Jokingly, before either of us knew that we had spanking interests, Dakota would call me "Princess" because he thought I was so obviously (and adorably, I would say) spoiled and naive. Of course, I didn't think so but all I ever did was boss him around, charm him, tease him, and sass him (of course). That got old quick, and I found myself the victim of progressively harder "playful" swats to the bottom whenever Dakota found me to be a mouthy cocktease (which I was often, pushing his buttons to see how far I could go.)
Fast forward several months later, when this happened:
We are arguing about something stupid. Like I said, I have a problem with cursing... it's a habit that refuses to be broken, even after the countless cussing-related spankings.
This time, Dakota reacts more quickly than I am used to.
"You're really pushing it," he says.
I look at him and let my mouth do the thinking. "I don't give a shit."
"You know you're getting spanked."
"Fine."
At this time, I am sitting on the couch, arms crossed, huffing and puffing. Dakota walks away from me, into the bedroom and reemerges with the heavy wooden bathbrush. Instantly, I leap from my seat and move away from him, my hands out in front of me. I keep moving, and I literally back up into a wall. That's how scared I am.
"No no no no no no no no no-" I say.
"Come over," Dakota says, gesturing with one hand.
"No- don't use that."
"Do you get to tell me that?"
"You're just going to hit me out of anger," I say carefully.
"Have I ever done that?"
"No," I admit. "But you will now."
This does not deter him from anything. He knows me too well.
"I'm not going to do that. Come here," he says firmly.
"No..." I plead with him, but there's no more wall to back up into.
This time Dakota approaches me and grabs my arm, pulling me toward him. He walks us to the couch.
"When I say come, come. Don't make me get you."
"See, you're mad," I whine as he tries to guide me over his lap. I refuse with all my strength and Dakota lets go.
"Bend over my lap."
"Dakota..."
"I'm serious. Now."
"Please," this time I plead seriously. I look down at him, and he looks up at me. Slowly, I slide myself over him, because I can see he is not wavering, no matter how sad my puppy-eyes are. I settle into him.
"Alright, now are you going to talk to me like that?"
"No. No, I won't. Please, Dakota," I say. I'm desperate. "I'm sorry."
He gives me two hard smacks, alternating cheeks.
"DON'T!" I squeal, my hand flying up behind me. He pins my wrist.
He smacks me twice again, just as hard.
"Why are you yelling at me?" he asks, calmly.
"DAKOTA."
"What?"
"You know I hate that," I whimper. "Please. Please."
"I know you don't like it."
Two hard smacks, this time on the sit spots. This time my legs kick, and I am almost in tears.
Two more smacks. I make another loud squeal.
"Are you going to watch your language?" I hear him say.
"Yes. Yes, I will. I promise."
"Alright, sit up."
For all the iron-butts out there, this is nothing, I know. But I'm a girl who flinches at flurry of spoon swats. A bathbrush is something of a monstrosity to me. Dakota and I experimented with it once and I ended up making him promise me he would never use it. Not 'only use for punishments' or 'only for really bad offenses' but just never use it. He said he would make no such promise.
After that, I sit on his lap. He kisses me and then places a hand on my chest.
"Your heart is racing, Suzy," he says.
"I was scared," I tell him.
"Did it hurt that bad?"
"Yes," I pout.
"Let me see."
I stand and pull up my skirt to let him examine me.
"It's only pink. I've done worse with my hand."
"But it hurts a lot, Dakota. You don't know. Especially when you put force into it."
"It's a punishment, isn't it?" He smiles at me as I pout. I am definitely a pouter.
Back when he didn't really know my limits, he was a little more careful with me. Whining or pouting meant he was at his own limit... because he didn't want to see me in pain. But then he got smarter. Now he pushes my limits. This time, he was absolutely in control, knowing I was afraid of the bathbrush, and yet when he saw that I was genuinely scared, he knew me well enough to stop before I passed out.
We are still learning about each other, trying to maintain a balance between being "normal" people and participating in spanking as a way of life. My normal friends say, "God, Suzy, Dakota spoils you so much. You have such a good boyfriend." What they don't know is that he spoils me for the sole purpose of spanking me. I wonder how they would feel about that.
