Wouldn't it be hot... A spanking

Week 18: Friday
"Wouldn't it be hot if you spanked my arse til it turned pink and then we took a photo and sent it to M and Miss H?"
Though this proposition was made on Friday, it was not fulfilled until Saturday night (well within stated time limits). A and I had been out for the evening and I was preparing for bed. A was brushing his teeth when I noticed a paddle was lying on the bed. We'd had a friend at the apartment earlier in the day who had been nosing through our toys, so I thought she must have accidentally left it out.

I held it up and asked A "Is this out for a reason?" Unable to speak as he was still brushing, A just nodded. I suppressed a small shiver and went to make myself comfortable until he was able to expand further. Then I noticed A was signalling me to turn around. I knew straight away what he expected of me and obediently knelt on the bed facing away from him. I stayed that way for some time as A finished his ablutions and then set about preparing to spank me as I'd requested. It became immediately apparent that A was not planning on only using the one spanking implement as he pulled out several others, slamming each one down on the bed with force that startled me.

I kept my focus and my head remained down. Then it began. I can't properly recall what exactly happened next, aside from the fact that I was firmly and brutally punished with a variety of implements. Definitely included was the rubber whip, which administers a thousand tiny stings backed by a great wallop. Also included was the riding crop whose little leather end packed many a painful punch. Lastly was a paddle which A refers to as The Tenderiser. It is thick and rectangular in shape with one flat side and the other textured in a diamond-like pattern similar to tyre tread or a meat tenderising mallet (thus the name). I never thought that the tenderiser would come as a relief, but after all the stinging strikes of the smaller tools having the paddle spread the pressure over a larger area made a real difference to me.

I truly believe this is the most brutal A has ever been when flogging me. He was more business-like in his delivery of the strokes and there was hardly any of his usual petting and stroking of my arse and body before and after the fact. All this added up to make it feel far more like a punishment and less like a pleasure-pain experience for me. It was quite hard work for me to take it without my usual feedback and tangible promise of pleasure. I could at any time have asked for a reprieve but I didn't want to, the words of my pledge running through my mind on repeat as I held on just a little longer, just a little longer... I didn't notice the tears straight away, or the fact that my sharp intake of breath with each stroke had become a sob. A noticed immeditely and asked if I wanted to stop, if I was all right. I couldn't answer. I didn't think I wanted to stop but I didn't know. The tears slid down my nose and dripped onto the bed.

A pulled me to him and I buried my damp face in his stomach, bumping his cock that strained away from his body. He stroked my hair and asked if I wanted to continue, if I was ok. I sucked his cock and told him yes, I wanted more. I truly did.

A went back to our toy collection to find a new implement of destruction. He was looking for something in particular, not able to find it.

"Where is your cane?" he asked "Are you hiding it?"

If the cane was hidden, it wasn't purposefully. We'd had non-kinky friends staying with us recently and the toys had been tucked away carefully so as not to be accidentally discovered. I searched under the bed and found that I'd tucked it into the slats of the bed, which was why A hadn't found it. I handed it to A with some reserve.

I have a love/hate relationship with the cane. It is very, very stingy. It concentrates all the force of the user to one lightning strike of stinging agony. I can't take the cane twice in the same spot without a long break between strikes. A is aware of this I'm sure, as he always delivers his strikes spread over a large canvas.

A gave me a few warm up strikes with the cane.

"Would you like ten?" He asked. I stammered, not sure how to reply. Ten sounded like an awful lot on my already hot and stinging rear. Another strike from the cane followed "You will answer quickly and clearly. Would you like ten?" he paused, "Or will it be twenty?"

"Ten please. Would you like me to count?" I replied,

He delivered five on one side, and five on the other in a rhythm that was not constant - sometimes slow, sometimes fast. The fast ones took me by surprise, but made it easier to get through the whole ten as it moved everything along. A proposed another ten and I suprised myself when I disovered I was ready for more.

I counted out the last ten also, and A allowed me to choose where I would receive my final stroke. Once done he had me bend over near the bedside light and photographed my now very red and flushed bottom, as I'd suggested and I sent the photos off to their intended recipients.