The Weekly Mindfuck: Five Stars

There's a comfortable spot in the middle of the spanking spectrum, somewhere between a light slap and a full-on belt beating. It has momentum, and makes a satisfying smack on contact. It doesn't hurt, per se, but it makes you gasp. It stings; not with the blister of a sunburn or the sharp slice of a paper cut, but a tingling that makes you aware of the sensitive, pale skin on your backside. It feels like relief, which is odd—you didn't know you needed it until it's gone, unlike most other sexual impulses. More often than not, it leaves the clean, red silhouette of the hand that administered it.

These kinds of spanking aren't punishment, and they're usually given one at a time when both parties are panting. To give one means ownership over the act, a literal print etched into their partner's ass for the next few minutes. To get one is not necessarily to submit, but to let go, to be vulnerable, to both your partner and your own perversions. In many ways, great sex happens at the apex of surrender—and nothing blurs the line between pain and pleasure quite like one firm-handed spank.