Paddling Day After Day After Day

I’m a slave who belongs to a sadist. He loves me, but He takes His primary erotic pleasure out of hurting me. It is a simple fact.

He loves paddles.

I hate paddles. Wood paddles are the worst of all. They burn and sting and bruise. I’m a masochist, but I haven’t enough masochistic capital that He can’t trump me. No matter how high I want to push the stakes, He can always go higher – always. That was surely the case with paddling. When we first came together as full time partners, we played everyday, sometimes, two or three times a day, going higher and higher day after day, until finally, I couldn’t go any higher – especially not with those blasted paddles of His. Eventually, I started to balk at the idea of paddling. Started to whine and fuss and wheedle and whine at the very idea of paddling; started to bail out of sessions prematurely and precipitously and often with a good deal of rage.

He was not amused, not at all, and so a new regimen came to be. Each day, I was required to bring Him one of the paddles that I hated worst of all and ask for a paddling: “Please Sir, would you paddle me?” To which He would reply, “I’d be glad to.” I would then be treated to a session of paddling and whipping, administered without any warm-up, that typically involved 4 sets of 25 strokes: paddling, whipping, paddling, whipping. At the end of all of that, I was required to kiss the paddle and thank Him for my spanking.

This regimen went on day after day after day for a period of about 3 months. Although, I had absolute control over the time of day that the paddling occurred each day, I could not duck it altogether and I came to fear it utterly. Each morning, when my eyes would pop open, the first thought that would come into my awareness would be of the impending paddling. It was never far from my consciousness. I struggled and struggled like a wild animal caught in a trap. My mind just would not stop smashing up against the edges of the daily paddlings. Then I broke, gave up and gave in. Maybe I surrendered or maybe I just broke down. Then again, maybe I just wore myself out and ran out of energy to fight it anymore. Whatever it was, I crumbled. It wasn’t pretty and I’m not sure if it was the response He was seeking but from that point on the daily paddlings were scaled back. We still paddle, but on a smaller scale and with less frequency. I now accept them with better grace. I’ll never “like” them I guess, but I understand that they are part of the commitment I’ve made to submit. On the other hand, it seems to me, He supports me differently through them now. Why I’m not sure, but somehow it is as if He sees my brokenness around them and loves it better than He did the rage that went before it.

swan