What was that reason again?

Oh, that's right, I forgot. ST never needs a reason. If he doesn't have one, he makes one up. (put-upon eye roll)

Tonight, he was in quite the evil mood. Had a new and special way to mess with my head; he kept giving me light little taps with the implements, running them over my skin, brushing them against me, more light taps. And then when I'd least expect it, WHAM! I never knew when to brace myself, when to take a deep breath, when to hunker down. And that's exactly what he wanted.

At one point, he took soooooo excruciatingly long, teasing me with the strap, that I finally blurted, "Oh, for fuck's sake!" He laughed. "Am I boring you?

Before I could answer, he gave me several fast and hard whacks. "Was that boring?"

"I never said anything was boring!" I shrieked. Damn these tops! I can get myself into plenty of trouble without them putting words in my mouth!

Later, over the ottoman, he started up with the taps and brushes again. "Take that!" he teased. "Bet you won't do that again... whatever that was."

"AHA!" I yelped in triumph. "I knew it! You don't even know what you're spanking me for -- you just make shit up!"

No more tapping. "You wanna take that back?"

"I can't take it back! It's said! You can't unsay things!"

"I suggest you try. Say it backwards."

Oh, good grief. "UP SHIT MAKE JUST YOU!" I yelled.

Thank goodness he was satisfied with that; I didn't have to actually say the words backward. Uoy tsuj ekam tihs pu sounds like a foreign language.

He switched gears somewhere in the middle; went from playful to his more sinister side. His voice deepened, roughened; his hand fisted in my hair. When his fingernails dragged across tenderized flesh, I had to bury my face in the pillow.

"Please!" I cried. "Please, please!"

"Are you begging me?" he murmured. "I like it when you beg. I like it when you struggle, too." And I was doing plenty of that, writhing all over the ottoman. My mind screamed, "When is he going to stop??" My body sent a clear and opposing message: "Don't stop."

I don't know why tonight's photos don't show the red. Because it was most definitely there.

Finally, I felt cool, smooth wood moving back and forth, back and forth across my cheeks. "You know what's next, don't you?" I nodded.

"Ten more." I nodded again.

"They're going to be hard and fast." I moaned, clutched the pillows.

"Are you ready?" One more nod. But still, he didn't strike. More caressing, back and forth. I waited, shaking, legs twitching. "You sure you're ready?"

"I'm as ready as I'm going to be," I managed to say.

He delivered. So fast, I couldn't count. But I knew after 10, he'd stop.

Several minutes later, he asked me how I was. "Spacy," I murmured. I was bonelessly relaxed, mush-brained, and had the urge to giggle. Perfect.

We talked for a long time afterward, and it ended up being later than his usual time to leave. So guess who was in trouble for that?? Of course, he had to test all the toys before he put them away. Just to "make sure they still worked," he said.

"This is so wrong!" I protested. "Next week I'll remind you to leave on time, and you'll tell me I'm throwing you out and I'm a rude hostess!"

He didn't deny it. Rather despicable, isn't he? And I wouldn't have him any other way. ♥

In other news: HotMovies.com VOD (Video on Demand) site just put up its very first clips from Spanking Court! In Spanking Court Cases Vol. 1, there are two scenes, and Scene 1 is one of mine. :-) It's the one where the Court Disciplinarian and I face the judge, I have to confess to the name I called the C.D., and I get 200 wooden paddle strokes (and break down and cry). Scene 2 is with Alex Reynolds, the friend I met last week. I believe she cries in her scene as well. So this is a great clip for those who enjoy tears. (I wonder if it's the clip of hers where she broke the C.D.'s paddle? hee hee)

Here's a photo, speaking of red -- probably the most marked you will ever see me:

That's Judge Spanks, AKA Feenix on Fetlife. You can read all about the clip (and download it, if you so desire) here.

Two-and-a-half weeks to BBW!

I forgive you, Tim Burton

(No, I don't. I just said that 'cause ST insisted. Explanation to follow shortly.)

OK, I promised a more fun blog tonight; enough of this depressing life stuff for a while. I had doubts about whether or not I'd be able to deliver, but ST distracted me and made me laugh -- exactly what I needed.

So what's this about Tim Burton? Well. I'm not going to go into it a whole lot tonight; in the future, I will posting the mother of all rants, but I'm not ready for that yet. In a nutshell, here's the story: Y'all know how impassioned I am about Dark Shadows. And you're all no doubt familiar with Tim Burton, the man who has created all those bizarro movies over the years (some good, others dreadful). For years (literally), there has been talk about how he and Johnny Depp were collaborating on a Dark Shadows movie. Apparently Depp is a huge DS fan and has wanted to play the vampire Barnabas Collins for most of his life. Long story short, the film has finally become a reality. It opens in May, but the trailer came out about a week-and-a-half ago, along with the official movie poster.

Tim Burton and Johnny Depp have taken a much-beloved cult classic, a gothic horror soap opera, and turned it into a comedy. A campy, cheesy spoof of the show, with a vampire from the 1700s being released from a coffin into the 1970s (complete with disco, and Depp's character freaking out when he sees a television). While the original Barnabas looked like everyone else (so he could blend in and keep the secret of his vampirism), Depp's Barnabas has thick, pasty-white makeup on, with blood-red lips and dark rings around his eyes. He looks like a circus freak. Or Michael Jackson.

What a viral firestorm. You have the camp on one side, the tweens, the Twilight fans, the Burton-Depp-ites, who think it looks hilarious and can't wait to see the movie. Then there's the other camp -- the die-hard fans of the original who think this reinvention is a travesty. Twitter, Facebook and several forums have been buzzing with this controversy. And guess which camp I'M in?

It started when I first saw the trailer and went berserk. Then I started finding the various forums and posting on those. And finally, I found kindred spirits on Twitter and I have been tweeting bitchy, snarky comments about the movie and what I think of Burton & Co. ever since. Many have "favorited" and retweeted me. Others probably think I'm a complete pain in the ass and need a life.

An article in yesterday's L.A. Times Calendar section fanned the flames: it was about the film and the writer's tone toward the original show was rather condescending. Tim Burton was quoted as saying that technically, the original was "actually awful." Some fan! I was so pissed off, I wrote an email to Calendar Letters (let's see if they publish it). One of the stars of DS, Kathryn Leigh Scott, didn't care for the article either, and she blogged about it (I commented to her, but didn't include my blogsite link out of discretion). I tweeted my fool head off about it today. An example of my tweets? "So Tim Burton thinks the original Dark Shadows was awful? Mr. Burton, you can bite me. And not my neck, either."

So what does this have to do with tonight? Connect the dots, kids. I got taken to task for being such a "trouble-maker" and "wreaking havoc all over the Internet." Oh, good grief.

"It's just a movie!" he said, making his point (whatever the hell that was) with the Spanking Buddy.

"It is NOT!" I screeched in indignation. "It's a desecration of my childhood memories!" My melodrama didn't seem to faze him.

It got progressively more ridiculous as the scene wore on, with ST saying that Tim Burton and Johnny Depp probably saw my tweets and are highly insulted, and Johnny Depp probably wants to come over and spank me. (I didn't find that notion at all unpleasant, as long as he doesn't wear that stupid makeup.) I snapped that Burton and Depp have better things to do than to monitor my tweets.

ST also thought I was judging too much on just a trailer and I should see the movie. "Never!" I hollered. "Not in the theater, not on Netflix, not on DVD. They'd have to pay ME to watch it."

"You're like a child who won't try her peas!" he scolded. "You should try things before you decide you don't like them." Hey, if Tim Burton or Johnny Depp want to serve me peas, I'll eat them. But I'm not losing two hours of my life to that piece of dreck.

Long, long battle of wills, kiddies. Finally, ST had to concede that nothing he could do would stop me from continuing with my tweets and other postings, or change my mind about the new film. But really, I should be nicer to Burton and Depp. After all, it's the movie I hate, not them, per se. So... I had to count out 25 strap strokes and after each one, say, "I forgive Tim Burton and Johnny Depp."

Yes, really.

I was obedient, counting out each one and repeating the phrase. But after #25, I added (very loudly), "But their movie SUCKS!!!"

I had to have the last word, didn't I? I mean, we're talking principle here.

(And yes, I know I'm being utterly obsessive and silly about this, but you ain't heard nothin' yet.)

Anyway, here I am, holding the paper with that damned article:

Notice that header, "Playing with Dark Shadows"? That's exactly what those buttheads did. And here's what I think of it:

I've already tweeted the second picture. :-Þ

All silliness aside -- tonight, as always, ST managed to give me what I needed. Last week was about intensity. Tonight was about lightening up, having some laughs and just forgetting all the BS for a couple of hours.

What more could a bottom girl want, really? (Well, besides a little more respect for her show, but whatever...)

Just call me Rush

No, I'm not a big fat malevolent blowhard. But, like Mr. Limburger, I do have a big mouth that gets me in hot water sometimes. :-)

As I'd mentioned, I was overdue. And I think ST was overdue to top as well; he'd had a crappy week dealing with the trouble and expense of his truck. So there was an edgy sense of anticipation between us when he first walked in, and we wasted little time with preliminary chit-chat.

Once we were in the bedroom and I was over his lap, he asked what kind of mischief I'd been up to in the past week. I insisted I hadn't been up to any. "Yeah," he said, "because you've got restraining orders against you!"

Well, I like that! Just a couple of weeks ago, he was on MY side. "You said that it was OK to defend myself," I protested.

"It is -- but it's not OK to engage with douchebags!"

I don't know what possessed me. I opened my mouth and heard this come out: "But I engage with you!"

Oh, Christ. Did I really say that? There was a split second while those words hung in the air, and then he practically tore off my shorts and panties. "Warm-up is over," he growled, grabbing for his bag.

The next several minutes are a blur of pain and scolding. "You think that was a good idea, talking to me like that?" "You going to say something like that again?" Normally, I keep position fairly well, save for my one errant foot flipping up. But this time, I kicked and squirmed and struggled so hard, he put me in a leg-lock. I think that's the first time he's ever done that.

"You need this, don't you! Spanking cures everything. It even cures amnesia." Huh? Amnesia? As if he could read my mind, ST added, "It seems you've forgotten how to be nice to people. Haven't you!"

Ouch.

Yeah, I know I was just kidding with him. But I felt ashamed anyway. Of all the people to insult, even teasingly -- this wonderful, dependable guy. This suddenly felt very real, both physically and emotionally.

"I'm sorry!" I wept. "You'd better be," he said, not stopping. "And I'm not done making you sorry, either. Am I?"

"No-o-o..."

I didn't want him to stop. I wanted to cry and hurt and gasp for breath. I wanted to be pushed. He knew it.

We'd barely started here. You can see I'm fisting the bedclothes already.

I was actually marking a little. What does Dana call these, strawberries?

I don't know how long the spanking lasted; probably not as long as it seemed. But he packed a whole lot into a short time.

I continued crying after he finished, long after he soothed me with lotion and pressed tissues into my hand. I was embarrassed to raise my head, knowing I looked runny and drippy and smeary-eyed, so I kept my face buried.

He never pushes me to look at him, thank goodness. He just waits patiently, rubbing my back and smoothing my wild hair.

I snuggled closer to him, but didn't speak for quite a while. When I finally did, the first thing I whispered was, "You know I wouldn't insult you for real, don't you?"

I felt him chuckle; he said yes. I know he knew. But I needed to hear it anyway. Then he added, "If you did, you'd never sit again."

I laughed. That felt delicious, after all the tears.

Later, we played some more, in our usual lighter vein (lighter in mood, that is, not in intensity!). I really need to come up with a better way of storing my own implements. I loop a bunch of them onto a hanger, and then when I try to pull one off, they all come off and fall on the floor. Then, of course, he says we have to use them all!

No wonder I was pouting.

And no, he didn't beat me with the wire hanger! It just ended up on the bed. Along with nearly my entire Cane-iac collection. (groan) Even though it was just five strokes with each toy, I was well tenderized at that point.

I believe I will sleep peacefully and dreamlessly tonight.

Did I mention that he spanked me a third time when we were downloading the pictures from his camera? Good lord. I hope we don't skip a week again anytime soon. :-)

Thank you, sweetheart.

Deja Vu all over again

The Valentine's Day corset, revisited! ST was able to exchange the small for a medium, no problem. Oh, and he found something out while he was back at Frederick's. Turns out the corset unhooks after all.

No, not in the front, which was where I searched for hooks. But all down one side, hidden in the seam, are hook-and-eyes. Last week's epic struggles to get me into that thing weren't necessary. Oops.

(blushing) See, told you I'm unsophisticated about corsets.

So this one I was able to get into myself, although I did enlist ST's help in hooking it and then tying up the back. And it fit perfectly!

He watched while I pulled on the stockings and buckled my shoes, snapping candid photos. He likes to do that. And I end up deleting most of them, because I don't like how I look. However, every now and then, one comes out pretty well, I think:

A little something for the legs and feet folks. :-D

Of course we had to take one from the back, just so you could see how much better this one fit:

Enough of that. We had to get down to business.

I've been in a different place the last few sessions; a quieter version of myself. Hard to believe, I know. But I haven't really felt like bantering or sassing as much, not once we get past warmup. Not sure why; I just want to feel. To get lost in sensation; hear nothing but my own breathing, my own moans, the cracks of his hand and the implements.

I don't remember what he did, or in what order. I don't care. I just know I went someplace with him and I didn't want to come back. It took me a very long time to open my eyes and lift my head.

He was patient. He was in no hurry either.

Eventually I returned, and he hunkered down next to me on the chair. We listened to the music playing. My favorite local radio station has been airing a special program for the past week or so: a selection of 2000 songs from their library, played in alphabetical order, no repeats. Tonight, they were well into the S's and "Shine On You Crazy Diamond" by Pink Floyd was playing.

I like to try guessing what comes next. Sometimes I'm spot on, but I couldn't come up with the next song to save my life. Or my ass, as it happened. Because ST said if I couldn't guess the next song, he'd spank me all through it. Aggggghhhh!

Shine? Shining? Shirt? Shiver? Perhaps no more songs with Shi, but one with Sho? I was blanking. As the song wound to a close, he kept prompting me, "You'd better come up with something! It's almost over!" But it was no use.

Then the opening chords of the next song began, and I cussed mightily. DAMMIT! "Shiny Happy People" by REM. I hate that stupid song. No wonder I couldn't think of it.

I hate it even more, now. :-(  Never realized how @#$%ing long it is.

However, I was able to come up with the song after that. Yay me!

It was "Ship of Fools" by the Doors, by the way. Yes, I'm easily entertained.

When ST was leaving, I thanked him once again for the beautiful corset, saying it was very generous of him. He leered at me, his eyes leisurely wandering from shoulder to hip. "I didn't buy it for you," he smirked.

Oh, yes you did, darlin'. You bought it for both of us. :-)

Hope everyone had Presidents' Day off!

Happy (almost) Valentine's Day ♥

So why does a cynical curmudgeon like me love Valentine's Day, you ask? Simple. It's that Late Bloomer thing again. Many, many Valentine's Days spent alone when I was young, gorging myself on See's Candy and crying. Hating all the damned ads and commercials, all the pretty displays in the malls. Feeling like Charlie Brown. ("I know nobody loves me; why do we have to have Valentine's Day to emphasize it?")

Then I met John... and I've loved Valentine's Day ever since. :-) Yeah, I know it's commercial. I don't care.

My sweetie is still sick and injured, but he sent me roses -- a whole week early! He figured I'd be more surprised that way, and I was. I'm hoping we can celebrate this coming weekend, if he feels better.

But in the meantime, I had a lovely time tonight with my toppy Valentine, ST. He had quite the nice surprise for me as well.

After he arrived and sat down, he pulled over his toy bag and started unzipping it. Hmmm; guess we're going to skip the small talk, huh? But then he said, "Well, what have we here?" and he pulled out a bright red Frederick's of Hollywood shopping bag. !!!!

I love Frederick's. VS is nice, but I like Frederick's so much more. Looking inside the bag, I first noticed a package of black thigh-high stockings, fishnet, with a seam up the back and lace tops. Gorgeous! There was also something bundled in black tissue paper, which I eagerly opened. Ohhhh, my. It was a red-and-black lace corset, with black spaghetti straps and garters attached.

I've never had a corset, so this was another first for the late bloomer. I've tried them on, but I never would let John buy me one, protesting that they're too expensive. I'd make jokes, saying I enjoyed breathing. But this was exquisite. Came with a little matching g-string, too. The kind of thing I'd ooh and aah at dreamily in a store window, but would never buy for myself.

We did have a little comedy of errors getting me into my new outfit, however. Too bad we didn't film it; it was pretty hilarious. This corset has the usual lacing up the back, but unlike some others, it doesn't open in the front. So the only way to get it on was over my head. Unfortunately, it was a size small. I'm flattered, but it was too small. I may be thin, but I'm tall and I have wide shoulders. So, the wrestling began. I was determined to wear it tonight anyway.

ST loosened the lacing as much as possible, and then I pulled it over my head. I stood with my arms straight up while ST yanked and pulled, but it wouldn't budge. He managed to get it loosened just a bit more, then tugged down on it, tugging and tugging (and cracking me up with his grunting noises) until finally it went down past my shoulders and over my torso. Then he tightened the lacing. There was a several-inch gap when it was pulled as tight as he could get it, but it still looked spectacular.

And then the fishnet stockings! Those fit perfectly, and I recruited ST to snap the garters in place for me (those were rather uncooperative and took several attempts). But at last, I slipped on some heels, and voila:

Isn't it lovely? That was worth the work to get it on me! I feared I wouldn't be able to get it back off, but we put that aside for the time being. After all, we had other things to do.

We kept it simple tonight, implement-wise. Of course, we had to use the heart-shaped paddle that he made for me last Valentine's Day. He also wanted to draw hearts on my bottom with eyeliner or a Sharpie and then fill them in with reddened flesh, but I nixed that idea. (insert eye-roll here) Along with the paddle, just a couple of his straps plus the leather spanking buddy. No canes tonight. And mostly OTK, although I took a fair amount of strapping while bending over/kneeling on the bed.

You know why he was spanking me? Because I was wearing naughty clothes. "You bought me those naughty clothes!" I protested. "Yes, but you didn't have to wear them! I was just testing you!" Oh, brother.

Not much banter tonight, once I settled down and stopped giggling. I felt sexy and sensual and my body relished every stroke deeply. I went so far into subspace, he didn't even ask me to count the final flurry. He knew I wouldn't be able to.

Bliss. ♥

Of course, once we wound down and had uploaded the photos from his camera, it was time for Operation Remove Corset. It was actually a little easier than it had been getting it on; he loosened the ties, had me raise my arms over my head and then he yanked upward. Yank-yank-yank, and then it gave way and popped off. He's going to take it back and exchange it for a medium. (OK, so I wore it a couple of hours. Sue me. :-Þ I was freshly showered!)

I had a little heart-shaped box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates for him, which I gave him as he was leaving. Sweets for a very sweet man.

To everyone who celebrates it, happy Valentine's Day. For those who would just as soon bypass it, happy Tuesday. I'm going to spend my afternoon squirming in the dentist's chair, and making him wonder why I'm smiling. :-)

Well, THAT didn't take long, did it...



Yes, I know. I'm obnoxious. :-)

Technically, it's still usable. It was the 26" Junior cane, and just a couple of inches snapped off. ST says he can sand and file the tip and it will be good as new, just a little shorter. But it seems I need to consider getting one of Cane-iac's tougher canes. One of those flexible ones. But I admit, I'm a little nervous about those! Someone on FetLife said I should try a Dragon Cane. I don't even know what the hell that is, but it sounds evil.

However, let's not be hasty. I do still have two other canes, you know. Which ST put to good use tonight, along with the leather slapper and all his other damn weapons of ass destruction. He was rather smug and gleeful about it all, too. "Oh, does that hurt?" Again with that! (snort)

I made it quite clear what I thought of his attitude.

 He then made it clear what he thought of mine.

"If it makes you feel any better," he teased, "I'm not going to spank you again until next year." Oh, har har har.

We then watched our video on my TV, since he burned it to a DVD for me. After that, it was time to load the photos from his camera onto my computer. Of course, my computer decided to be temperamental and completely froze up, and I had to restart it. So we had a couple of minutes to wait...

Yup. Over the chair.

"Your computer was conspiring against you," he said. "It knew you needed more." Oy.

"Are you done now?" I snapped.

"I'm never done spanking you," he replied. "I just take breaks."

The man is insatiable. How fortunate, considering that I am, too. :-)

Less than one week and all this holiday business is over for another year. And can someone please explain to me why they're still showing Christmas commercials when it's December 26th? Feliz Navidad, my ass!

Damned traffic!

New Guy called me tonight from the road; he was stuck on the 134 Freeway and it was not moving. Not at all. In fact, he called 10 minutes later and said it still hadn't moved, so he was going to be a while.

I checked one of the traffic websites, and sure enough, there was an accident on the 134 West. So he was 40 minutes late. Very frustrating drive.

Y'all know where this is going, right?

Of course! It was all MY fault. Because he wouldn't have been on that damn freeway in the first place if he weren't coming to see ME.

Hey, I didn't tell those idiots to crash into each other! I didn't send out a bulletin telling half the people in L.A. to get on the freeway at the same time. However, these logical points merely disintegrated into the Top Ether.

"I'm going to take my road rage out on your bottom," he growled.

"Why can't you get a gun like everyone else?" I blurted.

"Because this is more fun, and far less jail time."

Humph.

A couple of minutes later, I couldn't resist needling him a little, saying, "You know, this doesn't really feel like road rage. It feels more like a road snit."

"Oh yeah??" Aaaaaand, that was the end of the warmup. Me and my big mouth.



Ah, but it's OK. I wasn't really complaining. :-) 

Afterward, he asked if I was happy. "Oh yeah," I gasped. He laughed. "But not too happy?"

"There are different types and degrees of happiness," I mumbled, still spacy. "This isn't like birthday cake happiness, it's more like spanked into @#$%ing oblivion happiness." Probably not the most articulate of explanations, but I think he got it.

Excellent news -- the remaining four books that CreateSpace owed me were delivered today, so I was able to give NG his signed copy.

My face is a bit overexposed, but I still like this shot -- Lookie! Me and my book! :-)

I need to stop clicking on CreateSpace every five minutes to check on sales. Obsessive much, Erica?

Thanks for another lovely Monday, not-so-New Guy. :-)

Celebration time!

We have everything we need, right?

An awesome top with a hard hand and a bagful of toys -- check!

A cheeky brat girl -- check!

And champagne -- check!

What are we celebrating, you ask. CreateSpace finally accepted my @#$%ing book cover, that's what!! :-D  Those numbnuts -- gawd, the aggravation they put Zelle and me through!

They rejected the first version with a generic message about "live elements" being outside the image area. No details. Zelle took great pains to make damn sure the second version was even more perfect than the first one... and they rejected it with the same generic message. This time, I was pissed. I knew they were jacking me around, trying to wear me down so I'd order their premium services. Not gonna happen, guys. You're messing with the wrong woman.

I wrote to them and called their 800 number, saying I needed more information, needed them to tell me exactly what needed fixing. This morning, they wrote back to me, and hallelujah, they gave me a precise direction. Itty bitty minor thing. Nitpickers.

Zelle was leaving for vacation tonight, so I didn't want to bug her with this. I figured I'd wait until she was back home. But she wrote to me, asking if they'd OKd it, and I couldn't lie. I told her what was going on and said she should forget about it for now, go have fun and we'd deal with it later. Bless her heart, she insisted that if they did tell me what to fix, I should send it to her immediately.

So I forwarded her their instructions this morning, and within a half-hour, she had it back to me. I not only resubmitted the cover a third time, I called the 800 number again. Told them it was coming and I didn't want another rejection. The guy hemmed and hawed, said they check it thoroughly each time, because Point A could be fixed but in the process, throw Point B off. Fine, whatever... I said OK, but if there IS something wrong with this one, I want specifics right off the bat, no generics. And could they process this faster?

He said he didn't think that could be done, but I'd get my answer within 24-48 hours. But then after our conversation, he wrote to me to follow up (they'd never done that before) and said he'd spoken with the techs. I heard from them in four hours, telling me Congratulations, all looks good and it's time for me to order a proof.

YAHOO!!

I got that message about an hour before New Guy showed up -- how perfect! No fun celebrating alone, is there?

As it happened, a dear friend had given me a bottle of pink champagne a while back, but I rarely drink, so it sat in my fridge waiting for a special occasion. This was it! But first things first, of course.

NG got a brand new Smart Phone, so he was experimenting with taking video on his phone while spanking/strapping me. We got some cute stuff -- it jumps all over the place, but still fun. I guess it takes some superhuman dexterity to hold a cell phone camera steady and whale on someone's a$% at the same time! :-D

Oh, he was in good form tonight, let me tell you. He was strapping me so quickly, I couldn't catch my breath, so I yelped, "Hey! What's your hurry??" He then slowed waaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyy dowwwwwwwwwwwnnnnn. "Is that better?"

"No! Why does everything have to be so black or white with you tops?" I snapped.

WHACK!!!!!  "Everything is red with us." (groan)

Once he decided I was well done, it was champagne time. Did I mention that I rarely drink? A few of you have seen me after I have a glass or so of alcohol. It is utterly ridiculous -- I have the tolerance of a three-year-old. I start giggling and stumbling over my words and I get light-headed right away. As I did tonight. Not drunk... it's not enough to get me drunk. Just with a little buzz. Just enough to have lots and lots of fun.

Well, until I laughed at NG and called him silly one too many times.

Wow. Round #2 was something else. It's all a blur, but I know it hurt. I know it was measured and well paced and it went back and forth from tender to tough and back again. I know I took a very long time to come back down to earth.

I know it was completely wonderful.

"Am I still silly?"
"No....."

Interesting... I don't know if it was subspace, or alcohol space, or a combination of the two. It's not something I would want to make a habit of, but for tonight, with my joy over the book cover, it felt just right.

So is my bottom as pink as the champagne? I'd already faded... phooey.

But I will definitely feel this one tomorrow. Lucky me.

So now, I have ordered a proof. They are shipping it to me this week. I need to review it thoroughly, check all the elements inside and out. And if (I hope I hope I hope, fingers and toes crossed) everything is OK, I let them know, and the book goes on sale.

I'm so close. Can't believe it.

Thank you, Zelle. Thank you, everyone who has been so supportive and encouraging through all this. And thank you, NG. I'm over the moon that I got to celebrate with you. :-)

The Bad Man

(Just an FYI -- tonight's session was a little edgy. Remember... I wanted it.)

New Guy wrote to me again this morning. The Bible thumper from yesterday was nowhere to be found.

He'd written to me several times this week -- brief, threatening notes saying that my naked pictures would attract the wrong kind of men. Bad men. To all these, I scoffed. I believe at one point, I wrote back, "Maybe you're a bad man. Ever think of that?" Probably not the best idea.

This morning's note said I was to answer my door tonight dressed exactly as I had been for the red couch pictures. (In other words, not dressed.) And his last sentence read: You will find out precisely what type of man pictures like that attract.

Uh oh.

I had all day to think about it. What was he going to do? Did it matter? Not really. I just wanted to see him. Feel his hands again, feel the impact of his arsenal.

Would it hurt? Hell, yes.

He showed up right on time; good thing, because by then, I was so nervous, I could hardly stand on those damn high heels -- the only thing I had on.

No niceties, no catching up. Not yet. New Guy wasn't here yet; he'd be there later. Right now, I had to deal with The Bad Man who was going to show me what happens to naughty girls who post naked pictures on the Internet.

He told me to clear off my coffee table; I did so. He threw two pillows onto the table, then pushed me down on top of it, pulling my arms forward. Out of his bag came lengths of rope -- first he tied my wrists together, then the other end to the table leg. Then he tied each of my legs to the table. Finally, he wound rope around my waist. All the while, he was taunting me, winding his fist in my hair and making me look up at him.

"You're going to learn a good lesson tonight," he said. I couldn't hardly move. My hair went in my face, into my mouth, but I couldn't do anything about it. The table felt cold under my bare arms.

It's New Guy. It's the man you trust. You're OK. You're OK. Take it. Be in it.

He'd purchased a brand-new belt during his travels... nice and stiff. A gift for me, he said. He'd thought about me when he bought it. Oh my god, that thing hurt. Hurt good, but still hurt. I moaned and jerked, but I couldn't get away from it. The paddle, the big strap... l wanted so badly to put my hands over my mouth so I wouldn't scream, but of course, I couldn't do that.

"You're not going to scream, are you?" he said, running his nails down my back.

"Please," I begged, "please don't make me scream!" My neighbors... but oh damn, I needed to scream.

He made me face him again; there was something in his hand. It looked like a towel. "I guess we can't have that, can we?" And he stuffed the cloth deep into my mouth.

I've never been gagged before. I suppose I could have spit it out, but I didn't dare. Now I could scream, but all that came out were muffled shrieks. The helplessness, the emotional surge, the pain all merged together and engulfed me. I started to cry.

"This is what the bad men do," he growled. "They spank girls until they cry."

I wept as he continued, feeling my entire body tremble within its bounds. It seemed to go on for a long time, but in reality, it probably wasn't as long as most of our scenes. But it was off the scale as far as intensity was concerned.

And then, finally... "Are you ready to be untied now?" I nodded vigorously. He released me then, and I collapsed into the table, crying hard. It wasn't bad crying, though. It felt like it was cleaning all the emotional crud out of my system.

The Bad Man disappeared. In his place was the sweet top I know, soothing me with lotion, bringing me tissues, checking in with me. Quoting Pixie Wells, I gasped out, "Tears are hot, snot is not," and blew my nose. Yes, I'm too sexy.

After I'd returned to reality, drunk some water, etc., he booted up his laptop and showed me all the cool pictures he'd taken during his trip. Oh, and he brought me a necklace from Wisconsin, made from bright yellow plastic cheese wedges. :-D

Later, I told him all about my adventures at Spanking Court and what a little monster I'd been. Guess what? He decided I needed more spanking. This time, it was OTK on the couch. Awesome...

Finally, he had to take off. But that's OK. I'll get to see him again in just a week. No more long waits. No more hunger.

So, am I sore? Yes, my toe definitely smarts.

Huh?

As he was leaving, he brushed up against my Barnabas cane, and it fell over. The silver handle landed on my big toe. I jumped and yelped, but then forgot about it. Until a few minutes later when I glanced down at my foot.

Freaking cane cut my toe!! OK, I figured I'd be in some hurt tonight, but not my toe, for God's sake.

OK, OK, my butt's sore too. (dreamy smile)

Welcome back, NG. Even when you're bad, you're fan-f*&#ing-tastic. :-)

Thou shalt not laugh at thy top

Or else thine ass is grass.

On FetLife, one of New Guy's friends was teasing him on his wall, scolding him for not saying "thank you" to a compliment, calling him "young man," etc. And he was all "Yes ma'am, sorry ma'am." So of course, I had to give him a bunch of noise about that, didn't I?

Seems he took umbrage at that, saying I was spying on his page and making fun of him. I protested that he follows MY activity, and he said, "It's OK when I do it." Top logic at its finest, folks. Anyway, he deemed that I was lacking in manners, laughing at him. But I couldn't seem to help myself. Even after a very long OTK session.

He did take a break in the middle of it -- but only to send me to the kitchen to fetch the wooden spoon. After I got up, he said, "Those panties stay down and that dress stays up." I yanked the dress back down anyway. "Pull that dress back up or it comes off," he threatened. I pulled it back up.

I'd forgotten how much that @#$%ing spoon hurts. Makes those lovely ovals, too. But that was just the beginning.

Down on all fours on the carpet I went, for his belt and the strap. Had to switch things up, he said. Couldn't have my readers getting bored, could we? Nahhhhh...

I still couldn't stop giggling though. So he moved me to the ottoman, where he could really lay into me. I thought for a brief moment I was finally settling down... then "We Are The Champions" came on. When Freddie Mercury sang, "No time for losers..." I started cracking up again. But I didn't want to tell NG what I was laughing at.

He managed to coax it out of me, however. So I told him that when I heard that "no time for losers" line, I'd wanted to say, "Yeah! So go home!"

"Oh, I'm a loser now, huh?" The strap suddenly got much faster and much heavier. OK, I asked for that.

"I think you need 15 more good ones with this -- you're going to count them and say after each one: 'You are a winner!' " (groan)

We managed to get up to eight when he started critiquing the enthusiasm of my delivery. Wanted more sincerity, he said. Arrggh. He liked my tone after the count of nine, but after ten, he started up with that "Nope, I'm not hearing the enthusiasm" sh*t again.

So after stroke eleven, I hollered with all the energy I could muster: "Eleven -- you are a wiener!!"

He started over at number one. OK, I guess I asked for that too.

But finally, he prevailed, I stopped my giggling and mouthing off. "It really isn't wise to say stuff like that when someone is spanking you," he reminded me.

Guess I'm not all that wise. A wise-ass, maybe.

Hey! Aren't my VS Cheekies cute?

Of course, they didn't stay up long.

Geeeez... why do I bother wearing nice panties for this guy...

Think I was done laughing? Think again. Just before he left, he accidentally knocked a glass of water over, and I went to get some paper towels. I mopped up until a wad of them was saturated... and as he bent over his toy bag putting things away, I stuffed the wet towels down the back of his shirt. :-D

It was cute to watch him dance. He made me dance after that, but it was so worth it.

He won't be able to make it next Monday, unfortunately. Already I feel a little melancholy, thinking how I'll miss him next week. Damn, am I spoiled, or what?

Thanks for another great night, sweetie... and for being such a good sport. You know I think you're the bestest. ♥

Happy me :-)

For some, SSC means Safe, Sane and Consensual. For me, SSC describes my state of being on Monday nights -- Smiling, Squirming and Content. :-)

I was on the phone with John before New Guy came over. He ended our call with, "Tell [new guy] that I said hi, and tell him that I want him to hit you hard and repeatedly." Gee, thanks, honey.

After last week's intensity, tonight called for fun and lightheartedness, and that's exactly what we had. New Guy arrived, greeting me with his usual warm hug and surprising me with a little present, a potted tulip plant. I was in a playful mood and I giggled well into the spanking, which he didn't seem to mind in the least.

Oh, but I'm afraid I have to report some bad news. All those compliments y'all left him in the comments seem to have gone to his head. Yes, I detected a bit of Ego this evening. For example, I forget what I was referring to, but I said at one point, "You're awfully sure of yourself!"

To which he teased, "Of course I am. All great leaders need to be."

Oh brother! :-Þ

Just so we're clear -- playful and lighthearted did NOT mean I got a light spanking. Will you look at all his @#$%ing toys??

Whereas last week had been a straightforward strapping/paddling, this week he switched things up, using a lot of different implements (strap, his belt, quirt, flogger, small wooden paddle), alternating with his hand, and combining sensual strokes with fiercely hard ones. I had no idea what was coming and when, and it put me into subspace fairly quickly. I don't think I uttered a coherent word during the second half of our scene... just sounds. He'd strike with his right hand, and caress or lightly run his nails over my skin with the other hand. It was lovely.

No tears this time, of course. I was too blissed out.

Monday nights go by so quickly. But I know there's always another one in a week.

Lookit my tulips!

Aren't they a yummy spring color? I like how one of them is higher above all the rest. Kinda like New Guy himself. ♥

Hey! I have 99 followers -- who's going to make it an even 100? :-)

Madame Sophia was right

Who the hell is Madame Sophia? Beats me (no pun intended). All I know is I got email from New Guy this morning, saying that Madame Sophia looked into her crystal ball and saw my future -- a lot of red, many tears, and retribution for naughtiness. Oh, and I owed her $50.

Oh, puh-leeeze. Why should I pay $50 for information I already knew? :-)

But... tears? Was I going to go there? I didn't feel like I needed to, really. Nothing was weighing heavily on me. But I knew I wanted to play hard.

So I dressed in clothing that fairly screamed "SPANK ME!": cherry-red capris and red-and-white panties with red lace trim. Red clothing to tops is like a red flag to a bull. They feel challenged by it, driven to match the color (or at least come close).

I don't know why I bother, though. With NG, my bottom doesn't stay clothed very long. But at least he noticed my sartorial selections and complimented them.

I didn't stay OTK very long, either. He kept talking about getting his point across -- what point, I asked. He said he didn't know, but he had one. (oh, brother) A few minutes later, he asked, "So, am I getting my non-existent point across?" I giggled.

"Oh, you have a point, all right."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, it's on top of your head."

Aaaaaaaaaaaaand, it was off to the ottoman.

Still didn't feel any tears coming, though. He pulled out all the usual artillery (although I noticed he was wearing a different belt this time, and that one stung much more fiercely than the one he's used before), and slowly ramped things up, building up to harder and faster flurries. Spankees, ever find yourself shrieking in protest, and yet raising your bottom up for more even as you scream? That was me. And he delivered. Until he stopped.

Something happened that has occurred a couple of times before with other tops, and I have no idea how. There was no cut, no break in my skin. And yet, a drop of blood welled up, in the right-hand sweet spot. He blotted it off and commented on it.

Oh nooooo, I thought. Is he going to stop? I don't want him to stop!

"I'll make sure to avoid this spot," he said, as if he'd read my mind. "But I'm not going to avoid all the others. Am I?" I knew he was checking in for my OK to continue. "No, you are not," I assured him.

My attitude shifted after that; I was in a more vulnerable state. He picked up on it, and his demeanor changed as well -- he went right into strict mode. He scolded more, struck harder. And suddenly, there they were... tears. I was weeping out loud, and I still didn't want him to stop. "You're getting just what you need and deserve. Aren't you!" he said. "Yes," I sobbed, "yes, yes, yes!"

I cried all the way through the rest of the strapping and the 15 final strokes with the paddle. It took me a long time to come down this time, and he was patient and kind, soothing me with lotion and bringing me tissues. Whispering that I did really well. I felt light and clean and very, very safe.

Finally, I was ready to get up, so I pushed myself backwards onto my feet. I started to stand... "Don't move! Hold that."

Fortunately, he did let me stand back up after he got the shot. Such benevolence. :-)

When it was time for him to leave, I looked around; my living room looked like a war zone with all his implements strewn everywhere. And of course, as he picked up his weaponry, he said he had to make sure, before he packed them away, that they were "still working."

!!!!!!!!!

Resigned, I leaned up against the counter and he yanked my panties back down. One by one as he put each toy away, he gave me a few smacks with it. "Yup, that still works." "Yeah, that seems to be in order." "OK, still functioning."

You can tell what I thought of this.

But I kept my lip zipped. I'd already earned a quick but ferocious Round Two earlier by calling him a moron. I may be a brat, but I ain't no stupid brat. :-)

I really didn't know I needed to cry. But I guess Madame Sophia knew.

Amazing how it just keeps getting better...

Belting in the boudoir

New Guy's visit this evening had two purposes. Besides the usual, I had recruited him for a favor: to take some artsy, shadowy boudoir photos with me in a filmy nightie. Why? I'm not telling -- it's a surprise. :-)  You'll find out soon.

So we experimented with the lights, candles, flash, no flash, and he snapped away.

Kinda neat, huh? When we were done, I was ready to put my regular clothes back on, but for some reason, he said nooooo, I was fine just the way I was. And since I wasn't wearing any panties, warmup sort of fell by the wayside.

Remember how a couple of weeks ago, I had no pain tolerance? Tonight was just the opposite -- I was insatiable. Fortunately, he never seems to get tired of spanking me, so when I'm in that mode, things work out very well.

He was strict, though. I could not get away with anything tonight. Even sounds. "What was that??" "Nothing! I just grumbled." "Well, don't. No grumbling allowed."

So I tried to stay quiet, but another sound escaped after he started up with the strap. "That sounded like whining! No whining either; that's as bad as grumbling!"

Oh, come on. I started to protest, but he cut me off. "No grumbling, no whining, and no complaining!"

I couldn't help myself. "And no breathing, and no thinking..."

WHACK!!! "And no smart-ass remarks, either! Do you understand?" Uh... yeah, I kinda saw it his way after a while.

He pushed me off his lap. "Get on the bed, on your hands and knees." Strapping/belting position... aaaggggh. And John was watching!

Lennon, that is. :-)

I wasn't allowed to lie on the pillows until after a long strapping, and I had to count the last 15 and say, "I will not grumble."

He asked if that got through to me -- I answered, "Well, it's starting to." Clearly, we weren't done yet.

More with the strap, his belt, the tawse, and then 10 with the paddle. Then we were done.

Well, for a little while, anyway. We had Round 2 a little later. :-) That went on for a fair amount of time, until he really let me have it, giving me a flurry that nearly sent me through the ceiling. As I struggled to regain some composure, I gasped, "That was intense!" He snuggled close to me and whispered into my neck, "Was it good intense?"

And I whispered back, "Yes, you bastard."

I never learn. Told you I was insatiable. :-D

But very, very happy.

Dramas and traumas are banished once again. I have one of the bestest tops in the world.

Tonight's Lesson: Watch My @#$%ing Language

New Guy showed up on the dot of 6:30 (have I mentioned lately that I love how on-time and utterly reliable this man is?), and although we did make with some small-talk about the Oscars (gawd, didn't James Franco suck?), it wasn't long before I was horizontal and face down.

You know how sometimes you're more sensitive than other times to pain? Tonight was my night. At least that's how it started out; it took me longer than usual to warm up and adjust. Unfortunately, he felt the warmup should be short. Short? Try practically non-existent! :-Þ

So can you blame a girl for blurting out a couple of cuss words? I mean, come on. It hurts, for God's sake. But he thought it was very unladylike of me and we soon dispensed with the OTK and went right for the ottoman. Once I'm moved onto there, I know he means business.

Ow. Paddle, strap, flogger and this nasty biting thing I later found out was a quirt with three tails. He switched up the count thing -- this time, I had to count AND spell. Spell what, you ask? I'd said the f-bomb once and damn twice. So the count went along these lines: "One, f, two, u, three, c, four, k, five, d, six, a..." and so on.

(but no, I didn't have to say I was sore-y. Snicker)

You'd think with all those implements and my seemingly reduced tolerance, I would have been eager to have it done, right? But when he leaned down and asked, "Is it time for me to get the lotion?" I hesitated. I didn't want to say anything sassy; I was past that. But I didn't want him to stop, either. I turned my head and looked up at him, and he waited patiently, brushing my hair out of my eyes.

"I think... I... um... I think I..."

"Yes?"

"I think I need a little bit more," I whispered. (Why is it so hard for me to do that? Ah well, it just is. I did it anyway.)

So he finished me with a hard strapping, and then I was done. Well, for the moment, anyway. Aftercare was sweet, as always.

After I recovered, we moved to the couch and I put on a DVD. I have so many of them he hasn't seen, and he loves Samantha Woodley (who doesn't, really?), so I chose Sting Operation, Part 2. She was at her absolute bratty best in this one, playing a student who cheated by downloading a paper off the Internet and then got caught by her teacher. She kicked, she fussed, she was defiant, and of course, I was cheering for her. New Guy? Eh, notsomuch.

We'd been sitting side by side, but when Samantha pinched the teacher's leg, I laughed and said, "Hey, I'll have to remember that!" -- and whoooooosh, over I went again. And there I stayed for the rest of the freaking DVD. When she got smacked, I got smacked. When she got the paddle, I got the paddle. And guess what?? I had totally forgotten about this, because I haven't seen this DVD for a while, but... She calls him a bastard, and he makes her spell it out to him while he whacks her with the paddle. How funny, considering that NG had made me do the exact same thing earlier.

I pointed out to NG that she said bastard, I didn't say bastard. But he didn't care. Argggghhhh. OK, fine! I figured I get it whether I cuss or I don't cuss, so what's the difference? Soooooo... when she said my favorite line in the whole DVD: "I said I was sorry! So forgive and forget, and f*** off!"...yup,  I said it along with her. :-D

Professor Lance finally let Samantha up -- however, NG said, "You stay right where you are." So much for following the video. The second spanking of the evening continued long past the end of the DVD, and after one hard flurry, I breathed, "Jesus!"

I felt him freeze, and I screeched, "That's not cussing, that's not cussing!" He said, "Yes, it is." I got so frustrated, I lost my head. Again.

"It is NOT! It would be one thing if I'd said 'Jesus f***ing Christ,' but I didn't!"

I am such an idiot. Yes, I had to spell out all three words, 18 whacks.

Someday, I'll learn. Or not.

But you know that edgy, crabby, unsettled mood I mentioned last Friday? No sign of it now. Whaddaya know. Who needs Xanax when you have a spanker extraordinaire?

T - h - a - n - k    y - o - u. :-)