My internet connection has been spotty lately, so I haven’t been able to spend much time in the blogosphere. So, for your patience, here’s the story of my very first spanking…
We met in what is so often the usual way nowadays, in internet chatrooms dedicated to the love of all things spanking, and became fast friends. We were different in so many ways; but the ways in which we were alike bonded us together and our differences infused the friendship with a flavor all its own.
Over time that friendship blossomed, spilling out of the chatrooms and into hour (or more) long conversations on the phone. Despite this bond, it was years before fate stepped in and brought us together in person. You see, Brad’s job took him all over the country wooing clients and training new sales managers, and after many years it finally brought him to me.
We were, first and foremost, friends. And so we took things slow. Dinner at a local establishment stretched on through drinks as we enjoyed the pleasure of each other’s company face to face for the first time. In fact, it stretched on for so long that we had to rush to catch the 9:30 movie next door. We lingered in the theater until the last of the credits has scrolled off the screen and the house lights came up breaking the intimacy of the dimly lit room.
The parking lot was deserted when we finally exited the building and we paused at his car, neither of us quite ready to say goodbye but knowing that he had a long drive back to the city yet that night. We embraced, his arms wrapping warmly around me, and I was pleased and disappointed all at once. Our first meeting had gone swimmingly and I wished we had more time together before real life intervened. Those thoughts and more lingered for a moment before being chased away by the feeling of his hand sliding down my back to rest gently on my bottom.
I tilted my head up, smiling, as rubbing turned to gentle patting. When the patting became a little more forceful and his grip on me became more firm I swallowed against the fluttering of butterflies in my belly and throat. It’s a hard step to take – from fantasy to reality – and I was nervous. Looking back I was probably nervous about all the wrong things. I didn’t worry that we were in a public area and anyone could have stumbled upon us at any time. I didn’t worry that it would hurt (it only did a little bit) or that it would leave marks (I discovered that night and the following days how much I love to be bruised; how I enjoy watching the marks blossom across my skin and change during the coming days). No, I couldn’t worry about those things because all of my focus was spent worrying that I would discover I was wrong. That maybe I only thought I liked this spanking thing. That maybe everything I had considered myself to be for as long as I could remember wasn’t true.
I shouldn’t have worried. Very soon, in fact, I couldn’t. Stretched across the hood of his red miata I couldn’t think of anything but the feel of the silky steel beneath me and his hand falling again and again in a delicious rhythm. It was that night that I discovered the thrill of hearing a belt pulled through it’s loops; the shock of pain then throbbing warmth that follows as it slices down against yeilding skin; the language of a body begging for more as it arches up into the strokes in silent entreaty.
No, I shouldn’t have worried at all. A lot has changed since that night many years ago. Brad & I drifted apart. Jack & I found each other. I’ve come a long way from that girl stepping off the edge for the first time but every now and then I like to go back there and remember that night and the feeling of finally knowing.