will be writing about it for you tomorrow.


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Weekend Spanking Challenge - Spanking #1
Weekend Spanking Challenge - Spanking #2.
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Weekend Spanking Challenge - Spanking #4