Authors note: I began writing this recap of a caning Jack gave me months ago. Before I had the chance to complete it, the bottom fell out of our relationship and I couldn't bring myself to revisit this happy scene. I've finally gotten around to finishing it off, and I do hope you enjoy it.
Curled up on the bed earlier this evening, Jack looked down at me. "What?" he asked, my face having given me away as it always does. I bit my lip and pondered, guessing it was still early enough in this conversation to reverse directions. I didn't feel particularly guilty over what I was about to confess but I was 99% sure it would result in a spanking. Which is what I wanted, of course. The question was what kind of spanking? I was aiming for something light, but I can never be sure what I'll end up with...
"Uhmm..." I bit the bullet and whispered the words that had stuck on my lips just a moment before. Watched somewhat nervously as his face darkened, eyes narrowed, and realized we had skipped way past any chance of a light, playful spanking. He slipped (maybe stalked would be more accurate) off the bed and out of the room without a word, reappearing a moment later with the cane. Big *gulp.* This couldn't be good.
The cane and I, we have what you might call a hate-hate relationship. There is no love between us, no tenderness hidden deeply under the nerves and fear it produces. I am not brave where canes are concerned, and whimpered as I was guided onto my stomach, stretched out across the bed and bared. My mind whirled, trying to get a handle on his mood, then eased as his hand stroked over my bottom, coming to rest lightly on the small of my back.
The crack of the cane was shocking in the quiet room. But instead of tensing against it I let go, let the sensation flow through me and then out, releasing with it a hundred little worries and stresses. It hurt, oh god it hurt, but his hand was on my back, resting so gently, grounding me, as my body turned to liquid and my mind floated on the pain. The cane fell again and again, and my world narrowed, focused until there was only me and Jack, the cane, soft murmurs, flashes of pain, softer caresses between the heat of the strokes.
I don't think I've ever just given in to the pain of a spanking like this before. I've surrendered to it, after struggling and fighting or just gritting my teeth and bearing it. But I'd never absorbed it like this, never felt this languid sensation that lulled me into peace; usually the peace comes after when the spanking is done and the cuddling has commenced.
My legs, usually busy kicking and squirming in a grand show of discomfort, literally could not move. Half way through I realized I had slid closer to the wall and managed to rouse my arm enough to press against it to keep my head from crashing into it. Jack gently turned me and resumed his work with the cane. Time moved on, stretched out, spun before us. And still there was only us, only tenderness and pain and all of the things that can only be said without words.
The rhythm slowed and changed. The cane fell less, replaced more often by his soothing hand and gentle voice. I could have gone on forever, happily. I think perhaps he could have too. After what seemed forever (and was in actuality about an hour) it was the cane that, having taken all it could, broke and ended our play.
No, I wasn't smirking. Honest. I would never gloat over a broken cane, of course not. Well, maybe I would have, but not any more. I sort of think I like them now...
Showing posts with label Jack. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jack. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
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.
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.
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...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
