Vacation Spanking Round Two

Yep, Round Two! I am screaming inside, and a little outside, but quietly because I am in the hotel and I don't want to alarm the neighbors.

Today, when we woke up, I was a little bratty. I'm tired and tense, but no excuses. Mistress has been her usual attentive self, and that was bothering me, too, because when I am bratting, sometimes I want her to be bratty back so I can feel justified. But she never does. She's all like "This is so sad that you feel this way" and "This must be very difficult for you." Bleck!

Finally, I think she had had it. She turned off the TV and said, "I think we had better talk."

My brilliant answer? "I don't want to talk!"

And the eyebrow...

"Pura, I did not ask you if you wanted to talk. I said we had better. And right now. Sit down."

I narrowed my eyes at her, silently asking "Or else, what?" and her eyebrow raised higher. That was the silent "I dare you to challenge me." I sat down, but in a chair at the table, just about as far from her as I could get. She pretended not to notice.

She talked. You see, that's what "we had better talk" means. It means she talks and I have to listen when I want to scream.

"Pura, you know we have been accused of being the Vanilla Gateway into S&M?"

What? By whom?

"No."

"Don't get cheeky. Yes, you do. People think we're playing around, and I have been just fine with that because I never viewed myself as a very convincing mistress. I'm not into humiliation."

Thank God!

"And I generally bring you around and introduce you as my girlfriend because I am afraid of what people will think of you and of me if I don't. It has been a delicate balance I have worked hard to keep and sometimes I wonder why I do it."

At this point I felt a spike of fear. Is this the talk that means we're done? Has she had enough of me? Will she dismiss me from her service? Break up with me? Abandon me forever?

She saw my fear and she crooked her finger at me. "Come here," she ordered. I froze. I could not let it happen. I would not let her leave me. I love her. I shook my head.

"I am this close to spanking, Pura." Her fingers were held aloft with about a quarter-inch of space between thumb and forefinger. I did not want to challenge her, so I moved obediently, intending to sit beside her on the bed. Boy was I surprised when she pointed to the floor! I knelt in front of her, and she touched my face, stroking it gently, staring into my eyes. I could feel them starting to burn, but I could not let myself cry. A long time ago I promised myself that I would leave her the instant I was not making her happy.

"Happiness?" she asked, and I was surprised by that question.

"I don't know," I whispered. It was the first time I have ever not known. But it was because I was looking ahead at the words I was afraid she was about to say, and those would certainly put me at my low. But here, under her fingers, I could easily be at my high.

"Best estimate?"

"Five," I whispered, because it was right in the middle. Mistress looked concerned, but did not challenge my answer. She only withdrew her hands and placed them on her knees.

"I figured something out," she said. "I am trying to dance a thin line between several different worlds, and it's not working very well. I am trying to wear a thousand different hats, and while it is exhausting, it is all I have ever known. I am good at compartmentalizing and being able to wear only one hat at a time. But with you, I am trying to wear more than one hat. It's not working. So, we need to define our relationship completely so I can stop trying to play more than one role."

I blinked, and some tears fell. "We're not breaking up?" I whispered.

"No," she said, shock in her voice. "You think I would let you out of my life? You're crazy."

"I was afraid..."

She shook her head, and leaned and kissed me. "No. As far as I'm concerned, babe, we're forever."

A giant wave of relief dashed over me, but then I actually registered her words in my head, and I said, "What do you mean 'define our relationship'? It's fine!"

Both eyesbrows. "I just said it's not fine. You listen to me."

Pouty. "You listen to me! It's fine. Everything is fine! You're going to try to put us in a box so it fits in your crazy compartmentalized world and I won't go! I won't!"

Mistress got up, stepped over me --OVER me!-- and crossed the room. She came back with the hairbrush. "Know what I mean?" she asked darkly, and bounced the evil weapon on her palm.

Sometimes she can be really intimidating.

"Yes," I squeaked. "But I'll be good."

She sat back down. "Are you listening?" I nodded. "Good. I am not trying to stifle you or put you in a box. I am trying to correct the fractures I have placed in our relationship. All I need to know from you is how you want to be defined from now on. Are we going to be Master/Slave, or are we going to be girlfriends? It makes a big difference."

I was astounded by this. "We are what we are," I said. "Do we have to define it?"

"We do for the world," she replied sternly. "For us, we can continue to be what we are."

"What are we?"

Quirked brow. "I can't speak for you, but I'm pissed."

Grouchy. Angry with her. Pouty. "Why?"

"Because you're not being who you are, Pura!" she snapped back. "Are you done with the slavery thing? Because if you are, you should tell me. We can be girlfriends and you can be as bratty as you want and it won't be my responsibility to change it."

It was as if she had slapped me. Which she never would do. "What? What do you mean?"

"Don't you look at me like that, with those innocent eyes. You know exactly what has been happening. You are not being a slave. You're being a brat. You want to be able to do whatever you want, be whatever you want, whenever you want. You don't want to have to think of my feelings or ask my permissions. If that's the way it's going to be, fine. I can be a girlfriend. We can be the live-in token gays in our complex. I am okay with that. But I am not going to try to be both your mistress and your girlfriend. It's one or the other. And you have to choose."

I crawled toward her on my knees, placed my hands on her knees, stared up into her eyes, so blue today and filled with fire. "I'm confused," I whispered.

"No, you're not," she argued. "You have been picking fights with me since summer vacation started. If you're my slave you don't get to pick fights. If you're my slave, you do what I ask. But if you want to be my girlfriend, I can fight. Believe me, I can fight."

Big, giant eyes, staring up into her narrowed ones. "I don't want to fight with you."

"Good, 'cause you would lose."

That was a sniping comment, and I wanted to snipe back, but there was a bit of warning in her eyes. If I did, was I defining our relationship? Oh...tense!

"I want to be with you," I told her.

"That's not a question," she answered. "I'm not breaking up. I am asking for your level of commitment. It's not that hard, Pura."

When I said nothing, she stood up. "I'm going to shower and get ready for lunch with my family. I expect you to have an answer when I get back." She glared down at me. "Don't move until you do."

It was probably a lot like what I imagine corner time is... a time to think and focus on what I have done. What had I done to so upset her? So I started thinking back. And I realized she was right: I had been picking fights, and messing up, and making all manner of mischief. She thought I was trying to redefine our relationship. I wasn't. I don't know what I was doing!

I disobeyed her. I moved. I got up and grabbed my phone from it's charger, and I dialed her best friend (the queen of slavery/mistress knowledge): Mistress Casandra.

It rang for what seemed like forever. And then it picked up. "Pura?" she asked in surprise. "What's wrong?"

"I'm a bad slave," I admitted, shocked at my own words. She seemed surprised by my words, and she asked me to explain. So I told her. Everything. I told her about getting arrested, and I think if she had had the power, she would have caned me from a distance. I told her about everything that happened during the trip, including the things I haven't even blogged about.

Yep, there's more misbehavior than you know.

And then I finished by telling her about today's conversation. Briefly, because the water had turned off in the shower.

"Pura, honey, Nichole is just trying to figure out what to do. She is realizing she is having to be firmer than she used to be, and she's afraid you're unhappy. She's giving you an OUT if you want one, but that's not okay. You're a slave. She needs to step it up and be your mistress. And you need to show her all due respect, Pura. You're out of control."

And it was true. I would have said more, but then Mistress came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, and saw me on the phone. I did not think it was possible for her to become angrier.

"Who is that?" she demanded.

"Mistress Casandra," I whispered. She softened only a little.

"Give me the phone," she said, and snatched it from my hands. She put it up to her ear and started a conversation, but soon fell quiet. I could not make out what her friend was saying, but judging by Mistress' facial expressions, they were not discussing the weather! Mistress barely got in a word, and usually it was a desperate "I know!" or a stubborn, "Okay!" When she finally hung up, she eyed me curiously.

"Well?" she asked me, in a softer voice than she had used so far.

"You are my mistress," I answered her. It was rule number one. And a strict reminder to me of how long I have disregarded the principles I so cherish. "I have neglected to treat you as such, and I am so sorry."

She sat down on the bed and studied my face. "Okay," she agreed. "What are we going to do about it?"

"That's up to you," I answered humbly. "I submit completely."

She studied me for a long time, and then said, "All right." She rose, crossed the room, and dressed without a word. I watched her, but I did not dare to move or try to get dressed myself. I was in my PJ's still. When she was dressed, she came back, pulled a chair out from the table and tapped it. "It's sturdy," she told me. "Over the back, hands in the seat."

I was surprised by her business-like manner, but not really in any position to argue. I got up and bent myself over the back of the chair, and placed my hands in the seat. She swatted me a few times without saying a word, and then she asked, "Tell me your rules, Pura. Start with number one."

It was unlike any other punishment in my life. She warmed me up to the recitation of the rules I had created for our lifestyle. Then she bared me and, with a lecture like I had never received before, she continued with the brush. Every time I squirmed out of position, she demanded that I tell her which rules I was breaking. And then more of that hated brush! My, was I sore!

When she finished, she rubbed lotion in, then gently leaned a placed a soft kiss on my RED backside. She looked at it without any of the pain or self-loathing she used to do. It was as if her fears about administering punishment had just... disappeared.

She patted me gently, but I nearly jumped out of my skin. Nothing would have felt gentle to me right then!

"All right, baby," she said sweetly, all anger and frustration gone from her tone and eyes. "I'm going to lunch. I'll bring you something back."

I snatched up my PJ bottoms, and followed her as she retrieved her wallet and her keys. "I'm not coming to lunch?" I squeaked.

She leaned to kiss my mouth and said, "No." She gave no other explanation, and before I asked why, she quirked a brow. I would not ask why, because her pleasure is my purpose and that's what I needed to spend time thinking of.

When she opened the door, her sister was approaching and was just about to knock.

"Ready?" her sister asked.

"Yes," she answered. She looked over at me, then tugged me toward her by the drawstrings of my bottoms. She did it on purpose, so the fabric would grate against my backside. She kissed me passionately, leaving me breathless and wanting more of her. But she backed away and said, "Be good, slave!" loudly enough for her sister to hear. OMG. What happened to Nichole?

"Isn't she coming?" her sister asked, and I was delighted to hear disappointment in her tone.

"No," Mistress replied. "My little slave will be staying in the hotel during lunch, and if she's very good, she can come to the water-park this afternoon."

Her sister studied her with a strange expression, then looked back at me with my face now turning the approximate color of my bottom. Then she said, "You're kinkier than I thought," to Mistress.

And Mistress smiled. "You have no idea."

And that, my dear readers, is why right now I am pouting on my tummy on the bed, blogging instead of eating lunch with my Mistress and family. And I am also worried about putting on a bikini that will show off my reddened bottom to the water-park guests. And worried more because I no longer think Mistress is afraid of hiding it. And guess what, that means in this power-play, she won, because her fear was the only thing I had going for me. Eeek! Here she comes!