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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.