It started out so simply as Dan and I were headed out for a day of fun to one of my favorite places. I was excited and had my sights set on the activities for our day and wasn’t paying attention to the more mundane things of life. Like the gas gauge in our van as I was driving.
The van is primarily my vehicle and for the last year I’ve had a little problem with remembering to put gas in it. Before the van, I drove cars that were smart enough to let me know when they needed fuel so I’d gotten out of the habit of checking the gas gauge if I was just driving around town. I know it’s a stupid thing to do, but more than once Dan’s gotten into the van and had to fill it up for me. Which I really appreciate, btw!
Anyway, so unknown to me, we’re driving on fumes and as we came to a stop at a light, the van made a terrible choking noise and almost died. Both of us are surprised and Dan asked if it’d ever made that noise before and I said it hadn’t. That’s when he glanced over at the gas gauge and practically yelled when he saw it was on “Empty.” Okay, I might as well admit it, it was beyond “Empty” and running on fumes.
Luckily for me and my poor bottom, there was a gas station right around the corner and I was able to coast right on into it. I knew I was in trouble because he’d been lecturing me for a year now to keep gas in the car. But did I listen? Usually, yes, but the one time I let it run out, Dan just had to be there for it.
What was worse was that he was almost gleeful about it. He was practically gloating over the fact that he finally had an excuse to give me the big caning he’d been wanting to give me. I was ready to chew nails.
I didn’t want a big caning. I like little canings after nice long warmups. And I sure didn’t want a spanking for running out of gas of all things. I hate corrective spankings. They hurt and they’re no fun. Except for him, of course.
So I tried to talk him out of it. I whined and wheedled as best I could and all I managed to do was make Dan threaten to add to my total of 21 strokes. He decided on that number because that’s how many gallons of gas he had to put in the van. I guess considering the price of gas these days, I should be happy he chose the number of gallons and not the number of dollars it cost.
After filling up, we went on our excursion as planned and had a wonderful day. We really had fun and I was very grateful that we hadn’t run completely out of gas which really would’ve put a damper on our day. It was a long day though so Dan put off my caning until the next day when we’d both be fresh.
The next morning Dan informed me I’d get my caning after my shower so I slowly dragged myself in and out of the bathroom hoping to somehow get myself psyched up for it. Which didn’t happen because I knew I was in trouble and I just wanted to get it over with.
As much as I hate those corrective spankings, I hate the feeling that hangs over me when I know I’m going to get one. It’s a heavy feeling and I just want the guilt to go away. Even if it meant a real caning.
I presented myself as expected and Dan directed me into position, bending over the couch with my head resting on some pillows. Earlier, we had discussed letting me take three strokes a day for a week but we decided we didn’t want to drag it out like that. But as I bent over for the dreaded cane, I got worried and asked if I could change my mind.
Dan said it was too late for that, told me to get ready, and reminded me to count the strokes. I buried my face in the pillows and tried to relax before the first stroke landed. He landed the first one hard and across the fullest part of my bottom. I gasped out the number and buried my face back into the pillow as the line of fire slowly burned itself into me.
Dan landed the next two strokes parallel to the first but lower down my bottom. I barely managed to squeak out the count and after the third I couldn’t help but ask again if we could space the caning out. I think he was starting to feel sorry for me because he said he wanted to give me one more and then we’d talk about it.
Well, he landed that fourth one hard and low along the crease between my bottom and thigh and I forgot about everything. That one stroke burned like nothing I’d felt before. I cried out and reached back before I could even think about it. Luckily we were pausing, Dan reminded me, otherwise we’d have to start all over again. That’s the penalty for reaching back.
As I was whimpering and trying hard not to be a big baby, Dan came over to sit on the couch to talk to me and check out the welts. He soothed me a little and that’s when I lost it and started crying. I didn’t want to stretch the caning out over days but I also wasn’t sure I could take all 21 strokes in the same session either.
I know I’ve taken more than that while playing, but Dan was serious this time and wasn’t holding back on the strokes. Also, with no warm up, being caned on a cold bottom was more intense than I’d ever imagined it could be.
Then there’s the emotional side of it. I’d broken the rules and let Dan down so I felt bad anyway. The caning was just giving me a way to really feel it and let it out. So I cried and begged forgiveness. And that was just after four strokes! I’m a big baby and I know it.
Finally, we decided I could take four more and then take another decision break. Throughout all of this, Dan was being pretty darn cheerful about my caning. It probably was a good thing because if he’d been stern, I probably would’ve dissolved into a puddle of goo at his feet. He knows me well.
I took the next set of four pretty well although they burned lines of fire that seemed to go deep into my bottom. I gritted my teeth and either hissed the count or yelped it out. I was more than happy to reach the number eight and get my little break.
Once again we discussed the situation, and decided to go on. Another four strokes to make twelve, and I was beginning to wonder if there was any part of my poor aching bottom that didn’t burn. It seemed to all merge into one deep burn across my whole bottom. I wasn’t sure if I could go on with it but after a quick talk, I agreed to keep going.
The next three strokes felt like he was searing me with that cane and somehow I kept up the count. But then the fourth one landed. That stroke landed right in the crease below my bottom but much harder than any strokes before it. I all but screamed that time. It was awful and I couldn’t control myself, I started seriously crying and snuffling. I just knew I couldn’t take any more even though we were at sixteen.
Dan rubbed my back and calmed me down a bit before asking if I wanted to stop. In a way I did but in another way, I just wanted to get it over with. That’s what convinced me. No matter how awful it was and how much it hurt, I wanted to get it over with. I straightened back up and Dan got back into position beside me.
Somehow I got through the next five strokes. I think he took pity on me after that one awful stroke though. As soon as we reached twenty-one, he told me I was free to rub but I wasn’t sure I wanted to touch my bottom. It felt like it was too sore to touch.
After a little hopping around, he told me to go lie on the bed so he could rub some lotion on and we’d cuddle. That sounded wonderful so I scurried into the bedroom and let him soothe me. It all felt so nice and I relaxed into a nice after spanking glow.
After some cuddling and kissing, I began to feel pretty good about life with Dan. He’s a good man who does his best to take care of me. I know he loves me even though I can be a bit goofy sometimes. The more I thought about it, the more grateful I became. That’s when I moved down to show Dan just how much I cared. I did my best to give that man the best blowjob I could. I think I succeeded but you’d have to ask him. *grin*