Cleansing Release

CLEANSING RELEASE
~The Spanking ~ Part I
~The Release ~ Part II

By vixen_deb

I climbed into the Jeep, pulled the door shut and sighed. Freshly showered, perfumed, made up, and wearing a soft, black with white print, ankle length cotton dress, I was finally on my way but behind schedule by hours. As each minute had ticked by making hours, a storm front had developed in my path. Everything had seemed to go wrong. I’d thought several times, I should just call him and say, “sorry, too many things have gone wrong and I have chickened out”. But, I’d called him to explain and he’d told me he was having some difficulties too and could use the extra time. Whew! I’d really been concerned about being hours late for my first spanking. Driving toward the interstate the panic began to calm a bit. I turned the radio to my favorite soft rock station and let my mind wander, like you do when driving, telling myself I “could” do this, it was something I had desired for many years. Tingles ran through my body as I wondered what it would be like when my imagination didn’t control every detail. I took a couple of deep breaths to try to dispel my nervousness and the thoughts of how, when, what. How would it feel? Would I like it? Would it hurt? Would I be embarrassed? Would I disappoint him? Would he disappoint me? What if I changed my mind? What if I turned out to be a statistic? What if I didn’t like it? Grrrrrr! There were just too many thoughts that led in circles… too many unanswered questions. My mind repeated, ‘let them go, don’t anticipate something you’ve never experienced. Just breathe’.

The previous year’s journey flashed through my mind in moments. It had been a long hard journey to discover the core of my desire to be spanked. There had been over a year of spending time in spanking rooms, talking to spankers and spankees, reading at different sites, hours and hours of self-reflection and writing fantasies and erotic spanking stories. The puzzle of my desire fitted together piece by piece like a jigsaw puzzle. As the pieces had come to me one by one, I’d had to face things I’d fought tooth and nail and hated to admit even to myself. I’d laughed and scoffed at the authors who wrote about “release” during spanking, thinking, ‘yeah, right, release, hooey!’ And until I realized the driving force of my desire, I really didn’t know anything about “release spanking”.

It hadn’t been easy to make the step from always “feeling”, that for some reason my parents couldn’t love me, to facing that truth that I came along at a time in their young lives when it was easier to blame me for trapping them than to admit to themselves they were miserably unhappy. Growing up I’d come to accept that there was just something wrong with me. (I mean they were perfect, it had to be me. They wouldn’t lie to me. But, I “knew” how hard I tried, that I was honest and good and only wanted to please them. And I loved my little sister too dearly to blame her for being absolutely wonderful, even if “she” did lie and blame things on me. It didn’t do any good to tell them the truth, because if I did I was a troublemaker… how could I do such a horrid thing to my darling little sister?) I “was” an emotionally and physically abused child, fact. The emotional abuse had been daily. (You are a “bad” “bad” girl. Shut up! That was really stupid! You’re a liar! You’re bad! Why can’t you be like your sister? You are such an ugly duckling! Go away! Get out of here! Go OUTSIDE!) The physical abuse although infrequent, was severe. No one ever explained “why” or “how” spanking was “good” for me… just that I deserved it. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t remember even one time either of my parents “talked” to me, explained my errors, or EVER disciplined me out of love to guide and direct me. I didn’t understand how being grabbed and whipped because “they” were frustrated or angry or had had a bad day was good for me. It just made me feel like some kind of freakish mistake… worthless. Looking back I knew I’d bought into the deception, lock, stock and barrel. I’d believed them.

Funny how things come as you are ready and not before, bringing with them realizations and answers to questions of a lifetime. I’d held back and fought the man who seemed to know more about me than I knew about myself. He’d asked me not to make a scheduled trip, instead to come to him and let him spank me. I’d laughed. But I’d not been able to get his invitation out of my mind. He’d never pushed, in fact had been emphatic that my comfort zone was of the utmost importance. He’d reassured me he was patient enough to wait for years, if that is what it took and that he’d understand if I decided someone else would be better suited to the “task”. He’d assured me before, explaining he had seventeen years experience as a somewhat “therapeutic” spanker. I kept seeing his line, “don’t make that trip, instead, come to me and let me spank you”. The trip fell through. I had time, a few new things to wear, in other words, “I was all dressed up and ready… with no place to go”. One night sitting at the computer, thinking about the way unforeseen circumstances can direct your life, I asked myself if I was going to “think” and “dream” and “fantasize” about being spanked or “do” it. My decision was made in an instant. It was time to experience rather than dream. And not having been touched for almost a year, I craved the feel of masculine hands on my body. I craved human touch.

The asphalt passed under my car mile by mile. My thoughts wandered to remember telling this man about my past. For a long time I’d had only a partial memory of the night, my father beat me. I was sitting at the dining room table doing my homework when he came into the room. The dining room adjoined the living room with a French door. My place at the table faced the television through the open door. (Someone else had turned on the TV before I had begun my homework.) Books were spread on the table, paper in front of me, pencil in hand as he asked what I was doing. I’d answered that I was doing my homework. He’d contradicted that I was watching the television. Being honest, I’d admitted that when I looked up from the homework spread before me, I could “see” the TV, but that I was not “watching” it. He’d growled, “Go to bed”. I’d looked up and whispered, “But Daddy, it’s only 7:30”. My bedtime was at 9:00 and I’d not been able to understand his anger when I’d known I was doing nothing wrong. He’d rushed from the room only to storm back moments later, a new quarter inch thick leather belt doubled in his hand. He’d yanked me out of my chair so quickly it had crashed to the floor. Holding me by the arm, he’d begun to lash fast, hard and furiously at my cotton-covered backside with all his strength. He whipped me through the dining room, the living room and into the hall. I’d stood there taking those lashes wishing each one would kill me and end the pain. I was stunned and hurt. I had no idea “why” he was hurting me like he was. This was my father, the man God trusted to take care of me; to protect me. My mother had come into the hall and had asked in a shocked tone why he was beating me. He’d replied through gritted teeth that he hadn’t liked the way I had looked at him.

For many years, that had been the extent of the memory. I remembered it had hurt, but the emotional pain of that night was much worse, ambushing me every time I’d relive it. When I’d written “The Flower and the Sun”, I’d known, the way you just KNOW something, that my desire was connected to that night and some kind of release. About two weeks after I had posted “The Flower and the Sun”, Armand had sent the story submission, “Spanking Debby”… which brought another part of the memory of that night. My younger sister, just 10 years old, stood in the doorway of the living room and hall. She was crying almost hysterically begging me to cry. “Please cry Debbie. If you cry, he’ll stop. Please cry so he’ll stop, Debbie”. I stood there, gritting my teeth, distancing myself from the pain and horror of what was happening. Stubborn as a brick wall, I stood refusing to cry or to give him the satisfaction of breaking me. I’d forgotten about refusing to cry. I’d forgotten about making up my mind, sometime around the age of 8, never to let him make me cry again. I’d remembered that little girl so hurt by him over and over that she’d withdrawn from him, refusing to give him her trust or respect. Gosh, I was one tough little girl ~ with an unbending will.

One more memory of that night had been recovered sometime around 1994, during a counseling session years after the death of my mother. That night as my father stood lashing and lashing at my young tender bottom, I’d had my first orgasm. I’d had no idea then, what had happened. I do remember now, the feeling that my body had somehow betrayed me and I remember not being able to understand how anything could feel so good under all that horrible pain. I remember being sickened by that warm, deep, low pulsing. And looking back, I know my mind tried to shield me from the experience by locking it away almost immediately. After the initial shock of what happened deep inside me, my shameful secret, I’d refused to even acknowledge it, forgotten it completely. Oh, but it was there, waiting until the time was right to allow me to remember. And I think back now… that poor child. Yeah, I was one tough little kid. Amazingly, though, even with the confusion of pain and pleasure, I’d never been one who was willing to suffer for pleasure. Oh, I’d become good at suffering pain to show someone they could NOT hurt me. I’d NOT let them reach me. And thinking back, even at the age of twelve, I “knew” that something horribly wrong had happened that night. With everything I learned, I was more and more sure that what I desired had nothing to do with pain, or some twisted memory of my father. It was not a scene I wanted to relive, but I felt I’d have to, just to be able to let it go and move forward.

So, puzzle piece by puzzle piece had come when I was mature enough, intelligent enough, and confident enough to begin to unlock and understand the picture forming before me. It was time to take recovered memories, face them and try to figure out how the happenings of my past had shaped my present desires. Talking to the author of “Spanking Debby”, Armand, one night on IM I’d told him about the recovered memory his story had unlocked. He’d agreed I was on the right track and that he believed I was right in my belief. Only a couple weeks before my spanker contacted me by email through an Internet spanking site, I’d come to understand the core of my desire to be spanked. I had to come to terms with the memory of that night, the viciousness of that attack, and I had to find a way to reach that stubborn child. I had to find a way to make her safe enough to release the tears she had held back and held onto so tightly for over 30 years. In my mind, there was no better and no safer way, to reach that place in my mind and allow those tears to flow. During the two months of conversing on IM and through email, my spanker had at first been horrified, not understanding, but through talking and explaining, had come to understand and agree… that this was not really about my father; but was instead about a wounded child. AND he had told me he was sure he could help me accomplish the release of that horrid night. Whew! Talk about being nervous.

From the moment I made my decision, my spanker’s tone had changed. He’d begun to give instructions. He’d explained that he could not jump into a “release” spanking, that he’d begin with a discipline spanking. I’d been instructed to write a paper for him telling him of issues dealing with behavior, attitude and accountability in which I felt I had a problem and with which I needed help to regain control. My initial reaction was… Damn! Homework. At first I’d thought I had no issues, but after he gave me a couple examples, I knew there were several areas that caused me problems. These were deep issues that took some time of thought and contemplation to uncover. The paper had been hard to write. In my mind’s eye, I could see it folded neatly in my billfold. What I had a hard time imagining was sharing the things written on that paper with anyone. To admit your deepest disappointments with yourself was, for me, an extremely hard thing to do. Still I had followed his instructions and had written about the issues that I felt held me back in my life. Even thinking about them in the privacy of my car was enough to make my eyes sting with gathering tears. Those things I’d written about were things I’d done that made me feel guilty and ashamed of myself. “My” internal issues.

The weather was horrid. Wind buffeted my car with enough force that it began to take all my concentration just to stay in my lane. The weather got worse with each mile I drove. I pulled into a rest area to call my host for the weekend to let him know where I was and how long it would be until I arrived. The wind whipped my hair into my face and tugged, lifting the long skirt of the dress to embarrassing heights. (I was really glad I’d worn sexy, lacy, panties.) My stomach churned as I stood at the phone with the wind whipping around me. It was hard to talk, hard to breathe. He spoke, reassuring me that he understood, for me to be careful, even asked if I wanted to turn around and go home. I’d told him, no… I could make it. As I pulled back out onto the interstate, the rain began to come down in a torrent making it almost impossible to see as the large drops came straight at my windshield. I remember thinking it was either a sign that I had lost my mind and should turn tail (pun intended) and run home… or this was something right and good that I was doing for myself and I was being tested to see if I’d fight to accomplish it. I decided to continue on. The onslaught of head-on rain and the strong gusting winds that tried to yank the car out from under me made thinking about anything but holding the car on the road, impossible.

I finally found my exit, pulled off the interstate and drove the dark lonely 19-mile stretch to our meeting place. I arrived first and heaved a huge sigh of relief. My body, so tense for so long, became loose, relieved. Sitting in the car waiting for my spanker to arrive and introduce himself the nervousness the storm had chased away kept trying to creep back little by little. It was strange. The relief of being off the highway actually kept the tension at bay. I found it impossible to allow the nervousness to consume me, as my body relaxed after the rigorous drive. Besides that, I’d told myself over and over not to contemplate or try to imagine what would happen. Oh, I knew a few things. I knew he would spank me over a pillow in the center of his bed and that there would be no sex. I knew I’d be allowed to wear a long loose top, rather than the bra he preferred, in deference to my extreme modesty. And I knew that at some point my panties would be lowered or removed, as part of the exchange of power and non-negotiable. I refused to let myself think about that. Being seen in any form of undress by only one man the past 29 years, made “that” a difficult prospect for me. So when that thought would come, I’d stiffen my jaw and tell myself, “you’ll handle it when the time comes”, and push the thought from my mind. Sitting in the dark car waiting, though, I knew I was going to be spanked that night… soon. My mind did allow my body to tingle in anticipation as each second brought the spanking closer.

The vehicle he’d described pulled into the filling station parking lot and I froze as my heart beat thundered deep in my ears. He got out of his car and walked to my door. I smiled, or at least I think I did, as we introduced ourselves but I found it difficult to look into his eyes. He spoke briefly, asking if I was okay after the hellish drive then instructed me to follow him to his house. As we pulled out onto the roadway, I kept telling myself that I “could” do this… I “could”. It wasn’t long before we were pulling into his driveway. I couldn’t help but notice the lighted flowerbeds surrounding the house and well placed about the well-kept lawn. It was a beautiful property. He’d told me during chats on IM of his love for landscaping and horticulture but I’d not been able to imagine how lovely. I thought to myself, what a shame it was that I’d miss the promised tour of the grounds due to the lateness of my arrival and the bad weather as we gathered my gear and I followed him into the house.

Upon entering the house I was gregariously greeted by a medium sized dog-named Nipper. I soon learned the origin of his name. He liked to have a part of me in his mouth… wrist, hand, and arm frequently. After finding the bathroom and depositing my things in the guest room I made my way back to the spacious great room and tucked myself into the corner of the sofa pulling my bare feet under me. The house was good sized; neat, clean, very nicely decorated with beautiful cabinets of glassware impressively placed. There were also many clocks placed around the main gathering room, loudly ticking away the seconds. It was a very pleasant and comfortable place to be with large windows and a sliding glass door that led to a wonderful back patio and small-lighted fishpond. I noticed the table was formally set for four with fine china, silver and stemware. The kitchen, dining and great room were open but connected, making one very large room with separate spaces for specific activities.

Nipper was happy to see me. He was all over me… all sixty-five pounds of him. I wrestled the “chunk of muscle with teeth” as we began to talk. The conversation was normal, every day talk… weather, drive and such, which surprised me. I kept wondering when the talk would turn to spanking and my purpose for being there. The television was tuned to a sports channel with the volume turned low. A football game was winding down the clock as scores of other games blinked in the corner of the screen. It was very pleasant, muscled wrestling companion and all, and I found myself not nearly as tense as I’d thought I would be. Or told myself that as my stomach flipped and flopped when I’d allow my mind to think about the approaching spanking. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I was very nervous, but I hadn’t fallen into a heap on the floor in fits of terror. I’d likened this visit to being summoned to the principal’s office, during our chats on IM after he’d instructed me to write my paper, but I felt no fear, just simple trepidation. Maybe it was because I already knew the outcome of this visit to the principal’s office, (or maybe it was because I had fantasized about having a man spank my “bare” bottom for so long) that I was filled with myriad emotions… and yes, I was excited.

Being a creature of comfort who normally dresses in leggins and loose tops I was very aware of my body in the soft cotton dress with only new lacy undergarments beneath it. The soft cotton slipped over my skin with every slight movement, ‘not’ a normal occurrence for me. I could feel the bra covering my sensitive breasts, the panties snugly in place over my buttocks, the fabric that spanned between my legs, making it hard to be still. I’d peek up to look at this stranger, and then my eyes would quickly lower, as thoughts would come. (Thoughts of being face down on a bed with my bottom high and at some point, hands removing my panties baring my secrets. OMG, I was nervous about that.) He was fairly quiet after asking me if I was hungry. I’d shaken my head and blushed, unable to tell him it was hard to swallow when you had no saliva and that my tummy would probably reject anything it was offered.

I went to get the light romance novel I’d brought along in case I had problems sleeping… “After”. Settling back into the corner of the sofa, Nipper decided the book was stealing my attention and made a great attempt to wrest it from me. My left arm outstretched, book in hand and my right pushing the muscled beast, he finally realized I wasn’t giving in and laid at my feet, lazily rolling over on his back, head lolling upside down over the edge of the sofa. I took a deep breath and began to read, finding I had to reread every sentence a number of times to remember and comprehend it. I couldn’t get my mind off the spanking. At times I felt like screaming… the waiting was making me crazy and I was ready to “get to it”. I sat still, almost afraid to move. AND I couldn’t believe how quiet I was being. I felt very out of place… wanting this and yet feeling as though I’d made a mistake. I thought several times about saying… “Look, sorry but I am a lunatic and I have to leave… NOW!” and then running to gather my things and driving myself back home.

Even though it was the only team I gave two hoots about seeing on the television, Florida State, I wasn’t really able to focus on the outcome of the football game we discussed lightly. My mind was on other things. My mind raced. Would it hurt? Would he find me disgusting? What if I became aroused and he could see that I was wet? What if I did something to embarrass myself such as not being able to go through with this planned spanking? (At times my mind shrieked, “To hell with this damn football game… spank my ass… let’s get this show on the road… just DO something… I’m going bonkers sitting here waiting… dammit”.) And yet I sat so quietly, politely, and calmly. (Arrrrgh, ever the consummate actress.)

Shortly, game over and television turned off, my spanker softly asked again if I’d like something to eat. (Heck no!) I shook my head, and offered a soft polite “no thank you”, as my mind screamed, ‘I’d puke!’ He moved to the love seat sitting at a 90-degree angle to the sofa on which I’d snuggled into the corner. Now we were corner to corner, close, my hand resting on “his” love seat arm. His hand came down on mine; thumb beginning to softly slide over the back of my hand. I’d had to make an effort not to snatch my hand away; so foreign was being touched in any way for so many months. (I was mesmerized… watching his thumb.) He said there were a few things we needed to discuss. (All I could think about was how nice it was to have another human touch me, how good it felt, how it was making my stomach churn even more and how it was causing contractions deep in my abdomen.)

First he’d asked if I had written my assignment. I nodded meekly, eyes locked on his sliding thumb, as I whispered, “yes” and thought, ‘but I don’t think I can share what I wrote with anyone because I don’t share what I consider my deep dark secrets’. My stomach took a nose-dive dropping in a spiral and I felt myself moisten in nervousness, those gnawing contractions becoming stronger deep in my core. He continued by asking about my limits, about spanking my thighs. God, he wanted an answer and my head was spinning faster with each slide of his thumb and each minute that brought “the” spanking closer, making it almost impossible to think about anything else and impossible not to think about everything all at once in a jumble. My mind panicked searching for an answer with no frame of reference, and then it came to me, ‘trust him’. I took a deep breath, swallowed a couple times and managed to say through a constricted throat, “I trust you. I’ve not done this before. So, I’ll leave this up to you, and not place any limits for now”. He’d then added that some spankees limited spanking to their bottoms only as the thighs were so much more sensitive. “This” information made me swallow hard again, as I’d “just” said I’d leave this up to him, I remember thinking… “Now,” you tell me. I wondered… how bad is it gonna hurt? My chin dropped lower. I was consumed with thoughts about not knowing anything, being unsure of everything… and absolutely unable to talk. I felt like an imbecile, so I just sat there quietly in order not to prove myself as such.

I was reclining on my side; tucked into the corner of the sofa, knees bent and drawn to bring my calves to my thighs, bare feet peeking out from under my dress. He moved and as he sat at my feet his hand lowered to my ankle. As he began to talk his hand began to gently stroke up and down the side of my calf; small gentle strokes that sent jolts of electricity shooting through me. His voice was gentle as he said, “you know this is going to be a very rough spanking, don’t you?” I blanched inside, but only nodded. “You’ve been holding on to this for such a long time, I’m sure you realize it’s not going to be easy to let it go. This spanking may even take two sessions, one tonight and one tomorrow.” My stomach lurched and rolled as my breath caught, and I felt very small. I nodded. “Do you trust me?” I glanced up to catch his eyes, mine falling away instantly as I nodded and forced a gravely “yes” through my tense throat. “And you know I’m only going to do this because I want to help you?” Nod. “And you know once you enter the bedroom you have no input?” Nod. “Do you have any questions?” A shake of my head, no. I really didn’t have any questions that he could answer; Questions like… am I strong enough to do this? Am I doing the right thing? How will I feel tomorrow about my decisions?

He stood saying softly but firmly, “Young lady, it’s time, get your paper”. I retrieved the hand written notebook page folded in eighths from my billfold. He reached out and extended his hand to me. I looked at his hand for a second then reached out and placed mine into his. I really did trust him. He helped me up and led me to his bedroom. I sat on the side of the bed as rigid as stone almost afraid to breathe. I felt like I was under water, everything pushing in on me, making things sluggish and slow. I unfolded my paper of secrets and felt my eyes stinging instantly as they quickly scanned the pencil handwriting. My breath caught before I could read a word. He had me move to recline stretched out on the bed hoping I’d relax a bit. My stomach felt like it was filled with cold lead. At his instruction, I began to read in a whisper. It was incredibly hard to read my deepest thoughts and feelings to him. And it was hard to admit that I couldn’t make myself care about anything. And hard to admit I was too stubborn for my own good. Then after pausing to gain control enough to talk, even harder to choke out that I was accountable to many people, but let myself down time and time again, being unaccountable to myself. Tears slowly trickled down my face when I read haltingly from my paper, choking out one word at a time, that I believed I needed to be spanked for these things. It had taken me close to fifteen minutes to read one hand written notebook page with a short paragraph on the backside. God, it was humiliating to admit the things I’d read to him, even to myself. He’d listened, gently stroked my forearm, my upper thigh, encouraged, and soothed me when I’d not been able to speak, coaxing and assuring me it was okay and that I was doing well. When I’d finished reading he said softly but firmly, “I’m really proud of you. That took a great deal of thought and I know it was hard for you to tell me. Now it’s time for you to go prepare for your spanking. Take all the time you need, but be ready when you come back here.”

I’d nodded, almost unable to breathe and headed with quick steps to the guestroom to “prepare”, wiping the tears from my cheeks. The predetermined clothing he’d given me permission to wear was packed at the top of my bag. I lifted out the long rayon top with its big, bold, bright print of magenta, navy, black and royal blue and laid it on the sofa. I’d reached for the royal blue panties, plain with the exception of lace insets to each side of the front at the waist. I felt like a bug under a microscope, even though the door was closed and I was completely alone, as I’d slipped my dress over my head, reached back to unclasp and remove my bra, then slid my panties to my ankles and stepped out of them.

I was amazed at how sensitive my entire body had become as I reached up through the soft top and felt it float down my arms and over my head slipping into place. As I stepped into the sexy new panties I wondered how long I’d be wearing them. I stood for a moment, taken a deep cleansing breath having to force myself to move. I’d made a quick trip to the bathroom; I’m one of those women who feels like she has to pee when nervous… often only to be able to squeeze out 3 drops to be left with the feeling there is still a bucket full left inside. And I’d blushed as I’d wiped remembering the long complete shower I’d taken, (washing my hair, shaving my legs, scrubbing my whole body with the loofah, applying lotion from forehead to toe tips, then the close trim I’d given myself). My lips were so sensitive they tingled as I’d pulled my panties back into place and wriggled to adjust them. I’d washed my hands and removed my jewelry and the new contact from my left eye, not knowing what would happen if I were to cry. I sprayed a light mist of Anaise perfume across my throat and the inside of each thigh. I remember looking at the locked door of the bathroom and the resolve it took to open that door and walk to the “spanking” room.

For a moment I’d thought I might throw up as I walked down the hall, through the great room and to his door. I’d stood looking at the door undecided as to whether I should run the other direction or turn the knob. The thing was, over the 2 months he and I had communicated on IM and by email I had come to trust him completely. I liked the way he talked to me. I liked the things he said to me, the things he told me about himself. I had come to respect him and believed he honestly knew what he was doing. And when he’d told me that he had spanked a woman that weighed over 400 pounds several times, I had become less self conscious about my much less than perfect full figure. Realizing that I did trust him, I’d known that I truly wanted to have this experience, so I reached out and opened the door.

As he’d promised in deference to my extreme modesty, the lighting was very dim. I’d blinked to accustom my eyes to the gloom and noticed the top coverlet had been removed from the bed and there just lower than the center of the bed on solid light colored sheets, was a wedge shaped pillow. I’d gulped and moved into the room to be met by my spanker, who’d taken my hand and led me to the foot of the bed. He too had changed and was dressed in an old t-shirt, navy sweat pants and light colored socks. In a low firm voice he’d instructed me to place myself over the pillow so that the top angle fit into the bend of my hip and thigh. Climbing onto the bed on my knees, I’d bent over the pillow and laid my head and shoulders on the mattress with my bottom high, knees, thighs, calves, ankles and feet, tightly together. Just as I’d thought, the long top slowly slipped tickling down my arched back to pool at my shoulders leaving almost my entire back bare and my panty clad bottom free and unencumbered.

I’d sensed him before I saw him leaning at my side to place a deep red handkerchief in my hands and to say sternly in my ear that “this” had two reminders for me. He’d asked if I knew the double meaning. I’d looked at the handkerchief and asked softly if red was my safe word. Yes, that was one. He’d waited. I had no idea what the other could be and tensed, my mind wildly searching for another meaning. Then his voice came firmly… “This is the color I want your bottom”. And my breath had sucked in, disbelief clouding my mind. Surely he couldn’t be serious. The thing was a deep blood red, even in the dark and the thought of what it would take to bring this color to my, oh so vulnerable alabaster bottom, made me dizzy. If I’d not been lying on the bed I’d have fallen as my knees weakened and I realized too late I “was” frightened. I think I moaned softly around a huge lump in my throat. Oh, my God… what was I doing in this position? What had ever made me think this was something I’d desired? But, Mmmm, I couldn’t deny that having my head low and panty clad bottom high in this darkened room felt sexy and sensual and good. I was filled with contradicting emotions, swirling, teasing, and confusing emotions.

When I felt his hands cupping my left knee and sliding it far to the left, I’d tensed and blushed furiously feeling my face resonate with heat. My right knee was slipped wide next and I’d felt my lips separate under my panties. My face heated even more. As his cupped hand explored my upturned bottom, fingers dipping lightly into my crease, I’d shut my eyes, a bit surprised but enjoying the touch, absorbing it, memorizing it. And I was really glad my panties covered me as I felt a slight rush of fluid in response to his touch, all of my senses awakening.

“I’m going to spank you by hand first to warm your bottom. Are you ready?” I’d nodded, unable to speak as the tension of “this” moment had mounted.

“Answer me! Young lady!”

(If you have never experienced something new like this… that brings so many emotions bubbling out of hiding places in your mind… try to remember the very first time you stood at the edge of a “high diving board” looking down at the water. Remember how it felt to “want” to step off, and yet, how very difficult it was to take that first step into the unknown… no going back… total commitment. Remember it being something you “wanted” to do, something scary, something you’d thought and thought about, summoning the necessary courage, all the myriad feelings that flowed through you, and try to remember the… exhilaration. If you can… it will be close to what I was feeling.)

I managed to whisper, “yes”, though it took a great deal of effort to make myself say the word. I didn’t want to talk in this position. I felt, shy and overwhelmed, but this was something I “wanted”. The time had finally arrived. I was about to “live” my fantasy. It was time to step off the end of “this” high dive into the unknown.

He rubbed his hand over my right cheek; I felt it lift away… then my eyes shot open as I felt the “hard” hot smack. I took a deep breath, gauging how it felt as his hand quickly rubbed then moved to seek the next spot, lifted and came down “hard” again leaving a deep tingling sting. His hand would seek, find, lift, and then come down with strong force leaving shocked stinging tissues in its wake. I remember thinking I never imagined a hand could “hurt” this much. It wasn’t painful. It stung deeply but didn’t “actually” hurt. The sting was instant, then would subside in a second leaving a deep warm tingling sensation. His hand came down over and over and over. I wasn’t shocked anymore… waited for each smack to fall, absorbing it… thinking… feeling. He’d spank, rub, lift, smack. After 6 or so smacks, he’d pause and his hand would “examine” my bottom for warmth. I could tell that from the way he touched, kneading my flesh in his hand. The spanking was uncomfortable and yet, it was almost pleasurable. The rubbing was very nice, felt wonderful, and I couldn’t decide which I liked better. He moved all around me, spanked from every angle, covering my whole bottom with smack after smack after smack.

I was startled and filled with embarrassment when I felt his fingers work under the legs of my panties, feeling my naked flesh, as he’d said, “I need to check the temperature your bottom”. I could sense he was checking the warming of my bottom before he explained and had pushed my face straight into the mattress, closing my eyes tightly to hide my reaction to what he was doing. After the initial shock, the feel of warm fingers on my heating bottom was thrilling. He moved my panties back into position smoothing them over tingling cheeks. The spanking continued for several minutes, his hand coming down hard, hard, hard. My bottom was feeling very warm from my perspective as the sting of each smack deepened and spread. The next time his fingers wiggled inside my panties, with fingertips falling into my separation, making it almost impossible for me to be still, he’d told me my bottom was warm enough to begin the discipline spankings. Then he’d explained there would be three, one for each issue I’d told him about. I shivered with the realization of that thought.

He left the bed and walked away. I listened intently to every sound, trying to figure out what was going to happen next. My eyes had become accustomed to the low light, still, it was almost dark and I wasn’t in any position to see what he was doing behind me. Somehow I just knew better than to rise up and try to watch him. In seconds he was back; I could feel his weight making the mattress dip a bit as he climbed onto the bed and knee walked to my lower left side. I waited.

“Young lady, we have some issues to deal with that you feel you need to be disciplined for. The first one we’ll take care of is your stubbornness.” His voice loomed out of the darkness and was firm and yet low, kind. I felt something lay upon my bottom and knew it was a paddle. He began to move it slowly in small circles over my cheeks. My senses reeled as I tried to imagine how this would feel. I could tell it wasn’t a large paddle, about the size of a hand, cool on my warm bottom and hard. He’d admonished, “As I spank you, I want you to think about how your stubborn behavior effects you. I’m going to give you a good reason to eliminate this behavior. When you become stubborn I want you to remember how this feels and the cost to your bottom.”

The paddle slid, rested just a second then lifted. “Oh!” My breath rushed out, hands clenched as I heard and “took” the smack. I felt a sharp burn. By the time I’d gasped his hand was already rubbing the fiery spot. The sting evaporated to a warming heat. I closed my eyes as he ran the paddle over my bottom seeking the next spot, clamped my jaws shut when I felt it lift, then swallowed hard and grunted softly as the explosion of stimulation tore through my bottom. It amazed me how quickly the fiery feeling dissipated to be followed with deep glowing heat.

My spanker moved all around me, planning each and every smack, rubbing after each for just a moment, and then searching for the next “spot”. The rubbing spread the warmth of the smacks and rather than easing them seemed to intensify the sensations left by the connection of wood brought down quickly, sharply on tender flesh. Both cheeks were hot and tingling. When he’d rub the paddle over the area of the last smack and stop, I’d almost whimper knowing this was where the next pop would land, and oh, damn that hurt! The area would almost scream the second time, the fire going deep and tearing through me. My whole body warmed as I struggled “taking” each fiery lick. Each time the paddle tore into me, I thought about being stubborn, about how defeating it could be. I didn’t bother to count but knew he’d given twenty to twenty five smacks when he finally stopped, rubbed my bottom for a few moments and told me I’d done well. He got off the bed and moved around behind me. I heard him say quietly, “I’m going to give you a few minutes meditation time”, then saw the light from the hall as he opened the door and slipped out of the room.

Was I supposed to move, walk around, rub my sore heiney? Funny, the things you think of as you lay with your head and shoulders flat and low, bottom hiked high, legs spread, your panty covered “secrets” open to the cool air swirling and licking at you, teasing your very warm buns. I didn’t move. I thought about the next portion of the discipline spanking and wondered if I could handle it. I thought about my “position”, legs spread and sighed in thanks that the room was close to totally darkened. And as strange as it sounds, I thought about how comfortable I was lying over this firm wedge shaped pillow… in nothing but a top and panties, legs parted wide. It was late, after midnight and I was tired. It had been an emotional day. (Ha! It had been an emotional week, planning this, thinking about it, preparing, packing, thinking, thinking, and thinking.) The door opened and as I saw his silhouette come back into the room the light from the crack in the door stung my eyes. The door closed plunging the room back into its deep dark charcoal gray.

I heard him moving quietly around behind me trying to sense what he was doing. Then I felt his fingers wiggle under the waist of my panties. I felt them being lowered, fingers and fabric sliding over my tender bottom. As fingers and panties reached the tops of my thighs, he stopped. I could sense him moving again. I heard his firm instruction to close my eyes that he was turning on the light. I did, tightly, grimacing, then quickly pushed my face into the mattress. I heard the faint sound of movement and sensed him behind me, but almost jumped when he began to cup and knead my bottom. “I have to check the color, the temperature, and make sure you are all right.” (Oh my God, Oh my God… the light’s on and he can “see” me. Oh my God! I’m laying here, legs parted, the light is on and he’s looking at me. Oh my God, Oh my God! Oh my God!) “Everything looks good.” And as quickly as he’d lowered my panties he pulled them back into place, smoothing them, straightening the leg openings, covering me once again, tenderly giving me a little rub on each cheek. His hands withdrew and I sensed him moving once again. “Okay, I’ve turned out the light”. And once again safely in the dark, I turned my head, resting the right side of my face on the bed, took a deep cleansing breath and let it out slowly able to breathe freely once again.

Within seconds the mattress dipped and his quiet firm voice came again, “Young lady, you told me that you are having problems caring about things in your life.” I felt him beside me low and close just before he leaned and whispered right into my ear, “You’re bottom is going to give you a reason to care… for days.” (Gulp!) “I want you think about all the times you’ve wanted to care and couldn’t, every time this paddle comes in contact with your bottom. You need this, don’t you, Young Lady?”

A whispered, “yes”.

“Someone should have cared and done this to help you a long time ago, shouldn’t they?

Eyes stinging I mumbled softly, “yes”.

I felt the paddle lying on my bottom, a different one, different shape, and size. This one was wider and much longer. I took a deep breath and swallowed a whimper. I folded my arms and brought them under my head, tensing a bit, wondering once again if I could take it. Feeling that same circling on my bottom, knowing now he was honing in on his target was almost mesmerizing, reassuring. The paddle lifted… I wondered… but only a second… OUCH! It came down with a crack over both cheeks, double fire. I stifled a “hmph”, because although it produced an intense sensation, it didn’t have the same “bite” as the previous paddle. Hot, hot, though as it landed, again and again. His voice spoke softly admonishing me for my lack of concern about things in my life… telling me I’d begin to put my house in order… that I “did” care if it was neat and clean. “Young Lady, you’ll be much more comfortable standing up”. CRACK! Rub, then SMACK. “You really “do” care, don’t you?”

Nod.

“Answer me, Young Lady!” SMACK.

Whimper. “Yes”.

SMACK. Rub. Paddle circling. Raised. SMACK. Over and over and my bottom becoming tender and sore. My upper body beginning to twist and move, changed positions frequently. The heat and fire of the paddle driving most thought from my mind, I discovered all I could think about was the way my bottom felt. It was hot and tender, the fire of each smack searing the surface, then the profound sting lessening on the surface to flow deeply into the muscle. I was breathing harder and harder and really working to take the spanking. It hurt. It wasn’t an injurious hurt, but it… HURT. Oh, for seconds after each smack… it did hurt. I burrowed my face into my arms thinking about a woman who visits my chat room. I’d had teased and taunted her about whining and complaining about her spankings “hurting”, and I felt ashamed for teasing her. The bed shifted and I realized my spanker had gotten off the bed.

I reached out to grab a pillow and had to bring my knees and legs together as I wriggled just a bit stretching to reach it. I pulled the pillow under my head and chest and rested while my spanker was busy. It felt so good to straighten out over the pillow under my pelvis. Silently ordering myself to relax I stretched a bit, thinking about how my bottom felt, all hot… burning… so vividly aware. I closed my eyes for a minute then tensed as I felt my knees roughly parted one by one and heard my spanker say a bit gruffly, “this is NOT position, Young Lady. You will keep these knees parted and keep your bottom properly presented at all times. Do you understand?” I whispered, “yes” as I hid my face in the pillow. I’d forgotten that I had closed my legs to stretch for the pillow. Feeling my eyes begin to sting, I took a deep cleansing breath and blew it out hard summoning the control not to cry over my embarrassment.

He was soon back beside me, talking softly as he rubbed my bottom gently, his palms molding to me, finger tips delving deeply into the separation of my buttocks, sending pleasurable tingles washing through me as he’d lightly brush extremely sensitive places through the thin fabric of my silky panties. “This last discipline spanking is for not being accountable to yourself, Young Lady. I know your bottom is getting tender, but this problem is the most serious. You think about your attitude and letting yourself down and what you can do to correct this behavior.”

This new paddle was small, narrow, and doing that mesmerizing circling thing. I sensed him lifting it back. I almost hollered when it came down biting into me as if it had teeth, the sting so intense it took my breath. I was unable to suppress the soft moaning growl that made its way from deep in my chest. This paddle caused a fierce bee stinging sensation, fiery, burning, deep and very hot. As he’d rub, circle and smack, I’d grit my teeth, holding back yelps. The smacks made my back arch, pulling my head up, my whole upper body lifting at times. As the paddle bit again and again into my tender cheeks, I found myself panting, hands tight, making fists. The smacks to my sit spots, the soft tender places where fanny meets thigh, made me quake as I felt them coursing through me.

I found myself twisting, gasping, fighting to accept these smacks and vowed I’d be more accountable to myself. I’d not continue to do things to let myself down… but I couldn’t think far enough past the sharp harsh stimulation to my backside to think of an example of this behavior. The rubbing didn’t seem to help a bit. I even gasped out an air sucking, “shit” once or twice as I’d growled and clenched my teeth as the paddle came down in flames. My right “sit spot” felt like a burn the diameter of a baseball. Each smack brought panting, gasping and I realized my forehead was damp; I was beginning to sweat. Just as I thought I couldn’t take any more it was over. My whole body went limp as my spanker once again left the room to give me time to meditate. I heaved a deep sigh as the door closed behind him.

I rested, my mind sensing and gauging the sensations from the top of my cheeks to just below them. The heat could be felt from inside, deep, coursing heat. The exterior felt a bit singed, hot and buzzing. The air around me was cool, swirling gently but my forehead was damp with perspiration. My back felt naked, exposed, cool, as did my bare legs and feet. NOT so my bottom… it was radiating. I stretched and flexed back muscles tired from tensing, opened and closed my fists several times, wadding and twisting the red handkerchief. I closed my eyes and let the past hour run once again through my mind. I had surprised myself. This was so unlike me, to “do” anything like this, after so many years of being such a prim, proper, very reserved woman. I simply did not do things like this. I thought about everything up to this moment and was utterly amazed that I felt absolutely no guilt. But, I did feel just a touch “wanton”.

The Release ~ Part II (continuation of Cleansing Release)

He came back into the room a silhouette slipping through the partially opened door and the momentary flash of light caused my eyes to sting and squeeze tightly shut. Eyelids beginning to relax, I listened to the soft sounds of his movements behind me. The bed dipped and I noticed the change in his voice immediately. This tone was commanding but kind.

“Young Lady, it’s time to start the release spanking. Tell me how we have to do this.”

I tensed not wanting to talk or play 20 questions. I couldn’t think. My stomach rolled as I hazarded an educated guess in a whisper, “on my bottom?”

“Yes, on your bottom. But “how” do we have to do this?”

I felt the muscles of my body tighten, become rigid. I didn’t know.

“Young Lady? Answer me.”

Taking a deep breath, I pushed out the words, “on my bottom?” My confusion and the effort to speak had pushed the words out high pitched, loudly, sounding close to panic.

His voice matched mine in volume, but became gruff, harsh, “Young Lady, I don’t like your tone!”

I began to whimper, tears springing to my eyes. I was crushed by his tone. My voice, imploring, whimpered quickly before the tears could close my throat, “I don’t know what you want me to say! I don’t understand. I’ve never done this before.” And I began to gulp against the rush of tears.

He came closer, moving beside me, his voice calm in the darkness, “On your “bare” bottom. We have to do this on your “bare” bottom.” He paused briefly before asking again, “How do we have to do this?”

(OMG! The time had come. He was going to remove my panties, and not for just a moment. Dizziness washed over me. My breathing became so shallow and slow I gulped at the air remembering to breathe. OMG! Only one man had done this since I was 21! OMG… he was going to…) Blinking and gulping back the effect of tears, my fantasy and fate sealed, I whispered hoarsely, “On my bare bottom”. I had a flash of thought, an image of running, hiding that I fought as my stomach churned. I tensed, shivered, waited.

He shifted, slid off the side of the bed and walked behind me. A shudder ran through me. I knew this was coming, but still wasn’t prepared. I’d refused to allow myself to think past… that it “was” going to happen. Running was out of the question. My stomach lurched and twisted as I felt his fingertips work inside the waist of my panties. I closed my eyes, then burrowed my face flaming in embarrassment and shyness into the mattress as I felt him gently working them over my hips. (What was I feeling as his warm gentle fingers exposed me… fear? Thrill? There were myriad emotions to contend with, liking the way my bottom sensed his fingers slipping along my skin, shyness, and total vulnerability.) As the panties caught at my hips against the pillow he instructed me to lift. I felt my body respond, legs slipping together, pelvis lifting and his fingers slipping my panties down my thighs, along my calves, ankles… and off. And I felt strange, embarrassed, shy, and amazingly… natural, sexy, sensual, healthy, and very confused.

His hands once again cupped my left knee sliding it over. Then he moved my right leg spreading me wide, knees now far apart. A bolt of lightning went off in my brain. My breath caught, stomach clenched, a quiver ran up my spine. My bottom was bared, naked, open to this man. I’d not let myself imagine or anticipate “this”…my legs being spread… being opened… I was so very glad the room was dark. I’d imagined my legs tightly held together. I’d imagined them being left that way when they’d closed to allow him to slip past the catch. My face flamed resonating heat as I pressed even harder into the mattress. I’d never felt as defenseless or as vulnerable in my life. And I was amazed at how very submissive I actually was. Questioning his “right” to do this had not once entered my mind since I’d made the decision to trust him and come to him for this very reason. I’d not been aware of it, but since the moment I’d asked if I could come to him, and he realized I was serious, he’d begun to assume control. He dominated every step beginning with my “homework assignment”, then each tentative step I’d taken. I had not even been aware of releasing my control and power as I had handed it to him little by little. (Panties Removed – Exchange of Power, COMPLETE…)

The air from the overhead-ceiling fan, gently swirling, felt cold on my newly exposed moist tissue. In this position, knees spread wide, my cheeks were separated my sex open. I couldn’t help the wish that streaked through my mind that I was in this place with a lover who would reach out to caress and stroke with gentle teasing fingers, places too long ignored and craving touch. But, I was here for different reasons. Important reasons. Still… I wanted deeply… needed… to be touched. (If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. True. And such is life.)

I couldn’t sense what was happening behind me as I heard soft different sounds. Soon he was beside me again, bed dipping, that kind soft voice coming from the dark. “I’m going to oil your bottom. I’ve read it helps increase the sting and decreases bruising.” Palm cupped to mold to my shape, his hand massaged the oil over by bottom. His fingertips curled into my valley as he spread the oil generously over me and I wanted so much to whimper in pleasure, but held back as they lightly brushed over my sensitive anus. My breathing deepened from his touch, sounding loud to me in the quiet room as he worked to tend my bottom. I tensed as his hands moved lower massaging the oil down the backs of my thighs to my knees. The remembrance of thighs being more sensitive jolted through my mind. (How would it feel? Would it hurt badly? Damn, my bottom was hot and sore.) Had I been with a lover I believe I would have purred. But…

He was at my ear, chills washed over me as his lips lightly brushed them, “I’m going to help you to release. I want you to think about that night. I’m going to help you find that little girl who was so hurt, so mistreated. It’s time to let go, Deborah.” Something about the gentle whisper, the words, made me feel small and sad. Then I felt the paddle circle, seek, then lift. It came down hard with a loud sharp crack on my right cheek. Oh! Ouch! The sting was harsh and strong. He rubbed, lifted the long thin paddle and brought it down. My bottom smarted under the smack. His hand found the new hot spot, rubbed, the paddle sought the perfect new spot, on my thigh and lifted to streak down bringing fire. They were riiiiiiiiiiiiiight! Oh, shit the thighs WERE more sensitive! Shit! Shit! Shit! I grunted… head burrowing into my arms concentrating on “presenting my bottom at all times”… NOT EASY! Ouch! Every smack to my thighs jolted me and shot deeply into my bottom and then up my spine.

He moved from one side to the other. At times he’d lean over me, his forearm across my back to give him leverage and hold me down. He was changing paddles, applying oil once again. He was at my left side, might right side, by my hips, thighs. OH! Pain! Ouch! Why is he doing this? Grrrr! Every third or so smack would catch the same exact place on my right sit spot or the tender spot on my right thigh, making the flesh scream in agony. My bottom was sore, burned, stung. And I wondered if “anything” could induce me to tears. He’d been all around me, used three different paddles, had covered my bottom and to mid-thigh with harsh burning spanks.

“You didn’t deserve to be treated the way you were, did you?” SSMMAACCKK!

Tears stung my eyes, as I whispered, “no”. The soft kind understanding words touched me more deeply than the heat from the smacks to my bottom.

“Try to find that little girl. It’s time to find her and let her cry.” SSMMAACCKK!

His words forced me to think about that little girl who had tried so hard to be good, to please. It had been so very unfair to do what they had done to her. They’d been so mean, cruel with words and their opinions. Nose stuffing closed; my eyes welled with tears. I shut them tightly and felt the droplets squeeze out to trickle down my cheeks. I began to cry softly. In ways I was so proud of that courageous little girl, and in others, so sad for her. God, she had longed to be held and told she was special. She had longed to feel wanted and appreciated just because she was “there”. Or because she tried so hard to be what they said they wanted. Tears began to flow and I didn’t even try to hold them back.

“Good girl”. SSMMAACCKK! “Let it go, Deborah”. SSMMAACCKK!

I hid my face in my arms, crying softly letting the tears come. His hand began to rub my bottom making me wince, as he’d massage certain places, like my right sit spot. I couldn’t help it… some places were so sore my body would jerk in reflex reaction.

“Deborah, I’m stopping, I think your bottom has had all it can take for now,” his voice was gentle as his hand massaged. He got up and once again I listened to him moving around behind me. I knew the spanking was finished but I didn’t move an inch. I stayed in “proper position” with my bottom “presented” for “tending”. I’d made it through the hard part and my bottom wanted to be tenderly cared for. I thought about closing my legs…then thought, why now? It’s not as though you have any secrets, or can save your dignity NOW!

I sighed, and let my body begin to relax, the tears coming to a halt almost immediately. I was, in a small way, relieved it was over. My bottom hurt! The sensations had gone way beyond anything I’d ever imagined. I’d tried some minor self-spanking, but had never been able to “get into” smacking myself ~ it seemed bizarre to me… and just made me more aware that I was “alone” in my desire. And I’d never even come close to smacking myself as hard as my spanker had smacked me. I realized I was disappointed. I’d expected more. I didn’t know “what more” exactly but I knew there was more.

The bed dipped again as he came back. “I’m going to do some after care now. You just go ahead and cry while I take care of your bottom”.

I heard the squishy sound of lotion being pumped into his hand then felt the cool slick liquid softly slip over my bottom. Mmm, his hands felt so good. The nerve endings of my skin came alive and began craving this touch. He pumped lotion into his palm and massaged the lotion over my sore fiery bottom and thighs. It hurt so good. His hand shaped to me, following the dips and rises of my body. I winced and moaned when he rubbed over the more tender spots. They felt huge, loud, so, so sore. I tried to be still. I really did. But, I’d been so long without touch my body reacted, responded and squirmed under his caress. He spoke softly as he tended my bottom and thighs. “You are so brave.”

“You did well.” Rub. Tend.

“I think you held position better than any spankee I have ever spanked.”

“I’m so proud of you”. Mmm, his hands… felt so good.

The coats of lotion applied, he leaned and whispered right in my ear, “I think Deborah deserves some pleasure, don’t you?” All I could do was nod and whimper as he whispered, “slide off the pillow and just relax.”

His hand slid gently over my back, bottom and thighs. There was a slight difference in his touch. This touch was timed and designed to give pleasure. His hand gently parted my legs. Then his fingertips slowly stroked over my bottom and gently began to explore. Small breathy moans escaped into the quiet room as his fingers began to touch intimately. Oh, God, I’d forgotten what it felt like to have fingers touch my secret places. It felt so good. My body writhed beneath the pleasure. My pelvis lifted, squirmed and responded as my breathing became intertwined with soft moans and groans. I absorbed every touch, every sensation, like a parched land in need of rain.

I concentrated on how it felt to have my wet femininity explored gently, touched, and stroked. I listened to his words of reassurance. Eyes closed, bottom on fire, I lifted and twisted meeting the touch with welcome. His hand began to slow, would move just a bit, then slow again until it came to a stop and I realized he was sleeping when I heard his soft snoring. I slowly moved off the bed, laid the red handkerchief on his dresser and gathered the soft silky panties into my hand as I made my way out of the dimly lit room.

The soft lamplight of the great room hurt my eyes as I headed past it to the bathroom. I used the potty and when I saw the reflection of my face in the large mirror above the vanity I decided that I didn’t want to turn and see “what” burned, stung and was so heatedly sore. I went to the guestroom just across the hall removed my “spanking” top and slipped back into the soft cotton, ankle length gown. I lifted the long skirt and stepped into silky solid black panties. As I wriggled and snugged them into place I winced as the elastic slid over tender places that rebelled against being touched. Then making my way to the refrigerator I grabbed up a YooHoo I had brought with me, picked up my cigarettes and headed through the sliding glass doors of the great room to the small fishpond just feet across the patio.

The patio was littered with the twisted tendrils of fallen pine straw and the paving stones felt cold under my feet. I walked right to the edge of the large rocks, stacked and layered outlining the pond and lowered myself to sit with legs crossed at the small pond’s rim. My bottom yelped in rebellion as I sat. The backs of my thighs burned as movement stretched skin and muscle. I filled with wonder at the heat and soreness of my cheeks and backs of thighs. The sensations were intense, constant and almost pleasurable.

The song of the water as it rushed falling from one pond to another soothed and lulled me. I opened the YooHoo and sipped the mildly sweet chocolate water letting it fill my mouth slowly wetting tissue dry from crying. Watching the area lit by a small underwater light mesmerized me. My warm skin reveled in the feel of cool stones on bottom and legs. The smoke from the freshly lit cigarette filled my lungs then hung drifting on the heavy humid air as I exhaled. The cool rain moist darkness wrapped me in its balmy embrace, as my mind slowly replayed the last several hours of my life. How do I describe the feeling? My mind was quiet, thoughtful, filled with wonder. I was pleased with myself for taking the steps necessary to fulfill a fantasy, and yet there was some ambivalence. I was pleased and at the same time a bit disappointed. My spanker had warned me that my goal might not be accomplished with ‘one’ spanking. Still I knew I had hoped it would happen as I wriggled gently on my very sore bottom. Ah, well, I had accomplished so many things… and I knew I wasn’t sad or really disappointed. I was simply aware of everything. Everything. I smiled, slowly stood, and went inside.

My book was lying on the lamp table beside “my” corner of the sofa, so I gently fitted against the high arm, slipped my glasses into place, picked up the book and began to read. After only a page I began to yawn, sighed and made my way to the guestroom. I’d brought my pillows with me, but had left them in “the spanking room” and didn’t want to return to get them. After removing the large back pillows, I propped a plump throw pillow against the arm and gently lay down, stretching languidly. Heat and tenderness radiating from tailbone to mid thighs was more than distracting as I carefully wriggled working into a comfortable reading position. I took a deep breath, laid my book on my chest and closed crying tired eyes to rest them for just a moment. When I opened my eyes it was fully bright mid morning.

Stretching without thinking my body jolted and I was surprised I was even sorer than when I had wriggled trying to find comfort many hours before. I gingerly moved to get up and headed for the bathroom. The potty seat pushed into irritated tissue and I found myself smiling, realizing I somewhat liked the warm not altogether unfriendly reminder of the previous night. Paper work complete, I reached to turn on the bathtub faucets and brushed my teeth as the tub filled. It felt really nice to lower into the hot