I can never again say that I’ve never cried from a spanking. Though granted this not by any stretch of the imagination the hardest spanking I’ve ever received. MAYBE it cracks top 10. I’d say top 20 probably. And yet, it’s the only spanking I’ve ever cried real tears from. I’ve sobbed from spankings before. Actually, since the first time I did that, that’s become very common for my punishment spankings. I’ve always known that crying is, for a lot of women, from the emotion of the spanking than from the actual pain, and it appears that is how it is for me too.
Back Story: So last week, the day I got back from my wonderful 5 days with Daddy, I went back to my dorm room, and tried to study for my final the next morning, but for some reason I fell into this kind of depression. It was like all the negativity and stress just came rushing back to me and I was completely overwhelmed. And my roomie (who I love more than the world) wasn’t back from her trip yet, and I just felt incredibly alone. Needless to say, I did Not do well on my test the next morning, and that was just the breaking point. I couldn’t handle it. I called Daddy, crying on the floor of my room, yelling about how I failed, and he told me to go for a walk, to just get out and clear my head. Well…about 10 minutes into my walk, I decided to run away. Yes run away. Yes I realize I’m 19 years old, and too old for that, but I did it anyway. And my plan was to just go explore- take a bus wherever it took me, but instead, I went and met up with John, the spanker I mentioned a couple posts ago. He and I had been talking for a while, and I’d met him the week before for coffee. But I ended up just going there, and then I went to his house, got spanked, and then stayed the night, and part of the next day, and my “walk” turned into a 24 hour adventure.
I will write about the details of that adventure (and John’s EPICALLY hard spankings and hand) another time. But let’s just say Daddy was not happy. It was incredibly impulsive, and I’ll admit a bit reckless. John is now the 3rd person to ever spank me, and I’ll admit that the first time with each was rather spontaneous..or if not impulsive, then not exactly super safe. And it’s hard to look at them as dangerous, when everything has worked out so well for me. But Daddy was NOT pleased….and I won’t go into all the details of the drama of the few days after that, but I did not consider all of the ramifications of what I had done. I just did it. I needed to escape. I needed…. I don’t know… like I said, I was spiraling.
So he and I figured everything out but it was decided that I would be punished. Hard. So I was bratting around on Friday afternoon (I arrived on Wednesday night and we celebrated Christmas on Thursday [read: I got a day off from punishment] and I left on Saturday), and after I got a pretty hard hand spanking for something- I honestly can’t remember what at this point, I asked Daddy if I could go ahead and have my punishment spanking. He nodded solemnly, and sat on the edge of the bed. He placed me across his lap, my torso resting on the bed, my bottom already bare, in nothing but his button shirt that I stole long ago. He gave me a VERY hard hand spanking, and I was squirming and struggling by the end.
Daddy and I keep a punishment book outlining all of my misdeeds and on occasion the pre- assigned punishment. Daddy had decided that for part of my misdeeds I would receive 100 strokes with the domestic discipline strap. So I knew what was coming. But before we got there, Daddy picked up the bathbrush, and I pleaded “no daddy! No! please no!” but he just said to count to 10. I did, with a sir after every count, just like a good girl. Then Daddy stood me up and told me to take off my top, asking me how Daddy straps me. I knew the answer, it’s always in the nude. He had me bend over, my elbows resting on the bed. I hung my head down and let my hair cover my face, and I got ready.
I don’t know what it is about strappings but I take them much better than I take any other punishment. I rarely, if ever move, reach back, or plead. I may suck in a breath, or yell out, and I know my knees buckled on a couple especially hard swats, but I always keep the count, and Daddy always tells me I take my punishments very well- something that always makes me feel great inside. I love making my Daddy proud.
He started the strapping on my already sore bottom, alternating sides after 5 or 10 swats. Around 30 though he started to lecture, saying how much I worried him when I didn’t call, and how dangerous what I did was. I took all of that in, and was fighting the pain and then all of a sudden he says how much I hurt him. That my actions and what I did had caused him anguish and pain. And I couldn’t take it. I just started to cry. All of the emotional crap that had been going on just burst again at the thought that I hurt my Daddy. The man I love more than the world. I never ever meant to hurt him, or make him question us. What I did was really a response to my bf M, and how he had been treating me. I was careless and reckless with both my safety and my Daddy’s heart, and that was just too much for me to take.
I was crying with every stroke, but I took them. I needed them, I knew I deserved it. At 50, Daddy stood me up and held me, held me tight and said I was taking my punishment so well and I just sobbed in his chest and begged him to forgive me. That I never meant to hurt him. I don’t think he said much….I know he was still upset (honestly, he’s still upset today, and I almost wish he had gone ‘til 200 if that would have helped) and I asked him if we could finish. He kissed me and bent me back over and I got the rest of my hundred, crying most of the way. But not from the pain really. I mean I’m not going to lie, some of those strokes killed but it wasn’t the worst I’ve received from him. At 100 he held me and sat on the bed and let me curl in his arms. I calmed down, and asked for a tissue, which he got for me, and he kept holding me, til he said, “you know you still have the bathbrush coming right?” And I clawed at him and pleaded no daddy no! Please it hurts! He paused and said that I was getting 25.
He brought out the folding chair and put it in the center of the room. He beckoned me over and I lay across his lap after handing him the brush. I screamed at the first smack. By 3 I was clawing at his ankle saying that I couldn’t take 25, and he sighed and kept going. By 5 I was crying again, pleading, saying how sorry I was, and he said, “5 more baby, count them.” Those last 5 were excruciating! It felt like fire! Then he put the brush down and said he was going to finish up with a hard hand spanking. Not much consolation but at least it didn’t sting so much. And I think it was nice and personal, to help both of us.
In the end I was crying again as Daddy picked me up and sat me on his lap, as I begged forgiveness. He was hesitant and I cried harder, saying that he should spank me more if he wasn’t done because he had to forgive me! He sighed and kissed me and said he did, he promised. And that he loved me. He stood me up and I sniffling asked for a new tissue- the whole box I yelled as he went to get them- then he came back and I was lying on the bed, rubbing my sore bottom and he sat with me, petting my hair, saying that he loved me. I looked up at him, and he said, “and you look so beautiful when you cry from a spanking.” (I have to disagree).