True Sex Stories: Spanking For Emotional Catharsis

Spanks for pleasure, spanks for pain, spanks for emotional catharsis...and sometimes all of the above.

"Let's go do that pussy slap."

That statement was a trigger for my fear, my horniness, my curiosity and my submissiveness.

"What do you mean? How hard?"

"Harder than you've ever had it before."

Oh my god. I don't know how I'll deal with this. How much of this is head fuck and how much is he actually going to do?

"Naked. On your tummy. I'm going to do your ass first."

Whew, at least there's going to be a warm-up.

He lounged beside me on the bed and started off with gentle slaps, in a playful sort of way. Of course I acknowledged each with an appropriate response, but they weren't slaps that one would run away from.

The slaps increased until my body began to respond with a slight stiffening and a less dignified yelp. Slowly he moved into more solid smacking with the palm of his hand.

When he grabbed my hair to hold me down I knew he was about to change pace again. Oh yes! He punctuated my ass and my thighs with good resounding slaps. Every time he hit my thighs my feet responded of their own accord, with my heels jerking upwards. My inner brat began to emerge as I twisted around to try to block his hands.

The next thing I knew he was straddling me and sitting on my bum. I thought he was going to bite my upper back. But no, the slaps just moved up to my arms, shoulders and the top of my back. God damn I hate that: it is instant rage, instant brat. This is when my love needs all his size and strength.

As he kept the slaps coming I fought my urge to retaliate. But he pushed. He pushed until I was going after him, slapping the sides of his thighs, trying to twist to get at him any which way I could.

Something happened then. I was engulfed by emotion. He paused when he heard the change in my voice, and cuddled me from behind as I lay there sobbing. My tears begin again and again. We repositioned ourselves with my head on his lap, but my back still burned and each time I felt it it triggered more of my catharsis.

"I hate that stuff." I was referring to the emotional overload, the outpouring of psychic shit. I didn't want him to touch my back. I didn't want anyone to touch my back ever again. I felt raw, stripped. He provided space for my tears to abate. He held me and kept me safe.

As I quietened he asked me if I wanted to fuck. Sex was not something I was particularly aware of in that moment, but I was feeling very compliant, and I also know we have some of our hottest sex from that place. So fuck we did. I was still outpouring with emotion; my tears weren't far away, but neither were my orgasms.

As he held me again he said, almost casually, that it was time for that pussy slap.

"Can we do it so I'm not on my back?"

Somehow it came out sounding slightly bratty, but that was not my intent.

"It won't hurt if you don't move," he replied.

As I started laying down towels my emotional frailty began to show again.

"Just one," he said.

I started to position myself, but couldn't get away from the sense of punishment. He watched me struggle. I tried to lie still, but I wound up shaking with tears and wrapping my body around him.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked.

I was tempted to try and be brave and say yes. The truth was I was not. I shook my head no.

He had been trying to find that place of catharsis. He'd prepared me with the mind fuck about the ‘hard as you can' pussy slap, but he had found it earlier than expected, and he didn't need to actually go through with that. In the middle of the scene I was an emotional pile of goo: I had been cracked wide open to allow all the stuff to come out. And then he supported me while I processed it.

He dares to do that. He does it because he cares.

Republished with permission from SapioSlut. Want to see your true tale of lust on Fleshbot? Contact us. Photo via Whipped Ass.