In Praise of Hand Spanking

So, I'm sort of into spanking. Ok, scratch that. I'm thoroughly addicted to spanking. I love to be spanked. I read spanking books and write spanking books and happily bare my ass to my husband with ridiculous frequency. He hauls me over his lap at least once a day, and I quite honestly do not tire of it. Ever. And because we usually need to be quiet and don't always have the entire house to ourselves, I'm often spanked with a quiet implement.

Quiet implements are not really very fun. Have you ever heard of anyone waxing eloquent on the joys of a caning, or a switching? I suppose it's possible, but even a diehard spanko like me doesn't find them to be the best of the spanking options. Now, for a girl who likes and even needs to be spanked, the quieter things are certainly worthwhile. I would rather be spanked with a quiet implement than not spanked at all, so the quieter things stay.

A while ago my husband pulled out an implement and I sort of frowned and sighed and he said, “I know, baby. You like being spanked with my hand. And some day, when we have this whole house to ourselves, that's all I'll ever use.”

 I'm holding him to that.

What is it about a hand spanking? Ah. It's intimate. So intimate. There's something about that skin-to-skin contact that is deeply, immensely satisfying. It leaves a sting and burn that literally no other implement leaves. As a diehard spanko married to a man who loves to spank, I've savored the feel of many different implements – the sting of a wooden paddle, the swish and thud of the quieter switchy things, the zing and sensual smack of leather...but there is literally nothing that feels like the hand.

I've heard many question a hand spanking, questioning whether it's effective? Hell yeah, a hand spanking can hurt. There are certain techniques for delivering a hand spanking that are effective, and my husband knows all of them. I can't really say I know what he does except that even a few swats with his hand can take my breath away. Hell, a hand spanking delivered hard enough can even welt. A few months ago, we saw something on Facebook and there was a woman with a perfect impression of a handprint on her ass. My man spent weeks perfecting his technique until he was able to deliver a good, hard smack that results in the perfect red handprint left on my ass. Heh heh. Lucky me.

He's given me over-the-knee hand spankings that I've felt literally all day long, and some I've even still felt the next day. Hand spankings are not wimpy. They can be very, very effective (especially – gah! If delivered in the same spot repeatedly...).

You see, one of the things that draws me to spanking to begin with is the intimacy factor. It's just the two of us, alone, and there's vulnerability in placing myself over his knee. I've been laid over the bed and paddled, and stood against a wall and strapped, bent over the arm of a couch and spanked, or made to touch my toes and switched. And all of the above is satisfying in some way because, as I may have mentioned once or ten times, I'm a diehard spanko.

But nothing is like an over-the-knee hand spanking. When my belly touches his lap, I sigh. He bares me and I tremble. He often places his large, warm hand on my naked skin and talks to me before he spanks me. Depending on the nature of the spanking, what he says varies, but that intimate prelude to a spanking is utterly humbling, sexy, and moving. That first swat and my skin burns, the warmth spreads, and the feel reaches to my core. Every single time he's done spanking me, no matter what he's used, he ends with a thorough massage with his hand. It seals the session, and makes me feel loved and cared for, bringing home that intimacy as he murmurs things like, “That's my good girl,” or, “I love you, baby.”

The other night we returned home from vacation and I craved stress relief. He was happy to oblige, and when the whole house was asleep but us, he had me lock our bedroom door and fetch the acrylic rod, his “go to” because it's quiet, effective, and very easy to regulate. But he didn't just use that. He alternated, several rounds with his hand until my skin was aflame, as I lay prostrate over his lap in bed, vulnerable, in desperate need of releasing my pent-up emotions and stress, and with his hand he laid me bare. I sniffled and wept and just let it all out. I was not sad, or sorry, but needed a good, cleansing cry, and the whole experience was beautifully cathartic. Centering. When he was done, he pulled me off his lap and held me, then tucked me in. I slept like a baby.

I like all manners and flavors of spankings, but in my humble opinion, simply nothing beats the classic.