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. ♥
It’s been a little while since I posted: long enough, in fact, that I’ve earned myself a spanking. Maybe I’ll film it and post it here. That would be fair, wouldn’t it? It was my intention to do a Thanksgiving post, but holiday posts are always difficult for me because I am busy celebrating and don’t want to tear myself away from festivities to sit in my office and write something. This post, however, got significantly away from me because I’ve been keeping myself as busy as humanly possible recently, although half of it has been with epically fun things. But I’ve started this, so dammit, I’m going to finish it!
Thanksgiving this year was significant for a fistful of reasons. For one, it was Paul’s first Thanksgiving ever, which made it special! It was also our first real holiday together as a couple: we were together on Halloween but I had a horrible ear infection (I know, adults don’t usually get those. Read what you will about me from this, I guess) and we had to spend the night quietly at home. Finally, Thanksgiving was the last day before Paul left to go back to England for a couple of months: he’s gone until February. As such, it was important that we spend lots of positive time together before he left!
Our Thanksgiving was certainly a bit non-traditional. It was our original intention to go to my mom’s house for the holiday, but since Paul had to leave the next day, that was already sort of in question. Then my mom fell and broke her hip, and she’s been in a recovery facility ever since so she didn’t want to have a bunch of people visiting. My mom and I have had a difficult relationship over the years, but it’s been much better recently. That said, she’s had an awful few years. Two years ago last month, my oldest brother passed away from AIDS. Last October, my family home was swept out to sea in Hurricane Sandy and we lost pretty much everything. My mom was displaced and living with friends for over a year. Just as she was getting ready to move into her new house, she fell and broke her hip. Add on top of this the fact that she has Lupus, and it’s remarkable she makes it through the days. Anyway, I decided to go visit her in a more low-key environment later because that worked out much better for everyone. So, on Thanksgiving, Paul was not introduced to the madness of my extended family which meant that no one got ridiculously drunk, no one tried to sell us Avon products, there were no pregnant teenagers, everyone was properly showered, we had one pie instead of eight, nothing was cooked in a coffee can and all persons at the dinner table believed that the Earth rotates around the Sun.
It also meant that we could just be ourselves, and do things the way we pleased to instead of the way we were “supposed to.” This meant that before I even started cooking dinner on Thanksgiving, I had a Final Exam. This started months ago, during our trip to Colorado, with a book about Bears. I’m obsessed with bears. Obsesssssssssssssssssed. I just think that they’re the cutest animal ever. The fact that I visited a bear park on multiple occasions and even got to pet an infant bear cub has only increased my excessive fondness. When we were staying in the mountains, it was my greatest hope that I would encounter a bear (at a safe distance, of course). We never did, although we did see some adorable wild elk with fuzzy, velvety antlers and a couple of gophers/woodchucks/groundhogs/generic small chumbly creatures. In place of a real life bear encounter, Paul bought me a book full of delightful bear photographs and chock full of important facts about my favorite fuzzy friends. When we were apart, I found myself reading it as I fell asleep and remembering our trip together, and soon my trivial and useless bear knowledge was getting excessive. Did you know that baby Black Bears (Ursus americanus) cubs spend up to 60% of their time in trees, and often nap or sleep up there? That some subspecies of the Brown Bear (Ursus arctus) include the Grizzly Bear and the Kodiak Bear? That the darkness of a North American bear’s fur is in direct proportion to the dampness of the climate in which it lives? I was probably insufferable if I got started talking about this. One day, a friend came to visit and brought up the fact that bears can climb trees (HE brought it up!) and I had to sit on my hands and force myself not to turn the next hour into Bearfacts o’clock.
So, it was decided (probably mostly by me, to be honest) that I should have an exam about bears. It would combine my never ending desire to play school with my new found obsession. Paul wrote the test and I studied, taking 12 pages of handwritten notes to review from. On Thanksgiving, I did a last minute cram before I donned a school uniform, got out my pencil case and sat at the kitchen table to write the exam:
Once I had completed a page of short answer questions and written a two page essay about the process of hibernation, Paul took my paper into his study to grade. Giddy from the fun I had with this sort of play, I then put an apron on (yes, right over my uniform!) and started to make dinner. Since there were only two of us, we ended up having a roast chicken instead of a turkey, but I made it with (what I consider) traditional breadcrumb stuffing. I also made mashed potatoes, carrots, corn bread and a from scratch apple pie. It was a feast for the two of us, and everything turned out wonderfully.
As I cooked, in the kitchen of my sweet little house, feeling happy and healthy and safe, I was very aware of how much I had to be grateful for. I live in a place which truly feels like my home and I spend my time with people who love me and with whom I can be myself completely. I have a job which I adore and which allows me to do the things I’m most passionate about while meeting and getting to know lots of new people. The weather is so warm that in November, I was still constantly getting scolded for walking outside without putting on shoes. I have my cats, and they’re adorable and make me happy. I’m in love with someone who loves me back, and who values and respects me and who instead of saying “Stop being so weird, Alex?” takes delight in the things that make me giddy and writes me exams about bears.
In a certain way, all this was bittersweet because the next afternoon, Paul would be leaving for 2+ months, and I certainly had the impulse to be a mopey moper about it, but I kept myself focused on the fact that my life was beyond what had been my wildest dreams and I’m glad for these things. Dinner was lovely, and afterwards, we snuggled for a long time while we digested. Later that evening, it was time for the Spanksgiving part of Thanksgiving. 🙂 By then, my feelings had built up quite a bit, and I felt delicate and vulnerable. It had been Paul’s original intention to have an intense and severe scene that night, addressing some of the issues that had remained written in my book and for which I had yet to be punished. I felt nervous and apprehensive about this, and I guess it showed in my reactions to things, because before I had a chance to bring up how I was feeling, Paul asked me if I still wanted to do a scene.
My initial response was “No, I feel too vulnerable.” This was accompanied by a lot of feelings. Sometimes, submission can be horribly confusing, despite all the time I’ve spent ruminating about it. On one level, I want my Dominant to make the choices about what happens. I’m scared of the accusation of topping from the bottom. I have a fear that expressing my feelings and desires for the way that we play will “ruin” things, that I should accept what I get instead of communicating what I want or need. I also have a tendency to feel embarrassed by my emotions, no matter what they are. None of this stuff is healthy, and I’m not proud to admit it, but these are things that developed in my brain over the past couple of years. As soon as I voiced my opinion, I started to cry and apologize, anxiously hiding my face. Paul pulled me up into his arms and spoke to me soothingly, assuring me that I didn’t need to feel that way and that he never judged me for what I felt or needed. As I tried to calm, I was surprised by how much of a need to cry was left inside of me. “I just feel like I’ll come completely apart,” I confided. After a moment, I added “Maybe I need that.” Ultimately, we came to the conclusion that I did need a hard scene, but not a punitive one, and we decided to do an arbitrary scene.
A bit later, Paul put me over his lap and began to spank me. It was probably not particularly hard, but due to my emotional state, I soon started to cry again. In the middle of it, he paused and asked “Who do you belong to, Alex?” and I melted into a passive and tranquil state. This is something that pretty much always works for me (when playing with someone to whom I belong, of course!) as it makes me feel owned, loved, cared for and treasured while simultaneously making me feel very passive, safe and small. I probably cooed my response.
Shortly after this, I got a caning. The strokes were hard and the cane in question is dense and bitey, and I had little resistance left to offer between my vulnerable state and my heightened feeling of submission. This didn’t mean I took the strokes well, though: I cried and wailed, sometimes sobbing so hard that I made myself cough. At one point, Paul had to pause to give me a cup of water because I think he thought I was choking. When it was finished, I felt warm and swollen, but entirely refreshed (once I cut through the haze of “I can’t brain!” that happens when someone tries to talk to me right after a hard scene). As I curled up on his lap, I knew that everything was going to be okay and that while I’d be inevitably sad and lonely while he was away, that I was always protected and I always belonged. ♥
So, I realize that everyone has read about a dozen accounts of the party I’m describing in this series of posts already. For the rest of the narrative I’m going to do my best to focus on the things that were of personal significance to me, not just give a running list of what exciting things happened, which is sort of my impulse in this situation. The stories to be contained are things that I would have written about if they happened in another context, and many of them took place behind closed doors so even others who attended the party will be getting the details for the first time, so I hope I don’t bore you too much!
When I left off in my last post, YS and ellee had just arrived and we were about to go pick them up from the airport.
We did just that. Lily, Robert and I got there a little bit earlier than YS and ellee did, though, so we did several “victory laps” around the airport while we waited. We had a nice time of it and just chatted about various things. We all enjoy one and others’ company, so it wasn’t that bad to wait. Finally, I saw them appear on the curb and I hardly even waited for Robert to stop the car before racing out and hugging them. They were obviously a bit tired from their trip, so I *tried* to tone down my excitement a bit, at least until we got to the hotel. Once we got to Joe and Ten’s suite, everyone wanted to see ellee (as they should, for she is brilliant, sweet, clever, a very good girl, funny, loving, adorable and a knock out to look at, and I feel lucky to have such a wonderful girl as a friend) so I tried to sort of hang back and give them a little space. YS was called up to the suite where Beth Eisley and PTL were staying in order to discuss one of Beth’s pieces of mischief (and to say hi, of course) so I kind of paired with Sophie again for a bit.
I was having a lot of feels. I’m a bit embarrassed about them, but they were there and they were relevant. I was simultaneously worked up into a sort of manic state from all the excitement, and worrying that I was being too invasive, and above all else, I was feeling insecure. Parties do that to me sometimes. I worry that people don’t like me as much as I like them, or that I’m shockingly socially awkward despite my best efforts, or I start comparing myself to my friends and peers negatively. I know that all those feelings are pretty stupid and I’ve been very well educated in how to choose to feel secure, to acknowledge the bad stuff and focus on the good and get on with enjoying my life (which I did shortly thereafter). At that moment, I was having a moment. Sophie got me back to an even keel, though. She’s a very good friend.
I felt a little bit sheepish when YS did come back into the main party room, but his response was exactly what I needed. He found me pretty directly and then told ellee: “I want to spank Alex.” I was pretty immediately pacified by this. He lead me off into one of the bedrooms. I think someone else might have been playing on the other bed, but I had mental blinders on and I was aware of no distractions. He sat on the bed and put me over his knee as my heart pounded. Then he gently rubbed my bottom for a little bit as we talked. “This feels so right,” he said, and I agreed enthusiastically. We talked about how much time had passed, and how close we’d been able to grow without actually seeing each other. Then he began to spank me.
Sometimes, when I’m emotional, a spanking has to go on for a bit before it brings me to my baseline and from there it can go upwards. Sometimes, when I’m in a really bad way, all it can do is return me to my center. This wasn’t like that. I felt immediately relieved of my anxiety, and my worries and my awkwardness and I felt my mood begin to elevate, bringing me into a notably good place.
I knew that this was right. That I belonged there. That, in that moment, in that time and place I belonged to him.
I knew that this was real.
I don’t mean that our D/s relationship hadn’t been real before he spanked me, but this additional component brought it to a place that felt significantly different (and yes, better) to me. A lot of my most significant D/s interactions with all of my Bosses Of Me have taken place in a long distance setting. Still, there was something wonderfully right about being there with him, being in position over his knee and receiving a spanking from him. I felt safe and secure. My memories of this have a sort of shiny feeling about them, as if my mind has tagged them as positive and warm.
Eventually, he moved me so that I was just lying on the bed and got up. He started to take his belt off. “This is a new belt,” he told me. “No one has ever been spanked with it before. I just took the label off upstairs.” I felt very special at this news, and I felt a lot of positive apprehension.
While I’ve previously had mixed feelings about leather implements and I’ve gone through periods of time where that was an emotional struggle for me (more on that in another post), I’ve always loved it when YS hit me with a belt. When I first met him, his Fetlife profile image was this:
|It is totally normal for me to have saved this photo to my computer. Hush.|
When I first started in the scene, I used to think that belt-spanking felt a little bit abusive, and I wasn’t at a point where I could kind of delight in that darkness or “own” negative memories. This picture was the first thing that made me question that. It’s just… hot. Domly and manly and perfect. He’s just got the ideal belting energy for whatever reason. To this day, that photo makes my stomach feel a bit fluttery.
From the first time that we met at the first cabin party, I’ve wanted YS to spank me with his belt, and he’s always been happy to oblige me. This moment was no exception. I hugged a pillow and pushed my bottom up to prepare to receive it. My memory does not perceive the spanking as having been particularly hard, but more as being endorphine-y and enjoyable. At one point, he caught me rather firmly across my sit spot and I opened my mouth to whimper or protest, but the sound which came out instead was “Thank you, Sir.”
This is something that Malignus taught me to intentionally say to keep myself focused on submission instead of starting to resist. If I tell myself that I want it, it becomes much easier to take and to take well. In this case, I hadn’t even intended to do it. It just came out because it was the right thing to say.
“Spontaneous thanking. I like that,” YS said with a smile in his voice. It added to the warm and safe feeling that was dominating my brain at the moment.
I don’t remember the scene actually ending. I know that somehow I found myself being cuddled and comforted, and being very pleased with the soreness in my bottom and the fact that YS had put it there.
He told me that I was a sweet girl and stroked my hair a bit, and I responded with a much shyer “Thank you, Sir.”
When we came out, ellee was happy and excited on my behalf, bouncing around with compersion. It made me grin. I knew that the rest of the party was going to be wonderful.
On Thursday night, after Malignus and I had returned home from the various things we’d done that day, he called me into the bedroom. His tone was very gentle, but the words that he chose left no room for confusion. “Come into the bedroom and shut the door,” is Malignus for “it’s time for a spanking.”
It was the 31st, and therefore time to finish up the remaining spankings from New Years. There were five days worth of spanking left to be accounted for. Instead of grabbing a handful of random implements like he did last time, though, this time, Malignus was simply holding one: the hairbrush.
This particular hairbrush is a formidable adversary. It’s an antique, oval shaped brown ebony hairbrush that WearYouOut gave to me as a gift, and it’s as solid as a rock. It has a fairly small spanking surface compared to some other hairbrushes. Being totally honest, it’s probably my favorite implement that is currently in our collection. Hairbrush spankings just feel right to me. They work perfectly for OTK and they have the traditional and domestic feeling that I really prefer over the more BDSM-y feeling implements. There’s also the fact that a hairbrush was the first implement which I was spanked with all those years ago, which gives it the highest level of familiarity to me. This particular hairbrush is a favorite because while it’s very emotionally comfortable for me, it hurts like a sonofabitch. It’s one of the most severe OTK implements that we own. I’m all about the combination of feeling emotionally comfortable while being physically pushed towards my limits, and this is an implement which works well for that.
|The hairbrush in question is balanced on my back after PTL and Heather Green gave me my first ever spanking with it at Shadowlane.|
As warm as my feelings are towards that hairbrush, it certainly causes my stomach to flop whenever it’s about to be used. The idea of getting five sets of 67 swats with it was a little intimidating, to say the least. Still, I was excited. I really wanted a spanking. It had been absolutely freezing outside that night: -32F after the windchill and I had been outdoors and walking through the snow far more than I would have preferred to. I felt chilled to the bone. I could think of nothing that would warm me like a spanking would.
Malignus sat down on the bed and set out pillows for my face as I bared myself for the spanking. I was wearing layers to protect from the cold: jeans under a sweater dress. I decided to take my jeans all the way off, then pulled down my panties and gathered my dress at my waist. Then I got over his lap. Malignus rubbed my back gently for a moment and then announced: “I’m going to spank you now.”
The first line of conversation during a spanking starts the tone of the scene for me. “Hold still, I’m gonna hit you with stuff” is the start of a lighthearted or arbitrary spanking. “Why are you getting this spanking, Alex?” leaves no question in my mind that the spanking to follow will be chastising. “I’m going to spank you now” makes me feel instantly submissive. In the context of a scene, just hearing the word “spank” sends a shiver down my spine. It makes the spanking feel very real right away, and gives me a sense of safety and security. The calm and confident assurance that I’m going to be spanked makes aware that while the spanking is something that I personally desired, it’s happening because it was decided by him, and that’s a feeling that gives me a lot of comfort.
The spanking itself was hard, and it hurt in a way that only a spanking given to me by Malignus with that particular hairbrush has ever hurt. It’s a deep penetrating hurt which buzzes and sparks and burns. As often happens, I met the beginning of the spanking with some resistance: mostly whining and wailing sounds and some wiggling. At one point, when I became particularly vocal, Malignus reminded me that “it’s supposed to hurt.” In some contexts, that sounds trite, almost mocking. Here, it was reassuring and gave me a positive reminder of what I wanted from the spanking. I wanted it to hurt. It wouldn’t be a “real” spanking if it didn’t. I tried to focus on that fact, instead of on the areas of my mind which wanted to escape from the pain, which didn’t want to accept the spanking.
After what felt like a long time, Malignus stopped and told me that we were 3/5ths of the way through the spanking. It felt to me as if the entire thing should have been done by then, but this information gave me a feeling of resignation. Following this, we had a conversation which made me feel significantly more vulnerable, but also very safe and submissive. He asked me if I wanted the rest of the spanking to be on my bare bottom or if I’d rather redress. He assured me that the rest of the spanking would be with the hairbrush, and reminded me of just how much that hurt. I knew what I wanted: that I really did want to be bare and vulnerable and that I wanted the spanking to hurt as much as possible. The trouble was in saying this. Malignus gave me as long as I needed to “really think about what I was saying” and gently rubbed my back as I thought. This pushed me over some sort of edge. I felt the rest of my resistance crumbling, and with it, a lot of the stress that had accumulated through regular every day life. I started to cry. There was something different about starting to cry during a part of a spanking that wasn’t physically painful. It felt…pure. I felt genuine with myself, like I wasn’t keeping anything back. It was at that point that I asked to be spanked on the bare, so he began to spank me again.
I perceived the next “set” as being much harder than those that had come before, but this was probably because of my mental and emotional state. I tried hard to represent the submission that I was feeling internally in the way that I was responding, but I’m not sure if I did this ideally or not. I know that I cried, and I cried away all the things that were feeling wrong in me. When the fourth set was finished, Malignus told me that he’d be finishing up with his hand. Hand spanking is the most intimate thing for me. I obviously don’t mean this in a sexual way, but I feel the strongest connection, the most closeness and the strongest form of physical communication from an OTK spanking with just a hand. This was perfect then. When he finished the final set, we exchanged our final “Happy New Years!” statements, although I hardly remember this. He then went on to spank me more, just because he felt like it.
When it was finished, I felt positively edified. It’s the only word I have for it. I felt like I’d not just spewed out all the stress that was in me in the form of tears on my pillow, but I’d instead replaced it with some sort of tranquility and a renewal of strength. I know that this might sound almost silly, but it was a profound experience for me.
It’s really wonderful to be loved.
Updated 12/21/14: I’ve been re-reading some older blog posts and I came across this one. I want to add a little bit of modern commentary on it, now that I have a perspective from outside of that relationship.
My relationship with Malignus was my first D/s relationship. I had a sort of unformed relationship that involved discipline before that and a play partner, but never a Dominant. I actually didn’t know very much about D/s when I got involved in it, and most of what I knew I was taught by Malignus. At the time that I wrote this, I believed that in order to be a “good” submissive and to “fully” submit, I had to be able to take very severe spankings without warmups, with minimal encouragement, without moving or crying out to any degree and without the necessity of aftercare.
I now don’t think that this is actually a particularly healthy way to approach scenes, and I don’t want anyone new to D/s or to spanking who might read this to think that this kind of play is normative or something that should be strived for. Please read this with the understanding that this scene had aspects of it that were very positive for me, but took place within the framework of an unhealthy relationship. My emphasis on fear of disappointing someone makes me feel sad when I re-read this. It has taken me a long time to get the idea out my head that my natural reactions to things are not something that will disappoint people.
The rest of the text of this post has been left intact with no changes made to the text except this addition.
This afternoon, Malignus decided to give me a spanking. There wasn’t an established atmosphere for it: it simply began with “Let’s hit you with stuff!” He started the spanking with a wooden spoon named Warren (the implement which featured heavily in this very old post and which I thought I lost once). It’s certainly not a kind implement. Once upon a time, I had designated my three least favorite implements as “The Trinity of Terror: Warren, a small bladed but very thick lexan paddle and the nylon cane.
|The Trinity of Terror, shown with Zelda, which is not relevant to this post. The other three items very much are.|
The spanking started off slowly, but I met it with some level of resistance. I don’t mean I thrashed around or protested or anything extreme, but I let my body be tense, I moved around on the bed a bit and I continually cried out into the pillow. I leaned my body away from Malignus. My hands grabbed at the far end of the mattress in a tense desperation. There are a lot of different ways in which a spanking can go, and recently, for arbitrary or re-affirmative style spankings, we’ve been working on me meeting them passively and fully submitting to the spanking. This isn’t the way that I generally react with other Tops, or in other atmospheres, but it’s an important area that we’ve been working on. It’s certainly been a challenge for me, though.
The spanking was very painful in a fiery, stinging way. The small surface area made one little section take all the force, and then another, and then another. At one point, I did something which is somewhat unusual for me during a spanking and I said something cogent: “This hurts!”
“Yes,” Malignus acknowledged. “It does. But it’s going to hurt less when you stop fighting against it. Let it break you down.”
I tried to do exactly that, but I was just spinning my wheels. I got into a bit of a groove for a while, being still and keeping my body fairly relaxed. Malignus praised me for this, but I didn’t really keep it up. The spanking picked up pace, and I found myself back to a state of struggle against the pain that was building. After things reached a crescendo, Malignus stopped and I took several deep breaths.
I’m going to digress for a moment. I’m willing to bet that you guys have seen Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. The first time I saw that movie, I really started needing to pee about halfway through. Unfortunately, the movie didn’t feel like it was about halfway through. It felt like it was almost over. I figured I could just wait until it ended. The movie would seem like it was about to end, and then start to seem like it was wrapping itself up, and then it would GO ON TO SOMETHING ELSE. Then that would wrap itself up, it would seem to be about over and then it would GO ON TO SOMETHING ELSE. Near the end I was becoming infinitely frustrated. I just wanted it to quit fake ending and just ACTUALLY END. In a movie, those moments that suggest that something is almost over when it really isn’t are one of my pet peeves. They make me crazy. (By the way, I totally adore LOTR and I’m really excited to see The Hobbit this weekend. kthnx!)
In a spanking, however, those moments when you think that things are almost over and start to prepare yourself for them to be done, only to find out that you’re closer to halfway through have a really strong, positive effect on me. They make me feel out of control in a very safe and very good way. The length and intensity of my spanking is not being determined by me. That’s entirely up to my Dominant. It puts me in a very secure and submissive state of mind, and speeds up the process of breaking down my resistance. In my head, I call spankings that seem to stop, or appear to be reaching their end, only to begin again in earnest “Lord of the Rings spankings” because of the above story. (Note– I realize I’m going to probably start getting some strange search terms showing up on my google analytics because of this).
Returning to my original story, that’s what happened today. Malignus did, indeed, set down Warren. He had completed spanking me with it, just as I had originally believe. Instead of ending the spanking (which, if I was being honest with myself, I did not really want anyway) he reached under the bed and returned with the small, Lexan paddle pictured above. That paddle hurts a lot. It’s one of the worst things I’ve been spanked with. I tried to be submissive to it, and to let it push me. Instead, I think that my resistance began to intensify (I say “I think” because this is the area of the spanking where my memory starts to get a little bit fuzzy, even though it was just eight hours ago or something). After giving me a handful of swats on my bottom, Malignus tapped the paddle against my thigh. I know that he does not do this to “line up his shot” like some people do. The purpose of pre-swat tapping has always been to get inside my head. I felt very vulnerable for the second before that stroke landed on my thigh, and then I felt a surge of pain that seemed to run through my entire body. And then another. And then another. And then another. I was really reacting to the pain, vocalizing and crying out in a manner that was probably excessive. Despite feeling wonderfully loved and taken care of, and being very aware of how much of my stress was dissipating, I was certainly not reaching my goal of calm and quiet submission. Then, for a minute, it was over.
I was actually quite relieved on some level when Malignus grabbed another implement. I knew that I wanted to give myself over to the spanking more, and I would have been very disappointed in my performance at that if it had stopped there. The implement which he had selected, however, was my nemesis: the nylon cane. I don’t know if he intentionally used the three implements that I once selected as my least favorites or if it just worked out that way, but it was something that didn’t even cross my mind until much later. At the moment, all I was aware of was the fact that I was going to be caned.
He did so rapidly, at a pace that I was largely unfamiliar with. He wasn’t using “full” strokes, but the combined effective was overpowering. At first, I continued to struggle and cry out and then, all the sudden, everything stopped. I don’t mean that the caning stopped– it continued at the same pace and intensity. I stopped. My resistance went away and I just lay perfectly still. I fell silent.
“Good girl,” Malignus praised me. “VERY good.”
The caning continued, as did my passive state. It still hurt, but I was experiencing something which I’ve had limited experiences with: a powerful rush of endorphins. I have no idea for how long things continued. In my mind, it was both very long and very short. I felt really, really good. It was different than the drug-like experience I’d had the first time I fell into subspace, but equally wonderful. I felt entirely relaxed, but I also felt a joyful exuberance in my chest. I was really aware of what was happening to me and I was proud and excited. I felt simultaneously tranquilized and hyper stimulated. My brain was very confused, and it was awesome. Awesome, awesome, awesome.
Once things finally did stop, Malignus rubbed my back and comforted me for a long time. The good feeling lingered.
The spanking was still not entirely over.
After I was able to speak properly again (although I don’t remember what I said), Malignus got one more cane– a 1″ acrylic cane that is probably the most weight bearing cane in our collection (strike that, known to man). He gave me six strokes with it, and while I wasn’t entirely silent, I still took them well and felt the same surge of good feelings. After that, he gave me a really lovely cool down. Hours later, I’m still a little bit sore, and I’m still very smiley about it.
When I started this blog, it was my intention to do a combination of writing about spanking, DD and D/s topics. I touch on the latter two every now and then, but they are rarely the primary focus on a post. I’m going to start trying to include a Submission Topic every week if I can. I always have a lot to say about it anyway. 🙂
So, here it goes!
For the entire time that I’ve been in my primary relationship, I’ve had submissive feelings and limited actual submissive behavior towards people besides my partner and Dominant. This has never been any kind of a problem. I’m mostly poly in all situations and Malignus is nearly perfectly poly. There are times when he’s more comfortable with the idea of me exploring things with other people than I am. Because it was always natural and accepted for me to explore and talk about submission with other people, it seemed to follow that I eventually would enter into a second D/s dynamic. At present, Malignus has five submissives, and he manages that with few problems. So when scotchgrove and I realized that we worked quite well together in terms of D/s, we began to take the steps towards making that happen.
A lot of people were very surprised by this. Apparently having a lot of submissives is fairly normal, but a submissive having multiple Dominants is not. Thinking about this brought up a few interesting points.
The most obvious reason why having multiple Dominants might not work out smoothly is that there might be conflicting rules or instructions. The question that my friends have asked me the most when finding out how things are working for me now is “What do you do when they want you to do different things?” So far, this situation has come up rarely, almost never. There’s usually a clear level of importance between two tasks: things with real world time limits have to come first, as do grossly more significant things. Unless something of those natures comes up, I take care of the things that I committed to first before committing to something else. If everything is equal, I tend to err on the side of Malignus’ wishes because he invests more in me. He’s there with me on the day to day and he’s been giving me time, energy, love, affection, violence, care, education and more for over a year now.
This is system is really no different than the way that we balance social commitments in any other situation and is mostly based on common sense: if I’m working on research for Malignus and scothgrove wants to chat, I finish my work first. That’s no different than what a responsible person would do if they were doing research for school and a friend from outside of a power exchange dynamic wanted to talk. If I’m hanging out with Malignus and scotchgrove needs to speak to me regarding something of importance, I talk to scotchgrove. The only difference is that I don’t just do these things: I seek permission to do these things. That’s also pretty easy and mostly just a way to be respectful. Because both Dominants are aware of these arrangements, they tend to be fine with things.
scotchgrove doesn’t usually make rules for me because he’s aware that those needs are already being met by my dynamic with Malignus. If he does, it’s for things that I don’t have rules about already. If both of them were to make a rule about the same thing, I’d talk to both of them to come up with something that worked for everyone involved. Basically, if everyone is on the same page, it works out really well.
There is, however, a reason why the idea of having multiple submissives makes more sense than the idea of having multiple Dominants does: that’s the flow of power. This is a concept that has been kind of hard for me to articulate, but which I’ve been bouncing around in my head for a while. I made the following really shitty diagram in Paint:
Note from the future: I don’t actually support a lot of what I said in this post anymore. There are A LOT of signs that my relationship was unhealthy that can be seen here.
For the past few months, I’ve been working on a particular skill within the realm of submitting to spankings. I’m very, very good at taking hard spankings with the right atmosphere. The atmosphere, however, has always been highly important for my success with these things. I generally experience these things as if I am being “guided” to a particular headspace and then kept there. I think this is partially because my early spanking experiences were highly directed and I never learned how to create a headspace for myself and partly because when it comes to physical things, I’m far better at passive submission than active submission. Recently, we’ve been working on my ability to give myself over to a hard spanking without direct assistance.
It is way, way more difficult than it sounded to me in the beginning.
No atmosphere means no phrases of comfort or reaffirmation, no “good girl”s, no questions that focus my mind on submission like “to whom does your body belong?” or “do you want this spanking?” It turns out those things go an extremely long way towards creating a submissive headspace for me.
It also means no warmup. This is the biggest difference between the kinds of non-punitive spankings I was used to getting and the kind that I’ve been getting recently. A warmup eases me into a scene both physically and mentally. The mental side of it is what’s the most important for me. It gives me time to accept the fact that I’m being spanked and slowly start giving myself over to the spanking, suspending my sense of self preservation and surrendering my free will for the time being. It’s like slowly inching forward to get wet in a lake before going swimming (this analogy is particularly effective for me because I have a strong fear of water so preparing to submerge myself is far more mental than physical, but I’m sure that it will make at least some sense to others). You take one step, then another step, then another and at first every step makes you gasp from the cold but eventually, you put your head entirely under the water and then you’re ready and can swim for however long you want.
Without a warmup and with few words of guidance or correction, I’m more like a cat who has just been dropped into a full tub for her bath than a swimmer slowly preparing to enjoy the water. The first smack hits my bottom and I pretty much immediately start crying out, rolling back and forth on Malignus’ lap, yelling in the style that Ami would call “like a dying monster” and being entirely incapable of keeping position. This is relative to my normal ability to be extremely still: I’ve seen other girls who simply have to be held down and pinned in place to take a spanking, and recently, I saw one of my friends climb over a couch when her arms were being held down and she was trying to escape swats. The logistics of that maneuver still befuddle me. To my own credit, I will add that I’ve never put my hand back during a spanking, that I’ve never gotten off the Top’s lap, that I’ve only kicked a Top in the face twice and that it’s been over three years since that time that I broke a lamp. Basically, I’m not horrible, but I try to cling to my resistance as much as possible and relaxing and giving myself over to being spanked isn’t the first thing on my mind. In fact, instead of thinking about how much I want to be spanked and how I never want it to end, I find myself latching onto thoughts of how it’s too hard, it hurts too much, I can’t be still for it and I want it to be over. Not very productive.
|That’s my brain, basically, when I’m not doing things right.|
I’ve been working on this for a long time, and that’s not to say that every spanking I receive is done in this method and intended to work on this. Malignus had told me that I’d been making progress but I personally was getting frustrated with myself: I knew what things I should be doing during a spanking and I just never brought myself to do them.
Last week, we obtained a new implement. Peachy Keane sent it to me as part of a gift box. I’ve talked about Jenny before: the wooden spatula that Malignus loves and most girls hate. Here’s a photo of Jenny, in case anyone wasn’t sure what it looked like:
This is Ben, the new implement that scotchgrove had Peachy send us:
At first, I thought it was another Jenny in a different color. They do look the same!
From that angle, they look exactly the same aside from the color difference and the fact that Jenny is well worn. From other angles, the difference is far more noticeable:
Ben is about 1.5 – 1.75 times as thick as Jenny. This was EXTREMELY noticeable the first time I was spanked with it. Jenny was my “warm up” (this was quick and very firm) and then he started to hit me with Ben. I kicked and bucked around and screamed and could barely be kept under basic control. I’m pretty sure that the spanking ended earlier than intended because I was taking it with so little grace and dignity. But geeze! That thing is HORRIBLE. It’s the epitome of an awful spoon (you can tell because scotchgrove calls his “the perfect spoon.” )
The other day, I got into a mood and I started having a really awful attitude while Malignus and I were trying to get things done in a limited amount of time. I’m really ashamed of the way I acted. I was scolded about my attitude and just a minute later, he asked me something and I responded rudely and immaturely. He then started to scold me very, very harshly. I snapped out of my funk immediately and began to cry guiltily. I was suddenly aware of just how badly I’d been behaving. A minute or so later, he called me into the bedroom. He was sitting on the edge of the bed holding Ben. I felt a mix of terror and relief– despite my extreme dislike of that implement, I knew that I deserved to be disciplined for my behavior and I wanted him to spank me very hard. Once I had bared my bottom and gotten over his lap, he gave me another stern scolding and then did just that. It felt as though he really laid into me with it (I say this in non-concrete terms because the way that I experience pain during a disciplinary spanking is different than usual and often much more severe). There was no denying the fact that he spanked me very thoroughly, but because of my mindset at the time, I lay quite still and did nothing but cry submissively into my pillow. The spanking finished with corner time followed by a long, comforting hug and a chance for me to behave better. I spent the rest of the afternoon focusing on being cheerful and getting things done, and I was successful at both.
Later, when we were driving in the car to go out to eat, Malignus noted that I had been very still for my spanking. It hadn’t even registered to me that I had: I had been focusing on other things. This was important for me because it had reminded me just what I was capable of. When I want to, I can endure anything. This had stopped being a reality for me when I had continuously failed at my earlier attempts to fully submit. That night, Malignus gave me a bedtime spanking with a different spoon. My bottom was still sore from my discipline earlier that day, but I know he didn’t spank me as hard or with as fast a pace as he usually does. Still, I was able to channel the same feeling of wanting to be spanked and I successfully gave over to the spanking. I was very proud of myself, indeed, and Malignus told me that he was proud as well.
|This post has too many words in it! It needs one of these!|
Since then, I’ve only had one other spanking, which was also with Ben. I took that one similarly well. It’s exciting to feel like I’m on a roll and finally mastering something and making real, measurable progress.
Yesterday was a pretty big day in the house of Malex. (Malex? Malignus + Alex. We made this up during my first visit here when we wanted to name a spreadsheet of our expenses and it kinda stuck. You’re welcome.) Several important things happened. First of all, my (somewhat controversial) post on Tuesday generated a lot of traffic: I reached 592 hits, my highest number in a day ever. Talking about traffic is always a little awkward, because, like talking about how long of a spanking one took, it’s entirely relative to the number of hits one was used to getting previously (HA!). As a frame of reference, I usually get between 200 and 300 page views per day, so this was nearly double that. It pleased me quite a bit.
Secondly, and perhaps more excitingly,
On Monday, Malignus spent the night out of town and I played through part of the second to last dungeon out of my own free will (after I finished eating nachos, Sour Patch Kids and strawberry ice cream for dinner).
On Tuesday, I beat the second to last boss without ever dying, then started the final dungeon. I was clearly getting better .Yesterday, I sat down and finished the ENTIRE REST OF THE GAME. I only died one time when beating the final boss, too. I was super proud of myself for this. In fact, I was almost pissed off that the game had gotten so easy for me right when it was over. Why wasn’t I always this good at it? Lame.
Malignus was clearly proud of me, too. When he got home yesterday, I asked for a spanking to reward me for my hard work. He decided that the most appropriate thing to do would be to beat me with the cable to the Nintendo 64 controller. As hilarious and awesome as that sounded, I was a bit concerned about this idea, for I have heard stories of people being hit with cords and cables that never seem to end with “AND IT WAS AWESOME.”
I know it doesn’t look like much, but holy crap, the cable hurt! I was rolling around on the bed and shouting “I DON’T LIKE THIS! JUST SO YOU KNOW, I DON’T LIKE THIS!”It was not just stingy, it was bitey. Every swat nipped at me. I was totally laughing while crying out though. Too ridiculous.
|My signature scrunchy face|
But, with Ganondorf defeated, peace returned to Hyrule AND my bottom made properly sore, one might think that this story was over. That said, have you ever heard a story from me which just ended when it was supposed to? Of course not! That would be far too convenient and against my luck’s better judgement.
Malignus decided that the only appropriate thing for me to do after having beaten the hardest and most frustrating video game that I’ve ever played in my life was to START PLAYING IT AGAIN FROM THE BEGINNING. I can’t make this stuff up. I seriously considered throwing a giant fit, but A) I’m an adult, B) Malignus is scary and C) I *did* just complain about how it had gotten easy, so I suppose I could live with running through it quickly. So after dinner and with my bottom still sore from the congratulatory beating, I was back in my place in front of the TV, controller in hand.
The problem was, this time I was playing with stricter standards. These do make considerable sense: I’m not learning how to play anymore, so it kind of follows that if I’m dying, I’m just not putting any effort into things. I get it. It’s for my own good and stuff: I just didn’t particularly enjoy it when Malignus made it a rule that every time I let a particular (easy to beat) enemy hit me in the game, he smacked me on my thigh. My bare, inner thigh. In the same place. When I finished the first section of the game, my leg looked like this:
So that’s the end of the story, right? Wrong!
Malignus went into the other room to talk to some other girl on the phone, and I thoroughly iced my poor pathetic thigh while complaining to Ami and anyone else who would listen to me about how much it hurt. When Malignus returned, I made sure to let him know how sore I still was. He responded with “That makes me want to hit you again” and a wicked, sadistic smile.
I shook my head vigorously. “But I’ve just iced it! You can’t hit me when my leg is all iced and cold! Doooooooon’t!” (I’m know, I know. I sometimes toss my dignity to the wind.)
He told me to stand up. I’d changed into my pajama pants while he was on the phone and he told me to come stand in front of him (he was sitting in a chair) and pull my pants down, which I did. He then told me to sit down on the floor facing him, which I also did. “Is it appropriate for you to tell me what to do?” he asked in a dangerously serious voice. When spoken to with that tone, it’s a struggle for me to maintain a full voice. I managed to get out a “No, Sir” without sounding ALL THAT pathetic. Then he smacked my leg again, MUCH harder than he had been doing before. I started to cry, because it hurt like crazy and I’m a total weakling when it comes to the thighs, and I scooted over to where he was sitting and put my head on his lap. He stroked my hair for a moment as I quieted.
He then decided that the best thing to do was to put capsaicin cream on it. I had promised on his birthday not to protest against capsaicin anymore, so I got up and brought it to him. I then spent the entire rest of the night being sad about how much it hurt. Christ, it’s really the worst thing. At best, it makes you unable to avoid feeling the fact that you’ve been spanked. At worst, it feels like you’re going to die by being immolated. It kind of went back and forth between those extremes for the rest of the evening.
Story is still not over.
Now, the other day, Malignus discovered an implement which I had brought back with me from New Jersey which had been previously ignored in favor of heavier artillery. It’s a small, lightweight bamboo spoon. It really doesn’t weigh anything, but it has a good sized spanking surface. I call it “Panda Food” because of the bamboo handle.
On Tuesday night, Malignus gave me my nightly spanking with it and I was extremely surprised by just how awful it was. The thing just. stings. There’s no other way of putting it: there’s no weight to it, and therefore it’s the least thuddy thing I’ve ever been spanked with (even less than a plastic hairbrush). I shudder just thinking about it. I think that many spankees prefer thud because it’s very gratifying– you really can tell that you’ve sustained a heavy impact and it makes you kinda feel like a BAMF. Sting is just surface pain, there’s none of that long, sustained throbbing that comes from the body recognizing injury afterwards. It’s superficial. But it hurts like a total bitch. Malignus has been sure to point out to me that because it causes no real damage, I could be spanked with this spoon all day without any detrimental effects. Except, you know, insanity.
After I spent a while trying to enjoy Star Trek TNG despite the fact that I was in various states of agony, Malignus decided that he wanted to hit me on the thigh AGAIN and that this time, he wanted me to bring him the aforementioned spoon. I was hesitant to do so, but did not protest. Again, I bared my thigh, and this time I buried my face in a pillow. The pain of it made my head explode, pretty much. He hit me more than once, and I found myself rolling around and freaking out. I became so not concerned with my surroundings that I hit my head into the wall a bit, but I didn’t even care. Somehow, I found myself curled up in Malignus’ lap sobbing while he comforted me and reminded me that he loved me and that I’m a very good girl. I know it sounds horrible, and it was, but at the same time, I loved it. I loved how happy indulging his sadism made him. I love being pushed that far. I loved that I had (mostly) accepted something that I hate. Lying there while I regained my calm, I found myself in this sort of otherworldly state of comfort– entirely spent, but the vacant space where all the fight in me had been was filled with a warm and enjoyable sense of comfort.
I really hope you aren’t bored yet. Because there’s more.
Eventually, it became bedtime and therefore, time for me to receive my spanking. Malignus asked me if I still wanted one, but that’s kind of a dumb question. I always want a spanking. Unfortunately, he decided to use that stupid spoon again. I cried from pretty much the start of it because, as previously mentioned, the fight in me was all used up. It hurt like hell and it was a very satisfying and relieving cry. When he’d finished and I’d pulled up my underwear (I’d given up on pajama pants at some point) he decided to give me a good smack on either hand. When those were both done, he grabbed my left hand again and tapped the spoon against my palm. I prepared myself for it, but instead, he hit me on the inside of the elbow. UGGGGGGGGGH! Finally, the night finished up by him grabbing my welted and bruised thigh as hard as he could. Just the grabbing made me burst into tears a final time. This pleased him a great deal, and he laughed and hugged me, obviously very satisfied with himself.
So that was my day yesterday! I kind of want a t-shirt that says “I beat Zelda and all I got were these lousy bruises.”
Note- this entry has very little spanking in it and mostly deals with submission, sadism and video games. Kthnx.
I don’t really remember how the whole thing got started. It had to do with the fact that I made the mistake of bringing my N64 and the combined collection of me and my elder brother’s game cartridges with me when I moved. I had figured that Malignus and I would have fun playing classic games together, that I could play Pokemon Snap, and that there would probably be something in my selection that Malignus would enjoy playing himself.
Little did I know that in that cardboard box, I had packed my new worst enemy in the form of a shiny, gold game cartridge that was once my brother’s.
It turns out that Malignus loves The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time. I had watched my brothers play parts of it when I was a girl, but had found it too frustrating for me and never even maintained a save file. At some point, Malignus got the idea that he was going to make me play it. What started out as a simple assignment quickly turned into a nightmare: I’ve never been worse at anything in my life. I’m not kidding when I say that. Every frustrating thing I’ve ever attempted- learning to drive, doing ballet, jumping hurdles when I ran track and field, learning about Quantum Physics, writing characters in traditional Chinese with a brush and ink- they all pale in comparison to the difficulty that I have with playing Zelda. It’s worse because I’m traditionally a fast study at video games, even those that I don’t like. Yet here are a few scenarios that I’ve run into when playing this one:
* I attempted to get past one hallway which is littered with traps a total of 37 times before I got through.* I prepared for a boss battle by collecting two red fairies (items that let you regain all your life when you die) and having full health and then died entirely before I entered the room. That means that I lost 30 hearts in a single hallway which was supposedly so simple that the people who make walkthroughs for Zelda didn’t even bother to say anything besides “avoid these guys and go in the door.”*I spent a total of two and a half hours attempting to beat a boss that is described in the walkthrough as being able to be beaten in literally less than a minute.*I dedicated three hours to completing one dungeon. At the end of the first half of that time, I had not yet made it past the first of five steps it takes to ENTER said dungeon.
|The Trinity of Terror +1|
The first couple of times that Malignus told me I was going to play Zelda after it was shown just how horrid I am at it, I responded by whining and protesting in a way most out of character for me. This attitude was quickly abandoned when I was asked if I needed a caning to motivate me. Still, there were times when I simply didn’t listen to what he was instructing me to do in the game, or I didn’t try, or I just kept royally failing at things and he decided that I needed that “motivation.” You know what words are always scary?
“I’m getting the cane.”
That can never not be scary. Some very stupid part of me didn’t except Malignus to actually come back with a cane the first time he said that regarding Zelda. I mean, who gets caned over video games? Answer: me. Not only did he come back with one, but he came back with the scariest one I own (pictured above) and gave me a pretty hard stroke with it. He then continued to sit near me waving it back and forth (it’s extremely flexible) and hitting the furniture to “keep me focused.” I guess it kinda worked. I certainly started putting forth full effort. Slowly but surely, putting in an hour or two at a time, I made it through quite a bit of the game. In some ways, I improved, but I remained horribly bad at platforming, dodging traps and fighting bosses.
Yesterday afternoon, Malignus told me to start playing Zelda again and I responded by asking if I could finish something first. I didn’t stop right away when he said “No,” even though we’ve “talked” (I’m sure you understand what that means, right?) about that sort of thing fairly often recently. As a result, I ended up getting sentenced to play through two dungeons of Zelda before bedtime instead of one. Because I’m a highly responsible person, I played until he left for work and then went to the store to get waffles, then played a little more, then talked to a partner, then took a nap, then text messaged Peachy for a while, then talked to Heather online and only started playing with true focus and dedication at 8:30 PM.
I kept playing for the next five hours and I still didn’t finish the amount of game that I’d been told to do. While I played, I felt a flurry of emotions. The primary one was frustration. I was frustrated at the stupid game for being so damn difficult, at Malignus for making me do such a stupid thing, and, more than anything else, at myself for sucking so hard. I nearly broke my controller at least once. I got so pissed off that I started intentionally abusing my horse, Epona, who I had originally promised never to hurt, just to have a vessel for my rage.
At one point, I got so angry about it that I got tears in my eyes. It was then that I had to remember why, exactly, Malignus was having me play Zelda. It wasn’t purely sadism (although I can’t help but believe that it was at least part of it). It was to teach me to persevere without getting angry, to apply the things I already knew about the world to new situations, to use my brain and to be patient. It probably also had to do with time management: something I’d failed at yet again. With this in mind, and with the knowledge that my D/s dynamic is founded around the idea that I may not fail myself, I continued to trudge forward.
When I finally fell asleep at 3:30 this morning, I hadn’t finished the amount of Zelda that I’d been assigned, but I was damn proud of myself for my endurance in making it as far as I did. There’s something very satisfying in giving something, even something that seems dumb, your all. I know that next time won’t be as bad. It’s kind of amazing how horrible/educational everything can be.
Merry Christmas, everyone! I’m on holiday until the 3rd, which means that I’ll hopefully get a lot written and stored for your enjoyment in the coming weeks. I hope everyone has been enjoying whatever they celebrated.
For my, celebrations began with Malignus’ birthday on the 22nd. HeatherFeather and I had a bunch of fun preparing things: we blew up a billion black and red balloons and filled the house with them, got him some gifts and a cake and made a most delicious dinner. The cake was pretty much the best part, though: it’s so him:
You can see from this photo that another spoon was obtained. That was from HeatherFeather, with the condition that only I get hit with it. Because, you know, THAT’S fair. The spoon is from the same series as Warren, and the couple of whacks I got with it make it obvious that it isn’t going to be my best friend.
On the right side of the table, you’ll see a tube of Capzasin that I bought out of my own free will. Don’t freak out. I’m not insane, I promise.
Well, maybe a little. Or it’s just that whole thing with the lack of self preservation.
Doing that meant a lot for me in terms of submission, because I hate it pretty much more than any other thing. Just say the word and my face gets sad (the other night, I got scrunchy faced over the word “capsized” in a video game :P). That said, I’ve been trying to strike a balance between enjoying the fear that comes with partnering with a sadist and knowing that what happens to me is largely outside of my control and not getting irrationally terrified of anything and creating undue anxiety for myself. My feelings towards Capzasin were way too far over onto the side of irrational fear, and it seemed like an appropriate and beautiful thing to do to give up my protesting and indulgence of fear and take solace in not having control. I even ASKED FOR IT the other night, although I did a horribly pathetic job of it. I was snuggling after a spanking and I wanted to ask, even though I really, really did not want to receive it, just because I wanted to be able to accept it and be relaxed about it. I kept sighing as I tried to and failed, and after prompting I finally got the question out in that dumb, quiet, monotone voice. He said no, which made me incredibly happy. Usually getting myself psyched up over something and having it not happen is displeasing, but this worked out well. I’m hoping that next time it comes up, I’ll be able to remember my active part in things and that doing so will allow me to move more easily into submission. Hopefully someday soon, I’ll be able to ask for unpleasant things in a voice that gives the seriousness due to the situation (that is, not being excessively nonchalant) but which isn’t “um uh excuse me could I please… have that thing?”
I know that some people think that’s torture-horrible and should never be done, but it’s important to remember that, like a lot of things that are truly unpleasant, (like my nylon cane, or my lexan paddle, or thigh spanking at all) it serves a purpose within my relationship and I have, despite my dislike of it, I get something quite noteworthy from it in terms of submission.
Anyway, on Malignus’ birthday he gave us his birthday spankings. I was always pretty sure that those were supposed to be kind of light and fun, but Malignus gave HeatherFeather and I his with an acrylic cane. >_< It was fun, however, because it was the first time that HeatherFeather and I got spanked side by side, and that made the experience far more enjoyable. He did, however, hit me really, really hard 30 times (29 for his birthday, and 1 on my thighs because I said I was “fine” at the end when Heather asked instead of talking about how sore I was :P).
A few minutes later, I somehow got myself into a situation where I had the front of my thighs caned. He’d done it to another one of my friends one time, but never to me (although he’d hit me there with Jenny and lots of times with his hand) and the other day he hit HeatherFeather there twice. Heather had told me to ask him to do it to me, and because I have NO SENSE OF SELF PRESERVATION WHATSOEVER and will always say “Okay!” to something horrible that Malignus wants to do to me for “fun” I agreed and asked him to.
Holy cow, that hurts. The first two were pretty bad, and then I was matched with Heather. Then he asked me if I wanted as many as he’d given my other friend, and I said yes. The next two made me sob. It was incredibly hard to have what was happening be right in front of me: the psychological factor is 99 percent of things for me, and the sight and sound of an implement in motion have been known to make me gasp or cry out even if they never hit me. Knowing that those strokes were destined for a very sensitive part of my body was incrediscary. When those two were done, he asked me if I wanted one more, so I’d have done more than everyone else, which is just mean, because he knew that there’s no way I could say no to that. I had a hard time submitting to that last one, though, especially when he tapped it between two existing welts. I had to hide my face in a pillow. I was disappointed in myself for not being particularly submissive for the last stroke, but I know I’ll have other chances and I can just use that as a push to be awesome in the future.
The marks looked like this when it was over:
That brown bruise is from where he hit me on the inner thigh with a “squirt” cane from Cane-iac a week or so earlier.
The next day, it “bloomed” and looked a lot worse… on one side, that is:
The side where the cane ended was incredibly more sore than the “near” side, which healed up quite nicely. The feeling of unevenness was really weird and awkward. It bothered me so much that I asked Malignus to even things out, but he refused because it amused him on a sadistic level.
I really, really enjoy being a vessel for sadism. I can enjoy playing with tops who are not sadistic as long as they truly love spanking, but there is really nothing that warms my heart more than knowing that something is horrible simply for the purpose of his enjoyment. I know that I sometimes whine and pout about the agony, but it makes me feel loved and it makes me feel like I’m being unabashedly myself. On Christmas Eve, Malignus hit me with a dishtowel (seriously!) in such a way that it made me cry. The absurdity of it was funny, and he was very, very pleased with himself and as I was crying, I felt very loved and like something was extremely right. It’s a very hard thing for me to articulate, so I’ll work on it for another time.
By the end of the week, HeatherFeather had left our apartment, not to return for some time, we celebrated Christmas together and then, on Christmas Day, I flew out to visit my remaining family of origin. I’ll be here until next Tuesday. I had a hard time leaving, because I find my family of origin stressful, it’s a difficult time for them right now to begin with and because, quite frankly, I don’t like leaving Malignus. I am taking a lot of comfort in the fact that when the week is over, I’m going home to him instead of it being that I visit him for a week and then leave. I imagine that coming back after the trip is going to make it feel even more home-like to me, and that’s a very nice idea.
My cousin was recently engaged, but she’s spending the holidays apart from her fiance, as they’re both with their families of origin in different states. She showed off her ring at the dinner table and talked about how she liked having something that came from him and showed his love for her on her body and how it made her never feel without him. While everyone was saying “awww,” I silently lifted the hem of my skirt and gently poked at the welts and bruises on the front of my thigh ;).