Apologies for the delay. I was so sleepy and out of it last night, I couldn't have formed a coherent post. Still feeling kind of out of it today, actually. The sign of a good session. :-)
We chatted it up for a long time before any play started. When I sensed that things were about to transition, I excused myself to use the restroom, and as I walked back into the living room, Mr. D grinned at me and patted his lap. However, I didn't take my place there. I crossed the room and sat at the dining room table. "You want me?" I taunted. "Come and get me."
He looked amused. Didn't move at first. "I think I'll have some chocolate first," he said, helping himself to the bag of Hershey's Nuggets I'd put on the coffee table. In response, I put my booted legs up onto the table and picked up a magazine.
Yes, he came and got me. Scooped me up bodily and carried me to the couch. And then made me wait. "You're so ready, aren't you?" he teased. I believe I said something along the lines of "Are you ever going to fucking get on with it already?" That did it.
Mr. D likes to say he's spanking me with love. He's also fond of laying on the hardest strikes and saying, "Feel that? That's love," or "Are you feeling the love?" Which, of course, is a setup. Because at the moment, it feels like anything but love, and I'll be damned if I'm going to answer "yes." But if I don't say anything, he'll say, "I don't hear your answer." If I say "no, dammit, I'm not feeling any @#$%ing love!", then he'll say, "Oh well, I guess I just have to keep going until you do." Arrrrrggghhh.
![]()
But you know how tops are. They drive you to the brink, and then they turn around and do something gentle and sweet, and you're reeled back just a bit. Just enough to keep going.
![]()
Payback for defiance resulted in a night of wood. (Implements, people. Don't be filthy.) Except for a little taste of riding crop in the beginning, the entire second half of the session was wooden paddles. I don't remember when I broke down and wept, but all I do remember is that familiar inner struggle. "I can't take this yes you can no I can't yes you can no I can't yes you know you can and you will. Because you want to."
Somewhere in the turmoil, his calm voice floated in. "Just a little more. You know you need this. You know this is good for you." Yes, I do. I stop struggling and my body melts into the bed, acquiescing. That's when he knows I'm truly done.
No, he didn't stick the camera in my face. He's very respectful and kind afterward, deferring to my privacy. I'm the one who suggested it. I'm learning, slowly, to embrace my vulnerability and show it. Because even a hard-ass like me breaks down.
![]()
Later, both ravenous, we went to dinner. We both had a cup of soup (mind you, at Jerry's Deli, a cup is the size of a bowl, and the bowl is a size in which you could almost bathe a small child) and shared a wonderful salad with grilled chicken. Not at all eager to go back out in the cold, we lingered and talked some more.
On January 25, it will be six months since we met. Six months already?? He asked me how I felt now about ST, if I missed him, etc. I thought carefully about my answer. ST will always have his place, after all we shared; nearly two years produced a cache of treasured memories. I admit, my pride still hurts at how easily dispensable I was. But miss him? Not now. I'm blissfully happy with the top I have now, who has become very dear indeed.
Anyway. I must collect myself and do some work. I love squirming at my computer chair, feeling tingly and dreamy, but it's reality time. When my spanker is here, the world goes away for a few hours; there is no work to do, no bills to pay, no phones to answer. Onward with the week, and I will look forward to that sweet, painful, pleasurable oblivion once again.
We chatted it up for a long time before any play started. When I sensed that things were about to transition, I excused myself to use the restroom, and as I walked back into the living room, Mr. D grinned at me and patted his lap. However, I didn't take my place there. I crossed the room and sat at the dining room table. "You want me?" I taunted. "Come and get me."
He looked amused. Didn't move at first. "I think I'll have some chocolate first," he said, helping himself to the bag of Hershey's Nuggets I'd put on the coffee table. In response, I put my booted legs up onto the table and picked up a magazine.
Yes, he came and got me. Scooped me up bodily and carried me to the couch. And then made me wait. "You're so ready, aren't you?" he teased. I believe I said something along the lines of "Are you ever going to fucking get on with it already?" That did it.
Mr. D likes to say he's spanking me with love. He's also fond of laying on the hardest strikes and saying, "Feel that? That's love," or "Are you feeling the love?" Which, of course, is a setup. Because at the moment, it feels like anything but love, and I'll be damned if I'm going to answer "yes." But if I don't say anything, he'll say, "I don't hear your answer." If I say "no, dammit, I'm not feeling any @#$%ing love!", then he'll say, "Oh well, I guess I just have to keep going until you do." Arrrrrggghhh.
But you know how tops are. They drive you to the brink, and then they turn around and do something gentle and sweet, and you're reeled back just a bit. Just enough to keep going.
Payback for defiance resulted in a night of wood. (Implements, people. Don't be filthy.) Except for a little taste of riding crop in the beginning, the entire second half of the session was wooden paddles. I don't remember when I broke down and wept, but all I do remember is that familiar inner struggle. "I can't take this yes you can no I can't yes you can no I can't yes you know you can and you will. Because you want to."
Somewhere in the turmoil, his calm voice floated in. "Just a little more. You know you need this. You know this is good for you." Yes, I do. I stop struggling and my body melts into the bed, acquiescing. That's when he knows I'm truly done.
No, he didn't stick the camera in my face. He's very respectful and kind afterward, deferring to my privacy. I'm the one who suggested it. I'm learning, slowly, to embrace my vulnerability and show it. Because even a hard-ass like me breaks down.
Later, both ravenous, we went to dinner. We both had a cup of soup (mind you, at Jerry's Deli, a cup is the size of a bowl, and the bowl is a size in which you could almost bathe a small child) and shared a wonderful salad with grilled chicken. Not at all eager to go back out in the cold, we lingered and talked some more.
On January 25, it will be six months since we met. Six months already?? He asked me how I felt now about ST, if I missed him, etc. I thought carefully about my answer. ST will always have his place, after all we shared; nearly two years produced a cache of treasured memories. I admit, my pride still hurts at how easily dispensable I was. But miss him? Not now. I'm blissfully happy with the top I have now, who has become very dear indeed.
Anyway. I must collect myself and do some work. I love squirming at my computer chair, feeling tingly and dreamy, but it's reality time. When my spanker is here, the world goes away for a few hours; there is no work to do, no bills to pay, no phones to answer. Onward with the week, and I will look forward to that sweet, painful, pleasurable oblivion once again.