Colour of Spanking

When my temper flares, I stumble over words in my haste to spit them out and I feel the heat, the redness of the moment, with my blood seemingly boiling in my veins. Yet, deep inside me, there is blueness, an icy core that embraces my feelings of hurt, humiliation and rejection. It is from this frozen core that my responses are born from, with words and actions created, and purely designed to stab as deep, as the wounds received.

My barbed words often fail to find their mark with him, and his ability to shrug them off only further infuriates me, the redness becoming a furnace as frustration within me builds, and I become daring, ignoring the boundaries and warnings. As I run out of steam, standing helplessly and exposed, knowing that I have overstepped the mark, the frozen core within rapidly melts away.  It is replaced by cold, blue shivers of fear, but with the last remnants of the frozen venom lingering, I remain defiant, unwilling to admit defeat.

  

I see in the way his eyes becomes hard, his mouth setting in unforgiving lines, his body rigid and foreboding, that within him, dark red and smouldering and slowly uncoiling itself, his temper is coming to life.  His anger remains controlled, never more than a slow heat, but his words are encased in ice, the frozen, blue shards of quietly spoken words with no compromise offered that adds to my fear, my knowledge that retribution will be due.

When pulled over his lap, my humiliation and anger still fuels the odd retort, but they are mere embers, the red heat in them snuffed out even before they can be fully delivered. I am cold with fear and in its icy blueness, my foolhardiness and insolence are reflected, and as he removes my panties, exposing my bottom, I shiver in the chilliness of his dismissal of my   regrets offered. With hard, rhythmic blows to my exposed flesh, I feel my bottom heating up, the pain of the burn ever so slowly increasing, as his hand alternates between reddening cheeks.

And as he deftly delivers each smack in accuracy, he holds me down, ignores my squirming, removes my hand when I want to protect my bottom that burns and stings, and takes no heed of my apologies, begging or pleading. He seeks the bridge between the flames and ice of me, to provide in my need for reassurance, to remind me of what he sees within me, to break down the hardness in me. He will only stop and gather me in his arms, when I do find me again, rich in the colour purple, stable, calm, warm and soft, the perfect balance of the heated redness and blue coldness of my soul.