This Sunday morning, my bottom is still heavily marked and quite stingy sore from last evening’s punishment. That’s a new development. My punishment marks are usually little more than a pink striped reminder, not a heavily knotted, still blackened collection of welts. Mistress does indeed punish with severity these days.
I totally deserved this thrashing but it was unexpected after, what for us, was a big upset on Friday evening – not Saturday.
It was all my fault – as usual. Mistress and I were walking home discussing this very blog. I explained how Lady Grey had commented on me being an egocentric and selfish person – and how I wrote in defence of my position.
Mistress became very annoyed: “You had the arrogance to defend yourself when Lady Grey commented on your blog, knowing full well everything she said was correct?”
I began to explain why in some detail but just as the conversation was taking shape, Mistress changed the subject and complained I was edging her to the edge of the road – and what on earth was I doing, having her walk on the outside of the path closest to the traffic?
I became very annoyed that she had interrupted for me what was developing into a very deep conversation about our FLR, something I felt we really needed.
But that’s where Mistress and Lady Grey are right, it’s always too much about me and not enough about Mistress.
Changing tact mid-conversation is one of the few occasionally annoying traits Mistress has, not just on matters of our FLR, but about any subject we might be discussing. It’s like something pops into her head and she changes the subject.
Mostly I find this very endearing, amusing even, but on this occasion I felt nothing but frustration and lost my temper. I became very petulant and, when asked to continue, I refused to discuss the matter further.
I knew I was in the wrong so fully expected to get home and be sent to collect the cane but nothing more was said and I assumed that anything concerning our FLR would be off limits for some time – even for ever. I would not have blamed Mistress.
It was not until just after tea last night that Mistress said, “Right, go and change, then fetch the whip. We have some matters to discuss.”
I reported in punishment pants with the thin Dragon cane as instructed. Mistress then lectured me in no uncertain manner, firstly over my temerity to question Lady Grey and then my terrible behaviour the previous evening.
The lecture worked, in as much as I felt like a child being put in his place. It’s difficult to understand how, a grown man can be made to feel this way but it was totally warranted and I accepted the tongue lashing without question.
But it was to prove nothing to the lashing my bottom was going to get. Mistress showed no mercy laying on the cane, aiming stroke after stroke at the crease between my thighs and buttocks – to the point where she stopped to lecture me.
I felt her sweet hot breath on my face as she bent down to whispered in my ear: “Will you stop making such a fuss or I really will hurt you.”
I tried but it was so difficult, I clamped my mouth as tight as possible but ever so often a crueler cut meant an uncontrolled yelp.
I’ve no idea how many strokes I suffered. Mistress just continued to lash me until she thought I’d been properly punished. Guessing, I'd say it as only 36. So it could have been a lot worse but I’ve been caned many times and I’ve never known such a stinging fire in my poor bottom.
Once it was over there was no respite. Mistress inspected my bottom and confirmed, “I don’t know what all that fuss was about. I’ve barely marked you. It could have been a lot worse.”
She then instructed me to kneel on all fours beside her for another lecture about how my attitude needed some adjustment or I’d been in this situation a lot more in future.
I smiled, nervously.
“You think this is funny? Go and fetch the paddle.”
“But Mistress I wasn’t laughing.”
“And you dare argue?” He voice was raised now. “Fetch that paddle now!”
I wasn’t laughing. It was a nervous grin. Nothing more, but now I was going to get the paddle too on top of those welts. I took a quick look at my bottom in the mirror on the way. Barely marked I might have been in Mistress's eyes, but one side of my bottom was a mass of deep purplish black weals - most of them collected in my sit spot.
For my paddling there was no solace in the bonds that keep me in place on the bench. I was bent over the stool, my bottom raise up off the ground by a foot or so. Mistress sat in the armchair, just bending forward and whacking my bottom when it suited. The blows got faster and faster and I struggled to maintain my place, sweat pouring off my brow.
Mistress threw the paddle on the floor and told me to clear everything away and get her evening meal.
My face was sweat-stained, I was still shaking, my heart was pumping and my bottom was on fire but the real burning desire inside me was to throw myself on my knees and say sorry to her, to thank her and tell her I loved her - all at the same time.
I felt incredibly close to her and desperately wanted to hug her but my instincts told me that would be the wrong moment to indulge my feelings. Instead, I cleared up the implements, put the bench away and went to the kitchen to prepare the meal.