I love a spanking. I hate pain.

This may sound contradictory but it really isn’t. I bring the subject up only because people keep asking me questions about punishment.

We’re told that it’s wrong for a man to hit a woman and I read criticism of Muslim countries being backwards because many people there, including women, approve of corporal punishment being inflicted on the woman by the man. I get why other women don’t want to be subjected to violence, nor do I… not the uncontrolled rage that defines domestic violence. But, I do quite like being punished by my man – tho not the pain bit, I still hate that. If I can choose to join the army or whatever then why can’t I choose to give be with a man who will spank me if I step out of line? I can and I do.

Now, like I said, I hate pain but I love spankings – how does that work? Well let’s take an example. A while back I broke Richard’s laptop – this was a brand new machine that cost something like £3,500 ($4,600) and I was carrying it down the stairs balanced on a pile of laundry when I dropped it smashing it into bits. Richard wasn’t home when I did that but obviously he’s going to find out so that presents me my first dilemma.

To tell or not to tell?

Whenever something like this happens you, as the person who did something wrong, has a choice. Own up and take your punishment like a big girl or hide your mistake and hope they don’t find out. In the past, I decided to hide the fact that I’d forgotten to send off some payments for bills I was supposed to mail. I got found out and an extra five spanks for lying.

This is a moment I like in a sick-sort-of-sweaty-dreading-what-comes-next-kinda-way. If I hide it I know I might be found out but then I might not. If I own up then I have a whole lotta explaining to do and punishment to take.

In this case, I had no choice but to own up. I mean Richard isn’t going to believe his new laptop was suicidal and jumped down the stairs. There’s no-one else I can blame so a confession is coming and for the rest of the day while he’s out working that plays on my mind: what will I say? What will he say? Will he spank me right away or make me wait? Will he use his hand or an implement? All these questions spin through my head until I’m feeling drunk on anticipation.

The confession

He comes home. The tiny bits of his laptop have been hoovered up and the smashed machine itself is waiting for him to inspect under the sofa – I’ve decided to make my confession in the living room when he’s sitting comfortably.

Richard suspects something the moment he walks through the door. I don’t know if it’s something about me, the fact I’ve tided the whole place or if he’s just psychic but he knows something is up and is immediately asking questions.

I know my plan for confessing is out the window now. The knot in my tummy tightens, a shiver runs down my spine and I feel cold all of a sudden. I’ll admit that at this point I’m also turned on – I’m horny – I’m about to say something that will get me a spanking and that thought makes me wet. Yeah I get it, I’m weird.

I lift myself on tiptoes for a kiss then put my arms around him, under his suit jacket, my head on his chest. For a moment I consider lying, telling him I tripped and dropped the laptop as I walked down the stairs. I’m a terrible liar and he’d probably see right through me. Besides much as I hate pain I do love a spanking.

I confess, telling him how I balanced the laptop on a pile of washing. How I knew it might fall off but did it anyway. “Where is it?” He wants to know. I tell him. “Go and make some tea,” he instructs me before disappearing into the living room. I do as I’m told all the time wondering what’s going to happen next. I carry his tea into the living room, Richard is sitting on the sofa his broken laptop on the chair next to him and one shoe in his hand. Oh God, please don’t hit me with the shoe I think wondering if that is even possible. He puts the shoe down next to the other one he’s already removed. I kneel in front of him, putting the tea on the table next to him. “I’m sorry,” I say.


“You’re going to spank me aren’t you?” I ask quietly.
“Yeah,” he replies matter of factly.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. No reply, he just sips his tea and looks at me. “Will it hurt a lot?” I don’t know why I ask that, it’s a silly question but I can’t help it. The tension is already building up and I just want to know when it’s going to happen and how bad it’s going to be. Even this early tension has got me horny – I want the tension and the spanking to be over but I never want it to end at the same time.

For me this is the contradiction at the heart of any good punishment. On the one hand I don’t want to experience the pain but on the other I can’t get enough of this feeling of dread and anticipation brought on by the realisation of my own helplessness.

I’m still kneeling at his feet waiting for something to happen but Richard isn’t paying attention to me any more, he’s watching TV and drinking his tea. I wait a few moments then decide to get up. I’m not sure what do to with myself but I really don’t want to leave Richard right now. I know that he’s going to hurt me soon but he’s the one who makes me feel safe and secure so it’s him I want to comfort me. I think he knows me well because he beckons me to him. I sit on his lap, facing him, my head pressed into his shoulder. His arms are around me, hugging me tight. I feel like a child being cuddled by her daddy but it’s nice to be cuddled like this. I feel the urge to suck my thumb but I manage to resist thinking it’ll make me look stupid. We sit together like that for a few minutes. Him watching TV, me enjoying my cuddle and thinking about what’s to come. I can hear his heart beating; slow, strong beats. I can’t help imagining each beat as the timing of a blow landing on my bum; a metronome to my spanking.

“It’s time,” Richard whispers softly in my ear. I nod and slowly get to my feet. “Go and wait for me in the dining room.” I start to walk out. “Against the wall,” he calls after me. I stop, turn to him and nod again then head into the dining room.


The dining room is on the far side of the house. I take myself there quickly not wanting to be told off for delaying. I hear Richard going up the stairs and I know he’s up there getting something to hit me with. I’m hoping he comes back with a belt – belts hurt but not too bad.

While I wait I follow Richard’s last instruction, against the wall. I don’t have to ask what he means, I know. I’m to stand facing the wall, toes and nose touching it, with my hands on the back of my head. For me this also means boobs squashed against it – yet another #bigboob problem. It’s a position I hate, which is probably why Richard has made me stand in it. I stand there, eyes closed to avoid staring at the blank wall from 1cm distance.

I can’t help imagining what’s going to happen soon. I’m sure he’ll make me bend over the dining table – that’s why we’re in the dining room I’m sure. I don’t think he’ll spank me against the wall purely for the fact that we did that once and I splatted my nose into the wall on the first stroke and ended up with a bloody nose – yeah I don’t know how it happened either, I think I jerked back as he hit me then slammed my own face into the wall.

I’ve convinced myself now that it’s going to be a belt spanking – I’m sure of it. It won’t hurt too much, I mean I only dropped a computer. Okay so it was quite an expensive one but is it really so bad? The more I think now the less likely I think a belt is – that was a very expensive computer. All this waiting is driving me mad – I really want it to be over. I really want this bit to last forever. I am really really horny right now.

I’m snapped out of my daydream by the sound of something hard and heavy being put on the table; Richard is in the room and I hadn’t even noticed him come in. How long has he been there? I’m feeling a little panicked now knowing that it’s just a few minutes to go.

I can sense Richard moving around me, checking my position but even now my eyes are open I can’t see him clearly as he’s behind me most of the time. “Good girl,” he’s obviously happy with me. I feel the point of a stick against my inner calf – it’s a cane I know the feeling instantly – it scratches a line up my leg lifting my skirt as it goes. I manage not to move as the cane tickles and scratches me. He takes hold of my bum cheeks in each hand. For a moment I think he’s about to pull my knickers down but instead he gets close behind me. His hands slide around my body under my skirt and one hand slips into my knickers. I know better than to resist. Richard’s finger is inside me feeling my wetness. “Someone’s looking forward to their spanking,” he growls menacingly into my ear. I don’t respond. “Take them off,” he orders. Obediently I slip my knickers off, hand them to him and resume my position against the wall. Without warning I’m spun around and slammed hard enough back into the wall to knock the air out of me for a second. “Open wide,” Richard is holding my knickers in front of my face. He stuffs them into my mouth and tells me to keep them there. He has a whole collection of gags he could use if he wants to keep me quiet – the knickers aren’t about silencing me they are there to remind me who has the power right at this moment.

Richard kisses my face. Even though this is a punishment I know he’s every bit as excited about what’s happening as I am. Though while I enjoy the lead up and the aftermath I suspect he’s looking forward to inflicting the pain most. I think it must be a real power trip to do what he’s doing – to have a girl obey your commands, have her bend over, to hurt her and to have her accept your domination of her body. Being on the receiving end feels like a complete loss of power and for me that’s what makes being punished such a turn on.

“Bend over the table,” Richard orders gently. I’ve been here before; I know the position. The table is the perfect height for me. I press my thighs against the end of the tabletop, open my legs enough so that the I can bend forward nicely to lay my body flat on the table. I reach my arms out as far as I can, stretching myself til I can reach the far edge, which I grip tight. Richard is behind me again. He lifts my skirt, tucking the hem into the waistband leaving my legs and bum completely exposed.

He’s spanking me with the palm of his hand already. Not hard, just enough to warm me up. I’m not naive enough to think that this is the punishment. It’s not, he’s just being kind by reddening my bum before the real punishment starts so it’s less of a shock to my system. It’s like sprinting, you don’t go from standing to top speed in one, you warm up first, get your body ready and then go wild.

At this point, my mind is slightly numb. Part of it is racing thinking through whats to come, imagining the pain. But the bit that’s me is still, calm. I’m aware of the other thoughts rushing around but they’re not my thoughts even though they’re in my head.

“I’m going to be generous,” Richard tells me while still spanking my bum with his palm. “I should give you one stroke for every pound of the £3,000 that laptop cost but I won’t”
Thank God, I think to myself. “Thank you,” I say.
“Even one stroke for every £10 is too much.” I try furiously to work out what £3,000 divided by 10 is but my brain no longer works. “I’m going to give you one stroke for every £100 you just cost me.” I’m working on this new sum but again the answer won’t come. “That’s 30 strokes,” Richard helpfully and terrifyingly tells me. My mind is panicking now. I’ve never been hit 30 times with a cane before. “You’ll have 10 from the cane,” Richard says interrupting my panic and confusing me – what about the others? “Then you’ll have ten on each cheek with the paddle.” This is probably worse. I was thinking that 30 from a cane would hurt but the paddle has to be the most painful thing I’ve ever been hit with. My mind is reeling, my stomach is turning somersaults. Somewhere in there is the idea to just stand up and say, “no”. But the instructions won’t come – I really do feel helpless. I can’t refuse, I can’t get out of this. Nobody is going to help me. Nothing is going to stop this happening. I decide to get up and just walk out but I don’t. Nothing happens. My brain and body aren’t working together any more and I just stay there, gripping the edge of the table and bracing myself for the first blow.

I hear a swish behind me. Then the crack of a cane hitting me. I’m jolted forward by the force but it doesn’t hurt. Well for a second anyway then the pain tears through my mind. Richard is very predictable, I know when the next blow will come – it always happens two seconds after the first, which is just enough time for the pain of the first stroke to have developed. Right on queue the second stroke hits. After that I don’t think any more, I just lay there taking it.

Swish, CRACK
Swish, CRACK
Swish, CRACK

Over and over the pattern repeats. At first it’s not too hard to avoid the pain by thinking about other things but by the fifth stroke my mind is on fire and is numb to the outside world. All I know for the moment is the pain of the canning. The next five strokes all hit home and now it feels as if Richard must surely have poured burning petrol over my bum – I’m on fire and not even half way through.

I know it’s the paddle next. I don’t want to go through this. The pain is already intense and that feeling of helplessness is overwhelming me.

The first blow of the paddle lands with such force that I’m sure my thighs must be bruised. It hits my right bum cheek throwing my whole body forwards so I bash my thighs painfully against the edge of the table. The cane leaves a thin line of pain but the paddle hits hard and painfully across the whole cheek. I barely have time to register anything though as the second paddle strike thuds into my left bum cheek.

Now Richard is in his stride, blow after blow rains down on my defenceless bum until it’s a painful bruised mess. It’s okay though because I’ve found my place, a little bubble of consciousness in my mind. My whole brain is filled with the pain of the beating and the damage being done to my flesh and I’m aware of it but I’m safe, tucked away in my bubble of reality. I know what’s happening, I can feel it but it’s not a problem because it’s outside my bubble and inside watching it all happen to her, the other Emily, the one I can hear moaning in agony. She’s not me at the moment so fuck that bitch.

My bubble helps me stay down the whole time though afterwards I find my left arms has teeth marks where I’ve clamped down in an effort not to scream – even the knickers in my mouth weren’t enough to stop me biting myself.

The weird bit

I lay there across the table top as my bubble dissolves and I rejoin the hurting Emily. My backside is on fire as every inch of flesh screams through my nerves into my brain but it’s not the pain I’m most aware of now it’s the throbbing, I guess of blood flowing through my injured buttocks but I don’t know for sure that’s what causes it. I’m also suddenly aware that I’m panting and sweating like I’ve been running.

I don’t know how long I stay down recovering but it feels like a while.

I’m aware of another sensation now, one that’s harder to explain. I’m wet. Horny.

I peel myself up off the table top then slowly turn to face Richard. Tenderly he holds my face in his big hands, wiping aware my tears – I hadn’t even realised I’d been crying til then.

I lift my face to his and kiss him. In moments our tongues are dancing while I rub his cock through his trousers then fiddle with the fastening trying to release the hard cock I can feel underneath. I’m quickly down on my knees. In moments, I’ve gone from taking a beating to sucking my tormentors cock. His dick feels so good in my mouth but I don’t want to make him cum. I suck him til he’s as hard and stiff as he can be. I want him inside me so much that the pain I’m feeling it blotted out for the time being.

Now a difficult decision. I don’t want to waste time going anywhere else – in fact the idea of moving to another room never crosses my mind – I don’t want to sit or lay on anything hard like the table top and I didn’t really want to bend back over the table and get fucked from behind… but I really really wanted to get fucked so I was going to have to pick.

I stood up, whispering to Richard what I wanted. He didn’t speak but his hands were on my body, sliding down to my hips as I turned and bent back over the table where I’d been punished a few minutes earlier. A second later he was inside me, driving himself deep into my pussy. It felt really good and soooo satisfying to have him inside me. It couldn’t have been long but I felt like I’d be dying for him to fuck me for days.

Getting it from behind hurt when he drove himself into me and his naval connected with my sore bum but it was worth it.

I was sitting funny for the rest of the week but each time I felt the injury it reminded me of being punished and made me horny again. It also got me in trouble at work because I couldn’t sit on the hard chairs they give us on the checkouts so I kept standing up til my boss came over and basically made me sit down – I winced through the next 6 hours of my shift constantly being reminded of the beating I’d been given.