Did you know that there is a such thing as a spanking class?  Well, I didn’t, but now I do.

Not like I don’t have enough to do or to worry about these days, but I can also say that I am in need of distraction.  What can be more distracting than a class on spanking?

As a measure of its popularity, there were a good thirty people in attendance.  Happily, by a show of hands, there were roughly as many tops and bottoms in the room.  The protocol was to notice who was who, and then approach in a polite fashion if you were so inclined.

It wasn’t just about spanking, as we each had been encouraged to bring along our favourite implement, and this then morphed into a bit of show, “feel” and tell, with the feel part being getting struck by or striking with the toy in question.

We discussed etiquette, techniques, that sort of thing.  It was an eclectic crowd.  

My fascination with canes and caning began when my Queen demonstrated their use on a sub and stated that “these deliver the most precise and serious pain of all.”  I’ve been thinking about them ever since.  One participant had brought an entire satchel of canes, of different weights, thicknesses, lengths, and materials.  Perhaps 50 in all.  I pumped them for information, and then proceeded to try them all on myself whilst engaging in witty repartee with a fellow afficionado.

A woman, spanking her boyfriend, flirted mercilessly with me as she kept him in suspense as to her strikes and strokes while she batted her eyelids at me and said suggestive things.

It was all good fun.

Just a few days later, I found myself at a party, not a play party, just a party, and I saw that someone there was a bit of a Shibari expert.  She was tying up a sub in a very competent and erotic manner.  I spoke with her briefly and she was super sweet and suggested I find myself a willing and permanent sub like hers, and pointed out some “house” rope hanging from the wall.  I took it down.

I was standing with three lengths of it, which is all I need for a basic suspension and chest harness and wondering how I might get to use it.  I scanned the room for someone to ask.  Just then a woman walked by.  She wore lingerie as outerwear.  She was gorgeous and fresh from a modelling gig.

“Are you gonna just stand there with that rope?” she asked.

“I was thinking of tying someone up,” I demurred.

“Were you now?”

“Yes.  Is that something you like?”

“Yes.  Yes it is.”

“Would you like me to tie you?”

“Yes, I would.”

“Let’s make you comfortable,” I said indicating a futon on the floor and some cushions.

“I’d like to lie down,” she said.

“I’d like you to kneel,” I said, “hands behind your back.”  I asked her about her body, things I should be aware of.  Any injuries.  Told her of the importance of telling me about the sensation in her hands, any tingling, etc.  We figured out which arm to start with, and began.  I had her trussed up in no time, and placed my hand on the back of her neck, wrapped my legs around her, and moved her around, spun her, and manipulated her body.  

“I like that,” she said.

“Does that feel nice?”

“Yes, it feels wonderful,” she said.  “Feel free to work your magic.  I feel very safe with you.  Let’s play.”  I brought her legs in tight and used the harness rope that I could have been hauling up to the ceiling with to trace and scratch her skin.  She had closed her eyes and sank back into my body.  She was nuzzling my neck as I caressed her legs.  People began to watch.

Just then a person, a they, who I hadn’t noticed, walked up and in a slightly injured tone, said in their baritone, “I thought we were going to play together,” to the woman in my arms.  She opened her eyes.

“Oh baby,” she said, “I’m sorry.  I should have asked beforehand.  I didn’t get your consent.”  What followed was her attempt to make them feel uncuckolded by this trans woman—you can take the pronouns out of the man but you can’t take out the thin skin, fragile ego.

“Would you like to join us?” I asked, “I can get more rope.”

“Yeah baby, let’s get tied together,” my charge said.  They remained expressionless.  In the end, they were uncomfortable playing in front of so many people…or rather, expressing their hurt feelings in front of so many people.  We moved to the other room and she asked if I would spank her.  She had seen I brought a strap, and wanted me to use it on her.

I have written about my refusal to hit a woman.  But what if a woman insists she is not a woman, that she is a “they”?  Does that make a difference?  What if she says she feels that she is neither male nor female?  Then what?

Her they was a domme.  She asked if they wanted to domme her.  They said ‘yes’, but was only just coming around to being into it, as they still seemed upset.  She asked if I would co-domme with her they.  I said, “yes, I would be happy to,” but they said they didn’t want to do that unless they knew me better.  They asked my pronouns and I had the distinct impression that they didn’t like it when I said “she/her”.  I decided to untie her.  I didn’t like the idea of someone else being responsible for my knot work.  I did.

She then asked me to spank her, not to mark her, but to play with new toy on her.  I did.  Breaking a prohibition.  It was only a very half-hearted attempt as they made me uncomfortable…I spanked her a bit with the strip, caressed a bit, but I could tell they were just getting uncomfortable with my playing with ‘their’ sub.  I bowed out.

There were some people watching, a genderfluid male-bodied individual and a they-woman.  I asked if either of them wanted a spanking.

“I do,” she said.

“Well all right then,” I said, “come over to this bench with me.”  They kissed goodbye and she came over to me.  I sat down and placed a cushion over my lap.

“Do you like dirty talk?” I asked, “have you been a bad girl?”

“Words are distracting,” she said, “I just prefer a good clean spanking.”

“Sounds good,” and I patted the cushion over my knees.

“Shouldn’t I take my clothes off?”

“Yes, you should.”  And then she was bare-ass naked over my lap.

“Sensuous mixed with spanks, please,” she said.

“Good, yes, please tell me.”

“I will, I’m very particular.”

“Good.  I am obedient, I am a slave, I am here for your pleasure, and will do as you ask.”  She smiled at that.

And I gave her a good spanking.  She gave me lots of tips on how to spank her.  Where, how hard, with what techniques, with what tempo, when to stop, when to smack and when to thud.  It turned into a regular lesson and then she asked me to let it rip.

“That’s good,” she said, “good enough to stop with.”  And so I stopped.  And she got up, rubbed her bottom, and pulled up her panties and her skirt.  

“May I sit in your lap?” she asked.

“Yes, of course,” I said.  And then I held her as she curled up in a little ball on my lap and sank into me and I rocked gently.  We stayed like that for quite a while.

After, we talked.  

“I’m a sex worker,” she said.

“I’d like to be one,” I said.

“I’ll help you,” she said.  For the next hour she gave me some great advice.  She also told me about her service offering.  It is one that I would enjoy.  Who knows, but female bodied me would enjoy her company.

As it happened the other woman I had tied and spanked was also a sex worker.  I found the experience quite beautiful.  I was surprised that I felt okay with the spankings, but there was something very different about them than what I do to men.

They were much more sensual.  They were much less about impact and much more about cuddling and aftercare.  But most importantly, they were both fully in charge in both situations—as if to say when someone is scratching your back, “a little lower…oh…to the left…oh…that’s it…oh…that’s it…harder…oh, now a little higher…oh.”  Do you know what I mean.  It didn’t feel like impact play anymore, but rather a kind of sensual dance.

What else am I learning? I don’t want to submit to anyone anymore. Well. Almost anyone. There is one.

Life’s good with just two days to go until surgery!