It has been a number of weeks since I’ve been spanked. I have been craving it. The anticipation that builds as I’m bent over, exposed, waiting for contact. The sound on impact. The simultaneous sting. The lasting burn. The chemicals that are released and make my head swim.
I have tried willing myself to not want, to not need these things, telling myself I’m the Domme now. I give spankings, I don’t get them. It doesn’t work. Something in me cries out, desperate to feel the pain.
Why? I don’t have to endure or suffer. Why do I choose to? Well it’s really not a choice though is it? It’s something I fight against. Something I try to repress. This will be the last time, I promise myself. But it’s a lie.
Some enjoy spankings because it pushes their subspace. For them it’s not about the pain. It’s about feeling over powered, the loss of control, giving over.
I’m a masochist. Plain and simple. It doesn’t make me submissive. It doesn’t make me less dominant. In fact, most of the time I stipulate beforehand how the spankings are to be delivered. In this way I maintain control.
But the fact remains. I can no more repress this need then I can repress my need to dominate. So I shall embrace it. I will not look at it as a weakness. I will not deprive myself anymore.
We could consider it another way to serve me, as twisted as that seems, because it’s meeting a need that I have.
So it looks like I’m getting spanked tonight. I’ve just informed sayyid. Was that a glint in his eyes I saw? I for sure saw a grin form.
Fine. Let him enjoy this. I have been quite hard on him lately and if he takes a little pleasure in what he may consider “pay back”, then all the better. Maybe I won’t need to urge him on to do it harder.
Then the next time I need a spanking I can always make him wear a diaper while he does it. That would really fuck him up.