Punishment therapy

I don't ever want to be the type of person who uses BDSM as therapy, although I know there are inherently therapeutic aspects in this pain-for-pleasure mentality.

But sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be beaten as punishment and as therapy.

I have a lot of self-loathing and guilt issues... will they ever go away?

When I went to T to be spanked for snapping at my mom, I felt dread because I knew it would hurt a lot, and yet I resolved to endure it because I knew it was deserved. And yet in the moment, I wanted desperately for the spanking to stop, for him to slow down, ease up. I almost couldn't take it, even though I wanted to.

The issues I feel most guilty about?

Not treating my mother well. Not helping her enough. Losing my temper with her. Feeling resentment towards my father. Not appreciating everything I have. Feeling irritable with my family. 

I feel like a horrible daughter sometimes. Not just that. For everything. And I want someone to beat the shit out of me for it. 

I can't even really tell what the real underlying reason is. I don't feel worthless like I'm suicidal. I feel worthless sometimes like I need to be punished and made to repent. And knowing what I know about myself, I know that spanking is just one way to deal with those feelings.

But at the same time, I know that spankings give me pleasure, so the purpose is defeated.

Times like these, I kneel and ask myself, or ask God, or ask the universe, how can I punish myself enough to feel good enough? To feel like I can be redeemed again?

Asking for punishment is a practice in indulgence. Punishment is something I crave so that I can feel better about myself. It doesn't change my previous behaviors or actions. In fact, it really doesn't change a thing.

Another intense punishment session? One where the spanker doesn't let up, and he doesn't give in, and I am spanked so hard I pass out? Will that do it? One where I am pushed so way beyond my boundaries in terms of pain that it doesn't bring me an ounce of sexual pleasure?

I've sexualized pain too much. And I've intellectualized it.

I used to cut myself for a variety of reasons, but mostly because of these self-loathing problems. When I was younger, I did it without thinking. As I got older and understood it more, I knew I was doing it because of the release of endorphins. I knew it. I knew it and I would do it in a highly methodical and premeditated way. Because I knew what the outcome would be. So even with the cutting, it was like a pleasurable punishment... and I hate that I know that.

So sometimes I think that the true way for me to feel punished is to be beaten into submission. Not just spanked. I mean, slapped and kicked and punched and yanked and thrown around. Bruised. Scratched. But even that... even THAT exhilarates me. Jesus Christ.

My Poor Swollen Bottom

So last night, T and I meet up and I am so nervous, I barely know what to do with myself. It's not the same nerves as last time, when I didn't know what to expect... if he was a nice guy, a creep, an asshole. But I KNOW he's nice... the nerves came from the fact that it was supposed to be a punishment spanking.

At first, he had me sit down next to him while he talked to me. I kept playing with my hair, brushing it, stroking it, just messing with it.

"Stop playing with your hair," he said. "Put your hands on your knees."

"I'm sorry. I'm just really nervous."

"I know you are. And you should be."

But my hands keep moving to my hair. It's a tic, and I laugh.

"Do you think this is funny?"

"No, it's not. No."

"No, what?"

That becomes a battle all night... the fact that I don't want to say Sir, and the fact that I genuinely forget to say it. 

The punishment is about my snapping at my mother, losing my temper, being in bad moods and taking it out on people.

T starts with a warm-up over the same black yoga pants I wore last time. It's not too bad, but he reminds me that we haven't even begun anything yet.

When he starts with the bamboo brush, he pulls down my pants and gets me on the sit spot and upper thighs repeatedly. I am squirming so badly that he has to pin me down with his leg, and it hasn't even been a few minutes. The sting is incredible, I guess because it's such a small compacted area. But that is absolutely nothing compared to the bathbrush on the bare.

I never cried during this spanking, but it was almost too much for me to take. My panic, the pain, the immobility... it was just so many sensations at once, but T was unrelenting. At some point I let go of all my pride and BEGGED for him to slow down (which he did not), even saying Sir, and all he did was tell me to put both of my hands behind my back. Then he held onto both wrists and I could not move, and he got in about 50 strokes of the bath brush before I actually stood straight up and begged him to stop.

"This is a punishment, do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"It's not supposed to feel good. We're not testing your limits and your likes and dislikes, okay?"

"Yes, Sir."

"It's going to hurt a lot, and that's the point."

And for the last half of the punishment, I was to count 25 strokes, and loudly.

"One, sir. I will not snap at people again."

That, I think, was the worst part. Just the fact that I had the power to dictate the next swing, but still had to say that... I can't even describe the emotions that went along with it. And T was good... he wouldn't smack right after I said the line. He would sometimes linger for a few seconds, and I would have no idea when the swat would land. But sometimes he would smack immediately. It was terrifying. And all 25 strokes were hard, at maximum swing. (He says they weren't, but I don't believe him.) 

In the middle, I messed up my line a few times... I couldn't even breathe or speak straight. I was whimpering, and I forgot to say Sir, and I forgot the numbers. T said that he would repeat anytime I spoke too quietly or incorrectly. I believe it happened twice. And the second time, I yelled at him, completely losing my temper, and kicked him: "THAT IS SO NOT FAIR. THAT COUNTS!" Which I paid for at the end of the 25 strokes, with another 25 all in a row.

In the end, he had me sit on his leg and say that I would never act that way again, or it would be even worse. I can't even fathom how much worse it could be without my actual death occurring in the process. 

My bottom is totally swollen... with a huge bruise on my right sit spot. It's just the kind of sting I "wanted"... I'm wearing a short dress and my skin sticks to the leather seat I have at work, and I have to constantly readjust because it just hurts too much. But peeling my skin off the leather is a sting in itself. There is no escape from this pain. 

I'm trying to think. We met at 8:45 and left around 9:45. Which means I had been spanked straight for about an hour. Maybe about 10 minutes of rest. Goddamn. 

Real Punishment

I talked to T about making our next meeting a "real punishment," and of course, he wasn't opposed to it.
"What do you think you need to be punished about? You're definitely a lot sassier than I expected."
"I'm not sassy. I'm so sweet, what are you talking about?"

I told him that I have issues controlling my temper. This is not a lie. I don't think that I am perfect, but my biggest, worst flaw is my irritability, my temper, my inability to quell feelings of annoyance.
"Yeah, I can tell."
"What do you mean?"
"Even in your first spanking, when it started hurting for real, you raised your voice at me. You have a tone."
"Well, I didn't even know. If I did that, I didn't mean to."
"I know you didn't mean to. But I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end if you did mean to."

I tell him I don't direct it at people I don't know. I direct it at people I love, the people I'm closest to.
"And how do you think that makes them feel?"
"I'm sure they feel like shit. But I feel bad about it too."
"It sounds like you need to grow up and learn how to control your emotions."

That part drives a tiny sting into me. A sting of real annoyance.
"Don't tell me to grow up," I say. "I AM grown up. It's just this one thing."
"And if we were talking in person, you would be over my knee right now for snapping at me like that."
"Like what??"
"'Don't tell me to grow up'? You don't talk to me like that."
I soften him up with some light-hearted humor, but am secretly scared that he could detect that tinge of irritability so easily. And I'm glad we aren't talking in person.

I had told him about my new purchases and he said that for next time, he was going to make me regret ever wanting to be punished, ever snapping at anyone in my whole life. I made him tell me what he was going to do because otherwise I would be anxious every day until we met. He wouldn't tell me everything, but he did say he would take down my panties this time (I made him swear he wouldn't the first meeting), warm up with his hand a little, and alternate using the hairbrush and the bath brush.

"Believe me, you're not sitting down for a week."
"I already couldn't sit down for a week from the last time."
"Then you aren't going to be able to sit down for 2 weeks."

On one hand, I am thrilled and so excited. I can't say that my first spanking wasn't painful. There were  moments when I thought that I absolutely couldn't stand it, especially when he was using the hairbrush. But it was a good pain, a thrilling pain. So I'm excited to try something even more intense.

On the other, I'm actually genuinely scared. I've never been spanked with a bath brush before. I've tried a couple times on myself, and it definitely has a heavy sting, but I've never done more than a couple smacks in a row either. T is a nice guy and we joke around A LOT. I don't know if I'll be ready to handle a stern and strict T. He's much stronger than me, and I know I won't be able to twist my way out if it gets too bad. It's equally thrilling and terrifying. And I kind of love it.