Between the Dashes ~ Sir Goes Shopping {O, My!}

Saturday afternoon, Sir and i went our separate ways.  He headed out to do errands.  i napped, and read some blogs, and exercised, and wrote a blog post, and was cleaning up the kitchen when He came home.

i notice that He has a bunch of “stuff” in His hands.  Something long ~ several long things ~ maybe four feet long.

“Here,” He says, “Let me set this stuff down,” and He disappears into the study.  Moments later, He’s back, and wraps His arms around me.

After a long hug, and an “mmmmm,” or two from me, i say, “How was your day?”

“GREAT!” He says, letting go of me.  “Wait til you see what I got!  Did you know they sell bamboo at Lowe’s?”

i’m laughing, “No, Sir, actually, no, i didn’t.”

“Well, they do, look at this!”  And He leads me into the study.

There they are.  Pieces of bamboo.  Um, poles.  Bamboo poles.  One really thick one and three skinny ones.  Trying to be coy, i say, “Um, what’s that for?”

He says, “What’s that for?!  For you, of course.  You know, leaving welts, it’s not about how hard you hit, it’s how fast the implement’s moving, and these can move really fast.”  He shakes His head, “What’s it for?  It’s for you!  i got it for you.”

What can a girl say but, “Thank you, Sir”?  So i say it, nicely, i hope.  And He laughs.

Then He says, “And ~ wait til you see this!  Remember that paddle I used up at COPE?”  i nod, o, yes, i remember that paddle.  “Well look at this,” He says.

i put the piece of wood on the arms of Sir’s chair, and that’s a ruler – the orange thing, so you can tell just how big it is! That’s the smooth side, btw.

Yes, it’s a piece of wood.  NOT just any piece of wood.  It’s red oak.  One of the hardest types of wood you can buy that’s native to the Unites States, He says.  {Don’t ask me how He knows this stuff.}

He explains that it’s going to make a WONDERFUL paddle.  All He’s got to do is cut it down here {and He demonstrates} so He can grip it easily.  And put a hole in it so He can put a piece of braided rope or something through the hole so He can put that over His wrist and make sure He has a firm grip on it.  While He paddles me. 

It just needs to be sanded real good, so it’s smooth.  “Here,” He says, handing it to me.  “Feel it.  Which side do you want used on you?  Which side do you think is the business end?”

Cautiously, because i generally anticipate walking into some kind of trap here, i feel both sides with my fingertips.  One side seems rougher, grainier than the other.  So not that one.  Hesitantly, i flip it over and say, “This side?”

He says, “That side?  That’s the side you want against your skin?”

“Um, yes, i think so…” i say.  “It feels smoother than the other one. Isn’t it?

“Well, yes, it is!” He says approvingly.  Then, “Too bad, the other side is the business side.  The smooth side is where you put any fancy decorations you might want.”

“O,” i say.  “i see.”  i knew there was not really a choice here.

“Have you ever sanded anything?” He asks.

“No, no, Sir, i haven’t,” i say, totally prepared to admire His sanding expertise.

“O, good,” He says, “This will be a good learning experience for you.”  i guess my face shows my disbelief ~ i’m thinking WHAT?  You want ME to sand it?  But i bet my face just said, “Um, excuse me?”

Anyhow, He says, “Yes, you, it’ll be great.  Really make the whole experience more personal, more enjoyable.  You have to do it slowly, rubbing the sanding paper over it like this,” and He demonstrates.  “Don’t worry, I’ll show you how to do it.”

And what’s a girl to say but, “Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir.”  So i say it, and i’m laughing.

Later, i massage Sir’s shoulder for a while, He’s having some pain.  The massage helps, and then He says, “But i think i need to work some of the stiffness out. Swing that arm a little bit.”

It takes me a minute to get it.  In fact, it’s not til He turns me over His knee that i realize what kind of arm swinging He has in mind.  i suggest that this might actually make his shoulder worse, but He assures me, No, this will be just what He needs.

After a little hand spanking, we adjourn to the bedroom, where He continues to work out the kinks {giggle} by beating my poor ass with the bamboo poles and the paddle.  

The paddle felt just as you might imagine, like a big ole piece of wood thudding on my ass.  He complained mildly about the grip, noting it would be easier to use once He carved the end of it down, but it didn’t seem to bother Him any from my perspective.

The canes were ~ well, they were interesting.  Here’s a picture of one of them:

It didn’t seem like they hurt too much at first, and then they got a bit stingier, and then a bit more stingier, and then they hurt like a ~ well, you know, like a mother~.  They left some nice welts, which i felt like i’d earned, but when i got up this morning, they were already gone.   

Sir’s shoulder was fine this morning too, so i guess He did know what He needed all along.  

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

i went to SIG yesterday too ~ the Special Interest Group discussion ~ and had a lovely time, but that will have to wait for another day  {Waves to Ms. Constance, and CS, and C, and anyone else who was there…}

And the Kink Goes On…

Last night, Sir and i met for dinner.  We thought we were going to a restaurant at one end of B-town road, but He got there first and discovered that they didn’t actually have a Hibachi grill.  {Which  ~ i misspelled it as Hitachi grill and He called me dirty girl ~ hmpf.} 

ANYHOW.  He was texting me that where we thought it was, it wasn’t, and asking me where i was, and i told Him on B-town Road, heading south, and all He replied was “Keep heading.”

For a second, i was annoyed, i thought, “heading where?  How will i know where i’m going?”  And then i thought, “What difference does it make?”  So i texted back, “Ok.”  

And He texted back, “Perfect.”

That made me smile, and recognize the submission too.  So what if i drove past the place and had to turn around?  What else did i have to do at that was more important than following directions?  

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

So you would think when i get directions later last night, after dinner, that i would have been able to follow them.  “White shirt, white panties, tie your hair back.  Home in twenty minutes.”

And i did ~ except for the hair.  Which is the second time i’ve neglected to do that.  There were no immediate consequences, which has me a little worried, but no point anticipating trouble.

Anyhow.

While i remedy the hair error, He disappears into the basement, muttering “something I need to do down here.”  

A few minutes later, He directs me to fix Him a soft drink with lots of ice, but He says i have to walk backwards to bring it to Him, even down the stairs.

So i do, slowly and carefully, and He directs me to a chair, with my back to the rest of the basement.  

And the games begin.

Collar and cuffs.  

He says:  You remember what I told you about this collar the other night, don’t you?

me:  {Only slightly panicky} Nooooooo, Sir, what?

Sir:  It’s a magic collar.  Do you remember why??

me:  O, yes, Sir!!  {Triumphant} Because when i’m wearing it, i’ll do anything You tell me to do.  

Sir:  That’s right.

me:  But ~ {a little confused} but i do everything You tell me to do anyway, don’t i??

Sir:  {laughing}  That’s right.  You do.  But that’s not the point here.

He puts his hands around my neck, squeezes gently.  i feel my self slipping into that head space where really, what He wants is all that exists.  

When He’s ready, He turns me so i can see His project for the evening.

He has rigged a pulley.  With rope.  So He can suspend my arms over my head.

Which He does.  Securely.  Almost on my toes, but not quite.

Panties around my ankles then he tucks the shirt up so my ass is exposed.

The canes.  Without the warm up this time, although He pinches my nipple while He’s doing it, and i count, only i lose count and we have to start over again, and it hurts, it really, really hurts, but i want those stripes, i want marks that last.

30, only 30 this time, but it feels like more.

And then He uses something else ~ it has a flapper, like a crop at the end, but it’s some DIY thing He made, and it stings, but compared to the canes, it’s a caress and i’m whimpering with pleasure this time.

Afterwards, He has me lie on the coffee table, pussy up, and He ties my arms down.  Attaches my ankles to a spreader bar, and then, with the handy pulley He’s made, raises them in the air.

Yeah.  Picture that.

He’s quite pleased with His mechanical success, and i can’t help ~ you know, giggling.  Which could have ended badly, only He decides to stuff my panties in my mouth, which is another effective way to stop the giggling.

He attaches the evil canes to my nipples.

While i squirm, barely able to whimper, He makes Himself comfortable in a chair beside me.  Casually, He taps my pussy and inner thighs with His big wooden spoon, while He tells me a kinky story.

And if the rest of the evening is a blur, it’s ok.   It’s a blur of pleasure, replete with vibrating dildos and His cock filling my mouth, His cock filling my pussy, and pleasure beyond time.

This morning, i am still tingling, still tuned in to Him.  He takes the cuffs off my wrists, and His touch makes me shiver.  

“Just because I’m taking these off, doesn’t mean they’re not still there,” He says.

Yes, Sir.  i knew that.

After the Social

After the ice-cream social, which was lots of fun, i thought Sir would take the grandkids home, come back, and we’d spend a quiet evening side-by-side on our computers.  

Usually, He reads the news, or watches a movie, i look at facebook or blog or answer email.  We chat.  It’s lovely.

That’s not what happened last night.  Instead, i get a text:

“You should put on the white shirt.  White panties.  Tie your hair back.”

And then, seconds later:

“Blister your butt.”

Re-energized, i rush off to shave and get ready.

The panties are white, and not sexy, they’re little girl panties, silky material, a tiny bit of lace around the waist, but not bikinis or even cut hi.  

He takes me to the basement.  He has already prepared the coffee table.  There’s a pillow on it, and then the workbench is pushed up to it, a quilt draped over it all ~ it is clear that i will be kneeling on the table, bent over the bench.  

But not right away.

First, He puts the cuffs on.  Collar first.  The wide leather collar, so heavy i am always a little aware of it.  Wrists.  Ankles.  

“Lie down,” He says.  “Go on.  Face up.  Head on the pillow.  Feet right here.”

He binds me to the coffee table.  Arms at my sides, knees bent, feet apart.  i am completely comfortable.  And completely secure.

And then things begin to happen.  i don’t think i can say them in the right order.  i don’t know anymore.

i am still in that space a bit, you know, where it’s all a blur and when He touches me, it’s like electricity shooting through me and i melt and want to touch Him for a long time, and kiss Him and…

anyhow

you know, that head space.

So here are the things i remember ~~

the shoe horn, He used the shoe horn, between my legs, yes, right there, and it hurt but not too much, and on the inside of my thighs too, holding one thigh down so i’m open and exposed, slapping it ~

And the wooden spoon, on my breasts, the back of it landing on my nipples and

He takes my panties, the white panties, and holds them up, “Nice,” He says, and He folds them in half.  i wonder why, i’m watching, all bound to the coffee table,  but He folds them again, and again.   In fact, He rolls them up.   

“Open your mouth,” He says.

What?  i’m ~ i think i still don’t believe it ~ i open my mouth, and He does it, he sticks them in my mouth.  

“Can you talk?”  He asks.

“Mmm” i say.

He smiles.  “The answer is No.  Good.”

They’re not uncomfortable, and i don’t drool, and i think, i don’t have a safe word, or a safe signal ~

but i’m not worried about it at all, i just notice it.

There’s the cane-nipple-clamp thingy, He puts that on, and it’s not too bad because He leaves it unclipped in the middle, He just clips it at the ends, but it’s still intense.

And then He goes upstairs to get something, and i’m alone and He turns off the lights on His way up, and i’m tied and helpless, gagged, nipples clamped, and i think i should be scared but i’m not…

and He comes back with The Phallus.

i’m glad i can still moan and make a little bit of noise.  i whimper and twist and squirm, opening and accepting ~

at some point there’s ice water, dripped onto me ~ i don’t remember when ~ and maybe other things that are lost to me now ~

And then later, much later, i think, He unties me, takes out the panties.  

i have no urge to talk.  i’m glad my mouth is not full but i don’t need to talk.  

i am so deep into submission, i have no will of my own.

He clips my ankle cuffs together, shackled, i could not leave if i wanted to, not that i want to, but ~ He helps me stand and ~

“Kneel,” He says, “Up there, yes, right there ~ on the pillow ~”

and i do, i manage to get up on the coffee table, kneeling and i already know to bend over the work bench, which is higher, so i’m perfectly comfortable, only i think that won’t last long ~

and it doesn’t.

“Count,” He says.  “Count quietly, but don’t lose track.”  

And He starts.

It’s the cane.  Of course.

It whistles, and lands, and He does it over and over in the same area.  i’m sure it will mark me.

And i’m counting, thinking hard about the number, i don’t want to forget, and

then He asks, and i know, it’s 18, Sir, and He goes on and

~ it’s 29, Sir, and by then it hurts a lot, a whole lot, and at 35, i’m jerking before it lands, twitching, cause i know it’s coming, and i want to avoid it.

“Relax,” He says, and of course, i can’t, but He strokes and caresses until i do and then ~

~ when i am nicely relaxed again ~

Whoosh!  

And it lands again.

YIKES!

42.  We are at 42 when He stops, and i can feel the welts on my ass before He touches them. 

42.

And them i am pleasing Him, with my mouth, and there is nothing else on earth i’d rather be doing.  He gives me a pillow, and i can make myself comfortable, and take my time and 

it is heaven.  

After ~

i am too spaced to think, and He tucks me in bed.  

He tells me the white shirt is mine now, and my responsibility, and i may need to iron it, but He wants it crisp and ready to wear at all times.   i laugh and say i’ll take it to the dry cleaners, but He frowns, and shakes His head. He says when He unbuttons it, He wants to think about me taking care of it, not some girl at the dry cleaners.

Chastened, i know He’s right.

When He comes to bed, i don’t know when, but He touches me, and i am alert and completely aroused, it is like electricity.  i whimper and try to rub against Him, like a cat in heat,

but He only plays with me for a little bit, and then He takes my wrists in His hand and i already know He’s done.  He holds me tight, pressed to Him, and i fall back asleep.

This morning, i am still half gone, still half there in that space where only He is real, and the space between my legs, which belongs to Him, and my heart, which is His too.

i was afraid He did not want to dominate me, and instead He has taken me completely, deeper into subspace than i’ve ever been, lost in longing to serve Him, and i wonder ~

will i bounce out of this, or will He keep me here in this space forever?  Will there be a crashing subdrop?  A slide back into the other side of reality?  

i don’t know, all i can do is trust Him, and trust myself, that we will find the right way for us.

aisha Gets Pouty

All day yesterday, i was excited at the prospect of kinky times ahead.   i was doing productive things all day, but underneath was a simmer of excitement.

At the end of the day, home before Sir, i start cleaning up, getting ready for His arrival. i’m getting ready to put on my favorite shirt with buttons, when i feel a rush of uncertainty.

Why am i getting all tarted up for Him?  He hasn’t told me to.  He hasn’t told me to in a long time.  

No, i just assume this is what He wants.  He didn’t text me during the day or anything.  He didn’t tell me to “wear buttons.”  Why am i doing all this?

What if He comes home tired and isn’t even interested?  What if He meant we wouldn’t have time for dinner because we’re going to work on our digital picture display?  

What if He doesn’t want to be my Sir anymore?  What if we’re just going to have a vanilla relationship from now on?

As the thoughts flash through my mind, each one is more convincing than the one before it.   In no time, i’m almost certain that Sir doesn’t want to be my Dom, much less my Master.

i feel bereft.  i sigh.

Ok, i still care about Him.  We’ll work it out.  i’ll deal with it somehow.

And then, instead of putting on the black shirt with the buttons over the cute panties and bra i’d changed into, i just put on regular clothes.  And go to tidy the kitchen and empty the dishwasher. 

i feel pouty.  What am i supposed to do?  Just assume He wants me to wear that shirt?  He never gives me instructions anymore.  He never tells me what to do.  Why did i even get cleaned up?

Pout, pout, pout.  

i know i’m pouty.  i think seriously about running over here and doing a blog post on how pouty i feel.  i think about what youall would say to me.  i think  you would be sympathetic, and would point out that i need to talk to Him about it.

Fortunately, i don’t stop to blog, and i am just emptying the dishwasher when He comes home.

We hug, for a long time, as we do.  i am almost ok for a minute, but then i remember that we aren’t going to have a kinky relationship anymore and i’m sad.

i go back to emptying the dishwasher.

He looks at me a little strangely, but just says, “When you finish that,  you can fix me some coffee.”  

i say, “i’ll do it now,” but before i can close the dishwasher, He steps up behind me and grabs my breast, begins twisting the nipple.

i don’t respond as i usually do.  i kind of just stand there.  Inside, i’m still thinking how sad it is that we aren’t going to have a D/s relationship anymore.

He says, “I’m interrupting what you’re doing?” in mild tones.

i say, “No,” and then i realize i have to tell Him how i feel and what i’m thinking, and i don’t want to, but it’s like youall are watching me, waiting for me to do the right thing.  

{Did i invite youall to come eavesdrop on my life?  O, wait, yeah, i guess i did!} 

It’s soooo hard, the words don’t want to come out, but i manage to say, “i’m just in a weird head space.”

He says, “What kind of weird head space?  What happened?”

i say, “No, nothing happened, it’s just, it’s just, i feel weird, it’s stupid, i don’t know why i feel like this…”

He says, “Fix us both some coffee and we’ll sit down and talk about it.”

So i fix His coffee, and mine, which is more of a process than you might think, and when i’ve finished, He says “Put your coffee right here,” pointing to a spot on the table, “And you sit right here,” tapping his thigh, “on my lap.”

So i do, i sit on His lap, and He says, “Now tell me.”

And so i tell Him about coming home and starting to get ready, and i only get as far as “i was getting ready to change clothes, but…” when He interrupts me ~

“But you didn’t know what you were supposed to wear.  ‘Cause no one told you.”

And He wraps His arms around me, and i nod.  i’m thinking that sounds ridiculous, but He doesn’t seem to think so.

He gets it.

And i say, “Well.  You know.  i don’t have rules.  Or routines.  Or anything,” still a little pouty.

He takes over then, gently, seamlessly, but certainly.

The next thing i know, i’m wearing one of His dress shirts, a white one.   You know the kind, cotton, button-down collar, and the sleeves are so long i have to roll them three times.  It feels good, a little stiff and starch-y against my skin.

He takes me to the basement.  

Our basement is full of stuff at the moment, but there’s a clear space in the middle, and He’s put His coffee table there.  It’s covered with a towel.

There’s a towel, doubled over on the floor next to it.

This is not looking good for me.  Or maybe it is looking good, depending on how you look at it.

“Kneel,” He says.  “Mmmhmmm.  Bend over the table.  Yes.  Just like that.”

And He starts easy.  With His hand.  A gentle warm up.

Then a not so gentle warm up.  And i’m squirming and squealing a little.  And He says something ~

omg, i can’t even remember what He says, but it strikes me funny, and i start giggling.  All bent over the table, panties around my knees and i’m giggling.

“Laughing?” He says.  “You think this is funny?’

“No ~ no, i don’t,” i say, but i can’t quit giggling.

And then there’s a cane.

“Maybe this will help you stop laughing,” He says, as it swooshes across my ass.

“Omigod, i’m sure it will!” i say ~ but it doesn’t.  i’m still giggling.

And He strikes a couple of more times, but i can’t stop, i know it’s ridiculous and not even in my best interest, but the giggles win out.  

So He puts the cane down.  “Maybe this will stop all that giggling,” He says.  

i can hear Him doing something behind me, but i don’t know what, til i feel something cold and sticky ~ O ~ it’s lube, o yikes ~ 

and suddenly there’s lots of penetration, all kinds of penetration, and i’m not laughing.  Not at all.

i’m making a whole different kind of noise.  

And He’s laughing.

Once He’s quite sure i’m through giggling, the canes return, and have the intended effect.

Later, much later, we talk about the D/s aspect of our relationship.  He says He’s pleased that i was able to tell Him what i was feeling.  He says He’s been giving me some time to concentrate on the changes in my life, especially the grand baby, but it’s time to change that.

He says that in the next week or two, we’ll establish some goals for me.  A personal development goal and a sexual ~ D/s sexual ~ goal, that He’ll help me work toward.  

He says He’ll give me plenty of rules and structure.

Being the contrary creature that i can be, i’m a little nervous about that now.   After all, i don’t really need rules, do i?  i’m a good girl, i am…

Anxiety

i have been anxious lately, and it tends to annoy me.  Apparently, i expect myself not to feel anxious.  Ever.

Which is kind of stupid, because i know better than that.

And i should know better than to call myself stupid.  That’s ridiculous.

Yeah.

And when my head is fairly well twisted up on itself, that’s the best time for a spanking.

Standing at the foot of the bed, He says, “Pull your panties down to about here,” indicating with the cane, tapping lightly on the back of my thighs, where He wants them.

It is the single cane tonight.

And there are quizzes involved.  Questions about salad dressing and how to spell things and what He said was going to happen.  

i answer some of the questions right, and some of them wrong.

When i get them wrong, the cane lands on my ass with that sharp whistle and sting that makes me gasp.  When i get them right, the cane lands on my ass with that sharp whistle and sting that makes me gasp.

There is something reassuring about that.

i discover that i can’t spell while being caned.  Who knew?  

When He has finished, i am not anxious any more, and my thoughts are not tied into knots.  i thank Him, of course.  It was just what i needed.

Focused

Last night, Sir came over.

i was a little anxious, i had been fretting a little earlier that day.  i had not been able to reach Him and i’d gotten anxious, not reasonably anxious, but out of proportion anxious. i had emailed Him, half-laughing, half-serious, and then texted a couple of times.

It was unwarranted anxiety, and i knew it at the time.  Now ~

When He gets out of the car, i notice He has his computer bag and something else in His hand.  It looks like one of His canes.

And it is.

When He gets to the door, i hug Him, wrap my arms around Him, and He hugs me back.

Then He disentangles Himself from my hug.  He puts His hand on the back of my neck, and turns me so i’m facing away from Him.

“Come on,” He says, “Let’s find a good place to do this.”

He moves me down the hallway.  “Your bedroom,” He says,  “That’s a good place.”

At the foot of the bed, His hand still on the back of my neck, He firmly presses until i bend, face down, over the bed.

He pulls my skirt up, and my panties down.

“Twenty-five,” He says.  “I think that’s a good number.  Don’t you?

i am slow to respond, so He prompts me, “Say, ‘Yes, Sir,’ that’s the right answer,” and 

i say it then, hastily, “Yes, Sir!” although i’m thinking that is a lot. Twenty-five with the cane?  Can i do that?

But we are only to Four when i feel it happen.

My shoulders relax, my back muscles let go.  i sink into the bed a little more.

i quit holding my breath, and open to the feelings.

When he finishes ~ and He has not hit me very hard, but each stroke stings a little more than the one before it, so the last one makes me gasp and whimper ~ but when he finishes, and i am standing up again, i sigh with relief and laugh a little.

He looks at me quizzically, “You’re laughing?”  And He’s smiling a little.  “Why are you laughing?”

But i can’t tell Him, i don’t know why.

“Well,” He says, “That was to help you focus.  Do you feel focused now?”

“Yes, Sir,” i say, and it’s true.  My mind is clear and i feel wonderful.

  i pause, then, “Thank you, Sir,” i say.

“Well.”  He nods.  Let’s eat dinner now.”  And we do.

I Did “It”

**  Warning {just for ‘Nilla} ~~  This post may contain references to things that squick you out.  Well, one thing in particular.  Sorry.  A sub’s gotta do what a sub’s gotta do…

So i did it ~ that thing that just a few months ago i couldn’t even imagine doing.  The lifestyle is like that, isn’t it?  

One day i’m going, “You want me to WHAT?” and bursting out laughing ~~ the next, i’m going, “Omigosh, i guess i’d better…”

That’s what happened yesterday.  When Sir X said He was going to do a body inspection, that He would be “probing orifices” and that my ears had better be clean.

My ears.

Like i said yesterday, in my panic post, my ears were the least of my concerns.

And maybe it’s a measure of what this man means to me, my Sir.  Cause i did it, i went out and bought a ~ um ~ a ~

you know, um, an {whispers} enema.

And i did it.

And it wasn’t nearly as bad as i thought it was going to be.  Of course, that was a low bar, cause i had imagined it as pretty incredibly terrible, and it just wasn’t.

So that was good news.  

And i passed inspection -that’s good news also.   {Grinning…}

And i’m not sorry i did it, and yes, i might do it again if i think it’s gonna be important, if you know what i mean…

As for my geography lesson ~ it was a serious geography lesson, and i think He was a little appalled at the depth of my geographic ignorance.  He had asked me a question a couple of days ago about the river’s flow and discovered this huge gap in my knowledge.

So it was a serious lesson, which really does make me anxious, y’all, and i’m slow to catch on and find it hard to remember and just about the only thing worse is if i have to do jigsaw puzzles, which would make me want to just sit down and cry.  But ~ i know much more about the river now, and what it means if you say it’s flowing upstream or downstream.

And my punishment was only a couple of extra licks, that were especially painful, but more so because i knew they were punishment.  i don’t think i even have any two-day welts.

But i thought you might like to see a picture of His portable spanking bench.  He says He should have taken one of me bent over it, but thank goodness, He didn’t.  Here it is.

We put a pillow on it too, so it’s comfortable.  And isn’t that funny?  ‘Cause, can i just say, canes are amazingly painful when you’re bent over one of these, with your arms securely tied and your legs spread. 

And now, i’ve gotta go, cause you already know i didn’t get finished packing yesterday…

The Hard Rammer

It’s very quiet around here without ‘Nilla.  i miss her already.

But it wasn’t quiet last night.  Sir X and i had play time, and He’d had a whole week to plan…   so the house was full of noises, mostly mine.

Moans of pleasure and pain, whimpers and cries, laughter and  ~ no, not tears, and no screams, but some pretty sharp gasps now and then.  The cane demands a reaction, and he doubled the strokes this time, 6 with each, except the last one, mercifully only three with that one.

And i wonder – will it be 12 with each next time?  Omigosh, that would be an awful lot.  Maybe He stops at 6.   Ok, no, that would be unlikely.  Maybe it will be 9 next time.

And a shiver runs through me.  There are 4 canes, or cane sets, i think ~ or 5?  i have to go back and look at my picture to be sure.  **********  Ok, 4, there are four sets.  Times 6 is 24, and if you know canes, well, that is a lot, i think.

Although, He isn’t harsh with them, he isn’t trying  to harm me, so they sting ~~  o, they sting, and leave welps ~ but i can slide into it, and it is not too much.

He’s brought a spanking bench with Him.  

No, i’m not kidding.  It’s a portable work bench, and i don’t know how He modified it, but He lays a towel across it for padding, fastens my ankle cuffs to the legs, ties my arms as well, before the canes.

We have done our usual ritual of submission ~ the leather collar this time, wrist and ankle cuffs ~ then led to the door, where He’s fastened the rope, my arms pulled over my head, face to the wall first.   Hands pressed flat against it.

Hand, flogger, stingy rope, belt.  That is always the same.

He turns me once, to attach some nipple clamps, new ones, tighter, more painful, with a heavier chain…

But hand, flogger, stingy rope, belt.  That is always the same…

And there is a moment, i think it is between the rope and the belt, before i hear the hisssss of His belt coming off, there is a moment ~~

~~ when i feel so deeply submissive that i ~~ i can’t describe it

~~ it’s so deep and so intense that i totally want to belong to Him, bring on the branding iron, whatever

~~ i want to give myself to Him ~~ at that moment i would do anything for Him ~~ and i’m feeling it so strongly, i have to say it,

only i don’t have a lot of words, so i manage to say, “You have no idea how submissive i feel right now…”

and He laughs and says, “Well, i would hope you do!  You’re tied to the door, naked, with nipple clamps,” and His hand reaches around to pinch my nipples, making me cry out, “and,” He continues, “I’ve been spanking your ass ~ I hope you do feel submissive!”

And i have to laugh too, and i say, “Yes, no, i mean, that’s not quite what i mean, i don’t know what i mean,” cause you know, i lose my words when i’m in that head space,

and He laughs and says, “I think maybe you mean you feel wonderfully submissive?”  and i agree, because yes, for sure i do.

But youall know there is more to it than the pleasure.  Something inside me shifts, something inside me becomes more fully His, not just in that moment, but after too.

And i don’t have the words for it.

Anyhow, that’s not what i was going to talk about today,  i was gonna tell you about the hard rammer, in case you’ve forgotten, it looks like this:

And really, i thought it was going to be toooooo big, i thought it might hurt, i was really a little bit worried, and i was afraid He’d push it too far in and afraid it would just freak me out, but ~~~

um, it didn’t hurt, it was a little uncomfortable just at first, but Six X said He’d had experience with these, and clearly, He had because it was intensely, amazingly wonderful, and He seemed to know just how far and how hard and ~~

O, it was lovely.  🙂

Not THAT Nice

i’m a little concerned that i’ve given you the wrong impression of Sir.  He is “nice,” but not that nice.  

Last night, we had dinner and did some vanilla stuff, which was great.  He said He’s been thinking about me, and in fact, has made some toys just for me.

Sweet, right?

Yeah, they’re canes. 

Laughing… seriously.  

He was looking at the information on Kinky Kollege and saw a  lot of stuff about canes.  Did some research and discovered they aren’t always being made with natural material anymore. 

No, they’re often made with some kind of fiberglass.  Which He happens to have a closet full of, because that’s what He uses for His kites.

Yeah.

So He made some canes.  Just for me.  Here they are:

 

 

He has a super skinny one, and a little bit thicker one, then there are some bundled ones.  He’s particularly pleased with the one He put the wooden handle on.  “I think we’ll both really enjoy them,” He says, smiling sweetly.   

Last night, after we get back to my house, He tries each one out on me.  Just once with each one.

Then He says, “O, look at that!  Did i hit you that hard with it?  Whew, that’s a nice little whelp you’ve got there.”

Laughing… thank You, Sir.

Then, as if that weren’t enough, He says “I made another toy for you too, but you’re not nearly ready for this one.  You’ve got a long way to go.”

He pauses to gauge my reaction, which of course is “tell me, tell me, please.”

“Well,” He says.  “It’s for your nipples.  It’s a Japanese type thing, you see it with rope sometimes.  And they use bamboo.  But I thought the cane material would work just fine.”

i say, anxiously, “Yes????”

“And I think it will,” He goes on.  “What it is ~ you take two pieces of it, and tie them together in the middle,  then you do the same thing at the ends.”

He’s gesturing as He describes it, so i can picture it.  The two sticks held together in the middle, so something {guess what} can be placed between them on either side, and then the ends pulled together.

He used a straw, youall.  Cut a straw up to hold the two sticks together in the middle and then to close them off at each end.  Do you see what i’m talking about?

He says we can start out using them without closing the ends, but He wants to use the clamps a few more times first.

Good grief.