#159) Diary Entry

“Please don’t make me! My tush hurts so bad!”
He wrapped his fist in her yellow hair and pulls, so that she looked him in the eye.
“Do you think I don’t know that?” He punctuated the question with a hard slap to said tush, making her dance. “I just spent the last half hour caning your pretty tush.” She sat on the chair he’d gestured towards. Its rush-woven seat made every one of the twenty two cane stripes he’d just laid into her tush scream as if she was getting whipped all over again. “I want you to write a diary entry about your recent punishment,” he continued.
She thought to herself that concentrating to write anything coherent would be nearly impossible, her tush really burned! But she didn’t dare contradict her lover. He was speaking again. She looked up at him, hoping that she could read his lips to understand his meaning because the screaming inside her head was so loud.
“I want to read your thoughts in this diary entry, not just as recitation of what happened,” he said. “For example, I want to know why you stood bolt upright after the second stripe, and what it felt like when you started to cry after the third lash. I don’t want something like, ‘he cut me with the first stripe and it hurt, then he followed with a second stripe and it hurt twice as much.’ Do you understand?”
“I think so,” she whimpered.
“Do you, or do you need some more with the cane?”
“No, sir. I’ve had enough, thank you, sir. I’ll do my best…”
“You have half an hour to write it, just the same amount of time it took me to administer your lesson. Then I’m going to read it. If it’s a detailed description, I’ll rub some cream into your welted tush. If your entry is lacking, I’ll rub that cream in, so your cheeks are moist, and then punish you a while longer. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” she sniffled as he handed her a blank paged bound journal.
She got right down to work, remembering how humiliated she felt when he tucked the back of her dress’ hem into her belt and pulled her panties down. She put all writing skill into describing the flood of feelings when he forcefully put her over his knee. It was so embarrassing to be treated like a child, to have her backside on display. She tried to capture how unchild-like the spanking he administered was, how hard and fast the spanks came, how much it hurt, breaking down all her resistance. So that when he yanked her to her feet and turned her over its edge, she was totally unprepared for the caning her laid into her. She honestly thought those slender canes were in his umbrella stand by the front door just for decoration. That first stripe was an eye-opener, literally. She could not believe how incredibly it hurt, burned, itched! And the second stripe, without even a moment for her to absorb the first one’s pain had been too much. She had involuntarily stood up, grabbed her cheeks with both hands, howled and rubbed. He’d shown her no mercy, pushing back over the table and laying in another stripe right away. That’s when the waterworks started. She’d processed the pain and couldn’t hold back the flood waters. She put it all on paper, squirming her wounded tush continuously as she did so.
It was bad enough taking the merciless beating. It was twice the ordeal reliving it to recount it on the page. She was crying all over again as she put the finishing details on her work about the twenty-second wicked stripe when he reappeared and held out his hand for the journal. She contritely handed it over.
His hand was on her elbow. He helped her to her feet gently, so different from the heated way he’d handled her before. He sat where she had been, helped her back over his knee, and opened the ledger to her writing across her still-stinging tush. The binding of the diary perfectly bisected the deep crevice of her ass crack.
All was silent while he read. The anticipation was lethal; she was dying one hundred deaths as she laid there, looking at the floor three inches from her nose. He closed it, put it on the table, opened the jar of cold cream that he must’ve brought with him to the reading. It made her jump and flinch to feel the cool cream touch her tush, soothe the itchy pain and quench the burn. She was in another agony. Was another spanking coming, this time on her moistened backside? She couldn’t take any more punishment! Surely her bottom proclaimed that fact.
“That was very well written, little girl. I’m proud of you!”
She squirmed around on his lap, sat her pained posterior on his legs until she found it unbearable, and pushed her bum off the edge of his thigh to cool her welts in the air. But her mouth wasn’t injured, so she pressed it hard onto his. Tears welled-up again. It felt so good to be in his arms, having him caress her, dry her tears, smooth her hair, soothe her pains.
“That was the worst fucking day of my life! But I feel better for it now…”
“You better get used to it. You’re in for another disciplining anytime I think you need it…”

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