I’ve never let this blog sit around uncared for for such a long time. I finally have the basic pieces of my life in order now, though: my house is nearly unpacked, I have most of the furniture that I require and all of my appliances, my cats are happily adjusted to the new home and, perhaps most importantly, I finally have internet. It took them two weeks to get around to setting it up. It was ridiculous. I got tremendously behind on everything that I needed to do, since nearly all of it involves being online.
I’m finally getting caught up now. It’s very time consuming.
But life is good.
Paul and I are growing into a comfortable lifestyle as things get settled. Like everyone else in the world, we spend most of our days doing our respective jobs, but we both do large parts of that from home so we spend a lot of time together. I make dinner nearly every night and do lots of baking, which makes me happy. Between work and chores and making cookies, there’s time for me to do the silly things that I like, such as drawing with sidewalk chalk, chasing my cats around and doing craft projects such as making foxes out of paper.
|Two dozen cookies from scratch, one dozen foxes from construction paper|
After I made them, Paul used string to carefully hang them from the weeping branches of the tree in our yard, whose trunk is wrapped with tiny, solar powered Christmas lights. Our mail box is matte black, so I color on it with the sidewalk chalk. We have a pumpkin on our stoop and yellow flowers growing in a planter. It’s so incredibly obvious that I live here. It’s a very happy house.
Paul and I have grown very comfortably into having D/s as part of our daily lives instead of maintaining a long distance relationship, probably partially because the foundation that we built during the time that we were long distance was so strong. Aiding in the ease of this transition is the fact that we both have a very strong and well defined idea of what we want from one such relationship and that those ideas are very much in line (see also, our compatibility). I’m sure that being seriously in love doesn’t hurt, either.
Just as our daily life has become very domesticated, our daily kink life has, too, in a way that I find infinitely comforting. Spanking fits into our daily life seamlessly. It’s the most natural thing in the world. Our bedtime ritual involves me getting spanked each night as a re-affirmative act, but spankings just happen throughout the day, too, whether it’s taking a break from work for spontaneous play or setting time aside to address something more serious.
Interestingly, now that I’m living in a location where I have a lot more kinky friends and scene activities to participate in, I’ve found myself much more involved and interested in my vanilla life. I’ve been reconnecting with old friends, doing personal writing projects, doing craft projects, doing more baking and more experimental cooking and just generally rediscovering interests that I had put aside.
One thing that I really like is walking. That sounds like a very lame thing to like, doesn’t it? I do, though. In college, Zeki and I used to walk huge distances, sometimes passing through two or three towns, or even out of the county. We’d talk and share stories. Some of our best mutual ideas were fostered during these walks. Other days, I would walk by myself, usually on a shady trail that followed the Bronx River. I would get deeply involved in daydreaming and often make up spanking stories in my head or review others that I really enjoyed, sometimes from films, sometimes from my own limited experiences with SF.
The other day I decided to go take a walk, since I needed to talk to someone on the phone I get antsy when I’m just sitting still when I’m on the phone. Paul was working in the study, so I told him I’d be back shortly. I did plan to be back shortly. Maybe I didn’t really plan at all, because I was wearing jelly flip-flops and I didn’t have any water with me and it was a particularly dry, hot day. None the less, my conversation ended pretty quickly, but I kept walking for a while, daydreaming happily like I used to do. I realized that I was walking in the direction of a particular major road where Target is located, and I decided that it would be neat if I walked all the way there. It’s about a mile away from my house, so it was certainly feasible– I’ve done 8 – 10 mile walks in the past. I needed to go there anyway, and I estimated that I was about halfway there already. I’d walk the rest of the way, get the hangers I needed and then walk home.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t actually walking the way that I thought I was.
Two miles later, I was hot, dehydrated and tired. My feet were incredibly sore and seriously blistered. I decided that I needed to give up and turn around.
I tried to walk home, but I got about six blocks before I realized that there was no way I could possibly do that. I was tired. I needed a drink. This was a stupid idea.
I slowly began to realize how poorly I had planned this. Why did I think it was a good idea to walk in the heat without water or proper shoes? I hadn’t even told Paul where I was going, and he was under the impression I was going to be back shortly. I realized that I’d been gone for nearly an hour. Under the strap of my sandal, my feet looked like they were about to bleed.
It was then that I realized I was going to have to ask Paul to come get me in the car. It was also then that I realized that I was probably going to be in pretty serious trouble. Taking care of myself is pretty much rule #1. This was a serious failure in that department.
Paul agreed to come get me without really saying anything about it, but as soon as I got into the car, I knew that he was seriously displeased with me.
“Are you mad?” I asked, my voice small and meek.
“You’re going to be punished when we get home” was his only response. We drove back in silence. I could do nothing but think about how thoughtless this had been. I’d interrupted Paul’s working. I had entirely failed at taking care of myself. Tears ran down my face, and I sniffled a bit.
As soon as we got in the door, Paul turned to me and said “Go to your room.” I went into our bedroom and flopped on the bed. I didn’t want to stand up. My feet hurt too much. I was hot. I was tired. I was in big, big trouble. I lay there like a lump, doing an activity which really can’t be described as anything but “sulking.” In the seeming eternity (but actually one or two minutes) before Paul came in I could hear him moving around in the kitchen. Then I heard the sound of a cabinet being opened and shut again, and my heart began to pound.
There’s a shallow, white cabinet in the kitchen. It’s separated from the other kitchen cupboards and obviously original to the house, but it’s only about three inches deep. I’m not sure what it was used for, but it’s become the official storage place for some of our meanest implements.
I wanted to mope about the fact that I was about to be seriously corrected, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I knew that I deserved it. Still, my tummy hurt.
Paul finally came into the room holding a cane. I had sort of known that was going to be the end of this story from the moment that I realized that I had messed up so badly, but the reality of the situation was sinking in very quickly.
In addition to feeling upset about how thoughtless my actions were, I had been really focused on worrying that Paul was mad at me for inconveniencing him. Having to stop your work to go rescue a silly girl who got herself into a mess is bound to annoy anyone. But once he began to scold me, I realized that he was much more upset about the fact that something bad could have happened to me. I felt very loved as he lectured me about thinking before I did things and taking care of myself. I could feel how precious I am to him, and how he won’t let any harm come to me, even through my own poor judgement.
Then he ordered me over the bed and began to spank me. While technically a warmup, he started hard and furiously. In my tired, vulnerable state, I pretty instantly started to sob hard, offering absolutely no emotional resistance to the spanking. I needed it. I knew that.
I felt impossibly sore after the warm up, but this was probably mostly because of my mental state at the time. Then Paul ordered me to kneel up on the bed, which I did quickly. I kept my feet off the edge of the bed because they had gotten filthy as I was walking around on the dusty sidewalks in flip flops. Paul noticed this, too, and said “You’ll clean your feet after this,” which I quietly affirmed through my tears. “Get down on your elbows,” he told me, and this made me cry harder, but I did as I was told. This position means only one thing: strokes to the tender area where my thighs and bottom meet. Paul then tapped my bottom with the cane before simply saying “Ten.”
The first stroke startled me into some sort of clarity for a second, although after the initial crack, during that long moment when the pain begins to built and develop, I felt overtaken by hurting and began to cry again. The next two or three were quickly paced– no time for one to finish building before the next and I could make no attempt at processing them. I wailed. After five strokes, he gave me a little break, pressing his hand against the welts in the same motion that I do when a beating is over. The pressure seems to hold the pain in for a moment. I caught my breath, but didn’t slow my sobbing.
The next two strokes were to that aforementioned tender area. I did my best not to yell, but I felt an overpowering warmth: burning, biting, pinching, gnawing heat. The rest of the strokes came in quick succession, and after each one, my cries became louder and more desperate.
It’s a very good thing that we live in a house instead of an apartment. I’m….noisy.
When the whole thing was over, Paul immediately sat down on the bed and pulled me onto his lap, holding me close to him. I wiped tears all over my face in some attempt of cleaning myself up and apologized over and over. He stroked my hair and told me he forgave me.
Part of our protocol surrounding scenes is that I always thank him for spanking me. This is something that I initiated because it makes me feel very submissive in the best way. After being soundly punished I felt a bit shy to say this this time, but I managed it out in a coy whisper. “Good girl,” he told me, kissing my forehead. I sat there on his lap for a long time, entirely vulnerable, my bottom aching and burning but my tears drying. I felt lucky to be so loved. I was filled with contentment.
Finally, I felt calm enough to get up and get myself properly cleaned up. I rinsed my feet off and then climbed into a cool bath, the water still feeling tingly and antagonistic against my welts. I was glad, though. I didn’t want them to be fully soothed. I didn’t stop to take a picture of the lines, but they were impressive: perfectly parallel and close enough together that they very nearly touched, but not quite.
Anyway, I’m back now. I’ll be updating one to two times a week, as I used to. I’ve missed writing, and I hope you’ve missed reading.♥
I had a few other delightful adventures when I was in Denver, before it was Cabin Time. One involved taking photos with Amoni. Amoni is one of my best friends, and a wonderful photographer. We’ve done a lot of different sorts of shoots before, but this time we decided to explore the Lolita type space that I sometimes enjoy occupying. Our friend, Cupcake, did my hair for me and Amoni picked out my outfit. The shoot was extra fun.
We also had a night that involved a bit of partying. I don’t really get drunk very much. Despite the fact that I’m still extremely young, I somehow feel like I’m too old for that. I suppose I overdid it when I was in high school and college. I also have a ridiculously low tolerance for alcohol, so I don’t even try to keep pace with my friends. I did, however, drink this tiny bottle, which was actually good (we mostly bought it because LOL IT IS CALLED KINKY!) and a thing of blackberry cider, which was pretty weird. You can see my silly looking drinky face. 😛 We also hung out with friends DarkSteven and DarkStevensGirl, who did not appear in this photo, and a really clingy basset hound called Bonnie who wanted to sit on everyone despite being way too big for that.
|Cupcake, myself and Amoni. Amoni’s bangs are the cutest ever.|
I have no sense of chronology anymore, but at one point I went to hang out with my super good friend and retired model, Sophie Grey. We met up with Danny Chrighton, whose name I’ve been spelling wrong on this blog since the start of time. Excuse to spank me in the future? After we all got together, we walked to a sushi restaurant near Sophie’s place and had an excellent meal. We walked around and got ice cream, which always raises the quality of my day. We decided to go to Goodwill, mostly because I wanted to and Sophie and Danny said it was a great one. So in we went. I kept finding everything vaguely school skirt-ish pretty instantly, but nothing was the right fit for either Sophie or I. Then we went through the “Wares” department, where we discovered something that felt super out of place: a paddle.
It was just a fraternity paddle, sitting there among the random plastic bowls and old clocks. I don’t have a clear photo of it, but it was big and hardwood and heavy. It had a set of Greek letters on it, and then the list of all the brothers from that house written on it. Sophie and I decided to buy this, but felt super awkward and weird walking around carrying it. Here’s possibly the worst photo of me that I’ve uploaded to this blog in the past few years (I recently looked at a bunch of my old posts and I used to be a lot sillier looking than I am now. Wow.)
|This is me posing with my ice cream cone and trying to be nonchalant about the fact that I’m holding a big fucking paddle!|
This whole thing was made even more awkward by the fact that it was us two girls with Danny buying it, and that Sophie and I couldn’t stop giggling, and that I didn’t have enough cash to cover it and had to borrow a dollar from Danny. Poor boy at the Goodwill checkout. -_-
We carried this around in a bag while we stopped for supplies, then we went back to Sophie’s place. We decided that we wanted to remove the part that has all the boy’s names on it (since it’s kind of a piece of paper that’s attached with varnish and is aging weirdly, and because this paddle’s new job is spanking girls). I don’t know if these sorts of paddles are some sort of collector’s item or anything, but I haven’t done this, so if it’s a horrible idea, someone should let me know. Anyway, we decided to leave it alone and not get spanked with it that night.
We watched TV and had some cider (yes, I basically only drink cider when I drink alcohol) and then started watching videos that the three of us had done in the past which we thought were funny. Danny had the best one: a video that he did for Spanked Call Girls where he did a “pimp accent” while spanking Leia Ann Woods. Infinitely entertaining.
Eventually, it got late and became time for some actual spankings, instead of just videos. 😀 Danny had brought over a couple of implements, and Sophie and I lay on the bed next to each other while he took turns spanking one of us and then the other. It started out as soft and gentle, but grew in intensity, as spankings are wont to do. I like getting spanked with Sophie. She really obviously enjoys being spanked. She’s super relaxed and makes lots of happy noises, and that sort of pushes me into a similar space. Eventually, though, Danny got out a cane and started giving us taps with this. In the same natural and undeniable progression, this began to grow into full fledged strokes, making both of us yelp and wiggle. “Danny!” Sophie protested, “this is supposed to be a good girl spanking!”
“It is!” Danny said. “This is a nice, gentle bedtime caning for good girls.” He gave her another moderately hard stroke.
“You can’t just make something nice by saying that it is!” she pouted.
“I’m pretty sure that’s actually how it works,” Danny said, pleased with himself. Sophie and I made sad faces at him, but this obviously did nothing. This was tragic, because we minded the caning SO MUCH (yeah, no we didn’t!).
After he’d finished caning us, Danny remembered that he had his belt on, so he took this off and applied it to us. It was very nice. Belting has become a favorite spanking activity recently: it seems to be just the right mix of sting and thud, and often very well distributed. Like I mentioned before, there’s something hot and manly about taking a belt off. This particular segment was especially enjoyable.
When the belting was over, we got a cool down and then a nice lotion rub and I found myself in the “no bones syndrome” kind of state, where I couldn’t just get up and walk and had to roll around like I was lacking any actual muscular control. I sort of rolled back into my panties and then into bed, where the three of us cuddled all night. Friends who cuddle in bed together are the best kinds of friends.
While in Denver I also did a bondage shoot, which is something that I’m still fairly new at. This shoot was with The Monk of Mayhem. He was a really personable and nice guy, and I enjoyed chatting with him when I wasn’t gagged. 🙂 Bondage is intense and serious business, but I find filming it to be gratifying. There’s a lot of discomfort associated with bondage, largely in the form of being stretched in odd ways for longer than my body wants to be and in the horrible pins and needles feeling that comes when I’m finally untied from a pose. This is extremely different than the kinds of pain that I’m used to, and it’s a bit strange for me, but it’s never been “bad.” The primary word that I have to describe it is “interesting.” Sometimes it’s intense. Sometimes it doesn’t even feel kinky to me. It’s almost always very aesthetically pleasing, though:
|Photo by The Monk of Mayhem|
The whole time that all this stuff was happening, though, my mind was often elsewhere. I was constantly aware of how many days were left before Paul arrived to visit me, and I got increasingly more excited and jittery as the number of days got lower and lower. The night before he was to get here, I could hardly sleep. I kept waking up and wondering if it was the time that I was supposed to leave to pick him up from the airport yet, which it of course was not.
I finally slept, though, and woke up surprisingly refreshed. The day that followed was one of the best ever. You’ll hear about it in the next post. ♥