Waiting for It

Prior to Arrival

We were scheduled for a follow-up session and an opportunity to take things to another level. We agreed to Saturday -- but had not finalized the time -- and I was anxious to confirm. My excitement level was high. My fantasies of an enhanced spanking (and more) had been building.

But there was no answer to my text messages. I was checking often and inventing excuses for why there was radio silence. By 7:00 Saturday night, I had suspected that I had been ghosted -- and my excitement was dashed -- only to be replaced with a sense of rejection. Play time was all that I had planned. I had worked out hard and was planning to eat light in preparation. Instead, I made pizza, drank some wine and turned on a movie to appease my betrayal.

I glanced at my phone in passing - and there was a message from Daddy. He didn't get the previous texts until they all showed up at once. He was reaching out to see if I was still available. My resolve to decline to play if he did get in touch was immediately gone. I texted back that I was available and did want a session. The interim was filled with anxiety. I set up the playroom (my basement gym with full length mirror), brushed my teeth and cradled my wine glass in heightened anticipation.

Start of Spanking

I opened the door when Daddy arrived. "Why are you dressed" he ordered. I tore off my gym shorts and tee shirt. I stepped out of my flip flops and was naked in a matter of seconds. Daddy smiled his approval. I led him downstairs. He sat in the chair and looked up at me. "Let's start with a hand spanking to warm things up" as he patted his knee. Over I went. Anticipation had shifted to expectation. It was about to begin.

Daddy didn't waste time. He started spanking my ass. Not hard, but definitely real. Spank, spank, spank of practiced intention. The pain announced itself sooner than expected. Spank, spank, spank - the pace was steady, and the intensity was rising. He had my immediate attention. I had no choice but to focus on managing the growing sting. This was the second time Daddy had spanked me. After the first (which was just a "get to know you" session) I was aware that I was in for a real, not in my control, wish it were over before it is over spanking.

Spank, spank, spank, spank without pause. How does a simple hand spanking build up so fast to become a need to just hold on? Spank, spank, spank. I started to squirm and push back against his body. "Where are you going" he whispered as he held me down. Spank, spank, spank with increasing force. The pain was building to a mild crescendo. I was squirming and contorting with an involuntary need to fight back. I am strong, but nothing compared to Daddy. He is 5'11" of solid muscle. Mixed race. Gorgeous. It was obvious that he could control me, so he permitted me to struggle in place as he returned to the spanking.

Spank, spank, spank as I gazed at my own reflection in the mirror. Watching myself naked over Daddy's lap -- somewhat removed in one sense, but painfully real in another. I was unable to watch and incapable of looking away. The spanking continued and I wasn't in control of any of it. Just as the sting had reached a new level, Daddy stopped. "Let's see what you brought."

My Toys

I had set out my toys in preparation. A wood bath brush. A solid slat from a drawer. A belt and a vintage Cragin professional paddle with heft. Daddy smiled as he lifted the wooden slat. It was a perfect spanking implement and my "go to" paddle when I am on my own. Back down on the chair as he pulled me again over his knee. Spank, spank, spank with sharp intensity. The slat hurts. It fits the hand perfectly and delivers a solid spanking. I cried out in anguish. Warm up was over. The spankings continued. I was gritting my teeth as the paddle fell. Spank, spank -- my body arched out flat in response to the sting. Spank, spank, spank -- I was holding on for dear life. Spank, spank -- the combined effect of his actions pushing me over the top. My grunts, cries and writhing told Daddy that I needed a break.

I fell off his lap and Daddy let me go. "Get some water." I thirstily gulped down some water as I recovered from the spanking. My adrenaline was pumping, but the immediacy of the moment was no longer panic. I looked over at Daddy and asked him if I could say something. "I thought you weren't going to come tonight" I muttered. For some unknown reason I felt the need to confess... "I have been drinking some whiskey." There was no reason for the confession, but I needed to blurt out something.

"Make me a whiskey" Daddy said with a smile. I bounded up the stairs and returned with a tumbler full of ice. I poured a healthy amount. Daddy picked up the bath brush. "Let's let the ice mellow the whiskey while we return to your spanking." It was a classic bath brush and entitled to its reputation as an item of fear. "I made that brush by pulling out the bristles" I said for no reason. "You will probably regret making it" he said softly.

I did. I hate the bath brush. It has earned its reputation. Back over I went as the brush slammed my ass. The sharp sting made me cry out loud. Ow! Spank, spank, spank. Ahh! Spank, spank, spank. Ugh! Daddy spanked me with regularity. The pain built to a crescendo. I was writhing and squirming, but he held me in place. Spank, spank, spank. My legs thrust out behind me. I was clenching my bottom involuntarily. My eyes were shut tight against the sting. Spank, spank, spank without pause. It was impossible to take but I was helpless to make it stop. And just as I reached the point of no return, Daddy was merciful. "Let's get some water."

I was bouncing with energy. My endorphins were pulsing through my body. I felt ignited and charged up. The amazing part is that the spankings hurt while the paddle is falling, but the pain subsided when I was released. I was alive, excited and dancing in place. Daddy permitted me to pour myself a shot of whiskey which I threw back with gusto.

Daddy's Belt

Daddy instructed me to move the chair forward and hold onto the backrest. I was standing in the spotlight of my basement gym. The light was shining on my chest and arms accentuating my muscles. I was proud of my physique and transfixed by my own image. I wanted to look good for Daddy so that he would want to spank me. And spank me he did.

Daddy went to his own bag of implements and held forth the belt. It was solid leather strap that looked substantial. I have a thing for belts and stared at Daddy's reflection - wide eyed and expectant. His gaze was focused and determined. I watched him draw his arm back and "thwack" -- the blow announced itself with vigor. The pain was exquisite, forcing me to cry out in response. More blows landed. The sting was multiplying at an exponential rate. Thwack, thwack, thwack. I jumped forward -- my entire body gyrating and cringing with each blow. "This is what you wanted isn't it?" I gathered myself and replied... "yes Daddy, this is what I want."

And he didn't hold back. The blows rained down in fury. I was twisting and grunting in controlled anguish. Thwack... thwack... thwack. Every swat. Every blow unfolding before me and screaming its reality. Daddy was really laying into me. Blow after blow. Sometimes driving me to my knees only to have me scrambling back into position. Daddy allowed me to recover for a brief moment after each stroke, but his belting was unrelenting. "Get some water" he finally offered -- lifting me out of the fixation of watching my own whipping.

I rose up to my full stature. My adrenaline powered roar was intense and uncontrolled. I was dancing in place and ready for more. "Back over to the chair" Daddy ordered. He picked up and admired the Cragin paddle. The paddle is a beast. It is heavy and unrelenting. A great spanking tool but you must know what you are doing, or it could get out of hand and do some damage.

Daddy knows how to use it. He pulled back and "whack" the paddle landed with solid force. I immediately grunted out to control the pain. Whack. The second blow landed propelling me forward. Another cry. Another blow. Eight or ten big blows which completely changed the dynamic. The paddle covered my entire ass. I felt the heavy blows deeper within my glutes -- along with the surface slap of the paddling. Exquisite! I can't help but cry out in anguish.

Daddy knew I couldn't take the punishment of the paddle any longer. I watched him reach into his bag and withdraw a flogger. "Have you ever used one of these?" "It is different from the others." He whipped me across my back. I sighed almost in relief. The stroke was sharp, but the pain was only a fraction. He whipped me again and again moving the strokes all around my back. They were not heavy like the paddle but present, nonetheless. I liked it. Painful in its own right but relief for my sore ass. I wanted more.

Belting Number 2

Both of us were riding high. Daddy picked up the belt once more. The pace of the spanking was fast and furious. Make no mistake. Daddy was whipping my ass. His performance was the conceptual definition of "a whipping." I could see his reflection. Such intensity of purpose. Transfer of weight and the follow through of an athlete. The pain was overwhelming with wave after wave as I watched myself in the mirror. Sensing, seeing, feeling each blow. Knowing it was coming but there was nothing I could do to stop it. Recoiling at the intensity. Hold on and bear up. Gyrating forward with every stroke.

I liked looking at myself and seeing the reward of my efforts. In many ways -- watching myself was part of the reason I could withstand the intensity of the spanking. Watching my muscles tense to full proportion. Driven into my own world. Beaten down and jumping back into position. Thrusting my ass out to receive the next blow. And (boy) did they come.

The blows from the belt were coming faster than I could process. I knew I wanted to escape the onslaught - but I couldn't react fast enough -- and the next blow arrived -- until the beating drove me to my knees, hoping that Daddy would give me a break. He did. I recovered and jumped back into position. I could take more, and Daddy gave it to me.

Ferocious blows of the strap followed by cries of unrestrained anguish. "Put this in your mouth" Daddy said as he threw me a towel, "before the neighbors think I'm killing you." I was bouncing around with such extreme energy. I felt alive and powerful and free. There were words of enthusiasm all throughout our play. Words and movement as if circling across a boxing ring. I put the towel in my mouth and moved back into position.

Daddy had that look of engaged focus. Across his body he swung again and again. Back and forth across my ass. The hardest whipping of the entire evening. I was jumping and cringing and trying everything I could to bear up to the spanking. Daddy had driven me to a new plateau. Frozen in the intensity and in the fire. All control vanished and I was under his command. I belonged to the whims of Daddy, and I accepted it.

Post Spanking

"That's enough for today. The worst thing we could do is make you bleed and if we continue, you will start bleeding." And like that it was over. The attitude shifted and Daddy became gentile and soothing. Conversation shifted to the experience of the past, not the passion of the moment.

I didn't want it to get away from me. I had been fantasizing (more like obsessing) about Daddy's cock. It was immense. It was beyond belief. It was so big and perfect that I was insane with desire and afraid of its grandeur. I had been researching how to suck a giant cock. I had scoured the Internet on how to accept a tool of those dimensions into my virgin ass. I wanted both. I bought Magnum condoms and Astro Glide.

I knew Daddy was not going to fuck me. He had established that before and I was in no way physically prepared. "Can I have some of that beautiful cock" I uttered in hesitant panic. "No! Not today. We'll save that for another time." He spoke with finality. Daddy had said no and there were no more words to be spoken. Acceptance. He slipped out with grace. The evening that I thought I had lost ended with euphoria of continuation.

I walked around the house with post-battle energy. The adrenaline rush started to subside. My breathing returned to normal. I poured a glass of wine and returned to the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. It felt like a perfect movie for the moment. I checked out my ass in the mirror. It was red, but no bruises (yet). I felt little pain. I was so surprised because the whipping was exceptionally and exquisitely painful. I kept relieving the spanking experience. It was everything I had been fantasizing about and much better because it was real -- and present -- and unbelievable.

I slept soundly. I rode my Trikke to DC -- seven miles down the Capital Crescent Trail. Through the waterfront for a voyeuristic journey. My secret life entirely hidden from view. Across DC to Union Station and home to the mirror. Red welts had formed across my ass. Deep purple bruises grew into giant swells of gorgeous and heinous masses. The depth of ache emanated from my bottom. I could feel the effects of the punishment. The bruises continued to grow -- as did my desire for more to come. Stay tuned.