She had it coming...

The problem with breaking the rules is that one has to accept that at times one will have 'it' coming (unless of course you're royalty and refer to yourself as one on a regular basis - then you can probably do as you choose). Having long since resigned myself to this I occupy myself with having as much fun as possible, despite the niggling awareness that it will catch up with me at some point.

Last night was no exception. I'd had a lovely day. What had been intended as a quick trip to pick up some new knickers for clubbing last night had turned into a whistle stop tour of Camden's cutest and kinkiest with my flatmate as partner in crime. I emerged triumphant with two pairs of frilly knickers, two pairs of tutu knickers, a fantastic Gothic Lolita style tutu/skirt and some adorable pink and white patent frilly Gothic Lolita skyscraper heels (swoon). The subsequent hit to my finances is going to leave my bank manager reeling but at least I look cute...

Then it was off to meet two friends for lunch before the cheese-fest that is Singalonga Hairspray. I was convinced that the restaurant was in one street and spent ten minutes wandering haplessly up and down before caving in and 'phoning a friend'. So I was fifteen minutes late (IMHO cooler than being twenty minutes early and being turned away like certain people) which was a bit unfortunate...We had a yummy lunch and then the singing along reached suitably raucous levels before returning to one friend's house for dinner and primping before heading out again clubbing. I may have held things up by all of about one minute debating the essential stockings vs. bare legs issue and applying an extra coat of hot pink nail varnish...

So, it shouldn't have come as a huge surprise that Jessica was less than impressed. I'd already been warned that I had fifteen strokes of the cane coming for being late for lunch but was not overly subdued by this. Rebecca plus weekend plus healthy dose of girly fun plus mojito, sangria and fizzy wine is not a very subduable mix. Explosive is probably a better adjective. Or perhaps hyperactive - that would work too...

I do concur, I had it coming and so was a good girl and didn't protest too much when ordered to place myself across one of the spanking benches in the club. As the leather restraints anchored my wrists to the bench and slid across my back strapping me firmly in place I felt the first shudder of anticipation that warns you that this is really going to hurt, otherwise why would they be strapping you down after all? In the clammy heat even the warm up spanking was a step beyond stingy, which coupled with the corset restricting my breathing and the warning that we were only just getting started made me nervous.

As she moved onto the strap I fought the urge to whimper and tried to relax and just go with it. I don't like to make a scene at the best of times, especially not in a public place but was feeling a little bit wriggly all the same, pointing my toes and balling my bands. I've no idea how many strokes I got with the strap (I'm not a counter unless I know how many I'm getting) but it felt like quite a lot and it hurt at the 'concentrate on your breathing, stay calm and for god's sake don't kick or fuss' level.

So I was almost relieved when the strands of a whip landed between my shoulders, this relief quickly evaporated as the pain built and my back started to burn as much as my bottom. Jessica asked me if it hurt and I nodded shyly and then gasped in shock as she told me she wasn't doing it that hard and hit me much harder. It was a nasty whip/flogger with thin leather strands that stung awfully and set my back on fire, even though the strokes had reverted to their earlier level. She hit me about half a dozen times really hard to finish and I hid my face against the bench and started to cry.

Crying is a dangerous thing because if you're not careful once you start the floodgates open and then you can't stop. I took deep breaths, Jessica wiped the tear from my eye and I got myself back under control. Then some more of the strap, which burned but somehow seemed more bearable in comparison to the whip. It's funny how sometimes when you've gone to the place where you break a little bit and cry that afterwards you can feel much stronger. I still had my fifteen cane strokes to go and winced a bit when I saw that it was a dragon cane. Jessica wanted me to count them and thank her, I grasped the bench and focused on my breathing. The cane hurt, a lot and the strokes were expertly spaced to cover my bottom from the crest down to my sweetspot. I had the first six, then to ten and then the final five and remember thinking after three or four that I just had to get to eight, then I was over half-way through and then counting the last five backwards in my head. Afterwards I sort of lay there for a minute, feeling a bit wrung out.

There is however no respite for the wicked. Jessica held my hand and led me over to another piece of equipment which had me sitting facing her, arms cuffed perpendicular to my body and thighs spread. Then she lit a candle. I bit my lip, knowing all too well that I wasn't doing too well in the 'not looking scared' stakes. Waxplay scares me, the rational part of my mind knows that it doesn't hurt as much as lots of other things but the other part of me is wary, I think it's the unpredictability. I watched as the liquid pooled beneath the flame and then tumbled onto my right thigh and gasped. Then watched mesmerised with a bizarre mix of inevitability and anticipation as the wax splashed down onto my left thigh. Then she told me to close my eyes and asked if it hurt more, biting my lip I nodded. Tipping the candle again, she asked if it hurt more when I could see where the wax was going to fall and I shook my head. She told me to close my eyes. Every time the hot wax landed on me I jerked in shock but managed to be good, not to struggle, or cry or fuss. The smell of smoke informed me that the candle had been extinguished and nervously I opened my eyes.

Jessica was smiling. She had a small bag of tiny hot pink pegs, to match my outfit. I shuddered - they didn't look very Rebecca-friendly but watched in fascination all the same as she clipped the first one to my right breast just above my corset and asked me if it hurt. I nodded, when she asked me if it was unbearable I shook my head but reassured her that yes, it did hurt. She clipped two to each breast and I watched numbly as each one massively increased the overall ouch-factor. Then she clipped one to each of my inner thighs and I clenched my fists, not sure how much more I could take the pain. She kissed me and I kissed her back. Then yelped in pain as one by one the pegs were removed, which always hurts far more than having them put on. We had a cuddle and I thanked Jessica, who said that I was a good girl (just incorrigible). I sat spacily for a bit and then went in search of chocolate (the spacy sub's best friend). I will try to be on time, sometimes it just seems that the Gods (and tube network, and town planners) are against me...

I had it coming again today so am a sore but happy played out girl. But more about that tomorrow...