I have just finished an essay from Hell- a stupid, pointless exercise where we're marked mostly on the referencing, to get it to a perfect Harvard standard. We had to include references to certain things, such as a journal, monograph, e-journal. So the writing wasn't that hard, but wrapping your essay around the quotes you've found from frantically searching the net and the horrible little room full of big folders of journals in the library is- and then getting the references so right that if you use a " instead of a ' you'll get marked down- doesn't really seem to be what I was expecting from English Literature. I thought it was about more than such precise silliness. But it's out of the way, and now, my reward: double the amount of seminar prep, ten poems, one epic poem and a play to read. Still, I need a bit of time to relax. And yes, come onto some actual spanking.
I was intriguied to hear that D's friend Dan 'approves' of us. Mainly because the conversation went like this:
D: Dan approves that we're getting married. He said he saw the cane and thought, 'loose morals', but....
ME: Why did he notice the cane?
D:...Er, I don't know.
ME: Well, it isn't something you'd comment on, is it?
D:...er....well, I needed the football, and it was under the bed, so I said, 'Dan, can you pass me my cane??'
I'm not too sure whether I'm comfortable with all D's friends knowing like this, and how flippant he is about it- but I suppose that none of them treat me any differently (although Devout Christian Dan might now), and perhaps it's just a 'spanko' thing to assume that everyone who isn't kinky won't understand and will consider us complete freaks. I'm not about to post it on my door, though.
Having said that, I'm planning to go swimming on wednesday as usual, despite some rather severe bruises which my five-quid swimsuit will not cover. Friday night was rather energetic- I was teasing D a bit, messing around whilst he was trying to do some composing. Whining about being bored and lonely and coming all this way etc. etc. Eventually he realised what I was getting at and bent me over the bed. My knee's still a little dodgy, so it wasn't too comfy, but I could just about support myself, and besides, I needed it.
It was a long, hard handspanking- enough to make me yell out. Usually I can stay quiet through the hand. Then that ominous belt noise- the noise I swear hurts more than the actual belt, and if I wasn't already screaming the house down enough that bloody cane. After twenty or so hard strokes I started to cry- something that I don't usually do when we're playing. We sat and had a talk, he rubbed my bottom a bit, and after a few minutes to settle I quietly asked for a few more. Any other boyfriend would call me crazy, but he gave me about ten more burning strokes I kept quiet through, and then we had some nice, long sex.
The rest of the weekend was pretty quiet, we did our respective studying, watched a couple of DVDs (well, I watched Mulholland Drive on my own, as D claimed it was 'arty' and 'poncey', but still wanted calling over for the lesbian sex scenes), general coupley stuff.
The last night I guess it dawned on him that we wouldn't be seeing each other for just under two weeks- twice as long as usual and settled down to play. This time, worrying that my knee was the problem last time, he lay me face down on the bed. A firm handspanking first, again, but skipping the belt and its awful tinkly noise and straight onto the cane. Although it hurts like a bitch, I'm definitely getting partial to it and as far as I can tell D is too. It was almost pure pleasure this time; that stinging burn when I'm really horny is about enough to get me off just on its own. Great sex; cup of tea and another episode of The Mighty Boosh (not really worth explaining unless you're English, as far as I can tell). Now I've got some pretty impressive bruises and stripes I'll have to treat the student pool occupants to. I suppose I could have fallen down the stairs.
Anyway, it appears that I am going out of Wednesday. I got a lot of 'Oh Becky you never come out it's only cheap you don't have to drink's and then a sinister text message: Bought you a ticket. You can't back out now. This is not going to go down well with D or with my arse- perhaps he'll forget by the weekend after next.
Anyway, I think I have been typing and looking at screens too long (this might account for a bit of a jumbled post, sorry) so I think it's bedtime.