Pages

Monday, December 31, 2012

2012 - A Year Exposed

Just over eight months ago, I started this journey looking for a spanking. I craved the physical sensation and was not disappointed when my bottom blushed, flushed with color...direct evidence of the gluttony of pleasure I had indulged in. But it has gone far beyond a friendly swat or two. The boundaries of my comfort have been pushed, making a path for an unexpected lesson in love and trust.

There is a certain amount of vulnerability I expose myself to when I lie across a man’s lap. Physically, my bottom is bare, free of the threads that guard my innocence. On an emotional level, I’ve gone through my own journey…originally wanting nothing more than anonymous spanks, giving access to my bottom but not my heart.

The Englishman made a single request when we first met, and that was simply to be honest with myself and with him. It seems like a simple request, but life is much easier to navigate when armed and shielded, walking away from battles with minimal damages. But instead, in a moment of bravery, I remove the mask that keeps the face of my emotions hidden, sharing with another the deepest and darkest parts of myself…parts so deep they have never seen the light of day.

In retrospect it is easy to see that any disagreements the Englishman and I have had were simply adjustment periods. After an especially intense day of play, or a talk that left me sharing quiet whispers of myself, I would be especially needy…making vanilla outings a struggle. A few weeks ago I found myself close to tears when he had to leave my company early. Unable to be consoled, I ran away trying to outrun those tears. I felt horribly for ruining what little time we had together. We talked and it was clear that none of this would be solved over a chat…instead we scheduled an emergency session.

I was given 12 strokes of the cane, 4 sets of 3. They felt like tickles compared to the pain I felt inside me. He stood me up and held me, but he could feel things were not right. He asked me what was wrong, and I stood there, my body leaning into his and wanting to be held tight. I had no answers, but he knew what I needed and asked me, “Do you feel like you’ve been punished enough?” The Eskimo kisses against his chest told him I hadn’t been. He took a deep breath in and kissed the top of my head and said, “Who am I to deny my girl the punishment she deserves?” He leaned me back against the spanking horse and this time I received 20 strokes with no break. Tears streamed silently down my cheeks, the quiet whimpers escaping the corners of my mouth. He held me, and I was done.

The punishment was not for his sake; it was not to earn his forgiveness. I needed to forgive myself, to find the strength within me. Sharing myself with someone else, without an ounce of armor, left me feeling vulnerable. I was weak, embracing the insecurities that threatened to smother the beautiful light that burns so fiercely between us. Instead, the punishment I received only served to fuel the fire. There was no better way to end the year, as I know just how precious I am held in his heart, and he in mine.

Thursday, December 20, 2012

Ho-Ho-Hocus Pocus

Many weeks I find myself following the Englishman’s lead in a dance. Sometimes his cues are subtle, like the gentle tug of my panties, letting me know to lift my hips. Other times they are more direct, like when his cane rides up my knees asking my legs to straighten up. There are days when lessons are taught, one where no amount of begging is heard, tears ignored. Last week I witnessed a grand performance- me an admiring spectator, fascinated by a Sir performing his magic.

The morning started with a note: “My instructions today are simple ... wear a dress or skirt ... make sure you have some lotion for your bottom - you will need it.” Act One: hypnotism. I immediately set my coffee down and rifled through my closet. It has been so cold, and yet I was challenged to wear something with built in air conditioning. He has been spoiled by the temperate weather and has found great pleasure in sliding his hand up my thigh underneath the hem of my skirt, granting him easy access to the bottom he loves to hold. Helplessly, I fulfill his request, weak to the power of his suggestion.



He is on the edge of the couch while I am on my knees and over his. Naked, I crane my neck behind his body, looking into the large mirror that frames the scene. I am the bisected woman- act two, a classic. My bottom is being spanked red, swimming in absolute pleasure on its own, my mind participating only in observation. Trying to force logic, my eyes admire the sight of my bottom being spanked, feeling loved. But there seems to be a disconnect as there is absolutely no communication between the two halves of my body. I watch in awe as I bear witness to two parts of the same person experiencing completely different sensations, his body refracting my image. But any logic held is lost as the audience falls silent in the third act, the grand finale, as his fingers perform a disappearing act.

And yes, there was an encore. Happy Holidays, indeed.



Sunday, December 9, 2012

I'm Late, I'm Late for a Very Important Date

I take it very personally when people are late for appointments. I understand that to be a personality flaw on my part, but only in the sense of how personally I take it. The Englishman has been chronically tardy for our meetings, and it has only been in the last month or so that he has been punctual… at least, more punctual. It seems as if it is the single flaw in our Persian rug…perfect together in every way except for this one exception. So it was with great anxiety that the last two meetings it was ME that was tardy… and while I had very good excuses to why I was late each time, it wouldn’t be enough to save me from a spanking.

I texted him letting him know that I would be 10-15 minutes late. I hurried to get there, aware that it was already a low-maintenance appearance day as my morning was much busier than usual. I felt horrible knowing how much of an effort he has been putting out to meet me on time, and now it was me that was egregiously late. When I arrived he was comfortably waiting for me. I apologized as I entered the room, and he greeted me with a smile. Whew. He wasn’t annoyed with me. I would have had a fierce pout on by now. We hugged each other tightly as we never seem to get enough contact during the week. It wasn’t long before he whispered with a low voice into my ear, “I was going to text you back what would be waiting for you”. I told him he should have and then asked him what was waiting for me. He pulled out a slim, wooden paddle. I suspiciously eyed the implement. He is not fond of paddles and finds them to be wholly an “American fetish”, as he finds no connection to them at all. I wondered to myself if he chose the implement because he would know that I would know he was not enjoying it. Or was he simply trying to put aside an implement we don’t use often for special reasons? “You’re going to get a cold paddling,” he said. But that was a lie. As we stood face to face I felt his hands slide down to my hips. He held them firmly in his hands and pivoted me ninety degrees. His left hand moved slowly from my right hip and up to my chest, holding me still as he spanked me while I stood still. My hands took a firm grip onto his strong forearms, holding myself steady against his weight with each swat. Can we not do this forever? I never want to leave that space.

Forever comes to an end. He instructs me to bend over the table as he begins to paddle me. I love the sensation…like a firm hand, thuddy and lovely. My lack of discomfort does not please him and I am instructed to lower my jeans (I mentioned the lack of effort…I consider them to be casual, but he is fond of them, anyways). I am embarrassed as I fumble with the buttons and am unsuccessful at pulling my jeans down without bringing my panties along for the ride. I am not taking my time on purpose, and yet his patience runs thin. He sits on the edge of the table and pulls me across his knee with such force I hardly have a chance to take a breath before I realize the paddle is coming at my bottom faster and harder than when my pants covered my bottom. I squirm under the force, tears beginning to form until they gain enough momentum to spill over. Aware of how sorry I am, he stands me up and pulls me close to him. I cry into his shoulder before he whispers, “And that is now the late paddle… next time you text your Sir you will be 10 minutes late, you know what will be waiting for you.” And that was no lie.

One week later and I found myself late, once again. I’m only three minutes late, and try my best to distract him with a seductive embrace. I thought for sure I was out of the woods as I watched his hungry hands grasp my bottom over my winter dress. As he pulls up the hem of my dress to finger the raised edges of my panties, I graze his neck with my lips making my way to his ear. It is only then, over his shoulder, I catch a glimpse of the paddle waiting for me on the table.

Monday, November 26, 2012

A Lieb of Faith

Joey of Joey and Friends has nominated me for a Liebster Award... needless to say, I'm honored for the nomination and will do my best to not disappoint.

THE QUESTIONS:

What spanking position do you prefer?
My favorite is over the knee... it just feels like home. I'm pretty sure I can smell chocolate chip cookies baking when I'm there.

Is there any spanking implement that is a hard limit for you?
No... I think so much of the power behind any implement is held by the person using it. While I did not have a happy encounter with a plastic spatula in the past, I'm certain it would be a different experience when someone else is wielding it. So, no... no hard limits on implements...only people.

What food do you hate?
I do not do well with slimy textures...no thank you to eggplant. Also, I do not find pleasure in the taste of anything too sweet. I like complexity in my food and I find the taste of white sugar to overwhelm my tastebuds...and not in a good way.

What activity makes you feel naughty?
Naughty? Hmm... I'm generally a good girl, so breaking of any rules certainly makes me feel naughty.

Describe the clothes worn by your fantasy spanker?
A well-tailored suit... accessorized with glasses. (Shout out to one Mr. Stephen Lewis at ShadowLane...had a moment of regret when I saw him walk in as 'headmaster')

Describe the clothes you put on for your fantasy spanking?
A slinky, backless evening gown... perfect to be whipped in before it is slipped off my shoulders for a spanking.

Where would you go for vacation if you won the lottery?
I would love to tour all of Europe...eating and drinking my way through various countries, museum hopping, sightseeing, meeting new friends, getting to know different landscapes...

What famous person would you like to meet for dinner?
Rivers Cuomo, lead singer of the band Weezer.

What is your favorite holiday?
My birthday, which I understand isn't an official holiday, but should be. If not my birthday, I would say Halloween.

What celebrity do you think deserves to be spanked?
Lindsey Lohan... too pretty with too much money, too much time and too much talent... all wasted. A good spanking would do that girl some good.

What is your pet peeve?
Nothing wants me to knock the gum out of someone's mouth with a swift punch to their face than the sound of their gum smacking.

What is one thing that you wish Tops would do during a spanking?
To be themselves...only by honoring themselves can they honor me.

I'm pretty sure I'm one of the last bloggers to have been nominated... but I will nominate a few blogs on my roll who I don't think have participated so far: Erica, SecretSpanko, Emen, Craig and Pink. That's only five, so I would like to invite my six readers to answer, as well as any other bloggers out there that would like to participate. Feel free to answer any or all...I love getting to know everyone... it's the best part of blogging!

1. What inspired your first step into the spanking world?
2. What scene defines your ultimate fantasy?
3. Do you enjoy spanking/being spanked anywhere other than a/your bottom?
4. How do you feel about tears and spanking?
5. Does anything intimidate you? Spanking related or not?
6. What gets your blood flowing? Spanking related or not?
7. Name three things off your bucket list.
8. What is your favorite film? Favorite book?
9. What will be written on your epitaph?
10. Marsha, Jan and Cindy... which one do you fuck, marry and kill?
11. What would be your Groundhog's Day... a day to be lived over and over again?


Thanks again, Joey! It was fun!

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)

The leaves that were once a lush green now have turned a beautiful golden hue. As those leaves fall to the ground, so does a blanket of cool air, leaving a closet full of summer dresses to hibernate until a warmer season. I knew fall would come, and yet I feel unprepared… desperately avoiding a uniform of jeans so early into the cold months. A compromise is reached in this couture crisis: leggings under a minidress…though it wouldn’t be the first time the tights made an appearance. The very first time I was spanked by the Englishman I wore a thin linen dress with leggings underneath. I remember excusing myself to strip them off in private before he offered to take them off for me. That immediately brought forth a rush of blood to my cheeks… it seemed so forward. Looking back on it seven months later, the exchange seems so very innocent.

Though it had only been a few days since we last saw each other, there was an immediate need to hold one another. The initial embrace was long and hard, never wanting to let go. He spins me around, his hold on me tighter than ever. He tugs at the fabric that sits in a perfect bow at my hip, slowly unwrapping the gift he has suddenly been presented with. The black leggings highlight my bottom, emphasizing its dramatic curves, as the rest of myself is literally pale in comparison. A quick swat to my bottom inspires him to bring the cane out early. He bends me over and leans behind me, meeting my bottom with a firm handshake. I inhale sharply, wanting to ride this sudden wave of such pleasure. He smooths out the nonexistent wrinkles in the fabric, running his hand across my bottom one last time as he prepares the cane. He cuts the air with it…twice, the redundancy presumably due to the cold air. The thin fabric offers no protection as I feel the intensity of each stroke… convinced the threads, like me, will surrender to the cane’s will. I feel his hunger as he roughly tugs my leggings and panties down at the same time. I begin to stand up to assist him, but he is quick to correct me, using his free hand to keep me bent over while using the other, cane in hand, to finish what he started. My lowered leggings now bind my thighs, my bottom bared, his backswing fierce, my mind…quiet. The only thing I can hear is the song of the moving branch as it persuades my eyes to close. The lullaby’s rhythm is graceful, like the last leaf of autumn floating to the ground. And just as slowly, I fall into sweet dreams.

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Finding the Courage to Live with a Fetish

Jillian Keenan’s article, “Finding the Courage to Reveal a Fetish”, has been spreading like wildfire through the spanking community, receiving a well-deserved standing ovation from those of us that share her kink. I find her to be extremely brave for writing such a bold statement and to do so publicly, as it is something I could never do. So it was a complete surprise to me when a wave of sadness washed over me after reading the article. I read her story and saw a distorted reflection of my own life and I realized that I live the epilogue to her story. But my tale does not end with “happily ever after”, instead, my story will be happily ever never. The sadness is for myself, as I do not know Keenan, nor do I assume her relationship or her needs to be anything like mine. If nothing else, I hold out hope for her and spankos everywhere that they can find peace in their path, as I hope to find in mine.

I’ve gone through life living with little regret. I always thought to myself that I made the very best decision I could for myself at any given moment, even if in retrospect it was the wrong one. I do, however, regret not being honest with myself in my youth, repressing that which brings me so much pleasure. The experimentation I went through as a young adult covered a vast wasteland, dabbling in a little bit of this and a little bit of that. Like Keenan, I would test the waters with spanking, but never admitting that it was the spanking that I enjoyed. Instead, I just filed it under “rough sex”… somehow I could justify that as being more acceptable than spanking. If only I could have accepted myself perhaps I would not have found myself in the pickle I am in now.

What sour brine do I bathe in? I am married and have and plan on being so for a long time. I love my husband, and very much like David, my husband knows and accepts me and this part of me that is my fetish. Since acknowledging my kink, I have found myself wishing that I could have known I was into spanking at a much earlier age and perhaps I could have nurtured that part of me, finding the person who could complete my equation. I’m envious of Keenan, having made her decision fully informed, but cannot imagine a love so great to exclude this primal need of mine. In my selfish ways, I could not make that same sacrifice. My husband has quite literally become my ball and chain as I spend a life imprisoned… the sentence I agreed to serve when I walked down that aisle. I can honor myself and do as I’m doing now and let it be a happy compromise, or I can honor my husband and live a lonely life: “The brave ones looked for personal ads,” she replied. “The rest of us were lonely.” My math had been off, divided by zero.

Long time blog readers might remember that years ago I had asked my husband if I could take on a spanker. Understandably, he rejected the idea. After respecting that decision for over a year, I could no longer live another minute without exploring my kink. My hormones were in full gear and every minute that I lived without honoring this essential part of me I saw as another minute of rejecting myself. Keenan writes, “In our different ways, we all just want honesty and intimacy, right? We’re looking for the people who will love us, even when it’s difficult. Or uncomfortable. Or painful.” I have learned that it is not enough for me to be accepted. I need to be seen in this life. I need to be witnessed for who I am, everything I am.

My everyday life is rooted at home. This thing between the Englishman and me is a form of punishment of its own… one that feels so good, like indulging in a spanking followed by a caning. The time we spend together any given week is only a fraction of my life, and yet it consumes so much more of me. I will never have what I really want, to walk this path with a partner who sees me…all of me. Perhaps it is time I find the pleasure in that kind of pain.

Saturday, November 10, 2012

Reading Tabs

In my state of panic, I desperately wanted to press the red button. But instead of deploying a pair of warheads that would obliterate any evidence of my existence, my ego called out to me, begging to spare the posts we collectively labored over. It could very well be my Achilles' heel... each new post pulling the thread of this delicate sweater, slowly unraveling it until I am fully exposed. But instead of pulling the plug, I compromised and created a new tab archiving most of my journey so far. Status Quo Antebellum...It translates roughly to "the state in which things were before the war". A bit dramatic, I admit...though I have been told I have a flair for that sort of thing.

Not to add to the drama, but I'm considering changing the name of my blog. Initially, this was going to chronicle my transition from my vanilla life to my spanking life. However, I believe we can all agree that I have fully flipped.

ETA: I realized that I missed all the wonderful comments that have contributed to my blog..and it just wouldn't be the same without them. So I have figured out a way to remove the pictures while keeping everything in tidy order... so the page no longer exists, instead, most of my old posts have been restored (sans photos). xo

Friday, November 9, 2012

LOL7: The Cage Bird Sings

I am a lurker on my own blog. It is only appropriate I post on this LOL7 Day.

One day you’re in, and one day you’re out. I watch a lot of Project Runway and Heidi Klum’s famous words seem to apply to my recent hiatus. I understand how it could be considered unforgivable, to abandon my blog without even a proper “auf wiedersehen,” or at least an explanation. The truth of the matter is that I have gotten quite comfortable blogging about my life, often forgetting how public it actually is. When I first started my blog, I thought it would be relatively superficial, writing about this and that. I quickly found it much more fulfilling to go into depth with my emotions, my feelings. Naturally, I got more comfortable sharing the shell that holds that inner-self. Long story short, I had a small security issue that did not go unnoticed. It was a threat not only to the secret life I keep private from blogland, but a threat to the secret life I protect so fiercely everyday…neither one worth risking anything for. The plug had to be pulled, and it had to be fast. I apologize to all my readers, from the loyal contributors who so eloquently support me to the lurkers who I would be smart to take a note from and enjoy this world in silence.

But it simply is not in my nature to keep quiet. I might not post very often, and pictures will be very limited (even more so than before). Perhaps on this 7th Annual Love our Lurkers Day, those who prefer the darkeness of the shadows can come out and join me in the light of the public eye… if just for one day. And in exchange, I will do my best to channel my inner Tim Gunn and make it work.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Ode to Joy

Sweet Anesthesia
sung to "Sad Lisa" by Cat Stevens

I hide my face and cry in your shirt.
I must be hurt very badly.
Show me what can make me happy?
You flex your cane, not holding back.
You’re holding back, don’t you love me?
‘Cause you know that’s how you show me.

Anesthesia, sweet anesthesia.

My eyes like windows, trickle in rain
Upon the pain getting deeper.
Though the cane wants to relieve me.
You hold me tight, from wrist to wrist.
Lost in subspace, I can’t hear you.
Though I see the stripes written by you.

Anesthesia, sweet anesthesia.

I kneel on a pillow at your feet.
There is no more, you now own me.
And will always do what you ask me.
You’ve done what you can to show me my ways.
And maybe one day I can thank you.
Though you know, because I love you.

Anesthesia, sweet anesthesia.









Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Peek-a-booty!

Photobucket">

Hi everyone!

I'm still here... I swear!

I'm finding myself lacking a general sense of motivation... perhaps it's this overcast weather or maybe I'm just hitting some sort of spanking plateau (already?!). In any case, here's my first go at creating an animated gif... enjoy!


xo,
SC

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Interview with a Vamp




Recently, a fellow blogger emailed me requesting an interview. Completely flattered, I happily obliged. Like my bruises, I have the luxury of hiding behind a sheer veil, choosing the moments I'd like to reveal myself.

I'm always happy to enter into dialogue with my readers... so read the interview if you'd like a little taste of SpankCakes ;)

Thanks to Andy Cano of SomeOnesGonnaGetIt for conducting my first interview!

Tasty Cakes...A Bottom Cries Out- Interview with SpankCakes

Enjoy!



Tuesday, October 2, 2012

5k lashes




















running, shoulders bared
my hair whipping back and forth
self-flagellation




Wednesday, September 26, 2012

The Kiss of the Cane




He was late, once again. I remind him of the days he used to show up right on time... the days when I was still shiny and new. Not like yesterday's news. It's only five minutes, but five minutes is five minutes less time spent with me, and I take it oh so personally. Needy me. But I cannot stay angry, as I melt into his arms, accepting an embrace promised to make up for an entire week of being apart. I let go...



While I'm across his lap, I think back to those early days when spanking was the star of the show instead of the opening act for a good caning. Recently it has served solely as a warm up. Like the practical shoes of nurses and mall walkers, it is functional, not appreciated for its sexiness. It was as good of a day as any for a forgotten star to make its comeback.










My bottom ached to be reminded of its purpose. It feels as though it's being teased when the first swats are delivered over my dress. I love the taste, but am hungry for more. Savoring each bite, each lick of his hand, I eat up the sweetness. I indulge. The swats come faster and with more impact as the hem of my dress is lifted over my bottom. The paper thin wrapper of my sheer panties do very little for me in terms of protection. I writhe with pleasure, the sensation bordering on overstimulation. He slips his hand underneath the top band of my panties, simultaneously caressing my bare bottom and pulling my panties down. The prickly sting is a result of the rediscovered heat... a treasured spice only used for the most precious of occasions. I grind against his lap, my bottom begging for more. I feel drops of his sweat on my back, his efforts raining on me. After consuming the very last morsel of delight, I collapse as my body is done. It has surrendered to him. To my pleasure. I crane my head around and give him a kiss worthy of such a gift.



My adrenaline is pumping, and I can't help but want more. We take a moment to catch our breaths while I sit on his lap, lowering my heart rate by raking my fingers through his hair. Even under the dim light of the candles, I can see that my bottom was a shade of pink it hasn't seen in a long time. He brings me over to the table, bending me over for a quick twelve strokes of the cane. The cane tells a quiet joke, my bottom chuckling under it's breath. I taunt it, wiggling my bottom back and forth. Silly girl... He immediately pulls me off, setting me down on my knees. The flogger quickly claims my back, each strand feeling like needles against my damp skin. As he strikes me from above, I feel my body immediately quieting down, curling itself into a ball. He tells me to straighten my body, and I do. It's not long before I begin to slump once again, wanting myself to be as small as I want to feel. Suddenly, I feel tears start to well up in my eyes, my shoulders twitching as if to shake out those tears. He tells me to stand up and I instinctively cover my face, not wanting him to see me. I bend over the table once again. He's caning me, but I don't feel anything. The tears are rolling down my face at this point, and I'm crying into my hands, my body sobbing for relief. It only feels like moments before he stands me up and takes me into his arms. He whispers, telling me everything is ok. He pulls me to the sofa and sits down, wanting me on his lap. Instead, I kneel at his feet, crying into his thighs. I'm completely aware I've folded myself into what could possibly be the most unflattering position, but I don't care. I just want to be. He gently strokes my hair and lets me cry. When I'm ready, I sit up, waiting for another invitation, and this time, I graciously accept. Sitting in his lap, I cry silently into his shoulder. He asks me what my tears are for, and I have no answers. Instead, a second wave of tears flood out, forcing him to console me further. I hear an edge of helplessness in his voice, yet he holds me, not rushing anything, and I'm grateful for the space.










It's only later, over coffee, I wonder out loud how many strokes of the cane I received, as my bottom was feeling more sore than usual against the unforgiving wooden slats of the chair. He asks me to guess, and I say, "18," counting the first twelve and estimating the six that followed before I completely broke down. I was off by 14, as the second set consisted of exactly 20 strokes, making the grand total 32. Low, by our average, but the marks they left are more severe than most. For all the tears that were spilled that day, I was left with the stain of a single plum colored kiss, left by the cane... a reminder that it strikes me with the most tender love and the most empathetic care.



Monday, September 17, 2012

I Only Have Thighs for You

I started this journey looking for an adventure filled with many spankers... my blog would include a cast of characters that would have cutesy nicknames to identify the various men that would meet my bottom. However, very quickly, too quickly, I found myself developing this deeper connection to just one. At first, I was simply entertaining it, then resenting it, fighting it. And now, I bask in it. What was I guarding? The ability to have someone witness my existence? To see me for who I am and accept me for everything... flaws and all? It sounds idealistic, but so far I have yet to come across something that I am judged for. He once wrote to me saying that I was under the impression that to know me was to reject me, and he found the complete opposite to be true. After rejecting myself all these years, this man has given me the gift of acceptance. What's not to love?

My initial fantasies only ever included spanking, and yet only five months after exploring my inner most desires, I see that while spanking is and always will be at the roots of my kink, there are several branches that I climb. Some bear fruit too sour for my tastes, and others have ripened nicely, succulent and delicious for my consumption. I feel pure pleasure from having my bottom struck by hand... a clear physical reaction as if my nerve endings were directly connected to my eros. Being so heavily bottom-centric, I never imagined being struck anywhere else. And yet, the whip has met my back with butterfly kisses, and my chest with intrigue. I'm finding the unmatched pleasure in my own act of submission... with its manifestations witnessed while being flogged while my hands are secured above my head and being caned with my wrists behind my back. We continue to explore other body parts: the light taps that tickle the bottoms of my feet as they face the ceiling, the sharp slap of my face as I refuse to make eye contact and for the first time last week, the wicked sting of the cane as it meets my thighs.

It's not long after a relatively quick warm up spanking I feel him reaching for the cane. I am over his lap as he canes me. Our junior cane is missing, so its understudy will have to do. The straight cane is a hybrid of the other two... not quite stingy, not quite thudy. Somewhere in between. I love that its shorter length allows for me to be caned in his arms. The strokes start off light, but soon pick up in speed and in intensity. He sets down the cane and returns to spanking. When he feels that I'm ready to receive more strokes, he picks up where he left off. I love the punctuated staccato notes the short distance demands. He goes to set down the cane, and I whisper, "Please don't stop." I squirm with delight as he holds me down, granting me my wish. I feel the fire hit the back of my thighs, something its virgin skin was not expecting. Ouch! My eyes get big with surprise. Two more of those before I learn my lesson and settle down. I rest my head in my folded arms, closing my eyes as I fully embrace the rest of the caning.

Bruises immediately begin to form on my thighs. He looks sincerely apologetic... though he clarifies that he is not sorry for the intensity, but for making such low marks. I tease him, saying he's received low marks for his low marks. He talks through his charming smile, "How can I resist those three little words...?" I smile back... He can't.

When I return home I have mixed feelings about having my thighs caned. Without a doubt it hurt in a way I'm not used to...but I look at the marks knowing they were a result of a deep sense of trust. I imagine that I could put myself in harm's way by playing with strangers, as my first spanker taught me. But as I shed the layers of my armor, dangerously exposing my vulnerability, I'm rewarded with a deep connection. I'm grateful for having that, as there was no need for words to be exchanged in protest, only the subtle cues of our waltz.





Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Shadow Lane, Final Day and Epilogue

Sunday morning housekeeping arrives just five minutes before my alarm is set to go off. It's 9:30am and I force myself to get up, as there's lots to do before Spanking Court is in session. My roommate is presumably at breakfast, so I spend an extra couple minutes letting the hot water welcome me into the morning. I am low on sleep and coffee hasn't had an opportunity to course through my veins. When I get out of the shower I notice that Miss Hammond-Grant and/or Sarah Gregory has done a fair amount of damage to my bottom. Yikes...that was unexpected. My bottom has been more and more resistant to marking, and it seems all it needed was a woman's touch. I do a preliminary packing job, gathering clothes and charging phones. My roommate walks in and I'm happy to see her as we hadn't crossed paths at the various parties the night before. We catch up for a few minutes before I had to go and she tucks herself in for a post-breakfast nap.





I dash down to grab coffee and a pastry before heading to Spanking Court. I snagged a spot on Erica's couch right up front. The suite was packed...standing room only! I look across the room and see some familiar faces. My chocolate croissant saves my seat while I go and visit with Joey for awhile as well as the couple from the night before. It seems like court is about to start, so I scurry off to my seat. I see Lea to my side and chat with her for just a moment. She shows me her delicate fingers and from the looks of them I would have thought she had some unpaid gambling debts! She gave me a quick synopsis of how her fingers came to their current shade of black and blue. I also met Alex for the first time ever! She looked as sweet as she does on her blog, and couldn't be nicer. Court started soon after and the honorable Strict Dave was presiding.



At dinner the evening before, Spanking Court passed out and collected sheets of paper where anyone could accuse a fellow party goer of committing an infraction. Strict Dave went down the docket, case after case. Accusations ran from things like losing room keys, driving recklessly, tops referring to their parts as "pee pees" and "ding dings", to having butts that were too cute not to spank. Witnesses would sometimes be called up and DJ Bob added to the ambiance with the unmistakable "bum-bum" of Law and Order fame. The rulings were surprisingly fair and legit and Strict Dave had the entire room in stiches with every case. If the person who lost the case was a top, they were usually sentenced to serve some "personal time" to the other. "Personal time" could be anything from a foot massage to running errands, etc. If it was a bottom, Strict Dave would sentence them to x many swats with y implement. From my account, he seemed to favor 6 swats with a leather paddle. It was a great time and far more entertaining than expected... I don't think I would ever attend another Shadow Lane without being a spectator at Spanking Court.



On my way back to the room, I ran into Joey who was moving to a smaller room from the SCONY suite. I was glad to see him one last time to say goodbye. The entire SCONY group was super nice, welcoming the newbies with such warmth (not a reference to my bottom, btw). I was winding down, coming to the realization that my Shadow Lane experience would soon be over. I returned to the room, waking up my sleepy roommate. We spent time catching up on the happenings the night before as I finalized my packing. The roommate situation could not have worked out any better, as I couldn't have possibly asked for a nicer person to share my room with. It was also great going through both of our first spanking party experiences together. She walked me down to the lobby on her way to grab her own cup of coffee. We ran into Mrs. Darling and chatted with her. So sweet. Alex walked by and we waved at each other. Smile. I don't really want to go home, but it's definitely time. I had a long drive ahead of me and a lot to think about. I walked through the smoke filled casino for the last time, towing my luggage behind me and into the desert heat where my car had been sitting the entire time I was at Shadow Lane.



I punched in my home address into my car's navigation system as to give my mind room to process the events of the weekend. I'm passing the strip on the 15 when I get an alert on my phone. The Englishman is texting me, asking how I was and if I was on the road yet. Yay! I recklessly text him back, letting him know I'm driving. He offers to write me an email or call. I eagerly chose the latter, as I was desperately missing him in that moment. While waiting for his call, it occurred to me that we have never spoken over the phone before... always communicating via email or text. A courtship in the age of technology. I had nothing to fear, as there was nothing awkward about our conversation as he kept me company from Las Vegas to Barstow- a good 2.5 hours and more than half way home.



With every mile, Shadow Lane was becoming a more distant memory, but one that would never be forgotten. I met some seemingly old friends, while meeting new ones. Had I gone unattached, I would have had a very different experience, perhaps making the car ride home a bit more uncomfortable. But as of now, I wouldn't trade it for the world, as what I had waiting for me at home is far more precious than a weekend in Vegas.



******



I knew from our conversation on the way home that while he wasn't upset at how I chose to break the boundaries, I would still be punished for doing so. I couldn't wait to see him, as my weekend away seemed to extend the time since we had last seen each other.



Tuesday, two days after leaving Shadow Lane. As soon as he came through the door he gave me the tightest hug I've ever received. I gave him some grief for being late while at the same time refusing to let go. He led me towards the sofa. Excitedly, I follow. We don't make it there, as he stops me on the short journey to spank me while standing up. He's rougher than usual and is denying me the comfort of being spanked in his arms. He's quick to bend me over, briskly lifting my dress and canes me, with the cruel edge of having only a luke warmed bottom. As he canes me I can only think of the bruises he must be able to see and am overcome with a wave of shame. As I start to feel the sharp lines racing across my bottom, I'm quickly brought back to my punishment. As I let out the small cries to express my remorse, he pulls me to the couch where I go directly across his knee. I feel him take the extra moment to take a closer examination of my marks and my heart sinks just a little bit knowing that he can clearly read the disloyalty written across my bottom. The spanking on my freshly caned bottom feels rough. Every time my bottom starts to inch away from him, he firmly scoops me closer to him, giving him a much shorter distance to spank me. When he is done, he tells me to sit up. I immediately flip over and push my way onto his lap. I throw my hands around his neck and bury my head into his shoulder. He strokes my hair and in a quiet whisper tells me that he's not unhappy with the choices I made, but he must protect the boundaries he sets, as those boundaries were designed to protect me and to protect us. I lower my head into his lap where he continues to soothe me. I now understand, what is precious to me is also precious to him. I love that. and I love him.








Monday, September 10, 2012

Shadow Lane, Day 2

Sunday morning housekeeping arrives just five minutes before my alarm is set to go off. It's 9:30am and I force myself to get up, as there's lots to do before Spanking Court is in session. My roommate is presumably at breakfast, so I spend an extra couple minutes letting the hot water welcome me into the morning. I am low on sleep and coffee hasn't had an opportunity to course through my veins. When I get out of the shower I notice that Miss Hammond-Grant and/or Sarah Gregory has done a fair amount of damage to my bottom. Yikes...that was unexpected. My bottom has been more and more resistant to marking, and it seems all it needed was a woman's touch. I do a preliminary packing job, gathering clothes and charging phones. My roommate walks in and I'm happy to see her as we hadn't crossed paths at the various parties the night before. We catch up for a few minutes before I had to go and she tucks herself in for a post-breakfast nap.





I dash down to grab coffee and a pastry before heading to Spanking Court. I snagged a spot on Erica's couch right up front. The suite was packed...standing room only! I look across the room and see some familiar faces. My chocolate croissant saves my seat while I go and visit with Joey for awhile as well as the couple from the night before. It seems like court is about to start, so I scurry off to my seat. I see Lea to my side and chat with her for just a moment. She shows me her delicate fingers and from the looks of them I would have thought she had some unpaid gambling debts! She gave me a quick synopsis of how her fingers came to their current shade of black and blue. I also met Alex for the first time ever! She looked as sweet as she does on her blog, and couldn't be nicer. Court started soon after and the honorable Strict Dave was presiding.



At dinner the evening before, Spanking Court passed out and collected sheets of paper where anyone could accuse a fellow party goer of committing an infraction. Strict Dave went down the docket, case after case. Accusations ran from things like losing room keys, driving recklessly, tops referring to their parts as "pee pees" and "ding dings", to having butts that were too cute not to spank. Witnesses would sometimes be called up and DJ Bob added to the ambiance with the unmistakable "bum-bum" of Law and Order fame. The rulings were surprisingly fair and legit and Strict Dave had the entire room in stiches with every case. If the person who lost the case was a top, they were usually sentenced to serve some "personal time" to the other. "Personal time" could be anything from a foot massage to running errands, etc. If it was a bottom, Strict Dave would sentence them to x many swats with y implement. From my account, he seemed to favor 6 swats with a leather paddle. It was a great time and far more entertaining than expected... I don't think I would ever attend another Shadow Lane without being a spectator at Spanking Court.



On my way back to the room, I ran into Joey who was moving to a smaller room from the SCONY suite. I was glad to see him one last time to say goodbye. The entire SCONY group was super nice, welcoming the newbies with such warmth (not a reference to my bottom, btw). I was winding down, coming to the realization that my Shadow Lane experience would soon be over. I returned to the room, waking up my sleepy roommate. We spent time catching up on the happenings the night before as I finalized my packing. The roommate situation could not have worked out any better, as I couldn't have possibly asked for a nicer person to share my room with. It was also great going through both of our first spanking party experiences together. She walked me down to the lobby on her way to grab her own cup of coffee. We ran into Mrs. Darling and chatted with her. So sweet. Alex walked by and we waved at each other. Smile. I don't really want to go home, but it's definitely time. I had a long drive ahead of me and a lot to think about. I walked through the smoke filled casino for the last time, towing my luggage behind me and into the desert heat where my car had been sitting the entire time I was at Shadow Lane.



I punched in my home address into my car's navigation system as to give my mind room to process the events of the weekend. I'm passing the strip on the 15 when I get an alert on my phone. The Englishman is texting me, asking how I was and if I was on the road yet. Yay! I recklessly text him back, letting him know I'm driving. He offers to write me an email or call. I eagerly chose the latter, as I was desperately missing him in that moment. While waiting for his call, it occurred to me that we have never spoken over the phone before... always communicating via email or text. A courtship in the age of technology. I had nothing to fear, as there was nothing awkward about our conversation as he kept me company from Las Vegas to Barstow- a good 2.5 hours and more than half way home.



With every mile, Shadow Lane was becoming a more distant memory, but one that would never be forgotten. I met some seemingly old friends, while meeting new ones. Had I gone unattached, I would have had a very different experience, perhaps making the car ride home a bit more uncomfortable. But as of now, I wouldn't trade it for the world, as what I had waiting for me at home is far more precious than a weekend in Vegas.



******



I knew from our conversation on the way home that while he wasn't upset at how I chose to break the boundaries, I would still be punished for doing so. I couldn't wait to see him, as my weekend away seemed to extend the time since we had last seen each other.



Tuesday, two days after leaving Shadow Lane. As soon as he came through the door he gave me the tightest hug I've ever received. I gave him some grief for being late while at the same time refusing to let go. He led me towards the sofa. Excitedly, I follow. We don't make it there, as he stops me on the short journey to spank me while standing up. He's rougher than usual and is denying me the comfort of being spanked in his arms. He's quick to bend me over, briskly lifting my dress and canes me, with the cruel edge of having only a luke warmed bottom. As he canes me I can only think of the bruises he must be able to see and am overcome with a wave of shame. As I start to feel the sharp lines racing across my bottom, I'm quickly brought back to my punishment. As I let out the small cries to express my remorse, he pulls me to the couch where I go directly across his knee. I feel him take the extra moment to take a closer examination of my marks and my heart sinks just a little bit knowing that he can clearly read the disloyalty written across my bottom. The spanking on my freshly caned bottom feels rough. Every time my bottom starts to inch away from him, he firmly scoops me closer to him, giving him a much shorter distance to spank me. When he is done, he tells me to sit up. I immediately flip over and push my way onto his lap. I throw my hands around his neck and bury my head into his shoulder. He strokes my hair and in a quiet whisper tells me that he's not unhappy with the choices I made, but he must protect the boundaries he sets, as those boundaries were designed to protect me and to protect us. I lower my head into his lap where he continues to soothe me. I now understand, what is precious to me is also precious to him. I love that. and I love him.








Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Shadow Lane, Prologue and Day 1

As much as I would like to, I can't seem to sit down and write about my experience at Shadow Lane without talking about the energy leading up to my departure. So I met with the Englishman on Thursday for coffee to discuss Shadow Lane. I had decided the night before not to go because of several factors: I could tell that me going made him uncomfortable (to say the least), and the fact that I didn't have a ride, a room and no longer had an alibi made me wonder if the universe was telling me that perhaps this wasn't the best idea. I thought he would be happy with the news, as it has been a slow negotiation over several weeks. Instead, he seemed ambivalent, which left me wondering if he, in fact, didn't mind whether I went or not, sparking further discussion. We both seemed to be chasing our tails, me looking to make it work, flooding him with questions, and he was left wondering with all these questions if I was determined to go no matter what he said. The heat didn't help and we left on uncertain terms.

I ended up writing to him twice later that day, as I simply couldn't settle my thoughts. I was left feeling insecure. I would have been happy not to go if he was solid in communicating his displeasure, but I would also be more than happy to go with his blessing. The stress of daily life was already doing me in and this was simply adding to that mountain. I would have been glad for this decision to have been made for me, but instead I wrestled with it until the last moment.

With no email from him early Friday morning, I decided I was going to start packing my bags, planning on leaving in order to arrive in time for the newbie party at 3pm. Instead, I received a message from him around 10am. We texted back and forth, working through our perspectives. It was a conversation definitely worth having as by the end of it we were both very clear on where each of us stood as well as the reasons behind those feelings. I now was going to attend under the specific idea that I was going to go meet people and to observe a large scale spanking party. If I were to go, I could top other women (ha!), but that would be the only play I was to see. The "conversation" lasted an hour and a half, and now it was time to kick it into high gear. There was no chance I was making the newbie party, and with every minute that passed I would be stuck in slower traffic.

My first order of business was to make contact with a possible roommate. She was excited that I was coming and was happy to share her room with me. Perfect! Normally I would have planned weeks ahead of time, shopping, carefully picking out outfits, getting pedicures. Instead, I found myself throwing dresses into a bag, grabbing fistfuls of random panties, and tossing only the most essential make up into a train case. After a quick stop at the bank, I was on the road. It was 2pm and I was finally on my way.

I tried to listen to my audiobook in attempts to make the time go by, but my mind kept wandering, excited about the weekend and all the events that were to come. Marky Marks of Secret Spanko fame kept me company along the way via bluetooth, giving me a more in depth perspective of his time at TASSP. He assured me I'd be fine and I was as excited as ever. As I got closer to my destination, I realized that the timing might work out perfectly to pick up my roommate at the airport. It couldn't have worked out better as trying to meet up at the hotel would have added another complication. Instead, I was able to pick her up when she landed at 6:30pm and we used the short car ride to get to know each other before fumbling through what would be both of our first parties, together. We both had a laugh at the fact that we each secretly feared that the other would be a man and were relieved that we each lacked that Y chromosome that would have made things more than awkward.



We got to the hotel and found our way up to our room. We both took a moment to freshen up and were eager to get to the Vendor's Fair. We made our way through the smoke filled casino to the Grand Ballroom. As the we opened the double doors we were greeted at the front table. I purchased my $150 party ticket, granting me entrance into the ultimate spanko convention. Almost immediately I was star struck as Erica Scott walked by. Luckily for me, my partner in crime is an extrovert, immediately introducing herself. I tagged on and Erica proved to be a woman of her word, giving me the biggest bear hug her tiny frame could offer. I pretty much could have turned around and went home at that point and would have been perfectly happy! We immediately hit the bar as the party had officially started with our arrival. As I waited for my drink, an older (in his 70s? 80s?) gentleman approached me asking me if I would be interested in joining his fraternity. He pulled out a wooden paddle from his jacket. I politely declined and thought, "oh boy, this is exactly as I had imagined..." To my happy surprise, it turned out to be an isolated incident. After grabbing our drinks, we made our way around, circling the perimeter. My roommate had made plenty of contacts ahead of time, being very technology savvy with Twitter. She broke off to meet her new friends as I got my shopping on. Half the room was made up of dvd distributors. I'm sure it would have been much more exciting had I been familiar with spanking movies as various models sprinkled the tables, signing and promoting their videos. As I got to the other side of the room, I did recognize Sarah Gregory from her blog and found myself speechless and without my extroverted friend by my side. I sheepishly walked by and asked a question about a cane and moved right along. There were only a few tables that sold implements, mostly beautiful handcrafted wood, some leather. I then came across the SCONY table, and was certain I was about to meet Lea, even though she lacked the package of peeps I was depending on identifying her by. I introduced myself to her and she in turn introduced me to Joey. It was really great meeting both of them and I was looking forward to visiting with them some more later at the party they were hosting. There was another booth selling jewelry of some sort, but I passed and made my way to the bar once again.

A couple more drinks and a few more rounds around the room, my roommate and I made our way upstairs, navigating our way through the different parties. We started at SpankOlympics, hosted by the Brits of Northern Spanking. It was fun to watch teams of two compete for in events like sprinting (how fast 100 swats by hand could be delivered) and dressage (an artistic interpretation of music to spanking). I left after the shooting event (how close you could deliver 6 cane strokes) and checked out Joe and Ten's room. I mingled with the crowd, talking to fellow spankos. I found Ten, introduced myself and sent her SecretSpanko's love as I was instructed to (which she returned, btw). I then made my way to the SCONY suite where I spent the rest of the evening. I hung out with Lea and Joey and met a few other people from SCONY. The suite was HUGE! What was unique about their suite was that they had these privacy cubicles set up, little areas where people could play in private. I never saw the inside of one of those, but did hang out by the bar area, meeting new friends, discussing everything from religion to relationships, and as they relate to spanking. After several of glasses of wine I retreated back to the room where I crashed into an inviting bed. It didn't take much effort as I knew I would need a goodnight's sleep in order to prepare for a day full of activities.

Friday was a short day, but it was a concentrated introduction to the happenings of a spanking party. I wish I had gotten there in time to meet all the other new folks, but it seemed that our paths would cross throughout the weekend. It was a blessing that Friday was kept short, as the next day was filled with spanking adventures.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Catch and Release

It's difficult to describe our time together as "scenes," as I never really know what sort of energy will inspire our time together. Sometimes our play is light, other times, like when punishment is involved, things are a bit more serious. Most times it's a combination of energies which ebb and flow naturally with each other, very much like the brackish water of estuaries where such diverse life is found.

With a long and busy summer coming to a close, I found myself stressed out beyond what I could take on by myself. I naturally found our weekly rendezvous to provide me with small doses of relief in an otherwise busy schedule. In our room, together, the cacophony of mental noise quieted down to a whisper until I could hear only the gentle clapping of spanking against my bottom. Those claps would soon crescendo into wild applause as my bottom repeatedly rose to meet his hand, begging for more. But these simply maintained my sanity, and I was due for a full lobotomy.








It was only a minute, but it felt like forever. I was kneeling in front of the couch, my eyes closed and my wrists tied behind my back. While I was away, I often practiced my submission in this pose, substituting my panties for his silk tie. Like the week before, he is on bended knee, his left hand gently on my sternum holding me steady. His right hand is armed with a cane, gently resting on my bottom, in preparation for flight. The first snap of the cane is cruel by nature. With each stroke I relax into the pain. It's different this time as the novelty from the previous week was gone but the pain inside of me is great, greater than any stroke that he could possibly deliver. This doesn't seem to phase him, and just makes him work harder. As the sharp stings intensify as they layer upon each other like a nightmare game of pick-up-sticks, I begin to cry out in pain, both physical and emotional. I fall forward, but instead of inviting the cane with my bottom high in the air, I bury my head into the couch, lying at a forty-five degree angle from the floor. He continues to cane me through the soft sobbing of my false protest. My whole body shakes as the stress that has built up slowly escapes my body. When he knows that I have had enough, he lowers his cane, unties me and tries to pick my head up. I don't want him to look at me, to see my crying eyes. He allows me to keep my head down, as he sits on the couch and pulls me towards him. I sit, kneeling at his feet and my head in his lap. I let the tears quietly roll off my face while he holds my head, stroking my hair. When I'm ready, I crawl onto his lap and he gently brushes my hair out of my face, making room to kiss the tears that represent the profound gift he has just given me.

We slowly come out of that very intense experience. My adrenaline is running high and our quiet whispers of love slowly transform into more casual discussions. As time is running out, he whispers to me that he isn't done yet. I get giddy with excitement, hoping he brings out the bigger cane, usually saved for our grand finales. I bend over the end of the spanking horse, the preferred place to receive such a caning. With all the hard work already done, I relaxed as I admired him through the mirror, watching him go through his own ritual before he took the cane to my bottom. I smiled as I recalled the silent exchange of emotions as he held me, just moments before. After the first few cane strokes, I quickly became aware that his work from before was unfinished. I stopped smiling, stopped watching and instead closed my eyes and put my head down against the padded vinyl. I let my arms hang loosely to either side, resting on a support bar. My breathing slowed down and I could no longer feel anything and everything at the same time. He paused between strokes and I whispered, "Please don't stop." I surrendered completely to the submission, and finally, felt numb.

After a few more strokes, he stopped. I took it as a false kindness for him to tell me it was enough, as my heart screamed out for more. It was only afterwards when the endorphins started to wear off and I was brought out of That Space that I realized my bottom was not in agreement.

The experience was profound, and left me wondering if all of that really happened. The noise had stopped, and I found that among the most sacred of rooms we have built together. But nothing was going to keep me from leaving that space, as I was caught, caught behind the red, horizontal bars that didn't keep me captive, but in fact, provided me the release I so desperately needed to find.







Wednesday, August 22, 2012

WhipperSnapper-my first "crack" at F/f

After meeting some local kink friends at a munch, I decided to take advantage of my time to stop by the local bondage shop. It's always more fun shopping with someone else, but I was happy to make the trip solo, carefully picking out the instruments that would make my bottom sing.

When I enter the store, there is a girl with two guys at the cash register. She's full of nervous laughter as I'm sure she's about to enter into a threesome with two bros who could have walked off the cast of The Jersey Shore. I march with purpose up the stairs to the second floor which is home to all the things I love. I carefully look at their wall of floggers and whips, carefully selecting ones that interest me. I pick one up and try it on the back of my own leg. Hmmm... nice. I can almost feel the sting of the individual strands. I'm so involved with my experimentation, I hardly notice the couple that has joined me in this attic of pain. She is excited, he looks nervous. I continue to pick up whips and see how they feel. I hear the chatter in the background. She's bouncing from item to item exclaiming, "ooooh... how about this?" or "oooooh... how about that?". He mumbles, hands shoved deep into his pockets, commenting on the quality of craftsmanship. Such a guy. I mentally roll my eyes as I set my sights on a neat whip that has a flat crop-like bit with a sliver of leather shaped like a snake's tongue completing the tip. I love the whip and continue to savor its venomous bite. The price tag is probably worth every penny, but a bit too high for this impulse stop. I start to put it back when the woman runs up to me and asks to see it.

Me: "It's got a nice sting to it."

Woman: "Can I try it?"

Me: "Sure!"

Woman: (whips the top of her thigh) "Ooooh... you're right."

Me: "Have you seen the Victor Tella whips? They're gorgeous."

Woman: "No... tell me more."


I put the whip back and reach for a blue Victor Tella bull whip. It's long, especially for my petite stature. I turn around to hand it to her and instead of finding her hand reaching for it, I see that she has completely turned herself around with her denim covered rear pointed right at me.

Woman: "Please."

Hm. Where the heck did this land with the boundaries? I was already in a bit of trouble for misunderstanding what constituted a "fetish event" and will probably pay handsomely for it later this week. But store demonstrations? Never covered. A quick recap in my head decides that this does not dishonor the spirit of the boundaries so I shrug and say to myself, "Why the hell not?"

I move her to the center of the room to give myself a little more room. I have no clue how to work this thing so I channel my inner Harrison Ford and do my best Indiana Jones impersonation. I stroke the whip's handle, and take a firm grip, holding it with respect. I take a confident stance and plant my five inch black heels into the ground. I take a slow back swing and with a flick of the wrist I hear a sweet crack. Bull's Eye.

I took four or five more cracks and would have continued if her lame-o of a boyfriend/husband didn't kill my buzz with a "Whoa! That's interesting!" and looked away with that same nervous laughter. I stopped and she straightened herself out. She turned around with a twinkle in her eye and whispered a thank you.

They continued their little charade as I picked out a small flogger and made my way downstairs. She followed me and kept trying to engage in conversation. She asked my opinion on a corset, which I agreed was hot. I paid and left and as the door shuts I hear a high pitched, "Bye!" from her.



So today...



So today...

I whipped a girl and I liked it,
The snap on her cherry bottom.
I whipped a girl, just to try it,
I hope my Sir don't mind it.

For whatever reason I quite frequently get mistaken as a Domme. The Englishman has his own theories on why, but I personally think it's the heels.

Monday, August 20, 2012

Shadow of a Doubt



A couple weekends ago I was supposed to go to Las Vegas for a girl's night out. However, one of the ladies couldn't make it and we decided to postpone the trip to when we had a bit more time: Labor Day weekend. The Universe seems to want this debutante to make a formal introduction to spanking's society, Shadow Lane being the ball.

I couldn't decide if this was a stroke of luck or some form of torture. I started off this journey imagining I would play at parties, not in private. Publicly, not behind closed doors. I never really had the opportunity to attend a party. As it worked out, I saw the Englishman after an experience went South with Glasses Patient Zero and he expressed the desire to the be the only one who spanks me, keeping me safe. With the introduction of the boundaries, I was nervous, but felt safe enough to plan my approach with him the next time we met to discuss the possibility of attending my first spanking party. But even before asking him, I weighed some of the pros and cons to see if it was even "worth asking", knowing his consideration wouldn't be gentle on his compassionate soul.

A few things that certainly encourage me to go to Shadow Lane is meeting other bloggers like Erica and Lea. Also, if I'm going to go to a spanking party, why not make it the biggest and the best? Not to mention I have a solid alibi. My concerns mainly surround my own insecurities. What if I get there and no one wants to play with me? Wah... I don't want to be the last kid picked on the playground! Also, I will be going knowing NOBODY. Not a soul. Will I be able to call out to my inner extrovert to make the short time I have there to be anything but absolutely awkward? The fact that they have a newbie party eases some of the worry that I'll get there and just melt right into the background. I've read several party reports, but I don't feel like I have a good idea of what a layperson's experience would be. With no scheduled events, I worry that I'll be aimlessly wandering the halls, looking as though there was some purpose to my loitering. Then there is the hefty ticket price ($150) as well as the question of getting a hotel room. And those are just MY concerns... what about for him? Never in a million years would I be ok with this if this was the other way around. However, I am infinitely more insecure than he is, which is probably why we each sit on the side of the fence we do.

It would also be a big step, going from the safety and security of blogging behind my computer screen, to actually having to meet people. I currently enjoy the luxuries complete anonymity provides, but I'll have very little control over that in a public-ish setting. People will know what I (*gasp*) look like as I can't walk around with a pixelated mask. I'm sure conversations will allow for details to slip that will not be able to be edited out later in a moment of clarity.

So I saw the Englishman last week (details to come), and I brought it up at lunch. I have trouble reading him. He's like this Compassionate Dom, concerned for my needs as much as he is for his. He takes a moment to think about what he's about to say, and I'm pleasantly surprised by his answer. Ultimately, if it were up to him, I would not bare my bottom to anyone but him. But considering he knows that I've been itching to try something like this out, Shadow Lane seems safe enough and far away enough that he could be ok with it under some conditions: 1. public play only. No being alone in a room with some guy. 2. Panties on at all times. So far, that's it. But I'm sure there will be other negotiations... are all implements fair game? I'm not sure if he'd care if someone delivered a good paddling, but I can't imagine he would want to see cane marks left by the hand of another man. I did find his charm to be intoxicating when he said with a grin, "Have no doubt: While you can attend the party, you will be punished for it." Drool. Incentive provided.

But still, I am doubtful. I wonder if this will change things for us in the future. I wonder if this will change things for me. Will it enhance the experience I'm having now? Or will my blown cover bring a quick death to spankLife?

I'm going to weigh these options. Which ways will the scales tip? I'm not sure. I have a couple weeks to do some research and let some of these feelings brew. As of now, I'm leaning towards attending... probably just Friday. I'm thinking newbie party... do a little shopping... then hit another party or two. Crash, wake up late and head to the strip to meet my friends, where they'll never know how I spent the last 24 hours.






Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Coasting on Bruise Control





When I first started out on this journey I was under the impression that my unique situation would prevent me from exploring a spanking that would result in anything beyond a red bottom. Email exchanges between potential play partners always stressed that my bottom was not to be marked. The first spanker claimed to be an expert spanker and guaranteed that I was not going to be marked in any way. Guess what? I came home with a bruise and was pisssssed. Looking back, I don't see how anyone could possibly know how a person marks, never having played with them. In contrast, after my first spank date with the Englishman, I brought up the possibility of getting caned during a certain time of the month when my bottom would undoubtedly be hidden behind the iron curtain of granny panties. It would be my monthly consolation prize... a caning for the sacrifical shedding of my uterine lining.



I've noticed that it takes more and more to mark my bottom. Many days I'm left with only minutes of heat from a red bottom, hours with the beautiful red stripes left by the cane and maybe a day with a stray bruise. I never would have guessed how attached I've become to my marks. Anyone looking over my shoulder would assume myself to be a narcissist, staring at pictures of my bottom. But it isn't my bottom that I'm admiring, but the lovely marks that once graced its surface.



Unfortunately, there have been some marks that haven't gone away. I'm not sure what to make of these new found freckles, but they certainly weren't there three months ago. I am a bit worried that they might be permanent, as they now appear as stains on an otherwise unblemished canvas that begs to be painted every week.



This is from a previous caning, but you can sort of see them in this picture:



One unexpected benefit to our extended break seems to have been a rediscovered ability to mark. I thought it would be an interesting study to see the progression of healing. Here are my fresh marks:



the next day:



the two days later:



Today, is almost six days after our last encounter and I'm left with a single bruise. This one has hung on much longer than expected, but it's not unwelcomed. I wonder if the Englishman will know that it is his mark when I see him next. I would hate to be unduly punished for presenting a bottom he assumes to be marked by another man. Who am I kidding? The punishment that would result from such a heinous misunderstanding makes me quiver in delight just thinking about it.







Friday, August 10, 2012

Glass Slipper


There is never enough time.

The long embrace we shared as we began our time together was evidence towards the fact that we seem to fit together in so many ways. We kept our chatting to a minimum as we both were eager to fill every moment together making up for the time apart. As I stretched across his lap, I couldn't help but bury my head into his left arm, craving an even deeper intimacy while being spanked over the thin fabric of my dress. He took my cue and held me close, taking pause to stroke my hair and kiss the top of my head. I close my eyes and take a deep breath as if to inhale the very essence that makes my heart pump. He lets out a small groan as he unveils my bottom to himself for the first time in a long time and confirms that I shopped well. The black lace was left on my bottom longer than usual, but it wasn't long until he slowly peeled them down. I involuntarily raised my hips, making myself an active participant in granting him access to my seemingly revirginized bottom. I was home.

During my time away I often knelt with my hands behind my back before my shower, meditating on thoughts of submission to my Sir. We recreated the scene, but this time with a cameo made by the cane. He knelt next to me, one hand on my rib cage as if to steady me and caning me gently with the other. My hands were tied behind my back, secured with a silk tie. The sting was every bit as delicious as I remember it being. I couldn't help but collapse my head to the high cushion in front of me. I laid there, with my bottom pointing stright towards the heavens, waiting for the lightning to strike. The sting illustrated just how exposed I was, as I felt parts of me that had never met the cane. The introduction was intense. The tender skin cried out. A storm of quick strokes struck before he instructed me to straighten my body. I did so and was met with the cool breeze of a flogger as it struck my chest. I turned my head from unknown feelings of embarrassment as he continued to lightly whip my body, circling me until he found my back. The rhythm of the flogger increased in speed as it worked its way to my bottom. It served well to prep my bottom for more cane strokes.

He held me, whispering the translated beauty that he left on my bottom into my ears. I stroked his hair as I soaked up the pleasures of the moment. Nothing had changed, and in fact, we found a new level of comfort.

Over lunch we had a wonderful discussion on our perspectives. Both of us observed and wondered if maybe we met too early. Perhaps I wouldn't be so eager to test boundaries had I explored my kink independently. As of now, I have a growing list of things I'd like to do when all this goes South. But am I just waiting for that to happen so I can? Will I find a way to guarantee that? I'm so happy where I am...where we are. I am looking forward to new discoveries between us and finding where all this will take us. I fear in trying to develop other relationships I will only be attempting to recreate the comfort and security I have now and will be putting those very precious qualities into jeopardy by doing so. It's like putting on a favorite pair of shoes, and when I slip this particular pair onto my feet they seem to fit perfectly. Knowing that my carriage can turn into a pumpkin at any moment I'm left wondering when this fairy tale will shatter, even through the beauty of the glass.








Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Fear and Loathing

Mountains have been moved.

The Englishman has had a change in schedule, so I will be freshly spanked and caned tomorrow. Tomorrow, people. In less than 24 hours at this point. Reading back to my last post, I might have been a bit dramatic. But that sort of starvation triggers drama. Things being relative, I'm new to indulging in this lifestyle, one that I have been restricting myself from for so many years. And when you rescue a hungry beast from the wild, you need to tame it.

One thing we've been discussing over this hiatus is the idea of boundaries. Clearly, I'm craving them as seen with my poor behavior. So, to begin with, here are some boundaries the Englishman has set forth. They probably seem very obvious, but having them written down helps me understand how concrete they are and in many way gives me a sense of relief as it solidifies my place in this relationship.

So to begin:
I will not submit in an erotic sense to any other man.
I will not indulge my own submissive fantasies or tendencies with any other man nor indulge or gratify their dominant fantasies of tendencies.
I will not be alone with any dominant men in any private space.
I will not indulge or gratify erotic or D/s fantasies or tendencies with fet friends or online friends.
I will not indulge in submissive flirting with other men designed to arouse them.
I will ask in advance before I attend any fetish events and you will only attend them with permission. Every event I attend will be as I described it and I will take a picture of what I wore to the event.
I will not kiss, caress or in any other way act-out in an overt sexual manner with other men even if D/s is not involved.
I will immediately report any breach in these rules.

I emailed back for some clarification. For one, only men are referred to in the rules, however, what about women? He responded that the prohibition on submission to others is applied to both genders. So that loophole has been closed. I also brought up the blog, especially regarding the photos as I was taking a don't-ask-if-you-don't-want-to-hear-the-answer stance on posting those. Surprisingly enough, he was quite ok with it. It's the anonymous nature of it all that makes it ok. That was a huge weight lifted for me, as it felt like it bordered on lying by not telling him. He did clarify, however, that sending photos to individuals is a big no-no. Understandable.

I quote him in saying, "These boundaries are not traps to catch you in, but a loving structure for you to fully explore and express this beautiful part of you." At times I want to jump ship and get spanked by every man at the next party, but other times, most of the time, I take a deep breath and understand that this is what I want. I want the freedom to explore my kink while feeling safe both physically and emotionally. And to do it with someone I trust and love and not be judged for it is more than anyone can possibly ask for. I think the urge to runaway for some anonymous spanko fun is more out of fear and self-loathing than anything else. There is always a sense of unworthiness when accepting such pleasures. It would be the ultimate slitting of my own throat to betray him- so the question is why? Why not accept the happiness and stability of what I have instead of playing with the fire chaos brings? Or maybe it is simply the physical desires of wanting to be spanked with more frequency? I feel like I'm being high maintenance, a character trait I don't strive towards. I trust these boundaries are placed to help this Lost Angel find her way home.

But tomorrow, I will be in a very happy place as I get spanked for the first time in 2.5 weeks... an eternity in my books. I'm going to spend some time today shopping for new underwear to mark the occasion. I'm thinking something extra girly...something that will make him want to spend some extra time lingering and fondling this very neglected bottom of mine.

Thursday, July 26, 2012

Blind Results

Oh my... exactly how long has it been since I've blogged? I'm not going to even count, but I welcome you, dear reader, to give me the mental spanking/caning I deserve... I will feel it through my firewall, and perhaps, if this naughty girl has learned anything, I won't make that mistake again.

It occured to me that I left things a little ambiguous and the reason behind my hiatus could have been mistakenly assumed to have been because of some sort of fall out. While that would have caused a serious lack of communicaiton on my part as I ball myself into fetal position, that wasn't the case this time. In fact, it seems that these off days bring us a little closer, in their own way.

Neither one of us were happy with how the day turned out. Through the guarded safety of email, we were able to communicate where some of our pitfalls occurred. He reminded me that nothing truly bad had happened, but still, we both had left dazed and confused as to how such a wonderful day could have turned so sour. We hadn't heard from our usual hostess, and so he suggested we cool off during the weekend. I thought that would be complete torture and insisted we meet, a decision I don't regret for a single moment.

As soon as I saw him, I gave him the big hug I've been wanting to give since all of this went down, and it was definitely reciprocated. We stood there, in each others embrace, recentering the energy that had been toppled a few days prior. We moved to the sofa and I sat in his familiar lap, my head buried in his shoulder with his arms around me. He told me that the only serious thing that he'd mention was that I am to immediately tell him when something bothers me instead of letting it fester. I ask the same of him and we move. the. fuck. on. Sometimes the best way to resolve an issue is by simply moving past it. I think we could have talked this thing to death, but really, we both just had a bad day. We were together now, and we came to play, and so play we did. And it was delicious.

There is so much beauty in the short time we have together every week. From the quiet whispers to the loving spankings to the wandering hands left to themselves to explore the wonders our bodies have to offer. However, with the addition of our new toy I can add to the growing list the absolute, stunning and stinging beauty of the cane marks it leaves behind. After my caning he gently stood me up and held me close. He can't help but to trace the welts. I reach behind myself and place my hand over his and together we read the love story that is written across my bottom.

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Scarlet Lines

I'm not a bad girl, but I play one in the bedroom.

But sometimes, I am.

I have this very bad habit of being a flirty drunk. Now, I'm a huge proponent of personal responsibility, so I never blame the drink. The decisions I make under the influence are ones I would make while sober... I just have a little (or a lot) of extra nudging.

So while on vacation I kissed a boy. It is not in my nature to make out with boys at bars, but he was absolutely adorable. He was tall, cute and you guessed it, donned a pair of spectacles. It's inexplicable, but I am a sucker for a man in glasses. I alluded to some foul play in my correspondence with the Englishman, but was not specific. During our play he was able to get it out of me...it didn't take much of an interrogation. The burden of the truth was lifted off of my shoulders, but I would soon rediscover it on my bottom.

"How many strokes do you think you deserve?", he asked.

"He was 25 years old, so 25 strokes," I replied.

"Very Well." His tone was firm.

I draped myself over the spanking horse, waiting to be cleansed of my sins.

"Such big infractions deserve the big cane."

I sprung up and my eyes widened. He noticed.

"These won't be love taps," he warned.

In a panic I quipped, "Actually, I think he was closer to 16."

"27." Period.

I'm looking at him in the mirror, looking at me. He gently takes his hand and places it on the small of my back. He slowly moves it up my back and as he gets to the nape of my neck I take his cue lower the upper half of my body. It's time to accept what is coming to me.

The strokes were quick and there were no loving pauses for me to catch my breath, only the briefest of moments when I managed to whisper the count. I couldn't determine which was worse, the fiery lines I felt on the surface or the thuddy pain buried deep in my bottom. Of course, none was worse than knowing how shamelessly I acted that night...and how embarrassed he would have been had he been there to witness such behavior.

A weekly caning has given my bottom an invisible callous. I stopped using arnica long ago, seeing how if any marks were left, they usually disappeared by the morning. By the time I got home the marks were faint and it looked like I would wake up this morning to a clean slate of a bottom. I was wrong. Like a scarlet letter, I wear a badge of shame. I differ from Hester Prynne as I wear mine hidden in secrecy, underneath my clothes and it will fade as I forgive myself as he has forgiven me.