











In light of it having been my birthday yesterday, I'm feeling a bit dehydrated and sore. I learned two things last night: cursing out your cab driver is never a good idea no matter how roundabout of a way he is taking to your destination, and black olives do not taste that great coming up. Other than that, I seem to have had a decent birthday. I am now 24 and I can put all of the badness of my awful 23rd year behind me.The only thing that was missing from my birthday was a good spanking. I would much rather be sore tonight from having been spanked and caned to my breaking point than from having gotten kicked out of a cab and walking home, which in retrospect is quite hilarious. Sir is visiting next week, and I will get my fill then, but until that day I'm going to talk about the first time he spanked me.It wasn't that long ago. We had mentioned it in passing a few times and then I began to insist through text messages and e-mails. I couldn't wait to see him and get some well deserved punishment for whatever it is that I do that is considered wrong. I must mention that I've never been spanked before. My parents never laid a hand on me other than the occasional pinch from my drunk mother. Sometimes she'd bite me. But she never spanked me. I think my step-dad wanted to; he was raised on spanking and corporal punishment, but that's not how we are raised in Spain and I think my mother made sure he never laid a hand on me.When Sir finally arrived, I was so eager to get spanked you'd think I was going on a childhood trip to Disneyworld. He sat on the edge of the bed and told me to lay across his lap. I was naked by this point and did as I was told. He didn't start right away, just rubbed his hand on my butt softly, driving me crazy with anticipation. Finally, I felt him move his hand away and I closed my eyes tight, waiting on the sting, but it never came. Instead he softly placed his hand on my bottom again. I opened one of my eyes, releasing the breath I was holding in, when out of nowhere he slapped my ass hard. It caught me off guard and I muffled a moan. The sting wouldn't go away; it was as if I'd sat down on a stove for a split second. My butt was still burning before I heard another popping sound and felt my body being pushed forward by the force of his hand. The pain was almost unbearable and it pushed every thought out of my mind. The only thing I could think about was the pain and the burn and how to cope with it without shrieking. I then felt something cold and smooth being rubbed against the part of my butt that was on fire. It felt good and I let myself feel relieved for a few seconds before I heard a swoosh and a pop. I cried out then. There was no holding that in. The sting was more concentrated than with his hand, and whatever the object was gave him even more momentum than with just his hand. My eyes were shut tight and my mouth was half open in a silent cry. He rubbed it against me again and I opened my eyes, fearing what would happen next. He started to rub the other cheek with it, which I was thankful for. I felt his arm pull back and heard the swoosh and the pop again. The pain was so intense that I opened my mouth but no sound came out for a good three or four seconds. My breath caught in my throat and my head was tingling. My head!I could feel Sir shifting around and I used that time to take a few breaths and gather myself. He situated himself below me again and rubbed my sore bottom with his hands. I think that's the best part--getting gently rubbed after all of that pain. It's so physically and psychologically rewarding. I honestly can't describe it. (Writing skills, eh?) He rubbed for a while then I felt something thin and cold replace his hand. I tried to gauge the size of it by the sensation on my butt. It felt thinner than the last object he used but I couldn't quite picture what it was in my mind. I was trying so hard to figure it out that I was not expecting the blow when it came. The sting was so sharp it felt like a cut, as if he'd taken a knife and slashed my ass with it. I momentarily saw red and tried to scream but couldn't. I think my cries turned to "ouches", which to me meant stop. He did it again and asked me if I had learned my lesson. I said something to the effect of "yes Sir" through my futile moaning and ouching, and I felt him rub me with his hand again for a little while. Gradually, my pulse went back to normal and my eyelids pried themselves open from their death seal. I slowly got up and cuddled up to Sir for a few minutes, feeling sore but oddly calm.The whole experience was surprisingly cathartic. I'm not sure of the psychology behind it, but somehow, in those eternal minutes, I worked out more psychological knots than I had in 3 months of therapy. I guess that just proves to me that we need to incorporate corporal punishment in raising children again. We've become soft with our positive reinforcement. Sometimes a good spanking does the body good.I look forward to my next punishment.