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The Dom in the Garage

15 Jan

i missed youall yesterday, although it was kind of relaxing not to roll out of bed and start pounding out my aisha blog post.  But it seemed weird not to get comments during the day.  i felt strangely disconnected.

Anyhow.  i worked late last night, and Sir got home before me, which is unusual.  Clearly, i don’t want that to happen too often, because when i got here, He was out in the garage doing some woodwork.  He had his radio out there, tuned in to the basketball game, and was busily ~ busily doing something…

“Whatcha doing, Honey?” i say.

He looks up, the picture of a mad scientist, if you substitute a wood-burning set for the test tubes.

“Working on the pussy paddle,” He says.

WHAT????

O, yeah.

He’s had this scheme for a while, and since He was home alone last night, He thought He’d “go ahead and get started.”

Here’s a picture:

IMG_1946

It’s about 24 inches long, and made from a piece of the same red oak as our regular paddle, so it will be pretty when He gets through with it.  The end is designed with the idea that He’ll be stroking some intimate body parts at times. Here’s a close up:

IMG_1948

Yes, it looks like a nipple on the end.  He says if it doesn’t work right, it’s my fault {there’s a shock ~ giggling…  and i guess i’ll pay with my ass, right?}

Anyhow, He says He asked me what shape it should be and i just looked baffled and didn’t give Him any good ideas, so now i just have to accept whatever He comes up with.

{Laughing… }  Ok.  i’m pretty sure i didn’t have any good ideas for the shape, and i’m pretty sure i would have had to accept whatever He came up with in any case, so i guess that works out.  

The holes in it are, of course, there to give it more pain-power.  Because you know, just getting whacked between the legs with a piece of oak would probably not be painful enough all by itself.  Right?  

So i’m off to exercise and get ready for work ~ must get home earlier tonight…

 

Sanding 101

19 Dec

i had my first sanding lesson last night.

Yes, it was a lesson; i’ve never sanded before.  And really, i tried to tell Him i’m not a sanding kind of girl.  i’m the kind of girl who reads about someone else sanding.  That’s the kind of girl i am.

He didn’t even respond to that.  He just told me to put some different shoes on because my fluffy house slippers would be ruined by the fine layer of sand that was going to be created in the process.

“Yes, Sir,” is the only right answer to that.

The garage is cool, but not cold.  He starts off showing me the tools and explaining how it all works ~ why we use a sanding block, how to wrap the sandpaper around it, how to hold it.  He doesn’t let me start sanding the paddle right away.

He has an unfinished table leg that He got at Lowe’s.  i think it’s going to be a spreader bar someday.  But first, it is my practice piece of wood.

Finally, He hands me the sanding block and “lets me” begin.

Ok, it’s kind of soothing.  Just rubbing the wood back and forth.  It’s easy to concentrate on that, although other thoughts flit through my mind.

i had a difficult day yesterday.  Even though my morning thing went so well, and you might have thought that would be the beginning of wonderful day, it was not

Ok, it was not the day that was off kilter, it was me.  There were a couple of things, maybe three or four things, that triggered my “i’m no good and i can’t do anything right and i never will be able to do anything right so why don’t i just give up now”  recording in my head.

i KNOW that’s not true.  Really, really i do.  But that feeling can still settle on me like a cloud of gloom, and it did yesterday.

So i’ m sanding away, with the table leg on the work bench in the garage, thinking sanding will probably make me feel better.  i don’t much want to feel better, but there i am anyhow, sanding away and noticing how soothing the rhythm and the movements are and how smooth the wood is becoming, and feeling a bit better despite myself.

Then, “STOP!  I forgot a very important part!” says Sir.

i look up, startled ~

“Your panties!” He says.  “You’re supposed to take your panties off.”

i giggle.  i can’t help it.  “Really?   Here?”

“Yes, here.”  He taps my leg with the cane.  “Go ahead, get ’em off, hurry up.”

“But, Sir, it’s cold!  i’ll have to take my pants off!”

“Yes, I know, and you can put them back on.  Come on, hurry up.”

Another tap with the cane persuades me, and off come my pants ~ fortunately, they’re spandex ~ you know, like yoga pants ~ cause i hate the feel of jeans without panties.  Back on with the pants.

He hangs the panties on the pegboard with the yard clippers and other assorted tools.   That makes me smile.

Finally, He thinks i have the hang of it, and He lets me start on the paddle.  It is kind of pleasant.  

Until He pulls my pants down.

“Keep sanding,” He says, as He begins to smack my ass.

“Yes, Sir,” is the only right answer to that.

****************************

Having been spanked, caned, and used in a variety of ways, i’m feeling much better this morning.  i wake up with several ideas on how to resolve the problems and worries of yesterday.

Thank you, Sir.

The Noise in the Garage

3 Dec

You may remember that Sir had bought a piece of red oak to make a paddle.  Well, He left it laying around the house all day Sunday.  

It was on the dresser.  Later, it was on his desk, and then somehow wound its way to the kitchen table.

i noticed, but didn’t comment.

He was out yesterday afternoon, and i was working on a project that’s due tonight, so i didn’t think too much about it.

Then He gets home, i put away my project, and i’m thinking about dinner, He picks up the paddle and a pencil.  He has a small paintbrush in His hand, and overlays it on the end of the piece of wood.

i’m barely paying attention as He traces around the shape of the paintbrush ~ O!  Um, the paintbrush handle, right?  Um, i see.  He’s tracing the handle onto the piece of wood… o.  

He plays with that for a while, asks for a fine point marker, sketches and adjusts…  i’m watching out of the corner of my eye, but then He starts talking about it.

Explaining how He’s going to make the handle.  Explaining how lovely it will be when i’m through sanding it.

THEN, once He’s sketched the handle in to His specifications, He heads out to the garage.

“Let me check on that jigsaw you’ve got out there, make sure it’s working and has the right kind of blade.”  And He disappears.

i have other stuff to do, and really, i’m still thinking about my project, so i’m surprised when i hear this odd rumbling ~ whirring noise ~ what on earth ~ is it the washer?  No.  The drier?  No.

No.

It’s Saw-man, out in the garage, sawing the handle into shape.

He’s out there for a long time.  When He finally comes in, He lays the paddle ~ which now looks like a paddle ~ on the table.

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You can’t tell from the picture, but it’s got a slight tilt.  So depending on which way He holds it, it will have a different impact.  He thinks this is exciting and significant.  i’m ~ well, not quite as enamored of these workman details.

He tests it on me a couple of times, and it seems like it stings a lot more now that it has a handle, no matter which way He holds it.

Then He talks about the sanding process, explaining exactly how i’ll do it, and how to get in the corners of the handle.

i take a couple of more pictures of it, so you can appreciate its full beauty.  No, not as beautiful as it will be when i finish sanding it.  i know.  Still…

IMG_1798And then from a different angle:

IMG_1799

Really, i just like the pictures that have His hand in them, right?  Makes me shiver.

Anyhow, i had sort of hoped that all this work on the paddle and conversation about it was leading to some use of it, but other than a few love taps, that didn’t happen.  By the time we finished eating ~ i had sushi that i’d bought the day before, He had a ham sandwich ~ and watched a show on the Incas and Pizarro on His computer, it was late {for us.}

i sat at His feet for a bit, and then we went to bed. 

Sigh.

Maybe tonight.

But i post this with apologies to Faithful, whose comment yesterday absolutely cracked me up.  In case you didn’t see it, she said:

More please – and not the poster (although nice) but Naomi.

which really made me laugh.    Sorry, faithful.  Maybe tomorrow.  At least it’s not another poster, right?  Lol….