The belt is the warm-up, although we pause between rounds.

Stripped of my clothes, the belt folded over in one hand, I am slipping deeper into obedience and submission. Maybe it is a form of subspace, this total focus on doing what he tells me to do.

He directs me slowly.

“Put the belt down, yes, just set it down. Good. Now, pick up The Tawse.”

The weight of The Tawse intimidates me. But, “Sit down. There. Open your legs, wide. Dangle the tawse between your knees. Yes, there. Now bring it slowly up the inside of your thigh. Yes, like that. And back down. Now the other thigh.”

Teasing, tantalizing, and I am already so aroused… but then – pillows at the end of the bed and he tells me to lean over them – we start with 12 on each side, I am to try to keep it on one side at a time.

The Tawse is not as loud as the belt, but I hear it coming before it lands, and keeping it on one side means the bottom part of it slaps the back of my thigh with a surprising sting. I think I am making noises now, maybe I have been all along, I am focused on landing The Tawse correctly, counting as I go.

It should have been too much, but he stops me often. He asks me how I’m doing, checks on me, has me stand or touch myself, ‘cup your pussy,’ he says, and the sting fades enough that of course I can take more.

A longer pause, he has me sitting in a chair, my bottom tender.

“How are you?” he says.

I think for a moment. “I’m good,” I say, “I’m ok.”

“Very good,” he says, “stand up.” I stand.

“Pick up the spoon. Now back over the pillows. Arms in front of you. I want your breasts hanging over the edge of the pillows. Can you do that?

“Yes, Sir,” I scoot and wiggle until I’m arranged correctly. I am not thinking about what I’m going to do with the spoon, I’m focused on his voice and placing my body correctly.

“Good girl,” he says, and those words will carry me a long way.

“Let’s do 12 on each side,” he says. And I begin.

Understand, I am using this spoon on myself, I don’t hurt myself the way someone else would be able to hurt me. At least that’s what I think. I think if he had been administering the whacks I would have reached my limits, would have cried “yellow” at some point much sooner. If he had wanted me to.

After each round, he stops. “Stand up. Hold the spoon in front of you.”

“Count to twelve,” he says.

“1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 – 10 – 11 – 12.”

“Back over the pillows,” he says. “Twelve more on each side.”

It’s not like it doesn’t hurt – I am wielding the spoon with some force! I definitely am.

“Stand up,” he says, “hold the spoon in front of you.” I obey. “Count to eleven,” he says.

This time I know what’s going to happen when I get to eleven. I enunciate more carefully, take a deeper breath between numbers.

When I get to eleven, he says, “I think you counted more slowly that time.” Not angry or annoyed, just noticing. I laugh, he’s right. I didn’t think he’d notice. The next time, I only have to count to ten. I count a little faster this time.

We continue like that for a while. I am moving more slowly, making more noise. But it’s a lot. I’m tired, my bottom hurts, and it feels like this might go on forever.

I might have gone on forever.

But he says, “Put the spoon down. Turn around, face me. Good. Now sit in the chair. There you go.”

I sit. “How does the chair feel? How does it feel sitting in the chair?”

I pause to think. Words are not coming so easily right now. But “Tender,” I say. He nods, “I would think so!”

We talk – he talks, I answer – for a minute, or maybe two or five – I don’t know, I’ve lost all track of time.

Then he says, “Well, there you go. Up, stand up. Back over the pillows.” His voice is totally matter of fact, as if this is just naturally the next thing.

And I think, “Oh, but – I don’t want to. I thought we were done – there’s more?” And I could say that, I know it would be ok if I did. But I want to please him more than I want to stop.

So I bend back over the pillows, with a tiny sigh, waiting for him to tell me to get the spoon.

Instead, he says, “Now is the time for the tube you brought, the arnica cream, Olivia. Can you reach the tube?”

I’m smiling as I say, “Yes, Sir, I can.” Happy to follow his directions, rubbing the cream on my very hot and sore bottom feels heavenly.

And then we are done, but there’s more to tell. He had not forgotten the pink vibrating dildo, which is also beside me. That’s a story for a different day.

I’m wrapped in a blanket, water at hand, and he wants to know how I feel. Words are hard to find…

Empty, drained, somehow… not just tired, although I am, but “cleared out,” I say, although that’s not quite right. “Cleansed?” he says, and yes, there is some of that.

Also satisfied. I feel complete. I have wanted this, needed a spanking that didn’t end with me thinking I could have taken more. Needed a spanking with a long, slow burn, temperature slowly building to a boil – without ever harming me.

There are marks and a couple of nice bruises that will last a while. I’m glad that I have a couple of more days in my little cabin, it will take me time to absorb the experience.

But now he says, “Sit back on the bed, make yourself comfortable with the pillows, yes, like that, leaning against the wall. Now pick up the pink toy.”