Broken rules, broken promises

I broke a rule today.

Not on purpose, I didn't even realize it at first. It was one of those little rules that almost exists only to be broken - that line you cross when you want to be in trouble, but not too much trouble.


I broke a rule today.

Of course it isn't a rule anymore. There haven't been rules for too long. There haven't been rules since I walked out his door, shattered. Since the night, not too long after, that he walked out my door with both of us pretending it wasn't goodbye.

For so long after there was just the hurt that's left behind when love moves on. No room in my heart or mind to dwell on the physical loss. No time to remember how his hand felt tangled in my hair; what his belt sounded like, exploding across my skin; how tightly his arms always wrapped around me after. Only later, once the emotional hurts had begun to heal could I remember, and remembering, begin to yearn.

Even this is new. Not the yearning of a young girl, wishing and waiting for a taste of the forbidden world she has craved as far back as she can remember; full of hope and fantasy, edged with a fluttering nervousness born of stepping off the safe path into the unknown. Nor is it the yearning of a woman who knows her lover's hand as well as her own and fears as well as worships it. Whose nerves tingle not from awaiting the unknown, but from surrendering once again to the brilliant pleasure and pain that can only be had together.

No, this is a bright glimmer of hope and desire, flashing hotly then quickly dimmed by the memories of how sharp and deep that pain can be when the pleasure is snuffed out, when trust is met with broken promises and disregard. This is the yearning of a woman - older and perhaps wiser. Gentle, tentative, the soft glow of her desire fading into the darker shadows of her doubt.

Time does heal. Light and dark war and shift, settling into a new equilibrium, perhaps more cautious and less carefree, but comfortable. Right.

I broke a rule today.

I smiled as I realized that, knowing that next time it will be not a slip of the mind, but because I meant to. Because girls who break rules must pay the price. And despite everything, I still love that price.

What's New

Hi,

Whew... time seems to fly! What have I been up to, you ask? Sadly the answer is mostly boring. That darn real life just seems to keep demanding my attention. Rest assured, however, that I haven't been neglecting to have some kinky fun no matter how busy I may be. In fact, sometimes it's popped up in the most unlikely places:

Browsing through the aisles of a new Asian market (ohhh I die and go to heaven a little each time I step foot in an Asian market) I found a new use for canes:



The photo's a little blurry, but the label reads "Rattan Shoots." I'm thinking as a public service I should take all the canes around here and pickle/jar them. You know... to feed all those starving people. That would be the socially responsible thing to do, right?

Then yesterday I took my car to a new mechanic. As I'm walking in the service door I notice something that looks suspiciously like a narrow solid wooden paddle in a window display. Hmmm... It was grouped with some sports equipment, perhaps to hide it's true purpose? If given the option I would have gladly paid my bill with a paddling :)

In other news I've gone and created a twitter account. Actually, I just created it to follow some other bloggers I enjoy reading, but then they went and followed me, so I figured I had better actually post something. You can check out my most recent tweets on the navbar to the left, or on twitter - my username is emma_enchanted. I've also been spending some time on spankolife.com again with the username emma_enchanted. If you visit any of these sites please drop me a note or say hi :)

Starring role

In my fantasies I play a variety of roles and delight in stepping outside of the bounds of my normal experience. In real life, my spankings are more mundane, if such a thing can be said of spanking.

I don't play a part and I never have to run my thoughts or responses through a filter of what would be appropriate for someone else to feel or say or do. All that changed a few weeks ago.

I was catching up with an old spanko friend, chatting about where our lives had taken us, what we were up to, how we had been. Intermingled was plenty of taunting and teasing of the friendliest sort. Until all of a sudden it changed and he wasn't my good buddy joking around with me, he was a strict looking teacher and I was a naughty schoolgirl caught sneaking off the grounds.

I paused a moment, surprised by this new twist and not at all sure where it would lead. But I'll try almost anything once, and if that anything involves me getting spanked more's the better.

Sneaking off school property was a huge infraction and a girl sent to the principal for such a thing could surely be suspended. In fact, Mr. Michael's voice assured me as it broke through my frantic thoughts, that would most certainly be the penalty I could expect. Suddenly I was very much a school girl - terrified to be sent home in disgrace. How would I tell my parents? How could I face their displeasure or worse, their dissapointment.

I was sorry, I pleaded, I would never do it again, the Principal didn't have to be told... And in my heart I still believed, as only an innocent young girl can, that the very worst thing that could happen in the world would be my parents learning of my disobedience. So I was genuinely relieved when Mr. Michaels suggested that we deal with the situation privately and equally as crushed to learn exactly how he proposed to do so - with a hard wooden paddle drilled through with holes.

Spanko-emma knew how much that paddle would hurt, knew exactly what to expect, and dreaded it. But I was naughty-schoolgirl-emma and had never been so much as spanked, let alone paddled (Oh, and how embarrassing it was to have to admit that to Mr. Michael's when he asked). I knew only that the paddle looked incredibly large and scary, that Mr. Michaels looked very stern, and that I wished ferverently to be able to rewind the clock and not sneak out or at least not to have been caught in the act.

Butterflies battered my stomach. My knees felt weak and I was almost relieved to be ordered across his desk so that I wouldn't embarrass myself by collapsing in front of him. The height of the desk forced me up onto my tip toes and my arms stretched tight so that my fingers could find purchase on the opposite edge. The wood was smooth and cool and solid beneath me and comforting in a way I couldn't have explained but was as old as the time honored ritual to which I was now being inducted.

I blushed a charming shade of red, soon to be surpassed on my backside, and protested as my skirt was raised and panties lowered. Shame, which had been hiding distantly behind fear and nerves, now stepped boldly forward in my conciousness. Only the crisp crack of the paddle, following a moment after a stern directive to count the strokes aloud, could send the shame skittering out of my mind as quickly as it had come as the first blush of red spread across my cheeks and my first taste of pain burned itself into my flesh.

Any girl would have jumped up, I told myself, embarrassed by how quickly I had lost position; shocked and startled by the fire the paddle had ignited with barely any effort. It's harder, so much harder to bend over that desk a second time, fully understanding now what will happen when you do. The paddle fell hard igniting another flame and then another. Pausing between each to let me suffer fully, pulling cries from my throat along with each count.

At some point I reached back, promising to be good, promising that I had learned my lesson, pleading for leniency that wouldn't be shown. Again I forced myself back into position. Again the paddle landed and again until all twelve strokes had been delivered, until my bottom was sore and red, and my throat caught with little girl sobs.

As quickly as we had assumed the roles we shed them and I was caught in comforting arms, pleasantly warm and sore and absolutely content. Looking back I know that the spanking was firm but not harsh and that spanko-emma could have gotten through it with a minimum of fuss. How lucky was I then, to be able to experience it as a girl not accustomed to such things, as a girl off-balance and vulnerable in a way I often find it difficult to be?

Drifting off to sleep that night, still warm from memories, I was so very glad to be reminded that there are always new experiences waiting to be discovered. I can't wait to see what they are and where they'll lead.

Finish this fantasy, a challenge by Hermione

Over on her blog a few days ago, Hermione posted the beginning of a fantasy and challenged her readers to finish it off. I took the liberty of swapping positions and so here is the original beginning reprinted from the opposite point of view:

"We are getting dressed for a big night out and I look incredible. As we admire each other from head to toe you notice a silk tie draped over the doorknob behind me and get a very naughty idea (aren't those the best kinds?). You pick up the tie then lead me to a chair. Gently you lower me onto it and..."

There was no sound beside the whisper of silk as you fastened the tie over my eyes, rendering me deliciously isolated. My ears strained trying to fill the void of sense that my now blinded eyes had created but there was only the beating of my heart, the soft whoosh of my breath.

A moment passed, stretched to eternity in my mind as I could only wait, only wonder, only desire and fear what was to come.

A hand on my shoulder. Tracing down my arms to bind my wrists.

A finger pressed firmly to my lips. Demanding silence.

A cool gentle breeze teasing my skin as I am slowly and thoroughly disrobed. All of my careful preparations for the evening discarded in a pile on the floor.

The sharp shocking pain as your fingers capture my nipples followed so closely by the lovely teasing warmth of your mouth that I almost believe the former had been a dream.

Sweet languid sensations.

Hard demanding hands.

And always pleasure. So much that my body aches with it, silently begging for more even as I'm sure that there can be no more or I will simply fall apart.

Giving and taking all that I have, all that I can until there is only one thing left to give. Until the world shatters in bright and brilliant light behind the blinding silk. My breath catching until my lungs ache for air and then exploding in my chest.

Silence still. Filling the space between us as no sound, no words, ever could.

Hands, only gentle now, caress before sliding down to release my bonds and lastly, slowly, up to unfasten the silk across my eyes.

A wry chuckle sneaks into your voice even as I struggle to find my own. Breaking the silence you whisper "Now you've made us late. You'll pay for that later, my dear."

I can't wait.

-------
If you'd like to read the other responses or, even better, propose your own ending please visit Hermione's Heart.

P.S. I know I've been quiet here for a while, but expect to see more of me from now on!

Introducing Max

The thing about starting a blog which you may not think of at the time you're starting is that in order to produce a consistently good blog you must consistently have something good to say and time in which to say it. Recently I have found myself lacking both.

Time particularly has been hard to come by lately. Any of you who have ever brought a puppy into your home will understand, I'm sure. A few months ago I was blessed with Max, a crazy yet equably lovable large breed puppy who has managed to worm his way into my home and heart. Just as surely as I adore him, he adores me, a feeling he expresses by being constantly stuck to my side when he's not discovering new and exciting ways to destroy my every belonging. Among those belongings that have met a tragic end falling victim to Max's puppy teeth was my internet cable. It's just as well, since Max is terribly jealous of anything which takes my attention away from him so I'm actually more likely to get work (or blogging) done cozied up in a wifi enabled coffee house.

Like all of my other pets, Max seems to have no problem whatsoever with Jack spanking me. Jack says they agree I deserve it. I like to believe that they understand the subtle nuance of someone harming you and someone hurting you for pleasure. Apparently we humans understand the difference even more than you may have thought. According to new research, people experience more intense pain from the same sensation when they believe the person delivering the pain did so intentionally.

I wonder if the findings would be reversed when looking at consensual spanking. Is an errant blow, one which lands off its mark, more painful simply because it lands on more tender flesh or is the pain intensified by the belief that it was a mistake? Or to follow the original track of the study, does pain delivered for punishment hurt more than pain delivered for mutual pleasure?

Well, there are some interesting thoughts with which to (belatedly) start the new year. While I try not to make resolutions I do hope to spend more time tending to this little corner of the internet. I do hope you stick around to see the results!

- Emma (and Max)

first time's a charm...

My internet connection has been spotty lately, so I haven't been able to spend much time in the blogosphere. So, for your patience, here's the story of my very first spanking...

We met in what is so often the usual way nowadays, in internet chatrooms dedicated to the love of all things spanking, and became fast friends. We were different in so many ways; but the ways in which we were alike bonded us together and our differences infused the friendship with a flavor all its own.

Over time that friendship blossomed, spilling out of the chatrooms and into hour (or more) long conversations on the phone. Despite this bond, it was years before fate stepped in and brought us together in person. You see, Brad's job took him all over the country wooing clients and training new sales managers, and after many years it finally brought him to me.

We were, first and foremost, friends. And so we took things slow. Dinner at a local establishment stretched on through drinks as we enjoyed the pleasure of each other's company face to face for the first time. In fact, it stretched on for so long that we had to rush to catch the 9:30 movie next door. We lingered in the theater until the last of the credits has scrolled off the screen and the house lights came up breaking the intimacy of the dimly lit room.

The parking lot was deserted when we finally exited the building and we paused at his car, neither of us quite ready to say goodbye but knowing that he had a long drive back to the city yet that night. We embraced, his arms wrapping warmly around me, and I was pleased and disappointed all at once. Our first meeting had gone swimmingly and I wished we had more time together before real life intervened. Those thoughts and more lingered for a moment before being chased away by the feeling of his hand sliding down my back to rest gently on my bottom.

I tilted my head up, smiling, as rubbing turned to gentle patting. When the patting became a little more forceful and his grip on me became more firm I swallowed against the fluttering of butterflies in my belly and throat. It's a hard step to take - from fantasy to reality - and I was nervous. Looking back I was probably nervous about all the wrong things. I didn't worry that we were in a public area and anyone could have stumbled upon us at any time. I didn't worry that it would hurt (it only did a little bit) or that it would leave marks (I discovered that night and the following days how much I love to be bruised; how I enjoy watching the marks blossom across my skin and change during the coming days). No, I couldn't worry about those things because all of my focus was spent worrying that I would discover I was wrong. That maybe I only thought I liked this spanking thing. That maybe everything I had considered myself to be for as long as I could remember wasn't true.

I shouldn't have worried. Very soon, in fact, I couldn't. Stretched across the hood of his red miata I couldn't think of anything but the feel of the silky steel beneath me and his hand falling again and again in a delicious rhythm. It was that night that I discovered the thrill of hearing a belt pulled through it's loops; the shock of pain then throbbing warmth that follows as it slices down against yeilding skin; the language of a body begging for more as it arches up into the strokes in silent entreaty.

No, I shouldn't have worried at all. A lot has changed since that night many years ago. Brad & I drifted apart. Jack & I found each other. I've come a long way from that girl stepping off the edge for the first time but every now and then I like to go back there and remember that night and the feeling of finally knowing.

the goldilocks theory

Although I've been into this spanking thing for a long time Jack is only the second man to spank me. The first, well that's a story for another time... This story is about finding balance.

When we first met we were understandably cautious with each other. I hadn't yet had the chance to really test my limits, to see where they lay. Jack needed time to learn to read me before he felt comfortable judging on his own. And so, at first, we took things slow.

This one was too soft...

In the beginning I was like the little bear in Goldilocks' house, except I was sampling spankings and not porridge (much more interesting that way) and after I'd gotten over the initial shock of "oh my god spanking REALLY hurts" I found that they didn't quite get me where I needed to go. Don't get me wrong, they hurt in all the right ways and while I was draped over his lap (or desk or bed) and his hand (or belt or paddle) was coloring my bottom to a very hot shade of red I wished for nothing more desperately than for the spanking to end and the cuddling to begin.

It was after that, as the heat faded into a gentle warmth and the fog of pain lifted from my mind, that I slowly realized not all my buttons had been pushed. Last week Bonnie had as her Sunday Brunch question the topic of whether a spankee can ask for a longer or more severe spanking. I did ask for more, quite frequently in fact, and Jack always smiled and gave me exactly that.

This one was too hard...

Time went by and I had many firsts with Jack. It seemed each time we were together I learned some new fact about myself and although I often thought these revelations were mine alone, Jack was diligently cataloging them away for future use. As our comfort with each other grew the balance shifted. Jack, now knowing my limits, pushed harder and farther than before and I stopped having to ask for more. The spankings progressed but that wasn't all. We added new experiences to our arsenal and Jack delighted in finding new ways to torment and embarrass me. I sometimes cried, but the release I was seeking remained elusively out of my grasp. I continued to learn: that for me, the physical experience was secondary to the mental and that while he would never give me more than I could take, when a spanking became "too" hard physically without my being in the right mental state I spent so much energy focusing on getting through it that I couldn't let go and just experience it.

This one was just right...

I've always loved fairy tales. When I was a little girl my favorites were those of the Brothers Grimm. Now that I'm an adult my favorites are a little different... You see, what I was searching for was the spanking you read about in so many of the best stories. The release of just giving in and trusting yourself in someone else's hands. It took me a long time to find that because, as it turns out, I had been looking in all the wrong places. I thought the key was being pushed past my limits but as I eventually learned, for me, the key is not the force of the spanking but the mental build-up combined with a moderate amount of pain. Too little and I can't push myself over that edge, too hard and I struggle against it.

I'd been struggling a lot with demons in my vanilla life the past few months. It seemed that just about everything that could go wrong did go wrong - I felt like I was sinking and a large part of me wanted to curl up in a ball and hide from the world. And then there was Jack. He showed up on my doorstep, his toy bag slung casually over his shoulder, and I was in his arms in under a second flat. If it had been up to me I might never have let him go, but eventually he eased me from his arms and arranged me face down on the bed. I'd spent so much of the last months fighting everything that I had no fight left. I didn't even complain as he bared me and took out the dressage whip - probably my least favorite of all the toys in that bag.

He didn't talk and I couldn't think as it lashed down again and again. Not nearly as hard as it could but enough to make me squirm. Enough to sting and turn my flesh red and even welted. He didn't chastise me for moving as I wriggled forward (but never out of its reach - it followed me with painful precision) until there was no where else to go but jump off the bed which was clearly unthinkable. And stuck there, with no where else to go and the whip falling over and over - never slowing, never flagging in its attention to my vulnerable skin - I realized that it would never stop until he wanted it to.

The tears came then along with the realization that I hadn't truly given in yet because in the back of my mind I thought he'd stop, now that I was crying he would surely stop. He didn't. My hands, which had been gripping the edge of the bed for dear life loosened their hold, then hung limply over the side. My head fell, dripping tears onto the floor. And still he didn't stop. After a while the strokes became harder, my sobs louder. And then, when I had cried out every last frustration and fear the whip dropped to the floor and his hands found mine, pulling me into his arms.

I smiled and thought "that was just right."

morning pleasures

Today was my favorite sort of morning...

There were no alarms this morning, instead I woke early to the sun streaming through the bedroom window, his body close behind mine. I curled back against him, his arms wrapping around me hugging me to his chest. It was still too early to speak and we drifted in and out of sleep, always coming back to each other - our bodies linked: his possessive, mine soft and yielding.

I stretched, a soft morning moan escaping my lips as I rolled onto my stomach inviting his hand to find my bottom and linger there... Gentle rubbing turned to patting and pinching, checking for soreness left over from last night's spanking (and paddling and strapping and... uhmm.. is cropping a word?). I feigned surprise and just a bit of indignation as patting turned to swatting; but really this is my favorite sort of spanking: fresh from sleep, still warm from his arms, with a whole day of possibilities stretching out before us.

Yes, this is my favorite sort of morning...

The difference

...and for all you know
this could be
the difference between what you need
and what you wanna be...

Maybe you've noticed by now that I love to be spanked. Thinking back, my earliest childhood memories revolve around fantasizing about getting spanked. Since those early days spanking has been a consistent part of my life in one way or another. When I was 14 and learned that there was a whole world of people out there who shared my kink I knew that I would never live a life without spanking. What I'm trying to say is being spanked isn't just something I do, it's something I am. I have brown hair, green eyes, and I need to be spanked, it's that simple.

The thing is, I embraced (for the most part) my desires so young that I sort of expected I'd have it all figured out by now. And I do have a lot figured out. Over the years my kinky interests have been refined and mellowed. I know what I like. I know what I don't like but am willing to do for the right person. I know what absolutely, positively, is not acceptable. And I know what I'd like to try in the future - my kinky wish list, I guess you could call it.

What I sometimes forget is how much I need this. Last year I ended a wonderful relationship to a man who could not understand this thing we do. If I had stayed that course I know my life would be different now. I'd be married, I'd be thinking of starting a family, I would be very happy in many ways. And I would be missing one very important thing - being spanked. At the time the choice was easy. Since then? We'll there's been this niggling doubt - could I live without this? Along with that doubt came resentment. I resented my kink for making me choose between it and a life that otherwise would have made me very happy. I resented it for winning at the cost of stability and family. So I tucked it away in a small corner of my mind and tried to forget that I go crazy without it.

Of course it didn't last. I could give up air more easily than spanking. And so it's back. And with it, the realization I thought I had embraced so many years ago. This is what I need. This is who I want to be. Sixteen years ago I dove headfirst into a life full of happy kinky things. This year I'm diving back in to those familiar waters with renewed dedication.

our little secret

Between the two of us, Jack & I have quite a collection of implements, all of which are designed to inflict maximum pain. Since all of our spankings are disciplinary in nature, it can pretty much be assumed that whatever implement of torture I happen to be facing at any particular moment is sure to be something I both hate and dread.

That said, there are some things I hate more than others; some items which put me on the verge of panic before they ever touch me. They, of course, quickly become Jack's favorites.

This weekend, after finding myself in a bit of trouble (shocking, I know!), I faced off with the mother-of-all-paddles. If I had to guess (and I do, as I never find myself in possession of a tape measure when this paddle comes out) I'd place it at about 3/4" thick, 3 1/2" wide, and about 18" long. Ouch. Usually sessions with this paddle are bad enough that they're broken into small segments with time to recuperate in between. Usually just the sight of this paddle produces a very repentant, teary eyed girl. Usually Jack doesn't swing it quite as hard as he did this weekend. Did I mention ouch?

I have a bad habit (in Jack's eyes, to my way of thinking it's just dandy) of bouncing back quickly after even what seem like very hard spankings. Although in the moment I may feel like I'll simply die from the pain and voice that feeling with desperate cries and even sometimes (to my immense chagrin) beg for mercy, about two seconds after the last stroke has fallen the pain fades and is quickly forgotten. I've gotten used to this, I like this, which is why I was so shocked when the ache from the evil paddle did not gently dissipate as it was put down and the next paddle picked up. It did not dissipate as that paddle fell ten hard times across my already sore backside. Nor did it dissipate as that paddle was put carefully away and I was released from my position.

While the ache did finally ease about ten minutes later, I've decided that this information is definitely not something it would be safe for Jack to have. So uhm... let's just leave this as our lil secret... k?