Madame Sophia was right

Who the hell is Madame Sophia? Beats me (no pun intended). All I know is I got email from New Guy this morning, saying that Madame Sophia looked into her crystal ball and saw my future -- a lot of red, many tears, and retribution for naughtiness. Oh, and I owed her $50.

Oh, puh-leeeze. Why should I pay $50 for information I already knew? :-)

But... tears? Was I going to go there? I didn't feel like I needed to, really. Nothing was weighing heavily on me. But I knew I wanted to play hard.

So I dressed in clothing that fairly screamed "SPANK ME!": cherry-red capris and red-and-white panties with red lace trim. Red clothing to tops is like a red flag to a bull. They feel challenged by it, driven to match the color (or at least come close).

I don't know why I bother, though. With NG, my bottom doesn't stay clothed very long. But at least he noticed my sartorial selections and complimented them.

I didn't stay OTK very long, either. He kept talking about getting his point across -- what point, I asked. He said he didn't know, but he had one. (oh, brother) A few minutes later, he asked, "So, am I getting my non-existent point across?" I giggled.

"Oh, you have a point, all right."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, it's on top of your head."

Aaaaaaaaaaaaand, it was off to the ottoman.

Still didn't feel any tears coming, though. He pulled out all the usual artillery (although I noticed he was wearing a different belt this time, and that one stung much more fiercely than the one he's used before), and slowly ramped things up, building up to harder and faster flurries. Spankees, ever find yourself shrieking in protest, and yet raising your bottom up for more even as you scream? That was me. And he delivered. Until he stopped.

Something happened that has occurred a couple of times before with other tops, and I have no idea how. There was no cut, no break in my skin. And yet, a drop of blood welled up, in the right-hand sweet spot. He blotted it off and commented on it.

Oh nooooo, I thought. Is he going to stop? I don't want him to stop!

"I'll make sure to avoid this spot," he said, as if he'd read my mind. "But I'm not going to avoid all the others. Am I?" I knew he was checking in for my OK to continue. "No, you are not," I assured him.

My attitude shifted after that; I was in a more vulnerable state. He picked up on it, and his demeanor changed as well -- he went right into strict mode. He scolded more, struck harder. And suddenly, there they were... tears. I was weeping out loud, and I still didn't want him to stop. "You're getting just what you need and deserve. Aren't you!" he said. "Yes," I sobbed, "yes, yes, yes!"

I cried all the way through the rest of the strapping and the 15 final strokes with the paddle. It took me a long time to come down this time, and he was patient and kind, soothing me with lotion and bringing me tissues. Whispering that I did really well. I felt light and clean and very, very safe.

Finally, I was ready to get up, so I pushed myself backwards onto my feet. I started to stand... "Don't move! Hold that."

Fortunately, he did let me stand back up after he got the shot. Such benevolence. :-)

When it was time for him to leave, I looked around; my living room looked like a war zone with all his implements strewn everywhere. And of course, as he picked up his weaponry, he said he had to make sure, before he packed them away, that they were "still working."

!!!!!!!!!

Resigned, I leaned up against the counter and he yanked my panties back down. One by one as he put each toy away, he gave me a few smacks with it. "Yup, that still works." "Yeah, that seems to be in order." "OK, still functioning."

You can tell what I thought of this.

But I kept my lip zipped. I'd already earned a quick but ferocious Round Two earlier by calling him a moron. I may be a brat, but I ain't no stupid brat. :-)

I really didn't know I needed to cry. But I guess Madame Sophia knew.

Amazing how it just keeps getting better...