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.