The day started off great, but at one point, we disagreed about something involving one of our children, and the ensuing debate (he called it an argument) got a little heated. He left the room in a huff after raising his voice at me.
Once he calmed down, we descended to the basement to the Spank Room. The paddle came out. The lecture consisted of him retelling how it came that he yelled, his apology for raising his voice, his view that I was not listening but rather over-talking him, and that since this was not going to be a part of our relationship, a spanking must happen.
The pants went down.
The underwear went down.
My belly went down so that I was leaning over a storage bench.
Once in position, the warm up started. The warm up HURT. Once the real spanking started, it was a little unbearable. I started sobbing. Begging. Turning. Crying some more. Begging some more. Turning some more. When it was all said and done, I got a few extras for not staying still.
When I got up, and he brought me to his arms, I continued crying. I couldn't stop. A "release" (for lack of a better word) occurred, and the tears flowed. First time ever during a spanking.
It was cleansing.