Taking a spanking is crazy. It’s not the pain you recall later, it’s the humiliation: The delicious, helpless vulnerability in giving up your very soul to someone else’s keeping. Craving each hard belt across your flaming backside. Panting, gasping, crying out at each branding strike. Hating the pain yet begging silently, for another, and then another no matter the protests and teary pleas to the contrary. Each blow simultaneously tearing down your arrogance and self-doubt and building up your esteem and pride, knowing your acquiescence is pleasing to your chastiser. Mrs. Cleanknockers kept whipping me hard. Time ceased to matter.
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