He told me to bend over his bed, chest down. I waited like that while he worked at his computer.
I tried to be patient. To not shift or sigh. To breathe naturally, as if I could do this all night, every night.
I hated waiting and wanting as much as I loved it. I respected it for this.
Finally, he spanked me.
I had to cling to the sheets. I was no good at holding position or at being quiet.
Afterward, my body was warm, my limbs loose with the rush, my head light.
He laughed at me for being in la-la-land and went back to work on his computer.
How did it all start?
My heart had gotten broken and it made me reckless. As a result, I did many crazy things – one of which was stripping.
At work, I crushed on another stripper who had a psychobilly look: pale skin, red hair, cropped bangs, glasses, boots, dog collar. When she was on stage, she would smack the inside of her thighs so forcefully that a cracking sound would resonate throughout the club, over the music, the conversations.
Whenever she came on stage, I would shush the customers I was sitting with. They were often inspired by my enthusiasm and would give me money so I could leave her tips on stage.
And then I got spanked. My first time. I wasn’t expecting it.
My ex’s friend had asked to photograph me in lingerie for his portfolio. I had known the guy for some time so I wasn’t apprehensive and I agreed.
For the shots, he asked if he could tie my hands and ankles with nylons. No problem – until he took the opportunity to spank me over and over and over. I was scared, it hurt, I cried out.
Eventually, he untied me and apologized. He said he didn’t warn me ahead of time because he had wanted authenticity for his images. As fast as I could, I got out of there. But strangely – I laughed and cried the whole drive home. It was exhilarating.
Back at work, I told one of the regulars what happened because he had shared with me that he was a submissive. Shortly thereafter, he took me to my first club.