Why have I allowed myself to be here? Because allow it I did. And I can withdraw that consent at any time. Well, any time I'm not in this position. What position you ask? Well, ass up over a hard lap.
"Are you through melting?" He asks from above me.
"I wasn't melting! I was TRYING to TALK to you!" Even my own ears protest the loudness.
"I guess not," he says and slams his hand down again. And again. And again.
Why? Why am I just lying here taking this? Well, not just lying. I squirm a bit. And clench some. And try to angle away. But I don't really try to get away.
Why? I've a Master's degree. I've responsibilities that I meet. I'm well thought of in my profession. I'm not incapable, nor am I incompetent. I pay my bills on time. I can eat healthy without a reminder. I know when I'm tired and when I should go to bed.
"Are you ready to talk about this? Reasonably?" He asks.
It's his voice that does me in. He's not angry. He's not disappointed. He's gentle and concerned.
"Yes," I sniffle out.
Curling up beside him, propped on one hip so I don't put undo pressure on the fleshy part of my ass that he's heated up, I talk. I tell him of my hurt. The words that were thoughtlessly thrown my way by someone. Words that shouldn't have hurt but did.
"You're allowed to feel what you feel. But. You don't hide your emotions from me. Especially in a melt down," he says, love and sternness in his voice. His arm is wrapped around me. We continue to talk late into the night. The words purge the hurt and exhaustion takes over.
As I drift to sleep in his arms, the answer comes to me. Why do I allow him to spank me? The answer is simple: this. This feeling of contentment. This feeling of warmth that spreads up from my ass to my heart. This understanding he has of how I act and react. And the understanding that comes with no judgement. Why can I never remember that when I'm in that position? I'll figure it out later. For now, I'm content.