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
outfits.


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
windows.


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!).

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.

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 year...so for now I buy myself some time as I let this sleeping blog lie.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

Peek-a-booty!

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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

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!

5k lashes

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

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.

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.

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.

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.