Thanks to everyone for your support on Friday, both on here and in private messages. There was a time that day when I thought we’d have to cancel our trip to Shadow Lane, and the frustration over that possibility and not knowing for sure was making me nuts. That, plus some hurt feelings over another issue, sent me into pressure-cooker mode and if I didn’t blow off somewhere in a neat and controlled manner, things were going to get messy. It really helped, writing those few paragraphs and then sharing the full story with a couple of friends. Later, I was calm and resigned, not heading for John’s feeling like a human hornet’s nest. And as it turned out, our trip is safe after all.
Still, it was a long and tiring weekend. Visiting John’s mom in the hospital, then driving to OC to visit my stepdad. I’ve been neglecting him and I really don’t want to do that, because it makes him happy when we come to see him and have a bite to eat with him. For the first time, he looked feeble and old to me. Well, he is 94. He misses my mother. 😦 But he’s pleasant to be around and he’s still telling the same cornball dirty jokes and limericks that he did when I was a kid (with the same impeccable timing). I hope he sticks around for a while.
Sooooo… by today, I was ready for some stress release. Enter Mr. D to deliver my pre-Shadow Lane warm-up, and not a minute too soon.
He said he would use only his hand tonight, but I didn’t hold him to it. He’s very strong, but his hand hasn’t been seasoned yet. (I have no doubt that it will be after a while with me!) I told him about how Craig actually brought a brick into the house and sat in front of the TV slapping the brick, to toughen up his palm. Hilarious image, but it worked! I like to tease, but really, I want it to become comfortable for him so it won’t hurt his hand. What fun is that, if it hurts him?? 😉
We moved into the bedroom and I got some implements: the Spanking Buddy, two small paddles (leather and wood) and my hairbrush. “I want you on your knees, right here,” he said, pointing to the side of the bed. I knelt down and he got down beside me, alternating the four implements. I’d been giggling and sassing with the hand spanking, but not any more. The heat and sting grew and I started squirming around so much, I could feel rug burns starting on my knees. So I waited for him to pause, then asked if I could please lie on the bed.
It didn’t take long, with that first round. I was so full of tension and residual aggravation, and I felt my throat constricting and the tears rising. He noticed the change in my sounds, the deepening of my groans, and ramped it up. And I started to cry. Immediately, he stopped, gathered me close and held me as I wept into his shirt. “It’s ok, I’m here,” he kept whispering. “You’re ok, you’re ok. I’m with you.” He kissed my cheek, kissed my tears. Which, of course, made me bawl harder as I trembled in his arms. But it felt good. I so needed that. I will always need that.
Some people still ask me, how can you have spanking without sex, or at least without some sort of sexual release afterward? If they could see me after a scene, they’d understand. That crying, that shaking, that outpouring of emotion? That is my orgasm.
Oh, we weren’t done, mind you. Just resting. 🙂 Later, after I’d calmed down, he took me back over his knee for more with the implements. No more tears this time, but it definitely hurt more the second round.
We lay on my bed for a long time, coming down and talking, and hours melted by. I’m enjoying getting to know him. The stereo in the background was, once again, playing the annual Rock and Roll A to Z countdown, and they were still in the A’s. They’d just played “America” by Simon and Garfunkel, and “American Pie” has just started. “Oh, they’re in the B’s already,” he murmured.
“Bye, bye, Miss American Pie!”
I snorted. “It’s ‘American Pie’! And how the hell could they skip from ‘America’ to ‘Bye,’ anyway??” He didn’t have an answer for that, so he reached over and gave me a smack. “Watch it,” he warned.
And of course, I kept giggling at him, shook my head and mumbled, “Dumbass.”
He’d been lying down, but he was bolt upright in a heartbeat. “Oh, you just stepped in it that time, girl,” he growled, pinning me to the bed and snatching the paddles and brush again. Damn, that third round was killer! I didn’t even try to suck it up; I was thrashing around and shrieking “OKOKOK I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry!” (But I was laughing at the same time.)
The clip wasn’t meant to be, kids. He brought it to me on a zip drive, but it seems to be a bit out of sync and choppy. Plus, I tried uploading it here and it just froze everything up. Ah, well. We didn’t take pictures tonight, either. However, after he’d left and I’d gotten undressed, I took one with my timer. I call this: “Mission Accomplished — Stress Released.” Most of my color had faded already, but you can still see a smidgen of it.
I am so very lucky that I met Mr. D when I did. And best of all, I don’t have to worry about him meeting anyone. He’s already dating a woman and she knows all about me. All is cool and copacetic. He even borrowed a couple of my implements to try out on her (after ensuring that I was OK with this, which I totally was).
As he walked out the door, he turned back and said, once again, “I’m not going anywhere.” I made light of it and joked, “Whaddaya mean? You’re going somewhere right now!” But I appreciated hearing it. Even in this short time, he knows how much that means to me.
This weekend, in a weak moment, I said to John, “How come you’re the only one who stays?” He didn’t have an answer for that, just hugged me close. Sixteen years on Thursday, y’all.
Sweet dreams, Mr. D. Thank you.