"Who Does Your Bottom Belong To?"

Paddled

Last weekend, I visited Malignus in South Dakota. We had a wonderful time. I arrived Friday evening and stayed through Monday afternoon, so I've got lots of stories to share. One of my favorite moments happened on Sunday after we returned home from watching the Superbowl. I put away the groceries as he settled in and queued up a movie. I set his steak out on the counter so it could reach room temperature before going in the skillet, and then I plopped down next to him on the couch.

"Come with me," he said as he stood up and walked into the bedroom.

I followed along behind him, my eyes darting around the room for a hint at what was happening. On the bed lay the small paddle that thekillingtype made Malignus for his birthday. It's made of bloodwood, which is a really dense, beautiful wood. The paddle itself is thick. It also hurts an entire lot of a bunch! Like, really a lot. It's an intimidating implement, and probably one of the most perfect gifts for him ever!

He sat down on the bed and waited for me to put myself over his lap. Instead I came around to his left side, sat down, and began to wrap my arms and legs around him. Giggling, clinging, and pleading desperately for urgent hugs, I attempted to delay the inevitable. Soon enough, however, I found myself face down, bottom up, and waiting for the first stroke to land on my bare skin. When it did, the squirming and whining renewed.

The truth is, I find it really difficult to submit to a hard spanking that happens when I'm not mentally prepared for it. As much as I want to submit at times like these, it doesn't always come so easily when I haven't worked myself up to a receptive headspace. I often get feedback from readers who praise me for being so submissive, or who marvel at how well I take a spanking in a video. As much as I love hearing these compliments, I sometimes feel as though I'm misleading them or propagating the false perception that I'm always ready to passively accept the will of my dominant. In reality, I'm not. I'm like any other spanko submissive. My pain tolerance fluctuates with my hormones, and my desire to submit to a hard spanking is quite dependent upon my mood and current perspective.

When I recount stories of particularly intense scenes or post videos of me cooing and laughing through a marvelously brutal spanking, I'm only sharing a snippet of what it took to get me there emotionally. Sometimes it takes hours of hoping I'll get that really good spanking at the end of the day. At times, it's the minutes to days of anticipation after a threat has been made. Occasionally it's achieved by a nice handspanking that warms me up physically and mentally. If you've ever seen me at a party, you probably know the joyful ellee who floats from lap to lap basking in my favorite activity. If you've seen me engage in harder play at one of these events, you can be sure it's because I've worked myself into a state where that's precisely what I crave. You see, it's all quite relative.

Malignus is one of the few people I do choose to play more intensely with, and that's because he knows my reactions, my limits, my expectations. I trust him.   As he brought the paddle down over and over again, I tried to make my brain calm down and relax, but I wasn't making much progress. I was able to keep my hands in front of me, but each smack sent a painful wave of shocking ouchiness though my body and caused my hips to twist away. He held me in place and kept the pace tolerable, but he could tell I was struggling. The swats to my upper thighs nearly sent me into a panic, and I was growing frustrated with myself.

"I'm sorry!" I declared. "I'm trying! I don't know why I can't," I babbled into the mattress as the paddle landed yet again on my tender bottom. He let me battle with myself a bit longer before coming to my rescue.

"Who does your bottom belong to?" he asked.

"You, Sir," I replied, and then everything changed. It was that simple. Suddenly the sting wasn't quite as jolting and my body stopped fighting. I relaxed over his lap and pushed my bottom up to offer him an eager target. Quite simply, it stopped being unpleasant.

"Good girl," he said in a tone that radiated pride and made it quite clear that he was pleased with me. I smiled through the rest of the spanking and was a puddle of happy by the time he set the paddle down and began the cool-down hand-spanking. The weight of his left arm on my back make me feel secure, and I was in a very good place when he eventually stopped and pulled me into his arms for cuddles.

"Thank you, Sir," I said in that slurred sort of dopey way I do when I'm coming back from subspace. After a moment, I lifted my head from his shoulder and looked at him curiously. "Did you stop spanking me as hard once I gave in?" I asked, convinced it had to be the case.

"No," he assured me with a chuckle. "I spanked you every bit as hard." I must have looked puzzled because he then went on to explain what he believed accounted for my sudden shift in perspective. Essentially, my initial resistance was in response to an unexpectedly painful experience that triggered concern for maintaining the integrity of my body. That innate sense of self-preservation can be a powerful stimulus, and fear makes everything hurt so much more.

He took that fear away. He reminded me that my bottom belonged to him, so it was his responsibility to worry and not my own. Once freed of that burden, the spanking truly didn't hurt as much. I'm still astounded that this significant a change could occur in a matter of seconds, but it did, and it was really nice.

I changed into my pajamas and we settled in to enjoy the remainder of our evening. For the rest of the night, I possessed a wonderful sense of contentment that comes from feeling loved and grateful and fulfilled. It's a really good sort of happy. :)