She’d been away. We talked about things that she’d done whilst we’d been apart and agreed a spanking was needed. I told her that I’d missed here a very great deal and, to bring us back to being tight and close and us I was going to paddle her too. “You haven’t been marked for a while and I need to mark you”.
She hates the paddle. And she hates how hard I have to hit her to mark her. She likes the marks we make, but when we make them she cries so much I feel shabby and almost abusive in doing this. But, that is part of why the marking is, once in a while, essential.
I let her sleep on it, of course. Or rather, not sleep. She was jet-lagged anyway, but I know she prefers as little notice as possible of impending violence. Which of course means I take pains to make sure she has plenty of time to think about it.
It arouses me to think of what I will do – and I awoke deliciously drowsy and behaving like a rampant Jack Russell with a piano leg.
I asked her if she’d like to wait until the evening, as she went off to make coffee. “Get it done”, she said.
She came back with coffee, the kind of unctuous, milky brew that can only mean breakfast, and bacon, mushrooms and toast. And, when we’d done, she made a great big pile of pillows and cushions on the bed and bent herself over it.
I leant down close to her face and asked her to open her eyes and give me a smile. She did, as well as a stuck-out tongue. I reminded her that the spanking was a punishment, as we’d agreed, and that the paddling was just for me but that being for me meant it was for us: She bit her lip and nodded.
I set to. We’d agreed that the spanking would also be her warm up so I started more gently and rapidly than I would normally do when we do pure punishment. I leant down to her again and her brow had cleared the way it does when we play. Maybe it had been wrong to try to combine the two?
Oh well. I just started striking her hard. The tingling in my palms grew and her rump began to glow. I thought if I could make it really red she’d bruise more easily and I would not have to hit her so hard, or often, when it came to the paddling.
I knew I could not take the stinging in my palms for much longer. She had begun to weep – and the tears and the tone were those I’ve come to expect from punishment and not from play. Objective one achieved.
I stopped, rubbing my hands and leaning down close to her face again. “Time.” I said. She nodded.
I lifted the heavy, red, wooden, paddle and held it firmly. I’ve had it almost since I met her and I’ve used it less than half a dozen times. It feels special to take it to her, not least because she fears it so.
I brought it down hard on her left buttock. She jumped and screamed. Really screamed. I was rocked with anxiety. But I knew swift was best. I tried to apply equal force to the right cheek – but she’d shifted and I mishit. I hit her fair and square again, instantly and then struck her left again – symmetry is all. I stopped. She was sobbing. Really sobbing: “No more” she said.
I leant down to her face and asked her to look at me. She wouldn’t. I asked her to open her eyes. She didn’t. I held her. No response.
I knew she wanted me to stop. “Use or abuse” I asked. She said nothing. I could see slight bruises rising on her bum. But just slight, not what I’d achieved before and I had promised myself we would go above and beyond.
“Look”. I said: “I can stop. You aren’t marked much and I think I can do better. You must tell me if you are at your limit or not. If you can go further you must let me. If you can’t then you have done your best and all is well and I can stop. There will be nothing bad between us”.
My heart was in my mouth. For us “no” means “no”. I trust her to be true to herself and me. Only she knows if she’s reached her limit. This isn’t the same as enjoying something or not. It was quite clear that I had done something that was hurting and that she was hating.
At that instant, our entire relationship was on a knife-edge. Was our dynamic true? Did the submission she had given me mean I could do as I wished with her? Did I even want to go through with it seeing how distressed she was? Had she gone as far as she could? Would she deny me because she hurt so much right now? Would she let me abuse her because that would look true? If she’d not reached her limit would she be true to herself and let me carry on?
“So ‘no’ doesn’t mean ‘no’?” She asked.
“It does. Darling, if you have gone as far as you can go there is no dishonour between us. I can be content with what I have done because you went as far as you can for me. I want to hit you again and mark you better. If you can take more, you should. If you can’t, you must not. May I hit you again?”
It was over in seconds. I rose, took the red paddle and brought it down hard on each cheek . The noise of the blow filled the room, overcoming her shout of pain. I threw the paddle off the bed and pulled her down to hold her. She didn’t want me to hold her. But I held her anyway. She was the very model of passive resistance and I panicked again. Had I gone too far? Had I ruined us? I turned her face to mine. She resisted. I kissed her. She did not respond. My heart pounded and my pulse roared in my ears. I kept kissing. I licked her lips. I told her I loved her.Again and again. I licked her tears away. I humped her leg. She did not smile. Nor stop crying. But she relaxed and let me hold her.
Minutes later her brow had cleared in a way it only sometimes does and I knew all was well. She had submitted to me. I had taken what I needed to take but what was not willingly given. All was well between us.
Later that morning I made her come, twice. I did that for me too. Then she emptied me and I slept.
It was mutually, selfishly, perfect.