A first post, always a horrible thing to write. I suppose this is where I'm supposed to try to make myself sound fascinating and charm the world, or something like that. Rarely an easy thing to do so instead I'm going to write about my first spanking, the one which probably catalysed my subsequent descent into becoming a bit of a deviant. And more surprisingly a submissive.
Looking back there were definitely warning signs. The somewhat bizarre hobbies that saw me whacking and getting whacked with thick rattan sticks (yes, there is a sport involving that), that I preferred sports with a distinctive masochistic streak, preferably coupled with sadistic instructors. A fledgling sex life that had seen me doing it outside, inside with the lights on and once kneeling on the floor whilst the poor boy attempted to write an essay. It was probably only a matter of time before someone recognised the need to take me in hand.
That someone was a boyfriend in my final year of university. I didn't pursue him, he chased me, I remember a friend asking me 'who that was' once when he stopped to flirt with me in town and shrugging as I didn't have a clue. In the end I consented to a date, he took me somewhere nice and then shocked me by choosing a wine from the menu without even asking me, not the second to cheapest either. I wasn't sure whether to be outraged or impressed but actually thought it was very sexy, he clearly knew what he wanted.
What he wanted, it turned out was me. To my friends' surprise we started going out (in those days I wasn't really the commitment type) and pretty soon were having a lot of sex. And doing all the cute clichéd stuff like going for picnics, to the movies or for late dinners after we'd both finished training. It was one of those evenings that it happened, he had the misfortune to be doing a somewhat comic PhD and I used to tease him mercilessly about it. We were lounging on the grass enjoying the last of the sun and I pushed it an inch too far, he rolled over and smacked my bottom hard.
"When we get home I'm giving you a good spanking."
"But you can't, I'm the athletics club captain."
Suffice to say he could, and did. Apparently that my argument consisted of why he couldn't spank me as opposed to threats to call the police or claims that he was a pervert convinced him he'd get away with it. We finished the picnic and wandered back to his flat, where we went into his bedroom, he sat on the bed and beckoned me over his lap. I insisted that he couldn't, he told me to shut up and bizarrely instead of slapping him or storming out I ended up over his lap.
Thirty seconds later my knickers were around my knees as he proceeded to give me exactly what he'd threatened earlier on - a good spanking. I was utterly mortified, even though it didn't really hurt and proceeded to exhort exactly why he couldn't do what he was doing. He pushed my head into the covers; I stopped whining and about a minute later he stopped. It hadn't hurt that much but psychologically was a big step for both of us. Then I remember him laughing wickedly as he pushed me onto my back and felt between my legs and pretending to be outraged ceased to be an option.
Afterwards I felt quite confused. I was strong and independent so why had I liked it, or even allowed him to spank me? Thankfully I had the courage to step away from the rules of the sexual status quo and explore, though not the wisdom to learn when to avoid pushing my luck...I'm actually thankful for that too.
So there you go, my first spanking. No whips, no canes, no chains, no tears; all of that was still to come. But a rather beautiful beginning :)