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Archive for the ‘Spanking’ Category

The other night we had a particularly intense scene.  He warmed me up by spanking me for about ten to fifteen minutes, had me do some fellatio and then caned me for twenty minutes.  He ‘s caned me once before and it was really good, but this time it crossed the line into the sublime.  I don’t think I’ve ever gone that deep into subspace before and truthfully I did let him go on for longer than I should have if the bruises on my ass are any indication.  After he was done, all I could do was just lay there, moaning softly for the next ten minutes or so.

Sub-drop hit me pretty hard and it made me question why I like this.  I mean, my husband just beat me with a stick for twenty minutes and I actually squirted while he was doing it.  What did it say about me that I enjoyed the hell out of it?  These thoughts really upset me and despite our normal aftercare routine I was actually in tears over it.  I mean, what was wrong with me?  He’s spanked me in the past, even gotten me into subspace a few times with it and that seemed all right, not great but I could parse it.  Being beaten with a stick and wanting more?  Somehow this was completely different.

He cuddled with me, told me there was nothing wrong with me.  Liking this didn’t make me a bad person.  It was something that happened between two consenting adults in a loving manner.  He was amazed at how I took it, how long I lasted.  He couldn’t get over the fact that I trusted him enough to let him do it to me in the first place.  He just kept holding me and praising me, telling me over and over that there was nothing wrong with me for wanting this.  I finally calmed down, but I didn’t know how much I believed him.

I was physically punished as a child and still suffer from some trauma over it.  Finding sexual gratification in an activity so close to one that terrified me is a bit hard to process.  I have to remind myself that the other night came from a place of love and trust.  It was about giving up power, not having it taken away from me.  There was no anger, no punishment.  I didn’t beg him to stop only to be ignored.  Yes, the activities are very close, but they aren’t the same.  Like a belt is a rock hard limit for me, I will never let him strike me with one because of how it was used on me as a child.  This was just a stick.  What was so bad about a stick?

It all comes down to trust and consenting adults which when you get down to it aren’t so different.  I know I enjoy pain, that I find sexual gratification from it and most of the time this sits just fine with me.  Every once in a while though I question it.  When I was sick we put practically all things BDSM away, but especially anything that involved pain.  I was in a state where I was self injuring and we both were afraid of my using that as a means to hurt myself.  I guess that is one of the reasons why I question it.  On the surface, how different is the bite of the cane from a slash of a knife?  There is a big difference though.  He was not punishing me when he was caning me.  I trusted him with my body, knowing he would never really hurt me.  Yes, sitting has been a bit on the painful side for the past two days, but there’s hurting and there’s hurting.  That’s what I need to get through my head.  Not all pain is bad.  Not all pain is punishment.  The bite of the cane is about consent and trust.  I’m not punishing myself nor am I being punished for some arbitrary reason like being bad.  This is a lesson I need to wrap my head around, but one that I know I’ll be revisiting often.

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Up until recently, any play that involved pain had a feeling of love and care to it.  I loved being able to ride the sensations and push my limits and he loved taking me there.  I know it sounds counter intuitive, but there is a nurturing aspect to our impact play, a sensual air that you would expect to see present in lovemaking rather than in being flogged or spanked.

Since we’ve been exploring both objectification and his own sadistic leanings, pain is shifting into an expression of his power and dominance of me and I’m still learning to process it.  By no means is he a sadistic bastard every time we go to fool around or even play, but he is getting more comfortable in admitting those leanings to himself so it is coming up a bit more often.  A few weeks ago we did the preparations for me to enter object space and he was, to be frank, a sadistic bastard.  I sported the bruises of the breast slapping for a good two weeks and have now developed a full-on hatred for the crop.  I made the mental preparations to get in the right mind-set and we did the work after to get me out of object space.  He had more trouble processing the scene than I did, but it was one of the first times he really let his sadistic side out to play.

Last night was a little different.  We did one of those, “But I thought you were going to tell me when you were ready to go up,” kind of things so by the time we did get upstairs it was really too late for the full-on impact play scene I was hoping for.  One thing led to another as they always do, and I got to see the kind sadist.  The kind sadist nurtures and praises me for what I can take, but it’s still outright pain he is causing me.  We have a bad habit of falling into really big things with no preparations and last night was again one of those situations.  I took a hell of a lot of breast and nipple torture last night, and towards the end it was all I could do to not cry out as he pinched and pulled at me with surprising intensity.  There was no depersonalization, his voice was kind and gentle always in complete contrast to what he was doing to me.  He told me what he wanted from me in the future, how he looked forward to kissing away my tears from the pain he inflicted on me and how he waited for the day I would beg to receive crop blows on my breasts.

This scene was much harder for me to process and I’m still doing some emotional bouncing from it.  If sadism is to be the focus of our play for the evening, I need to do similar preparations as I do for getting into object space.  This is similar to object space, but different.  There is a strong sense of the trust that exists between us and I am definitely still his girl, but oh the awful things he’s doing to his girl.  Breathing through the pain, trying to be as silent as possible and finally when I couldn’t hold back gasping and even letting out stifled cries.  Even as part of me cringes at the memories of it, I am longing to submit to him in this way again.

Due to the hour last night, we didn’t get to do much beyond basic cuddling after the scene ended.  We got to have a good debriefing this morning and deconstruct what happened and how it affected both of us.  He needed to remind me numerous times that my tears and need for care were not signs of weakness and he marveled at the strength and trust I posses to submit to him in this fashion.  He made a decision that as with the objectification, I am to be in charge of when it happens.  He will not require this type of service from me unless I am willing to give it.  After writing this post, I am coming to the conclusion that I want to give up this control to him, that I am truly at his service whether that be as his toy or his girl and it is his decision as to what he does.

As we move deeper into things, both in the bedroom and without, I am finding it easier and easier to submit to him, and in that submission I feel safe and loved.  It seems like everything I had considered a hard limit is being stripped away, or at least pushed to its utmost edge.  My fears are becoming less and less pronounced as we progress.  Every level of control I relinquish, every step I take in my submission is met with his strong hands guiding me and catching me when I take the leap.

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I was just reading Perverted Imp’s latest post and it creates a feeling of longing and fear in me.  As my husband and I progress, I am feeling the draw of complete submission and the fear of letting go that comes with it.  I’ve seen a few of what I thought were at least firm if not hard limits fall by the wayside in the past few weeks.  Objectification was a big one, and we were both ready to push that and cross it about the same time.  That’s been a common thread, when I have asked for something new, something that had previously been off-limits, we have talked afterwards about the feeling of rightness we both had.

Another hard limit was face slapping, and trust me when I say that I wanted nothing to do with that.  Spanking and biting I love and had no trouble processing.  Face slapping carries a LOT of baggage with it and not a little of it is triggering for me – not so much the actual action of slapping someone, but the fact that I parse it as an action filled with anger and contempt.  These are emotions that I have to keep very far away from anything we do as play.  Connecting those emotions to spanking and face slapping changes them from play to abuse for me.  Last night when we started fooling around, I had to ask him to not be quite as stern in his orders.  I want to submit to his control, but if I perceive his control being exercised using anger and humiliation it’s not play – it’s me as a child trying to not get hurt.

Last night was a tough one because not only did I have to ask for him to not be stern with me, I also climaxed without permission.  This morning I’m still a little upset about it, last night in the moment I was a few steps away from being devastated.  Right now I’m wondering if I’m cut out for this.  We have to tread such a careful path lest I become a ball of childhood PTSD and I wonder if it’s too much to ask of him.

I need to step away and call him.  This is the drop speaking and as hard as it is I need to cross my arms over my chest and let myself fall back into his waiting arms.

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I’ve been trying to get my mind together enough to actually compose a post outlining the ups and downs of the past weekend to no avail.  I had a very hectic day today and I just can’t settle down enough to actually think through everything, so I’ve decided to show you things through my husband’s eyes…

The collar wasn’t my idea.

It was one of the lines that I drew in that first week of discovery and negotiations, in fact. I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of her wearing a collar, or calling me “master”. It didn’t seem right, or respectful, and it felt somehow…risky to me, for lack of a better word. I was afraid that, sooner or later, it would make Tsunade resent me.

And yet now, two months later, her calling me Master has become a regular part of our play. And last night, for the first time, she wore a collar.

We’d talked about it a few weeks earlier, and agreed on a few things. Whether or not to wear it on a given night would be her choice; I was never going to tell her to wear it. And Tsunade would make the collar, creating something beautiful that she could wear out in public without attracting undue attention if she chose.

She’s got a lot of ongoing projects right now, alas. The collar (and the spreader bar, and the restraints) are, by necessity, on the back-burner. Even so, I wasn’t expecting Tsunade to call me while she was out running errands last week to ask if it would be all right if she popped into a local pet store to see if she could find a suitable collar for us to use in the interim. I wasn’t about to argue, though. If she wanted it, that was enough for me.

She tried it on when she got home, and we agreed that she’d wear it that night. That didn’t happen. She felt increasingly nervous over the course of the afternoon, and by the time we got the kids to bed it seemed that the best thing that we could do for the night was just relax and be close to one another.

She suggested wearing it again yesterday afternoon. We’d already made plans for some fairly elaborate play that night, and adding the collar to that seemed simple enough. But again, Tsunade became more and more nervous and upset over the course of the day. The proximate cause was a thread bout BDSM on a message board she frequents, where — for the first time since we began exploring a D/s relationship — she encountered people deeply critical of the very foundations of such relationships. Unhealthy, unsafe, exploitative…all the things that you’d expect to hear. In addition to that, the risk of our youngest waking up during was nagging at her. A few days earlier, he’d woken up sobbing just as she was feeling the need for some aftercare after some fairly intense sex, and she’d been left annoyed, frustrated, and tearful.

These things unsettled Tsunade enough that the thought of wearing the collar, with the added level of openness and surrender that it entailed, seemed like too much of a burden. Too many expectations, too much pressure. Instead, I suggested that, if she really did want to wear the collar (which, she assured me, she did…even if it did scare her somewhat) that she just allow me to put it on her and hold her. No sex, no play, just skin against skin while we talked.

So she did. And we did. Both of us naked, except for her collar. Mostly we spoke about inconsequentials, and about how people who aren’t living out life have no basis upon which to judge it. But I found my finger tracing her collar every once in a while, and whenever it did I could hear her gasp and feel her shudder just a little. Such a simple little thing, a small strip of leather, but god…it made her look ever sexier than she usually does, more beautiful. Even more remarkably, she agreed with me about that. Tsunade’s never taken compliments easily, particularly not from herself. That’s something that I very much want to change….

No one, I’m sure, will be surprised that we didn’t “just talk” for much longer. I spanked her for at least half an hour, not as hard as I have in the past but for faster and longer stretches than previously. Once more, she showed me just how strong she is, how much pain she can take. And after, she was able to completely let herself go so that I could take care of her. Even our youngest waking up yet again didn’t interfere very much with that.

I know that it wasn’t easy for her to wear the collar, no matter how much she wanted to. How much of a surrender it meant. And I’m so proud that she was able to do it, and so pleased that she was able to wear it for me.

Something else that I never thought that I’d say: I want her to wear the collar again. Soon.

Thank you, my love.  He writes such beautiful things about me.

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