Thursday, July 30, 2015

All The Small Things

I was inspired to write again after reading about our little's day with
Craig and Lizzie on Black and Blue.  It was so much fun to read
and it reminded me how much I love reliving the day through my
writings. Even though things have ended with the Englishman (I
completely understand that I owe a post catching up to the changes in
my life... but that is a much longer and heavier post that I will
visit another day...), I am so happy to have an account of our
relationship, and I hope to do the same with Craig and Lizzie.

We had been wanting a little’s day for the longest time...and it’s not
to say that we don’t have lots of little’s time, like when Craig will
make us swirly eggs (poached to perfection) for breakfast or when he
reads us bedtime stories compete with voices (he does a great Mama
Bear, c-face and all). But a rainy Saturday seemed to be the perfect
time to have a special little’s day, especially as I had been begging
to go to Build-A-Bear for awhile. The last time we tried to go we had
found out they had closed the shop... so I was eager to go before they
made like the California Grizzly and went extinct.

After lunch it was time to get ready for our outing. Lizzie and I both
had our dresses picked out. I wore a cream colored jumper with black
flowers. I wore my hair in long curls and put a matching flowered
headband in my hair.  Lizzie wore a sweet dusty rose-colored dress
with black buttons. I love whenever we have opportunities to dress up
since Lizzie often lets me to her hair... and she has *the* best hair!
I curled her hair and found a sparkly black bow to hold it out of her
pretty face.  Her curls sprung with every step and it took all the
will power in me not to keep pulling at them to watch them spring
right back into place.

We drove to the nearest Build-A-Bear (BAB) and hustled through
the rain from the car to the mall.  The double doors opened and it was
difficult not to sprint to the store. Instead, we skipped, rather Lizzie
skipped and I galloped as my shoes were not skip-friendly. If you
don’t know how BAB works, you first have to pick out a deflated bear.
Then you have to stuff it (there’s a ceremony involved) and then you
pick out different outfits.  Lizzie knew which one bear she wanted to
adopt right away. I however, was less decisive. I kept picking out bears
and holding them next to Craig and Lizzie to look for likeness. I finally
found two that looked just like them and we stood in line.

Their likeness to Craig and Lizzie is uncanny!

Lizzie and I watched the kids in front of us get their bears stuffed
and we made a few notes. When it was our turn, our bear stuffer girl
asked us if we were going to a fancy party.  She complimented our
outfits saying they were so cute and said that outside of work that
was totally her style... I would think BAB would be the perfect place
to work for a closeted little.  She was also very curious about our
dynamic...making vague hand gestures and asking how long we’ve been
together.  Craig gave her a very polite answer.  With four bears to be
stuffed they opened up another station for the rest of the line... the
impatient kids behind us could relax.  We went through the abbreviated
for big-little-girls ceremony and then it was time to pick out

As everyone knows, shopping for clothes is not something that can be
rushed. Lizzie and I both had a particularly difficult time picking
out clothes- Lizzie found two really cute outfits for Princess (that’s
what she named her bear) and couldn’t decide on which one. I asked
Craig if we could get more than one outfit and we were shut down...
probably because we had already caved to allowing us to buy our bears
day clothes and pjs. We finally got in line to check out.  The sales
person handed us the tags to go print out birth certificates. Craig
sent away to do that while he finished up the transaction. He told the
sales person, “Daddy has to buy all of the bears.” We giggled as we
headed to the computers...the sales person gave a knowing smile.

We left the store with Princess, Craig Bear, Lizzie Bear and Little
Strange in their own houses.  Craig pulled up the car so the bears
wouldn’t get wet and we tossed Little Strange into the trunk while we
kept the other bears up front so we could dress them.  We asked Craig
if they could come watch Inside Out with us but he said it wouldn’t be
a good idea with all the buttery popcorn that was going to be
involved.  It took us forever to finally find a parking spot... which
should have been a clue how popular the movies were going to be! We
walked through the drizzle to the movie theater. We had to climb some
stairs where Craig and I both admired Lizzie’s bottom. When we got to
the top I tossed my purse on the ground and asked Lizzie if should
could pick it up.  Unfortunately for us, she knelt down like a lady
instead of giving us a sneek peek at the coming attractions. We were a
little early and so Lizzie and found a table at the bar while we
waited for Craig to buy the tickets.  Two girls sat near us with their
blankets in tow...after looking at the condition of their blankets I
was glad to leave the bears in the car.  The movie only had seats WAY
up front which was just as well because that meant we could grab
dinner instead.  To make us for the movie, Craig took Lizzie and I to
one of our favorite places to eat.  On the way to the restaurant we
stopped by BevMo, aka where we get our “big girl juice”.  When we were
in line, a woman exclaimed how pretty we both looked.  We looked at
each other and smiled...both of us can get quite shy.  After a quick
stop at the store, we headed to the restaurant.  Lizzie and I ate
until we were as stuffed as our bears.  We spent the rest of the night
with spankings, watching TV and cuddling with our bears. We hibernated
for the evening...not to wake until the sun peeked through our

It was a perfect day and I can’t wait until our next little’s day...
Lizzie and I have already conspired about going to Disneyland...with
the intention of stopping by the BAB at Downtown Disney (shhhh...don’t
tell Daddy!).

Monday, August 25, 2014

Stubborn as a muse

There would be no lunch today after all...

I cherish our long days together, hours of spanking followed by a meal shared by two people who genuinely enjoy each other's company. From our very first coffee, our conversations have been effortless...the chemistry at the table foreshadowing that behind closed doors. But today, my long day was no longer long, and it no longer felt like mine, and I was devastated. He hugged me and apologized and I stood limp in his arms, wanting so badly to snap out of my mood. Instead, I found myself spiraling into a much darker space and suddenly I was angry. He asked me to help him by being understanding, communicating to me how difficult it was for him as well. I tried to shake off the feeling but simply couldn't. My arms stayed crossed as I laid across his lap, occasionally resting my chin on a closed fist. His swats were met without any reaction, and the louder his hands shouted, the more it fed my stubbornness. He leaned his head towards mine, normally my cue to turn my head, my lips straining to meet his. Instead, my eyes looked straight forward. He kissed the back of my head anyways, and whispered, "It looks like we still have a long way to go until you remember how loved you are." I refused to be swayed by such words. I looked straight forward and he continued to spank me, harder than he ever has before. With every pause, I could feel the heat that was rising to the surface of my bottom... that warm, familiar glow could not seduce me today, though I was aware of the power I could so easily give into. He stood me up, and dragged a chair next to me, its legs protesting, catching on the rug. My stomach dropped as I anticipated getting over the chair... one of my least favorite positions. Instead, he had me lean over, hands on the seat. I waited there as I heard him unroll the bag of canes we have collected over the last year. With no mercy shown on his part, he picked out the thinnest of the canes- it leaves the most perfect cane marks, but at a stinging price. I felt nothing as I refused to enjoy any sensation as well as giving him the satisfaction of seeing me squirm. I cannot remember a time he took a bigger backstroke, nor can I remember a time when I challenged each and every stroke.

Wednesday, January 15, 2014

Let Sleeping Blogs Lie

It has been a whole year since I've written... rather, it has been a year since I've updated the blog. So much has happened during this last trip around the sun, and yet I have not found much to share. My relationship with the Englishman has grown more intimate, the smallest details seemingly too precious to share. It has been a year and a half since we met and we suffer from the manic energy of teenagers but are able to retreat to the peaceful comfort of two familiar souls growing old together, one day at a time. The greatest moments of growth seem to come after tense moments in our short history where our minds have caught up to the emotional frenzy...usually remedied by me retreating and him finding us once again. Our situation does not make for a convenient relationship, but one of choice. And today, I choose him.

I cannot commit the same way to this blog, but for now I will throw out a life preserver and rescue it from certain doom. I remember reading somewhere that a blog is officially dead when it hasn't been updated in a for now I buy myself some time as I let this sleeping blog lie.

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Switch Hitter

Vanilla outings have become just as instrumental in the development of our relationship as our time spent behind closed doors. When first seeking a spanker, I underestimated how important this factor would be, admittedly objectifying the spanker to nothing more than a warm lap with a mechanical arm. Last week we met for coffee and despite the cold air that normally has me hibernating (45 degrees, for the record… I am truly a warm-blooded animal), we decided to be adventurous and set out for a short hike.

We made our way to the trailhead. It seemed inviting, a well-travelled dirt path set in a ravine, homes with large price tags sitting on top of the ridges on either side. Even before making it onto the trail I tripped on a heavy branch, aka the large log. I Charleston’d out my misstep, able to salvage some pride, but not my coffee. After a short trot back to the car to get cleaned up, we finally got started on our walk. We strolled arm in arm admiring the winter hues that painted the trees, breathing in the crisp air. We kept our eyes open for a suitable spot to sit down but the trail was well exposed. We found a small cluster of trees that suited us. One had a long bend in its trunk making it a natural bench. Unfortunately it was just off in height as I was only able to sit on his lap for too short of a time before it was clearly not doing it for either one of us. I casually commented, “Too bad we didn’t think ahead to bring a cane… perhaps I should pick out a switch.” I never thought he would go for it, as he tends to be so shy and reserved about that sort of thing. Instead, his eyes gave me just enough hope for me to return his look with my eyes wide with excitement, matched by the large smile on my face. I jumped off his lap and returned to the trail.

We continued our hike with a new agenda: finding the perfect switch. He picked one up that seemed ambitious, covered in small stumps from broken off branches. Without a pocketknife or sandpaper handy, we kept it as a back up… the length and stiffness seemed otherwise perfect. The trail was empty so we had the freedom to roam and openly discuss the pros and cons to each potential switch: this one was nice, but too flimsy, this one would be perfect, but much too short, etc. I finally found one that seemed perfect… whippy and soft, as if it was made of a stiff piece of leather. We walked some more, waiting for another grove of trees to appear, but instead openness trended. We turned around and headed back to what we now refer to as “Spanker’s Grove”.

We quietly returned behind the curtain of trees, the only thing audible were the branches snapping beneath our shoes. I see him focus on a single point in the distance at nothing in particular. “Nobody’s around, you can relax. We haven’t seen a soul all day,” I assured him. My comment earned me a quick swat on the bottom along with his response, “Well I can’t hear a thing when you’re talking! Now lower your jeans.” I do as I’m told, and the cool breeze against my bare bottom does much to excite me. He takes a moment to examine my bottom and says, “Awww… poor baby… still bruised from when she was punished last week.” I pout. He continues, “And now, she’s going get a switching.” He stands exactly as if he were holding a cane, either unaware or unfazed by the low branches that threaten to poke his eyes. I’m completely aware that I am about to feel a new sensation, never having been struck by a switch before. I take a deep breath before the first stroke lands on my bottom. The stings are gentle and sharp at the same time. The velvety finish of the stick seems to offer some comfort against its sting. He starts with six. He checks in and I give a small nod. Without notice, twelve more hit me with rapid fire. I want more and give the stiffer branch a welcoming nod. He picks it up and strikes me with a single swat. I immediately stand up and rub my bottom, convinced it has left splinters in its wake. Its barbs were, not subtle to the touch. I was about to give my frowny face when I am interrupted by the noise of dogs barking and their owners calling after them. I now understand how an ER nurse can be presented with a man caught in his own zipper, as I have never been in such a rush to pull myself together. I turned around to tell him to hurry, but any English chivalry was lost as he was long gone. I laughed as I met him back on the trail, his explanation for leaving me for the wolves being that he would have explained that he was my lookout as I peed in the woods. We could not stop giggling in amusement, our adventure perfect in its own right.

We spent the rest of the afternoon walking on that perfect trail, basking in the sunlight and the glow of deep affection. Some vanilla outings feed our friendships, others our soul. In many ways this particular get together shined upon the many facets of our relationship… a little love, a little kink, a little adventure…exposing a beautiful spectrum of emotions. I appreciate it is a true gem… a priceless rarity.

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 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.