HappyComeLucky

It sounds so simple. Just a spanking. Just a spanking with a timer set. I thought it was a ten minute timer, but it was only nine. But this spanking was more than just a spanking and took me somewhere that I haven’t been before.

The eye contact while I knelt to submit and he hurt me, the eye contact while I was strung up and hit, and the eye contact while I held my hand out for the tawse: all of those made me really present and deeply connected before I assumed the position for those spanks.

This amazing spanking wasn’t the only thing that happened in that session. I was already in a head space that made me ready to be vulnerable and trusting. I had knelt to submit, and my face had been slapped and slapped. I had been tied with my hands over my head and had my breasts caned – something that frightens me and makes me reach inside myself to take. There had been more, but both of those things had pushed me into a space where my edges had moved, and my freedom to exist, and my ability to flow further through the who I am in subspace had grown.

Using the timer is a stroke of genius. It stopped me from overthinking during the spanking. It stopped me from monitoring as to whether I was being OK, being good enough. It stopped me from analysing what was happening. It let me sink so much deeper into it. I stopped trying to meter out my resilience and what I could take to match what he wanted to give. It made me breathe more, let go more, and not hold myself back. When I got near the edge where I would normally tense and put a mental brake on, I didn’t. I just took the next breath and found a whole new place to be.

When the first tears came, it was while I was flying on how hard I was being hit. Another endorphin rush was surging through my body. A set of two-handed hits released the tears, but they were not of desperation. I think that if the spanking had not been a timed spanking, I may have responded differently and worried about whether I should stop, but I didn’t. I relaxed and floated through a tear streaked, floaty subspace with each blow of the hand taking me further. I didn’t cry all the way through. At times, I was grinning, giggling, exclaiming, moaning, crying again, and more.

The spanking was intense and long. It was also utter heaven. I found a new place, a new element of my subspace where I don’t have to keep thinking all of the time, and I can just be utterly, beautifully, masochistically high, and free.

Do I want to cry every time I am spanked? Probably not. Do I want to know that crying in a spanking can be the perfect thing at that moment in time? Absolutely.