I hope everyone had a good Valentine’s Day, and the week that followed it!
My holiday was relaxed, but lovely. For me, the bigger event happened the day before: it was the day that Paul came back from England. I had been counting down the days until this happened for ages.
Three months is a very long time to be apart from the person you love. Fortunately, the miracle of technology allowed us to talk over skype and to text at least a little bit every day, and we used an App called Wunderlist to allow him to see which of my chores and work I was getting done every day and what I needed to focus on.
I also focused on having fun and keeping myself from getting too sad. I spent lots of time with wonderful friends in Los Angeles, spent Thanksgiving with Christy Cutie and her family of origin, visited my friend James and Korey in Dallas for a week, spent three weeks in New York/New Jersey with family over the holidays and was visited here by Jon83, Thursday Night and Michael Valentine. Lily Starr, Robert Wolf, Tattoo Fairy and I went to Disneyland together for two days. I spent another day there with my friend Dot. All of this helped to keep me both busy and distracted, and I remained pretty happy and in high spirits, although there are always going to be times where I struggle.
During the time that Paul was away, the new ATVOD law came into effect, making the production of spanking videos in the UK illegal. I became the owner of Northern Spanking. My first spanking romance novel was published and was listed in the top 5 BDSM Romance books on Amazon shortly after it was released. I was voted Spankee of the Year for 2014.
In other words, a lot of time had passed since November, and I’d spent countless hours dreaming of the moment that I would first see Paul again. I could hardly sleep on the night before he arrived, since I knew he was already on the plane flying to meet me. In the morning, I had some chores left to do, since I always aspire to make the house as close to perfect as I can when Paul is getting home. I want it to be nice for him, and the house needs to be deep cleaned every once in a while, anyway. Once everything was done, I took a long bath, complete with a rose petal bath bomb. I put a treatment in my hair and a mask on my face and tried to relax a little, although my heart was beating a mile a minute.
Around six, I hopped into my car and headed for LAX. It usually takes me about an hour to get to the airport, and Paul was landing around 7:00, so I figured I would have time to find out exactly where he was going to come out of immigration. Unfortunately, I sat in traffic for two hours, and arrived around the time he was coming out of immigration. I met up with him a moment later than I would have wanted to, and after a lot of rushing, but it was alright. Everything was alright. The night was warm and I stood on my tiptoes as we kissed for a long while, troubles and cares literally melting away. I snuggled up to his chest and refused to let go. Finally, we carried his luggage back to my car as I chatted spastically. We drove to a diner for dinner before heading home. Paul was exhausted from the trip, so we snuggled up in bed pretty shortly after getting in.
The next morning was time for spanking, of course:
I recently became obsessed with my local Korean Spa. My girlfriend and one of our friends and I go once a week to soak in the big tubs, sit in the saunas, eat delicious Korean food and sometimes get rather violently massaged. One day I decided to get a full body scrub in order to make sure that I was truly soft and silky to the touch. The woman giving me the scrub commented that I had an awful lot of dead skin on my bottom, and she scrubbed it particularly vigorously. This was the strongest form of exfoliation I’ve ever experienced, and when she finished, it felt like my body had never been touched before. I quickly discovered that this also meant that my bottom was incredibly sensitive, and that every single smack stung with a strength and clarity that I hadn’t felt in years. I can’t decide if I recommend doing this or not: on the one hand, my butt feels wonderful to touch, but on the other, my tolerance was scrubbed off and washed down the drain along with my dead skin, it seems!
We spent most of Valentine’s Day cuddling and Paul caught up on rest for a while. Then I got dressed up (and forgot to take a photo, fail!) and we went downtown for dinner, which was most excellent. When we finished eating, it was time to go home for more cuddling and eventually sleep. I can’t really describe what the day was like. It was more of a long series of moments that we spent together, where every tiny thing was significant to me. Interlacing our fingers to hold hands. The sound of him singing quietly along to a song we both like in the car. Slipping into his jacket to cuddle against his chest. Being alone in my room but hearing the sound of him in the office and feeling my heart flutter with excitement at the fact that he was here. These little moments, loving the details of a person, are what romance is all about for me.
The next day I had sessions, but before that we snuck off for brunch with Spankcake at a diner that promised the world’s greatest pancakes. They were certainly good: fluffy and delicious! As is usual when I’m with Spankcake and/or Erica, we stayed until the last possible moment. Sometimes this is when the restaurant closes, but this time it was when I had to go home to get ready for work. The next day was President’s Day, though, and Spankcake had the day off so between bites of pancakes, we launched a plan for an adventure: we decided to go to Dave and Buster’s.
I only discovered Dave and Buster’s when James and Korey Johnson took me there when I was visiting them in Dallas in December but I fell in love with it instantly. An arcade which serves alcohol and snacks and has lots of fun games that “grown ups” like me can play? I was hooked. Korey and I had spent ages playing games last time, and had traded in our tickets for some candy. So, I was glad to find out that there was one close to me, at Hollywood and Highland.
The three of us carpooled in Spankcake’s car, which was a good thing, because I had recently discovered that they served alcoholic snowcones there and I intended to indulge myself in this department. We had a quick lunch and I had a delicious drink, and then it was time to go play games (while Paul went to go check out the set up they were doing for the Oscars).
We started off doing pretty well, and playing a few different games. We were hoping to get enough tickets so that we could each get a small stuffed Hello Kitty, so we needed about a thousand total. We were making good progress when we discovered there was a Candy Crush machine. This is a game every single person who has a cell phone or facebook knows how to play! Spankcake and I were doing well and collecting lots of tickets, especially when we would complete a level and get to spin the bonus wheel. We were so excited about this that we were jumping up and down. We discovered that we were only a few levels away from winning the big bonus, though, and through dedicated effort and team work we were able to accomplish that goal: an addition 1000 tickets.
Then we went to show Paul, who had returned and was sitting in the bar, just how great we were at games. He was impressed! When we cashed in the tickets we found out that we had enough to each get a pretty big stuffed animal, bigger than we expected by far!
Then it was happy hour, and time for more mixtures of alcohol and pure sugar!
I realize that this post doesn’t have that much spanking in it. It’s more “Alex in Happy Little Girl Land” but I’m okay with that. More spankings coming soon, trust me. ❤︎
The day after Paul arrived back home happened to be Valentine’s Day. It was positively joyful to wake up in the morning next to him, knowing that he was really here and that we’d be spending the whole day together. The day was beautiful out: sunny and warm. I made breakfast and we spent the morning and early afternoon relaxing and cuddling. At dinner time, we headed downtown to go to a favorite restaurant.
Now, I hadn’t been spanked for non-professional reasons the entire time that Paul had been gone: about three months. I was antsy for as much attention as possible, and I couldn’t help but let this show in acts of naughtiness while we were out. I didn’t do anything serious, but I was obviously a bit hyperactive, and I pushed tiny boundaries: I ran from the car to the elevator in the parking lot. I pushed all the buttons in said elevator. I was impatient to get inside and get to dinner (all due to excitement, of course!) and I may have whined a bit. While I didn’t act out much in the restaurant itself, about halfway through our meal, I discovered that the table wasn’t exactly even, and by leaning on it, I could make it shift. It wasn’t enough to spill anything or disturb anything, but Paul told me to stop it. So I did. But then I did it again– entirely by accident, of course! And the third and fourth and fifth time were by accident, too. I was very accident prone, until he leaned over and whispered in my ear:
“You’re going to get spanked for being so naughty when we get home. If you keep this up, you’re going to get spanked here.”
I doubted that he would actually spank me in a restaurant, but since it was my favorite place, I didn’t want to risk it. Despite feeling a bit squirmy after this scolding, I sat quietly through the rest of the meal and pushed only one button in the elevator on the way back down.
Once we got home, we snuggled up on the sofa for a while. I continued to talk a mile a minute to catch up on all the things that he had missed while gone. Eventually, the subject changed to my earlier naughtiness.
“I think you need to be spanked for making such mischief, and for disobeying me,” he told me, pulling me over his lap as he sat on the sofa and lifting my short, heart-printed dress. I was wearing white cotton panties with pink hearts on them, and he rubbed my bottom gently for a while: it was still slightly tender from having been spanked so thoroughly the night before. Then, he started to spank me. The sound rang through the room, sounding incredibly loud, and I let out a sound which was not just caused by the sharp sting. He continued, slowly and firmly, and I cooed, purred, whimpered and wriggled. I wanted more. I wanted to be spanked even harder, and I wanted it to be faster. He teased me for a few moments, but the spanking grew, and it got exactly that: hard and fast. Soon I was gasping, overwhelmed, unable to process each individual sensation until it grew into one big, all encompassing feeling and I slipped, as if underwater, into a delicate, passive place. I was flushed with arousal and entirely content. After a few minutes, he stopped and leaned in to whisper to me again: “I don’t think that spanking you is enough. I’m going to beat you.” He stood me up and pulled my dress all the way off, enjoying the site of me standing in my panties for a moment before giving me an instruction: “Go get my cane.”
I padded off to the kitchen, blushing in the way that being sent for an implement tends to make me blush. My heart was dancing in my chest: I hadn’t been caned in a long time. Besides, I hadn’t been caned by him in months, and that experience is a different thing than playing that way with anyone else. It’s not just the fact that we tend to play harder together. It’s an emotional thing: I’m far more vulnerable with him, and I was in a state of particularly high vulnerability. I was apprehensive, but in a positive way.
In the white cabinet in the kitchen where the implements are kept (AKA the “Cupboard of Awful”) there are four canes. These can be divided into two categories: “every day” canes and “special” canes. There are two lightweight rattan canes of different lengths which are the “every day” canes. These are used when filming, during sessions, when playing with other people, when traveling and, very rarely, during our personal play. The two “special” canes are fancier, denser, scarier vintage canes. The smaller one is the cane that we use nearly all the time in our personal play. The larger one has never been used: it’s reserved for very serious infractions and I’m somewhat terrified of it. It’s thicker and denser than the cane that Paul usually uses during our personal scenes (both playful and disciplinary) and that cane is incredibly heavy, dense and thick. It also has a lot of emotional attachment, and this mental side of things has a strong effect on me. Without being told, I knew to select this cane, and I brought it back rather awkwardly, thinking about how much it was going to hurt.
Paul took the cane from me and bent me over with my hands on the seat of the sofa. Bent over positions feel more formal to me (as opposed to prone positions, which feel more intimate) and the mix of the formal positioning with my vulnerability and arousal, as well as our seriously intimate emotional connection worked for me. It brought me back to very old fantasies, and I quivered with anticipation. “Open your legs,” he instructed, and I did so, rather sheepishly.
“I’m not going to beat you because you were naughty tonight,” Paul told me. “I’m going to beat you because you’re mine.”
“Yes, Paul,” I affirmed, floating off into a place where I was focused on belonging and couldn’t feel safer.
Then, he began to cane me. The first stroke made me cry out: a mix between a wail and a sharp exhale. It bit and stung, and the pain was growing rapidly. I expected a long pause, during which I would squirm and whimper and then finally calm myself and wait for the next stroke, which would follow. I was taken by surprise when the next stroke followed rather immediately after the first. The parallel pains blossomed, and Paul gave me a short break to catch my breath before landing another pair of strokes. I tried to adapt to this new pacing, but it left me trembling. At one point, after about six or seven strokes, I whimpered out “How many?” In the past year or so, I had become very attached the idea of knowing exactly what was going to happen before it started. Paul didn’t hear my question, I don’t think, and I realized I didn’t actually want to repeat it. I didn’t need to know. I could let things be entirely out of my hands, and just trust him to give me the right amount for what I needed. I found doing this very freeing. Paul and I developed our relationship in the wake of me getting out of something which had stopped being emotionally healthy for me, and I’ve struggled with fears, insecurities and anxieties about things which used to seem simple to me. Paul has been incredibly patient: never pushing me too hard and always making me feel safe. It was rewarding to be able to bask in this safety without some of the nervousness that had been gnawing at me. As such, neither of us know how many strokes I actually took, but I know it was a lot. He continued in this paired fashion, and I cried out and wailed, but didn’t actually break into tears. I was too happy to be in that moment, too filled with adrenaline, and too aroused to go to that place.
Finally, after what seemed like a very, very long time, Paul said “I’m going to give you six more strokes.”
“Six?!” I gasped. I was expecting that he would say one or two, maybe. For a second, this many more strokes seemed impossible, but I quickly accepted it, and I took pleasure in the thought that I would take them as well as I could. Paul instructed me to shut my legs, and I knew that this meant that at least some of these strokes would be on my thighs. I braced myself for this, focusing on the feeling of belonging, of this being something decided by him for me, and of being out of control. I felt another sharp shiver of excitement course through my body. It was followed quite quickly by the first of the six final cane strokes, which landed across my thighs. I shouted: it was shockingly painful. All six of these strokes happened with fairly quick pacing, and I found myself wiggling, squirming, wailing, jumping up and down in a way which was probably rather ridiculous to look at and, all in all, struggling. They were very hard, and I could feel how swollen my thighs were already. I felt each welt rise as I gritted my teeth together, trying to bear the red hot agony that they brought. Then, it was over.
Pretty immediately, I collapsed into his arms on the sofa. Paul held me close, and I felt wrapped up, tiny and very, very loved. I thanked him for beating me, and he stroked my hair and cuddled me as I came down from my endorphin high. Finally, I stood up and gently felt the welts. They felt pretty obvious to the touch, and I wondered how it looked. I suffer from an inability to show just how severely I have been spanked sometimes, and I was afraid that this would look less spectacular than it felt.
“Do I have lines?” I asked Paul. He looked carefully.
“You have a few,” he told me. “If you go look quickly you might be able to see them.” I was disappointed. This was ALWAYS the way it turned out. My stupid bottom not marking up the way it should! I grumbled as I walked to the mirror, where I turned around and saw this:
He then helped me document them in a couple of different lighting situations:
There have been a lot of people posting all kinds of romantic and interesting stories about their Valentine’s Day celebrations and spankings and such things. Compared to some, mine was extremely simple. We’re going to celebrate things more this weekend: on Tuesday, Malignus and I both worked evening shifts. Unfortunately, the night before, neither of us got much sleep. Our original plan was to celebrate Valentine’s day earlier in the day before we went to work. I was extremely sleepy when Malignus woke me up, but less so after he gave me a very spontaneous but thorough “wake up caning” with a 1/8″ acrylic cane. Spontaneous spankings are very hard for me to be submissive during, because they go from “I’m doing nothing!” to “I’m getting spanked!” at an extremely high speed and therefore don’t leave me much (any) time to get into a submissive headspace. Still, I did a fairly good job of being still for it. I was wearing my pajamas still when I started getting caned, and about halfway through, Malignus pulled the bottoms and my panties down to cane me on my bare bottom. I rarely ever get bared by someone other than myself, so it had a strong psychological effect on me and brought me into a sort of warmly submissive headspace for the rest of the scene. This is a lot of writing about a very short thing: he caned me at a very fast pace and it didn’t last long at all, but it made me feel happy and loved, and was therefore certainly worth sharing.
After a little while of being awake, we decided that we didn’t want to go out that day after all because we were feeling excessively sleepy. First, though, we spent a little while hanging out in the bedroom and watching TV. We were in high spirits and Malignus was in a creatively sadistic mood. While I was only wearing a t-shirt and panties, he told me to hand him a short cane. He told me that he was going to hit me on the arm with it (he occasionally hits me with little force on my upper arm). I made a scrunchy face but braced myself for this. Instead, he hit me on the front of my thigh. That’s one of his favorite “games”: hitting me where I don’t expect it. Then he hit me on that thigh again. Then he hit me on the other thigh. Then I cried. Then he gave me a few rapid fire strokes on the back of one of my thighs as I was rolling around in pain. This particular cane is one that doesn’t get used as often as others, I think largely because it’s a shorter cane. I rarely ever get caned while OTK (although the first few canings I got, including very extended ones, were done that way) so my two shorter canes get less use than longer, more intimidating looking ones. The one that was selected on Valentine’s Day was an 18″ Tearjerker JR Delrin Cane from Cane-iac. It’s actually one of the first canes that I owned. Scotchgrove purchased it for me for my birthday. It’s one of those things that doesn’t look all that scary when you see it lying there:
|Malignus said that it looked like I slept with Wolverine.|
Another interesting thing about it: from time to time, cane strokes will break the skin a tiny bit or leave a little blood blister where the tip hit. For whatever reason, probably something good about the design, this cane just left a larger welt on the tip instead of a cut. That’s much nicer and probably better for people who don’t want to get broken skin. The marks kind of looked like this: •–––. Another nice thing (in this situation) was the fact that it’s a very stingy cane that isn’t particularly weight-bearing. This meant that I didn’t get as crazy of thigh bruising as I did the first time I got my thighs caned (which was with an acrylic cane.) It still hurt. A lot.
Finally, when we were playing around Malignus said something to tease me and I responded with “I’m going to poison your sandwich!” After he finished hitting me with things, he did indeed ask for a sandwich (that’s my usual aftercare: making him a sandwich :P). I had a bunch of kitten stickers left over from making my Valentine’s Day cards for my friends, so I stuck one on the top of the sandwich to be the poison. I felt very clever. Malignus responded by setting the sticker on fire in a candle. SAD FACE!
|You can sort of see the burnt remnants of the sticker.|
After some cuddling, we napped and then went off to work. I spent the rest of the night feeling contented, warm, loved and sore. It was a lovely day indeed. 😀