History of a spanko

When I was younger, I used to spank myself in the shower adjacent to the family room and check the results in the bathroom mirror. It wasn't until I was older that I realized people could probably hear me.


My freshman year of college I confessed to my long-term boyfriend my need to be dominated. I didn't use that word, though. My specific words were, "locked in a room without any clothing and made to do whatever you tell me to".

I didn't mention spanking, but that was at the center of my fantasy and a word I just could not say. I felt ashamed at my desire for him to spank me; I could not afford his mockery.

He did not lock me in a room and use me as I'd offered; he did not spank me.


While lying naked in bed with another boyfriend, I would turn onto my stomach and lift the sheet with my feet, exposing my bare bottom in temptation. When he'd cup the cheeks, my breath would catch and I would yearn for him to do it, to spank me. He never did.

I didn't really mind though; it was a relief to deny what I was for a little longer, although the need was becoming harder to suppress.


When I finally made the confession, at the age of 19, I had been drinking. As drunk as I was, I remember my exact words.

"I want you to spank me. Put me over your knee, pull down my pants and spank me."

It came out in a rush, all on an exhale, so I could not bite back the words.

He spanked me; I wanted more, harder, longer. Now, now, now.


A few years later, I found myself single at a Halloween party hosted by close friends. At the end of the party, I made out with a stranger dressed like Elvis. I whispered in his ear, "I like to be spanked", as his fingers crawled up my inner thigh and curled inside my panties. My Farrah Fawcett costume lent me courage.

He called the next day to arrange dinner and made his own confession: he was married. I never saw him again. He never spanked me.


I married the next man who spanked me. We would spend whole weekends naked and entwined, he with a wooden spoon in his hand. I finally tasted the sweetness of what I'd been craving: spankings -- morning, noon and night.

The marriage didn't last, although I hesitate to call it a "mistake"; I learned a lot about my need for submission, a need he'd never satisfy. As our marriage deteriorated in other respects, I longed for the psychological element of spanking that I'd begun to read about on sites like this.


Single again, I cast my net far and wide in search of men who shared in my fantasy. I accepted phone spankings from Massachusetts, Texas, Maryland, Kansas and Rhode Island, my breathing labored and lustful as I carried out the voices' orders.

It was not enough; my desires to make it real grew. So I made it real -- I met with carefully selected men who spanked me, dominated me, and showed me the world that had been hidden behind fear and guilt.


I began to embrace my desires as normal and made a decision to include this in my life, to demand its presence, to never deny who I am or what I wanted.

There is no shame in what we do.

Even if it means spanking myself with the phone pressed to my ear, even if it means throwing my confessions at thousands of strangers, I will never stop asking in my gritty whisper, "Spank me. Pull down my pants, put me over your knee and spank me."

What was once so hard to admit is now my most favorite thing to say. The biggest difference is that now I say it slowly, with purpose, directly gazing into my lovers' eyes.

(Photos 1 & 3 from Girls Boarding School; photo of mullet spank (haha) found on Free Spanking Photos; photo of bridal spanking found on Spanking Blog; self-spank photo from Spank Amber; unknown sources on other photos.)