In the very very early beginnings of my spanking life, I remember that I longed to be "spanked to tears." It did not happen. Between my own appetites, which were huge, and my former husband's proclivities in that realm (which were pretty low key), it never happened. We tried, on a number of occasions, but I never managed to squeeze out a single tear. Not one.
That was a long, long time ago.
Now, I find that spanking is an enormously emotional experience for me, and I never seem to know what will come bubbling up from my heart? subconscious? mind? gut? Sometimes, I end up responding with joy, or horniness, or softness, or love, or anger, or power, or sadness, or loneliness, or connection... Any one of those can bring me to the point of tears and sobs. Not always, but sometimes -- and I never know what to expect.
We didn't spank last weekend -- I was sick with some sort of flu-ish nastiness that left me feeling wimpy and washed out and not fit for human company. I managed to get my school work done, but not much of anything else. And then it was an insane school teacher week, crammed with evenings full of parent teacher conferences -- long days when I left home at 6:30 AM and returned around 9 PM. It was a week where the word "tired" took on gigantic proportions. We snuggled a lot -- at least, I think we did... but then I was most often asleep before my head hit the pillow. So what do I know?
Leave me alone for a couple of weeks, without any spanking play, and I start to fantasize and crave and long for it. I dream about His hands on me, and I ponder the sensations created by the various toys we have, and I wonder if He still wants me in that way -- because I know I still want Him in exactly that way...
And to further complicate things... These days, we tend to sleep and sleep and sleep when the opportunity arises. More and more often, we wake up very late on the weekends; and then -- well by the time we come around, we are both HUNGRY -- and not for sex and spanking. So, it is off to the kitchen to whip up some waffles or pancakes or French toast to ward off impending starvation. Sigh...
So... When "the opportunity" presented itself this morning, I was more than just willing. I was eager. Ready. Hungry for that connection between us.
But... I was also trailing the tendrils of a very dark, very scary dream -- of being lost, separated from Him under very difficult circumstances, and of not being able to figure out where I was or where He was -- or how to find Him. The emotional hang over from my dreaming was heavy and sad and lonely feeling, and I hoped that the spanking would help me find my way back in the present reality. I really wanted the ghosts of my dream to be dispelled. I wanted to feel myself pulled into Him. I needed the reassurance of His calm and steady presence, and I needed the pain and the energy of spanking to get my head cleared.
He started off with lots of hand spanking, and it was good. He stroked me with the tip of a knife, tracing the lines of the cutting on my back. I followed every move with a transfixed intensity. Then he moved on to a fairly light leather tawse, and it was sharp but I was there with it -- feeling it, breathing with it, following His lead. There might have been one or two more fairly low intensity toys, but then He began to smack me with a paddle. I don't know which one, but it felt like a short, thick, heavy club to me. I tried to keep on breathing. It just hurt. HURT. And, very quickly, I tipped over into feeling lost and alone and sad.
I thanked Him for my spanking. Snuggled into His arms. Apologized for being so wimpy. And that is when He told me that I'd been "sweet." His word. Sweet. And all the angst, sadness, and loneliness melted away. Or maybe they washed away in all those tears.