Things can always get worse…


…or better, depending upon your perspective.  Mine, in this instance, is most definitely the latter.
There was a lot of banter/IMing, texting, Daddy/lil girl talk going on beforehand.  I can roleplay via non-FtF with the best of them.  But, once I got there, except for the plaid skirt, knee socks, Mary Janes, white blouse and navy tie, I was still myself, in my own bratty/bottoming head.  I was there for a spanking, dammit, I don’t need all the “Daddy’s bad girl” talk.  Though part of me does wish I could stay “in role.”  It seems like it would be fun…just not real do-able for the reality-based chick that I am.  Suspension of disbelief I can do (usually) during a movie, maybe a play, usually a book.  But in real life?  Not so much.  Probably why I am not an outrageously rich and famous actress, instead of the working drudge that I am.
In any case, once I had arrived I was led into the bedroom post-haste, turned over his knee without delay, and was given a solid hand-spanking, followed by a hairbrush paddling, and, at the end, by a couple whacks of his belt.  There is something about the sound of a belt snicking out of its belt loops that clenches my stomach like nothing else.  I was punished with a belt during a brief attempt at domestic discipline with my ex, and just that sound is enough to throw me back to those memories–not “fun” play at all.  But I was glad that it didn’t throw me into that bad headspace, merely touched on it enough to give the experience bite.  I have toyed with the idea of asking for a beating with a belt, one that will drive me through that space that the ex left in my head, and onto the other side, but am not sure about that.  Sometimes my “face your fears” attitude makes me bite off more than I can comfortably chew and swallow.
In any case, it was a satisfactory spanking.  It was also a spanking in which I was in control the whole time.  We pretended that he was, but I know, even if he doesn’t, that he wasn’t.
I mentioned in another post the conundrum of having to ask for whatever-it-is that I am wanting–pain, pleasure even, a spanking, a certain type of play.  A large part of the reason my interactions are so intense/successful with W is that I don’t have to ask for anything.  As I’ve said before: I show up; he does things to me.  It’s pretty basic, and that very simplicity is what makes it work.  I don’t have to want/need/ask for anything…I turn off that part of me (until he has me mindlessly begging, but that’s a different thing too) when I give up control of myself to him.  That’s the trigger…not what actually happens (although those things are filled with triggers as well), but that they happen with or without my will, and oftentimes against my will.  It is the lack of control that I need, and asking for a thing detracts from that.  Not enough to make this particular experience bad, though.  In fact, it was quite enjoyable, for what it was.
I happen to like spankings, and often wonder if I had been tossed into a different crowd at the beginnings of my explorations into BDSM if I wouldn’t have ended up a spanking “specialist”.  I’m glad I didn’t, because I like so very many things–how sad it would have been to have missed out on all the other awful torments that can be visited upon a girl’s body & mind!  But the physicality of a spanking, the very essence of a spanking being that intimate connection of the Top and bottom’s bodies, the soft, vulnerable belly against his thighs, his hard, hard hand against tender white skin, the feel of a leg holding mine down or a hand on the back of my head, or holding a wrist…it is all intimate in the extreme and combines to cause something extraordinary to happen: I can orgasm from a spanking. With very little stimulation of the “regular” sort (clitoral), I can come with a spanking.  It’s amazing to me that this can happen.
It didn’t this time, but I got very very close.  If he’d known that I was capable of such, perhaps he would have continued when I started seriously squirming and mewling, instead of backing down.  I didn’t really care, to be honest–I wasn’t there for an orgasm (and this is probably why I didn’t tell him, I didn’t want that to be his focus, either.)  But how very delightful to discover that about myself (I have had many many sexual spankings with A during which I orgasmed, but those always included overt sexual/clitoral stim as well.) To just blossom into an orgasm from the actually feeling of being spanked–wow!  Now that was a fun discovery.
So that was all fun, and good, and I would probably go back for more.  There is a part of me that likes to go into a scene knowing I can get what I want out of it, very specifically, and then walk away.  Kind of like a booty-call of another sort.  Wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am.  And in this case, it doesn’t even have the onus of sex, of being sexed or having sex, attached to it.  So that’s all good.
But of course, that wasn’t what I really wanted, was it?  That wasn’t what I was truly after, when this whole quest came about.  What I really wanted was both–the loss of control AND the feel-good of the actual spanking.  And guess what?  I got it!  But that piece will have to wait till later to be told.

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