Spanking Girlfriend

Spanking Girlfriend

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By day, I was a women’s studies minor, wrote a weekly feminist column for the student newspaper, and was president of the National Organization of Women on campus. By night, I really, really, really just wanted to be spanked.
By day, I was a women’s studies minor, wrote a weekly feminist column for the student newspaper, and was president of the National Organization of Women on campus. By night, I really, really, really just wanted to be spanked.

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My first spanking was at my 16th birthday party. My guy friends tackled me on the kitchen floor and took turns giving me 16 spanks. And maybe one for good luck. I don’t remember. Once freed, I was livid. I was mortified.
In the years to come, I got some playful spankings, during which I was always twisting, giggling, and trying to get out of it. My first serious boyfriend loved to smack me on the ass as a joke, as did my second serious boyfriend. The more I protested, laughingly telling them to stop, the more they did it. And getting playful spanks always, always led to making out. I look back now and see that both guys realized I loved getting spanked long before I did.
You could say I was in denial about my spanking fetish. It wasn’t that I thought slapping booty was abuse, nor was my starched WASP upbringing to blame. No, the problem was my feminist sensibilities. I realize now that the term “feminism” is vague and means different things for different people, but when I was younger, I assumed there was a way a feminist should think and act. So, even though I liked the feeling of getting spanked, I felt conflicted about giving up my physical power, thinking spanking wasn’t something an independent and opinionated woman should enjoy . Just how, I fretted, could a partner take me seriously as a thinker, a doer, and a creator when I wanted to be submissive to him? What if people think I’m weird or screwed up?
But my sex drive proved mightier than my hang-ups and spanking became a main course of my sex life—albeit a shameful one—in college.
And I was, by a few different guys who, to varying degrees, were down with giving me spankings. But I still felt kind of ashamed because they themselves didn’t enjoy it, but they spanked me anyway because they knew it made me happy.
When I was 21, right after I graduated from college, I began dating Brandon, a brilliant, charismatic, confident 22-year-old. I loved how his dominant, even arrogant, personality manifested itself between the sheets. (Really, the only place I could put up with such a personality.) I didn’t have to ask for him to spank or dominate me because he did it naturally, and I didn’t feel like I was “choosing” to be submissive. But when we broke up after nine months, I knew I wanted the next guy I dated to be dominant in bed, like Brandon had been. I did a little Googling about submission and spanking fetishes and discovered it was a lot of other people’s fetishes, as well.
Fast forward a few years, and a few sexually un-fulfilling relationships, to Charles, the first guy who made me feel like there wasn’t anything wrong or un-feminist about wanting to be spanked. I’d known Charles for years, so he knew about my feminist activism and the writing I do about women’s issues. Once Charles learned about my dom/sub fetish, he knew—and respected—how conflicted I felt. Charles wanted to spank a woman as badly as I wanted to be spanked, and that was what mattered to him. Plus, he’d struggled with apathetic partners, as I had, and he owned a paddle! Alas, Charles also had a girlfriend.
Not that that stopped us. No, we were selfish: Charles cheated on his girlfriend with me. But those few weeks were sexually charged, passionate and wonderful. And other than feeling guilt about the cheating, I didn’t feel ashamed about what we were doing. Getting spanked and dominated in bed by an enthusiastic partner was the most sexually liberating feeling of my entire life.
Eventually, Charles and I ended our relationship when he wouldn’t end it with his girlfriend. I talked with my therapist, Dr. B, about how the emotional part of the relationship hadn’t been right, but my sexual chemistry with Charles had been spot-on.
However, instead of addressing how disappointed I felt that my intimate relationship had ended, or why I was in yet another relationship with an emotionally unavailable man, Dr. B focused on why I liked to be spanked. She kept steering the discussion back to what being submissive must mean in the grand scheme of things. Did I think I was bad? Did I think sex was bad? Did I think I deserved to be punished? Was I working out my relationship with my parents? Was it oedipal?
No, I kept telling her: I wasn’t hit as a kid, I was never abused by my parents, I’ve never dated an abusive man, and I’d never hit my own kids. But week after week, she’d ask me these same questions, and I’d have to tell her, nope, I still don’t hate myself, and I still wasn’t abused as a kid.
Eventually, our therapist-patient relationship ended, too, when I realized Dr. B didn’t get it and likely never would. I’d gotten over my conflict, and there she was bringing it up again. I may be a submissive, but I wasn’t going to put up with my shrink’s judgment!
I’m still coming to terms with my feminist beliefs, and how they interact with my desire for submissive sex, especially my spanking fetish. At this point in my life, at 25, I finally feel comfortable choosing to be submissive in a relationship with a man in the bedroom, as long as he is choosing to behave in a dominant way and he respects me outside of the bedroom. My love of a good spanking is not a conflict for me anymore. In fact, I respect myself more than I ever did for knowing exactly what pleases me and not being afraid to ask for it.
It took me far too many years to realize that it wasn’t very feminist of me to police my own sexuality, to label it “good for feminism” or “bad for feminism.” It is what it is! After I saw “Milk,” the movie about gay rights activist Harvey Milk, I decided I wanted to be someone who completely owns her sexuality, even if it’s not mainstream. I’m not ashamed anymore, and I don’t have to pussyfoot around asking for what I really want: I absolutely have to be submissive and spanked often, if not all the time, in order to enjoy sex.
Even though my sex life is the best it has ever been, it’s more important to me that I’ve figured out how I define my feminism for myself. The thrills of a dom/sub relationship might not work for other women and men who use the same “feminist” label that I do, but I’m not worrying about them anymore. I know I can enjoy a bedroom dynamic which, outside the bedroom, wouldn’t be acceptable. And I can still call myself a feminist.
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Well, I must admit I am pleased that it’s almost been two weeks and until today, I haven’t witnessed my wife break a rule. She has been on her best behaviour.
Tonight, there was a mishap that I still felt had to be addressed if my word is to mean anything. While I was watching the inauguration, my wife was preparing dinner, and I heard a loud bang followed a very loud, FUCK! Not once, not twice but I think five times.
I went into the kitchen to see a huge salad spilt all over the floor.
Not to toot my own horn, but I was very calm and asked her if she said what I thought she said, and she looked like she saw a ghost. I calmly told her to stand in the corner, the corner I showed which is the designated punishment corner.
She apologized and said she should never speak that way. I told her I appreciated her apology, but she needed to stand in the corner immediately. I lightly took her by the arm, and brought her to the corner, positioned her and told her to think about the language she used and not to turn around.
Whew! The first step accomplished, and I had some time to prepare for the spanking. I decided to have her spend 20 minutes in the corner. I decided since it was her first spanking that I would use mostly my hand and then maybe 10 with the paddle.
After 20 minutes, I insisted she strip and stand in front of me.
I told her I was going to give her a spanking and I asked her why. She answered because I swore.
I put her over my knee and spanked her for about five minutes with my hand. She was quiet, but her behind turned pink.
I then grabbed my paddle, which I had next to the chair and gave her 10 fairly hard spanks. She was no longer quiet and begged me to stop. It was very hard for me, but I carried on and told her this would happen every time she swears. She started crying, and finally, I could tell by her sobbing, and the very red colour of her behind I had spanked her sufficiently. I sent her back to the corner and told her to think about her behaviour. She was crying still.
I made her stand in the corner for another 20 minutes. At the 15 minute mark, I made her turn to me, and I put a bar of soap in her mouth and told her to spend 5 minutes with it in her mouth.
She gagged a little and then I turned her back to face the corner.
I spent these five minutes lecturing her on how inappropriate it is for a lady of her beauty and intelligence to use such words. It will not be tolerated, and I hope that your behind will remind you not to. I could tell she wanted to speak but couldn’t because of the soap. When her corner time was finished, I let her spit out the soap and had her watch me put in a sealable bag reminding her that it’s her for future use.
I had her hang my paddle back up and put the soap in the medicine cabinet.
I then hugged her and told her she handled her punishment well. I told her to continue cleaning up and make dinner but to remain nude. And that is what she is doing now. I think I will let her put her clothes on after dinner and cleanup.
Well, for the first spanking, I think it went well. I remained calm, was very firm and gave her a good spanking. She was pretty submissive and very embarrassed. I think nude corner time with soap made her feel humiliated, which I feel was deserved.
I can’t deny that it was challenging to really spank her, but I am determined to steer her right and improve my marriage.
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