February Photofest 2018 Masturbation Monday Mental Health

My Perspective: A Wank and a Spank

John Brownstone's hand across Kayla Lords ass after her wank and then spanking

A hurricane raged in my head.

Unspoken anxiety popped and fizzed under my skin like electrical lines torn apart by wind. All my plans for the day fell like trees as gale force worry battered away.

I couldn’t catch my breath, focus on a thought, or ground myself.

The eye of the storm was small. A dimly lit beacon of rational thought.

“You have to get yourself out of this. Find a way to snap out of it!”

It came to me – a good wank, masturbation, orgasms.

Come towel across the bed. Pants off. Vibrator at the ready.

I picked one of my stronger toys because quick, rip-roaring orgasms seemed like a good plan. Get it done quick and easy.

Instead the power hurt. My skin tingled with worry, even in the center of my body. If I placed the vibrator just…so….it almost felt good. Pleasure creeped up my legs, trickling like molasses instead of lightning. The only storm in my body was my head.

But then, here it came, here I came, yessssssss! I squeaked and whimpered. Not big, not gushy, but a release.

Now that the first passed, the second arrived faster. I screeched, heels digging into the bed. In the dim distance, I heard doors opening and shutting. John Brownstone was in from whatever he’d been doing.

The third orgasm wiped him from my mind as I screamed a release tangled with pleasure and pain. I vaguely heard a door creak.

I squawked when warm hands touched my cunt. My eyes flew open.

“Keep going, babygirl.”

I’m not sure I could have stopped even if I wanted to. With his fingers pressed against my g-spot, stretching my body, pulling at me, I pushed the vibrator against my clit. Where did one pleasure stop and the next begin? I don’t know. His hands and my toy worked in concert to drag a muscle-clenching orgasm from my body.

The release brought tears to my eyes. One leaked out but stopped short of falling.

That’s what I need.

As he placed a cream-covered finger against my tongue, silently bidding me to taste myself, I had a new plan.

Tears.

He withdrew, leaving me to my wank. Not yet understanding the storm raging in my head. I hoped forcing another orgasm might do the trick, but no.

I heard a door shut in the background as I tossed the vibrator to the side. No more coming with that thing. In the aftermath, it turned prickly painful. Nothing that could get me off.

Think, think, think. You need a cry. That’s it. An emotional release. 

A spanking!

Fuck, that would mean I’d have to ask for it. Forming words felt impossible. My anxious brain said I didn’t have time, shouldn’t ask, didn’t deserve…

The eye of the storm passed over again. A moment of clarity.

Just ask. Tell him.

I pulled on pants and went to find John Brownstone, the only man who can make me cry good tears. We bumped into each other as he walked back inside the house from the garage.

“Is everything okay, babygirl?”

I vibrated with tension.

“Could I have a spanking, please?” Part plea, part demand, I choked it out past gritted teeth and downcast eyes.

Afraid to be a bother, of potential rejection, I wished he could simply read my mind and give me what I needed. I really hate asking for this.

An anxious brain is a lying brain. Why did I fear something that made his eyes light up so quickly?

“Yes! Of course! Absolutely!” He was practically giddy.

And then his voice changed.

“Get in that bedroom and strip. Now.”

Goddamn, there it was. The force I needed. Orders and commands. No thinking, no questioning, just doing.

When I didn’t move fast enough to pull off my clothes, I heard, “I said strip. Don’t make me repeat myself again.”

In sassier times, I might. Right now, relief at the lack of control made me move faster. Naked now, I stood in front of our bed, unsure.

“Wait there.”

I watched him arrange pillows and climb into bed. I saw him slide a paddle under the pillow.

“This calls for an old-fashioned, over-the-knee spanking, babygirl. Climb up.”

“Which side?” In the midst of the mental storm, I needed every step controlled.

He patted my side of the bed. “I’m right-handed, babygirl. There’s only one side this works.”

Oh yeah. 

I could have fallen into another trough of mental name calling at my own idiocy but by then, his thighs were pressed firmly against my torso, and I was in another place completely.

His lap is an oasis in any storm. Warm hands skimmed my back. He cupped my ass, squeezing and stroking, as if testing its weight and heft.

Make it hurt, make it hurt, makeithurt, makeithurt.

The first crack came down like lightning. White heat spread across my body.

His hands moved back and forth, finding a pace. I squeaked. My toes curled. I winced, and then I lost track of time and space.

“Give me a color, girl.”

Uhhhhh…color? What’s a color?

“Greeny, yellowy, I don’t know but please don’t stop.”

He brought out the paddle, and I tensed up. It would hurt. It always hurts.

Like the pro that he is, he began light and easy before picking up the pace, moving the paddle from one side of my ass to the other. I arched my back, cried out, whimpered, struggled.

He stopped and soothed my fiery bottom with his hand.

Switching from paddle to bare hands, he landed brutal blow after brutal blow across my flesh.

I sighed with pleasure.

Each pounding release spread through my soul, widening the eye of the storm just a little more. Even as my brain melted into a light subspace goo, I knew there would be no tears. But there might be clarity of thought, just a little.

Later, he held me in his arms, stroking my hair, giving me a quiet space to exist. I didn’t cry, and neither the wank nor the spanking fixed my anxiety like I wanted. But the storm was held at bay for a while, offshore, terrorizing parts of my brain I didn’t need right then.  It would have to be enough.

Kayla Lords ass after a wank and a spank from John Brownstone

Welcome to Masturbation Monday! For once, I can share actual wanking. But because I’m in the middle of February Photofest (hosted by Molly Moore), I’ve also got pictures to go with it. Fun, right?! If you want more smutty goodness, you know where to go. But if sexy, sensual, or erotic images make your toes curl with pleasure, click the lips. Hell, do both, and really make this the best damn day of the week!

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About the author

Kayla Lords

I am an erotic author, sex blogger, podcaster, freelance writer, an opinionated marketer, and speaker. You can find me online sharing my innermost sexual thoughts and experiences, teaching other bloggers how to make money writing about sex, and helping kinksters have healthy BDSM relationships. I'm also a masochistic babygirl submissive with an amazing and sadistic Daddy Dom and business partner, John Brownstone. Welcome to my kinky corner of the internet!

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