The latest Lush forum question I’m answering for my sexual autobiography is, "How do you like to be spanked?"

I knew I liked to be spanked when I was still a virgin. I was almost never spanked by my parents. I was not, generally, unruly. I recall only two occasions, and both times shocked me into not repeating the misbehavior that had occasioned it.

So, how did I get interested in spanking as a sexual practice? At about seventeen, my family watched a movie together, and one scene featured a young woman being spanked. The effect was immediate. I was hypnotized by it. It is easier for a young woman to conceal that she is aroused in front of her parents than it is for a guy, of course, so I did not move a muscle, but I was definitely turned on by the idea. I began seeking out scenes in books and films that featured spanking or corporal punishment. It fascinated me.

I have often wondered why this is. I certainly wasn’t raised in an abusive home. I am, it is fair to say, not an alpha female, so perhaps it is a question of knowing my place in the social order. But honestly, I don’t see my interest in spanking as a submissive thing, properly speaking. I like it because it feels good.

The next time I had the flat to myself, I closed my bedroom door. I lay down on my front, putting a pillow under my tummy, then pulled my dress up and smacked my own bottom. Ok, that felt nice. I pulled my knickers down. Twisting my arm behind my back wasn’t uncomfortable and the sting was warm and pleasant. There was no limit as to how many smacks I could take in this position; my arm simply couldn’t wield enough power. It felt great.       

The next time, I tried it standing up. And this time, I imagined a little roleplay. I imagined a male voice…not a particular male, interestingly. Not my dad or a male teacher. No, it was a disembodied voice. Make of that what you will. He told me to bare my bottom and bend over the desk in my bedroom, the same desk, amazingly, that I am writing these words at.

I smacked myself a few times, but I found this unsatisfactory.

Luckily, a wooden hairbrush was to hand.

Crack!

Yes! That did it. My bottom tingled and so did my vagina. I wanted more of this. I swatted my ass again, harder. I realized it was more effective to swat my cheeks alternately than land blows across the middle of my bottom. I began alternating butt cheeks, warming my bottom up, feeling the sting mounting.

I didn’t want to stop, but my clit was crying out to be touched. I knew I would have to masturbate to achieve release.  I gave myself six more swats, then I slipped my fingers into my wet pussy and stroked my clit…oh…I was going to…I smacked my bum a few more times with my free hand as I diddled myself…

“Oh…oh…oh!” I squealed as I came, right there, standing up in my own bedroom. Up to that point, it was the most intense orgasm I had achieved through masturbation.  

But when I lay down on the bed, breathing hard, I felt a vague sense of guilt and shame. Self-spanking was a guilty pleasure that I did not share with my first four sexual partners.

When I was in my mid-twenties, I had a toxic, manipulative boyfriend who I mentioned in an earlier entry. I was never physically assaulted, thank goodness, but he was not a pleasant individual and I regret the two years I spent with him deeply. The only reason he is getting a mention is that it was him that opened the floodgates on my love of BDSM.   

Early in our relationship, when everything was love bombing and the golden period was in full swing, Didac (not his real name) and I spent a weekend in Barcelona together. We’d had a lovely day at the beach and a nice meal, and we were feeling frisky. There was a lot of that. Didac was the most hypersexual individual I have been with, and we had a lot of sex. We fucked like there was no tomorrow, in those early months. We did it to the exclusion of sleep, friends, and even of food, sometimes. He introduced me to new positions and ideas that I never would have experienced with other, more likeable individuals.

On this occasion, he went down on me. He massaged my clit. He penetrated my vagina with his fingers as he stroked me with his tongue. That day, Didac gave me a terrific orgasm that made me jump up on my hips and scream. He took me in his arms. I was besotted.

“Tell me your fantasy, and it will happen for you,” he said in his deep, slow, seductive voice.

I hesitated, but I felt so safe with this man. I was so naïve. I confessed that I had enjoyed self-spanking and would like to be spanked over his knee. He grinned.

“Go and get dressed,” he said.

I did. I emerged from the bathroom, my heart in my mouth.

“Girl,” he said. He referred to me often by this name. The use of a belittling pet name like “Girl,” I now know is a red flag of abuse, but I did not at the time.

“Come here.”

Blushing, I stepped forward. What would it feel like, having someone else do it for me?

“For your disgusting personal hygiene,”

Nowadays, these put-downs are known as ‘negs’ and are also features of abuse. I did not at the time.

“I am going to spank you. Bare your bottom and lie across my lap.”

Trembling, I undid my trousers and slipped them to the floor. My knickers came down too, then I stretched across Didac’s lap, my bottom uncovered and at his mercy. My breasts pressed into the bed. My jeans were still around my ankles.

The first smack felt great, much better than when I had done it myself. With every smack, he grasped my buttock very gently afterward before release. A few times he caressed it. The smacks rained down. I was getting hot again. I urged him on, whispering,

“Harder, Didac. I want it harder.”

He obliged, and gradually the sensation in my ass shifted from tingling to stinging. I was totally at his mercy, but I knew I was reaching the threshold…

“When I say go, I want you to stop smacking and take me!” I told him.

He laughed, then delivered about ten more swats of his hand to my buttocks. Oh, my bottom felt so alive! I felt so alive, young, almost naked, and in the arms of this strong, loving man who was attending to my deepest fantasy!   

“Now!” I cried.

At once, he stopped, and I got up. I jumped onto the bed, and he was on me in a heartbeat. His cock pressed into me, and he held me down this time, he held me down firmly like he hadn’t before, his hand pinning me to the mattress and he thrust firmly into me. I felt his strength, felt the mild burn of the sheets on my sore bum, and then he briefly put his hand on my neck…

I came for the second time that night, a fierce, urgent orgasm that, though a biologist would dispute this, I know started inside my pinkened derriere.

Spanking became a regular occurrence in our relationship. Ninety percent of the time, it was him spanking me and not the other way around. It never ever failed to turn me on. At one point, he bought a bamboo stick and we experimented with caning. Occasionally, he went too far…

                                                                                                *

Fifteen years pass. I have long since disentangled myself from the odious Didac and married Mr. MC1982. I share my fantasy with him one cold winter night. He blushes deeply, for he has had the same idea.

I always keep my shirt on when he spanks me over his knee. I don’t know why. I like the way he presses gently on the small of my back as he swats each of my buttocks in turn. I like the way he imposes limits on the number of smacks, but not the strength. The flat of his hand can’t hurt my fleshy bottom in a nasty way. My bottom is unique across my anatomy, in that he can hit it as hard as he likes. I like the way he has learned when enough is enough and does not need to be told. Sometimes, he stops, and I ask for extras.

We’ve experimented with other positions. We have tried it bent over the desk and kneeling across the arm of the sofa. We found that my husband prefers to be spanked or lightly caned while bent over. He says that because it stretches his bottom more, it is a more intense experience. Sometimes, I get him to touch his toes. We find that his wife deciding how he is to receive his punishment is essential for him. I enjoy giving his bottom a roasting, partly because it is hot to be in charge. And partly because he loves it.

When my turn comes, I prefer it on the bed, lying face down.

I like my spankings across my husband’s knee, with the window open and the warm air caressing my skin. I like my bottom to be bare, but to still be partially dressed. I love the feeling on my bottom. I love the way it gets my pussy juices flowing. I am seldom readier for his penis than when I’ve felt the smack of firm governance.

Post orgasm, we lie close with the familiar touch of the long married. Until next time.