It takes quite a lot of spanking for me to feel it when I sit down. Even then, most of the time I have to squirm around, so that I feel the elastic of my knickers digging into the area of my bottom that’s red and sore.

When it does happen - when I do get spanked hard enough and for long enough to feel the shadow of pain over the next few hours, the pleasure is unique and exquisite.

How unfortunate is it, then, that to get this wonderful aftertaste I have to take a really, really hard spanking, possibly with a strapping or a caning on top? I like the idea of spanking, and the anticipation, and the ritual, and the afterglow, and can I even occassionally get into the right head to surf the pain and turn it into pleasure, but most of the time pain is pain. I don’t like being in pain.

But afterwards - oh, afterwards. Hard wood of a pub bench pressing against the pocket seams of my jeans. Tight elastic of my knickers across swollen welts.

I think, I’ll take the pain.

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