Worshipping post-erior - weathering the storm

I had a horrible week last week. Just horrible. I could very easily look back on it with the kind of urgency as if i were fleeing the scene of a frightening accident. I was battered, wounded, torn from the inside out. I'd accumulated so much negative energy, i walked around with a somber cumulonimbus thunderhead hanging over my head, the storm front waiting to burst, just edging along my forehead. I needed a release.

I came home and found the darkest corner, and just sat. I didn't turn on any lights. I wanted to see if the total shadow would relieve me, help me disappear a little, distance myself from the events of the week. My girl came home, and the sound of her heels clicking on the tile shattered the silence surrounding me, but even this lovely song couldn't rouse me from my sullenness. She sensed my composition immediately and came into my bureau. She knew a little about how horribly my week had been, and embraced me, stroked my cheek and just held onto me. She asked me if there was anything she could do. I looked into her eyes, and she knew immediately. Without any words, she got up from my lap, walked to our bedroom, stood at the foot of the bed and arranged herself as expected.

I needed this.

I collected one of my wooden canes, a small pelt of white rabbit fur from my shelf, and walked myself to our boudoir. There she was standing. She'd pulled her skirt up and taken her panties off. Her magnificent buttocks hung in the air supported by her angled back like the truss wires of a bridge. I walked behind her, gliding my hand over the flesh of her backside. Not a single muscle in her moved. She could sense how much enmity i had inside, and i could tell that she was a bit apprehensive about what lay ahead for her. But i never turned it on her, she wasn't the cause, nor the victim, but the outlet. I held up the cane in the air in front of her face, she opened her mouth, and clamped down on it, putting her lips between the wood and her teeth. She has learned that i do not want indentations in my equipment.

I swatted her right ass cheek with my hand, snapping a loud pop into the air. I peppered her other cheek with short quick slaps, moving down her thigh, over the round shape of her butt, in between her legs. I started building a cadence that i could slowly begin to channel some of this energy through, finding the pulse in my head and pushing it out with each impact. I listened to her breathing. I watched the muscles beneath her flesh tense, and knew when to stop, take a step back, let her exhale.

I enjoy paying attention to her breathing, reminding her to in fact breathe (because she has the tendency to not remember). I'll put a hand on her back and simply say:

"Breathe."

And she'll resume the function that helps deliver her to a very small, safe place. I grabbed the rabbit pelt, and ran the soft milky fur over her thighs, circling around the back of her knees. This helps as well. It soothes her, pulls her out of her real world self of bumping into strangers, loud city noises, navigating sidewalks, and sitting at a desk. By now, her skin on her ass was glowing pink, but also radiating a nice heat from the friction of my spanking.

I put the pelt down, and resumed swatting her. Harder, closer together. I sped up my rhythm, bringing heavier blow after heavier blow down onto her cheeks. Without realizing it, i've snapped. I'm in a completely different world. This world consists of energy, and specific postures, and correction. I felt a connection to her, one i'd needed all week long. Each time i told her to stick her ass out, this connection grew stronger. Every time i pulled back my hand and she winced, this action reinforced the connection.

I alternated between swats and caresses with the fur. These are not mechanical, clinical reactions. I wasn't suddenly counting the minutes i spent on each. Everything was fluid. My mind divined that an ebb must arrive, i turned to the fur. Then, i felt a flood, i slapped my flesh against her flesh. Her backside screamed with a fiery redness that emanated.

I brought myself close to her, kissing her neck, breathing softly into her ear. I held out my hand beneath her chin, and she dropped the cane from her mouth into it. I tapped it on her left cheek. She yelped. She doesn't like the cane. But this was the particular instrument i needed to draft out a response to the week's events. I patiently held the cane horizontally stretching across both cheeks.

"Ass out."

I pulled the cane back and stung her with a slice that gave her right buttock the worst of the blow. I paused. She pulled a groan that emanated from the point of impact, all the way up through her insides and out of her mouth. She shivered, and stomped a few times on her feet. I reviewed the mark, comparing the result to the force behind it. I gave her three more trial marks, finding my touch once again. I asked her for a number. She does not know how hard each stroke will be, she can only give me a number that i will then use to allocate stripes across her ass.

"10"

"Let's make it 12."

By the end of it all, my last actions will find me carefully rubbing her skin with the supple rabbit fur, holding her, praising her for several minutes. I thank her for the release, the ability to express what i held inside. I look at this scenario as one unique from the typical regimental spankings that i use as correction and reinforcement of her place. In this one, i've taken this malicious battering i received in the week, transformed the energy and from it forged a stronger fellowship with my girl. Something beautiful has emerged.