As I'd mentioned on Friday, the theme for the weekend (and Monday) was distraction. I didn't want to think about BBW and missing so many friends and all that fun. John and I had a fabulous weekend; we went to Santa Anita racetrack, of all places, comped into their ultra-fancy Turf Club, where we got all dressed up to have a fabulous lunch and watch the horses. More on that later.
So the weekend was fun, but yesterday morning, the blues started setting in. FetLife and Twitter were abuzz with posts and comments and photos from BBW, the accolades were pouring in, and I felt that old, familiar sense of being left behind. Fortunately, Mr. D was coming over that morning to save the day.
Our scene was long, intense and multi-layered. There was a lot of banter and silliness for a while, especially during the OTK portion. He's really taking this "no flinching" thing too damn far, you know? I had to keep my legs perfectly still, and every time I jerked or flinched, he'd add 30! And then he'd do everything he could to screw me up so I'd miscount and we'd have to start over. Including his going to 31 once, and when I protested, he said, "Oh, my bad. I went over. You'll have to be punished for that; 30 more." @#$%&!!!!!!
Then we moved to the ottoman, where he let me wait and wonder what he was up to, bustling about with his backpack, pulling things out.
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He'd mentioned kitchen utensils, so I brought him a wooden spoon and a rubber spatula. What the hell was I thinking?? Oh well... he would have just gone in himself and rummaged in the drawers.
He put my arms in restraints at my sides. And so began the barrage of implements, one at a time. Interspersed with his hand, of course.
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Doesn't he have beautiful hands/arms? :-)
I was having a lot of fun with smartassery, cussing at him and talking back (as evidenced in the video posted below). But as time went on, my mood changed as I dipped into subspace and silenced. Then, stripped of my sass, the real mood set in -- the sadness. The ache of missing the party of the year. And the tears came to my eyes.
Mr. D knew. He paused for a while, soothing me, then whispered, "You're not quite done, are you." "I don't know," I sniffled. He knew that meant "No. Finish me." So he did, with a flurry of the cane, the wooden paddle and his hand, while crooning tenderly to me, encouraging me to hang on, it was almost over. I wept through it all. And yes, I was a very well-spanked woman.
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I cried for a long time after we ended, while he held me close. "Let it out, let it go," he murmured to me. I did. I'd felt so disconnected, and this was reconnecting me.
"You don't just like being spanked," he'd observed earlier, "you really need it. It's part of your core being." He's right. How well he knows me already.
Anyway, to lighten things up a bit, here's a snippet of our scene that I posted on Spanking Tube. I called it "The Smartass and the Spatula." :-)
Back to the weekend for a moment: John's sister, who works for a very tony college and gets all kinds of perks, got us two comps to the Turf Club restaurant at Santa Anita race track. I'd never been, so this was new and fun. We sat outside, but under a massive overhead structure that kept out the heat and the sun.
Look, horsies!
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John went to put down some small bets for us, and as I sat at our table, who did I see walking a couple of feet away but Tim Conway. Oh my! During all the years my father had worked on the Carol Burnett show, I'd met everyone else, but for whatever reason, I'd never met Tim. And I love him. So, without overthinking it, I called out, "Mr. Conway?" He turned, smiled and said, "Yes?" And I blurted, "My father was [deleted]!" His eyes widened. "Really? Wow, aren't you lucky!" (what a cool thing to say, right?) Then he shook my hand, asked how I was, said it was nice to meet me. As he was walking away, John came back, and he teased, "Picking up on old men, are you?" "That was Tim Conway!" I blabbered. "Get out!" he said. "Are you having a perfect day, or what?"
I really was. The champagne didn't hurt, either. ;-) And to put a cherry on top of the day, look what we say on our drive home:
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Sooo cute! I kept trying to get them to look over at us, but they were busy munching and couldn't care less about our presence. My sweetheart gave me a lovely weekend, and I am so grateful to him for that.
OK. Life goes on. The party talk will go on for a while, then fade. The godawful haircut I got last Thursday will grow back. They caught the Boston bomber. I have work. And I am in my peaceful place today.
So the weekend was fun, but yesterday morning, the blues started setting in. FetLife and Twitter were abuzz with posts and comments and photos from BBW, the accolades were pouring in, and I felt that old, familiar sense of being left behind. Fortunately, Mr. D was coming over that morning to save the day.
Our scene was long, intense and multi-layered. There was a lot of banter and silliness for a while, especially during the OTK portion. He's really taking this "no flinching" thing too damn far, you know? I had to keep my legs perfectly still, and every time I jerked or flinched, he'd add 30! And then he'd do everything he could to screw me up so I'd miscount and we'd have to start over. Including his going to 31 once, and when I protested, he said, "Oh, my bad. I went over. You'll have to be punished for that; 30 more." @#$%&!!!!!!
Then we moved to the ottoman, where he let me wait and wonder what he was up to, bustling about with his backpack, pulling things out.
He'd mentioned kitchen utensils, so I brought him a wooden spoon and a rubber spatula. What the hell was I thinking?? Oh well... he would have just gone in himself and rummaged in the drawers.
He put my arms in restraints at my sides. And so began the barrage of implements, one at a time. Interspersed with his hand, of course.
Doesn't he have beautiful hands/arms? :-)
I was having a lot of fun with smartassery, cussing at him and talking back (as evidenced in the video posted below). But as time went on, my mood changed as I dipped into subspace and silenced. Then, stripped of my sass, the real mood set in -- the sadness. The ache of missing the party of the year. And the tears came to my eyes.
Mr. D knew. He paused for a while, soothing me, then whispered, "You're not quite done, are you." "I don't know," I sniffled. He knew that meant "No. Finish me." So he did, with a flurry of the cane, the wooden paddle and his hand, while crooning tenderly to me, encouraging me to hang on, it was almost over. I wept through it all. And yes, I was a very well-spanked woman.
I cried for a long time after we ended, while he held me close. "Let it out, let it go," he murmured to me. I did. I'd felt so disconnected, and this was reconnecting me.
"You don't just like being spanked," he'd observed earlier, "you really need it. It's part of your core being." He's right. How well he knows me already.
Anyway, to lighten things up a bit, here's a snippet of our scene that I posted on Spanking Tube. I called it "The Smartass and the Spatula." :-)
Back to the weekend for a moment: John's sister, who works for a very tony college and gets all kinds of perks, got us two comps to the Turf Club restaurant at Santa Anita race track. I'd never been, so this was new and fun. We sat outside, but under a massive overhead structure that kept out the heat and the sun.
Look, horsies!
John went to put down some small bets for us, and as I sat at our table, who did I see walking a couple of feet away but Tim Conway. Oh my! During all the years my father had worked on the Carol Burnett show, I'd met everyone else, but for whatever reason, I'd never met Tim. And I love him. So, without overthinking it, I called out, "Mr. Conway?" He turned, smiled and said, "Yes?" And I blurted, "My father was [deleted]!" His eyes widened. "Really? Wow, aren't you lucky!" (what a cool thing to say, right?) Then he shook my hand, asked how I was, said it was nice to meet me. As he was walking away, John came back, and he teased, "Picking up on old men, are you?" "That was Tim Conway!" I blabbered. "Get out!" he said. "Are you having a perfect day, or what?"
I really was. The champagne didn't hurt, either. ;-) And to put a cherry on top of the day, look what we say on our drive home:
Sooo cute! I kept trying to get them to look over at us, but they were busy munching and couldn't care less about our presence. My sweetheart gave me a lovely weekend, and I am so grateful to him for that.
OK. Life goes on. The party talk will go on for a while, then fade. The godawful haircut I got last Thursday will grow back. They caught the Boston bomber. I have work. And I am in my peaceful place today.