After I wrote my blog post Midnight Blues, I spent a while working out what I need right now and also going forward. I’ve written several times about having needs that I can’t fulfill myself. They have to come from someone else. And right now, I’m floating, unfocussed.
I’m trying my hardest but I’m far too sensitive to everything and it’s mentally two steps forward, one step back. I need to get some of my resilience back, for my mental well being and before it starts affecting my physical health.
If I had to pick one thing right now to help me get back on track, it would be a spanking. Not one that would necessarily lead to sex. Sure, I might be wet and wriggling in anticipation at the start but that’s not how I’d want it to end. I rarely cry during a scene but sometimes I feel that it’s what I need.
It would start by being pulled over onto my front, across his lap on the side of the bed. My feet on the floor, my upper body part resting on firm thighs, part on the bed. I’d be told what to do with my hands, “keep them flat on the bed” or perhaps they’d be pulled into the small of my back to physically pin me in place.
My jeans would be pooled round my ankles, my bottom and knickers on show. A hand would smooth over the fabric, rubbing and stroking. The spanking would start oh-so-slowly, my bottom and tops of my thighs covered in a methodical fashion. The slaps gentle enough that the flesh only just warms. The pacing would keep me on edge, wanting more but I’d be kept frustrated.
And then the pace would pick up, the slaps a bit harder, a bit faster. I’d start moaning and moving under his hand. Reacting to the sting of the slap and the warm spreading from the strike point. Over and over. The tops of my thighs stinging harder than the fleshier bits of my arse.
Picking up the pace, feeling the hand come down harder, faster, still a metronomic precision. Predictable. Painful.
There’d come a point where I’d try to kick up, a vain attempt to take control, but my legs would be locked down with him hooking one of his legs over the back of my calves.
There’s two options in my fantasy at this point and I’m not sure which I want/need more. Both, perhaps?
- When I calmed down and the endorphins started flooding, he’d change from his hand to the paddle. Precise, hard hits to force me to breathe harder. He’d keep me at that level, floating in my head. Just breathing. Just feeling. The rest of the world fading away until I was just there in that moment.
- He harder until I’m begging him to stop. Words hard to say but still my intention as it just hurts. And all that emotional stuff that I keep bottled in starts to leak out. And he keeps going until my body and mind calm back down again.
After both, he’d pull me into his arms to hold me really tight, stroke my hair and tell me I’m a good girl.
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