I’ve mentioned before how long it’s been since I was punished. I’ve missed it, somehow, for so many reasons. The submissive in me likes knowing there are boundaries. I feel content knowing that Jason has the authority to do this, by my consent. Plus, I think it’s hot. His stern demeanor, and the actual reckoning over his knee.     I don’t like it when it happens, though. It hurts, and it’s often embarrassing to be punished, though I do think part of the efficacy of a full grown adult being punished is the humiliation factor. So I have tried to talk myself out of it. I have denied that I need it. I’ve asked him not to follow through sometimes.    But he knows me well, and he knows when I need mercy and when I need sternness. So even though he occasionally grants mercy, he also follows through if he knows I need to be held accountable.  That said, it’s been so long that I really haven’t experienced any of this in months and months. I remembered it, and occa...

“Alright,” Jason says. He closes the door and locks it. “Someone needs a spanking.”     I know I do. I  asked  for this. I mean, I damn near begged. But now that it’s time…I’m having second thoughts.    “I’m really tired,” I say, backpedaling. “You really don’t have to.”    He’s got the thick rubber implement in hand. Sturdy, quiet, and super efficient. I feel it for days, every time, which should be a good thing when you’re a spanking addict like me… but it’s also intimidating as hell. I mean, the thing  hurts.    “Get your ass over here.”    He knows I’m trying to get out of it. He knows I need it. I know I need it. But just because I need it doesn’t mean I actually want it.    But I do know that if I don’t do what he tells me to, this spanking’s going to get a lot more serious, very quickly, and he’s already holding the damn implement.    So I throw off the covers and get out of bed and scramble over...