The Spankee’s Paradox
- Sweet Tea
- 3 hours ago
- 3 min read

“Do you want me to spank you?”
Oh yes, friend, please do. It’s my favorite thing. Here’s my butt: 🍑
But also no. No! Stay back, you brute. That is far too scandalous. Don’t you dare…
Wait, don’t go! I didn’t mean it. Changed my mind again. Here’s the peach: 🍑
It’s a complicated question at times. Many of us who like getting our butts smacked by friends and lovers must contend with a catch-22: we crave spankings when they’re not happening, but struggle to handle them once they begin. As it turns out, spankings fuckin’ hurt no matter how much we like them or how many we experience.
Leading up to a session, we may fantasize for weeks about being held down and suffering through agonizing pain. We may buzz with arousal, excited for the moment when control is finally wrested from our grasp. We may even put on our brat hats and taunt our spankers with vigor, daring them to show us what they’re made of.
Eventually though (if we’re lucky), shit gets real. Suddenly, we’re over a knee receiving our smacky comeuppance and there’s no going back. In those moments, the consequences of our choices become inescapable.
“Ow. Ow! HEY! What on earth?! Stop doing that thing I asked you to do!”
This cognitive dissonance of “I want it but I don’t” can be unexpectedly crunchy. A spankee must learn to ride the line between fun and frustration. I, for one, am genuinely rather pissed off about the whole thing for the first minute or two. Fuck submission. I will fight ye, pirate.
But then, as my partner keeps spanking, ignoring my protests and overpowering me completely, I start remembering why I love it so much. The pain dulls out, I begin to relax, my worries evaporate, and life gets softer. The jagged edges of my mind round out like stones made smooth by the force of rushing water. My spirit enters that warm, gooey pool of the ethereal dimension where peace resides. The cracks within my soul are filled. There is nothing to do. Nothing to strive for. What started as a struggle becomes a snuggly affair.
It is crucial to play with spankers who know how to push without going too far. Someone who can read a spankee’s reactions and deliver intensity without crossing hard boundaries. Someone who’s not afraid to “make” people like me endure levels of pain we may not want in the moment, but need—spiritually, sexually, and psychologically.
We spankees must communicate our feelings to create safety around these aims, of course. Decide on safewords and whatnot with our partners, just in case. We must help them understand when our “no” means “yes” and our “stop” means “more.”
But one of the best aspects of playing with other spankos, in my experience, is that these details require less explanation. Many with the fetish possess an inherent awareness of the line we seek to ride between too much and too little.
That is where the itch is scratched.
That uncomfortable place where deep comfort is found.
That gray area where we find the door to the realm of still, perfect serenity.
Our haven where we can let go and be real.
Once this itch is scratched, order is brought to the chaos of our internal worlds… for a time.
But a spanking fetish is never permanently sated.
Without fail,
Like clockwork,
The craving soon returns.
And we must do it again.