My Self-Spanking Experiment
Friends, I have an ABC News Special Report (without the ABC News part).
I always thought self-spanking sounded weird and figured I’d hate it. I knew other people liked it and felt no judgment toward them. In fact, I secretly envied them from afar, wishing I could enjoy it too. I couldn’t bring myself to try it though, as I figured I’d feel foolish and pictured myself pausing every three seconds to say, “Why am I doing this?” Would it be lame? Or even worse, would it make me feel lonely and desperate for the partnered experience? I didn’t want to find out…
…until yesterday, when finding out happened.
Last week was a somewhat shitty one and the stress finally caught up with me. I was lying on my floor on my stomach in a tepid pool of “meh,” brainstorming ways to boost my dopamine. Exercise? “Meh. My back hurts.” Smoke some pot? “Meh. Too boring.” Masturbate? “Mmmmmmaaayyyyyybe?” But that’s not what my heart truly desired.
Spanking came to mind and I started touching my own ass, feeling its jiggly squish. I love my butt. If that makes me a narcissist, so be it. It’s exquisite and fantastic and has always begged for attention, including my own. The universe wants it this way.
How could anyone hate on this cake?
My horniness switch flipped on and I yearned for that beloved sting I’ve been missing lately. Perhaps self-spanking wouldn’t feel as strange as I’d imagined. Time to find out once and for all.
Hands alone wouldn’t do, though. A weapon would be needed. I giggled all the way to my closet, giddy to fetch my favorite paddle.
Wood in hand, I returned to my spot on the floor and reached back with the paddle to smack my butt over my yoga pants. “Oh!” Really, it was quite nice. It always is. Don’t know why I was surprised. The positioning was fine too. Not awkward or cumbersome like I thought it would be.
The pants didn’t stay on long though. They had to go.
My spanksturbation sesh lasted about 15 minutes. Now that this experiment has been completed in the name of science, my conclusions regarding self-spanking are as follows.
Original mission accomplished. I finished in a better mood than when I started.
The whole thing made me immensely horny. My vibrator joined the afterparty.
‘Me, Myself, and I time’ is a self-love celebration. My confidence is fortified.
The sensation of the spanky sting was tasty as ever.
There were points when I felt silly, but not in a bad way. It made me laugh with glee. I’m a weirdo. We know this. It’s fine.
Having complete control over the experience was new to me. I was able to take my time and focus on the exact areas I wanted to spank, smack them just as hard as I wished, and repeat on the same spots at my own discretion. Quite indulgent in that hot French "ooh la-la!" way, I must say.
Self-spanking requires more energy than being spanked by someone else. I could not relax into it or zone out on the headspace, which is something I thoroughly enjoy.
The ‘loss of control’ element was obviously not there, and that part is tons of fun with a partner. There was no one there to hold me down and push me that delicious smidgen or two past my comfort zone.
It did not feel as ‘spiritually cleansing’ as getting spanked by a partner often does. Fun and happy vibes, sure, but no intense waves of catharsis.
No intimacy with another lovely human, which tends to be my favorite thing about all this spanking stuff.
No one was there to call me good or bad or admonish me for my dastardly, sinful ways.
No mushy-gushy external aftercare. No one was there to rub my stinging butt but me (although that was pretty fun too).
So there you have it, folks. This concludes my Special Report. I did not dig self-spanking as much as the collaborative version of the act, but it was enjoyable in its own unique way. Someday, when I'm craving another boost in happy brain drugs, I will do it again.
Happy Hump Day!