Why should the religious have all the fun? This is how we church. Part 2: We don’t pray like they pray

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Prayer is simply an action taken to develop a bond with an object of worship.

That’s exactly what our prayer session of Church is. A delicious combination of us worshiping each other and the dynamic we have built together. Spanking fulfills both of those requirements, beautifully.

I find spanking to be a very intimate activity. Exposing myself in a vulnerable position, the receiving of pain inflicted by another person, and the self examination it has required of me, there are a lot of personal layers.

It not only allows me to check out of the noise in my head, like nothing else ever has, but it forces me to be present and focus on the current sensations and my breathing. Focusing on my breath keeps my intrusive thoughts at bay. I know that he will be paying attention and be proud of me for breathing correctly and that’s a large part of the appeal for me.

I happen to love pleasing my partner, the act of being a good girl, is something I live for and strive to achieve every single day. It’s important to me.

Spanking satisfies my submissive, masochistic desires quite nicely, but it also helps me build positive connections. To feel a real pain, a real consequence, a real immediate reaction is so therapeutic for me. I have spent so much of my life afraid of getting in general “trouble” and imagining the worst of the worst of punishments and convincing myself I need to be prepared for all of the possibilities.

It’s fucking exhausting.

Spanking is an action that immediately stings and then fades. It’s real, I’m safe. It allows me to practice having reasonable expectations and knowing I can handle anything that’s going to happen right now. I can only imagine that it will hurt a lot, but I can never imagine it will harm me, because I trust my partner. It’s a fantastic trust building exercise, personally, which is equally important.

For glorious seconds, all that exists is the heat of his hand, the cracking sound ringing in my ears, the sting on my skin and the warm glow slowly spreading across my ass and thighs. I can close my eyes and be brought back to that moment. It’s a go-to meditation to lose myself in during my deep breathing exercises.

It’s become my anchor, this moment. To freeze time right here would find me a confident, secure, safe, sexy, needed, desired, beautiful, complete, happy woman.

I’m at peace. I think that’s the most prominent of feelings. There is a myriad, but the peace is the most important to me because this is the only time I ever achieve true, honest peace.

When he is finished, he tenderly pulls me into a tight embrace and I sob into his shoulder, the cries spilling out, sometimes by surprise.

I find myself craving that specific flood of emotions that almost always follows an intense impact play session. It’s the most cleansing, refreshing, shedding of useless emotions I’ve ever experienced. This is my communion, my redemption, my happy place.

The pain fades quickly, but I am reassured by my tender skin as I press into it, hoping there will be visible marks tomorrow. I long for the bruises as a reminder, a trophy, my reward. Much like a rosary, I am able to run my fingers over the marks and instantly be centered and sated.

I then kneel before him with a tear streaked face, a tender ass and a pussy so wet my thighs are almost always soaked to my knees. He gently takes me by the hand and leads me to our bedroom where we continue our fetishy, filthy, beautiful Saturday night by fucking each other until our souls climax.

That is how we church.

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