Tender is the night...

... and the bottom. (insert blissful face here)

Lovely scene tonight; well worth waiting an extra day for. (Yes, I'm ending a sentence with a preposition. I don't care.) I was so eager to see Mr. D, I decided to dress up for him -- a nice dress, thigh-high stockings, pumps, the whole nine yards. I loved watching his eyes open wide and his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline when I opened the door.

He wanted a photo before he made a mess of me. :-D

What happened to the man who couldn't give me more than a few swats without switching hands? Someone toughened up. Immensely. Now he can spank me for a half-hour straight for warm-up and not even flinch. I've created a Frankenstein. Or perhaps Spankenstein. (I know, bad joke. Shut up. It's late.) I was tender before we even broke out the implements.

Once we moved the festivities to the bedroom, my pretty dress went bye-bye. I kinda figured it would. He told me to get comfortable, so I burrowed onto a pile of pillows. Then he put me in restraints. You've seen them before; he slips them up onto my thighs, and then he can shackle my hands to my sides. Not only that, but he bent my legs and shackled my ankles as well.

"Don't go anywhere, OK?" he teased when he went to his bag and my drawer to get toys. Wise guy. I squirmed, wishing I could somehow yank and thrash my way out of those things. But I'd done that once before and he said that would never happen again. He made damn sure it wouldn't.

Riding crop. Wooden paddle. His belt. A trifecta of pain and pleasure.

My pal Secret Spanko will like this. Look, SS! Clutching the bedclothes!

I also slammed my fists into the bed a few times; I couldn't do much more than that. Of course, since my mouth was unfettered, I could still be a smart-ass. But after a while, I lost my desire to do so. Funny how that always happens.

Felt myself slipping down, down... my cries and cussing became unintelligible moans, and he knew I was close. "Just a few more minutes, baby," he leaned down to whisper to me. "Almost there."

He finished me with my Delrin cane. Not a whole lot of strokes; I didn't need many. I started to shake, my legs jerking involuntarily with each hit. Slowly laddering, he moved the strokes down my bottom, onto the sweet spot and then back up. And then we were done.

"Don't move. Just breathe," he instructed, as he tore open the Velcro straps and freed me. I was still shaking, so he wrapped me up in my comforter and then held me close, calming me. I did not cry this time. I was too zoned out even for that.

I did have an emotional moment, though.

Since we've been playing together, we've seen each other mostly on Monday, and on the occasional Tuesday. I realized that, this year, Xmas Eve falls on Monday and Xmas Day on Tuesday. And the same again the following week with New Year's. I know he has lots of family and friends, and his kids are coming to visit again, so I figured those two weeks would be a bit dicey as far as planning our time together. I'd brave that when it came... meanwhile, we still had Monday, the 17th, next week. I figured that would be my December blow-out and would have to tide me over for a while until all this holiday crap is over.

But then, as he was getting ready to leave, he said he might be going to Mammoth to ski this weekend, and wouldn't be back until Tuesday night. Oh.

Yeah. I know. There are other days in the week. But I'm so OCD, I'm a creature of habit. Plus three of those other days are with John, and Mr. D has his work, and his kids, and blah blah blah... And my first thought, illogical as it was, was, "Damn. I don't think I'm going to see him for the rest of the month."

I knew that was ridiculous. I tried to hide my feelings, so I wouldn't come off like Neurotic Nellie. But he can already read me like a book. Not that I'm all that difficult to read, really. I'm as transparent as glass.

He came to me. "What's going on? Look at me." I couldn't, and tried to drop my head, look away, do anything but face him. "No, look at me." I did, and those @#$%ing tears started leaking. "Why are you crying?"

"I don't know!" I blurted, feeling so foolish, but I couldn't help it. He wasn't thrown. He didn't retreat, or treat me like a silly hysterical female. He accepted me, and worked it out with me. He wouldn't leave until he knew I was OK. And I was. If he doesn't go to Mammoth (which he may very well not), we proceed with Monday as usual. And if he does, I will see him next Wednesday. One way or another, we'll have one more play time before the holidays.

And now, I am sleepy. Sore and mush-brained and smiling and sleepy. Jimmy Fallon and Anne Hathaway (sorry, Lea) are singing MadLibs Christmas carols. (Don't ask.) I need some chocolate, and then my bed.

Thank you, Mr. D. You are so good to me, and for me.