Well, dearest gentle reader, I got spanked yesterday and I did not die. It feels odd to type that in a way that implies it’s not a normal thing for me to be spanked. Even at our sort of best, we are not daily or multi-times a week players. It’s just not practical between work and parenting and our heads aren’t always there. However, it had been more than a month since I had been spanked at all and for me and us, right now, that is rather a long gap. I was nervous. Probably more nervous than I had ever been before a spanking. The acuteness of my need and the distinctness of how much I did not want to be spanked, because of how far away kink feels right now and other complex feelings, was overwhelming. The type of spanking I needed is, as talked about before, at the core of my kink, but one I haven’t experienced often. Very close approximations in the past, the time last year I linked above, and also as written about, it is difficult for my husband to do. But at the end of the day, he is my husband. He is my life and nesting partner, I chose him – and he chose me – for lots of reasons. We are both worth the effort.
It took a truly monumental leap into vulnerability for me to tell him, knowing how he feels about that type of spanking, how badly I needed it and why. We’ve had some unfortunate clashes about that need in the past, so that added to my anxiety. That said, he’s my partner for a reason and I owe it to him to be as open and honest and vulnerable as I might ever be, to at least try. It’s ok that his understanding of that need isn’t the same as mine or some other people’s – his willingness to try and hold my needs as important, is what holds value.
Additionally, my anxiety over the idea that this type of spanking may be forever out of reach because of recent events, only added to my vulnerability in asking for it. After finally admitting it’s what I want and need sometimes, being unsure if the connection that made it possible previously will survive, and the realization that the risk of trying again in the future feels too great…this is all that’s left. I don’t mean to imply my husband wasn’t my first choice here – he has always been, without reservation – but he doesn’t get it in the same way and also hasn’t been interested, so naturally, I have a bit of skepticism. Is it fair? I’m not sure. I didn’t think so, which is why I brought it up again, knowing it hasn’t usually worked in the past. Try and try again, right? Being true to myself meant sticking with it: always giving him the chance (and me the chance!) and the benefit of the doubt.
This time though, he tried and succeeded. Similar to the last time, it didn’t take nearly as much as it does when I think about it in my head, but how little it actually took still surprises me. I’ve been emotionally fragile for weeks though, crying every day, so it was only a matter of when I’d be crying, not if. The when came near the end of the hand spanking he was giving me. It was hard and he had already taken my panties down so I was bare. He wasn’t sparing my sit spots, either. I started to sniffle and tear up, when he paused. I had a moment to catch my breath, when he reminded me he decides when we are finished and he hoped this would help remind me to take better care of myself, by sharing my needs with him. Oof. I felt that. I put my head down.
When I felt the hairbrush on my bottom, I nearly panicked. I knew it was coming. It’s what I needed and asked for, but if you’ve ever gone a month+ without being spanked and are facing down an ebony hairbrush on the bare, you might understand how I felt and why I didn’t want it. I shifted my hips but not quickly enough, and he immediately locked his left leg over mine. When the first smack fell, I became frantic and immediately started crying. I couldn’t kick or squirm much, but I tried. I did not reach back, but he held my hand in the small of my back, anyway. There came a point, a realization, that this time, he actually wasn’t going to stop when I cried and panicked. I was not in control and the only thing to do was submit and let go. I’m fairly vocal when being spanked so there was a lot of “no, please!” “stop, no!” etc etc but all he said was something along the lines of me getting what I need and not stopping a moment before. I was crying and sobbing openly, unable to do much more than squeeze his hand back as he held mine, and cry out with every smack, when he stopped and said, to my absolute shock (truly), “That was thirty. There will be six more because you’re 36, and they’ll be hard.” THIRTY? THAT’S IT?!
Hard? Wasn’t he already spanking me HARD? I found some fight to try and kick a bit and then just went limp again, fully letting go. They were even harder, again, to my surprise. I could feel the bruises forming. I was still surprised by how little it had taken (I was surprised the first time, too) but this was a hard spanking. It wasn’t over after those six though. He put the brush down, inspected the bruises, then continued spanking me with his hand while I quietly cried.
Sure, it could have been double or triple what it was in severity and it wouldn’t have felt like too much, but it was exactly enough and exactly what I needed. The thing is, the emotional vulnerability and risk in asking for this is significant, but the payoff is that there is a deep connection in it that I was desperate for. I no longer feel quite like I’m floundering. I’m still going through a hard time and am still rather isolated in that, but not from him.
I can’t know what the future holds and that is very difficult – I can only hope to keep trying, stay true to myself, and hope connection is stronger than hurt, isolation, and absence.
Today, there are bruises and lingering soreness and I am not at all unhappy about it. With any luck, kink won’t feel so far away for so long. I don’t know when I’ll be spanked next and can’t really think about it still, but I miss feeling like me and this is a part of what makes me, me.
-M
Thank you for articulating so well a very personal scene. Thank you for inviting your readers to observe and understand it with you. You are a rare person.
I always hesitate a bit to share these more vulnerable/intimate/personal moments, but someone very important to me once said to write as though no one was going to see it, and then share it anyway. After all, connection is found in those deeper spaces.
“but I miss feeling like me and this is a part of what makes me, me”…
Totally.
In a very disconnected place right now, and couple of your posts have really spoken to that.
I totally get it Woodsy. It’s really difficult to feel disconnected from yourself in any way. This isn’t the first time I’ve felt this way, but I’d say this is the first time I sort of knew it was happening and felt it so acutely. It gives me a lot of anxiety.
It’s an ache so full of apparent contradictions, pulling us towards places that’ll make us want to pull away – and yet not. So so not.
Makes no sense – and yet, in coming together, makes such thrilling sense.
I’ve dealt with so many sources of anxiety at times – and yet the most special go-to places in the middle of that has proved to be a place I struggled with when growing up, even as some part inside me could not help but embrace it.
The past couple of years have, in many ways, been a turnaround time, when my life has shifted and I have broken free from a lot of old anxieties – but it’s a funny thing, there are still echoes that show up unexpectedly.
I think sometimes, the best thing we can do is give ourselves a break (though it’s often the hardest thing to do). But at least, in a way, we can all do it for each other – I’ve enjoyed swapping comments here.
I’m probably less forthcoming about some emotional stuff than I have been in the past, but I think that’s less about being guarded than this being one of those dips in my writing, where an old swell plays out and a new one builds up. Waiting to ride a new wave, if that makes sense.
You are not alone in this, not at all <3