After the Fire

I frequently describe in detail the events that precede a spanking and, of course, the spanking itself. However, I haven’t, until now, adequately examined the recipient’s thoughts, feelings, and sensations after the spanking is complete. This account is based upon a spanking that happened this past weekend.

One Minute After: At one minute, I’m still a bit discombobulated. My mind may be racing, but it’s difficult to get past the searing sting on the surface of my punished posterior. I now begin to recognize the sheer intensity of the spanking in a way I didn’t fully appreciate while it was being administered.

I stand and struggle to regain my bearings. My hands gravitate quite instinctively to my glowing orbs. They feel hot to the touch. When my fingers brush the skin, I feel nothing. To a gentle touch, it’s almost numb. A harder rub yields new waves of delicious discomfort. It turns me on, as does every aspect of the spanking experience. I feel very submissive now. I attach myself to my husband in hopes that he will use me as he pleases.

Five Minutes After: At five minutes, I am absorbed in coital passion and writhing in ecstasy beneath my dear spouse. The pain accrued through many heavy swats is still very evident, but it’s anything but a distraction. As my man’s body slams against my own, pleasure and pain blur to the point of becoming indistinguishable. I greedily welcome both sensations as the lovemaking escalates.

Ten Minutes After: I have little in depth recollection of this interval. I know I find bliss. So does he. It’s wonderful.

Fifteen Minutes After: Now we two lovers lie peacefully under the covers. Limbs intertwine. Kisses are exchanged. Vows of commitment and love are repeated. His hands invariably roam to my throbbing backside. I can now feel my heart beating, both in my chest and on my bottom. Despite the soreness, I want his hands to rub all over. It demonstrates again his wonderful dominance.

Thirty Minutes After: I get up to use the bathroom. While I am in there, I cannot resist turning my back to the mirror while craning my head to investigate my marks. To my surprise, it doesn’t look quite as bad as it feels. Considerable redness remains, especially in the center of each cheek, but I can see neither abrasions nor bruises.

Again, I feel compelled to touch the damage. My skin is now warm rather than hot. However, even the lightest touch triggers a painful reaction. I shiver with remembrance.

One Hour After: I have left the bed, donned my comfortable clothes, and busied myself performing chores. I feel energized to attend to a dozen small tasks that benefit home and marriage. I am contented with the world and my place in it. Yet I am driven to make it just a little bit better. My posterior hurts and I like it that way. That residual ouch reminds me how deeply I am loved. I am proud to be his woman.

Two Hours After: I settle down to my computer to answer e-mail and check blog comments. When my bottom makes contact with the chair, I am astonished by how much it still aches. “That,” I think to myself, “was one fine tail warming.” A smile crosses my face as I walk across the study to retrieve the well worn cushion I keep for just such occasions. Even perched atop this soft padding, I find it necessary to shift my weight in search of a more comfortable position. Randy was, as usual, quite thorough. There is no way to sit without feeling my spanking all over again. I continue working.

Four Hours After: I’m now in bed and almost ready to sleep. After years of practice, I have perfected the art of sleeping on my stomach. It’s a necessity on this evening. At the moment, though, I am happily reading a paperback book.

When Randy arrives in the bedroom, he can’t resist pulling back the covers to examine his handiwork. Raising my nightgown, he makes a sound that expresses mild disappointment. “It’s not even very red any more…” That may be, but the deep residual pain shows no sign of going anywhere. He can’t see my target without touching and so he begins to rub. Soon, he is adding hand spanks to the mix. It hurts intensely, but I choose to tolerate this play. Rather than asking him to stop, I distract my dear husband by placing his manhood in my mouth. He enjoys this. Eventually, we conclude our fun and drift off to sleep.

Twelve Hours After: I wake thinking about spanking. My spanking! I roll over to a vivid reminder of recent events. It turns me on immensely. I consider jumping Randy, but he is happily snoring, and I decide to get up instead. When I take a shower, I am reminded. When I dry myself, I am reminded. When I put on my underwear, I am reminded. I am a happily spanked woman. The afterglow follows me all day long. Even as the acute pain subsides, the cheerful, industrious mood remains.

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I just love receiving a good spanking. In many ways, the aftermath is often as pleasurable as the main event. I adore that feeling. I drink it in. I bask in the warm glow. It makes feel alive and very, very loved. It’s the best!

Keywords: spanking, spanking pain, spanking marks, spanking aftermath