Spank Me Safe

Last night you spanked me.  And as you spanked, you talked.  You were not angry — but, you were firm, very matter of fact.  The words themselves suggested you were making a request of me, but the authoritative tone made clear that you were delivering an instruction that was not to be ignored:

“Arianna, I want you to be more open.  I want you to feel safe telling me your deepest desires and all of your secrets.  I want you to trust me more tomorrow than you did today and even more the day after tomorrow.”

I know this may not make sense, but your words hurt more than the hour long spanking you delivered.  Why?  Because I wanted you to believe that I was already at that place where I trusted you completely without hesitation or reservation.  I wanted to believe that  I was already there.  But you know me too well.  You can read parts of me that go unnoticed by the world:  the slightest tension in my shoulders or the furrowed brow that only appears for a split second.

“Arianna, I want you to be able to tell my why you consent to being spanked over my knee.  I want you to say it out loud.”

I said nothing and you continued to spank me until my bottom was an angry red.

When you were done, you took me from behind, pushing deep and hard and fast.  With every thrust against my hot skin, you reminded me of the spanking delivered moments ago.

After, I tried to sleep while you held me tight but your words kept playing over and over in my head. . .

Why spanking?  What do I need from you?  Why do I submit to you?

It is not the pain —  I know it is for some women, but that is not it for me.  Of course it has to hurt or it would not be a spanking, but it is not the pain I crave.  To the contrary, the pain makes me anxious.  When you order me over your knee or tell me to wait for you upstairs, there is a calm feeling of fear that engulfs me.  It is the emotion the pain provokes that I seek.  I know you spank me hard because you want to show me that you are in control — that is very different than if you spanked me hard for the sole purpose of inflicting pain.

When you spank me, it makes me vulnerable and at the same time, it makes me certain that you are in charge and that you will take care of me in this moment and all the moments that follow if I will let you.

That feeling of knowing you are in control lets me relax and know that I am under control too.  If you can control me, then you can also control the demons that haunt me.  And if you can do that, then I am safe.

There is a part of me that is still a child — at least I think there is.  I cannot be certain because I was never a child the way most children are.  Responsibility and care-taking was thrust upon me before my age hit double digits — and I was a good girl and did what was asked, what was expected.  But sometimes being a good girl means being grown-up before you are ready.  It means you skip believing in fairytales; you don’t have time to test limits or love anything with reckless abandon.

Does it make sense that the child me who never had a chance to really be a child now craves someone to trust, someone to take care of me?  Why does the child inside me need someone to tell her what the boundaries are and someone to prove to her that they exist?  The world sees a grown-up woman with educational degrees and a career and huge responsibility — the world would never understand why this grown-up woman needs enforced boundaries or why she needs to be spanked.

But you know me and you see the transgressions the world does not see.  You know that what the world sees is often half-truths and you know that my biggest transgressions are against myself.  You point them out to me lovingly but firmly:

“Arianna, you don’t eat right.  You don’t get enough sleep.  You continuously put off sched
uling the doctor appointments I’ve told you to make.  Arianna, why do you try to hide the beautiful body I love?”

Some might say that calling these things “transgressions” is pure hyperbole.  But these things you point out are the manifestation of my own insecurity; my subconscious fear that I am not good enough to be loved.  Are transgressions such as these the cause or the product of my inner need for discipline? I don’t know the answer to that question.  Maybe, I will never know.

What do I need from you?  In a single word:  Love.  But it is a very particular kind of love.  A love that no one in my life other than you has ever been able to give me.  It is a Love that has strong hands and solid boundaries.  It is a love that is consistent and caring.