Crisis, Spanking, and Thanksgiving

I don't want to wear clothes today so I'm not going to. It is my house; I can do what I want in my house. If I want to walk around showing off my red bottom, I am going to do that. I earned it after all. Even my proud little soldier that had such a big cummy on his towel just a little while ago has bounce back from little boy mode. He is a little messy because I was in a hurry after my spanking and didn't get him completely cleaned up. He looks like he had a good time. Dried semen is flaking off my shaft and a little bit of sticky pre-cum continues to form at the tip. He isn't getting completely erect but he keeps swelling up like he is flexing. He seems so proud of himself like he impregnated a woman instead of just squirting all over himself during a spanking.

This happy spanking that I am currently basking in the afterglow of had a rocky start. Because things turned out so well, I think I am particularly inclined to prolong the moment.

A couple days ago, there was a moment of miscommunication. Or maybe she was communicating very clearly but what she said cut me deep. I mentioned something about how much I appreciated being spanked by her. We had been quiet for a while and things drifted around in my head. This popped in and I just blurted it out in a moment of honesty and openness. She responded with a tone that cut me off and cut me deep. It probably wasn't intended that way but I took it the worst way possible and was crushed and destroyed.

I bottled it up and stayed quiet but when I got the chance, I started writing. At first, it was a manifesto but after many hours, I was able to trim it down to a couple pages that I left for her to read yesterday.

Spanking to me isn't a kink or a fetish or at least it isn't only one of those two things. It isn't a kink because so many people do it that it isn't even really considered kinky by really kinky people. It isn't really a fetish because I don't need spanking to be sexually aroused or to orgasm. Rather, spanking contextualizes and helps me cope with my deepest fears. I hate being embarrassed, losing, being humiliated, deserving of punishment, or the negative center of attention. Being spanked means having all those scary horrible things happen to me all at once.

It is embarrassing for me to be spanked or even to ask for a spanking. I feel self conscious collecting the paddles and my special towel in case I make a mess. Being erect, excited and dripping puddles of pre-cum while collecting the spanking implements or anticipating the spanking fills me with shame. The night before or day before my scheduled spanking, I soak my underwear, don't sleep, surf the web endlessly, get hard in the shower at the gym, and even get testicle headaches from being erect for so long. I have to wear special underwear that absorbs the slippery emissions, long shirts to hide my erections, and pants that don't constrict. All this leads up to a time that I crave and hate.

I don't know why I feel this way and I don't care anymore but I can speculate. A couple things probably came together inadvertently in a Freudian wet-dream. I was spanked as a child and I played spanking games with my sister when I was little had a girl friend that liked me to spank her when I was a little older. I was taught early to not embarrass my mother and that it was terrible to be ugly, poor, fat, untalented, or stupid. I had to be smart, attractive, gracious, law abiding, pure, honorable, and a nice boy. Failure was unspeakable and actually was incredibly rare. I never learned how to miss the mark without experiencing overwhelming shame because I rarely missed the mark. The more I succeeded, the greater the fear of when I would fail.

As an adult, I feel incredible pressure and stress to be perfect and I fear what would happen to me, my family, and my life if I failed. When I am spanked, I live out this failure in a controlled way. I am stripped naked and exposed as a pervert with an erection dripping lewdly. My naked form displays all my imperfections that I normally cover with clothes: small genitals, weak chest, patchy back hair (when I haven't had it waxed off), moles-a-plenty, and fat I can't seem to drop. I have to expose my bottom for a punishment that will make me cry out involuntarily, writhe against my will, scrunch up my face unattractively, and break down in tears of defeat as the pain overwhelms me and wins. My only hope is to put up a good fight and take a respectable amount of the pain. In the midst of all that, my dirty little penis representing all the unsavory desires of my twisted little mind will ejaculate proving that I have a perverted head full of bad wiring.

What I've written sounds good but I think is missing something that I haven't been able to really put my finger on. It is probably missing quite a bit actually. There are body shame issues and all manner of sexual issues as well. I was sexually aware but uninformed very early. I worked with what I had which wasn't much and when I was caught, well, it was disastrous.

Point being--yes, there is a point--spanking has been a part of my life for my whole life and I seem to have eroticized some of my phobias in order to contextualize, confront, and control them through spanking. It isn't something that I need in order to get off: IT IS A BIG PART HOW I SURVIVE! It is a core piece of who I am and to deny me this is to deny me. I haven't put it into these words exactly to my wife, but it really is such a core part of me that I fear if she refused to spank me, it is possible that our marriage would be over. I love her and would continue to love her but I would have to find a solution and I don't think she could accept me being spanked by another woman (especially considering that I would likely spray semen all over her lap).

I wrote and wrote and wrote and somehow communicated that in no uncertain terms, her blistering of my bottom is the how I will hear that she loves me loudest. According to the book, there are five languages of love: touch, words, service, time, and gifts. For me, the act of service of spanking me says "I love you" in my language louder than anything else. The languages are a feedback loop. One can feel love but be selfish expressing it. Generous lovers create generous lovers. Screaming "I love you" to someone in the right language makes it easy for that person to respond generously and loudly. My point to her is that I am giving her the key to me; she can show me love in a way that will make me melt with thanks, generosity, and love for her.

It took all day to get through our little misunderstanding. She can buy the boots regardless of whether my bottom is red and welted or pale and smooth. The difference is that she won't need to buy the boots if my bottom is on fire because I will be out there looking for boots to buy her. Late in the evening, we connected, talked, communicated, and it was good.

To my delight, she suggested that I get a spanking before going out to breakfast this morning. This actually made me nervous because I was worried she would really give me a blistering sort of to show maximum love. I am not a fragile man and I can take a pretty long and hard spanking. Still, she hasn't always given me enough warmup to ramp up the endorphins necessary to really take the heat.

I decided that a wooden spoon spanking would be the right thing. Unlike the big paddle, the spoon wouldn't impact my whole bottom at once. Also, they are lighter than most of the paddles. As an aside, my mother once threatened sister and me with a wooden spoon spanking that would bruise our bottoms and the backs of our legs if we weren't quiet one night while she was in PMS hell. I wanted that spanking but chickened out. I think what I am saying here is that I like wooden spoons.

I also got out the brush and the big angry paddle with holes in it. She sat down and I put the towel in place, thanked her for spanking me and told her I loved her. I asked her to spank me with the spoons (there are three: the Walmart spoon and two big ones that I think are intended for brewing beer) but that the brush and paddle were out in case I wasn't getting the message with just the spoons. I asked her to start easy and then bent over her lap on the couch.

As usual, my penis loves terrycloth and I gently humped her lap feeling my penis become erect. She started slow and I stayed still so that I didn't cum too soon. The sharp little spanks made me twitch which made me stimulate my penis on her lap. It felt too good so I arched up as much as I could to reduce contact. This opened up my bottom and gave her soft targets to attack.

She built slowly and before long it was a real spanking. I started humping again but not in ernest. She had been alternating cheeks with a big spoon but then just focused on my right side repeatedly until I was kicking a little and made some ouchie noises. When she switched to the left it was briefly a relief until it also lit on fire and more ouchie noises escaped my lips.

I was humping voluntarily and involuntarily at this point but I wasn't near orgasm. It was further delayed by a flurry of spanks that erased my mind. I was rutting with abandon as I felt my orgasm slip away. Thankfully, she paused to switch spoons and when she started again, it was slower and less intense. I took the opportunity to try to orgasm. I felt like I was 12 again and humping my mattress in my crusty flannel pajamas like I used to do every morning when I woke up. I didn't cum hard though it was satisfying in its own way. Ejaculate poured out of me as I convulsed and pumped. I felt my bottom cheeks jiggle under the spoon as I relaxed into my short little sexy time. 

As always, the good feelings ended too soon and the real spanking began. I tried to just accept the pain but I started kicking a little and making some louder ouchie sounds. Finally, I asked politely in a cracking voice if we could stop. She asked if I had had enough. I nodded my head and then nodded again much more vigorously.

I was up quickly this time, collected my soiled towel, wiped myself off, and then folded it and with a clean corner, wiped off some tears I was surprised were collecting in corners of my eyes. I thanked her profusely.

We went to breakfast where I had to force myself not to talk about my spanking in the crowded restaurant. Back at home, we cuddled in bed where my mostly and surprisingly erect penis throbbed between us.

I am thankful for a wife that loves me and is willing to express that love in my language. I am thankful that the vulnerable soft part of me is safe with her. I am thankful for all the good chemicals that were dropped into my brain this morning. I am thankful for the sore bottom that I am sitting on.

I wiped off my penis and stomach, but the little guy still has dried seminal fluid around the tip. My stomach also has a little crusty on it. I am naked on my couch nervous that someone will see my still slightly red bottom or my post orgasmic little penis. Yeah, I feel a little naughty. It was so good, I want it to last. The little guy has gotten hard a couple times while I have been writing this. He even spit up a couple clear drops of pre-cum. I hope I don't have to wait long for my next spanking.