Sex, Love and Masochism
Last weekend I was having a gentle, aimless afternoon play with my partner on his living room floor. We’d had a very up and down week because I’d been dealing with some pretty heavy emotional baggage from a couple of years ago. It was a pain that I’ve bottled up for too long whilst trying to come across as strong and resilient – a survivor of emotional abuse.
Something had triggered a familiar feeling the weekend before, and I’d spent the week reading my old diary, old messages to my best friend at the time (crying for help, or a push for me to leave), and generally reflecting on who I used to be and how I used to let my ex boyfriend treat me.
I’d felt a little on the edge (not in the giggity way), and been notably distant and closed off, in my own little bubble of memories no one else will ever see. Memories I’d rather keep locked away for my own psychological wellbeing.
“Do you know what will really make me happy…?”
I’ve been getting a lot better at telling my partner what I crave, desire and need when it comes to sex lately… But this time, it wasn’t sex at all. “Do you know what will really make me happy…?” When I told him, he told me to go and get my paddle, and I skipped to the bedroom knowing exactly where he’d hidden it.
I handed it over with equal parts apprehension and glee. I knew that I owed him 300 spanks for only part-completing a task, but he’d reduced it to 50 because he’s caring like that (there’s no way I could manage 300!). He ordered me to lie across his knees.
After about 8 spanks, my breath had slowed and deepened to manage the pain. How the fuck was I going to get to 50? One side of my brain was telling me to curl up and give up – to admit defeat – but the other side of my brain was telling me how strong I am and how strong I have been, that I can and will take the 50, that I must give in rather than give up.
He had me counting out loud. He told me to focus on the numbers. For the first time in a week, I was in the moment. He temporarily freed me from the prison of my memories, totally emptying my mind. I could feel all of the emotional tension being released as something more manageable, something that he could share the burden of. We got to 20 and the tears were well and truly streaming. He asked if I wanted to continue. I cried ‘yes’, with as much conviction as I could muster up. I could not fail him and I absolutely could not fail myself.
48… 49… He slowed down towards the end, stroking me lovingly between each spank, making sure I was actually ok. When we got to 50, I lay there quietly sobbing before he scooped me into his arms and held me there, a quivering wreck, but the happiest I had felt all week. He lay me down between his legs and let my tears soak into his skin as he stroked my hair. I was in my little zone, silently smiling beneath my hair, absorbing his warmth, his love, his care and his presence.
