Cherry's Cheek is Kept in Check...

Any regular member of this forum will know just how much my behaviour has got out of hand recently. Poor Westender (AKA "Westy") has suffered the brunt of my insolence very publicly. My run-in with Mikeinkent was a more private affair.

After he PM'd me, remarking on the positive contributions that I have made on this forum (regarding female subs and alleged time-wasting) we swapped email addresses. The inevitable pictures were attached and Mike warned me that his picture wasn't the best, as he was a bit hung over when it was taken. Actually, the photo wasn't that bad, but I couldn't resist a playful dig: Hung over? I typed, Stoned, more like! What the hell have you been smokin', eh? Big mistake! More emails were exchanged and we got to know each other better. Eventually, phone numbers were swapped and we agreed to meet in a hotel just on the A45 in Coventry. He drove over to pick me up and we chatted away - all very informal. I started to relax a bit. Then we pulled into the carpark and it dawned on me then, just why we were here. Naturally taking charge, he led me to room 115...and his keycard wouldn't work. Three times he went trotting to reception to sort the problem out and I was left standing there, nervously waiting, like a naughty schoolgirl outside the Headmaster's office. The technical difficulty was resolved and I was led into a basicly furnished, but pleasant room.

We sat on the bed, and we chatted awhile. He could see how nervous I was - after all, it was my first time with him and then, if you pardon the pun, he hit me with:

"So, you've been naughty then." His voice and manner was deceptively gentle. I could feel my face flush red and I looked down at my feet. I could only nod. "We'd bettter address than then, hadn't we?" He looked at me, waiting for a response. I could feel my mind slipping into a state of submission and before I had time to think, the words, "yes, Sir" slipped out of my mouth. He instructed me to stand, while he unpacked a frightening and bewildering array of implements and laid them out on the dressing table. I didn't dare turn my head to watch him, I stared straight ahead, frozen with fear. He was still chatting away, he was making sure that someone knew where I was and that he wanted me to feel safe. I assured him that this was the case. I made a joke of it: "Once a social worker, always a social worker, eh?" Stupid! I hadn't just dug my own grave with my cheek, I was lying in it now! This enormous leather belt whipped out at me from no-where (he flicked it like a bull-whip from across the room) and hit me square on the backside. It had the desired effect, as I shut up straight away.

After he took his shirt off (he had a short-sleeved T-shirt on underneigh) he sat on the bed and informed me that I was to go over his knee, literally one knee. It was a slight variant on otk, as his legs were apart and I went over one knee, while the rest of my weight was supported by the double bed. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me with practiced ease so I flipped over his knee and "flumped" onto the bed, my bottom in prime position for a very hard, measured, slow handspanking. No gentle warm-up was this, this was the real thing, and it hurt! Cheek, crease, cheek, crease...after about the sixth slap, I could already feel my defences being breached. After a few breathless pants, I started to vocalise my increasing distress, much to Mike's consternation. "Are you complaining?" His voice was harder now, and his tone brooked no argument. "No, Sir," I replied meekly. "I hope not, because it's going to get a lot harder than this!" And on he went. Already, I was in pain; already, I felt that I was going to cry; already, I felt the urge to howl repentance. I was shocked - normally I'm still ok at this stage. Where was my usual stamina? It was relentless. Finally, it stopped.

I had to bend over the bed next. Out came the belt and he laid the lashes on with gusto! I squealed and jumped, but I was forbidden to make a sound. I was supposed to count the strokes as well. I tried to remain quiet but I didn't always succeed: "Be quiet!" he'd say, sternly. "Stop whining and complaining!" When he really lost his patience, I was literally told to shut up! I bit down on the duvet to muffle my screams; I stamped my feet and shook from side to side; I clawed away, as if I was trying dig a hole in order to escape. I had dug myself a hole, all right, but there was certainly no escape!

Still no respite - there wasn't even any corner time given to allow my bum to cool down. No, I had to immediately bend over with my palms resting on a wicker chair. I heard a weird wobbly whooshing noise behind me...no, it's too high pitched to be a cane...what the heck was it? I heard a deceptively quiet crack and my god! The pain! It wasn't a deep thuddy pain, it was a high intensity surface sting. My torso stiffened and straightened up as if 1000 volts had been shot through it. After about the second or third stroke, I cried out: "what on earth is that?!" He ignored me and carried on lashing me in multiples of ten or twenty. I forget now, but it was a lot!

Back onto the bed, once again. All fours this time. I saw, lieing on the bed, the implement that had made me dance not twenty seconds ago. It was a three foot long, blue riding crop! I've been hit with one of those before and I can never forget how much they hurt! It was a strap this time, and consistant as ever, he laid them on hard! There was no shread of pity from him and there was not to be a peep out of me. I ended up with two extra strokes, twelve in all because of "a display of insolence." On the 10th stroke, he awarded extra because I screamed, and I was, I'm ashamed to say, begging for a degree of mercy. After the 11th I screamed again and fell flat onto the bed, departing from the prescribed all-fours position. Mike was really annoyed now! My backside was on fire! Every time I was made to stand, it hurt; when I moved, it hurt and when I eventually sat down afterwards, it bloody hurt!

And this was only a warm-up. Still on all fours, I was told that I was to get fifty strokes of the senior cane. Fifty? Did I hear right?! I was to count, but not to make a noise. Not make a noise? my mind screamed. You expect me to take fifty strokes and not make a noise? Are you mad?! The first ten were agony, but I was relatively fine. My cries were only whimpers and I was actually complemented for being so good. Another ten. Please, no more! After the spanking, whipping and strapping I've already sustained, can't it stop now? Nope...another ten. I couldn't take any more. I squealed and writhed from side to side as I begged him to stop. He did, and allowed me corner time. I limped to the corner, shaking and sweating. He told me to put my hands on my head and I complied. My forehead rested on the wall. I was exausted. I almost fell asleep!

"I'm popping out for a few minutes, I won't be long. You are to stay right there. If I find that you've moved, you will receive 20 strokes of the cane. Understand?"

Still with hands planted firmly on my head, I nodded. "Understood, Sir." And off he went. I was alone and I swear to you all, I did not move an inch. I felt drowsy, almost relaxed, but my heart jumped when I heard the door. There was a knock. He did say he would knock. Then nothing. Was he expecting me to say: "Come in"? "Hello?" said a shakey voice. (Mine.) "It's me!" Mike said from outside the door. "I can't get in!" The bloody keycard wasn't working again. But he told me not to move! Was he playing mind games now? I couldn't take much more of this. My mind was mangled and I was in a state of anguish. Common sense told me to let him in, but he told me not to move! "Can I move, then?" Cover your back, ask permission to depart from the corner position and then let him in! Problem solved! I let him in and then went back to where I was. It didn't feel right to put my hands back on my head, but I still faced the wall. If I was to put my hands back on my head, I would be told soon enough!

He asked me a question at this point, along the lines of whether he should stop or whether I deserve more. I was still owed 20 strokes of the senior cane and I wanted him to finish what he started, but I was in so much pain! I felt tormented. I didn't want to disappoint him and I knew if I called it off now, I'd hate myself forever. So when he asked me whether I deserved more, after a brief hesitation, my voice cracked "yes, Sir." "So what would you like me to do? Never mind what I want." I swallowed hard. "You said you were going to give me fifty, Sir, and I've had thirty so far..." "You want me to give you the rest?" Biting my lip, I nodded. "Yes, Sir"

"Right, you can lean over the bed, and you do not need to count the strokes this time. Ready?"
"Yes, Sir."
Crack!!!
Oh my God, I wished I hadn't agreed to this now! Same rules applied in regards to making noise though! He actually broke his cane! The end had snapped off. It was old and dried out and had clearly seen better days. The last two strokes were murder and I screamed into the duvet. But now, my ordeal was finally over. Oh, the relief! I felt oddly proud of myself, for seeing it through to the end. I thought about Cov's wasted journey down to Devon due his prospective spankee chickening out half-way through his punishment. Whilst I never condemned him, (the spankee) I did make a very general comment that one must always seem things through, or you'll feel crap afterwards, as well as extremely guilty. If I didn't practice what I preached now, I'd be the biggest hypocrite ever. Well, I did. It was over. I did it.

Mike instantly turned back into his warm and friendly self again. He examined my bottom with interest. It was red, welted and striped and it also felt that it had swollen to twice its usual size. There were even a couple of spots of blood. As my adrenaline levels returned to normal, the pain really kicked in. The skin on my backside felt like it has shrunk and the welts had made my skin raw and leathery. I went to the bathroom to bathe my bum. Mike watched me, grinning. I saw my bottom's reflection in the mirror and gasped in surprise. What had he done to me? I hobbled back into the bedroom and sat on the bed, wincing. We chatted. My back began to hurt, so I lay down next to him and chatted some more. We hugged and I felt relaxed. So was my tongue...Mike has a habit of going "hmmmm!" a lot, especially when he was examining my bottom after every dose of whatever he was hitting me with. As we were talking, he went "hmmm" again, randomly. "Hmmm, what?" I asked him. "Nothing," he said, smiling. "Just hmmmm!" "You do that a lot, as if you're trying to figure out a crossword puzzle or something." He clearly found my comments amusing, but he still said "You're beginning to push your luck again."
"Hmmmm....five letters...S, blank, blank, blank, K!" Mike laughed. "What are we gonna do with you, eh?" "Well, it's clearly tickled you! You've already provided the slap, let me provide the tickle!" "You really are cheeky!" he said, and we carried on chatting.

Despite my jokey bravado, my heart was thumping. Oh, no, not again. It was only a joke. Why do Doms have Rizla-thin skins? Red Rizla at that! I tried to put it out of my mind, but a guilt started to gnaw within me. He could tell. I asked him to punish me again. I thought it would only be a handspanking to finish off, but no. Twenty lashes with that horrid riding crop and then a further twenty with the cane. No screaming allowed, but at least I didn't have to count the strokes. I remained on the bed until he told me to stand up.

"Have you learned your lesson this time?"

I didn't answer, I just threw my arms around him and hugged him tightly. This simple action had answered his question. It was really over this time. After I had straightened myself up and he did the same, he drove me home. I think I will be definitely seeing him again, but only if I've done something really, really bad. He said that he will be even more severe next time!

As a side note, I've been asked to say that Mikeinkent only spanks females!

Cherry x