Keeping regular

One of my New Year's resolutions will be to have more frequent sessions with my spanking mentor. I've lapsed a bit lately because I've not felt up to it.

It's not good. I go to him because I need an external influence to help me regularise my behaviour in certain areas, and when I don't go, things get exponentially out of control. I'm not nice (perhaps I should say not easy) to live with and I don't like myself very much either.

I suppose I ought to be ashamed that I need professional help in this way. After all, the methods my mentor uses to deal with me aren't all that esoteric or specialised and in theory my partner should be the one to turn to, but when something works, why change it?

The things I confess to my mentor aren't always definite things like laziness or untruthfulness. I also try to convey thoughts and attitudes which no-one else would know about apart from myself. You might almost say that the punishment he subjects me to is punishment I'm laying on myself. It works because of my commitment to myself rather than my commitment to anyone else.

A session always starts with going over the sins which were highlighted in the previous session, which is the main reason why frequency is so important. As I've described in a previous article, the punishment applied at the end of the session isn't a relative one: my mentor doesn't keep any scores as far as I know. I empty myself of everything I've noted as being wrong in my thoughts and deeds, and then I pay a block price which takes me to zero - or gives me absolution, in Christian terms.

I never feel that we're in a hurry. My mentor gives me the impression he would rather give me extra time than leave anything undiscovered. He takes notes, but that's to help him with recapping in the next session. Finally he puts his clipboard on his desk, which is to the side of the chair where he's sitting directly opposite me, and looks at me.

I know what I have to do but I always wait for him to tell me.

"Stand up and come here."

I take the couple of paces which bring me to stand in front of him. He will then instruct me either to pull down my jeans or trousers, or to pull up my skirt and tuck it into its own waistband. I'm shivering at this stage, with a mixture of fear and arousal.

The next part is non-verbal. He reaches for my arm and with a sleight of hand which I can never quite follow, tips me over his knee. He usually leaves my feet on the ground, but my bottom is well presented to the swing of his hand. I can feel him settle himself: knees spread, shoulders limbered. Sometimes I can tell he's rolling up his sleeve. He gives me a few swats through my knickers, then he pulls them up into my crotch so as to bare one or other buttock fully, and concentrates his attention on the flesh that he's exposed. His slaps are rapid and hard; it hurts.

But the worst is yet to come. After a while, when I can already feel burning heat in my buttocks, his fingers slip deftly under the waistband of my knickers and he slides them part-way down my thighs. Now I'm really at his mercy, and he spanks every part of my bottom, often both cheeks at the same time.

The first time he spanked me I was embarrassed at calling out with the pain, but now I moan or howl freely. The spanking itself has never yet made me cry; that's something he likes to reserve for afterwards.

When he stops spanking me, I always feel as if I couldn't have borne a minute longer. He lifts me up and I return to sit on my chair. If I move to cover my bottom with my clothes, he barks:

"Leave your underwear as it is!!"

It's this sudden stern anger that has tipped me over the edge into tears many times. Other times it's the scolding which he now gives me: telling me how I've been slipping, that I richly deserved my punishment, that he's known little girls who are more self-controlled than I am, etc etc. I sit in his office with my knickers round my knees, my bottom smarting and stinging on the hard chair, sobbing and sobbing.

It's as well I pay him in advance because I don't think I could handle anything else other than sniffing my agreement to his exhortations, arranging my clothes, and sliding out the door.