Dissection of a spanking

Up and until recently, I have never been spanked. Now do not get me wrong; as a child I endured corporal punishment in many forms, and as an adult, some more, but being over someone's knee, being spanked on the bottom, the bare bottom? Never. Uncle Nick rectified that little oversight when the opportunity presented itself. The idea that I would be able to resist being pulled over his lap was ludicrous to say the least. I am still unsure how exactly from standing in front of him I found myself the next moment laying across his lap. Where was the resistance? A step back, putting my weight against his grip on my arm would have surely resulted in him not being able to do this to me. But my body seemed to follow willingly as he pulled me in and over, no rebellion, not even a slight negative movement, even though wordless protests were forming in my mind.

No words could describe the absolute shame I experienced, when my dress was lifted up and away, and he so effortlessly pulled down my knickers. My ears and face were burning with embarrassment at being so exposed and helpless, lying over his lap, while he was calmly informing of what will be following shortly. Yet, where normally I would have reacted in anger, defending myself, I did not even try to stop him. I felt his arm in the small of my back, his hand gripping me, keeping me in position; I could feel the heat of him against my abdomen and at the same time, the cool air brushing against my bared bottom.

The first couple of smacks against my bottom seemed to echo through the room, and more shame coursed through me. It was so loud! At first, there was only heat, but as his hand kept continuing to come down finding my bottom, heat turned into pain. He spanked hard, alternating between cheeks, seemingly finding every spot on my bottom, then changing the rhythm with a couple of smacks delivered on one cheek before moving on to the other. I found myself whimpering as the spanking continued, and at times, yelping. With the latter, he would only say, "That one got to you didn't it? Good."

The smacks on my bottom were not stopping and it felt to me that time came to a standstill. Even though he spanked fast and hard, I would find a small measure of relief when his hand would connect in the centre of my cheeks. Although they did hurt, the smacks delivered lower down, where bottom and thigh meets, really, really stung. Even more humiliating was the realisation that I was kicking my legs, signalling my loss in composure, my control, only now desperate to get away from the pain. And how hard I tried to cover my bottom with my hand, because dear god, I did not want his unrelenting hand finding those tender spots. But he did, and I heard my whimpering growing louder. My bottom was on fire, burning in a way that I have never felt before.

Yet, I felt myself embracing the punishment; I felt the muscles in my bottom relaxing in full acceptance of every smack being delivered. When it was finished, and he pulled me up into his lap, my whole body was shuddering and my breathing was erratic. I instinctively curled into him, not moving, craving his comfort in my final show of total submission to him. As his arms folded around me, waiting for me to calm down, I realised that not only has my body has become soft and relaxed, but that the brittle core, the hardness, the tension I can normally feel inside me was no longer there. That is when I knew, I am home, and this is what is right.