Philosophical Ruminations on Punishment

Waiting for the train at Penn Station in NYC. This is definitely a love/hate situation since I love the fact that I am going to visit wonderful friends in Maryland but hate that I am leaving my Daddy/BigBrother in Manhattan. We are just chatting, the train is late (and I say a silent thank you to Amtrak) and he smiles every time my hand wanders to my backside, which throbs, tingles, and aches in a most persistent, and delightful manner. It certainly brings a smile to my face as well and an invisible lump to my throat.
Then he asks, "Any philosophical ruminations on punishment after....". He never gets to finish because the redcap informs me its time to go, the train just pulled in. Suddenly we are rushing to get the bag on the redcap's cart, kissing goodbye, hugging and off I go.
When I board the train and sit (gingerly) there is now time to think about this burning (ok bad pun) question. First of all, I have been part of this relationship for four years, the best years I have ever had in so many ways. This trip is not even close to the first time he has had to punish me. But it is the first time he has been entirely comfortable with my trust level to hold nothing back. And I am here to tell you he did not hold back anything! I should also point out that this is entirely consensual as I gave this right to him quite awhile ago. It also is the first time I have had a huge build up of wrong doing, since I could not be spanked for punishment or any other reason while I was recovering and rehabing from four surgeries.
So my book and I came to NYC as did the butterflies in my stomach. My book, that I am referring to is the one where I am required to write down wrong doing. Since I live so far away, we keep track in writing. His memory is sometimes a bit flaky, and to be honest, so is mine! I had never had so much written down at one time. I am not really into misbehavior and breaking rules as a lifestyle, but the year had been incredibly stressful and I don't handle that kind of stress very gracefully.
Now my trip was not really about "let's punish Valorie for three days". Both my Daddy and his wonderful wife took me out for dinners and to two shows. During the day, when I wasn't staring at the bedspread regretting what I had done, Daddy and I went for long walks, saw a museum, and ate lovely lunches. The weather was beautiful, as though NYC, was agreeing that I had to enjoy my time. But, yes, there were issues to take care of, for both our peace of mind.
Over this four years I have begun to explore what has been there all my life. Spanking is a huge part of it, my first and most prevalent fantasy. I can't remember a time when it was not a part of me. But linked to the spanking was wanting someone to care about me, and to help lookout for my well being. That was not part of my experience as a child or teen. Spanking also took on sexual overtones as I went through puberty, but the wanting and needing to be held accountable was always there. Adding to that mix is submission, which I really had no good handle on until I got involved in spanking. But as with spanking, it has also been with me all my life. Now I am finding ways to act on it but that's another story.
My Daddy totally understands my need, in fact it amazes me sometimes what an absolutely detailed understanding he has. I consider him my Daddy/BigBrother Dominant. He does not make rules frivolously nor does he micromanage, so when he does make a decision that is the law. He decided to deal with the worst offenses in the book first, we had also decided we couldn't do everything during this trip or it really would have been a punishmentfest. I found out during the first spanking that my Daddy had evolved (he now refers to himself as version 2.0).
Prior to this I had always felt as if he was too easy on me but that changed immediately. I have no idea how many times that lexan paddle lifted and fell, I have no idea how many times the bathbrush lifted and fell. But I do know it hurt like hell and I had to fight my own reactions, so I could take it well. (That is very important to me). I was sweating and crying when I finally was able to be cuddled and comforted and told how will I had done. He was very proud of me and I was amazed at how different the intensity had become. My tush wanted to immediately secede from my body and find a different girl, but my heart and mind were rejoicing. It may sound crazy, but this was such a tangible and precious gift of love.
We talked after that spanking and the eight others that followed during those three days (oy). My bottom was bright red most of the time, and it is still pinkish even now. Usually it takes a great deal for my bottom to color and stay colored. There were and are slightly darker tones at the sit spots and slight abrasions on the cheeks. Of course each spanking that came after that first one hurt from before the first smack and, two in particular, literally took my breath away. No warm ups, no rubbing until later, this is punishment. By the end of nine spankings I was a very chastised woman/little girl. And the relationship with my Daddy had deepened in a way I had not realized would be possible. I asked him twice to continue with two that I didn't think I had handled as well as I could have. That is, of course, his decision, but he knows it is important to me and he agreed. So his three lexan paddles, his belt, and that bathbrush tattooed my tush, and taught me many lessons.
It also relieved much of my guilt over the mistakes I had made. My hope is that I won't make the same mistakes again but if I do I know what to expect. A big hug, a hell of a spanking, and then comfort and forgiveness.
No one has ever cared about my well being or my life outcomes as he does. It truly scares him when I engage in stupid actions that threaten my health or safety. And never once, have I ever felt abused or badly treated. No matter the severity, it is as real as the love he offers so generously.
Yes, I have thought a great deal about all this, and I am quite sad that the soreness is now gone. I loved that reminder every time I sat down or bent over to pick something up. It was a reminder that I have now what was a lifelong fantasy but is now reality. His overwhelming need to spank me when I am bad and my overwhelming need to take that spanking and feel the love in every swat.
Thank you Daddy, Thank you Big Brother, thank you for all you do to make my life so much better and happier. There will never be enough words to express it, you are the very best man and I love you.