The First Cut

The first cut is the deepest. That's the title of a well-known song, but it's also how I feel about spankings.

I look forward to being spanked and I always settle in eventually and enjoy the experience, but it's so hard to get through the first strokes.

Take last weekend, for example. Ron usually chooses the implements, but on this occasion he had the toy box open and gestured toward it.

"You choose," he offered magnanimously.

I thought a bit, then decided to go with all leather, and selected the dogging bat, the belt and the thick paddle. I lined them up on the bed and waited for Ron's reaction. He either didn't think I had chosen enough or wanted some wood in the mix, because he reached into the box and added a wooden paddle to the lineup.

He started with the belt, and because it's flexible he usually goes a little slower with it. This time, it wasn't slow enough. Each stroke seared my exposed cheeks. "Ow, ow, ow!"

The paddles were even worse; they came down harder and faster. As I chanted my mantra -  "Ow, Ow, Owowowowowow!" - a hundred thoughts ran through my head: Stop, stop. Slow down. Lighter. Take it easy. Take it back to the store. That's enough for today. I changed my mind. I don't want to do this.

I didn't say any of it out loud, of course. All I could do was repeat the magic syllable. If I yelled it loud enough he would...what? Stop? Ease up? Make me laugh?

What he did do was ask me, "What did you say?"

"Ow. Ow. Ow ow ow owowow!"

"That's getting monotonous."

"So what do you want me to say? Should I - ouch! - expand my vocabulary? Yikes! Woo hoo! Eek! Tabernac! There, is that better?"

"Much better," Ron laughed, never missing a beat.

And, as always, the fierce enemies turned into friends. The harsh attacks changed to sharp caresses as the magic took hold and I became silent, absorbing and savouring each sensation.

But maybe you can help me think of something new to say while I'm protesting. I wouldn't want to bore my spanker with the same old syllable.