Guest Post: Melding Into One

Jean Marie is an accomplished author of spanking stories. She is a regular contributor to Spanking Digest and Bethany's Woodshed. Today, however, I am delighted to announce that Jean Marie has agreed to share this story with the readers of My Bottom Smarts. Enjoy!

We’d met, dated, fallen in love. We’d determined some of our shared likes and dislikes, and delineated where we disagreed on some issues. Chief among the latter, unfortunately but rather insignificantly, was politics. Chief among the former, happily and importantly, was a spanking orientation, and in this relationship Kyle was the sole giver and I was the soulful recipient.

We moved in together one spring day, a day of newness in a season of rejuvenation. That evening, half exhausted but content, after a dinner amid cardboard boxes, we combined all his amassed implements of correction from a lifetime as a top with all of mine as a bottom. Like many things of a spanking nature, the scene had a ritualistic quality. Like two kids at play, it had a show-and-tell aspect. I sat on my heels in the candlelight as he unpacked his “treasure chest.” Certainly, I’d seen, and felt, some of the implements. But I wanted to know the background on each; how had he acquired it, how long had he had it, was it a favorite? I was eager to share my toys, my tales with him.

With dancing eyes, Kyle decided to start with an implement that I hadn’t had the opportunity to experience, a thick leather tawse that he’d gotten in Ireland. Right away I decided that just word descriptions wouldn’t suffice; I pulled my jeans and panties down.

“Please let me feel it, “I begged, bending across the edge of our bed, wiggling my deserving derriere delightedly.

One moderate swipe stung tantalizingly, then warmed radiantly.

“I have to know what a good, hard lick with that thing feels like,” I said with trepidation, holding my butt out further and still, so that he could take measured aim.

His reply made me yelp, rub my seat. Now my eyes were sparkling, as I blinked back a tear.

This became the rule; I’d feel two swats with each implement, the first moderate, as I would feel at play, the second serious, as I would feel in punishment.

I won’t bore you with the all the details as he unpacked, described, and tested-out a leather paddle and a wooden one, a suede thuddy cat-o-nine tailed whip, and a stingingly dangerous dressage whip. I unpacked, described, and handed over to my lover several paddles, an out-of-fashion belt that was very vogue for our purposes, a long leather thong that was lethal, and a collection of old hairbrushes that were not intended for tonsorial usage. (My assortment of used riding crops, or bats, merited no further explanation; Kyle already knew that I was an amateur equestrian. Or, as I’d said to him on our first night at my place, “I don’t have these because I like to ride, I have them because I like to be ridden.”)

“That reminds me,” Kyle said, as he rummaged around and finally found a similar old hairbrush when he saw mine. “This belonged to Karen. Boy, I remember some serious sessions we had with…”

I leapt up from my submissive position over the bed like a lioness would when on the attack, putting my index finger to his lips and my other hand on the past girlfriend’s possession.

“All of our toys may have a history that includes others from our pasts,” I said with passion, “but I don’t want something that belonged specifically to her to ever be used on me. Please put that away and never let me see it again!”

In a gesture that warmed my already glowing heart, Kyle ceremoniously said he understood, and put the brush in the large pile of trash in the corner.

I stood up, pants down around my knees, even more embarrassed because my pubic bush was very slick with my arousal, but I just had to kiss my man, tell him that I loved him. His hands cupped my equally glowing buttocks.

“What you said was absolutely right,” he whispered in my ear. “The defiant way that you said it wasn’t, and just earned you a bad girl spanking. Kneel over the bed and choose the implement you think you deserve for insolence.”

I did as I was told, and as he knelt down beside me, I said, “You can use any or all of these on me,” and my hand swept across the collection amassed on our bed, “but start with this…” and I took his hand, kissing the palm that was going to kiss me with discipline. “I imagine you’ve used your hand on every one of your past girlfriend’s bottoms,” I confided as he rubbed a circle in mine in preparation, “but now it belongs to me.” I stuck my fanny out expectantly.

That right hand didn’t show me a lick of mercy as it spanked my already sensitive bottom quite thoroughly, but his left hand did, as he tweaked my hardening nipples and frigged my overflowing sex all during the sound punishment.

We segued right from hard spanking into passionate love-making. It wasn’t comfortable atop all those toys, but it felt great.

I still vividly remember lying with him afterward, my butt radiant, my sex radiant, the air perfumed with the scent of his sperm and my jism and our sweat intermingling, knowing that just like our bodies were, just like our sex toys were, our lives were now melding into one.

In the several years that we’ve been together, Kyle and I have added to the repertoire. Funny how he often brings home wooden implements, like the cane that I fear/hate (and just felt again for the umpteenth time the weekend that I pen this), and I purchase leather ones, ones that I cream over before, during, and after use. We’ve also utilized the countless things around the house that have other purposes, but also serve this need. I’ve gotten it with everything from a shoelace to a book to a clothes hanger in the bedroom, a spatula to a wooden spoon to a wire whisk in the kitchen, a scrub brush to a length of hose to a gardening shoe in the garage. All of this is what makes a house a home I suppose, just as all the shared experiences are what make intersecting lives into a relationship.

Keywords: spanking, spanking implements, romantic spanking