Alex in Spankingland

Breaking Brushes

Published September 9, 2014

I’m kind of a season behind on my blogging, so this story isn’t recent, but I enjoy it. I hope you will, too!

In July, after my visit to Denver, my friend Tasha and I drove to Chicago for Crimson Moon. Crimson Moon is a party that I truly love (not like there are any spanking parties that I *don’t* like). It has a very different feel than a lot of other parties. Part of this is the relaxed, casual atmosphere that the organizers’ attitudes lend to the general festivities. Another thing is the fact that Crimson Moon is held in a hotel that doesn’t have large suites, so people tend to play and hang out in a handful of smaller, more intimate bunches. This gives you lots of different rooms to chose from with lots of different energies, which is a big win. It also means that you have the unfortunate situation of not running into people as often as you might want to, or missing someone entirely because you were always in different rooms.

On the first night that I was at the party, I came into a room to find that my friends JC and Piper, as well as a handful of others, were playing in there (in fact, I’m pretty sure it was their room, but I wouldn’t guarantee that). I’m just getting to know Piper, although she seems incredibly sweet, but JC is one of my long time friends, and he’s become one of my favorite Tops. I hadn’t played for recreation yet at the party (I’d done a couple of sessions earlier that day) and I wanted to get going at that: what’s the point of being at a spanking party if not to get (or give!) lots of spankings?! Besides, because of the variety of small groups that I knew I’d be hanging out in all weekend, I wanted to catch JC for some play in case we didn’t get a chance later.

After some hanging out and cuddling, JC bent me over the edge of the bed and started to spank me with his hand. He started out fairly gently, but moved on to start using his hand like he normally does: hard. He gives one of the hardest hand spankings of anyone that I’ve ever played with, which is really saying something! I was really wanting to be spanked, though, and I was particularly happy to be reconnecting with my friend this way after almost six months, so instead of resisting, I felt blissed out. I think I probably cooed as he spanked me. The room we were playing in was busy and bustling, and my friends were probably watching, but I was in the right headspace to not care. Everything in the background melted away, and my only thought was the brightness that I felt with each smack. After a little while, JC decided it was time to move on to another implement (I say this because his hand pretty much counts as an implement in my mind!) and he brought out a pair of new hairbrushes. They still had the tags on and everything! I think Piper had purchased them for him, so I asked her if it was alright if I got spanked with them (as this is something I would have been sensitive about were the tables turned) and she gave an enthusiastic “Better you than me!” JC told me to pick which one I wanted to feel across my bottom.

When someone asks me to pick out a strap or select a cane, I always feel nervous and a little lost: despite the amount of time I’ve spent on the receiving end of these implements, I still have trouble identifying which ones will be meanest based on site. Hairbrushes, though, are a different story. I consider myself a good judge of character when it comes to hairbrushes. I can tell which ones are going to have a deep, burning bite, and which ones will have a lighter, more superficial sting, which ones have a cushioned core that give them a gentler thud and which ones will blind me in a frenzy of smacks that I can never seem to get used to. I could immediately tell that one of the two hairbrushes was decidedly friendlier, so I picked that one. It was a a rectangular “paddle brush” in a reddish colored wood.

JC began to spank me with it, and I began to squirm a bit, wriggling around under the smacks, although they felt quite like I had expected. Smack, smack, smack went the hairbrush. Things grew sorer and sorer with each smack, until one felt vaguely dull and strange.”Are you serious?!” I heard JC ask. I turned around to look. “You broke my hairbrush! This is the first time I ever used it!”

I find it annoying when people brag about breaking canes, since that’s usually a sign of poor technique combined with more force than a person with that level of skill should be using, but with little implements like this, it makes me excited. Ha! Take that, hairbrush! I got you back!Piper seemed to share my attitude, cheering me on and talking about how I’d saved her.

Of course, at this point, that meant that I was in for a dose of the other hairbrush: the one I hadn’t selected because it seemed heavier and more bitey. It was, indeed, heavier and more bitey. I squealed and kicked a bit as he gave me a hard flurry of swats to “reward” for my “accomplishment.”
Breaking things during your first spanking of a party weekend? It’s a sign that things are off to a good start! ❤︎

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged Chicago Crimson Moon, hairbrush spanking, JC, Spanking Parties, spanking pictures | 14 Comments

My First Spanking Art!

Published August 17, 2014

I’d never had any kind of “fan art” or other non-photographic creative works done representing me before. Today, that changed! A little while ago, Spanking Toons contacted me over my tumblr asking if I would want to be drawn as a spanking pinup. I responded very eagerly indeed! Today, I got to see the finished product. What do you guys think?

I totally love it. I love that the artist included me with only (pulled down) panties and a bow on, since those are the two things you can always count on me having on!

Thanks so much, Spanking Toons! I feel honored and cute.
If you’d like to commission a custom spanking illustration (F/F only) through Spanking Toons, you can email www.spankingtoons@hotmail.com

♥

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged Spanking art | 10 Comments

The Paddling Game

Published August 11, 2014

This weekend, my vanilla best friend from college came to visit me. I hadn’t seen her in three years, mostly because she moved to England for Graduate School, then I moved to South Dakota, then she got a job on the East Coast after school and we haven’t been in the same general area at all. We’d drifted apart in terms of talking, too, although she was once the person I was closest to. Part of that was having different life experiences. Part of it, on my part, was my involvement in the kink world. “Britney” (name changed) is a vanilla, and I’ve never told her about my involvement in spanking, fetishism, BDSM et cetera.

Recently, I’ve been pretty into telling my vanilla friends what I’m into and what I do. I’ve told four of them this summer, with no negative consequences. It’s become my policy that when I meet new friends, unless there’s an important reason not to tell them, I let them know what I do and, judging by how open I think we’re going to be with each other, what I’m into. With my old friends, I’ve been sharing this when the opportunity arrises. I decided, however, that I was not going to tell Britney, at least not now. Part of it was not wanting to make her uncomfortable, especially not when we were finally reconnecting. The other reason is a little strange and complicated, and it involves a story I haven’t told here before. It’s a little weird. I feel strange even putting it up.

This story takes place when I was nineteen, about a year after I got spanked by SF for the first time (which was kept entirely secret from everyone else in my life at that point). Britney and I had known each other for a full year at this point, and had become the best of friends, moving into the category of being chosen family. We’re both really ridiculous people. We like to do silly things and laugh a lot. We were attending a small, close-knit, liberal arts college where there was definitely no “Greek” scene. At the start of our Sophomore year, we moved into an apartment on campus together, and we talked about how awesome it would be if we founded our own Greek House (we used this non-gendered language because the whole experience was loosely based on the Greek Houses in The Sims 2: University). We talked about what this would entail and the whole thing seemed pretty ridiculous. When we had parties, it involved about six people sitting around drinking vodka and coke and eating popcorn while playing Katamari Damacy or watching anime DVDs that we got in the mail via Netflix. We certainly weren’t hosting wild house parties or anything like that, and we weren’t “popular” at our school. I pointed all this out to Britney.

“If we had a Greek House, what would we do in it? Wear togas around the living room?”

Then, she came up with the following suggestion. I want to point out that this was her idea, not mine: “We should get a paddle and hit each other with it to see who is the toughest!”

I obviously agreed to this plan.

I ended up being the one to order the paddle off of the internet. It was massive and thick, and kind of cheap. It was unfinished, and not something I’d ever use for spanking these days. I felt a mixture of excitement and embarrassment to own this. It felt incredibly unreal to me that Britney had suggested that we buy it.

Because Britney felt no embarrassment about the paddling, she invited about three other people to come over one night. We ordered a pizza and drank a little. Then, Britney decided that the paddling needed to be as ritualized as possible, so she got out a bunch of candles and turned on the “scary” music that plays in Firefly when they first encounter the Reavers. She then decided that whoever was giving the paddling needed to be held blameless if anyone got mad about it, so they would have their identity protected by wearing an executioner’s hood (this was all ridiculous since we were obviously all going to be aware of who it was, but she said it was “symbolic”). She made this hood by taking an extra pillow case from her old sheet set and cutting two eye holes in it. The pillow case was lavender with green and white stripes. We all thought this the best thing ever and laughed uncontrollably.

Then it was time for the actual paddling to happen. Britney wasn’t sure of the logistics, so I causally suggested that the best way to do it would be to have whoever was going to be paddled bend over the back of a dining chair. We agreed to do all the paddling over jeans for “safety” (and because I was too embarrassed to suggest otherwise!)
As was always the way when I was engaging in spanking play with friends (like when childhood friends wanted to play house, for example) I ended up doing the Topping first, because I knew the most about spanking and I wanted it to be “right.” Britney bent over and I took a swing. It collided with her admittedly very attractive, jeans covered bottom with a crack.

Realistically, a bunch of kids in their late teens engaging in underage drinking who have no supervision or training of any kind should not have been swinging such a big and heavy implement. Fortunately, I hit her in the right place: I’d watched Michael Masterson do this on the internet enough times to kind of know what I was doing. Britney gasped audibly, but didn’t tap out. So I gave her another swat, a little harder.
“Holy crap,” she said. “This actually really hurts!”
“Do you want more?” I asked, glad that being female meant that there was no directly visible evidence of my arousal.
“Yeah,” she said, “give it to me.”
So I did. She took five swats before calling mercy.

Then it was my turn. At this point in my life, I’d never been spanked in any position but OTK, and never by anyone but SF. I was still in state of derealization that my roommate was into this idea. But she was! She was standing behind me wearing a pillow case on her head and holding a great big paddle. Part of me wanted to crack up, but another part of me was very into it. A smaller part was intimidated by what it was going to feel like. Still, I figured she wouldn’t hit as hard as SF. I was the only person there who actually knew that she could take it. I braced myself, just in case.

The first swat was incredibly disappointing.
“Is that it?” escaped my lips. It was a test of strength, so it wasn’t entirely inappropriate that I’d be complaining about the lack of force behind her blow. She tried again. “Ok, I felt that one!” I admitted, although it still mostly just felt like an impact and didn’t carry any pain along with it. The third and forth ones continued to step it up, but still didn’t really do anything. Then, when she got the fifth swat, she figured out how to actually swing.

“Oh!” I squeaked out, pushed up to my toes by the heavy thud and the burning sting that followed.

“Are you done?” she asked. I shook my head. She gave me another similarly strong swat. Then another. Then another. I knew that I couldn’t physically resist, since that was against the rules of the game, and my focus on quiet submission and projecting an air of nonchalance had put me into a headspace where I was flooded with endorphins. I could have let her paddle me all day, but after the tenth swat I “admitted defeat:” it wasn’t going to be okay for me to like this TOO much!

We went on to each paddle another of our friends. The third friend decided after watching that she didn’t really want to participate. The friend who I spanked took about 3 swats. The friend Brit spanked took 4, I think. I won this contest by a landslide, and everyone was impressed with how tough I was. The swats were hard enough that the next day, I had bruises. I did not take a photo: it was years before I first took a photo of my post-spanking bottom.

We went on to “play this game” a couple of times throughout the school year, but I would never bring it up out of a fear of sounding too excited about the spanking, and eventually Brit stopped mentioning it, either. Brit went to study abroad the next year, and my social group drastically changed as this was when I met Rafa and Zeki. I did not introduce the ritual of testing our friends’ toughness by paddling to my new group of friends, and instead left the paddle hidden at my mom’s house. My mom eventually found it and donated it to Salvation Army for reasons that never made sense to me.

The fact that this interaction took place left me in a weird place when I thought about whether or not I should tell Britney about my spanking fetish the other day. On the one hand, she had singlehandedly come up with this complicated plan for us to spank each other when we were teenagers. It seemed plausible to me that she was also a spanko, although realistically, I don’t know if anyone who was actually into spanking would be brave enough to suggest this to a group of friends. I know I would have never been the one to bring this idea up: I was just happy to run with it once she did!

On the other hand, Britney didn’t know that when we were “playing this game” she was actually indulging my fetish. Telling her that I’m into spanking would be, essentially, admitting that she had, unknowingly, interacted with me in a way that was much more significant and intimate to me than she had known it to be. Nowadays, I would never let anyone spank me without them knowing full well what it meant to me. It feels in a certain way that I violated her consent by not telling her, even though she was the one who initiated the whole thing. I feel some level of guilt about the whole experience, like I shouldn’t have let it happen. If I had all my current self understanding and knowledge of how consent works, I definitely would have felt the need to disclose my interest before participating. But I didn’t back then. At the same time, I was just a kid, too, and no one actually got hurt by it. It was far less of a bad idea than some of the other stuff that we got up to back then, like climbing across the roof of the dorms or sneaking into construction sites at night to screw around. Still, this experience left me thinking that it wasn’t going to be right to tell Britney about this stuff.

The fact that I had decided that I wasn’t going to tell her meant that I had to vanilla-ify my house. My house had never needed to pass for a place that wasn’t kinky before, and it took a lot of work to make it so. There were implements tucked away in weird places, sex toys that I think are okay to keep in public view, lotion in the bathroom with “spanked!” on the label, “The Cupboard of Awful” where most of the meanest implements are stored in the kitchen, stacks of Kitchen Sink Spanking DVDs on my dresser, vintage spanking magazines on the coffee table and more. I had to take down my “Good Girl List” which describes all the things I need to do to behave myself properly and stay out of trouble, and I had to take down my calendar, since it was chock full of references to shoots, sessions and spanking parties. Some of my birthday cards had direct references to age play: they had to be taken down. All my school uniforms, cheerleading uniforms, girl scout uniforms and nurses uniforms are supposed to be kept in the “wardrobe closet” in the study, but I found pieces of them in easily visible spots and had to move them. Then I realized that I had to take down anything which made reference to the scene name of someone whose real name she knew: specifically me (since although Alex is my real first name, I have a very different surname legally). I had to change the backgrounds of my computer and phone, take anything spanking related off my desktop and clear my browser history.

Eventually, Brit showed up and the coast was clear. It was strange to see her again after three years, but like we always do, we got talking and things quickly began to flow naturally. Brit is very into not talking about work, mostly because she thinks her own job is boring, so I didn’t have to give too many details to my cover story. This worked out well for me.

We went to the beach and took a long walk, wading in the ocean the whole time. During this, the subject turned to porn. Britney mentioned being interested in the idea of porn made by and for women, as well as porn which emphasizes “real sex” and mentioned Make Love not Porn and Bright Desire as sites that she enjoyed. I told her that I was familiar with these site and thought they were great. She then said “I don’t like any porn where people are rough with each other or where someone gets hurt, even if they give their enthusiastic consent. I just find it gross. It makes me sick.”
I came as close as I would come to telling her: I said “I find some of that stuff hot.” She shrugged.
“Let’s not talk too much about it, or else I’ll get too impassioned,” she said.

We stayed up late that night, talking until once again, my voice started to die (I lost my voice at TASSP in June and it still is a little weak: if I talk too much it starts to fade and I’m not good at not talking!) We bought a cake and made some cocktails. Despite her not knowing a big part of my life, I felt very close to her again by the end of the night. When it got late, we both slept in my bed, and as I fantasized before going to sleep like I always do, it felt exhilaratingly naughty to be thinking these thoughts in vanilla company. The next day, we went to brunch before she had to go home, and then had to say goodbye.

All day, I’ve been thinking about whether or not there’s anything wrong with keeping something like from someone you’re close to. I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s okay, at least for now. I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. I don’t think I’d lose her as a friend over it at this point, but I do think it would make things weird and awkward for a while, which I don’t want. But if she ever asks to play spanking games again… she’s gonna have to know! ♥

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged consent, paddling, Vanillas | 5 Comments

A New Hairbrush

Published August 8, 2014

Note: This post contains explicit references to F/F sexuality. In fact, it’s the most blatantly sexual post I’ve ever written. If you’re uncomfortable with this, please skip it!

A couple weeks ago, I visited friends in Denver before heading to Chicago for Crimson Moon. I had a great time while I was there. One of the many highlights of the trip was getting to spend time with Amoni. Amoni is, hands down, one of my best friends ever. I feel like a lucky girl to know her, and even more so that I get to hang out and goof off with her a few times a year. One day when we were hanging out, we decided that we needed to go to the store to pick up a few things. Amoni needed to get face wash, so we ended up in that section of the store, where I was distracted by hairbows. Just down the row from there, I saw something else related to hair: brushes.

Now, it’s debatable as to whether or not I actually needed a new hairbrush. I had recently broken one of mine while giving a particularly hard spanking in a session. Despite this causality, I still had three good ones left. So, I was looking kind of casually. Amoni pointed out one with a slotted back, which I rejected. Then this one caught my eye:

It was called the “Goody Heritage Collection” and had a very vintage look to it. It looks very similar to my Mason Pearson brush, except it’s much larger. Quickly opening the box proved that it was indeed made of wood, and although not murderously heavy, delivered a sharp sting when I gave my hand a test swat. It was about $16.00: clearly I needed it.

We finished our other shopping and checked out, then headed back to Tasha and Steven’s house, where I was staying. After a short period of chatting, I got out my hairbrush.

“You should probably spank me with this, to test it out,” I suggested to Amoni, handing it to her. Amoni has spanked me several times before. The first time was under the instructions of an ex-Dom of mine, and most of the ones after that had been in order to make my bottom look red for pictures, an act which we had started to call “pinking” me. One of our first “full formed” scenes had taken place at the local spanking party in Denver the last time I had visited. While we were both dressed as school girls, she had taken me across her lap as she sat on the floor. I was significantly welted from the Real Spankings shoot that I had done earlier in the week, so she started off fairly slowly. When she gave me harder smacks over my welts, I was squirming and struggling:

Especially if she got my thighs!

But she didn’t do too much of that. Mostly she spanked me with a medium strength, springy technique, a nice rhythm and a lot of placement in… erotic areas. She quickly discovered how to cup her hand over my “parts” while spanking me, making me writhe on her lap in pleasure, instead. It was somewhat embarrassing for me, as we were in a room full of people, but I couldn’t help myself. As she picked up the pace, I found myself overwhelmed with enjoyment and my cries of pleasure got louder and louder before the spanking alone drove me to orgasm. Then I pretended everything was normal. This happens sometimes, right?!

And so, with the memory of this in mind, I handed Amoni the hairbrush and crawled over her lap as she sat on the bed. Leaving my soft, pink panties on, she started by massaging and rubbing my bottom for a while, before giving me a warmup. The warmup was nice: similarly nice to the spanking she had given me at Scarlet Moons. I felt myself growing very warm indeed: both in the sense that stinging was starting to collect on my bottom and that warmth and wetness were gathering between my legs. In the hopes of being a polite and non disruptive house guest, I’d been refraining from my usual bedtime rituals which, when at home, include a lot of fairly boisterous masturbation. As such, I was particularly horny.

“Amoni,” I suggested, “we should just forget about the hairbrush and do what we did last time, instead. I changed my mind.”

I was blindingly aroused, and her smacks to my tender areas between my legs were making me whine and writhe. Still, I didn’t explode with orgasm the way that I had last time. Finally, she stopped spanking me for a moment. For a half second, I thought that she was reaching for the hairbrush, which seemed like a very mean thought at the moment. Instead, she gently stroked her fingers across the gusset of my panties, commenting that they were particularly wet and making me blush. She began to stroke my clit through the soft, wet material, as I remained lying over her lap, my bottom high and sore from having been spanked. Thinking about the fact that I was already quite sore, I suddenly focused on a single thought:

After I come, I’m going to get the hairbrush.

As it was a new implement, I had no idea how much it was going to hurt, but getting a hairbrush spanking is never entirely friendly. My sudden focus on my fear of the impending hairbrush spanking only shortened the amount of time before it arrived: I grew more and more aroused, panting and shaking until her simple ministrations made me tip over the edge, yelping, wriggling and calling out in ecstasy.

After a few moments of catching my breath and cuddling over her lap, Amoni announced that it was time for the hairbrush. She started fairly lightly, but even the gentle smacks stung. Because that’s what hairbrushes do: they sting. They concentrate a lot of sting into one relatively small area and push it in so that you can’t ignore it. This particular brush had a less shiny surface than a lot of the hairbrushes that I’ve been getting spanked with recently, and I could feel the difference. It had a less sharp sting than its shiny counterparts. Although not extremely weight bearing (I would still put it in the “light weight” category) it didn’t have much cushioning, so it gave a little thud on each of the harder smacks. I soon was crying out in pain, my bottom feeling swollen and hot. Not wanting to give me TOO hard of a spanking, not too long after I began to struggle, Amoni stopped and gave me some after care.

It’s a very good hairbrush. I’m certainly glad that I bought it. 😛

♥

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged Amoni, F/F, hairbrush spanking, Sexuality | 14 Comments

Update Log!

Published August 8, 2014

Hi everyone!
I’m back from my travels and back to trying to get blogging done! To revitalize me, I’ve updated the layout a bit. It’s still not fancy, but it’s fresh for back to school! The header image comes from Northern Spanking. Please leave any feedback you may have about the new look: anything which is hard to read or use, especially! I’ve also added a labels cloud for the first time in ages. I’ve selected particular labels only as I tend to, erm, over use them. At least now they can be (over) used for something, right?

Finally, I want to apologize for taking so long to respond to comments recently. I’m on it, I promise! Thanks for leaving them, and I hope you continue to!

♥

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged Update | 2 Comments

About Blogging

Published July 15, 2014

The frequency with which I post to this blog has changed drastically in the past year.
I miss it. I miss sharing with people. I miss connecting with people. I miss having a place to organize my thoughts.
But it’s become extremely hard for me.

Part of it is time. When I lived in South Dakota, my days were filled with nothingness, and I looked for things to fill them with. Now, I’m usually busy. I work a lot, and I spend a lot of time doing “behind the scenes” type work. Furthermore, for the first time in years, I have an active, vibrant local social life. With Paul in England until mid-August, I tend to keep myself busy with lots of socializing when I have downtime. This means that many nights, I come home and go directly to bed, without having a chance to sit down and blog. I’m a slow writer. I have a short attention span and I’m very fussy about making sure that I get things the way that I want them before publishing something to the internet, so blogging is time consuming for me.

There’s another big issue, one which is difficult for me to talk about. Probably 80% of the archive of this blog is about my relationship with Malignus. I don’t like to be negative, and I’m private about the things in my life which are so. Therefore, I only wrote about the positive aspects of my relationship with him. There were many positive things there. During that relationship, I learned, grew and discovered things. We had lots of intense and wonderful scenes. The things which I wrote about were true. They were real experiences, real emotions, real understandings which I reached. There were also parts of it which happened out of the public eye which were extremely negative. Ultimately, the sum of my relationship with Malignus was destructive towards me and my emotional wellbeing. Because of this, it feels weird to sit and write in the same place but have such drastically different feelings. I need to make this clear before I can really relax into my blog again. The things I wrote about Malignus were true. I loved him. We had amazing scenes. He took me to places that I never thought I’d go. He also did things that were bad to me, and I do not condone his behavior, support him or encourage others to be involved with him. I know that the time in my life when Malignus and I broke up was poorly documented and that the transition from what was going on then to what’s going on now was clunky. That’s how it had to be, though.

The final reason is because my computer is ancient. I got it seven years ago. It’s been an amazing machine. It visited six countries with me, and was probably on at least a hundred flights total. It’s been assaulted by cats, covered in stickers and drizzled with tears. It’s seen WAY more pornography than is probably recommended. Now, it’s pretty crippled. The battery doesn’t work, so I can only use it while plugged into the wall. The power cable doesn’t connect too well anymore, though, so a quick movement or the nuzzle of a cat can unplug it and instantly make me lose everything I was doing. The wireless card no longer works, so I’m also tethered to an ethernet cable, reminding me of life back in 2005. The disc drive doesn’t work anymore. The keyboard is missing so many keys that I have to use an external keyboard and sit this on top of the one which is built in. It overheats frequently. The hardware is too old to accept anymore software updates, which means that I don’t even know how to use the most recent versions of Mac OS. The past year has been expensive: there was a time when I was going to get a new laptop last year, but I ended up spending that money to move to Los Angeles (which was definitely the right thing to do). Since then, I haven’t been able to save much. My computer is still working, though, which is a very good thing, but because it’s become such a hassle to use, I’m less likely to want to spend more time on it than I have to.

Despite all this, I really do miss blogging. For a long time, I’ve wanted to get motivated to get back to it. Recently, I met someone for the first time at a spanking event and he said “I didn’t realize you were actually into spanking.”

I found this really upsetting. I know that not everyone is going to read my blog (obviously) but I miss having that line of communication with the spanking community. I’m looking forward to having it back.

I’m not going to make any promises about an update schedule or anything like that, but I am really going to try.

Because I miss you guys. ♥

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged Blogging, Update | 16 Comments

Texas Bound!

Published June 17, 2014

I’m getting ready to leave for Dallas for the Texas All State Spanking Party on Thursday. Because I skipped Boardwalk Badness Weekend, this will be my first big spanking party of the year. I’m excited as can be. Preparing for any party takes a lot of work, but this one has been keeping me especially busy, since it’s Prom themed! This is super exciting, since I didn’t actually get to attend either of my proms in high school. Like every girl, I dreamed of finding the perfect dress, doing my hair and makeup and dancing the night away. Fortunately, the spanking world is a place where all my long buried wishes and desires can come true. My date to the dance will be my awesome friend, Christy Cutie. Since Christy and I will both be there unchaperoned, this clearly means that we won’t be getting up to any mischief at all! I’m sure that I’ll be able to convince a couple other people to dance with me, too, right?

This brings me to a secret: I can’t dance. At all. It’s laughable when I try. I think people probably learn how to dance when they’re pre-teens, a time when at all the school events I stood awkwardly at the back of the room, unnoticed by pretty much everyone. Even if that’s not when you’re supposed to learn, attempting to dance always reminds me of that time in my life since it’s so obvious that I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m hoping to just cut loose and leave my insecurities about this at the door. At least at this dance, no one will be passing through with a beach ball and asking us to “leave room for Jesus.” (That’s not happening, right? Someone please confirm!)

About a week ago, Sarah Gregory was visiting Los Angeles. She was staying with Christy, and the three of us got together to go dress shopping. Before we started in earnest, we went to a couple of vintage stores where I snatched up a few awesome pieces which, once I finish assembling things, will make for some great costumes for upcoming videos/et cetera. We then headed to a couple of dress stores in my neighborhood which Christy and I had often eyed when driving by, looking at the cute, cupcake style prom dresses in the window. Trying on dresses was quite the process: prom dresses fit differently than regular clothes and since it wasn’t prom season, they only had a few of each dress: not every size in every color. Still, we all found dresses that are totally adorable. Mine makes me feel like a princess, which isn’t something that I feel like everyday! I can’t wait to get spanked in it. In the next couple of days I still need to secure a couple of accessories, but I’m thrilled with my dress. You can expect to see me doing lots of twirls.

Another preparation besides packing (which is tedious, and involves sorting through literally hundreds of pairs of panties to find the ones that I want to bring and trying to come up with creative ways to store my multitude of bows) happened over the weekend: Christy and I took a couple of school uniforms to the tailor to have the skirts shortened. That’s kind of an awkward and vaguely embarrassing thing to do, in case you’ve never done it before. “Hi! We’re a couple of girls in our twenties and we have these matching school girl outfits that we’d like to have made sluttier, please.” Well, we didn’t use those exact words, but that was the idea. 😉 Fortunately, the girl who waited on us believed our story about going to a costume party. That’s technically not lying, right?

These skirts are no longer going to be this length the next time you see them.

I’m looking forward to seeing lots of long time friends at the party, and also to hopefully making lots of new ones.

If you’re local to Dallas or going to be at the event, I’m still booking private sessions for the party. I’m available as a bottom, for those of you who’d like to have me over your lap, and, for the first time at a spanking party, as a switch or Top. I’ve been switching for a little while now and I’ve discovered that I really like it. I particularly like to play characters which emphasize my younger age: baby sitters, school bullies, sisters blackmailing employees et cetera. While getting spanked is still where my heart is, I’m happy that I’ve expanded to connect with people in this way. I’ve learned so much about the mental side of spanking as a spankee, and I love applying this knowledge from the other side. I find it immensely satisfying to give someone exactly what they need! Anyway, if you’d like to get together with me between the dates of 6/19 and 6/22 in Dallas, please email me at alexinspankingland@gmail.com so we can set something up!

They’ll be an update on how my life is going coming up sometime soon, but I wanted to get this out there! Those of you going to TASSP, I can’t wait to see you there!
♥

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged Alex Tops, Christy Cutie, Sarah Gregory, TASSP, Texas | 10 Comments

Outdoor Adventures

Published May 3, 2014

I just finished a busy week. I shall now tell you about it, bit by bit.

On Monday, Paul and I drove out to Topenga (a more “rural” area on the edge of Los Angeles where one can experience some much needed fresh air!) in the early afternoon. I was meeting up with Pandora Jones, Samantha Grace and Odette Delacroix later that day in order to shoot a custom video, but Paul and I had wanted to try and find some places to shoot outdoor spanking content for Kitchen Sink Spanking, so we decided to do that first while we were already out of the city. It may have been the end of April, but the weather in Los Angeles was already feeling more like summer time: it was warm, sunny and bright out. We found a little park and took a walk until we were under a big oak tree. I was pretty obscured from the street, but it was still close by: if I turned my back, I could see the cars rushing by. I didn’t feel comfortable getting spanked so close to the road, but we did film a panty fetish video there, since it’s a lot harder to notice that someone is flashing her panties than it is to miss the very distinctive sound of a spanking. As it was, that level of exhibitionism was fun and exciting without making me too nervous, but I did run into one small “filming in the countryside” snafu. While Paul had been setting up the camera, I had leisurely leaned my back against the tree. After a few minutes, I felt something tickling my arms and looked down to see red ants crawling all over me! I’m sure it was comical to watch me flailing around and trying to shake the ants off. It’s a pity we weren’t already filming :P. For a while after this, I kept noticing one or two ants crawling on my body, and had to pick them off. Paul seemed to think that this was a bit prissy of me, but these were red ants, and I was convinced that they were going to bite me. Red ants are not common in the area where I grew up, and they’re the enemy in Sim Ant, so I tend to be distrustful of them.

GET OFF OF ME! I do realize that the placement of this image means that when this post is previewed on people’s blogrolls, it will look like it’s entirely about ants. Meh.

After abandoning antville, we planned to walk back to the car by way of a path which looped around and drive on to find another park. Instead, I found a path that lead off in another direction which I wanted to explore. This was a good call: it lead down into a little gulch which held a much bigger, older tree. The branches formed a canopy around it, and we had to push them aside to go into the little “room” formed there. Inside, we found a rope and board swing hanging from one of the branches. This is exactly the kind of secret hideaway that I love. It was a private little space away from the rest of the world, and I happily climbed onto the swing (after testing it for safety, of course). Paul filmed me swinging while giving peeks at my panties for a bit, but then announced that it was time for me stop playing, as I was in need of a spanking. Why? Because the space was perfect for one. It was definitely true. No one could see us and the branches made me feel cut off from the rest of the world. It felt like we were in a private universe there.

Setting the camera up on some rocks or something, Paul directed me to bend over the swing. I did this by laying over it like it was a lap, so that my stomach was against the wood and all my limbs were sort of hanging. Paul explained that this wasn’t actually a very effective way to spank me, and suggested that I stand up, bend over and grab the seat of the swing. This *did* make more sense. The other pose probably looked a bit silly. It was one I had done many times before, though: when I was younger and first fantasizing about spanking I liked to drape myself across things to imagine that I was in the OTK position, and I used the swings on the playground to do this pretty regularly. Fortunately, no one had ever asked me what I was doing.

Under the tree, Paul lifted my skirt and began to spank me. Even though it wasn’t cold out at all, the fresh air made the smacks seem to sting more. Maybe it was psychosomatic, but I yelped pitifully from a simple hand spanking.

When he pulled my panties down, I felt particularly exposed. I protested that a squirrel might see me, since that was pretty much the only way that I would be observed. I knew it was silly, especially since I do plenty of fully nude tromping around outdoors when modeling, but I felt tremendously vulnerable. “Squirrels have seen everything,” Paul responded, which is a strangely sage sentence, when you think about it. I wiggled and whined throughout the rest of the spanking. Once he had finished reddening my bottom, Paul asked me how I was enjoying my day out and all I could do was scrunch my face. I was enjoying it very much, but I felt strangely camera shy when asked to comment directly, especially since I’ve put a lot of effort into training myself not to look at the camera during spanking videos (a concept I had difficulty grasping until more recently than I’d like to admit). I think I ended up blushing and bashfully looking at the ground and saying “I guess.” That’s me. The queen of articulation right there! You can watch this spanking sometime soon on Kitchen Sink Spanking. It’s not available yet, but will be before too long.)

A squirrel *might* see me. It’s possible!

I spent a while working on another project under the tree, and then spent a little bit more time swinging just for fun before we climbed out of the branches and back into the real world. We got back into the car and drove to a piece of civilization where we found a cafe to eat a late lunch, which was extremely delicious. Soon, it was time for me to go shoot my custom video, so Paul stayed in the town to hang out while I drove off up a big hill. The place which Pandora (Jones, not Blake) had found for us to shoot was a strange but magical little hippy commune nestled in the hills. She’d rented two little houses there. Odette and I arrived around the same time and went off to find Pandora and Samantha, but we got distracted by a treehouse on the way. Odette climbed up and I snapped a picture:

I like being around Odette because she’s one of the only people I know who is more eager to do fun (ridiculous) things than I am, even if hanging out with her does make me feel like a giant.

We met up with the other two girls, and I gave Pandora such a giant hug. She’s the lady who helped me do my first ever kinky shoot, the first person who ever tied me up and has been a beloved friend for years, but I haven’t seen her since before I left for South Dakota. She’s living on the East Coast now, but was visiting LA for a little bit. It was so good to be back around her, even if we only got to see each other for a couple of hours. It was awesome to meet Samantha. I’d seen her work for a long time, and was glad to get to work alongside her! She’s even prettier in person and relaxed, friendly and down-to-earth.

Before we filmed, Odette showed us her Google Glass, which she’s using to make the ultimate POV experience these days. I knew very little about them, so she explained a lot of what they can do and I was very impressed. We then filmed the custom pretty directly, then spent a little while hanging out. I couldn’t stay and talk for as long as I would have liked to, but it was great to have the time that we did.

I had parked on a dirt road which was also a hill, which made getting out of the commune tricky. My car slid down the hill and ended up in a pile of leaves and debris off the edge of the road. Somehow, I didn’t panic, and instead put the car in neutral, got out, cleared the brush away from the back wheels and then pushed the car back onto solid terrain. Ha! Such a grown up!

I then went and picked Paul up and we headed home, where I made us a pot roast with roasted carrots and potatoes for dinner and we spent the rest of the night catching up on work before it was time for snuggles and bed.

PS- Yes! I’m back! Except more posts soon! ♥

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged Custom Videos, Kitchen Sink Spanking, Odette Delacroix, outdoor spanking, Pandora Jones, Paul Kennedy, Samantha Grace | 8 Comments

“Because You’re Mine”

Published March 4, 2014

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:

There was a purple patch where two lines had crossed and the lines on my thighs were very distinctive.
“HEY!” I yelled. “You tricked me!” Paul laughed from the other room.

He then helped me document them in a couple of different lighting situations:

After taking photos, we retired to the bedroom for some time together before going to sleep.
It was the best Valentine’s Day ever. ♥

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged being taken care of, Caning, Marks, Paul Kennedy, Sexuality, Submission, Valentine's Day | 4 Comments

Welcome Home!

Published February 20, 2014

Last Thursday, I got up in the morning after having hardly slept at all. I’d gone to sleep at my bedtime like a good girl, but I found myself just lying there, unable to relax into the sleep I knew that I needed. When I got up, it was going to be a busy day, and I needed the energy, but I was pulsating with excitement and could hardly lay in one position very long. The next time I went to bed, it would be with Paul. How could I possibly sleep when I knew that it was down to the HOURS before I’d see him? It’s annoying, the way that my body responds to excitement. If I could have just slept, the ten hours I ended up staying in my bed for would have flown by. My boyfriend from High School used to describe sleep as “Time Travel.” He’d intentionally sleep as much as he could leading up to things he was looking forward to. Me? I tied my covers in knots with my tossing and turning and looked at my phone to see what time it was every five minutes. Finally, around 7 AM, I fell asleep.

When I woke up at 10:30, I had the worst sleep-eyes I’d ever experienced, and hardly even looked like a human. This called for some teabags soaked in ice water resting on my closed eyes for fifteen minutes. Now, I’m someone who has stood in corners for long periods of time rather habitually, and I’ve waited in other boring, unpleasant ways, too. This time passed impossibly slowly, though. I thought that my timer was broken about eight times. In about the twelfth minute, there was a knock on the door. I was expecting mail, so I answered it. It turns out that it was a couple of people wanting to talk religion. They asked if my parents were home, and I told them they were not (in fact, they’re very far away!) so they left. I suppose the teabags must have worked, if I was being back to being mistaken as a child.

After this, I got to work doing housecleaning. I’d been preparing for Paul to come back in various ways ever since he left. I had set up a garden area in the back yard, complete with plants, yard chairs, a small table and a little outdoor fireplace (inspired by the fact that Paul had mentioned several times that he missed sitting by a fire in the evening, since few homes in Los Angeles have fireplaces, it seems). I had done lots of cleaning and organizing in the house, adding little touches here and there to make it feel more put together. And for the past month, I’d been coloring a “Welcome Home” sign for him, working on it a little bit each day. I’m not really “good” at arts and crafts (the thing I’m best at making is a mess!) but it came out very cute. It’s quite obvious that I drew it, and I think that’s what counts. Anyway, I wanted the house to be as spotless as possible, so there was tidying done, laundry and dishes washed and put away, floors scrubbed, the bathroom cleaned and so on. When it was finally done, I cut some flowers that were growing in an area that I consider to be part of my yard (there has since been some debate as to whether these were technically not mine) and filled vases with them. I set the sign on the bed. Things looked perfect, and I was very pleased.

Next, it was time to make myself presentable, since I pretty much looked like some kind of cleaning wench at this point. I ran myself a bath, where I quickly washed my hair and face, then put a hair mask on my hair, wrapped it up in a towel to sit, coated my face with a delicious smelling treatment from Skinfood (mmmm, strawberries!) and added a fancy bathbomb to the water. To make thing more interesting, I added a Crayola tablet which turns the bath water colors, so I was soaking in floral scented, pink water. This, my friends, is the life.

Now, months and months ago, Paul and I had been in the drugstore looking for something else when I had come across these water coloring tablets. We had the following conversation:

Me: Paul, may I have this?
Paul: No, you can’t have that. It’s likely to stain the bathtub.

I’m sure I then whined quite a bit about how unfair this was, but Paul held his ground. A couple of weeks ago, I had been in the grocery store looking at bath products (they’re one of my obsessions, as bath-taking is borderline fetishistic for me) when I rediscovered these colored tablets. I was already buying more bath stuff than I needed (milk-bath mixture, chamomile bubble bath AND scented sea salts) but they looked just as appealing as they had the first time I had seen them. Who doesn’t want to take a bath in brightly colored water? How fun! (Un)fortunately, this time, I was all alone and unsupervised in the store. Somehow, I managed to convince myself that Paul had meant that I couldn’t have any bath colors THEN, not that I couldn’t have them EVER. Clearly, that’s what he meant. In fact, I was sure that he said “Not today” somewhere in that conversation, which meant that since it wasn’t that day anymore, it would be just fine for me to buy them. Besides, I had been very good recently. There would be no consequences to this action. Of course not. Just fun, colored water.

So, yesterday, I soaked in the pink water happily until it was time to get out. I spent a while getting ready and making myself look as cute as I could:

Happy face!

Then, I went out to my car. It was only 5:45, and Paul’s flight wasn’t scheduled to land until 7:15 and then he had to go through immigration, but I wanted to be there early. I wanted to find the door that he would have to come through to get to baggage claim and pounce him with the biggest hug ever. I didn’t want to waste one possible minute that we could be being together upon his arrival. In fact, thinking about seeing him again in the airport had temporarily replaced spanking scenarios as my night time, pre-sleep fantasy. So, I would get there very early and have time to prepare for this.When I got out to my car, it had a mostly flat tire, probably caused by the fact that I had recently sort of scraped against a wall while reversing through a tight space.

Fortunately, I had time to go to the gas station and put air in, which I did very carefully as I was wearing a short skirt and had just spent about an hour in the bath, but I then had to return home to wash my hands and knees off from kneeling on the ground and touching the wheel. Soon, I was back in the car and I entered the airport into my GPS. I was reminded that portions of the 405 are currently closed or seriously delayed. The 405 would have been my best route to the airport, but I chose to take a more complicated route instead to avoid the 405.

Unfortunately, it seems, so did everyone else. It took me an hour and a half to travel a distance which usually takes me about 40 minutes, and the whole time I was worrying that I’d done the tire pressure wrong and my car was going to exploded, or that Paul would get through customs and not have anyone to greet him.

Finally, around 7:40, I pulled into the parking lot at the International Terminal. I raced down, but went in the wrong door and ended up in a part of the airport which primarily had its signage in Japanese. As I was semi-frantically running around, I got a text from Paul saying that he was outside. I had no idea where that was.For a second, “MISSION FAILED” appeared across my vision, but I managed to keep from falling apart. I felt really, really sad that he had gone all the way through baggage claim without being intercepted by my giant hug. I found a doorway to the outside world, and was attempting to text and walk at the same time when a familiar voice said “Boo!”Then Paul was standing in front of me, and I fell into some kind of confused trance, overwhelmed with feelings. I fell into aforementioned giant hug, which turned into a long, passionate kiss.

After this, I sort of bounced around, talking about many things that didn’t really relate to each other. I was in a state of giddy, hyperactive derealization. This has always been sort of a “problem” for me in my relationship with Paul (I say “problem” in quotation marks because there’s nothing actually bad about it, but I don’t know what else to call it). I sometimes interact with him in a daze because it’s difficult for me to believe that he’s really here, that a person as wonderful as him is real and that I’m actually loved the way that I am. It leaves me in a perpetual state of wonder and gleeful amazement, but then, the world felt almost unreal.But it was real. This is my life.

I apologized for not having been at the very first door I could have been, and explained what had happened and Paul didn’t seem too disappointed. In between my talking a mile a minute about whatever was popping into my head at that moment, I asked if it was alright for us to grab some groceries before going home. When I had cleaned the kitchen, I realized that the cupboards were primarily bare except for candy. File that under “the dangers of leaving me unsupervised.”As we drove to the grocery store, I chatted about all the things I had done that day to get ready for his arrival. When I got to the part of the story about my bath, there was an awkward little pause. We were stopped at a red light, which seemed as good a time as any to bring this up.

“Paul?” I asked, my voice sounding quiet and vulnerable.

“Yes?” he responded, obviously aware of what usually came out of my mouth when my voice sounded this way (either a request for something I feel shy to ask for or a confession of some sort of bad behavior).

“Do you remember the day that we were in the store and we saw those bath tablets which change color?” Paul confirmed that he remembered. “You told me that I couldn’t have any, but you didn’t actually mean that, right?”

Paul’s face was a mixture of annoyance and confusion, with traces of amusement showing through under the stern. “Why would I have not meant it?”

“Maybe you meant that I couldn’t have any just then, but I could have it another day?” I explained.

“No. I told you you could never have any, because they’ll stain the tub,” he told me, shaking his head.

“But they didn’t stain the tub! It’s fine now!” I rebutted. I reeled back for a moment, realizing that I had admitted my disobedience. Paul gave me a serious look. “Am I in trouble?” I asked very meekly.

“Yes,” Paul said, leaning in close to me. “I’m going to have to spank you for this when we get home.”

Being spoken to this way, by him, in person, for the first time in ages sent my mind spinning off into a happy place and I had to focus on driving very intentionally when the light changed again.We got groceries and then went to an all-night diner for some food, where we both ate breakfast. We sat together on the same side of the booth and cuddled. By then, I was getting sleepy from my lack of sleep the night before, and I can’t imagine how tired Paul was after his long day of international travel. We returned home, where I showed him my series of surprises: the garden area, the little touches I’d added to the kitchen and living room, the way that I’d finally gotten the study set up (as it had previously doubled as a storage room until I had tackled it recently) and then my sign. He was thrilled by everything, but especially pleased with the sign. After looking at all of this, he carefully unbuttoned my dress and pulled it off.

“You did something that I told you not to while I was away, didn’t you?” he asked me, his voice a mixture of sternness and affection. I played with my hair and looked down.

“Yes, Paul,” I whispered. He scolded me about the bath tablets (although he ultimately agreed that I could keep them, since they don’t actually stain anything) for a moment before turning me over his lap.

I know that there have been many times in my life when I needed to be spanked very badly. There have been long spells where I was strongly desiring play and just not getting it. There were also the first eighteen years of my life before spanking became a reality and when it had only been a fantasy. Still, it was hard for me to think of a time when I wanted to be spanked more. There was none of the anxious apprehension which had surrounded my first spanking adventures, and none of the guilty hangups that had come into play when I was not getting spanked due to relationship problems in the past. Everything about this was right, and I lingered in each moment.

I was shocked by how hard the first smack was. It echoed in the room and made me gasp. I was aware that my bottom was probably extremely sensitive, considering that I had been playing much less frequently while he had been away, yet all I felt were endorphins. Within a few smacks, I dived directly into a place which has often been illusive to me in my years as a spankee: the floaty, subspacey place where spanking just feels good. Everything felt amazing, and my response was to gasp and push my bottom up to meet Paul’s hand as it descended again and again and again.

I didn’t wiggle: I writhed happily. After some amount of time had passed (I have no idea how long it actually was, since it felt like both an age and a moment) he pulled me up onto his lap for another kiss, an we spent a while kissing, cuddling and enjoying each other. After a bit of this, he turned to me and said “I’m not done spanking you yet” and directed me back over his lap, where he continued to spank me very hard and I continued to offer absolutely no resistance: I had nothing to resist. It was the greatest feeling ever. I cooed and purred.

Eventually, he paused and talked to me, rubbing my bottom gently.”You belong to me, Alex,” he affirmed me, “and I’ll smack your bottom until it’s red and sore whenever it pleases me.”

I shivered with delight. There was no part of me that was focused on anything but the fact that I belong to him and love him. By the time the spanking was finished, my bottom felt hot and swollen, and as I calmed down and caught my breath I became aware of how stingy it was. I changed into pajamas (new ones that I’d been saving for his homecoming) and became suddenly very aware of how tired I was. Soon, we were curled up in our bed together, and the world was a place where everything was right and good.

♥

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged Happiness, Paul Kennedy | 6 Comments

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