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."

He wasn't.

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:

Mission accomplished.

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. :-)

A two-parter

Part 1: Birthday greetings are in order. Two wonderful men, back to back -- Danny, October 4, and my sweetheart J, October 5. Danny, I hope you had a great day and enjoyed your greetings on FetLife. I tried to bake you a bacon-and-Hollandaise-sauce cake, but sadly, my projectile hurling kept interfering with the process.

J and I were supposed to celebrate his birthday this past weekend. However, he's been sick as the proverbial dog for two weeks and counting... he got the flu. Big time. In 14 years, I don't think I've ever seen him quite this sick. :-( 

A few tip-offs that he's more than a little sick:

1. He hasn't worked out for two weeks. This is unheard of. J will always exercise through an illness. The only thing he'll cut out is his bike rides. But the walks and the weights? No.
2. He can barely eat. And when he does manage to force something down, he can't stand anything with sugar or salt in it. J usually has a huge sweet tooth, and he loves salt so much, he refers to potato chips and nuts as "salt delivery systems." I had baked him some brownies from scratch, and he couldn't touch a bite. Normally, he can put away three of those things within five minutes of getting his hands on them.
3. He's shivering and bundling up into his jacket one minute and breaking a sweat the next.
4. He's taking Tylenol and Advil regularly and I don't have to hold his nose and stuff it down his throat.
5. He's sleeping and sleeping and sleeping, 10-12 hours at a time. This is a man who never sleeps more than six hours in one stretch.
6. Finally, this is the real shocker: He actually took himself to the doctor last Friday. I didn't say a word; never suggested it. Usually, I'd have to bug him for about six months before he'd go. They took blood, but basically told him, "You have the flu. Go home."

(sigh) Have I mentioned that I am a sucky nurse? I worry and fret and get nervous, feeling helpless and wishing I could just wave a magic wand and make him better. And seeing him suffer makes me want to cry. In fact, on Sunday, I did. Ugh. So after this weekend, I was very stressed out.

Which leads us into Part 2...

A week or so ago, Hermione posted about stress release through spanking. I am a strong advocate of this practice; I can blow off stress through exercise (or posting a rant), but nothing sends that tension for the hills like a good hard spanking. Enter New Guy, who paid me a visit this evening.

We played harder this time. Last week, he had a wide leather strap that turned out to be too long (it was wrapping), so we put it away. This week, he brought it again, showing me how he'd cut it down and now it was perfect. (says who???)

OTK in a straight-back chair for a warmup, then he said, "I think I want you over that ottoman." "You do, huh?" "Yes, I do." And he lifted me off his lap and carried me across the room, still horizontal, plunking me down on the ottoman. I do love that thing; it's very comfortable to lie on and there's room on either side for the spanker to stand, so he has room to swing and give equal time to both cheeks. Besides, if I'm reclining comfortably, I can fully focus on the discomfort happening elsewhere.

He was bolder this time, giving the sweet spots more attention. "Are you feeling this?" he asked. "Why do you ask such stupid questions?" I snapped. I then got a flurry that nearly sent me through the ceiling. "You want to ask me that again?" Uh... no. No, I'll pass, thank you.

Concerned because I was marking, he asked how I was doing, if I wanted more. Zoned out, I gasped, "My common sense says no; the pain slut in me says yes." He laughed. "Which one should I listen to?" "You decide," I said. He went for 10 more swats with the paddle and we were done.

After I returned to Earth, we watched a DVD (When Danny Met Erica, in honor of his birthday), and by then I was back to sassing (yes, already), so I got another spanking on the couch. Just his hand this time, though. :-)

I needed that. Who the hell needs Xanax -- bottle spanking and call it Stress-B-Gone.

Ow.... do you feel sorry for me?

Well, don't. I'm a happy camper. Thank you, New Guy. Thank you very much. :-)

I'm going to sleep like a baby tonight... zzzzzzzz....