A Spanking

I had been expressing some very intense emotions. Feeling weepy and fragile emotionally. I was cranky and moody and easily hurt. I am sure I was a pain in the ass. But he was so patient with me. I felt this overwhelming urge to experience pain and I was feeling demanding about it. I kept telling him how much I wanted pain when I saw him.

When I did finally see him, he was incredibly gentle with me emotionally. Patient. He held me and cuddled me a long while before making love to me. He was indeed aggressive with me sexually. With his cock. But his hands caressed love into me all over. His voice whispered over and over of his love for me. I struggled not to sob. I kept begging him to be more and more rough with me. Finally, his hands grew rough and he rolled me into a kneeling position for a spanking and sex from behind. He spanked me hard. Harder than he ever has. I kept begging him for more and more. When he said he was going to stop, I started to sob and whine for more. I just couldn’t seem to get enough of his aggression. He obliged me…but I could tell he was growing concerned about how harsh I was asking him to be. I’d never done that before.

He got out the flogger and the paddle and beat me with it. He beat me until my flesh began to twitch. He said that I was beat red and he expected me to be covered in bruises and that I was done. I began to beg for more. I was crying and telling him it didn’t feel like enough. “Please…Please…Please…”

He told me flatly that no, there would be no more. I wept hard at his refusal…and finally all the pain I’d needed to let go of  for so long, left in a rush of sobbing that only his telling me no brought…that only his gentle hands and body on my very sore skin brought. He spooned with me and crooned to me, brushing my hair out of my face. Wiping my nose when I got all snotty…helping me to the bathroom when I needed to pee finally. I was so deep in subspace that I couldn’t walk. He poured me into the shower afterward, having to hold me up under the hot water until it revived me. As I came out of my stupor in the heat and steam, this sudden, overwhelming joy came over me in the wake of all that pain being released…and I became enchanted with his cock and making it grow in my hands. I just stood there staring at it and fondling him, smiling to myself about the wonder and magic that a cock is. I am just enchanted that they grow bigger like that. I really, really am.

I looked up a few minutes later, shower water rushing over my body, gathering in droplets in my eyes now and then to see him standing leaning against the shower stall, arms crossed, smiling indulgently at my fascination with his cock. Shaking his head at my silliness, he just kissed me and told me how much he loved me.

I didn’t tell him how much his hug hurt. It would have deeply disturbed him. I went back to bed while he got on with his day…and by the next day you’d hardly know he’d touched me.

I remember this moment as a time when spanking and flogging healed me emotionally…when sex was a balm for my aching heart and soul…when it soothed my mind of its grief and left me feeling renewed.

But it worked that way because he loved me.

Not because I was given a particular activity in the right sequence. That is simply not enough.

This morning I woke wishing for such a moment.

It is not that I am in any particular pain emotionally.

It is that I have not been mastered like that in sooo long. I just ache for it. I ache to be taken and made whole again. I ache for pain until I’ve had enough. I ache for sex until I am unable to walk afterward without help. I yearn for the sense of being loved by a man with every breathe he takes…that his every caress leaves trails of adoration behind…and I wish that this love was so abundant, that I finally feel full with it.

I remember a moment with my husband. It was about two or three years after we’d married. Most of my life I’d never felt there was enough love. I never felt that I’d got enough touch…that I was filled with the love someone else had for me…I don’t know. Maybe I was like a cracked vase or something at that time in my life. But I was needy for it.

I remember this particular moment though. It was following us making love. He’d spanked me soundly and while it wasn’t our finest moment sexually, I realized that I was full. I didn’t ache for more. I didn’t feel like he and I were not enough yet…that I had to have more.

It was like that between us for years.

Until it changed. And then it wasn’t any more.

And since then, I’ve gradually felt that absence of love from another human being really filling me up.

I knew a few such moments when M. They were intensely precious to me.

And this absence of loving flowing to me has forced me to dig deep for my own well of self love and for relationship that is different but nourishing also. Relationship that’s loving…just not necessarily sexual.

And I have grown stronger for that. More present. Happier. Full with soulfulness.

That’s a very good thing.

I felt like a cracked vase earlier this year again for awhile…and I suppose that as my relationship has dissolved, that I’ve experienced moments where I felt like a cracked vase alot in the past few years. But not all the time. I’ve learned how to access a more universal source of loving…and when I can touch in on it, all sense of being a cracked vase just utterly diappears.

I’m glad of that. Its a silver lining in the cloud of loosing my marriage.

And…I want such moments as I just described sharing with M again in my life.

I like this strength I’ve found in myself. I like this deep well of self love I have ready inside me now.

And I want to be loved like this again.

I’ve no doubt that will come to me. I can almost feel it just beyond my reach…just on the edges of today. Ready to manifest. Ready to jump into beingness.

My skin feels all twitchy for that sometimes…

And…yet. There’s this dominant person in me, who wants just as avidly to feel how special it might feel to have a strong, assertive, attractive man’s real submission to me. To feel his skin responding to my touch in just the ways I describe feeling myself…to feel his heart open to me the way I describe mine opening to M or to my husband.

That…? I have this fear that I’ll be forced to choose between the one or the other in order to have the love of a special man. Lately there’s been some examples in my life of really special men who are truly submissive by choice…though they are strong assertive men otherwise. They make me wish for this gift in my life very much indeed.