See, there’s spanking, which I equate to an action used with a bare hand and then there’s this other form – where I use my whip or my paddle. There’s something about gripping the handle and landing the blow. There’s something about the way her body takes the pain. How she’ll let out that gasp when the whip makes contacts.
So I guess it comes down to this: When I use my hand, I’m a Daddy. When I whip, I’m the beast – the other part of me. As Daddy I will teach her a lesson gently, as her Master, I’ll teach her a lesson forcefully. Have the pain be a reminder.
Maybe it’s the combination of having her over my knee, her ass there for me to tend to. Maybe it’s the power in my hand or the sound of the whip hitting her. I can’t say.
As I write, it’s 3am. I feel like dragging her out of bed, throwing her to the ground and whipping her. Why? Because the dark part of me – the irrational and lustful beast wants that. I ache for it. I would whip her till she could not take it anymore. Then I would love her till she sang for me, those sweet, sweet sounds.
I think it’s the brutality. I love the brutality, it’s enticing and erotic and intense. It’s the trust she places in me that arouses me. And it’s the tantalising idea that I’m in control of her pain –that shoots through my body, coursing through my veins.
Who else feels that maddening itch for the whip? Hands up.