MatureEbonyPru38F

My history with spanking, flogging or whipping goes back several decades. I was a frighteningly tender age when I found myself oddly affected by a whipping scene in a pirate movie. It may have been a woman restrained to a whipping post, who'd had the back of her dress ripped to expose a back that was soon criss-crossed by the efforts of her flogger. Although for me, the delectable fascination was not with the mess being made of her never again to be flawless back, nor the dumb waste of a perfectly good dress.

I was "oddly affected" by scenes of men being whipped also. It was a combination of the acoustics of the whip connecting with the back, the futility of their situation as dictated by their restraints, their moans and cries, and the eery silence of the spectators. Unlike a public beheading or a hanging, they weren't jeering. You'd even see the odd licking of lips. Directors of such whipping scenes were rubbing 24 carat erotica in the faces of the masses in a way that bypassed slumbering film censors.

I had enough presence of mind not to show any more than a casual interest in these whipping scenes. In those days, it was one black and white TV per household, the screen dimensions of a weetabix box. No time-shift or freeze frame technology to replay the best moments later. I'd sit there trying to look disinterested. Strange how one has that natural born instinct for hiding erotica.

But it would be many years, decades, before I found myself suggesting to a partner to spank me in the bedroom. His reaction, and the reaction of the next person I suggested it to, were enough to put the faint of heart of asking again.

I soon discovered where the critical mass of people interested in spanking resided, with the advent of the good old internet. But that was enough for me. I wasn't making a life-style change. Spanking, for me, is like a rarely used condiment in the darkest recesses of a kitchen shelf. You remember it on occasion and it adds the required kick to a culinary creation. But to use it every day would be to numb the taste buds towards its virtues.

A client recently wrote to me, after the most recent of our sessions, apologising that he hadn't followed up a casual remark on spanking with the actual act. It was something like this, he commenting on how my bottom was just asking for a spanking. Me joking back by asking, "Is that a promise?" No more, no less.

Until he brought it up by way of an apology, I had forgotten about the exchange. I'd certainly not lost any sleep over him not following through with action. So I was astounded that he felt he had to apologise.

Like I said, spanking is like that condiment that only retains its allure if brought out in the right place at the right time. Spanking shouldn't happen just because there is a bottom pro-offered but because the chemistry between the two players is right.

I can seldom agree over the phone to a spanking because the intended spanker may turn up and be a George Bush look-alike with the personality to match, therefore implausible to me as a dominant spanker, regardless of how much monetary incentive was driving each stroke! George Bush was always more credible as a clown than as a president, in my opinion.

For Obama, I would bend over and hoist up my skirt quicker than he could blink, and that is nothing to do with him being black. He just has that compelling "je ne sais quois" that would make me implore "Spank harder, good Sir!" At the time that I discovered my love for anal sex, I was in a long distance relationship with a guy who lives in the US.

After we started dating, I realised his interest in submission was more than occasional. This was more than I'd bargained for and I often felt like I was playing a role that I would normally switch on and off. It was exhausting.

And that's why I get pissed off with so called subs that try to top from the bottom, with fawning but carefully constructed suggestions of what should be done to them. It's always all about them. Something I'm okay with commercially, in hourly bites, but would not wish to be burdened with in real life, 24/7.

The next time my fella was in the UK, I told him excitedly about my discovery of anal sex and the fact that I loved it. I shall never forget the look in his eyes - it was a paradox of blank perplexity. As a woman on the receiving end of anal sex, I was demolishing his self-constructed ideal of a domme. I, on the other hand, had not sought to be his domme, neither would I want to be any one's domme in a relationship. I wouldn't want to be a sub either. But being submissive is a little less like hard work than being dominant.

For the remainder of my fella's stay, anal sex never came up, not for discussion and not as an option. We just did not talk about it. It was the bootylicious elephant under the 14.5 tog duvet cover. Shame, cos he had a nice thick cock, perfect for anal sex. Conventional *whispers - boring* vaginal sex continued to be the auto-pilot default activity as with most relationships. Not too frequently, as, thankfully, his gratification lay elsewhere, he being submissive. My anal needs continued to be satisfied by clients in my job as an escort.

I look back (I called time on the relationship not long after, but not just because of the lack of anal sex) and realise that there was no way anal sex could have taken place between us. It was in-congruent with whatever "chemistry" we had. He could not sodomize a woman he had placed on a pedestal while I was seeking the most graceful way to slide off this pedestal of which I had become resentful. Even if he had tried to initiate anal sex with me, I would have felt awkward to the point of the sphincter spasms of analgismus.

In life, there are things like anal sex, and spanking, which shouldn't just happen for happening sake as the result would be an epic fail!