Saturday, September 30, 2006

Yet Another Spanking Memory (part1)

I don't even know if this qualifies as spanking. It was more like a good whacking, with no panties coming down.

So I was seventeen and he was seventeen. And I was already a dedicated smoker, trying to keep pace with my kool group of friends in school, skipping as many classes as I could in order not to get detentions or suspentions. Pool addict. I was a pool shark at that age, since my skipped classes were spent in the pub that had a pool tables. I was playing for money and winning. (Now I can't put the ball in anymore. lol)

This guy, let's call him Mike, for the sake of it, taught me everything about it. All the small details a real player has to know. That's how I started: five-six hours a day, and two weeks later it was like I was born for playing. Of course, against him, I rarely won. We played using different rules. You announced the ball that was to get in, and if another one went in, it's penalty time. You didn't shoot at them randomly, like a dork! So, we smoked, we drank, we played pool, we partied. We'd known each other for way too many years, since we were babies, and our parents were best friends. The only problem was that he was living in another city, and it wasn't one close to us either. I saw him once or twice a year, for at most two weeks. I really liked this guy. He was like a big brother to me.

His behavior was dominant. I, back then, was a control freak, but still a masochist.

One evening, on the balcony, I was smoking again too much. Our deal was to cut down our smoking to no more than five cigarettes a day. We were puffing the famous Lucky Strike. (Haven't smoked those for years. lol) They didn't have Lights, or Extra Lights, or One. They just had one brand. A white pack with a red circle and the brand embossed on it. More expensive than almost all the other shit.

So we shared a cigarette from our common pack. We had just watched an action movie, and my mind had gone to spanking for some funny reason. Back then spanking was on the back of my mind. Latent. I confessed: "I like violence," I think I said. "I dunno why, but liking it bothers me."

"What kind of violence," he asked.

I couldn't tell him the truth. "Don't know really. The one that involves control, I suppose."

He looked at me funnily, so I elaborated: "Well, maybe it's because I don't know what violence can do to you, you know? I never got spanked, I only got into fights with people. It's curiosity, maybe." And I was hoping I was right. I was hoping that this was the reason why I liked spanking. Because such a cause can be easily removed, together with its effect.

He looked at me expectantly.

"Maybe if I get to see what violence means, it will pass."

"Do you want me to beat you up?" He smiled.

"No. I don't want you to beat me up. I don't want you to touch my face or use your fists."

"Of course I won't." The matter seemed settled. Fast, no fuss. Our brain waves seemed connected.

"What do you want me to use?"

"How the fuck should I know?"


"Kay, I don't like your language. I don't want to hear any more of those 'fucks' coming out of you. It's just not nice." My vocabulary back then was much worse than the one I have now. It was vulgar. To be in the 'kewl group', you needed to use such words. Every guy was a 'dick-head', I was 'fucking' everything, including the people's connections to their ancestors and families, 'shitting' around, and my personal view was that everyone was to go to hell and leave me fucking alone. "The Doors", "Cure", "Depeche Mode", cut jeans, black heavy boots, XL t-shirts and large shirts hanging around my waist... turning slowly into a rock maniac and a Gothic chick. Always black make-up or as dark as possible. But blonde and small as I was, I was cute.

I shrugged. "What can I do? It's just so addictive. It's hard to control. And saying 'fuck' is fun."

"Of course..." He was being sarcastic. "So... What should I use on you?" Back to the question. I don't think the option ' hand' had crossed his mind. He was flirting however with the option *good* whacking.

I raised my shoulders again. Suggestions from me? Never.

"I'll use the belt my Dad uses. What do you think?"

I turned red. Oh, God, so red. He was asking me to approve of him spanking me. I was to accept a punishment.

"You should know better," I passed the ball back to him.

"I'll use the belt," he concluded. He was calm and determined, as if he'd been doing this for all his life. "I'll spank you tomorrow with the belt."

"Wait, this is wrong. You can't spank me without a reason. It doesn't make sense. It sounds wrong and it feels fucked up. You need to have a reason."

He took a puff from the cigarette, looked at me, considered it. He was serious, but smiling.

"The deal is, tomorrow you smoke only three cigarettes. You don't curse anymore. You break the rules and I spank you. That shouldn't be hard."

"Okay."

"Three cigarettes. I will count the ones left in the pack and I'll count again tomorrow."

So now that I had got myself into a spanking, I was hoping to get myself out of it. If I were to follow the deal, no spanking was to happen. Sounded good and fair.

The problem? My deal was flawed. I didn't manage to get myself into a spanking, but in two. One day apart. I learnt to behave around him. *lol* Probably if we had lived in the same city, this relationship would have turned out into a permanent spanking deal. Never thought of it like this before, but now I do. Mike wasn't going to chicken on me.

*to be continued*

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