Crazed (not crazy)

I hate this. I love this.

My life would be so much simpler, yet fundamentally incomplete, without it.

This craving that cannot be satisfied by anything else inches its way into the dishes, the laundry, phone calls with friends. On my daily walk I fantasize bizarre and unusual scenarios -- being spanked by my neighbor, the postman, the man with the annoying dog who I pass most mornings.


And yet there are times when I most definitely do not enjoy D's attention to detail when painting my behind. It is not an entirely pleasant or dignified affair, me blubbering "stop, stop, please" as I fight to gain some space between my bottom and the strap, my losing battle later evident in the mirror when I gaze upon my poor, punished cheeks.

Unless I'm role-playing, I'm not the type to protest much when it comes time to unbutton my pants -- I want this. And I certainly don't protest after the first few warming smacks from D's hand; I could handle a warm-up that lasts all day.


But when things really get going, when the *thwack* and *crack* of the wooden paddle echo in the room, I wonder what ever made me think I enjoy this. I want it to stop. I want to escape.

Is this really what I think about when lying in my bed? Is this really what I focus on over my first cup of coffee?

I must be crazy.


I feel my body's response to the unrelenting rhythm, the spanks landing lower and lower on my cheeks, and, as the spanking builds, I can't help but grind against him, then rise up to meet my adversary, simultaneously hoping for the end while yearning for it to continue.

I would point to the amazing sex we enjoy afterward, but I know that that's only part of the attraction. I've had spanking relationships with no sex at all which served their purpose -- although it must be said that I would carve out some alone time, one foot propped on the bathtub while my fingers provided relief to the other aching area that needed attention.


Wondering why I love to be spanked would be like wondering why another needs to be kissed -- although for me there's nothing sweeter than a kiss laced with the possibility of a spanking later.

And when my pleas turn to moans which turn to gasps punctuated by cresting waves, who am I to question why I have this need?

I just do.

Note to readers: Duct tape can only hold a computer together for so long. Mine is finally being fixed by a real professional and I will be offline for a few days. I pinky promise to respond to comments upon my return.