The Spanking

C.R.A.  recalls ...

I'm a dominant male. Call me a Master, Top, Dom, or whatever, I'll deny it, and be lying when I do. The truth is, I am. That role is a part of me, like my hair, or eyes.

I suspect it is tied to my resentment of authority. I HATE for anyone to exercise any authority over me, so I seize power myself. I suspect every true empire builder, is doing exactly the same thing, taking the power, so nobody can else can claim it.

A top can't be a true dominant, unless he has someone who is submissive to him. By the same token, a sub can't submit, unless she has a top to be submissive to. Until they are meshed, they are like single gears, they spin uselessly.

Because I know this from the "top" position, I'll speak from that position. Most tops I know, aren't. They are sad and lonely men, who go to great lengths to find someone who will play at being submissive, but never find the real thing. They never take the risk, or spend the time to let the relationship develop. They never take the time to get to know a submissive, to explore her desires, or the depth and meaning of her gift of submission.

I didn't know what I was. Back in those days, there weren't a lot of books or literature on the subject, and to be honest, it was generally considered a perversion. I knew how I felt, what I was, but had no way to express it. It was a part of me that I hid from everyone else.

Then I met Her.

She loved me, and to this very day, I have no idea what I did to ever have such love. She was beautiful, and if you are kind, I am passable. She had a bright and sunny outlook, and I was as dark and foreboding as my nicknames suggest. She had hopes, plans and ambitions for the future, and I was an old man of twenty-three, already sitting around waiting to die. She was an optomist, convinced this was the best of all possible worlds, and I was a pessimist, convinced she was right.

Almost from the day we moved in together, we fought, and yet no matter what, neither of us could give up and move on. I loved her madly, wanted her, yet I couldn't stand her, and nothing I did pleased her. In all fairness she felt even more miserable than I did.

So, naturally, we got married to make it all better. There should have been a sign over the chapel that day, "Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter IN", because it started out a disaster. We may have been the first couple to have retained divorce lawyers, before we said " I do."

For over a year, we tottered on the edge of divorce. Nothing made any sense, I would do my dead level best, and she would still bitch at me for being irresponsible, for not acting like a man.

I got up every morning, went to work, paid the bills, and we lacked nothing, yet she still called me irresponsible. I kept my impulses under control, holding a very violent temper in check, and she said I wasn't acting like a man.

The truth was, she was right... I was trying to keep our marriage equal, and it wasn't working. Neither of us knew how to say what we wanted, so we screamed we were not getting it, demanded it, and never once said what " It." was.

Until one night.

I had had to work late, trouble shooting a job that was in the Hogan's goat category. Never mind trying to make a profit on it, we had been asked to keep it from bankrupting the company. The superintendent had called me in on it, when he had gotten it dumped in his lap. I had put in ten hours of hard physical work in the heat and humidity, then two more finding just how bad it was, in a meeting with the super and the other foremen and engineers.

After that, all I wanted was food, a couple of beers, a hot shower, and some sleep. I stopped on the way home to eat, (we hadn't eaten together in months) and got a six pack of Bud. I got home, popped a top, and went into the bedroom to get clean underwear for my shower.

My bride was already in the bed, watching the tube, in a mood, and as soon as I walked in, she let me have it, with both barrels. She screamed and bitched about any and everything I was or wasn't. I wasn't in the mood for it so my response was two words, short and obscene.

She threw the clock radio at me. No big deal, she was a thrower, and we always needed new ashtrays, alarm clocks, plates and so forth. But, I wasn't watching and walked into the path of its trajectory. It hit me in the side of the head. That was the day I lost it.

I did not want to hurt her, but I did want to show her I was in complete control of her, any time I wanted to be. I wanted her, just this one time to understand, no matter what she thought of me, I really was a man, and she was no match for me. I put her over my lap, and spanked her bare bottom.

The first thing I will say is, that is a lot easier said than done. Like I said, I did not want to hurt her, just let her know who is boss if it gets physical. She was not at all cooperative, this wasn't some little subby game. She was angry, frightened, and she fought me like a madwoman. Because of my work, I am very strong, and I forced the 5'10" kicking, screaming, writhing, hitting, scratching wildcat across my knee, pulled her gown up, her panties down, and slapped her bare bottom three or four times, hard, then stood up telling her, "If you act like a child, I'll treat you like a child."

I stood up, dumping her onto the floor. She sprawled there and froze in position, all coiled steel and velvet, her fiery glare fixed on me. I looked down at her and I understood the old movie line, " you are beautiful when you're angry." She was in that moment awesome.

Her eyes burned with flames of emotion. Her nostrils flaring with every breath, her lips pursed, bee stung, full of color from the effort of restraining the flood of words that threatened to spill from them. Her hair tousled and wild around her face charged by the power of her passions. Those luscious breasts heaving from her exertions pressed hardened nipples out against the thin nylon nightgown. She was, in that frozen second of time, that turning point in our lives, the most magnificant, most desireable woman/animal I had ever seen in my life. I had to get away or I would do something I knew I would regret. Before she could react I broke free from the moment and walked out of the room.

.

I went to the kitchen, got another beer, and sat down in the dark. All I could think was how I had finally blown it, it was over, and that was that. The image of her in that moment of ultimate beauty burned into my mind forever, I felt a burning desire for her.

I guess about ten minutes passed, I heard her moving around in the back, then padding down the hall. She came into the kitchen where I sat, and all I could think was, "here comes round two." She turned on the light and checked to see if my head was still bleeding. No word was spoken about what had just happened.

Finally I broached the subject, and said, "I am so sorry I did that..."

I never got to finish, she shhh'd me and said, "Its alright, I was way out of line, and probably had it coming."

She turned the lights back out, and we talked a long time. I told her how hard I tried to be sensitive, to treat her as a complete equal. She told me how much she wanted me to be the boss, to be what she pictured in a man. I told her how hard I worked at not putting her in that old fashioned subservient wife role, and she told me how much she wanted it, dreamed of it, longed for it.

Then I told her what I saw when she looked up at me, and how I had to leave or have her right that second. She chuckled, a unique almost musical throaty sound,and told me.She had always wanted to meet a man... who really was a man, to feel helpless as a child in his arms. Suddenly, with her fighting as hard as she could, no Marquis de Queensbury rules, I had simply put her over my knee, spanked her, and she hadn't been able to stop me. There was a whole lot going on in her when she was on the floor, looking up at me.

She told me she had still been angry, she had wanted to jump up and come at me, and had barely been able to control that urge. She told me she was embarrassed, and one reason she did control that urge was the awareness that all it would get her was another spanking, which I had just proven I was strong enough to do it. She told me she felt like a child, helpless against me. I was stronger than she, had more self control, and I hadn't exploded. Instead I had deliberately spanked her, and there had been absolutely nothing she could do to stop me.

Then with another throaty chuckle she told me... she had never been as excited in her life. She had wanted me, in that second, every bit as bad as I had wanted her, and if I had given into my impulse, I would have found a willing, if somewhat maniacal partner.

I'll pull a curtain over the rest of what happened that night, but that is the night I began to claim my woman/child, woman/animal, the indulgent woman who loved a bad little boy side of me. That third woman is for another story.