Good Girl Guilt - Part 2

Broken pieces of yearning and desire throughout the years, utter desperation, yet, the harder I was trying to escape, the more aware I became....

Boys accompanied by a teacher, disappearing to the Principal’s office, and on return unable to sit down without wincing, and during break disappearing with friends around the corner and where you know they were admiring the red welts on the very tender bottom.

And being in High School where girls were no longer disciplined on the bottom, but now holding out hands for a thick wooden ruler or leather strap to come down so hard, that most could not help but put their hands between their legs, with the teacher patiently waiting, threatening to add another stroke if the hand is not back in the air by quietly counting backwards; “three....two......one......WHACK”, and the girl crying, saying sorry over and over, pleading for it to stop.

A chance discovery of a book in the library with full descriptions of “sexual deviations” inclusive of adult spankings clearly classified. And how I read, and read again the story of a woman, who as a girl at a boarding school was regularly punished by being caned. Her description of how after she was already laying across the table, and her panties circling her ankles, her bottom exposed, the teacher would ever so gently dab perfume behind her ears, in an effort to increase all the senses to ensure that every stroke thereafter delivered would be felt in full.  

Memories of intense physical reactions, a body betraying a mind so desperate not to react.

In my early twenties curled up in a chair, giggling with a bunch of friends in anticipation of our first criminal activity, getting ready to watch a porn movie. The fear and excitement were tangible in the room, unable to look at each other, embarrassed into our souls, but unable to look away. Then...a scene where a woman was first bent over a table, her dress lifted up and being caned, then tied up, and whipped with a riding crop. And as her cries became more desperate, I remember how my body not only reacted as always, but continued reacting. My breathing became shallower, I felt my face flushing, and my nipples were so hard that I can still remember the small pinpoints of pain as they rubbed against my bra. The heat between my legs that grew hotter and intense, hearing the whip smacking against flesh, the cries of the woman....and how everything contracted in a single non-ending wave, sharp sensation after sensation coursing through my body, from the pit of my womb, in between my legs...over and over again... I remember how hard I concentrated not to move, biting down on my lip not to make a sound, praying that no-one will decide to look at me...

The introduction of the Internet in South Africa, first regarded by all with great weariness by some, with the subsequent explosion and availability wherever you went. All of a sudden, I had access to sites depicting spanking photos at first, then clips and however hard I would promise myself that I will not return, invariably, I would find myself sitting staring at the computer, dreaming, desiring, wishing...

For a while I resorted to self spanking, using a thick leather belt, naked bottom, eyes closed to experience it all, absorbing the sting, the burn, revelling in the sound, trying to make sure that the next whack will be harder than the one before...

And all through this, a gut wrenching feeling of guilt and shame, the bitter tears alone at night, praying, begging that God above should remove this terrible illness, this taint on my soul...for I am not a Good Girl, I am Shame, I am Deviant, I am Evil...

(Concluding Part 3 on Friday)