prickly heat

"I've told my blog that you're going to spank me with my new hairbrush," I said to Tom as I left my desk yesterday evening. He grinned at me. "So it'd be nice if I could post a photo tomorrow, if you take one after my spanking? Would that be okay?"

"Sure," he said, accepting my camera and putting it on the bedside table. "I'm sure something will present itself."

We hadn't played since our dramatic session a couple of weeks ago. I'd been anticipating it all weekend, but as the moment neared I found myself procrastinating. I took a shower, tidied up a bit, and then flopped on the bed, hoping the water evaporating off my damp skin would cool me down a bit. It was too hot to move, and I'd been stressed all day. He waited patiently while I fussed and made small talk, before gently but firmly guiding me over his lap. I was already naked after my shower, and I was still slightly damp as well, although whether from bathing or just fresh sweat provoked by the day's aggressive humidity, I couldn't tell.

I wiggled on his lap, wanting to get into a submissive headspace but aware that I was distracted and fractious in the heat. As he started to spank me I yelped and bit my lip, trying not to flail around on his lap as his hand stung me with little biting smacks. I hadn't been spanked in ages, and it was hot, and it hurt. I found myself giving bratty responses, exaggerating my stroppiness and making a great fuss as a way of defusing my very real tension. But I'm usually so eager to please that we don't really have a framework for engaging with my brattiness, and half the time I think my OTT pouts and shrieks were genuinely aggrieved. He held me firm and told me to be calm, stroked the back of my neck. I didn't want to be calm. I wanted to fuss. I sobbed into the pillows. The over-reaction was sort of helping me get into the right mindspace to accept the pain, but I just couldn't relax enough to be properly submissive.

When he switched to the new hairbrush, it was even worse. Oh god it stung. I don't know how such a small piece of wood could cause so much pain. Was I just out of practice, or was this hairbrush pure, concentrated evil? Maybe something to do with density, or the ratio of surface area to weight? It was heavy, and smooth, and stingy, and it burned, and dear god I could not take it. I started yelling as well as yelping - we aren't normally very verbal during spankings - and during a fast volley of smarks I was shrieking "PLEASE NO, SIR PLEASE NOT SO FAST, NOT SO FAST!" When he paused and rested a warning hand on the back of my neck I think he was surprised. Yelling made it easier to take, and I was getting a perverse enjoyment out of my stroppiness, but it wasn't the response he wanted. He talked to me quietly until I calmed down a bit, and then he slowed the pace, waiting for my reaction to each stroke to die down before delivering the next. I couldn't cope with those spanks at all. Each smack felt like he was touching a red hot poker to my bum. I tried to be quiet but I was so clearly over-sensitive that he eased up a little, and the last few smacks were pitifully light, but I still complained piteously after every one.

He helped me up, we hugged, and talked it over. I wasn't sure if the hairbrush was just made of evil, or if the heat was screwing up my body's responses. Maybe the dampness of my skin was making it worse? I thought that the sensation of the new hairbrush could be very erotic if I wasn't being such a wuss, and I told him that I wanted to try it again sometime. When it was less hot.

In the meantime I felt bad about not taking my spanking like a good girl, and despite the fire in my bottom I said to Tom that I wanted to keep playing. He said he'd been considering getting my tawse out. I thought that a stinging tawse would be horrible in this heat, but I could see why he thought leather might work. So in a fit of stupidity I asked if he had a belt that were suitable. He said yes.

Moments later I was lying over pillows in the middle of the bed, bum raised and fists clenched, waiting for the first awful stroke. He took me by surprise; starting oh-so-light, alternating each stroke with a teasing caress. I was soon getting turned on, the pace of my whole body slowing down, becoming languid as I accepted the increasingly heavy strokes. The belt is an extraordinarily warm implement, yet somehow my sizzling bottom and overheated brain found it deeply soothing. He made me count the last eighteen, and when he'd finished I felt like I'd got the whipping I wanted. I was grinning as he kissed me. The weather was almost so hot and humid that we didn't have the energy to take things to their usual conclusion. But not quite :)

So, no hairbrush photos - in the end the spanking was so difficult and emotional that we didn't get the chance, and although it hurt like hell, the pinkness in my cheeks faded too quickly for it to be worth posing a shot. But I did upload a whole bunch of photos from Tom's phone this morning, including home spanking photos dating back several months. I've used two from March this year to illustrate this post.

(Speaking of phones, mine was stolen today ... which hasn't helped my stress levels. Any of you who had my number, I'd appreciate it if you could drop me an email so I can make sure I have your details. Thanks!)