I don’t need no stinkin’ Calgon…
Spanking took me away, for a little while. 🙂
New Guy read my blog about being stressed out. He appointed himself as my caretaker and prescribed extra-strength, time-release Spanksalot. He did warn me that side effects included reddening of the bottom, difficulty sitting, loss of sass and a condition known as subspace bliss. Marking may occur in some patients. I was willing to take my chances.
I will fully admit up front that I was a little snot to him at the outset. (Who, me? I know, hard to believe.) I was all edges and angles and prickly burrs, full of tension. But he knew that.
“I think I should spank you in your bedroom,” he said. “Why?” I asked.
“Because I haven’t spanked you there yet.”
“So you think a change in geographic is going to improve your technique?” I snapped. That did it.
I don’t know how long the scene was. It went on for quite some time, and his bag of tricks was fully utilized, including a brand-new hairbrush, purchased for yours truly. Somewhere about mid-scene as my emotions were bubbling up, I felt angry. Not at him, per se, just in general, and I wanted to fight and scream and cuss. Instead, I snatched the nearest implement on the bed next to me — a strap — and flung it off the bed. Unfortunately, it hit him in the legs.
“Why did you just throw that at me?” “Because I felt like it.”
Strangely enough, he then felt like whaling the tar out of me. “You will not throw things at me. I will not allow that. Do you understand?”
I’m not stupid. I nodded my head. But he kept going until I apologized. After I did, he paused to rub a little, and I thought, “Oh, damn, I hope he’s not done.”
Earlier that morning, a friend had written me and said, “It sounds like you need a good cry. Can you go there with [New Guy] yet?” I thought no, it’s too soon. It usually takes a while for me to let go to that point. But I knew she was right; I sure as hell needed to.
The implements are all blurring in my mind. I remember toward the end, he asked me, “Have you had enough, or do you need more?”
I thought I’d had enough. I really did. But when I opened my mouth, all that came out was a meek little, “I don’t know…”
“OK,” he said. “If you don’t know, then you’re getting more.”
Twenty hard whacks with the wide strap. I had to count them. By ten, my voice broke. By twenty, the dam broke.
It was a long time before I could raise my head. Crying as catharsis feels wonderful, but it embarrasses me as well. As Pixie likes to say, “tears are hot, snot is not.” There is nothing sexy about a red nose and smeared mascara. He didn’t rush me, just brought me Kleenex and rubbed my back. “Is that what you needed?” “Yes,” I murmured into the bedspread.
By the time he remembered that he’d brought his camera, I’d already faded a fair amount. Still, we had to have pictures, right?
Here I am, covered with his arsenal — and this wasn’t even all of it:
Later, I’d pulled my little blue shorts back on and I was sprawled on the bed, and he liked the pose so much he wanted to capture it:
However, it annoyed him that I was now merely pink, and he decided it was time to refresh the color a little:
We hung out and talked for a couple of hours, and then he asked if I’d like something to eat before he headed home. I didn’t want dinner; what I really wanted was something sweet, and it was still warm out. So… we went for frozen yogurt. I can’t tell you how perfect that tasted. He smiled at me, watching me happily scarf my concoction with four flavors, bananas and cookie nuggets, and asked if I was happy at both ends now. Yup.
Sleepy, sore and foggy brained this morning. But no more tension. Wish it would stay away. Perhaps for today, it will. 🙂