Michele and I wrote this for one of the spanking newsgroups. Here it is as originally posted.

This is long . . . very long. 12,800 words, or fifty double spaced pages. If you have the time to read it, kick off your shoes and settle down in a comfortable chair first.

Doc Tsai

Mrs. Mish Alters My Reality

Tsai: It's 4:45 and I'm wrapping up the day, and the week. Friday afternoons can be killers, but for some reason the Friday before a three-day weekend is sometimes light; maybe people have already left town.

Let's see, a couple of items left yet. Mrs. Bean wants a refill on her prilosec; fine, give her 90 with a refill. Mr. Harding wants to go back on the Prozac, that's OK, give him 30, but I want to see him before it runs out. I need to know more about what's going on. Ms. Sunyat's blood count is back to normal, that's good. And I should answer one or two of these preauthorization requests before I knock off, I hate to walk in Monday (or in this case Tuesday) morning and have them looking reproachfully up at me.

The intercom interrupts my routine.

"Doctor Tsai?"

"Yes, Annie?"

"There's a Mrs. Mish here to see you."

. . . long pause . . . there's no point in asking her to say it again, I know what I heard the first time . . . there are not that many Mrs Mishes in my world . . .

"Doctor Tsai?"

"Oh, yes, Annie. Of course. Send her right in." I stand up and walk to the door. But nothing is the same. My carefully compartmentalized life, the dividers ripped out harshly. Walking . . . how do you walk? The door . . . perhaps it is an illusion. My own self, unrecognizable; my own life, abruptly unfathomable. My prior reality . . . gone.

I open the door just in time to see you raising your hand to knock. You look at me and smile, nicely, a little sheepishly. "Hi, Tsai." Of course I recognize you, you've e-mailed me your photo, and I've done the same for you.

"Well, hi, Michele. Please come in." I close the door.

>> Michele>> Well...just where do I begin? This may feel like the beginning of the story, but it really isn't. It was months ago, when I opened the newsgroup with my morning coffee as was my custom, and read a very absorbing "delurk." Someone who called himself "Doc Tsai," and it was as well written and incisive a delurk as I had ever seen. More than anything, I was struck by Tsai's self awareness and insight. His words were both uplifting and poignant, a rare combination. He was someone I wanted to get to know. How could I know just how well I would come to know him?

Tsai: What now? Shake hands? I extend my hand but you brush past it and give me a hug (you've had time to plan the beginning, at least, while I am still thunderstruck). "It's OK," you say, "you can hug me back." I do. You encourage me: "I like that hug. I knew I would like you, too. Now just give me a pat on the bottom."

>> Michele>> : How brazen of me! But I needed Tsai to touch me, right away. That first contact was so necessary for me to continue what it was I had set out to do today.

I give you a pat, then run my hand over your curvy bottom. You are wearing a dignified dress, well-fitted, not tight, but I can feel each globe; my hand presses in at the bottom of the crack of your ass. No girdle. Ummmm. It feels good, and I am suddenly very hard, and I press my erection against you, through my pants, through your skirt.

>> His erection. The frequent subject of our conversations and of my fantasies. His words would appear, like magic, on my computer screen, and he would tell me, as if I didn't already know, that his cock was hard. I knew it was hard, I did everything in my power to make it hard. I could almost feel his cock swelling, so many miles away.

With a huge effort I pull myself together. I release you and gesture toward a chair. "Sit down." You sit, smiling broadly, and I also sit. My head is still spinning but within that vertiginous state I am paradoxically cool, calm.

"Well?" I raise an eyebrow.

>> "Well, I wanted to see you, to meet you, and honestly I wanted to touch you."

"That's nice," I say. I reach out and take your hand. It's hard to even think of being angry, although your arrival is flagrantly unilateral, a demand that we change our cyber relationship in a way we never discussed.

>> "So I came."

"I see."

>> "I didn't want you to say no. I knew you would say no."

You are speaking softly but rapidly, the words rushing out. "I know you are an utterly faithful guy and I thought if I just showed up you wouldn't, well, it wouldn't be your fault, it would be my fault." I was thinking, it's true enough that I don’t have intercourse (oral, anal, vaginal, or cyber) with anyone but my wife. But just spanking, without sex? We hadn’t talked about that for a long while.

>> Mea culpa. I rush in where angels fear to tread, wear my heart on my sleeve, and any other number of clichés. I had an opportunity to steal away, so I did. It didn't occur to me until I was well en route that Tsai might not be unreservedly overjoyed at my arrival. But I had noticed his comment that he would be alone this weekend, and perhaps we could do some quality spanking on IM. Well, I had a better idea.

>> "And I don't want sex. Really. Well damn it I do want sex but I know you won’t do it. Anyway, if you wanted to give me a spanking, that would be up to you. Heaven knows I deserve one for this stunt."

"I see."

There are a million questions in my mind. The first and most obvious is, how did you find me? But I'll learn more if I let you talk.

>> "I'm sorry if I've made a mistake, butted in when I shouldn't. I just have a physical need to see you in person. I would not hurt your marriage, or mine either, but I had to meet you. It was either that or go completely crazy."

>> Sometimes I thought I had already gone completely crazy! My life was busy, well balanced, demanding. But yet... I found myself signing onto my online service at all hours of the day and night on the off chance that Tsai would be waiting for me. And, he usually was. Meeting him, I reasoned, couldn't upset my life any more than knowing him already did.

>> Maybe I was deluding myself. Maybe?

"I understand. Michele, if you will wait I have a few things to finish up."

>> "OK, of course."

I turn off my computer and put the unfinished journals in my briefcase. This is what I normally read at home over the weekend, but I don't think I'll be doing much reading this weekend. Still it's a habit, and good habits benefit our sometimes disorderly lives. And my erection . . . still present and accounted for . . . I look around . . . ahh, the white coat, thank heaven for that. I can fold it over my arm and casually shield my crotch with it as we walk out. I _knew_ there is a reason for that white coat!

>> I steal a glance at his erection, before his obvious ploy of camouflaging it with his lab coat. It looks, much like the man himself, formidable!

"Let's walk out together." We leave the office and go to the entry foyer. "Annie, did you have time to call x-ray about Mr. Nguyen's ultrasound?"

"Yes, sir, they're going to fax you a report as soon as it's done."

"Thank you, Annie, that's very good. I'll see you on Tuesday. You have a good weekend, OK?"

"Yes, sir, you have a good weekend too. And you too, Mrs. Mish."

"You too."

>> She calls him "sir." I can only hope, by the end of the evening, so will I.

As we drive away from my office, you tell me how you pulled off this coup. I must admit you have been very clever. I have never told you my real name. But you know I live in Houston. You ordered a copy of the Texas Medical Association Professional Directory and started looking for the picture of a man whose face you know but whom you've never met. There I was, page 11, second row, third from the left, looking blandly out from the page like any other doctor.

>> Just call me Nancy Drew, online girl detective. And ohmigod, Tsai...bland? Uh-uh. Your eyes give you away.

But the stunning part is your timing. My son's best friend moved away two years ago, and his mother and my wife were good friends too. My wife and children have flown out for a long weekend, leaving me at home alone. I am on call at the hospital, so I couldn't go with them. Of course you and I have IM'd back and forth often, and last week when I told you about my weekend alone I promised you I'd be spending some quality time with your ass. I meant in my imagination (as usual), but you had different plans.

You pull a printout from your purse. It's from the first time you IM'd me, not long after my delurk. We had been talking about monogamous relationships.

DocTsai99: Why did we all get mis-matched? Why did all the spankos marry vanillas?
MrsMist: Well..let's face it, if I were shopping for a mate now, spanking would be at the top of the qualifications list.
DocTsai99: This is why I think it's SO important to counsel the newbies, the single ones, that a little spanking play in courtship does NOT mean this is a suitable life partner.
MrsMist: Right. And making it THE qualification would certainly limit the pool of potentials. What...1 in 100, maybe?
DocTsai99: I've done the math a thousand times. If one woman in 100 really likes to be spanked, and one in 1000 likes to be spanked HARD, and there are 150 million women in the country, and 10% are unmarried and the right age, and . . .
MrsMist: HA...3? At opposite ends of the globe? (We won't even talk geography!)
DocTsai99: Geography? If you were single, wouldn't you move to Australia for a lifetime of sound spankings?
MrsMist: in a heartbeat. It was such a revelation that there were men out there (relatively normal, very intelligent ones, too) who wanted to spank as much and as hard as I wanted to BE spanked
DocTsai99: Or more?
MrsMist: I doubt that
MrsMist: seriouisly
DocTsai99: I'd love to try
MrsMist: where are you from, anyway?
DocTsai99: I haven't disclosed that yet. I'm being cautious about progressive disclosure.
MrsMist: I understand
MrsMist: probably not Australia, though.
DocTsai99: No. It would be fun to have my hand and your ass meeting. In my fantasy world I've got a specially constructed house with premium soundproofing. And a spankee who is yelling her head off as I set her ass on fire. Don't mean to be coarse . . .
MrsMist: oooh that sounds wonderful to me!
MrsMist: you are wired, all right
DocTsai99: I'm understating it, of course. I would spank harder, and it would go on a lot longer.
MrsMist: I take back my question, I don't think I WANT to know where you are!!!
DocTsai99: Let's put it this way. You find some way to track me down. You walk in the door just at closing, shake my hand and tell me to sit down. You climb over my lap.
DocTsai99: I have great self-control, but flesh and blood can only stand so much. I'd crumble.
MrsMist: Sounds good to me.

>> How many times had I read and reread that first conversation? His scientist's mind dispassionately calculating the potential pool of spanko mates among the general population.
>> And yet...despite the odds, he and I had somehow found each other. I remembered an Agatha Christie mystery I had read years back, Towards Zero, its premise being that sometimes a chain of events is set in motion that leads to an inexorable, inevitable conclusion. The littlest, most innocuous happening. Like perusing a sexually oriented newsgroup one morning, over coffee, and this one morning, unlike many others, having both the time and inclination to send out a response.

Well of course I remembered that first IM, but I had forgotten how explicitly I had scripted the scene we are in now. But what next?

>> I thought I knew . . . any moment we would pull up in front of his house, he would escort me inside, and within moments he would be stoking a fire in my ass. The thought was delicious. But I was wrong; we weren’t going to his home. Instead, we drove to a quiet side street and Tsai parked the car. It was just after 5. There was a maroon awning which said “Chez Pierre.” Hmm, a romantic dinner at a cozy restaurant. Yes, that would be very nice. Then I noticed the sign on the door: “Open at 6 for dinner. Reservations suggested.” I was surprised when Tsai knocked on the door, and astonished when it swung open and a pretty young lady in a black dress opened the door and said, “Good evening, Doctor Tsai. Good evening, Madame. Won’t you come in? Marcello will be with you in a moment.”

I admit it, I was impressed. I was first and foremost a Brooklyn girl at heart and had never set foot in a French restaurant until the age of 20 when, working as a secretary at the United Nations, I was treated to lunch at an exclusive French establishment in Turtle Bay by a member of the Colombian delegation who definitely had dishonorable intentions He was ten years older than I, a man of the world, and when our appetizer of escargots arrived, I tried to nonchalantly imitate him as he removed the shells with a contraption that looked for all the world like an eyelash curler! I was sure my naivete showed and that the haughty waiter regarded my clumsy maneuvers with contempt.

>> Pierre’s was an odd hybrid. The décor was elegant, but the atmosphere was homey, more like a bistro than a snooty French restaurant. The maitre d’ (Marcello) treated me like an old friend, and I think he _was_ an old friend of Tsai’s (I wondered if he might be patient). He showed us to a table in a corner, away from the front door and the kitchen, that looked through a window onto a pretty inner garden.

I knew Pierre wouldn’t mind us coming early. I had early dinner here on the first Tuesday of every month, when my department had its monthly meeting. Dinner was provided at the meeting by a drug manufacturer, and the drug rep always said a few words about their new, expensive, and redundant medication (we call them “me-too” drugs) before the meeting. Eating their food made me feel like a whore, as if I could be bought and sold by a free meal, so I had taken to eating, usually by myself, at Pierre’s. Plus, you get what you pay for, and the drug company dinner was usually loaded with fat and calories, while at Pierre’s I could get a grilled chicken breast, perfectly seasoned, with ten times the taste at one-tenth of the calories. My meeting started at 6, but Pierre had been accommodating and I think he liked having a guest already in the restaurant when it opened.

>> I soon learned Tsai was a regular customer, and that Antoinette, who was helping set up the tables, was his usual waitress. She brought us water, butter, and rolls, and Tsai put his hand on her elbow, encouraging her to chat with us for a moment. She had an open face and an engaging manner. Tsai asked about her boyfriend and her quest for a summer job in New York. Yes, she said, she had gotten a job. She would be working in the United Nations with the office that caters diplomatic receptions; she was looking forward to it. Ha! Imagine that! She could have been me, some 20 years ago.

>> Then she returned to her duties. Chez Pierre’s was quiet as the staff prepared for the evening’s customers. The tablecloths were maroon, the napkins crisp and white, the music soft. I was feeling quite pleased with myself when Tsai put an end to my smug daydreams.

“Michele, this is quite a stunt you have pulled.”

>> “Why, Tsai, what do you mean?”

“I think you know what I mean. I am delighted to see you but it would have been more considerate of you to let me know ahead of time. I would certainly have been able to make better arrangements for this weekend.”

>> “Well, gee, Tsai, I thought it would be a nice surprise.”

“I know you thought about telling me you wanted to come. You had plenty of opportunity to tell me, didn’t you?”

>> Plenty of opportunity . . . we usually IM two or three or sometimes four times a day, most recently this morning, when I had sent him a message saying “I will have a surprise for you later today.” Usually a surprise is a new story or a photo, and suddenly those seemed like better surprises. I nodded, yes, I certainly could have told him.

“Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to come?”

>> “I thought you wouldn’t let me come.” My voice seemed very small.

“And why might I have told you not to come?”

>> “Because it wouldn’t have been right for you?” Smaller yet.

“And why might it not have been right for you?”

>> “Because, well, there could be a lot of reasons, I don’t know . . .” Disappearing.

“And if you don’t know, why didn’t you ask me?”

>> My gaze was downcast. “I’m sorry, Tsai.”

>> This was so painful. My heart felt as if it were being squeezed, my stomach was a lump of lead. And then Antoinette came over. She looked at me a little uncertainly, but Tsai motioned for her to go ahead. She told us about the specials, which were baby lamb with garlic and rosemary, lobster with scallops, and roast duck with orange glaze.

Lobster, that was good news. I knew that Michele loves lobster.

“Thank you, Antoinette.” She nodded and left us. “Why are you sorry, Michele?”

>> (Ow!) “Because I came here without thinking about you, about what it meant to you.”

“You didn’t care if it was something I wanted?”

>> “I cared! But I didn’t think.” Suddenly the butter knife, the curlicue of butter, the dinner roll, were fascinating.

“Or if the time wasn’t good for me?”

>> I nodded, miserable. The curlicue of butter was getting misty. Tsai’s voice was calm, direct, and although he was reproving me there was no trace of anger. I felt two feet tall.

“You just wanted your own way, didn’t you?”

>> I nodded again; it was true. Tsai understood me, in and out, my desire and my weakness, so much better than I did. But he needed me to understand as well. My shoulders were shaking, my eyes quietly spilling over.

“Michele, you know how to act responsibly, and from now on I expect you to do so.”

>> “I thought that if you were mad you could just spank me.” (Just saying this made me feel, not only two feet tall, but about two years old.)

“No, Michele. I don’t treat people like that. I might spank you for being late for a date, but this is different. You have made a serious mistake, and you can only make amends for your misjudgment by acting better in the future.”

>> “Oh, Tsai, Tsai, I’m really sorry. Please, please forgive me.”

I was grateful that the restaurant was empty and the staff knew me well, it was like reprimanding a child _en famille_ rather than in public. Michele’s words (and tears) made it plain that she had learned her lesson, and I pulled my chair close to hers and put my arm around her shoulder. “There, there, I’ve always known that you are headstrong. That causes you problems sometimes, doesn’t it? You’ve paid the price, sweetie, and I forgive you.”

>> Tsai was stroking my back soothingly. I cried on his shoulder, ashamed to have acted so selfishly, ashamed to have disappointed him. He gave me a soft kiss on my wet cheek.

“There, there, it’s OK. I forgive you. It’s OK.”

>> Earlier in the day, as the airplane leveled off at cruising altitude and the flight attendants passed out soda and pretzels, I been daydreaming about how the evening would progress. I had been so right, and so wrong! I had imagined that Tsai might be annoyed about my unannounced trip (or perhaps just pretend to be), use that as an excuse to punish me, and then hold me and comfort me while I cried on his shoulder, feeling all warm and forgiven. What I never dreamed was that the confrontation, the punishment, the tears, and the forgiveness would all take place in a restaurant, before we had a chance to order our meals!

>> But this hadn’t been a spanking as a make-believe punishment; Tsai was quite serious, and I felt I really _had_ learned something. His calmness showed my irresponsibility far more clearly than anger could have done. He was demanding that I live up to his high expectations, and he clearly believed I could fulfill them. And there was one more thing . . . without raising his voice, without lifting a finger, Tsai had taken control of our evening.

>> A shiver went through me.

“Let me tell you something. I don’t know what I would have said if you had asked me if you could come, as you know this is a very serious step you have taken. But I can tell you how I feel now. I am very happy to have you here.”

>> “You are? Really?”

“Really. I can’t imagine how I could like you any better, but I will certainly know you better by the end of the evening.”

>> Well, that was sweet! I didn’t feel a need to say anything more, I just nestled into his warm chest. I was happy to stay like that for a few minutes while his hand, caressing my back, calmed and soothed me. Then Tsai lifted his head, signaling to Antoinette with a raised eyebrow. I’m sure my eyes were still red and I did feel a little self-conscious.

“Madame is all right?”

“Yes, she’s all right. She was upset because she has made a mistake, but it will be all right. I have just the solution for naughty girls.”

>> Yikes! Talk about broad hints!

“When Madame is naughty I spank her bottom until she has learned her lesson.”

>> Whoooah! So much for the hinting! I noticed that there was a fleur-de-lis pattern on the fabric of the chair back opposite me. I silently tried to become one of the fleurs.

Tsai turned to me. “Isn’t that right, Michele?”

>> Don’t tell me I have to do something! But Tsai clearly expected an answer. I nodded my head, almost literally in shock, feeling warmth rise through my chest, up to my neck and cheeks.

Tsai reached over, put his hand under my chin, and gently lifted it up and toward Antoinette. “Look at Antoinette, and tell her if that’s right. Speak to her, Michele.”

>> I forced myself to meet Antoinette’s gaze. I realized that just as Tsai had instructed me to look at her, he had implicitly commanded her to look at me, and she was doing so. Her dark, expressive eyes seemed to show more than simple politeness. “Yes,” I managed to say.

“Yes, what?”

>> “Yes, he spanks me.” It felt unreal, as if I were watching the scene from above, seeing my lips speak and watching as Antoinette herself was suddenly suffused with color. I am pretty uninhibited discussing spanking with like-minded friends on the computer, but I would never dream of talking about it with a waitress.

“Very good, Michele.”

>> He lowered my chin with his hand and I felt a relief and gratitude at the compliment. I felt something else, too, a sudden surge of wetness. My head was spinning, my cheeks were burning, my heart was pounding . . . and my pussy was soaking.

>> The striking thing about this conversation was Tsai’s assured manner; it was almost as if he would be equally at ease talking with Antoinette about her new job, my spanking, or the wine list. I found myself remembering the confident manner of a dom I once saw, dressed in full leather, feet slightly apart, arms akimbo on his hips, with a cane in his hand, the personification of confidence, and suddenly I felt the same power in this man as he put Antoinette and me through our paces.

Ordinarily I would have expected Michele to order first, but I knew she needed a moment to compose herself. “I’ll have the duck, please, and a green salad with the house dressing on the side. The rice sounds good but I’d like something else besides the asparagus, what other vegetables do you have tonight?” Antoinette’s mouth opened but she seemed to have lost the power of speech temporarily, so I went on, “just tell Pierre anything but the asparagus would be fine, OK? Oh, and one more thing, I’d like a coke with dinner.”

>> It was only later that it dawned on me that this sophisticated man took me to a very nice restaurant where I would have expected him to order something to drink with dinner; perhaps a nice cabernet. But he felt like a coke, so he ordered a coke. His assurance was almost scary.

I never drink and spank, of course, certainly not on a first date. Antoinette busied herself with her note pad, stalling until her blushes subsided enough for her to look me in the eye again. After a moment she looked up and nodded. I said, “All of those specials sounded good. Michele, how about you? What would you like?”

>> I was torn between the lamb and the lobster (actually lobster is one of my absolute favorite foods, but it was so expensive I felt uncomfortable ordering it). I took a deep breath, hoping that I myself would be able to speak. “I’ll have the lamb, please.” So I could still talk, that was a relief. “The lamb dinner, that would be fine.”

I interrupted. “I don’t think so, Michele. I know you love lobster, and besides I’d like to see you with a red tail, a red lobster tail, in your hands.” I turned to Antoinette. “Madame will have the lobster, with a green salad and house dressing on the side. That will be all, Antoinette.”

“Very good, sir. Thank you.” She turned toward the kitchen, and watching her go I was sure the most interesting part of her evening was already behind her.

“I’m glad we’ve got that behind us. Now, Michele, this is going to be a very special evening. We’re going to have a delicious dinner together and just enjoy each other’s company.”

>> I should have called him on his arrogance then and there. Maybe HE knew Toni well enough to talk about my spanking with her, but I certainly didn’t. But it was over, wasn’t it, and we were back in the usual date-in-the-cozy-restaurant routine. I gave Tsai as big a smile as I could manage; I was still regaining my sea legs after the crazy ups and downs (and sideways-es!) of the last half hour. And the “delicious dinner” and each other’s company sounded so nice. How could I say I had just met him, when I had known him for so long? This man with whom I had already shared my soul, long before he saw my face?

“Now, where were we? Oh, yes, we were talking about your spanking, right?”

>> I wanted to say, we were talking about my spanking in front of the waitress, but for once I was at a loss for words, and being bratty didn’t seem like a smart option.

“I’m going to take you over my knees, lift that pretty dress of yours, pull your panties down to your knees, and spank you on your bare bottom.”

>> This was so weird. I had been fantasizing this conversation for weeks, ever since I bought the plane tickets. But in my fantasy, I had snuggled up to Tsai after dinner and told him all about the spanking I wanted him to give me. But I wasn’t telling Tsai what I wanted, and he wasn’t asking me. He was telling me.

“It’s going to be a long, hard spanking, and I am going to have you howling in pain and begging me to stop long before I’m through. I’m going to blister your bottom.”

>> My stomach was doing flip-flops.

“But you already know that, don’t you? That’s what I have always promised I would give you when we finally met.”

>> I nodded, mutely. Was I really consenting? Or hadn’t I already consented, months ago, when I said I would give my soul to be spanked like this by Tsai? Certainly my unannounced trip could have no other meaning, simply by coming I was begging him to spank me just like this . . . long and hard . . . the way he always promised me.

>> I felt another flood of moisture in my panties . . . but along with the arousal I was suddenly aware of butterflies in my stomach. Was it possible, just possible, that I had met my match? That Tsai was capable of doing what no man had done before, make me sincerely beg him to stop while he blisters my bottom . . . and then just keeps right on spanking?

>> In my imagination, I had seen this as a fun encounter. I was a regular on the spanking scene, author of a hundred stories, friends with many of the scene's luminaries. Tsai was a newcomer who showed promise. All right, he showed great promise. But it would be my job to guide him as he developed into a major spanker in his own right, and he would be grateful to me as his confidence grew.

>> I seemed to have miscalculated. Tsai had more confidence than any human being deserved. And suddenly I was far less certain that the evening would follow my plan. All right, I was totally certain it would not. And it sounded as if my bottom was in very serious trouble. Suddenly that idea, which would ordinarily have excited me, was creating some major league anxiety.

“But that’s enough talk about spanking. What airline did you fly in on?”

>> Who remembered? The way I felt right now, I could have flown in under my own power.

Antoinette arrived and served our salads. She had recovered her composure.

I had a good appetite, but Michele only picked at her food all through dinner. I could see that she was getting more nervous as the meal progressed. I guessed that she wanted to talk more about her spanking, but what was there to say? I was going to spank her the way I wanted to, and that was that. Anyway, she would have plenty of opportunity to express her feelings during the spanking.

>> Dinner lasted an eternity. Tsai chatted away conversationally but it was all I could do to hear what he was saying. My mind was elsewhere, thinking of his promise, or his threat. The phrase kept running through my mind . . . “blister your bottom . . . blister your bottom . . . blister your bottom.”

>> And then, suddenly, dinner was over. We got into Tsai’s car and drove away from the restaurant. I was trying to collect my thoughts but things had gotten so confusing.

As we drove back to my house Michele was quiet and I could see her biting her lip.

“How was the lobster, Michele?”

>> “Oh, it was very nice, thank you.” How could I say how I felt? That I was glad to be here, glad to be with him at last, but also increasingly apprehensive about the spanking?

>> The drive from the restaurant seemed to take forever. Night had fallen while we were eating dinner and the streets were dark and unfamiliar. I was feeling more and more unsettled; exactly what had I gotten myself in for? Fortunately, Tsai was completely oblivious to my discomfort; I wouldn't have known how to explain it to him.

Her gaze was glassy, her fingertips drummed on the armrest, her face flushed. Classic signs of anxiety. I let her stew, a little fretting would be good for her.

>> The situation was rapidly slipping away from me. It was odd, because in all my fantasies of Tsai over the months we bad been corresponding online, his control of me was central to the scenarios I concocted in my mind and wrote about. But now that it was happening I felt uneasy, frightened. Not for my physical safety. I knew I was utterly safe, physically. It was something else: no man had ever had this degree of control over me.

While Michele fretted, I was replaying our many conversations (via e-mails, IMs, and shared stories) about what kind of spanking she wanted. Spanking isn’t a one-size-fits-all proposition, but Michele had made her wishes very clear. She had fantasized about being spanked since she was a child. She had experienced spankings, quite a few spankings, in the last few years. But there was a spanking she had not yet received, and it was the spanking she had always dreamed of. She still wanted someone to take control and force her to accept more spanking than she could tolerate on her own. She still waited for the spanking of a lifetime, the one whose punishing intensity would seize and consume her. As it happened, that was precisely the kind of spanking I had said I wanted to give her. You might say that she wanted more spanking than she wanted, and now I was going to give it to her. No wonder she was anxious.

>> Suddenly the ride that had been too long was over and it was too short. We turned in the driveway, the garage door rose, we drove in and the car stopped. Tsai has a garage? In all my fantasies he never had a garage. Suddenly my fantasies seemed more like delusions.

We got out of the car. I took her gently by the arm and walked her down the hall to the living room. I took her coat, cocoa brown color, nice, soft fabric, and hung it in the hall closet.

“Go ahead and sit down, Michele.”

>> I had expected he would want to spank me right away and I was relieved that he was obviously in no hurry. I was having serious second thoughts about this whole encounter. I could have been enjoying dessert at Chez Pierre’s (except he wouldn’t let me, when I asked for the dessert menu). I could have been tactfully coaching him about how important it is to be tuned in to the spankee’s wishes and reactions especially when you have never spanked her before.

>> Maybe even that wasn’t such a good idea, though, Tsai had already told me his views. He was going to spank me more than I wanted (so much for my wishes) and the reaction he wanted to see was howling and tears and pleading for him to stop. So he knew all about being in tune with me, but he had never said he wanted to give me the spanking of my dreams. The spanking I got would be the spanking HE wanted to give me. It would be HIS choice how hard to spank me, how long to spank me, and if I howled for him to stop I had a sinking feeling he would want to hear more howling. I shivered again.

“I said, go ahead and sit down, Michele.”

>> His calm manner only heightened my anxiety. I had to turn this around. Maybe we could go out for a drink. Suddenly a movie was looking pretty good, too.

I turned on some soft lights and put on a Leonard Cohen CD. I was thinking of her sig line, "I heard of a man who says words so beautifully that, if he only speaks their name, women give themselves to him." (Leonard Cohen)

>> "Tsai, I would really like something to drink ." I felt as if I had been in the Sahara Desert for a lifetime; my tongue stuck to the roof of the mouth and I had trouble speaking. I was also having trouble thinking of the words. "I think I'm dehydrated from the airplane." (not!)

>> I didn't understand why I had this sudden need to explain myself. It was as though I had no right, somehow, to determine anything that would happen tonight. It was silly, in a way. Tsai was kind and gracious, and I had no reason to think he would have refused me a drink, yet I felt obliged to follow up my request with an explanation of why I was thirsty. Incredible!

"Why, sure Michele."

>> “Is there a place near here we could go?”

"We're already here. This is where we are going to stay, and, incidentally, that couch is where you are going to get your spanking."

>> “Tsai, I’m having some second thoughts.” The words came out unbidden.

“There’s a bathroom just down the hall. Go on in, pee, and get freshened up.”

>> It was as if he hadn’t heard me. He hadn’t rejected my second thoughts, he simply acted as if they didn’t exist. Suddenly my bladder felt as if it were bursting and I realized the bathroom idea was a good one. Not only that, I needed to get away from him for a few minutes, be somewhere I could lock him out. I couldn't think straight with him looking at me. His physical presence was overwhelming.

“Oh, Michele," this as I was starting down the hall. “don’t close the bathroom door.”

>> This was too much, I thought. There was no way I was going to leave the door open while I peed, I fumed. No way. The bathroom was brightly lit, the walls decorated with black wallpaper with white flowers on slender vines from floor to ceiling (magnolias, perhaps?). The vanity was white, the fixtures brass. I slipped my panties down, flipped my skirt up, and sat down on the toilet as I looked through the door down the hall. Who did he think he was?

>> It was more than his considerable height (over 6 feet), his large, strong hands (and I had been sneaking peeks at them all night). It was his manner, the easy way he assumed control. After all, it was I who had surprised HIM, and he wasn't in the least bit taken off balance. My actions had been planned; his, spontaneous. Initially, at least, it was he who had been reacting to ME. When did the tables turn?

For all her party experience and woman-of-the-world writing, Michele was certainly proving to have some real potential as a born-again novice spankee. It was a funny concept, a little like “second virginity.” She seemed to be more vibrating than walking down the hall, and when she returned you would have thought she was walking from the tumbrel to the guillotine.

“Now I’ll get you a drink. I think a nice cup of coffee would be just right.”

>> “You’re so sweet, but coffee just makes me jumpy. Do you have any white wine?”

“No, wine would smooth over all those interesting sensations. You do want to experience these sensations fully, don’t you?”

>> I was experiencing more than enough in the way of sensations, thank you very much. I was overloaded with sensations, they were crowding me, and what I wanted was to dull them a little. Just one glass of wine, dammit, and he wouldn't let me have it.

“I’m going to make you coffee. I’ll be back in a minute. While I’m gone, I want you to imagine me taking you over my knees, pulling down your panties, and spanking your bare bottom until it’s on fire. You sit tight.”

>> How could I sit tight when I was squirming? Damn the man! He can see how nervous I am and he’s giving me coffee instead of wine. I remembered his words in the restaurant: “It’s going to be a long, hard spanking, and I am going to have you howling in pain and begging me to stop long before I’m through. I’m going to blister your bottom.”

>> I felt hot and cold.

The evening had great promise. I went to the kitchen and made coffee for Michele and poured myself a glass of mineral water. I brought our drinks back to the living room.

“There’s your coffee. Careful, it’s hot.”

>> Tsai sat down next to me and leaned back, spreading his arms out on the back of the couch as if there were all the time in the world.

>> I should have told him he was insufferable, I should have refused the coffee, I should have . . . What I did was drink it, one small sip at a time. Anything to slow this down. I felt as if time were accelerating, the room spinning, and then the caffeine hit. The cream and sugar concealed what must have been a double dose of caffeine. It was crazy, all right. Most men give their date a glass of wine or a drink to help them relax and ease into a romantic mood, but Tsai was deliberately doing just the opposite.

>> Suddenly I felt an intense urge to pee.

Michele was a sight. Her palms were sweaty, her hands shaky, her face mottled.

>> Suddenly my pretty outfit seemed like a little girl’s frock. I felt little too, and just like a little girl I wanted to pee again. “I’m going to just use your bathroom again.” I tried to manage a smile, and started to stand up. Tsai leaned over and put his hand firmly on my shoulder and sat me back down again.

“Michele, you used the bathroom ten minutes ago. I need you to control yourself.”

>> Damn it! He wasn’t just bossing me around, he was bossing around my bladder! And the worst of it was that he was right. I didn’t really have to go but my bladder, and my entire pelvis, was painfully consumed in urgent throbbing. At any other time I might have perceived it as intense sexual excitement, but here it was . . . this is hard to describe . . . more like sexual panic. It _was_ panic, in fact.

>> Physically, I was perfectly capable of getting up, putting on my coat, and walking out the door. I willed myself to do just that. But my body seemed to have a mind of its own, overruling my good sense and the alarms going off in my brain. Whatever it was, my will or lack of it, it kept me riveted to the couch, awaiting his next command.

>> A spanking, it seemed, was inevitable tonight. Tsai's writings, his admitted desire to spank me to the point where I was "frantic with pain," had been fodder for my masturbatory fantasies for months now. Could anything really approach those fantasies in reality? But did I want to be the Michele of the stories, the Michele who begged, in a blind panic, for Tsai to stop, stop, STOP? The Michele whose pain made her come hard, over and over again?

>> It seemed I was about to find out.

I could see your panic building. It was time to move ahead with the spanking. I reached over and took your hand.

>> I picked the coffee cup again, there was still a swallow or two left.

“Put the cup down, Michele.”

>> Suddenly I wanted to finish the coffee . . . anything to delay the inevitable . . . but there was no denying his order. I put the cup on the table.

“Look at me, Michele.” Spoken softly but very clearly.

>> I looked up with great difficulty.

“Michele, I am not angry with you for coming to visit, that discussion is behind us. But you have already told me you need a sound spanking. And you have been a very bad girl and that’s what you deserve and what you are going to get: a long, hard spanking on your bare bottom.”

>> Having him look me in the eye as he said those words . . . ohmygod . . . “Tsai, look . . . I changed my mind.”

“Tell me about that, Michele.”

>> “I don’t think I can go through with this. It’s just not what I imagined.”

“That’s OK, Michele.”

>> (Sudden relief.) “Good. Thank you. I knew you’d understand.” (Ah, I can breathe again, the room is spinning less madly.)

“You don’t have to do a thing, sweetheart.”

>> He leaned over toward me.

“I’m the one who will be doing the spanking. All you have to do is react.”

>> I was completely paralyzed. I wanted to bolt but I couldn’t move, couldn’t even blink. Tsai put one hand on each of my shoulders.

It was remarkable. Pulling a woman over my lap is exquisite, it is the moment when she truly yields control, and from that time on there is no turning back. In this transition from the theoretical spanking to the real spanking, in the movement from her sitting apart to her lying, pelvis over my lap, bottom in the air, there is nothing more enjoyable than to feel her suddenly try to pull back at the brink, as Michele did now. But her struggles were too late, and I easily forced her down, over my lap, ready for her spanking.

>> And so, at the end, it was the elusive “non-consensual” spanking of my dreams. Not one where I effectively resisted physically, kicking and screaming, but one where mentally, at the moment of capitulation, my panicked mind shouted “I DON’T WANT THIS!”

>> Want it or not, there I was, easily positioned as he wanted me.

There you were at last, face down, bottom up, the time-honored position. After all those e-mails, to see the soft round fullness of your bottom, outlined nicely by your clingy black skirt. And to feel it! I ran my hand over your bottom. “Michele, your ass is mine now.”

>> Gulp.

I reached to pull your skirt up. “Lift up a little, Michele.”

>> “No, no, leave my skirt down, I have to go . . . please!”

You pressed yourself into me, and the couch, harder, obviously resisting. I took hold of the hem of the skirt and started drawing it up. It came surprisingly easily, despite your lack of cooperation.

>> How ironic that I had purposely worn a dress with a skirt full enough to be easily lifted, a skirt that wouldn’t “resist,” and now I, its wearer, felt an illogical sense of betrayal at the skirt’s easy compliance!

Up came the skirt, unveiling stocking tops, white thighs, lilac panties. I was eager to begin spanking, but not too eager to spend a moment passing my hand over your panties. Nice, very nice, soft mounds just waiting for my punishment.

>> “No no don’t spank me please don’t spank me.”

“Why shouldn’t I spank you, Michele?”

>> I couldn’t think of a reason. How many e-mails had I sent saying I lived for the day when he would spank me? How many IMs, when he asked what kind of a spanking I wanted and I said “a very hard one” and he said that’s what he wanted to give me?

“You’ve been a naughty girl and you deserve a spanking, Michele.”

>> Wasn’t I supposed to be wanting-but-not-wanting it? So where did the “wanting” part of it go, why was I just not-wanting it? My thoughts were interrupted.

>> Smack! The sound startled me. Loud even over the panties. Then the sensation, pain, even through the panties. Before I could begin to register, Whack! again; Smack! Tsai was spanking hard, left, right, center. Smack! Ouch! Smack! Ouch again!

>> I found my voice: “No, Tsai, ow, stop, I DON’T WANT A SPANKING.”

Michele was struggling to roll free but I held her in position easily. The spanking itself was dreamy, my hand coming down hard, flat, all over her pantied bottom.

>> My God, just his hand on my panties was already hurting, a lot. What had I gotten myself in for? I told him I changed my mind! Why wouldn’t he stop? Then he did stop. But I felt his hand at the waistband of my panties. Oh, no! He would see my bare bottom, would spank my bare bottom.

I wasn’t surprised to see Michele reaching back, grabbing her panties while she clenched her bottom cheeks. I gave her a couple of sharp smacks at the base of her ass and she let go of the panties and spread her hand protectively over her bottom. I seized her wrist with my left hand and raised it to the small of her back.

>> “No no let go of me.”

I reached down and rolled the waistband of her panties in my fingers. She bucked, clenching her cheeks, and continued to protest. I slid the top of the panties down an inch or two, just enough to uncover the top of her delectable crack. She struggled to reach back with her right hand but I held it fast.

>> “No, stop, don’t take them down. Don’t pull down my panties!”

Slowly I eased the panties down. More of the divide came into view as the twin mounds emerged. I let my middle finger trace the cleft between her cheeks as I continued to lower her panties.

>> “Not on the bare, please, don’t spank me bare.”

>> I was in a blind panic, the thought of being spanked on the bare was overwhelming. Mark is not the only man to have seen my bare bottom; I have been spanked bare at parties, but somehow this was different. It was too much, too soon, I wasn’t ready for it, didn’t want it . . . but I was powerless to stop it. I felt Tsai pull my panties down with maddening slowness. Struggle and kick and complain as I might, down they came until they rested inside out at mid-thigh.

Michele’s bottom looked lovely, and her protective struggles made it seem far more naked than if she had simply allowed me to remove her panties. There were pink blotches from the spanks I had given her already. Now, I thought, we start the spanking in earnest.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

>> “Ow, ow, oweee”

Smack! Smack! Smack!

>> “No more, no. Ouch!”

Smack! Smack! Smack!

>> “Stop, stop, that hurts!”

I thought Michele was made of tougher stuff than this. We were just getting started, so why was she complaining so loudly? (It might have been because I was spanking so hard.) My punishing hand came down again and again all over her bare bottom as she yelped and squirmed and asked me to stop.

>> It was chaos. I was still struggling to wriggle free. I was trying to get Tsai to stop but it was hard to talk with him hitting me so hard. Each blow lit a fire in a new spot on my bottom as I kicked and yelled. He kept on spanking, hard and steady, oblivious to my pleas. Time seemed to stand still as I absorbed the pain of one smack after another. I have never found a hand spanking so hard to take. Maybe it was my apprehension, maybe it was the way Tsai was ignoring my pleas, but whatever it was, this was one painful spanking. I was near tears but desperate not to cry in these circumstances.

It was wonderful. Michele was pleading, yelling, and bucking her bottom up and down, which looked very sexy. My erection felt obscenely large. When Michele thrust her bottom higher it was easy to hit it really hard (this made her yell louder). I kept reminding her that she was a naughty girl who deserved a really hard spanking, that she had asked for this for so long and she should appreciate that she was getting it at last.

>> I had thought Tsai was spanking me as hard as he could right at the beginning, but somehow he spanked harder as he went along. I told him this was too much. I told him, but he wasn’t listening.

Of course I was listening. And I was spanking, and then after that I spanked her more. I was in no rush, we had all evening and it was not yet 7:00. I was planning on doing a lot of spanking, and Michele was going to be doing a lot of suffering.

>> “No, no, no.”

“Yes, yes, yes.” I kept on spanking. Michele was bucking less and more waggling her bottom from side to side. She was also rolling her whole body, obviously aiming to squirm off my lap. Of course my left hand, which was holding her wrist tight, was also pressing down hard on the small of her back and holding her close to me. She wasn’t going anywhere. But it was fun to watch, and each time she stuck her bottom up, or out, I hit it, hard.

>> The pain and the powerlessness were overwhelming. I was incapable of a complicated thought like “I’ve got to get away.” I simply struggled helplessly while his powerful smacks landed all over my bare bottom.

Michele’s bottom looked wonderful. It was getting redder and redder, still with some blotchy fingerprints at the edges where my hand had hit especially hard, but the entire middle and most of the sides were just solid crimson. But what made it particularly fun to look at was the way she waved it around, clenching and unclenching her cheeks in constant, painful motion.

>> My God, my God, I can’t stand this, I can’t stand this.

Each slap from my hand made her flesh shake. My own hand was hurting horribly, but I was loving the intimacy of my flesh on her flesh (with my fingers grazing her anus or pussy from time to time) too much to even think about stopping.

>> I was no longer Michele, no longer anything but my roasting bottom as Tsai kept on spanking me.

Looking at Michele, I knew the pain was filling her whole body to the brim. I kept adding more, as each slap now fell on well-punished territory.

>> Finally . . . finally! . . . the spanking stopped. I just lay there, spent, so relieved it was over. It had been long, hard, and painful, Tsai had certainly lived up to his word. I was panting breathlessly. But I had made it through his prolonged punishment, heaven only knows how when I had thought I couldn’t stand one more smack. Gradually my breathing slowed, my muscles relaxed, my mind cleared.

>> Suddenly I felt Tsai’s fingers gently probing between my legs, and I became aware that my pussy was flooded with moisture. It was bizarre, it was as if all I had felt was pain but somehow my pussy had a mind of her own. Is it possible that I hadn’t enjoyed it, but my pussy had? Did that make any sense? This whole evening was bewildering!

“Well, Michele, I’m certainly glad that you enjoyed your little spanking. That wetness between your legs is very stimulating.”

>> I shriveled up. I had never made much of a secret of my arousal at our spanking talk, but this was . . . different! And “little spanking?” I think not! This was a spanking I would remember for a long time. And even though Tsai made me take it, even though he spanked me when I said “no,” I was glad I had been through it. I was even more glad it was over at last. What an experience!

I knew what Michele was thinking. But she was mistaken.

>> Tsai’s hand withdrew and he leaned over and slid open the drawer on the coffee table. He reached inside and picked up a paddle. It was not very large, the spanking surface was perhaps nine inches long. It was thin enough that it looked as if there was some flex to it. But I wasn’t really paying attention to these details. I was just staring at the PADDLE. What could Tsai conceivably be thinking? Surely he was going to warn me that next time, if I wasn’t good, I would get the paddle. But there was another possibility, one I didn’t even want to think about. I’d been paddled before, by my husband. And what I remembered best about the experience was that, sooner than I would have expected, I wanted it to END. With a hand spanking, the spanker has physical feedback (the pain in his own hand) in addition to the verbal feedback from the spankee. I learned the hard way that this feedback was lacking during a paddling. The wood felt no pain! The same couldn’t be said for my unfortunate bottom.

>> “Tsai, Tsai, what are you doing?”

I didn’t say a word. I held the paddle and looked at Michele meaningfully.

>> “Oh, Tsai, no, please. I’ve been spanked so hard already. Don’t spank me any more. Please, Tsai! I am really, really afraid of the paddle, I’m not playing games here!”

Michele pleaded beautifully. She sounded so sincere.

>> Let me tell you, I WAS sincere! I was terrified of more punishment. And not just of more punishment, but of more punishment on a behind that was already glowing!

“Michele, you have been a very naughty girl and I know what you need and want better than you do. Now be a good girl and try to be brave while I paddle you.”

>> “PLEASE don’t paddle me, Tsai, please no. I know you think I am doing this just for effect, to play along, but I swear I am not!”

I rubbed the paddle over her ruby-red backside, enjoying her distress. Then I raised the paddle and brought it down sharply on her right cheek.

>> “OW!”

This light paddle would cause little bruising. But it packed a sting that was truly memorable, at least I was sure it would be memorable for Michele. I smacked her left cheek, hard, then her right, then her left again.

>> “NO NO NO TSAI” I closed my eyes tight, and clenched my bottom cheeks together. How could I get through to him, how could I make him stop?

With a small paddle like this there are many different places to smack from about the middle of the buttocks on down, and I covered every one, many times over. There are the middle parts of the cheeks, the sides of the cheeks, the undercurves, and of course the crease where bottom melts into thigh. I also enjoy bringing the paddle down sharply over the crack, smacking both cheeks at once and making them smack each other in the aftershock. Each of these punishing options brought an audible response from my unfortunate spankee, who was shouting and yelling but still finding energy to plead as well.

>> The pain from that paddle on my already-spanked bottom was just unbelievable, but what was worse was how Tsai just kept on spanking and spanking. He seemed oblivious to my yells and begging. It was beginning to dawn on me that there was nothing I could do or say to make him stop. I felt trapped in a spanking “loop,” caught in a spanking that might never end.

I wasn’t oblivious to her yells and begging, I was loving them. Sweet music, the sounds of a sexy woman being soundly spanked. Or, in this case, soundly paddled.

>> I just don’t cry from being spanked, but the emotions the paddling was arousing in me were so intense that as I fought for breath and struggled to break free and yelled with each smack I realized that moisture was spilling out of my eyes. My own vocalizing took me by surprise, embarrassed me. Wasn’t I tougher than this? My yelling turned to howling and tears streamed down my cheeks. This is what Tsai had promised me, that he would spank me till I howled.

I did promise that, didn’t I?

>> My ass was completely on fire, and still Tsai kept on hitting me. My God, what was he trying to do? The pain was not to be believed. I told him how much it was hurting and he just hit me harder. Why didn’t he seem to understand, I really wanted him to stop? Or maybe, unbelievable as it seemed to me, he DID understand I wanted him to stop and he deliberately chose not to.

The paddling was obviously hurting Michele a lot; it was delightful. Each blow brought a new red rectangle on top of the spreading pink from the hand spanking. Each blow brought a cry as her bottom bucked up and down under the stimulation of this intense punishment. I started off in the middle of her ass, then covered the sides thoroughly, and then went back to the middle and down.

>> I was crying my eyes out, no longer able to plead, just bawling as Tsai paddled me so hard. I have never imagined that anything could hurt this much. In all my fantasies about him spanking me over the course of the months of our correspondence, never once did I think that at some point I would want nothing more than to get my ass (LITERALLY) out of there!

As I paddled the bottom of her rump I brought the paddle up with a wristy snap that pulled her cheeks up, hard. It must have been pulling at her pussy, too, but she didn’t seem to be getting much erotic pleasure from it. It was fun to smack away at the proud undercurves of her gorgeous Italian ass. During the paddling her entire bottom had become fire engine red, and at the base of her seat she had the cutest little blisters. Of course I made sure to paddle those blisters.

Let’s see, I promised she would cry, she’s doing that. I also promised her blisters, and she’s got those too. “OK, Michele, OK. You’ve done great”

>> FINALLY it was over. “Thank you, Tsai, thank you. My God, that was painful, oh that paddle hurts so much.” Tsai was rubbing my bottom, which was still hurting very badly. I lay there, sobbing hard, and it seemed the pain would never diminish. I was shaking. What a paddling! I can’t even begin to describe the pain, this was a punishment of an intensity and duration that I could not even have imagined. I was drained, unable to think of anything but my seared bottom, it was as if the rest of my body had ceased to exist.

An important part of the art of spanking is knowing when to forge ahead, heedless of the woman’s pleas, and when to stop and allow her to compose herself. Michele needed time to recuperate now, and I let her cry over my lap, and then I sat her up and she cried on my shoulder. Things were pretty damp.

>> “Oh, Tsai, my bottom, it hurts so much, you paddled me so hard. I didn’t realize, I just didn’t realize…” Here I trailed off, there just wasn’t anything more to say.

“I know it hurts a lot, Michele, and you took it very well. Now get off my lap and stand up. Hold your skirt up so I can see your naughty red fanny.”

>> “But Tsai, I need you to comfort me.” (He was ignoring me.) “No, please no.”

“Did I hear my least favorite word from a naughty girl? NO?”

>> I backpedaled rapidly. “OK, OK, I’m getting up right now. There, see how good I am?”

I stood up and walked over to the overstuffed armchair, picked it up, and turned it around so the back was facing the center of the room. Its back was about four feet off the ground. Michele was still crying but when she saw me move the chair her eyes grew large and she started backing away.

>> I couldn’t believe it. I had been soundly spanked AND given the hardest paddling in the history of the civilized world and now he obviously wanted to spank me some more. “No, Tsai, haven’t you punished me enough? Please no.”

I put a pillow on top of the back of the chair. “Go ahead and bend over here.” Michele shook her head in desperation but I knew she would not resist, no matter how much she wanted to. I held the pillow and she walked up to the chair, bent well over, and, at my direction, took hold of the arms toward the front of the seat. This brought her blistered bottom well up and her feet left the floor. Her head hung down to the seat cushion. I walked around to the front of the chair so she could see me. I reached down and unbuckled my belt.

>> I couldn’t believe it. More spanking, but now with his belt! I tried to beg but instead started crying again. Through my tears I could see Tsai slip the belt through the belt loops (it looked like slow motion). Then he moved out of my range of vision. The way my behind felt right now, I couldn’t imagine that belt touching it, let alone cracking smartly across my cheeks.

I was really looking forward to belting Michele. The paddle had tenderized her bottom so well, I expected the belt to hurt a lot. Of course, I’d know for sure in a moment.

>> I was in complete panic. My bottom still hurt terribly, I didn’t think I could stand the touch of my skirt on it. How could I endure this? Wasn’t there some way to talk him out of this?

“Spread your legs, Michele.”

>> Why couldn’t I heed my instincts, which screamed, “do whatever you can to get him to STOP?” Instead, I meekly spread my legs and awaited my punishment.

Whack!

>> “Aaieee!” That belt felt like flames lapping at my blistered cheeks.

Yes, it DID hurt her a lot.

Whack!

>> “Owweeeee! Oh Jesus no more no more.”

I set about strapping her steadily, moving the belt's impact zone up and down. As I strapped her, Michele rode that chair like a horse, bucking her bottom up and down, churning her legs back and forth but clinging to the arms for dear life. Now that her tears had broken free she was sobbing convulsively as I laid stroke after stroke on her writhing bottom.

>> I no longer knew who I was or where I was. I knew only that my bottom felt as if it were about to burst into flames as Tsai strapped me vigorously. At first, each stroke of that belt found a new area of my bottom to punish, but after a while the blows began visiting the same spot for a second or third or fourth time. Resistance or escape were not options, Tsai had me totally in his power and I could only submit. Finally the blows stopped and I felt gentle hands lifting me. The blood had gone to my head and I was quite light headed. Tsai held me, steadying me, comforting me. I couldn’t bear the thought of sitting and he helped me kneel next to the couch, crying as he held me. I felt as if I were swimming in a huge pool of water with burning lasers of pain focused on my bottom.

Within just a few minutes Michele’s tears had lessened and I could feel her relaxing. It was a tribute to her capacity to absorb punishment. What a woman!

>> I was crying less and shaking less but I still hardly knew where I was. What an experience!

“You took that very well, Michele. Come back to the couch, now, and we’ll finish you off with some more hand spanking.”

>> “MORE SPANKING?” (crying harder again) “Haven’t I had ENOUGH spanking?”

“Tell me, Michele, who decides if you have had enough spanking?”

>> “You do, Tsai (sob). But you have spanked me so hard (sniffle) and my bottom hurts so much.”

“I know your bottom hurts, Michele, but I want it to hurt more, and longer. Now come over my lap.”

>> Ever so reluctantly I lowered myself over Tsai’s lap, offering my bottom up like a sacrificial lamb to his disciplinary control. How could I ever bear more spanking? Suddenly it started, as Tsai lifted my skirt and began slamming his hard, hard hand on my tender, tender bottom. My God, how could I have imagined I would enjoy this spanking?

“Now I’m going to give you another hand spanking. It won’t last long, Michele, just a few minutes, but I am going to spank you hard. I know you don’t _need_ more spanking, and you don’t _want_ more spanking. I’m not doing this for you, Michele, I’m doing it for me, because I want to spank you more. That’s reason enough.”

As I spoke I matched action to word and began spanking again. Her bottom did look thoroughly punished; I could see some bruises forming, and of course she had blisters from the paddle and welts from the belt. I landed a lot of the spanks on top of the bruises, and the blisters, and the welts, but in all honesty she seemed to yell equally loudly no matter where I spanked her. And I told her that she was wonderful and it would all be over in just a few minutes.

>> I knew Tsai was still talking but I couldn’t hear him all that well. I was crying a lot and he was hitting so hard in all my most sensitive places. I reached back again and got my hand grabbed and held out of the way. I kicked but he brought his right leg over the backs of both of my legs, so my bottom was stuck straight up in the air and my legs were trapped and I had no wiggle room left. I was trussed, totally controlled, and all I could do was experience the pain while I cried, hard. As he spanked the pain in my bottom built higher and higher. Each stroke was not the harsh punishment I had felt with the paddle and the belt, but the cumulative effect was awesome in its punishing intensity.

>> “Tsai, no” (gasp, sob) “no more, please, I can’t stand any more, I can’t stand it!”

“You mean you don’t WANT any more, but I know you can stand it and I am going to show you right now.”

>> “No more!” (hiccupping) “Stop spanking!”

As an author, Michele is a master (or would that be a mistress?) of the precisely chosen word and the clever turn of phrase. But in this extremity, she sounded like any other girl getting a sound fanny warming.

>> “Please stop spanking me! It hurts too much! You’re hurting my bottom too much!” No matter how many times I repeated the words, told him I wanted him to STOP STOP STOP, he simply didn’t listen.

>> Tsai shifted his right leg so it was pinning only my left leg, allowing my right leg to wave around as he spanked. This spread my cheeks some and he began spanking up and down the groove, hard and steady. First on the groove on the right, then on the left. Then right down the center of the cleft, from the middle of my fanny down to directly over the anus, landing punishing whacks as he went. I felt wild, I felt faint, I was hysterical, but none of this kept me from feeling the ever-rising punishing pain of all that spanking. Tsai had made good on every one of his promises, and I knew this was a spanking I would remember forever. I was, truly, frantic with pain.

This was the perfect opportunity to spank Michele more, and I did, making each smack count. It was sheer delight hitting her this hard, seeing her well-punished ass, hearing her cries of pain. It had been a fantastic spanking and I had thoroughly enjoyed every moment. But even good things must end.

I didn’t want to overdo it.

“All right, Michele, your spanking is all over now.”

>> I was totally exhausted. I lay over Tsai’s knees, sobbing, catching my breath in great gasps. My face was covered with tears, my nose running like a river, every muscle limp. Tsai lifted his leg from mine and released my right hand. Could it really be true? Was it really over?

Usually I like to rub a girl’s bottom after a spanking, but I knew that Michele wasn’t ready for that yet. I rubbed her back, though, letting her know I was there for her, that I would help her recover. “There, there, you were wonderful. You were such a brave girl, such a good girl.”

>> I cried for a very long time, the pain in my bottom still unbearable. Then, slowly, I began to return to my senses. Tsai’s soothing words, his comforting hands, were like heaven. The fierce pain settled down to a roaring throbbing. My ass still hurt a lot, but it was no longer so intense I thought I would pass out.

>> After a few minutes Tsai helped me to sit up on his lap (with my thighs on his thighs and my burning bottom in the breeze) and I buried my face in his shoulder and had a good, long cry. This had been such an emotional evening. I had cried in the restaurant from shame, I had cried over his knees from pain, and now I cried on Tsai’s shoulder with a growing sense that everything really was all right. I was going to be fine and he really did think I was wonderful. I have never felt so relaxed or so peaceful, even with my bottom throbbing badly. I still needed time to recover, but I knew that later on Tsai would find that the spanking had done nothing but good for some very feminine needs and desires.

The spanking had been wonderful, and the aftermath was wonderful too. Having Michele sit on my lap while I soothed her, knowing that she would be proud of having taken this spanking, the spanking of her dreams, was very satisfying.

This spanking would have been too much (FAR too much) for most women. But each spanking should be tailored to the woman who wants it, and I knew that this was the spanking that Michele needed (and I was all too happy to give it to her.) Her sobbing lightened, she nuzzled my shirt with her wet nose, and I felt a surge of affection for this remarkable woman. I looked around the room, saw the chair with the pillow still over its back, the paddle lying on the coffee table, my belt on the floor. These simple signs of the change in our lives, this altered reality, were so clear and sweet that I felt a tear on my own cheek.

Doc Tsai