Confessions of a Spanking Author

by Breanna Hayse

  "Just because I don't mark as easily as others, doesn't mean I don't feel it."

  "Doesn't mean you can't take it, either," he reasoned.

  "And I'm thirty-two now! Why thirty-three each?"

  "Silly girl." He chuckled. "We have to give you one for luck."

  As he was my Dominant, he went first. He'd brought our toy bag with him and I received a few strokes with several of our implements... my favourite crop, our deliciously thuddy steel cane, that awful wooden spoon. I had to count them out, but already my breathing was slowing and I was letting myself fall into that amazing place... that heady loss of control and contrast between the burning pain in my butt and the increasing arousal between my thighs.

  One by one, the Tops in the group stepped forward; all bearing their favourite spanking implement and using it on my vulnerable bottom. They weren't being gentle, but they weren't competing with one another, either. It hurt, but David had been right; it was nothing I couldn't handle.

  I could hear the general chatter and laughter of those who were watching; there was still a party atmosphere, and I couldn't help but make the odd sassy remark as I tried to guess who was using what and keep count of the strokes.

  David was beside me all the time; I could feel his presence. After the third person had given me thirty-three medium hard strokes with a deliciously thuddy, heavy flogger, I whispered to him. "How many more? Is Sir C here?"

  "You're nearly done, sweetheart," he murmured in my ear. "You're doing so well. I'm so proud of you. And no, he's still outside."

  "Do I have marks?" It's what I always ask him; as it's so hard to leave a lasting impression on my flesh no matter how hard you whack my ass, I'm always hopeful of getting some sort of badge of honour.

  "Well, your butt is quite red," he said. "You might have a bruise or two tomorrow."

  "Oh, goodie!" I said, and giggled. "I'm horny."

  He chuckled. "Of course you are. I'll take care of that when we go to bed."

  "Yay."

  Even though I was wearing a blindfold, I closed my eyes, relishing the sensation... the heat and residual sting in my buttocks, the feel of the soft cuffs around my wrists, the pulsing arousal I always get when I'm being spanked, the general murmur of chatter and laughter in the dungeon.

  Then, in an instant, everything went silent, as if someone had pressed a 'mute' button.

  "What?" I said, my voice sounding unnaturally loud in the utterly still room.

  My heart began to pound.

  "What is it?" I said again. Has everyone just left? Why the fuck is it so quiet?

  Then there was a collective gasp of pure, spine-tingling horror.

  Little did I know—I didn't find out until afterwards—but Sir Carter had entered the dungeon and then deliberately, calmly, removed his belt and folded it in half. Hence everyone's reaction.

  I wanted to speak, to ask what was going on, but then a voice said, "Count them."

  Next moment, a line of fire burned across my bottom; so hard and so hot it took my breath away. It was leather, I could tell that much; that unmistakable crack of leather hitting naked buttocks echoed resoundingly around the otherwise silent room.

  Looks like Sir Carter decided to join in after all, I thought as I hissed with the sudden pain and tried to summon the strength to obey his order to count.

  "One, thank you, Sir."

  THWAP!

  "T-two, thank you, Sir."

  He delivered the strokes with slow, methodical precision, waiting until I had counted each one out before delivering the next.

  I was wringing my hands in the cuffs, hanging helplessly from the wall, my entire body quivering from a combination of fear, endorphins, adrenaline and excitement.

  The only sounds were the loud cracks of leather on skin and my breathless, gasping voice as I counted out and thanked him for each one. In between, you could have heard a pin drop.

  After the thirtieth stroke, he stopped. "How old are you?"

  I couldn't help myself. "Too old," I quipped.

  There was a rumble of laughter from the spectators; the first time I'd heard them since Sir Carter had entered the room. Until then, I'd thought perhaps everyone else had left.

  "How old are you?" he repeated, calmly, with quiet, dangerous authority.

  "Thirty-two, Sir."

  "So how many more strokes do you have coming?"

  "Three, Sir."

  "Only three?" His tone was mocking. "Better make them count, then."

  He did just that. There were more gasps of appreciative horror from our audience as he gave me the next two, the hardest strokes yet.

  My knees buckling, I bit my lip and tried to focus on my breathing.

  "Happy birthday, sweetheart," Sir Carter said in his gruff, Yorkshire accent. "Guess what comes next?"

  "One for luck?" Despite the blazing burn covering every inch of my backside, right down to the tops of my thighs, I was in ecstasy. I could feel the moisture between my thighs, the pulsing in my clit, the breathless anticipation of the next stroke, the bliss of being safe amongst friends and the man I loved, naked and bound, being spanked by a true expert. A part of me was sad it would end after the next stroke. Until the next time.

  "Exactly," he said. "One for luck. And I want you to be very lucky, so you'd better brace yourself." He raised his arm.

  The End

  Note from the author: Names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent but other than that, this is a true account of one of my favourite birthday spankings—so far, anyway.

  Tabitha Black

  Tabitha Black has been writing erotic spanking fiction for over a decade, mostly in the ageplay and historical genres. More recently, she's discovered the joys of writing more contemporary, edgier books with a greater emphasis on BDSM.

  Having lived in four countries in three different continents, and been an active participant in her local kinky communities, she likes to "write to discover what she knows".

  She has a weakness for great cappuccino; strong, dominant, kind but brutally sadistic men; brilliant books, and tattoos.

  Tabitha loves getting mail, so if you want to drop her a line, please do so at tabitha_black@hotmail.com. You can also check out her blog here, follow her on Twitter @BlushingTabitha, or join her Facebook page. Thank you for reading!

  Don't miss these other exciting books by Tabitha Black and Blushing Books!

  Taken in Hand

  Estelana

  Summer Camp

  Little Tudor Rose

  Educating Eva: Silverlake Priory Book One

  The Abbeyville Way

  Conquering Cassia

  Fulfilling Her Fantasy (Masters of the Castle Novella)

  Sharing Silver (Masters of the Castle)

  My First Naughty Girl Spanking by Renee Rose

  The first time I explained domestic discipline to my husband, he said rather quickly, "We're not doing that."

  "Why not?" I pressed. He'd come on board fully to my spanking fetish, more than meeting me and my fantasies half-way. But he wasn't willing to take spanking out of the bedroom.

  "It's dysfunctional," he said.

  Hmm. It's hard to explain to a non-spanko what the appeal of real spanking is. To my husband, it's foreplay, period, end of story. He's the sort of guy who is turned on by satisfying his woman, so once he learned that spanking was my automatic on-button, he was happy to employ it any and every time we had sex. He's a natural alpha male and he's watched a fair amount of porn, so it took him about three seconds flat to get the hang of domination, complete with all the swoon-worthy dialogue that goes with it.

  But real discipline is where my ultimate fantasies lie. DD holds a lot of appeal for me, from the 24/7 nature of living a D/s relationship to the tools for solving real-life conflict, increasing communication, and bringing greater intimacy into the marriage. Paradoxical though it may be, real punishment spankings are way hotter to me than erotic spankings. Don't get me wrong—I love erotic spankings, but they ar
e not the stuff of fantasies. No, for me, it's the good old-fashioned, "you've been a naughty girl and now I'm going to teach you a lesson" scenario that makes my knees go weak and my tummy turn to butterflies.

  I have spent most of my life trying to tease out why I am wired this way, and since I've become actualized as a submissive over the past two years, it's becoming clearer.

  Risk. In a real punishment spanking, the submissive is not in control (I'm using submissive rather than bottom, because, as I learned at Eroticon, a bottom is in control of their spanking). Because the submissive is not in control, the risk level goes up, and with it, the heat.

  Shame/emotional content. In a real punishment spanking, emotions are involved—remorse, shame, etc. This goes in hand with humiliation, but it's a slightly different shade. I don't know why, but both shame and humiliation play a huge role in making a spanking hot. In general, the emotional content bound to be present in a punishment spanking will naturally up the ante (now we're back to risk, above) and make it hotter.

  Some DD couples deny the arrangement is sexual in nature, but I am quite certain in the majority of DD marriages/relationships, at least one of the participants feels the same appeal of punishment spankings I do. That doesn't mean the punishment spanking is a turn on at the time, because pain can quickly overtake eroticism when used at a punishment level, but the entire arrangement satisfies an urge that is sexual in nature.

  But anyway, I didn't argue at the time. When you've been a closeted spanko for most of your life and suddenly your fantasies are being played out spectacularly in the bedroom, you don't see the glass a half-empty. I was content to take what I could get and live out the rest of my Domestic Discipline fantasies through my books.

  Still, if you give a dom a paddle…

  The first time my husband threatened real punishment came when my mom moved in with us for hospice care. We'd just cleaned out her house to put it on the market and driven a moving truck of her belongings from Houston to try to integrate in with our things. Stuff was everywhere—we had bookcases in the dining room, boxes crowding the sunroom, extra furniture jammed into corners.

  Having my mom as a constant fixture in the house was new to all of us. My four-year-old's behavior was terrible, both kids were fighting and basically, we were all stressed.

  I walked into the kitchen to find my four-year-old swinging my great-grandfather's gold pocket watch around by its chain. It had been mounted behind glass, safely in a china cabinet.

  What are you doing? I snapped. That is your great-great grandfather's watch, not a toy!

  My husband piped up immediately, sounding defensive, as if I was totally out of line. "Well, I gave it to him. I mean not everything can just remain untouched around here."

  I spluttered with fury. "Are you kidding? It's a family heirloom." My voice was definitely raised to a screech level, and that's rare for me. I turned my attention to my son, "Give it to me, I snapped," rescuing the precious treasure and returning it to its case.

  My husband and I had a few more choice words back and forth. All of this was made far more painful by my awareness that my mother was sitting in the other room overhearing my entire marital argument.

  It ended with him saying, "You may not speak to me this way. We will be discussing this later."

  My belly flipped. Um, did he really just say that? I flushed with heat. Oh my God. A real spanking. This was it. I suddenly didn't care that I still thought I was right about the stupid watch. He was certainly right about my snarling tone and I would be happy to take a spanking for it.

  Alas... nothing happened. There was no latter discussion, nor real punishment. My husband had an equipment failure for his business and had to drive to New Mexico to get it fixed.

  But still, I liked that he'd sounded like he would discipline me.

  The next time we approximated real discipline, I would label the experience more as funishment, but what was interesting was my emotional reaction to it. My husband had suggested we have a little adult time after the kids went to bed that night. I put the kids to bed, but heard him snoring on the couch by the time I was finished, so I stayed up and worked on my writing instead.

  The next day, he let me know how offended he was that I hadn't woken him up. He didn't appreciate my writing taking precedence over our arranged sex date. Oops.

  "Go into the bedroom and take off your clothes," he ordered.

  I hurried to comply.

  He followed a few minutes later and ordered me onto my knees. Unzipping his shorts, he pulled out his cock, ordering me to suck. He grasps my hair, pulling me forward and back over his manhood, using my mouth as a fucktoy.

  I get busy on it, feeling very sorry, very submissive.

  "I can't decide what to do with you," he said. "This is a punishment, so maybe I should make you swallow a big load of cum (I'm the dork who still can't swallow) or should I cum all over your face? Or maybe I should turn you around and fuck you." (I know, tough punishment, eh? And also—you see what I mean? He has the dom talk down to a t or should I say D?).

  He opted for the latter, turning me around and spanking my ass and pussy before entering me from behind. He plowed into me, fucking me with upward thrusts, his balls providing that extra stimulation on the in-strokes to really satisfy. He came. I came. We both came together.

  "You can get back to work," he said. "I'm through with you."

  I should've been floating on cloud nine. A real(ish) punishment with a happy ending. But I still felt quite chastised. Because it had been over something real, I felt guilty, like I was a bad person. The expunging of guilt that was supposed to come through punishment didn't happen. Instead, our little scene amplified it times ten.

  Perhaps it was the lack of aftercare. In my husband's defense, I'm sure he didn't think I required any, since it had hardly been an intense punishment or scene. Still, it gave me pause—maybe I couldn't handle a domestic discipline relationship after all. Maybe I'm too hard on myself as it is. Hell, I don't need to add to my already omnipresent sense of not being good enough.

  My first naughty girl spanking, though, erased those concerns. It certainly was deserved.

  I'm not into drama. I cried very little when my mom died. I almost never fight with my husband. When I have emotional reactions to people or events, I guess I tend to stuff. Part of it is that I believe thoughts create my reality, so I don't care to dwell on anything that doesn't feel good. Part of it is that I was raised to avoid conflict.

  When I was pregnant, an unusual thing happened. I found the baby didn't like those emotions getting stuffed. When something stressed me out, or I had an unresolved issue with someone, it made me feel nauseous. I found I had to address issues that bothered me head on, which for me, was a big deal. Unfortunately, it didn't stick.

  I did find, though, a similar effect after I took an energy modality workshop. Afterward, I found I was far more sensitive to energy. Like when I was pregnant, stuffing emotion literally made me feel ill.

  So when my husband offended me by criticizing the state of our kitchen counters and I went into my habitual internalizing procedure, I felt sick and my body kicked it back out. Suddenly, I was stomping around the house like a ten year old, slamming cabinets and doors.

  My husband tried to tease me out of it, saying, "Did you slam that one loud enough?" he called out. "Can't you do better?"

  I just ignored him and kept it up. It was like a lifetime of held in tantrums came spilling out of me. And guess what? It felt awesome! I'm not saying it was an appropriate expression of my feelings—not by a long shot, but for a first approximation, it served its purpose.

  I had plans to be away with the kids for the night—a friend of mine had booked us a room at a local resort for "winter wonderland" (they were sledding with real manufactured snow and I live in the desert—very fun for the kids!). I left without saying goodbye and giving the door a deliberate slam on the way out.

  It was like an out-of-body experience. Part of me was wa
tching myself, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Another part reveled in how delicious it felt to have a real tantrum. A third part was still genuinely annoyed with my husband—annoyed enough not to call and apologize, still clinging onto the 'I'm right' feelings I was harboring.

  I met my friend at the resort and told her, laughing at myself, about my over-the-top behavior.

  I think my husband knew it wasn't real, either. This wasn't a real issue that needed to be addressed in our marriage. It's more like a bizarre trying on of a part. He addressed a text to me:

  Ms. Huffy Von Hufferson, hope you have a good time, followed by some business-related stuff he needed me to deal with while I was away.

  I laughed, glad he wasn't mad at me.

  When I returned home, he took the very first opportunity to spank me. I mean, he didn't even wait for the kids to be in bed. He put a show on the television for them and shooed me into the bedroom.

  "Pull down your pants and bend over that bed," he commanded, waving a new implement he MacGyvered. Yes, I just used that as a verb. Remember the show MacGyver—where the secret agent MacGyver thwarted his enemies with nothing more than a bubble gum wrapper and a thimble? Well, I adored that show growing up. The handy in a pinch thing has always been a turn on for me, so much so that I married a hot version of Macgyver. My husband can fix anything and he's best under pressure. It makes for some pretty creative D/s scenes, let me tell you.

  In this instance, he had two pieces of a broken yardstick duct taped together to make an extra slappy double thud.

  Of course, I was thrilled to be spanked, even though I was not willing to back down yet. So I obeyed, pulling down my pants and bending over, but ready with my arguments on the tip of my tongue.

  He spanked hard and fast and tried to lecture me, but, still full of it, I just sassed him right back, trying for at least expressing my irritation with words instead of slams this time. He spanked me right through it, till I was yelping and burning and totally hot for him.

  He was clearly on the same wavelength, taking me from behind while still spanking away. Each punishing thrust expressed his domination and I opened to it, my eyes rolling back with pleasure. We both came quickly, the intensity of the moment spurring us forward.