Spanking and me

Spanking had never been a something we dabbled in. It had never been discussed. Never seen in a movie or read in a book. Never suggested.

Until one day…

During pregnancy, my hormones skyrocket and I am a horny mess. I am much more forward in my initiation than is my o-so-coy usual approach. So, there I was -very very pregnant, nude on all fours in bed, belly jutting out, having a mid-day romp. Having quite a fun mid-day romp as a matter of fact. This is before he was Sir. Before D/s. Back in the vanilla days.
And he smacks my ass. Once. Twice. He hesitates.
I find some sort of voice in the midst of what now is escalating.
More. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.
MORE.
SMACK>SMACK>SMACK
MORE!
And he indulged me vigorously. He let out what must have been some years of kink building up right upon my bottom. I came. HARD. He came. He asked if I was ok. I said yes.
We both went about our day.
No discussion ensued.

Later that evening I notice my bruised bottom. I admire it. I turn and pose in the mirror, big protruding belly on one side, round bruised bottom on the other. I bend over to get a better look. It is a strange enigma. It fills me with warmth and a craving I can’t quite place and am too afraid to examine closely.

He clearly had lost control. My bottom was a map of purple and blue. I am anemic and bruise easily so it doesn’t take much. It was sore every time I sat down. And it made me smile. A secret cherished smile. And a strange leap in my abdomen when I found myself ruminating on it. I SHOULD be offended. Angry. Upset. Something normal. I mean- LOOK! And look I did over and over that day. But never found that “normal” response I was looking for in myself.

Later that night I stripped down to change into pajamas, clearly, in front of him. I wanted him to see. I wanted to see his reaction to the aftermath. Would he admire it? Would we talk about it?
He did react. He profusely apologized. He was very serious about it. Very remorseful. That I was 9 months pregnant was not helpful. It looked like abuse. He said he didn’t know what came over him. He’d never do that again.
My heart sank. I felt my eyes well up.
“Yes, I am ok. No, I’m not angry. I just bruise easy, its ok. No, I don’t think you’re a jackass. Of course, I forgive you.”
For what do you say? I am quite a proper girl after all. I rarely initiate sex. Certainly don’t talk about it. I had never even masturbated alone in my life.
I went to a midwife appointment the following day. Ass all bruised to hell and on display since we have to do a cervical check. I think I blushed and stammered something about falling down. I am a terrible liar.
I told him about the cervical check. He looked concerned and groaned. “What did you say?” he asked. “Something about falling down. She didn’t ask anymore questions about it.”
“O. Good.”
And that was that. And back to our vanilla life went.

Fast forward eight months. Many major life stresses happened during this time. Birth. Career changes. Life Plan changes. Major medical problems with the children.
And through it we grew closer and closer, and talked sex and intimacy more and more. We clung to it like a life raft in the midst of a shipwreck. We started sexting. We started planning out long sexy evenings together. We talked about it the next day. We planned our sex escapes together. I sent nude photos for the first time. I masturbated alone for the first time (I was 29).
We started discussing our Fantasies.
And I confessed my attraction to Dominance and submission. Through sexy Loki memes I had found on pintrest. That’s right. Thank you Loki. My hands sweated as I push send on that first meme. O god. What would he think? What would he think if he knew THIS is what I wanted, what I fantasized about. What would he think of me?
And I said… “Do you remember that one time….?”
Yes. He remembered. He remembered vividly. He had thought about it many times. And so had I. He was never really sorry. And neither was I.
And so that night I got my second spanking.
And it was the beginning of the end of the Vanilla. Sounds of the SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! on my ass, signalising the start of something altogether new.
Six months later I had ‘Sir’ tattooed upon a very bruised bottom.