There are Rules? what Rules?

So for the past 24 hours since my monster spanking and caning from Graham, I have pretty much cried or slept, visited the bathroom a few times, had a shower, had a few brews, many, many, many cigarettes, swore and railed against those two sadistic men and then got back in bed and started crying all over again.

Whenever I swear I am never doing this again, this is it this time, I’m done with all of it. Ignore it. Just ignore it and don’t think for a minute or even a nanosecond that I have learnt my lessons. I haven’t. I am a maverick, I am my own worst enemy and most importantly, I need the pain. It makes me feel real and it brings with it the most amazing pleasure. I can’t and won’t give that up.

Just so you know, I’m not crying because I’m in pain, I’m not in pain. The pain wore off somewhere through the night, I just have the delicious afterglow throbbing thing going on now, and that’s why I’m crying. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, I am going to do it again. I am going to use the spanking machine as per Stuart’s instructions and I am going to see him at the weekend for what will probably be another beast of a spanking or caning or both. Let’s not forget his email setting out the rules by which he now thinks he governs my behaviour and therefore my bottom. Let him bring it. I refuse to conform to his rules or edict. Let him do his worst. I can take it.

For the next few days I monitored the daily changes in the colour of my bottom, the cane marks that still covered the whole area like a striped blanket and tested the tenderness of the bruising. The spanking machine is not making a dent on Graham’s handy work and as such I can barely feel it at the moment. In order for it to reach its full potential I shall have to have an unblemished bottom I think and probably a clear month away from any spanking. I’m not sure I can do that. After every inspection my question is the same one each time.

Why do I need this?

I know how it makes me feel and that’s understood now, I have been sexually repressed for the longest time. The afterglow of the spankings has given me back my sexual appetite and for that I am grateful and hateful all at the same time. That old adage of you can’t miss what you never had, was my mantra prior to my new found libido explosion. Now, I would miss it and crave it and I would go crazy if I couldn’t have it.

But, why do I need it to be so painful? Why can’t it just be normal like other people, they get turned on, they play, they have a lil’ orgasm and life returns to normal for them. The women I spend any kind of time with over the course of a week will often talk about their sex lives, how often, where, when and whether he managed to make them cum or whether they had to fake it to satisfy his delicate ego. I wonder what they would think if I told them I could give myself multiple orgasms just from one of Graham’s spanking/caning sessions. The power of those cane stripes on my thighs and bottom is immense. When I sit down, they rub and throb, I am immediately wet and throbbing because the pain is pleasurable, an old song always springs to mind, ‘It hurts so good.’ I find myself humming the tune to it and the words will filter through my brain at the most inopportune times and they will remind me again, and I am horny again, and I might be in a meeting, or in the supermarket, or with someone so straight laced they might shatter into a million pieces if I ever utter a word of my experiences to them. The frustration at being made to wait for that release is absolutely delicious in the measure of urgency it brings. To want something so badly you are desperate while having to pretend you are exactly like everyone else in that instance? It’s a mind fuck I enjoy. They think they know who I am, they have no idea. I get off on that knowledge.

I guess I’ve answered my own question really. That’s why I need this, it gives me a secret I can keep from them all and that makes me feel powerful.

Counting down to the discipline weekend with Stuart now, I am now a meer 24 hours away. I am filled with dread and excitement in equal measure. I have kept a diary of every single time I have sworn, I now have four A4 pages filled both sides, meh, I’m an honest person, I don’t think before I speak therefore I don’t govern what comes out. It is usually littered with swear words. It’s just who I am. I apologise to no one for it, especially not Stuart. Equally, I have counted how many packets of cigarettes I have smoked, that was a lot and even I was shocked when I saw it written down so I have gone back to wearing a patch through the day and only smoking in the evening. Some common sense prevails at least.

Stats? What stats, he can whistle for them, I’ve been too busy.

Tardiness? Oh hell yes, if I ever arrive anywhere on time then someone else was in charge of the driving or me, or I was already there so couldn’t be late. There is no way I will ever make it to a meeting on time I am always 5 minutes late. I make an entrance. Last one in the room, first one to speak, first one to leave. It works for me and ‘they’ have come to expect nothing less from me. They get what they want, they don’t quibble over my tardiness. I am worth waiting for. Stuart can wait, just like the rest of them.

As for never leaving the house without my panties on? Fuck him. I like the feeling it gives me knowing I am not wearing them. I shall remain true to myself.

No alcohol to be consumed while in his company? Fine, I will get drunk the night before I go and then absolutely hammered when I come home. I can go a few days without a drink, I’m not dependent on it at all.

Good luck reigning this feral cat in Stuart. All my claws are sharpened and out, and I am on a monumental spitting kitten hissy fit.

Tomorrow is D day.