Play on a weeknight

I'm sitting in bed, watching Gone With the Wind, and envying Scarlett's dresses and waistline.  And looking forward to tomorrow, when I'm going to have playtime with someone new.  I will inevitably want to write about this, so I should probably finish up writing about this week's play before I go to sleep!
On Tuesday I went to play with Victorian boy.  This is what I was calling him to friends before they met him, because he has a thing for neo-Victorian steampunk type clothing and accessories.  I like playing with Victorian boy.  I even played with him the first time I met him, which I'm normally all sensible and careful about not doing.  I went back to his for 'coffee', he got changed, my jaw dropped open and I meekly toddled off to get spanked.

Anyway, after me explaining that he could probably hit me a bit harder, this week he promised me a cold caning.  Which honestly, scares the crap out of me.  I know, I know, in my previous post I got beaten up by a sadist, and loved it.  But with Victorian boy there's a lot more mental play.  I go into a very pathetic, scared place.  The first time he said he was going to cane me (at the end of a long and gentle build up), I wrapped my arms around myself, shaking, and nearly refused to bend over.  Whereas with my sadistic friend I just grin and go for it.

I went round on a weeknight, after a busy day at work.  It's worth mentioning, if I haven't before, that I'm a teacher.  I essentially spend six hours a day being The Boss Of You.  It's a very alpha-female attitude.  Kids are pretty much like animals - if you show fear you're dead.  So when I'm at work I'm never scared, never unsure, never intimidated.  It's similar to the way I play with my sadistic friend - I try not to show fear or uncertainty.  (I don't know why this is, by the way).  But with Victorian boy it's very different.  I'm not exactly sure what he does to make it so - probably it's just the little things, like making me open my eyes when I'd rather stay in my head.  There's also lots of corner time and otk spanking, which I guess helps make me feel more small and vulnerable.  Adjusting from alpha-female to small and vulnerable apparently makes me fall really hard and fast, especially when combined with a cold caning.

It *really* hurt.  Which was totally headspace, because logically, it was much less hard than my play at AntiChrist a few days earlier.  But at AC I was up for it, excited about it, hyped up by playing to an audience, etc etc.  After a long day at work I was questioning what the hell I was doing.  *Why* did I want a man to hit me really hard with a stick??

Victorian boy told me afterwards that I'd taken 50-60 strokes.  I'm not entirely sure I believe him.  And I know that they weren't all that hard.  I certainly couldn't take 50-60 cane strokes from sadistic friend.  I took them really badly though, wriggling and crying out and I couldn't stay down for more than two or three consecutive strokes.  I was in pain, I was scared.  He was using weights around my labia, which was humiliating.  A few times I tried to close my legs, which thankfully he ignored, except to push them apart again.  At one point he got one on my clit, which hurt like hell, but fortunately slipped off when I wriggled.  Equally fortunately, I don't think he realised how much it hurt, so he didn't try to get it back in the same place.  Or if he did realise he was being nice!

In between caning me, he made me suck his cock.  When I wasn't doing it well enough (which, if you're me, is always!), he put me back over the bed and caned me some more.  I was still marked up from AntiChrist, and was still pretty sore across my thighs.  I remember him placing the cane across a particular sore spot, causing me to beg him not to hit me there.  I beg extremely rarely, but it's a heady experience when I do.  I think that moment wiped the last traces of Boss Of You out of me.  I still couldn't stay down for long, but when he told me to get back down, I did, and when he told me to shut up, I honestly tried.

An aside on the relationship between Fat Teaspoon and cock.  Fat Teaspoon is probably about 80% lesbian.  She describes herself as homoflexible.  She hates sucking cock.  That is, she hates the actual act of doing it.  She loves the way it makes her feel when someone forces her to.  There are two ways of forcing her to do it.  One is to simply hold her head and not let go, even when she gags and struggles.  For the record, she's never thrown up.  The other way is to hurt her so much she doesn't dare not comply.  This method doesn't always work, because after a few minutes she forgets how much she hurts, and she starts refusing again.  So far, she's never felt submissive enough to actually want to suck someone's cock purely because it makes them happy.  She'll do it if they make her, but she won't try very hard, and she certainly won't do it voluntarily. 

By the time Victorian boy was done, I was completely out of it.  I'd given up any semblance of resistance (with Victorian boy there's never a great deal to start with), and was just sprawled across the bed.  I'd given up trying to anticipate strokes, and I was whimpering pathetically.  I was a hair away from bursting into tears, and desperately wanted to, but somehow they wouldn't come.

Of course, as soon as he picked me up and gave me a hug to let me know it was over, I burst into noisy sobs.  Or at least, I thought they were.  His response - 'horrible girl, are you laughing at me?'  Me: 'nooo, I'm c-crying!'  I think it might have taken a couple of minutes for him to realise that yes, he had in fact made me cry.  I would have been quite happy to cry for a while, sitting on his lap, sobbing into his shoulder, but he was understandably concerned, and tried to get me to calm down and take deep breaths.  Eventually I stopped crying and quieted down enough to explain that I was ok, and that tears were a good thing.

They really were.  Victorian boy can be proud of himself, because I've never found play that hard to take before.  Although some credit must go to my weekend antics at AC, and to a long and horrible day at work, he managed to take me from The Boss Of You to a sobbing heap.  Catharsis with a capital C.