Aftercare

One of the shifts that seems to be in the offing as we enter into the new year is that He is clear that there will be more spanking, and that it will be spanking the way it used to be.  I believe that His exact words were, "no more of these wimpy spankings like you have been getting..." 

The first spanking of our "new" life was on New Year's eve, and it was a doozie -- lots of heavy paddles and a significant whipping at the end.  What else He used in between, I honestly cannot remember.  I know that I was sincerely sore and bruised feeling afterwards, but so glad to be back in some sort of syncronization with Him that I hardly noticed. As for Him noticing that bruised thing, since I very rarely SHOW any sign of bruising, it is pretty hard to convince a sadist that my nearly unmarked ass has suffered any trauma worth talking about. 

We didn't spank on New Year's day, and although He intended to spank me on Saturday, our plans got rearranged when His father was taken off to the hospital emergency room with leg pains on Saturday evening.  So, it was Sunday afternoon before He got back around to it, and I knew I was in trouble right from the start.  There were still several very sore places, and that sense of being deeply bruised was vivid. 

I sweated my way through what should have been a pleasant and enjoyable warm up hand-spanking.  I couldn't relax and enjoy it because I knew as miserable as it was feeling, what was sure to follow was going to be truly awful.  And it was.  Awful.  I cried and begged and squirmed and begged some more.  Every implement seemed worse than the last one.  I don't know if there were intervals in between, but if that happened, I have no recollection of anything except a feeling of facing an onslaught.  At one point, as He used a delrin birch-type implement, I was sure that He was flaying the skin off of me.  I could FEEL it cutting into me in a half-dozen lines on every stroke, and I was sure that I was dripping blood from the wounds He was making on my butt.  No amount of reassurance could convince me that I was not bleeding profusely (and I was not).

When He was finally done, having given me that sort of devilish choice at the end:  "another set with the paddle or another set with the delrin?"  I was exhausted, weak, shaky, sore, and feeling like the worst wimp in the world.  I wanted to just curl up and sleep, but my butt was throbbing, pounding, blazing red and welted, and feeling as if it was swolen to the point of the skin bursting open.  We very seldom worry about any kind of aftercare.  I don't usually need it, but on Sunday, I was desperate for ice packs to be applied on my poor tender butt. 

He obliged, filling gallon ziploc bags with ice and plopping two of them down on me -- one on each cheek.  It was freezing cold, but soothing at the same time.  I relaxed into a sleepy drowsy place and let the ice do its work.  After about 20 minutes, I took the ice off, and things seemed a little better. 

As the afternoon wore on; as I tried to go about the business of my day, the soreness returned along with a very raw surface sensation.  I began to fuss about the weight of my clothes on that abraded skin.  By mid-afternoon, I was certain that my but was oozing and weeping with drainage from the damaged skin.  It wasn't, but you could have fooled me.  The feel of my soft, knit leggings against the skin was agony, and at about 4:30 in the afternoon, I went and changed into some loose fitting, very light pajamas.  That was some better.  At least the fabric wasn't rubbing and sticking to my sore skin.

By late evening, when we were ready to sit down for dinner, I was miserable, and wondering if I'd be able to sit at the table.  He became concerned at that point and talked me into taking some medication for the pain.  I did do that and by the time we were ready for bed, I was more relaxed and able to get a decent night's sleep.  The next day, things were better -- more like what I usually expect. 

I don't know if this pair of spankings were just that much more intense, or if I am aging to the point where that level of intensity is more difficult, or if all the recent emotional upset made me more susceptible.  Whatever happened, I've never been so miserable following a spanking.  What a colossal wimp!

swan