Back to Plan A.

When you are out of the usual options, do it yourself.

Stuart has gone, and he said he isn’t coming back. Why?

Because I’m me, that’s why. Because, after our last spanking session turned into the hottest sex session I have ever experienced, I declared it could never happen again. I said he could spank me, I said he could cane me, I told him he could pet me, tease me, but he couldn’t take things to the end game again. I wasn’t up for it.

Why? Because he wants us to have a full on relationship, all bells and whistles, with a view to marriage at the end of it all. No chance. I won’t go there again ever. I don’t care if I love him, I don’t feel good about it. I feel hemmed in. I feel panic stricken, I feel afraid. Besides I can get over the love thing. I can’t be trapped again.

Hence the big argument. He thinks I’m punishing him for Don’s (ex) bad treatment of me. I pointed out it wasn’t just bad treatment, he systematically stripped my personality down to the bare minimum and discarded every single likeable, original, loveable part of me for 20 long years, until there was nothing left but a shell and all in the name of that widely abused word, love.

Would Stuart do the same? Probably not, but I am adamant, I am never betting on the relationship pony again. I never thought Don would do it, so why shouldn’t Stuart turn out to be a major arsehole too?

Yes I’m gutted that he has gone and in anger too, I’m not completely devoid of emotions, but I refuse to believe I should compromise just because the sex was mind blowing once. Okay, three times, but that is so not the point! I have the right to make my own choices and live by my own rules. He knew that going in. Nothing changed, he just thought he could change my mind because the sex was amazing. He can’t. I can live without the sex. I cannot live with compromise, space stealing, time hogging, whining, extra laundry, extra emotional needs, all in the name of so called love! It drains me. I have no wish to do it, so I’m not.

Damn he threw a temper tantrum like I’ve never seen before. That hardened me against his plight actually, because when the chips were down, he didn’t back off from his anger, he embraced it. Even knowing my very full and chequered history with angry, abusive men, he still embraced his anger rather than step back and say, I get it, I don’t like it, but I get it. You have the right to say no if you want to.

So, Stuart has gone but he left behind his new paddle. I guess he will want it back at some point but until then I shall be experimenting with the self spanking variety of discipline with this lovely, but very painful, paddle. Besides, I branded it with my bite mark. Therefore mine!

So, here I am again. I am happily embracing my D I Y philosophy once more and self spanking is going to resume sooner rather than later. I am no longer hankering for a long term spanker. They are too complicated. I’m going back to plan A. but maybe with the curtains closed, or not… Who knows?

I can’t use the paddle with the spanking machine, the handle of it is too big, so it’s going to be trial and error with this one. Over the past few months, I have found myself being spanked in pretty much every conceivable position that is humanly doable for my build and height. The one that interested me the most though was lying on the bed with my legs raised and held together while I was spanked very, very hard by Stuart and then again a little later by Graham. That was a hell of a spanking session and one I have not recounted here because, well, I just didn’t. I might in the future if I feel like reminiscing but for now it’s all about the position.

Without further ado, I turned the key in the front door, and me and the paddle made our way to my bedroom for a good hard spanking. My bottom had started tingling at the bottom of the stairs, by the time I reached the top, my pussy was singing a tune in perfect harmony with it.

I was wearing a wrap around style red dress, stockings, and a thong so I didn’t even have to change into something suitable for a spanking.

I laid down on the bed, raised my legs in the air and wrapped an arm around them to hold them in place. It’s easier said than done but I finally got into a secure position and I lifted the paddle. I didn’t want a warm up, I wanted to feel this paddle burn my cheeks. I wanted to feel the pain bite me. Since Stuart’s angry exit, I had been feeling kind of numb.

I raised the paddle high and wide and swung in with all the force I could muster.

CRACK! The paddle landed flush across my cheeks and bit hard into the soft flesh. Jesus that hurt. I brought the paddle back and swung in again, and again and again, setting up a steady tempo of spanks, smacks, cracks and swats all over my thighs and cheeks until my bottom was on fire with the heat. Everywhere throbbed all at the same time and my pussy was wet and hot and throbbing with need.

I spanked harder, I didn’t want to play, I wanted to hurt. I wanted that pain to make me feel real again. I was going to burst that bubble of emotional numbness baggage if it was the last thing I did. I spanked and spanked until I couldn’t lift the paddle to swing it.

The tears were conspicuous by their absence, I hadn’t shouted, yelped screamed, howled or any of the usual variety of pain filled noises I was want to come out with.I may have whimpered once or twice, I’m not superhuman! I was just hurting a lot. But not enough.

I climbed off the bed and stripped my dress off and I covered my bottom in chilli rub. Damn, damn, damn, that stuff is so bloody HOT! I stood in the corner of my bedroom for 10 minutes while the chilli rub settled into a searing heat, which did bring tears to my eyes but they didn’t fall. I cleared my mind of any and all thoughts and I just absorbed nothing but the pain. It was exquisitely, beautifully painful.

Ten minutes later I was back on the bed, legs in the air paddle in my left hand now and I spanked myself as hard as I could for as long as my arm would allow. The centre spot on each cheek was rock hard, the paddle had turned my bottom numb. My head was empty at last and I crawled up the bed to my pillows, inhaled Stuart’s scent and cried myself to sleep.

I woke three hours later to my alarm going off at 4pm. Early warning that the boy would be arriving home from college in 15 minutes.

I got up, washed my face, got dressed and went and sat downstairs in the kitchen on the hardest most uncomfortable chair I could find. My bottom was throbbing, my thighs were on fire and my pussy was singing. My head was empty of treacherous thoughts and I was back in my own zone again so I pasted a fuck off big smile on my face ready for the boy coming in.

I knew I would be fine… eventually.

All photos courtesy of the internet except the wooden paddles. Mine. 🙂