RIP to Our beloved bamboo cane.
Eventually, my ass breaks everything. The struggle is real. 😉
I live to be over Your knee.
Restrained within Your limbs.
Naked, vulnerable, bottom in the air.
Your hand warms my flesh.
Kind caresses, gentle tickles.
Sweet, but we both know why I’m here.
Your big hand lifts up, higher.
I wait for the impact, needy, impatient.
When I’ve given up, Your hand crashes down.
I jump, I cry out, I wiggle on your lap.
You are steadfast and strong.
The onslaught begins.
Rarely a pattern, I think You’re afraid I’ll get lost.
But tonight, I might get lost anyway.
Left cheek, right cheek, center.
Center, left cheek, left cheek.
It’s so startling, but soon enough I calm.
I sink into it, tears threatening to fall.
Far too quickly, it’s over.
I want to be Your good girl, but I want more.
I think I need it.
Before I misbehave, You speak.
Bend over the bed.
I comply eagerl, listening to your retreating footsteps.
You return before I finish that thought.
Smackthud! The floggers hits hard.
Between my shoulder blades, causing me to flinch.
Down my back, across my ass, the backs of my thighs.
And back up again. A beautiful, painful pattern this time.
Tears flow freely from my soul.
I’m not crying due to pain, but because of love.
Long ago, I explained this to You.
I never want you to worry – or to stop.
You tire of the flogger and pick up something else.
Cracksting! The whip.
I was floating a little, but I’m back on the ground now.
This bites. In such a good way.
I love the marks, the blood just at the surface.
My back, my ass, my legs are on fire.
I think I can’t take anymore, but I’m so glad I do.
Shortly, the whip joins the discarded flogger.
You pick up something else.
Thudboombloom! Ah! The metal loop.
The contrast between this and the whip is divine.
I don’t want it to stop, ever.
I want to float away, but You want me here.
I struggle to stay planted. I become still.
I am quiet. Living a full life within each strike.
It’s never long enough and tonight is no exception.
You stop the torrent of blows.
But before I can protest, politely of course…
You slam all the way into me.
We are one and I would do anything for You.
You are my air, my water, my life.
A pump or two and I am gone.
Yours, and nothing else.
Not an airplane! No vacation here. But we did make it through two months of nonstop bullshit… I mean… Holidays!
Oh I love the holidays! Really! I just could do without the drama… Or the ‘too busy’ excuse crap… Or the awkwardness of families.
November held a child’s birthday, our wedding anniversary (18), thanksgiving, a week off from school, a little work. December was the usual fiasco with Christmas thrown in there somewhere. But now, it’s a New Year, back to the grind, routine… I’m glad, though 5am sucks hard.
All of that has nothing to do with this:
The wheel. When Sir uses the wartenberg wheel on me, I love it. Hate it, love it. (If you like a little pain and a lot of sensation, I highly suggest a wheel.) As I was soaking in my bath, I wondered why my legs were stinging, figuring they were just overly dry again. Nope!! I have a smattering of tiny pin prick scabs, and a few really cool looking scratchy scabs… Looks like a tiny fairy fork has been pulled across my pale skin. The sting makes me happy, but the small, visible wounds ? They make my heart soar! I cherish every bruise, every small draw of blood, every lasting reminder. That’s probably pretty fucked up, analyze if you want… But these are the things that lift me up! Who would like me if I weren’t a little fucked up anyway?! 😉
Happy New Year! Sir says this year is going to bring great things… and He’s the boss, so I won’t argue!
Oh yeah… It’s been a minute… Happy freakin’ Thursday!