Spanked by my Boyfriend

“Go get the wooden spoon, place it on the dresser, get undressed, and lie facedown in the bed,” I heard my boyfriend’s instructions as I stared at his chest, too ashamed to look into his eyes. Seeing my lack of movement, he firmly pushed me towards the door. I dragged my feet as I walked into the kitchen, my gaze settling on the long thick wooden spoon that lay on the counter waiting for me. Taking wobbly breaths, tears blurred my vision as I grabbed it and made my way back to my room.

A well timed spank to your significant other’s ass can be particularly sexy. A turn-on, foreplay, or just harmless teasing. For some couples, spanking can be a fun way to spice up their sex life or incorporate dominant/submission elements to the bedroom for more kinky play. When it comes to spanking, to each its own; so long as it’s consensual.

I was twenty-one, recovering from my first heartbreak, and discovering my sexuality. The summer had recently come to an end and I was getting ready to start my junior year of college. As the semester started and the night scene of pregames, parties, and red solo cups commenced, I decided to deviate from the norm. Earlier in the year I had gotten into my first college relationship, and after 6 months of breaking up and getting back together — ultimately it ended.

In the wake of my new freedom, I decided “college guys” weren’t my taste and I needed to venture older. Someone with a stable job, maturity, and finetuned communication skills. It was naive of me to assume just because someone was older that they would have these attributes, but I did. In search of my older and sophisticated new love I turned to what most young college-aged women rely on: Tinder.

He was twenty-six, a recent college graduate with both his bachelors and masters degrees, as well as full-time job. Conventionally attractive, extremely fit, well dressed. And better yet, he superliked me. Instantly after swiping right and matching, he messaged me with a witty opener. He told me I was everything he was looking for and openly expressed his attraction for me. Very quickly we exchanged phone numbers, and after texting for two weeks we were sitting down face to face in a Panera Bread at our first date.

He played all his cards right.

He paid for everything, held open doors, complimented my appearance, openly expressed his interest, asked questions about me and my life. He remembered the small things, laughed at my jokes, and seemed to love the things I was self conscious aboout. He was direct, straightforward, and honest about what he wanted: a woman to love and take care of. He didn’t kiss me until the end of our second date and we didn’t have sex until the third. The first time we had sex he seemed impatient — at the time, I thought it was passion. He ripped my clothes off, threw me down on the bed, kept making comments about my body, and took control of me in a way no man had before.

One night after a month of dating, he showed up unexpectedly at my job to pick me up. He was drunk and rambling about his ex-girlfriend, his number one enemy. Told me she was crazy and that I should never ever talk to her. Then he asked me to be his girlfriend. I hesitated and asked him if he thought we were rushing things. He became upset and said he was sure of his feelings for me, so why wasn’t I. In that month he constantly showered me with affection, attention, and adoration. I didn’t want him to feel rejected but I couldn’t deny the nagging feeling that everything was happening so quickly. Truthfully, I cared for him deeply and never had I developed such strong emotions so quickly.

So I said yes.

At first the spankings were just flirty, teasing, and foreplay. We’d play wrestle in his room and he’d force me across his lap and spank me playfully. We’d both be laughing as I struggled against him, giggling trying to squirm away. I expressed enjoying being spanked during sex so he made sure to spank me in the throes of passion. However, he began to spank me for other reasons then to make me laugh or turn me on. I’d say a sarcastic comment and find myself receiving an immediate and hard slap to my bottom over my clothes. Singular, but shocking. I’d laugh nervously unsure of how to react and just brushed it off as he’d make a joke about it. He wasn’t angry and surely he wasn’t actually trying to hurt me…right?

One night about two months into our relationship he presented me with a gold necklace that had the first letter of his first name dangling from it. He gave me a grand speech about what a huge milestone in our relationship this was; what a proclamation of love this was. He promised to take care of me, to respect me, to be with me forever. The necklace was a symbol of our love — and my dedication to him. If I agreed to accept his necklace I was agreeing to him having full authority over me. I was agreeing to belong to him, love him, trust him, and be with him forever. If I denied to wear it, we would break up immediately. The choice was mine and of course I accepted. It had to be worn 24/7 and if I ever removed the necklace, he would break up with me.

Immediately after I began wearing the necklace things began to change. With it came rules, and with rules came punishments. I could not address him by anything other than Daddy, I had to always be sexually available to pleasure him, I could not speak to any other man in my life, I was not allowed to orgasm without explicit permision, and I must remain in a positive mood to not sour his. I could no longer view myself as an individual, and instead I belonged to him. I had to ask for permission for everything. Everyday was a new rule and another opportunity to make a mistake. Up until this point we were equals, there were no punishments, and I was encouraged to have my own opinions. It was a big change and a difficult adjustment for me to make.

The normal punishment was a quick spanking. At first it was on a 3-strike basis. After three verbal warnings, accompanied by a disapproving look, meant a short but firm spanking over my clothes. Quickly it was every time a mistake was made. We’d be hanging out in his room making jokes and playing around. He’d ask me a question and I’d say, “Yes,” instead of “Yes Daddy,”. Before I could correct myself, I’d be bent over something. His lap, the bed, a table; whatever was close and convenient. Very soon, there was not a single day that passed that I wasn’t spanked for something.

He always made me feel guilty whenever he spanked me. He would become visibly upset and call me a “bad girl”. He claimed he didn’t like spanking me, that it hurt him to hurt me. After every spanking he would plead for me to “just be good”. Why couldn’t I just be good? Why was it so difficult for me to remember all his rules? Why was I such a disappointment? I was the reason and cause for all the disagreements in our relationship. I loved him so much, surely if I could just be good then everything would better…right?

As our relationship progressed, so did the punishments. Face slapping, orgasm denial, and rape were common. He didn’t care where we were, I had to be obedient at all times to his satisfaction. He didn’t only spank me in the privacy of his place. If we were hanging with friends, he’d take me to the bathroom. If we were out in public, he’d take me to the car. If we were driving, he’d pull over. He loaded on more expectations, more rules, more things that were unacceptable. In return he “took care of me”. He fully and completely supported me financially. Paid all my bills, kept my wallet loaded with cash, took me on frequent shopping sprees. He cooked for me, bought me gifts, helped me with my homework . He showed me off to his friends, couldn’t stand a day without me, and couldn’t sleep at night unless I was there. He applied to teach at my University and began looking at apartments near my own. He said I belonged to him and it was his responsibility to care for me.

The day I received my first severe punishment, as he called it, was a day I’ll never forget. I had just failed an exam, I was taking an intense winter class, and overworked at my job. We had gotten into an argument over text and according to him I had crossed every line, disrespected him, and didn’t take our relationship seriously. He said it was unfair of me to take my frustration out on him when he had been nothing but exceptionally good to me, despite my struggles with obeying all his rules. He lectured me thoroughly, and by the end I felt horrible, so ashamed that I had hurt him — that I had made him feel so disrespected and unloved. I felt deserving of the punishment and I’d do anything to feel his love again.

He showed up at my apartment with a bag full of my favorite snacks, to be enjoyed after I was punished. My stomach was in knots and I could barely look him in his eyes; which only gleamed with disappointment. He made me wait home all day for him, alone and writing 250 lines of the same apologetic sentence: “I will never disrespect my Daddy again,”. I presented him with my lines, and he made me take a picture of it and set it as my phone lockscreen. I had to keep it for the next two weeks; as a constant reminder.

I wanted to be punished because I wanted to be forgiven. I wanted him to embrace me, kiss me, make jokes with me. Instead he was cold, stern, and angry.

“Go get the wooden spoon, place it on the dresser, get undressed, and lie facedown in the bed,”

Naked, shaking, and facedown; I was clutching onto the stuffed turtle he had given me early on in our relationship. I could hear him moving around the room, my anxiety and anticipation rising with each passing second. Up until that point, I had never been spanked with anything other than his bare hand. I could feel his weight pressing down as he climbed onto the bed. The hair on back of my neck stood straight up as I heard the spoon being picked up off the dresser.

“I am going to spank you 10 times with the wooden spoon then an additional 55 with my hand. I’m also going to slap you in the face 10 times and have extremely forceful sex with you. I will not stop until I feel that you are truly sorry for what you’ve done. Cry as loud as you want, scream as loud as you want, but don’t stop apologizing for what you’ve done and speak clearly. If I have to ask you to speak up, I will hit you again. Do you understand?”. His voice was dark and serious. I cleared my throat, lifted my head off the pillow, and responded — “Yes Daddy,”.

“Count,” he instructed me before delivering the first whack. I yelled out sharply, never experiencing a sensation like that before; but quickly counted out one. He used his full strength and after each hit he gave me a few seconds to writhe around before ordering me to get back into position. Each strike stung like fire, causing me to involuntarily scream out after every one. After the 10 wooden spanks, he continued with his hand. I counted along, in between sobs and tried my best not to mess up, knowing that would only prompt him to start over. Once the spanking was over, my hands instinctively flew back in an attempt to grab onto and soothe my scorching ass. He slapped my hands away and yelled at me not to touch. He began raping me, with aggression, degradation, and more spanking. Slapping me across the face, calling me anything from slut, whore, and bitch. Telling me it was my fault, that I was disrespectful, I had crossed the line, I put him in the horrible position of having to deal with my brattiness. As I was instructed to do earlier, I begged and apologized profusely. Asked for his forgiveness, swore to never disrespect him again, acknowledged my wrong. And finally, after what felt like a lifetime — it was over.

He held me as I weeped, smoothed my hair, kissed my forehead, and rubbed my ass. He told me everything was forgiven and forgotten, cleaned me up, wrapped me in a robe, and snuggled with me on the couch while we watched my favorite show. I felt oddly clingy and dependent, I needed him now more than ever. So relieved it was over, so happy he was loving me again. So sorry I had pushed him so far.

He told me if I ever disrespected him again, he would tie me down and make that punishment seem like fun.

After that night, he kept the wooden spoon in his possession at all times; as a threat to keep me in line. I wish I could say it was the last time he used it on me, but it was only the first. He continued to find reasons to spank me daily and I had gotten so used to it, I didn’t even bat an eye. I slowly began to resent him, spending more time bent over than upright. I found out my behavior didn’t matter, I tried my best to please him and it was never good enough. There was always a mistake, a missed expectation, a disappointment. I was raped more than not, up to four times a day; every day. I was spanked if I couldn’t orgasm. I was spanked if I orgasmed too soon. I was spanked if I was in a bad mood. I was spanked if I had too much homework to do, taking away time from him. I was even spanked if I had done nothing wrong, he said it was to keep me in line and for future mistakes.

Where did everything go so wrong? How did I go from sharing a first kiss under the moonlight filled with butterflies, to feeling as if my value was determined by my “holes”. To normalizing physical, sexual, emotional, and mental abuse. Calling myself his property and blaming myself for every punishment I received. I planned to marry him, start a family with him, and live happily ever after. If only I could get it right, follow all his rules, keep him happy, not be a screw-up. I was the reason we weren’t working, or so I told myself. I just wanted him to love as he did in the beginning, so passionate and so intense. My self worth had plummeted, my confidence shot, everyday was an argument.

How did I realize he didn’t love me? How did I recognize his true narcissistic and abusive behaviors? How did I get away from a man who had conditioned me to believe I couldn’t live without him? Well, this is the story of how I was spanked by my boyfriend.

And the story of how I got away is for another time…

I just want to thank everyone in advance for taking the time to read my story and my heart sincerely goes out to anyone who can relate to any aspect of my experience.

L.S