After a few drinks, you start getting uncharacteristically chatty with the tall, dark stranger in the hoodie who you can barely make out a few seats down in this dimly lit bar. "I mean, I love this man. He's the most supportive, caring, funny, and devoted person I know. It's just . . . he's soooooo strict."

"I mean, we set a bunch of rules together, after a lot of long, deep conversations where we talked about all of my desires and fears and goals, and it was me that asked him to hold me accountable with regular spankings and other punishments. And admittedly, even though the spankings, corner times, and other punishments hurt, and are humiliating, frustrating, challenging, infuriating . . . they make me wet. And they make me feel secure, and listened to, and invested in, and cared for, and desired, and loved. All of those feelings, all at one, in an intense cocktail . . ." You trail off, and stare at the drink in front of you for a moment.

After a little silence, without turning to look at you, the man sips his whiskey and asks, "So are you saying you're getting exactly what you want, or saying there's a problem?" Another sip. "Or is getting exactly what you want a problem?"

You chuckle and rub your temples. "It's just . . . I'm always. Getting. Punished. Almost every day he has some reason to spank me, or put my sore bottom on display by putting me in the corner or telling me I'm staying naked from the waist down until further notice. He catches just about everything, even when I think I'm being sneaky. Or he just asks me if there's anything he should know, and I just crumble and confess immediately." A pause. "But that's exactly what I asked for. I said 'I want you to be suuuuper strict with me, baby, even if I resist. Especially when I resist. And even when I'm on my best behavior, I want you to punish me sometimes just because you feel like it, just to remind me who is in charge.'" Sip. "Heh - he sure takes advantage of that."

"And uuughhh! I don't even want it to change! You said it - it's exactly what I want! And even with the unlimited chances he has to punish me, sometimes I want even more! Sometimes I text him to say 'please punish me tonight, baby, I need it,' and stand naked in the corner until he gets home! This morning, I hadn't done anything wrong, and we were snuggling contentedly on the couch after breakfast, and the need just hit me, and without saying a word, I crawled over his lap and slid my panties down, and just closed my eyes and waited for him to spank me." You shift in your stool and feel the after-effects of that encounter on your sore bottom. "I hate it, and I love it, and I hate that I love it so so so much more than I hate it!" You let out a resigned sigh. "So I guess even though it feels like I can barely stand it sometimes, I want him to keep being strict with me, because deep down that's what I need."

You toss some cash on the bar, and say, "sorry for the TMI - I shouldn't be talking about private stuff like that to strangers. I'm sure I'll tell him all about this little indiscretion when I get home and I'll be angry and embarrassed and aroused and cherished and all the rest all over again. Anyway, thanks for listening."

The figure at the bar turns to face you for the first time, and I smile and say, "anytime, my love."

You put your face in your hands and mutter "even when I think I'm being sneaky . . . ," then smirk at me, hold out your hand, and say, "it looks like you have something to take care of at home, darling."

I smile back, hold your hand in mine, and we walk outside into the night.

If you liked the story, tell me about yourself.