The history of Rachel the Wise’s in her own words. Reality, fantasy or just philosophy…?
I have reached the grand old age of 38 and I now realise that I need spanking. I want spanking and it is a power for good in the universe. I don’t say I like spanking, but without it my life would be less. Spanking is my Zen.
Now I know it is sexual thing, but it goes beyond that and once I realised that I was not constrained by the views of others, I felt liberated.
I did not discover spanking in a real sense until I was about 20. I think in those days I was a bit of a brat and gave just about everybody who knew me hell.
I was in my last year at university when I went with a boyfriend to meet his family. I don’t think they liked me too much and they certainly must have heard the arguments. I admit now, and for the record, that I was the unreasonable one.
With hindsight I think I just wanted my boyfriend to stand up to me, maybe even deep in my psyche I wanted to be spanked. Is that possible? Could I have wanted that before I had even thought or heard about such things?
We all went out. Me, my boyfriend, his older brother and some of the kids they used to hang with. I say kids, because although I was the youngest, I know now that’s what we were.
We went out on motorbikes to a roadside hang out, mostly for tea and coffee, but some of them drifted off to the woods to smoke something illegal. I had just had a blazing row (again) with the boyfriend and he had gone with them leaving me with his brother.
“You are such an evil little shit, you know that,” he told me.
I let him have it too; or tried to.
“Do you know what?” he said, “What you really need is a bloody good spanking.”
A bell went off in my head (well maybe). Something happened anyway. We just looked at each other and I blushed because some of the people at the snack stand must have heard him.
Then he took me by the arm and led me (only half resisting) into the woods and sat down on a fallen tree trunk. The spanking came in short hard blasts to the seat of my cut-off jeans and I was determined not to yell. I didn’t make it.
Then I just called out over and over that I was sorry. And I was.
He might have said, “Not as sorry as you think.” Or something like that.
My shorts came down then and he spanked my bare bottom until I was a surrendered heap. I didn’t cry until afterwards.
It didn’t happen again and I soon parted company with the boyfriend, but the die, as they say, was cast.
A few months later I bigged it up with a biker in a pub; I had a thing for bikers then (and since) following my encounter.
“Go away little girl,” he said, “I blister bottoms of little brats like you.”
I dared him.
That night I was naked face down on a bed with a pillow under my hips while biker man quite literally blistered my bottom with a heavy leather belt until I begged. That night I learned all about fellatio and buggery. (Not necessarily in that order).
I was hooked on him for a while and he taught me so much. I once spilled coffee on his bike and he made me lick it off in front of his mates. Then he spanked me so that they could watch. Abusive? Maybe. But although I hated it, I also totally dug it in those days and who am I kidding, part of me would totally dig it now if I am honest.
Somehow I kept one foot in reality and I got a job in London and drifted away from him. That’s where I learned that sex and spanking is complicated and not necessarily about the sex.
I had a landlady who lived in the flat downstairs. I don’t know how she sussed me. But one night after a drink she went all maternal and I ended up getting a bare bottom spanking over her knee with a hairbrush. It hurt and I bawled like a kid well before she was done.
That was the first time I was put in the corner. I had never felt so humble.
For three years she was a kind of mentor for me. I was like a daughter in a strict household. If I came in late, saw a boy she didn’t like or crossed her in any way I was grounded, spanked and put in the corner. She even introduced me to the cane which I genuinely feared.
Sometimes she even kept me naked below the waist when I was grounded so that some of her friends (and mine) saw me. Bare-bottom corner time while a gay man and two middle-aged women played bridge with my landlady is an experience. And it happened more than once.
At 27 I met Mark.
He was party to some of my humiliation of those days, but had the wisdom to see that I needed it.
The first time he spanked me I knew I was in love and within a year I moved in with him and found other corners to stand in.
For the last 10 years we have explored every form of bottom-centric punishment there is and it is always most satisfying when he finds a method I hate and genuinely fear. It makes me better behaved if at times unable to sit down.
Our close friends know and one or two of them even split on me sometimes (for my own good). And although we are mostly private I have been in the corner with friends present and I still die from embarrassment as I should.
I composed this while in the corner for two hours. I am still grounded and later I will be spanked.
How do I feel? Nervous, (there are butterflies), but know that I am happy. Get over it. Although, hopefully I never will.
