That One Time I Spanked Myself With A Hair Brush

This is a guest post of a readers experience with spanking. 

Introduction

I’ve been seeing a spanko, that’s someone with a spanking fetish, for a few months now, and when he first told me he was into spanking, I wasn’t sure what he meant. He asked me when the last time I had a proper spanking was, and I threw out a number for him. Spanking during sex? Well it had been a while. But I didn’t mind a few swats at my butt during sex. It was fun.

He asked if I knew what a proper spanking was, and I asked for a definition, “Not just a few smacks on your bottom during sex… A proper spanking means me sending you to your room, then coming in, putting you over my knee, yanking your pants down, and turning your bottom bright red like a naughty little girl deserves… ;)” I distinctly remember not being sure how I felt about that. I had been expecting a more brutal, BDSM-esque scene in my head. Paddles, whips, dungeon, the works.

But this… this was so, juvenile. He wanted to discipline me like I was a child, and it caught
me off guard. I told him I had never received a proper spanking, and he suggested that I was well overdue for one and asked me if I agreed. I told him perhaps. I wasn’t sure how I’d react mentally to it, but I was incredibly curious, and I wanted to experience it. I had just gotten out of a boring vanilla relationship, and here was a dashing young man, holding a hand out to me, re- welcoming me to the world of kink. I decided that I would give it an honest try at some point to see how I’d like it. I figured that if I enjoyed the minimal spankings during sex, I would probably enjoy a disciplinary spanking. That was my logic anyway.

The first time we ever sexted, he asked me if I owned a hair brush, and asked me spank myself with it. I, of course, didn’t. I was sitting in my jeans sexting back sexy words, pretending to be
a virtual vixen. Later, he asked me if I honestly spanked myself. I said no, because I felt a little silly.

That was just the start of things. We talked more about spanking. I began to research it more, listen to podcasts, and read literature on it. I wanted to find out all I could about spanking so that when I finally got mine I wouldn’t be a complete newb, although that is inevitable.

The first time I went to see him, he gave me 30 spankings for missing my bedtime. And it was exhilarating. I had to count each and every single one out loud for him. It was just after I said “thirty” that I knew that I wanted him to really spank me. The next few times I saw him, he spanked me again. But they were on the lighter side. None really hurt, none made me squirm. They were still fun and exciting, and exciting more so because I knew this was his fetish. I still wanted a proper spanking.

I would eventually get my lengthy spanking from him, but not without giving it to myself first.

The Spanking

I’d been trying to come up with interesting photos to take for him. The distance, even though it isn’t far, made it an event to go see him, so visual feasts were a requirement.

I was sitting at my desk, feet up, flipping through my phone, looking at the old photos I had taken for him before. Bum photos, mostly. He was an ass man. He loved bums, and he loved spanking them. I clicked my tongue, and stared at my desk. I could try searching how to take a sexy selfie, or look up inspiration, but I always found myself frustrated. These were only sexy because the women were paid to look good and were airbrushed to shit so any angle looked great.

It was then when I sighed, took out my hair tie, shook my hair out and grabbed a hairbrush. I sat up staring at it asking myself out loud why I hadn’t thought of this before. Phone in one hand, hairbrush in the other. Lightning struck and thunder sounded.

I nearly ran to my dresser, picked out a pair of black lace panties, a black and white skirt, and a white button up shirt. This was as close to school girl as I was going to get. I painted on some cat eye eyeliner, applied mascara and finished off the look with bright red lipstick.

I set up my phone so that it would take many photos at 1 per second. I pranced around a little bit first. Took photos of my bum in a skirt, the usually silly stuff. And then I grabbed the hair brush and took photos of myself with it, holding it against a butt cheek, swatting lightly at my bottom. I hit myself once, and hard, to see if it’d leave a mark of any sort. It kind of did. I took a photo and it didn’t show up as well as I wanted. So I spanked myself again, on the left cheek.

I kept going until it registered on the camera as a rosy pink colour. I could enhance it a little if I needed.

After goofing around a bit, I finally managed to get some photos I was happy with, from nice angles, and a variety of degree of dress. I picked out the ones I liked best and cropped them to frame the scene the way I wanted. I had changed into a comfy dress, taken most of the makeup off, and put my hair up in a bun. My work here was finished.

Just when I had a set of about 10 that I was happy with, my phone chimed. “What are you up to Miss?” he asked. His ears must have been burning.

“Naughty things.” I responded. I quickly changed the topic and asked how his night was.
He prodded at me to elaborate on “naughty things” a few times and I played coy until I sent him a photo of my unspanked bottom, thanking cycling for helping me build a better butt. He commented that my bum looked “oh-so-spankable”.

Perfect. Exactly what I wanted to read from him.

“Oh you think so do you?” I asked, and I sent another photo, this time one where I had a red mark on my left cheek. “Care to do the other side?” He told me he was speechless and couldn’t tell me how much he enjoyed that sight. I was pleased with his response. I had expected conversation to continue back along the non-sexual side, but the door had been opened.

When he began to ask questions, and I knew I had piqued his interest. Did you do it hard? Were you flinching by the end of it? I bet you didn’t have to spank yourself for long before your bum turned red.

He said that he had such a desire to drive up right away and spank me. Which was also perfect. I had just the photo for that. I sent him one where the pink mark was fading into my alabaster skin. He suggested it needed a renewed hue and then asked if I was alone.

I responded in the affirmative, my roommate was out. He asked if I agreed that it needed a renewed hue, and when I said, “Yes” he told me we would take advantage of the solitude.

“Go to your room if you are not already there. Pull your desk chair out and face the back of it.” “Ok.”
“Ok? Respond properly Miss.”
“Yes, Sir.” I typed back.

“Thank you. Place your hairbrush in the chair. Take a pillow from your bed and place it over the back of the chair.” I took a photo of the set up and sent it to him. “Perfect. Now, I want you to bend over the chair as far as you can… I want you to be double over as much as possible, bottom in the air”

I wasn’t actually planning on bending over my chair. It was too flimsy to support me. I paced slowly around my bedroom, still wearing the small dress that I had changed into after my mini photoshoot. Phone in one hand, hairbrush in the other. He asked me what my level of clothing was, and I told him. He instructed me to roll my dress up until butt was exposed and then run my fingers lightly over the skin. Squeeze firmly, lift and then let fall back into place.

I was still pacing slowly around my room, anticipating what he was going to ask me to do next and debating whether or not I was actually going to do it. He had asked me to spank myself before on skype, with just my hand, and I felt absolutely ridiculous. I looked around my room, clicked my tongue a few times and kept checking the text messages that were streaming in.

I eyed up my dresser, measured the height of my hips against it.

Hmmmm. I leaned over it.

A good height to rest on. I checked his last text. “Are you ready for your spanking, Miss?” he asked. I put the phone down in front of me, rolled up my dress and did exactly as he had told me a few messages before. Just to test the waters, and see how silly I felt. It wasn’t so bad, and it was just me alone in my room, so what would I have to be embarrassed of?

I grabbed my phone and typed back “Ready when you are, Sir.”

“Quite ready. I want you to begin by giving yourself 30 fast and solid snacks… Alternating cheeks”

I bit my lip in hesitation when I read that text. I glanced at the hair brush resting in front of me and back to the text on my phone screen. Part of me really wanted to do it but part of me was judging myself, at how silly this would look if someone walked in (a zero percent chance). I internally hum’ed and haw’ed, debating if I really was going to do this.

I went back up the message log and looked at the second photo I sent him, and his reaction to it. I wanted to please him, I wanted to experience an even more intense reaction to my spanking myself from him. It was then when most of my inhibition disappeared. I finally just thought, “Fuck it. I’m going all out. I’m sending him pictures, I’m sending him audio. Let’s do this. If he’s into it, what have I got to lose?”

I opened up an audio recording app on my phone, picked up the hairbrush, hit record and went to town for ten strikes. I stopped the recording at ten, and then gave myself twenty more. I stood up for a second, noting the sensation and my emotions. I felt… naughty? And pleased with myself that I had sucked it up. I was overcome with a sense of pride, and then, I was overcome with a sense of “How far can I take this?” What were my limits and limitations? It seemed to me that the best way for me to test my pain tolerance for spanking was on my own, and I had the perfect setup for that at the moment.

I sent him the ten second clip of my first ten spankings. He wasn’t expecting it, but he was pleased with the sounds. “Thirty more please. Harder.” I put the phone down and did as I was told. I struck my butt cheeks thirty more times as requested, harder and with no audio this time. When I finished, I let him know. He asked me how my bottom felt. Warm, tingling. “When you are ready, we will continue.” I told him I was fine.

“I want you to give yourself 12 with the brush. Record the audio, please.” I smiled. I was pleased to know he enjoyed the audio. I put my phone down in front of me, still leaning over the dresser, pressed record and hit each cheek forcefully with the brush. Each time I made contact, my skin would scream. I sent him the audio and eagerly awaited a response. It came quickly, “Very good, young lady. 12 more.” I whacked each cheek 6 times and then notified him when I was finished. “Put the brush down. And now, quickly, thirty more.” I felt a wave of confusion and embarrassment rush over me.

“With my hand?” I asked.

“Yes, please.”

Heating up

I bit my lip. What was it about my hand that seemed so much more ridiculous than the hair brush? Why was I so much more embarrassed using my hand? I wondered if I could just do it with the hairbrush and lie to him. It was still a spanking, right? I decided that I would do my best to ignore the humility and use my hand. If he ever found out, though it was doubtful he ever would, I would probably be in trouble. I lifted my hand up, looked at my palm and thought of his large hands. I rather these were his.

I scowled and began to count to thirty. The hits were not nearly as hard, even though I tried, especially when I was trying to hit the left cheek with my right hand. I told him when I was finished and thought to myself that if he had the ability to hear my voice or see my face I’d be in trouble. I definitely would have used a sour tone, with a facial expression to match. He instructed me to run my fingers along my bottom and then to rub it. I did as I was told, only because I really wanted to see how the skin felt against my hands.

“It’s warm.”

“As it should be,” he responded. “You’re going to get 30 more with the brush and you will be finished. We’ll do 2 increments of 15. For the first set, I want them rapid and sharp… Rest for
a moment, then record the last 15. I want them harder than all the previous ones. Do them as hard as you think I would do them… Keep in mind, if I don’t think you are trying, you will receive 30 more, are we clear?”

“Yes, sir. Crystal,” I typed back to him.

“Thank you. Begin please.”

I put the phone down in front of me, picked up the hairbrush and stared at it for a moment, contemplating the events thus far. My behind was tingling and warm and so far the pain was nothing I couldn’t endure. Compared to blowing my knee out twice, and the various injuries I had received from martial arts, this was nothing. A different kind of pain though. Sharper, intense, short lived surface pain, compared to the deep, enduring, sickening pain I was sadly more familiar with. But I was beginning to like this new kind of pain. It was easy (maybe too easy) to tie pleasure to it. And knowing that he was on the other end of my phone, probably beyond excited, filled me with an intense desire to please him. Just knowing he was turned on, turned me on.

I spun the brush in my hand, leaned forward, reached back and began to count to fifteen in my head. When I had completed that, I wasted no time opening up the recording app and getting
to work on the next fifteen. I knew that I was allowed a break, but I wanted my bum as red as possible. I recalled him saying to perform them as hard as I thought he would, and I did. I played the audio back to myself before sending it to him, and it sounded a little more brutal than what actually happened. I shrugged and sent it to him anyway. If he thought it sounded hard enough, I wouldn’t have to do them again.

I waited for his response, hoping for praise. But all he said was, “Go over to your bed and lie flat on your stomach, please” I stood up straight, staring at the screen, slightly outraged. I scowled, and huffed before flopping down on the bed. Another behaviour that probably would have earned me 30 more, had he been there. I propped the phone up on my nightstand so I could still read his incoming messages. While I waited, I focused my attention on my glutes. The skin almost felt like an electric current was coursing through.

“Hands behind your back. Normally, this is how your Sir would fuck you after your spanking… Bottom glowing, hands behind your back. Lay there for a moment and savor the feeling of your warm, rosy bottom. Breathe deeply and keep your bottom relaxed. After you show your Sir what a well-spanked bottom looks like, you may play if you’d like.”

Reflection

I laid there for a minute, rereading his messages. I pondered what I had just done to myself. I replayed the events in my head in quick succession, and thought about how I felt about the pain. I liked pretty much all of it, and the spectrum of emotions I felt. My butt felt stimulated, I enjoyed being told what to do to myself, I liked that he got off on it, I liked that I felt kind of naughty, and I liked the pain I felt each time that hairbrush made contact with my behind. I wondered briefly to myself if he would spank me this hard, or harder if I asked him.

I was glad that I had decided to actually spanked myself, now that he was requesting photographic evidence of it. My bum was very warm, and I figured I had better take some pictures of it before the hue disappeared. Although, I had a feeling that wouldn’t happen for a while.

I snapped a lot and sent him the best three. That’s when the praise occurred. And a lot of it. He asked me if I enjoyed my glowing red bottom and how I felt. I told him I enjoyed myself, but would prefer for him to spank me instead. He agreed. We exchanged a few raunchy texts post spanking, and I told him how much I enjoyed the entire scenario.

“I love that you had such a positive reaction to your spanking” his words read. “You and me both.”

Do you have experiences with spanking or spankos? Leave it in the comment box below! 

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5 Comments

  1. I often times will crossdress and enjoy spanking myself with a ruler(those cheapos 12 inch ones we all bought for school). I kneel over my bed and imagine my woman is doing it to me. I usually do this when I’m away from her,it’s more for myself,I don’t tell her. I find it arousing more mentally than physically.

  2. There is nothing like a good old fashion spanking to kindle my sex drive. I find it to be a huge turn on. I enjoy re-creating childhood spankings that I didn’t like at all. But now, it’s a completely different experience and I enjoy it. But that was not always the case.

    My mother used the hairbrush when she spanked me as a kid. It was usually for disobedience or poor behavior. She usually took down my pants and underpants, or else gave me a bed time spanking after taking me out of the bath tub.

    I hated those spankings back then. I remember being in my room after a spanking, still crying, and wishing that the hairbrush had never been invented. LOL

    But like I said, now it’s a completely different experience!

  3. When I was younger, I was really bad, and a brat to my mother. One time I was making faces at my sister, and my mother. She pulled down my pants and underpants, and started at spank me OTK. I remember being very upset, and begging her to stop. Now my sister spanks me just for fun, but it still hurts.

  4. First of all, I really enjoyed this post. I love that you have become so open with some of your personal sexual exploring. I know a woman who has a fetish for spanking and she wants it even at times without sex. She just enjoys the spanking, although much of her enjoyment is sexual. I sometimes like to be spanked while I masturbate, lying on my stomach with a pillow stuffed under my hips to create a slot to slide into. I imagine I am masturbating in front of someone I shouldn’t be and I deserve the spanking. It creates an interesting ying yang of pleasure and pain and can draw out my edging.

  5. By the time I was six, I’d become fascinated by naughty children being put over the lap of adult authority for bare bottom spankings. Whenever I saw “SPANKING” on the cover of a parenting magazine, I was instantly spellbound. My mother and my oldest sister were my childhood disciplinarians, but while they occasionally threatened to warm my bottom for me, I was always punished instead by the withdrawal of their affection.

    It’s not that I necessarily craved the shame and the pain of a good, sound, bare bottom spanking, but just the thought of it laid claim to my young imagination. And the fact that I wasn’t ever being subjected to pants-down over-the-knee correction left the door wide open for spanking to become my forbidden fruit. Perhaps not all that surprisingly, by the age of 13, I’d begun secretly paddling and strapping my round, jiggly, bare backside, most often in my parents’ bedroom where mirrors could be arranged to give me a perfect view of the proceedings.

    When I was 14, my mother privately confronted me one day with a certain paperback I’d forgotten in the bathroom (“Spanking and the Single Girl” if memory serves). To my face, she asked me if I felt I’d “missed out by never getting a bare bottom spanking.” It’s worth mentioning that she already knew the honest answer, having previously found evidence on paper of my fixation with parental bottom warming. At any rate, I melted in a puddle of teenage shame, and rather than being taken over to the living room couch for the spanking we both knew I needed, I was simply told to “stop being silly.”

    I continued spanking myself all through my teens and twenties, up until age 28 when the girl I married gave me my very first over-the-knee, bare bottom spanking. I’d been in tears when I confessed my submissive desire to her. Playful paddlings across her lap became a regular feature of our foreplay. Nevertheless, when she abandoned me 13 years later, she cited spanking as one of her reasons.

    I subsequently spent more than $4000.00 on the services of professional female dominants, wanting nothing more than to be traditionally treated like a naughty boy in need of a well-spanked bottom. The fact of the matter is that spanking became my religion, and the female lap was my place of worship. As was bound to happen, age and circumstances eventually caught up with me, but my bottom (not unlike two water-filled balloons) can still take a good, hard paddling, and I can still provide it.

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