The Spanking

I recognise that shiver going down my back immediately, when his voice softly direct me into a direction that I do not want, feeling the sulkiness settle over me as I am unable to get my own way. I feel the breath leaving my body when my heart starts racing, knowing that he is right and that I am clinging onto some part that wants to remain in control.

I resist that quiet sensation of disquiet slowly creeping over me, as I defy him brazenly, realising that I am playing with a fire that does burn with a heat that I will feel, but unwilling to acknowledge him in my anger. My mouth becomes dry when his voice change into its dangerous silky tone, with his warnings left hanging in the air, and my hope at escaping unscathed is crushed. Outwards I present as sullen, pouting with resentment that I am unable to hide, I am defiant and rebellious as I feel the first pieces of the hardness within crumbling away.

His words are chipped out of pure ice as he lectures me, and I use sarcasm and a stony silence to defend myself, yet I am unable to look at him, my head hanging, as I do not want him to see my eyes. As every word cuts deep into my shame, my guilt burning inside, I am desperate in my need that I do not want him to know, but I can feel the resistance fall away.

As the verdict is spelled out to me, I voice my denial, but my resistance against him, as he takes my arm to guide me over his lap, is slight. I groan in resentment, mumbling underneath my breath, trying to preserve my dignity and avoid voicing my utter humiliation as he lowers my knickers.

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I once again make that silent promise to myself, that I will not react, I will not make a noise, I will endure – I will emerged triumphant. As his hand switch from one cheek to the other, the burn increasing in heat every time, I bury my head against my arm, my hand fisting as I am trying to keep back the sounds of my discomfort.

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I hear his voice, the words in rhythm with the sound of his hand smacking hard and hot against my bared bottom. My bottom is stinging and the soreness becomes the focus of all my senses. As the pain reaches the point where my anger and panic becomes one, I protest loudly, raging against him, trying to break free. I no longer have control of my body, my legs are moving involuntary, up and down, as I try to twist my bottom away from his hand.

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I try to cover my bottom with my hand, but even as he pins my hand down, holding me down, he does not stop, his hand continuing that relentless tempo against my skin. I want it to stop, the pain has become unbearable, my body is shuddering, waves of heat are creating droplets of perspiration on my back, but still he continues. I beg, I am pleading that he must stop; I tell him that I am sorry, but my words are incoherent as my control, my stubbornness slips away.

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I feel that deep shudder that seems to come from within the centre of my body, my throat burns as the pain pushes me over the edge, the remaining shards of my control now destroyed. The first sob burn and hurts as it pushes up, but as I feel the tears escaping, my body becomes soft, the rigidness melting away, his hand still smacking against sore, tender skin, one cheek then the other. He finally stops, but I do not move away. I feel the lightness return as my tears are falling, I feel my pain going away with every sob, I feel a peace and quietness, I am calm again.