This year, for the first time since I met my wife, I didn’t get a birthday spanking.
She has been working away from home, and even though I visited the week before my birthday, we had neither time nor privacy (the first because I was visiting along with her family, and the second because her room is only marginally partitioned from the other staff rooms).
It’s been hard, because I’ve had a stressful summer, and being spanked is one of the few ways that I’m able to let go of some of the stress. And my birthday spankings are usually very, very good stress relievers.
Last year and the year before, my birthday conveniently fell the day after play parties, so we were able to go somewhere we could make just as much noise as we wanted, without worrying about disturbing the neighbors or my brother. I remember those spankings so clearly—the anticipation, the excitement. By the time midnight—and my actual birthday—rolled around, my bottom was already sore and welted. The official birthday spanking was all the more noticeable because it came on top of a thoroughly warmed bottom. And then we came home and made love for hours. The freedom to stay up late almost makes up for having a birthday in the middle of the hot, sticky, humid summer.
I know she pushes her own boundaries with my birthday spankings. She wasn’t into spankings when we met, and I think she’s still a bit uncomfortable with the idea of spanking me. It’s kind of funny to me, because she has no problem at all with some very dominant behaviors—grabbing my hair, biting my nipples, taking my ass, giving that tug on my belt loop to remind me that I am HERS and hers alone. And oh, how she loves fisting me, loves the power of it, loves the sense of having me entirely under her control, loves that I open myself to her and submit completely to her hand.
But the spanking is more difficult. Perhaps it’s because all of the rest of it is very clearly about sex, and really, only about sex. But there’s that other level to the spankings. She is fine when they are primarily sensual, when she reddens my ass just enough to get it sensitive, and then we have sex, and she can feel exactly how much I like to be spanked. For my birthday, though, she goes beyond that. She spanks hard enough to leave marks. She spanks fast enough that I struggle. If hard spankings were more regular, I would probably ask for the birthday spankings to end earlier. But I hold out as long as I can, trying to save up enough to last until my next birthday.
Four years into our relationship, we are still building trust. She is still struggling to learn that I do know my limits, that I will tell her to slow down if I need her to, tell her to stop, let her know if she is hurting me in a bad way. And I am still struggling to understand for myself what it is that I need, so that I can communicate to her why I crave this and not something less troubling.
So I’m sitting here on my unspanked bottom, hoping and wishing that I will get my birthday spankings when she comes home.