I know a spanking is coming. Whenever I think about it, I get a pleasant tingle “down there.” I can’t deny that I want my bottom paddled. When Mrs. Lion pulls out the spanking bench and motions for me to mount it, I start to feel myself getting hard. I don’t get an erection, but the sensation is there. I lie on the bench lengthwise, with my feet barely touching the floor. It feels good.
Mrs. Lion gets the strap and puts it around the bench and my waist. She cinches it tight like putting a saddle on a horse. I test its security. No, I can’t move my hips at all. I am pinned in position, unable to escape what I know is going to happen to me. I’m a little worried. It’s like that first hill on a roller coaster; you go up and up. It’s exciting, but you know you are in for a terrifying drop when you reach the top.
She starts with some warmup swats. They don’t hurt. I take a deep breath and enjoy the sensation. Then Mrs. Lion says, “Alexa, set a ten-minute timer.”
The device responds obediently, “Ten-minute timer starting now.”
The gentle swats get harder. They sting, but I still like them. She pauses and gets a different implement. The first swat makes me cry out in pain. A second follows on my other cheek. Why did I say I wanted to be spanked? This is no fun at all. The beating continues, a few not-so-bad swats followed by one or two that make me scream. When will the ten minutes be up?
She continues without pause for a while. Then she stops. She is getting a different paddle. The first swat makes me want to levitate. I scream. She ignores my cry. My world is all pain. I tell her to stop. She doesn’t. I wonder if the neighbors can hear me. I yelp at every swat. When will that timer go off?’
After what feels like hours, I hear the welcome beeping of the timer. Mrs. Lion says, “Alexa, stop.” The beeps stop, but her paddle keeps hurting my bottom. She’s not done. Hope drains away like rainwater down a sewer. I know my bottom is bleeding. She doesn’t care. All I can do is scream and endure. The strap around my waist is a bit looser and and I wriggle. It doesn’t help. There is no hope. Why did I want this? I must be crazy.
Finally, she stops. “You’re done,” she says, putting down her paddle. She doesn’t loosen the strap around my waist. Instead, she gets a wet washcloth and gently wipes the blood off my bottom. Then she removes the strap and I get up and lie down in bed.
It doesn’t hurt while I’m lying on my back, but the pain returns when I sit. My throat hurts from the screams and yelps. The skin on my bottom feels like leather. I feel that pleasant twinge again. OK, I have to admit it. I love being spanked.
