The Top is always right

Or so Mr. D would have me believe. Today, he did his toppy best to convince me that whenever any issue, large or small, is in question, the top is right and the bottom is wrong.

Actually, this is all John's fault. He told me that I needed to present the argument to Mr. D: Is it the right thing to blame me for everything and pretty much make everything I do a spankable offense, or not? John then added, "Oh, and you might want to tell him that if he says it's not the right thing, he's never playing with you again!"

Thanks a lot, honey. :-Þ

Naturally, upon hearing this proviso, Mr. D was quick to say, "Of course, John's right." He then said we should make our session today all about encouraging me to see things his and John's way. (massive eye-roll)

Despite this treachery, I really was overjoyed to see him. Two weeks had felt like two months, honestly. We didn't even play for the first two hours; we just caught up, talked and talked and talked. But then it was time to catch up in another way.

Today was camera malfunction day. He'd brought his usual camera -- however, he'd been loading some photos at home and had left the card sitting in his computer. (sigh) He did have a smaller camera with him as well, and he tried loading the card from that one into the larger one. However, the damned camera kept shutting down every time we tried to film a clip! We tried about six times and it kept stopping. Fortunately, we did manage to get one good, lengthy clip, and I will put that up tomorrow or Wednesday.

In a nutshell: After a long warm-up with his hand, Mr. D gathered a host of implements, took me OTK on the side of my bed, and proceeded to persuade me to his way of thinking. Top reasoning, he called it. I didn't find it reasonable in the least, and told him so. Repeatedly. Emphatically. His response to my defiance would be a smack. To my thighs.

Not super-hard. He didn't need to do it hard there. If my bottom is made of titanium, then my thighs are made of tin foil. It takes very little attention there to send me shooting through the ceiling. Still, I argued. And I even tried to use his own logic. "If I'm always wrong about everything," I mused, "then I guess I was wrong when I chose you for a play partner, huh?"

He didn't approve of that. What a surprise.

After a while, we gave up on the camera and both just hunkered down into the scene. By then, I was nearly toast and I wasn't contradicting him any longer. I gave in; I submitted. But he knew I wasn't done. "Not yet," he said. "Almost. I know you need a little more."

I don't know how he tells when I'm done. Is it my body language, my sounds, my color? But he knows. 

There weren't really that many swats to the thighs. But like I said, it didn't take much. I mark there like I used to mark on my behind, all those years ago.

I wouldn't want just anyone marking me like this. I don't trust others to strike below the spank zone. But I trust him. You'll see in the video -- the thigh strikes were relatively light. 

I did not cry during the spanking, not even toward the end. But when he transitioned from tough to tender, when he held me close and crooned, "My Erica... my bottom... my baby," I lost it. He's so good to me. He says I please him... I really don't know how I do. But I'm glad. I want to.

It was so hard to get up and suit up for the gym. Since it was over 100 degrees outside, there's no way I was going to wear long pants, so shorts it was. And when I put them on, I realized they didn't even come close to covering up the marks.

Oh well. Yes, I'm just twisted enough to get a kick out of the thought of people peeking at my thighs and wondering just what the hell happened. :-)

Here I am in the shorts I wore to the gym. Think anyone noticed?

And tomorrow, I get to do it again. Yes, I got to the gym so freaking late, it was impossible to do my full workout; it was just too crowded and all the machines and weights were being used. So I did half of it, and I'll do the other half tomorrow morning.

Thank you, dearest top. I was just kidding with that business about being wrong when I chose you. My choice won me the spanko lottery. ♥