I cannot remember when I first realized I was excited by spanking. The earliest
examples in my mind come from preschool. During naptime I would have a
quasi-spanking related fantasy repeatedly, of being in a scary dungeon (usually
I was a princess), and being put into a cell wherein a machine would grip my
bottom with two firm machine hands, then suspend me from the ceiling by nothing
but, well, my butt. I was endlessly excited by this idea. I have no idea why,
but I would clasp my own bottom tightly, and hold that position all through the
“nap”. I remember having a very early sense that the adults would not approve of
this, and inching my hands ever so slowly beneath the blanket.
A few other brief encounters came early on as well. Playing house with my
younger brother (this would have been in first or second grade), and being “the
kid” who got in trouble. He decided to spank me with a swatter. I was sure to
tell him that he didn’t have to fake it.
I hope that’s not too weird. I didn’t have a thing for my brother- it was just,
well I was desperate for a spanking.
But not a punishment spanking from my parents. I never in any way got turned on
by that idea. My childhood spankings were none of them very painful- but all of
them terrible. What I remember most about them is feeling hated and yelled at
which I did NOT enjoy.
Back to what I did enjoy.
I believe my spanking fetish is probably genetic. As a child “asleep” in the
living room one night, I overheard a brief exchange between my parents. My
father smacked my mother’s bottom- it sounded hard.
"Zacharia! Don’t!"
"You love it…"
Oddly I never really dissected this at the time. I just filed it away.
Later I discovered a stack of magazines on the top shelf in the closet, one of
particular interest. I have since run numerous internet searches for it and not
much has turned up, but I believe the title was XXX spanking Letters. This was
in third grade, and I was an avid reader, and fascinated enough by the cover to
engage in covert naughtiness.
I have never forgotten that first story. A man was having a study session with
his girlfriend, who was insistent on unzipping his fly for a blow job. That
interested me relatively little. Not so for what happened next. Here’s how I
remember it: The man warns her, “I told you what would happen if you distracted
me.” The woman looks up at him and says, “You wouldn’t dare.” The man considers
allowing her to continue as she is (enjoying his penis), then grabs her hair and
yanks her over his knee. He begins spanking her, but before long notices that
she is “bucking back into every blow” and “getting off on her spanking!” So he
decides to put a bit more effort into what he’s doing and spanks her until she’s
kicking and screaming. Oh God! I think it may have gone on to describe sex, but
it didn’t matter because my mind was just panting over “bucking back into every
blow”. It was such an intense and specific fantasy from there on out.
There were other letters. One about a girl being spanked by her mother. It had
some nice imagery for third grade taste such as, “Mom’s arm landed like a metal
bar”, but I noticed even then that it was really a man I wanted spanking me.
I alternated books of letters for a time, hiding them under my bottom clothes
drawer, and under my parent’s water bed. One day the book/magazine wasn’t in its
hiding spot, and the rest had been removed from the closet. I spent a long time
searching but never saw them again. We never talked about it.
From then on I was hooked. Weeks before my birthdays I would dream of the
birthday spanking (that would never come). I would instigate games of truth or
dare hoping I would have the nerve to start a spanking trend, but I never did.
Starting around third grade I would masturbate constantly. That’s probably
inappropriate to discuss, but I’m not a child NOW for goodness sake, and I’m
just trying to get all of this out in the open.
It was always to visions of spanking. Always. I developed the habit of clenching
my bottom very tightly, along with all of my muscles, to simulate some sort of
pain in my body. In the long run I don’t think this has been good for me, and am
trying to teach myself to relax during sex.
In late elementary school I started self spanking. I would take my grandfather’s
long green horsewhip and crack it from overhead, trying hard to aim for my
bottom. There were a few close calls when I had to toss the whip back into the
side room before someone else came in. I would also spank myself with my hand,
or with a book, then toss myself down on a bed to feel the sting, pretending to
anticipate another blow.
I remember in sharp detail a scene from a movie on daytime television at the
time. The main characters were trapped in a wax museum with period statues come
to life. A master and his servant stepped into frame, elegantly bored- the
master toying with a riding crop.
“I do so tire of whipping horses.” he laments.
A woman in pre-revolution French frills is brought out, her arms suspended from
the ceiling, and she is whipped repeatedly as the master watches, satisfied. As
the scene progresses the woman is breathless and near fainting.
“Beat her more!” the master rages.
The servant, as if explaining to a child says, “My Lord, if I beat her more, she
may not live-”
“Beat her more!”
That gave me a shiver.
Why are these images seared into my memory?
In seventh grade I had a brief encounter with a boy I’d been “in love” with for
years. He would later be my first kiss. I was cleaning his mother’s house, and
under some pretense he smacked my bottom with a swatter. I don’t know what gave
me away since I tried my best to look offended, but he took one look at me and
his face changed and he said, “You like that!”. Then someone came home. He never
brought it up again.
Freshman year I dated a boy who gave the impression of being into all things
deviant. He frequently held his hand over a candle, whispered dark things, and
knew enough Shakespeare to impress me. I was certain he would spank me, yet
still spent months and months trying to bring it up. When I did he seemed to
think it cute and flirtatious. He noted that my tiny wooden hairbrush might do
the trick (and I’m no pro, but it wouldn’t have. That thing was small and too
rounded). We nicknamed it Puck, and he would often flirt with me via this code
in public. However, at least to my memory, he never followed through. There may
have been a few swats, and I wouldn’t want to lie about it if it had happened,
but they certainly didn’t leave much of an impression in any case.
Once a boy I had no attraction to whatsoever was overheard to say that he’d like
to “leave a handprint on (my) ass.” He was suddenly much more my type! Still,
nothing ever happened.
I remember I would spend long moments bent over tables, sticking out my bottom,
imagining that I was waiting to be punished. Just standing in that position was
enough to get me wet.
Various boyfriends all through high school would lightly smack me after what
seemed like eons of tortured buildup. I became a bit resentful about it, and
accepted the fact that I was just too strange for anyone real.
I took solace in the seemingly imaginary people who wrote and were written about
on the internet, namely at Laura’s Spanking Corner. I would frequently tease my
clit while reading some vivid description of a tortured ass writhing in pain.
Once I worked up the nerve to enter a spanking chat room. I gave myself the name
“Blushwillow”.
“Interesting name.” typed someone (I imagined it a dark and commanding sort of
someone). My heart fluttered through contrasting scenarios of hot spankings and
hotel murders for about four seconds. Then I “ran” away. It felt so silly, but
I’ve never chatted since.
In college I met a man. On our first date I was much more frisky than usual,
making out with him and letting him feel me up. Since he was 29 and I was 19,
this worried me quite a bit. On our next date I made it clear to him that I was
still a virgin, and that I planned on keeping it that way for a while yet. His
face registered such obvious shock and his recoil was so instant that I flung
myself into over-drive, throwing out anything I could so stay attractive to this
man.
“I’m not a nun!” I teased desperately. “You can still spank me…”
Bingo.
He absolutely didn’t believe me at first. I had to name not only spanking sites,
but list some authors before he seemed to really take it in.
I couldn’t believe that I’d admitted that to someone, or that they had taken it
so well.
We shared some very nice spanking experiences. We watched Secretary in the
theatre. It was so liberating for me to think that such a film could be made. It
meant that there had to be more people like me in the world. He even hand-made
me two paddles (one of which was so thick that I could never really handle it-
ha! “handle” it), but there were unfortunately a few key things wrong with our
situation.
He didn’t really WANT to spank me so much as he wanted ME to spank him. When I
did, he would regress to thumb sucking and would look so terribly pained. I
didn’t want to be insensitive to his needs, so I tried, but it just churned my
stomach to see a grown man change like that. Made me feel unsafe. Lowered my
respect for him. I know that’s terrible to say, but it’s the truth. Also I
didn’t/don’t really swing that way. I understand there are lots of gifted people
who do- just not me.
He could never hold me psychologically. When he spanked me it was always from a
distance so that he would have room to masturbate. He wouldn’t talk to me,
though I repeatedly asked him to. I felt ignored and a little trashy much of the
time.
I know, I know, how demanding can I get, right? But it just wasn’t working. We
broke up, for MANY reasons, and with a great deal of bitterness between us I’m
sad to say.
I had one college professor who I’m certain would have spanked me if I’d stayed
in the department long enough (rumor had it he’d lost a previous post for
spanking a secretary), and another who had a book of classic pin up
illustrations, nearly all of them involving spanking. He noticed me admiring it
one day and made some suggestive comments. Still, we were neither of us were
foolish enough to risk his job (okay, mostly HE wasn’t foolish enough to risk
it…), and once again, nothing happened.
I have spent many years fantasizing about traveling to Italy, simply because
I’ve heard that the men there love to pinch ladies bottoms. Oh! If only…
Then my husband. Oh God, my husband. He and I have been unable to keep our hands
off of each other since I was 13. However, we’re both such passionate people
that he most certainly lays claim to being both my most favorite and most-hated
person- more so when I was younger. We would go months without having civil
conversation. Then days with nothing on our minds but ardent nearly violent
making out- never officially dating until over a decade after we met) I think
he’s deliciously aggressive when he’s in the mood to be, and strong, and has a
lovely deep voice that drives me crazy.
He has given me my most satisfying spankings to date. He’s quite firm, and is
learning more and more about how to be the best spanker for my needs (and I’m
sure it doesn’t hurt that I am an eager panting sex kitten after a good hard
spanking- a fact that he has delightfully exploited on multiple occasions-Oh!).
I never feel used. He is so loving it melts me.
I do worry though that he is not as excited by it as I am. He never initiates it
for instance, has trouble taking it seriously at times (which makes me feel
almost made fun of), and he often won’t talk, which causes me to disengage. I’m
hoping that it will continue to grow on him, especially as it is a sure-fire way
to make love to me.
I have still never been spanked until I am wishing for it to stop. Never been
able to beg or use the magic word “no!” (for fear of the spanking actually
halting). Never cried or even gone far enough to pretend. Never been able to
struggle. I just don’t want to scare him.
I imagine spankings nearly every day.
My favorite scenarios involve two adults, the man older or at least slightly
older. There is an offence taken. Usually it’s not a real crime that I’ve
committed to earn the punishment, just some sort of attitude adjustment is
needed, or the man in question is simply quick to take offence and I am
powerless to stop the consequences. I don’t really get off on being made to feel
terrible or insulted or yelled at. But I do enjoy the thought of a threat being
made good. And of a man who loves what he is doing, and doing it despite my
protests.
I like the idea of starting over a knee for what might be called a “scolding”,
but for me it is much more of a descriptive, elongated threat. I can imagine a
man stroking my bottom, caressing me into false security, slowly saying
something like, “I have waited a long time to teach this naughty bottom of yours
a lesson, and I intend to teach it well. Very well. And as beautiful as it is
now, I think that a deep red will improve it greatly. You may very well come to
disagree with that. In fact, I’m certain your screams will attest to that very
strongly, but I think it is my sense of aesthetics we’ll be adhering to in this
instance. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir” (I do enjoy using the word sir, but not really the way most people
seem to. I can’t put my finger on the difference, but it just comes out of me
naturally, and I love saying it).
(Still stroking, and very calm) “Yes, I’m sure that you do understand. You’re a
very intelligent girl excepting that you seem to have a very naughty streak. But
I intend to do something about that today. I intend that when you leave this
room you will have learned a lesson about discipline and respect (the words make
me shiver). And you will be a much better behaved woman when I am through with
your ass. Would you agree?”
“Yes, sir. Only, please don’t spank me sir, please. I really have learned my
lesson already.”
“That is very good to hear! Very good. But I think it’s best to be sure. Now,
you may kick and carry on as much as you like during your spanking, but if
(enter requirement here, such as hands cannot leave the floor, or cannot
obstruct the spanking, or whatever), then we will move straight to the paddle. I
intend to paddle you regardless of course, but if you would prefer it to be
longer and without a proper warm up, I can certainly accommodate you. Are you
ready?”
“Oh! Yes sir”
“I am going to enjoy this more than you will I think,”
He proceeds to spank me, slowly, then building stronger and stronger. Sometimes
he lets up for a moment, as the burn spreads like spilled lava over my ass, only
to start up again in an unexpected spot. He spanks all the way to the topmost
part of my bottom, practically my lower back, and all the way down my tender
thighs, almost to the backs of my kneecaps, talking the whole time. Then he
orders me, though I beg him to stop, to spread my ass cheeks far apart so that
he can be sure to spank my inner bottom as well as the outer. It is not long
before I am writhing in pain and pleasure.
He notices my arousal, running his hand down my pussy, dragging up the juices to
poke at my sore ass hole. I gasp and struggle to get free.
“Stay still” he tells me, for the first time. I strain not to noticeably grind
my hips and squeeze my ass. I do it as slowly as possible, hoping he will not
notice, but when he pushes deeply into me, stroking my pussy, I can’t help but
groan and gyrate helplessly. My ass is still stinging. My mind opening up and
desperate, as evidenced by the shift in my mental language. No longer a
“bottom”, but a tortured, burning ass, an ass that wants to be punished and
fucked.
“I see that I am not having the effect on you that I had hoped young lady” he
chides, still fingering me mercilessly. “I’m sure we can make use of that later,
but for now we have your paddling to attend to.”
He stands me up, and instructs me to retrieve a paddle from someplace. I do. It
is rectangular, slightly flexible, not the sorority paddle, but enough to
frighten me. He takes it, and orders me to bend over something, making certain
that I am bent at the correct angle, and with my legs spread, and my ass
sticking out, all to his liking. He inserts something into my ass hole, telling
me to hold on to it. He slides the paddle over my bottom and thighs as he gives
me another short lecture. My ass is already throbbing, so I’m not certain how I
can take a paddling. I start to shake and cry. He makes me ask for my
punishment.
“Please sir, discipline me.”
“By doing what”
“By spanking me.”
“How?”
“Thoroughly, until I’ve learned my lesson sir.”
“Ask me very politely”
“Please sir, please please spank me as hard as you like.”
Then he does. I can’t pretend that this part is picturesque or playful. It seems
terrible to me. I am begging him to stop and he always responds to the negative.
This is the trickiest part of the spanking I’ve noticed. I very much want to go
on from here, for a little while anyway, into some deep pain, but I begin to
feel that my spanker doesn’t care about me, doesn’t love or like me. It’s a dark
feeling that destroys the mood for me, and I rarely make it past it. I think I
really need to hear words at this time.
“You’re so beautiful. Very good. You’re doing so well.” Something like that.
Something that will make me vulnerable again. I need to remember that I’m not
hated, that I’m giving pleasure in what I’m doing.
In my imagination the paddling takes place on my thighs as well, and I
am asked to count the final bunch.
Then, sobbing and moaning, I’m fucked up the ass, on my back, and just generally
fucked until I’m screaming.
Ah, lovely.
I try not to be too unrealistic in my imaginings, but can’t always help it. Yum.
I know that pain imagined does not compare to pain experienced and that I might
turn into a sobbing regretful wreck after only a few paddle strokes, but maybe
that would be alright. It’s difficult to know.
One thing I do know is that I am really looking forward to my spanking future. I
am, for the first time in my life, genuinely embracing the fact that I LOVE
spanking. I LOVE to be SPANKED, and there’s nothing wrong with it, because there
are lovely people like you who are more than willing to oblige. I see spanking
references creeping into culture all around me, and it thrills me.
I just want to thank you for setting up the site the way you have. It has been
so genuinely liberating for me to experience your point of view as you have
shared it, to see that you take this seriously and don’t think of it as a party
gag. To see that you are so comfortable with yourself and your kink.
My husband will attest to the lovely sex we’ve had just as an aftermath to
studying your words, on multiple occasions. Thank you!
I doubt that we’ll ever meet up (since I am very much married and doubt my
husband would ever allow me over someone else’s knee), but that doesn’t stop me
from imagining attending one of the wonderful parties you frequent, or engaging
in the scenarios you outline.
Thank you so much for sharing yourself with your readers. It’s meant a lot for
me.
Sincerely, naughtily, gratefully, greedily,
Someone else’s,
Hannah