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.

Are you ready for this?

You may want to sit down. I don't think y'all have ever seen me quite like this. And you probably won't again, so you'd better memorize it. I may come to my senses tomorrow and take it down. :-)

OK, so the naked thing is nothing new. The collar? That's another story.

Allow me to backtrack to the beginning of this evening, if I may.

When ST first arrived, he asked me how I was doing. He already knew, having read my blog. And I'm sure he knew I needed to blow off some details. I can talk to him about this stuff. He is as discreet as the day is long. And he's a switch himself, so he understands.

He sat quietly and let me vent a bit about my frustrations with the domme/slave thing. When he sensed I was finished, he did an assessment -- perhaps it was subconscious on his part, or maybe it was deliberate. He knew I wanted and needed to be edgy tonight. I craved to be pushed, challenged, unnerved a bit. I needed to let go.

"I could use a beck-and-call girl, myself," he mused, winding his hand into my hair and tightening his fist. "I think I should make you MY little spank slave."

"Right," I scoffed.

"I have a collar and leash right here in my bag," he said, watching my face closely. "I think I should put it on you, what do you think?"

He was checking with me. I knew it. I blustered, "Oh my god! You've GOT to be @#$%ing kidding me!"

But I didn't say no. And so the collar went around my neck.

Only with someone I trust this much, would I go there. I constantly amaze myself with the things I'm willing to do with him, things that are so out of my little play box. And tonight, that was just what I needed.

He made me crawl into my bedroom on my hands and knees, and once I was on the bed, I had to take off all my clothes. But not before I had one last moment of defiance.

After that, I was subdued rather quickly. Especially when the clothes came off and the ropes came out. Collared and tied, I was helpless.

"Now I can do anything I want, can't I," he taunted. "And you can't do a thing about it."

No, I couldn't.

And oh, it hurt.

"You're not going to scream, are you?" he growled in my ear. I shook my head vigorously. "Perhaps I should MAKE you scream."

But somehow, I didn't. I cried, I smashed my face into the bedspread. But I did not scream. I did say please, please... "Please what? Please show you some mercy?" "Yes, please," I sobbed. "I'll think about it," he said.

After the tears began, he softened a bit. He untied the rope and took off the collar. But the spanking went on for quite a while after that.

He paused, hovering over me. "Are you getting what you need?"

"Yes."

"Do you need some more?"

"Yes, please."

He obliged.

"Go on, let it out," he murmured as I wept. I did. It felt so, so damned intensely good. The knots in my stomach and chest dissolved. All the tension flowed out with my tears.

I don't know how he always knows just what to do, where to take me. He asked me if I liked it. I answered as honestly as I could: "I liked it with you." I don't believe I'll ever fetishize that degree of D/s. It's not me. But freefalling a bit, knowing he's there to catch me, is damned hot.

Reluctantly, he finally let me put some clothes back on.

But just for the record, we did do another scene. This time with canes. Dammit, canes really hurt when you're already sore. I had some choice utterances.

"You've invoked both God and Jesus -- want to try for the Holy Ghost?" he teased.

"I wish you were a ghost," I snapped. "Then you could disappear."

I never learn. Fortunately, he's willing to come back, again and again, to try to teach me. :-)

Thank you for being here for me.

See Me, Feel Me, Spank Me, Heal Me

(with all apologies to The Who)

I'm definitely in a strange place as of late. Offhand, I can't remember when I last had a day that didn't include shedding tears. Why? Doesn't matter. It just is. I ride these peaks and valleys and accept them. They pass.

It's annoying, though. In this place, it takes very little to start the waterworks. A kind gesture or some sweet words will set them off. Today, I got email from Cali, thanking me for the "wonderful grand finale." And there they went again.

Still, I pulled myself together, ran errands, straightened up the place, changed my clothes. ST was coming over, after all. And by the time he arrived, I was in quite the good and chipper humor.

We bantered a little as the scene started. I told him about the particularly dastardly move from V on Saturday -- 50 paddle swats in a row on the right cheek only. So of course, ST thought it was only proper to give the left cheek a lot of focus. Said he wanted me to be well-balanced. (Me? Not in this lifetime, toots.)

But then we settled into a rhythm and fell silent. I wasn't sure whether or not my new neighbor was home, and I wanted to be cautious. So I clamped my hands over my mouth, buried my face. Still, I arched my back and thrust up for more. He couldn't see my face or hear my voice. But he read my body language, sensed my need. He laid into me harder and faster. My feet flailed, but I held my position.

The tears came early, and they came fast. Good tears. Cleansing and sweet. And the harder I cried, the harder he spanked, strapped and paddled. How does one explain the bizarre dichotomy of feeling pain and relishing it so thoroughly?

His voice, normally so gentle, took on that rough edge. He grabbed my hair. "You need this, don't you," he growled. Oh yes. Yes, I certainly do. More, please. More.

He had me count the final 20 with the strap, 10 with his belt and 10 with the paddle. I barely whispered the numbers, but he heard me. Then held me close as I sobbed and sobbed for a long time afterward. It took quite a while before I was able to raise my face and look at him.

No face pictures tonight. He didn't even try to take any. I was grateful for that.

The first thing I said, when I could speak, was, "So, what's it like playing with a basket case?" "You're not a basket case," he said, stroking my hair. "What makes you say that?"

"Because," I sighed, "it's always something with me. I'm either angry about something or sad about something else."

"Well... so are a lot of people."

Sadly, I guess that's true. But not all of them have the magical pressure valve that we do.

He'd come over earlier than usual, and asked me if I'd like to go to dinner. I had to decline. All I wanted to do was lie in a boneless heap on the bed... the thought of getting up and going out sounded as impossible as flying to the moon. So we talked about odds and ends.

He said there should be an Erica Scott doll, one with a string you could pull and she'd say bratty things. I could dress up like a doll for Halloween next year! "I'm too old to dress like a doll," I muttered, and he said, "You look like a doll to me." Goddammit. Nearly set me off again.

Time for a shower and then perhaps a little something to eat. I believe I will sleep like the dead tonight.

And guess what? I have a small mark -- on my left cheek. :-)

Thank you, ST. ♥

Punished

He left a little earlier than usual tonight, but he'd arrived earlier as well. I guess some of you are waiting, huh?

No sass tonight. Sassy Erica has left the building (well, temporarily). Don't worry; she'll be back. Tonight, I'm in a quieter place. A very, very good, quieter place. I feel like curling up into a ball in my bed, letting the dark and quiet envelop me. But first, I need to write.

New Guy usually sends me email on Monday mornings, in a teasing "oh are you gonna get it" mode. So imagine how I felt this morning when I received this:

I expect you to meet me at your door wearing a short skirt or dress, no stockings and no panties, you won't be needing them. After letting me in you will turn and march directly into the bedroom. You will have the heart shaped paddle, and I believe you have a cane, lying on the bed.

You know what you did was wrong and you deserve to be punished. You can expect to be severely disciplined.

I'd already eaten breakfast, and felt my cereal lurching around in my stomach. Ohhhh my.

He'd forgotten that my cane had gotten broken the last time he used it. I wrote back and reminded him of this, suggesting he may want to bring one. I offered no argument or plea otherwise.

When he arrived and I opened the door, I was so taken aback, I started giggling from sheer nerves. First of all, his usual attire is jeans and a t-shirt -- tonight, he was all GQed out in dress slacks, collared shirt and a jacket, plus he had very attractive new frames on his glasses. And second, he was pointing a videocamera at me. Holy crap... my discipline was going to be filmed.

So... I will not give away what happened. Because you will all see it, as soon as he edits and sends it to me. I will tell you that it was the most intense scene he and I have ever had. Certainly not the longest or the hardest, but definitely the strictest. No warmup. And I cried. On camera. I have never shed tears on camera before. And they were quite real.

Not from the spanking. From the things he said. He scolded me so thoroughly and effectively, I would have cried without any spanking at all. He wasn't mean, he didn't berate me. But he let me know how he felt. 

I do not feel diminished or broken. I didn't have to be beaten into a grotesque pulp for it to be effective. What I feel is deeply cared for.

After it was over, he was gentle and kind, as he always is. All was normal once again, after just a few minutes.

He took a couple of pictures after the fact; I'd faded some by then, but you can see that I'm marked. What a difference a warmup makes.

He'd used only his belt and the paddle. But just before he left and was packing everything up, he picked up his strap and said, "I never got to this one!" Uh oh. Yes, of course, he had to give me five licks with it, for the road.

Big meanie.

OK, not really. :-)  He is wonderful, and I am a very lucky woman.

I need to eat something. Here's hoping in my semi-stunned and soporific state, I don't burn the building down.

Video to come soon -- stay tuned.

Thank you, my dear, sweet not-so-New-Guy.

EDIT: You can watch the video clips here (part 1) and here (part 2).

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...

Who's Sorry Now?

Who's sorry now, who's sorry now,
Whose bum is throbbing, I'm sobbing, and how,
Who's black and blue, who's sniffling too,
My makeup's smeared over you...

Yeah, it's an old song. Deal with it.

Wow. I do believe Mr. New Guy outdid himself. He knew what I needed and he delivered. No nonsense tonight.

Oh, I tried sassing. I mean, I'm still me. He thought it was disrespectful in the beginning that I was giggling. "I don't think you're listening. None of this is registering."

"Say something worth registering and I'll register it," I tossed back blithely.

"I'll just let my hand do the talking," he growled. And he did. Then his belt. A lot. Fast and hard, until I was breathless. I shut up then; he meant business.

He didn't bother with the toy bag tonight. It was just his hand and his belt, fiercely. And I had to answer his questions. I refused to at first, but I quickly realized that wasn't going to fly. "You need this, don't you." Silence. THWACK! "Don't you!" "Yes!"

He struck low in the sweet spot and I buried my face and shrieked into the cushion. "That registered, didn't it?"

"Well, yeah!" I hollered. "That was my leg, stupid!" Oh no. I didn't really say that out loud, did I? Yup. I'm afraid I did. Damn, I'm pretty stupid myself sometimes.

That was the last time I said anything like that. Ouch.

I had to count. I had to say thank you. I had to promise that I'd publicly say I was sorry. I was angry... but I wanted it. I loved this strict side of him. I crave that.

I was so close... but not quite done. So when he said, "Have you learned your lesson?" I whimpered, "Not yet."

"Not yet? Do I need to paddle you?" I didn't answer, just cringed and buried my face. He took that as a yes.

I felt that horrible thing rubbing against my inflamed skin and I knew it was going to hurt like hell. He took his time, teasing me with it, and my legs trembled. "No," I whispered.

"Did you just say 'no'?" I nodded. "You don't really want me to listen to you, do you?" I shook my head.

It only took a few. My resistance shattered, all the stress of the past few weeks gushed forth and I wept. He stopped, sat down next to me, quietly rubbed my bottom and back. I cried for a long time.

My first words when I could speak? "That was so... fucking... HOT." He laughed. "I'm so glad you feel that way... I thought the same thing."

I couldn't look up at him for quite some time, though. I feel so embarrassed and silly after I cry. He didn't push me, just let me keep my face hidden. Said that my tears were beautiful.

For this moment, I am at peace. Well attended to, cared for and de-stressed. Thank you.

I had my way, then had to pay,
I'm glad that I'm sorry now...