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.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
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."
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."
Thursday, September 11, 2008
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...
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...
Friday, September 5, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
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?
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?
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