"I need a spanking," I said softly, right before He walked out the door to run some errands. He paused, looked at me a little sternly, and replied, "What have you done?"
Um, not the response I expected.
So, I said, "Nothing. I haven't done anything bad, I just need a spanking."
Satisfied that I was still His good little girl (hah!), He said, "Okay," and went on His way.
I don't ask for spankings very often. At least I don't think I do. He might read this and spew coffee all over the place, but in my tiny little mind, I usually follow His lead in this area.
But yesterday I found myself thinking about being spanked, and thinking turned to wanting, and I finally I wanted it bad enough to ask for it.
When He returned from His errands, He took me in the bedroom, bent me over the end of the bed, and...
He whooped my butt.
No restraints. No warm-up (no surprise, I know). No pity for my cries of "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!!!!!"
He was rough. And mean. He used the paddle, the cane, and the leather strap. If I tried to stand up, He pushed me back down.
He kept going until I cried. Not little sniffly tears, but big tears, big sobs, snotty nose, the whole nine yards.
Once the tears start, the spanking ends, and sexy-time begins, because what's sexier than a sobbing, snotty slave-girl? (That's a rhetorical question, you don't need to answer that).
Afterwards, as we lay in bed together, He said, "Be careful what you ask for."
Indeed. But I'm glad I asked; it was just want I needed. And I have a beautiful bruise on my right butt-cheek as a souvenir.