Things I forgot…

I forgot how much i love this song:

In case you can’t see it, or it won’t play, it’s Bob Marley doing Three Little Birds.  “Don’t worry, ’bout a thing, cause every little thing, gonna be alright…”

I forgot how much more fun it is to do dishes and other mundane chores when listening to reggae.  And –

I forgot how much better i sleep if i give myself a little orgasm before I go to sleep.  I mean, I have my Magic Wand next to my bed for a reason.  But too often, even when i’ve kind of revved myself up a bit before I lie down, i still fall asleep about as quick as my head hits the pillow.  Y’all, even using the wand begins to feel like a chore.  Silly, because –

I forgot how damn easy it is to have an orgasm.  I mean, a quick fantasy –

“But it is time,” he says.  Firmly.  Gently, but firmly.  “Go ahead and pull up your skirt and pull down your panties.”

i don’t want to do this, i don’t.  And yet the thought of doing it makes me shiver with anticipation, and i know that if i touched myself, i would be wet.  So i do it, i pull my skirt up so my ass is exposed and tuck it into the waistband before he even tells me to.

i hook my thumbs in my panties and pull them down to my knees, widening my stance so the panties stop there.  He doesn’t need to tell me to do that, i know what he wants me to do.

i’m facing the corner already, i can feel him behind me.  “Step back,” he says, “two small steps back.”

i step cautiously, not sure if i’m going to bump into him, but he steps back too.  “Now,” he says, “both hands against the wall.   That’s it.  No, bend your arms, I want you leaning forward.  Push your ass out more.  That’s it.  Offer me your ass.”

It’s just a bit awkward, and definitely humiliating.

“Get comfortable,” he says, which makes me roll my eyes.  “Once we get started, I’ll want you to hold your position.  I don’t want you wiggling around.”

“Yes, Sir,” i say, and i do shift my weight some to make sure i’ll be able to maintain the stance.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Yes, Sir,” i say, making sure my tone is pleasant and cooperative.  i don’t like the consequences when i forget to do that.

“We’ll start with the ruler,” he says and there is no time for breath before it lands, hitting both cheeks hard.   The second  blow is lower, the third lands above the first one.  i’m gasping already, the stinging burn driving away all thought, filling my world.


In the meantime, the lovely wand pressed to just the right spots, one hand on a nipple, and that’s all I need – that scenario – and Whoosh!!   A lovely little orgasm that leaves me more relaxed than i’ve been in days.

Thank you, universe.  I’ll try not to forget!





Fantasy Abounds

He sent me a list of his toys.

He = OG.  Toys = belts and floggers and paddles and crops.  A cane – not rattan but fiberglass.  All the expected props – collars and cuffs, ball gags and butt plugs, oh, my.

He likes the same (kinky) books I like.  Not that he agreed with books I said i liked.  No,  he told me – volunteered – that he likes Cherise Sinclair.  He likes her Shadowland series.  i love those books.

You know what that means, right?  It means he likes at least some of the same Fantasy elements i like.

i think it’s possible that this might really happen.

i have some dilemmas to work out.  Fuck.  Nothing’s easy.

But still.  I think OG might be an actual person who knows about being dominant.  Wow.  This could really happen.

I’ve been fretting a bit (because i’m a natural worrier) about how/where we could do this.  He lives about 3 hours away from me, so we can’t do coffee and see where it goes.  He mentioned maybe visiting Where-i-Live for a weekend, but even then – hotel room?  What if we get too loud?  What if he’s actually a serial killer – or you know, a terrible person who will actually harm me?

And then it occurs to me – we should go to an event and meet up there!  There’s a town that’s a couple of hours away from me that has a very active scene, and that place is only a couple of hours away for him too – how cool is that???  I haven’t mentioned this to him, and guess I will wait a bit before i do, but I think it’s a real solution.

So yesterday, i was driving along thinking about what it might be like with OG and i got so turned on, i almost had to pull over and, you know, take care of myself.  Maybe i’m not too old for this after all!



Frigging Amazing

It is frigging amazing to me how much spanking stories turn me on.  Just reading this and getting wet, having some shudders of pleasure, JUST from reading it.

Hot Bottom Stories

I know i’ve shared it before – the link to those stories – but they are the best, in my mind.  They hit the right note of everything.

I mean.  This:

“Sol tapped her upper thighs lightly with the cane. “Spread your legs, honey” he told her. Daphne spread her thighs slightly. Sol gave her a light stroke across her upper thighs. “Wider”

“Good girl”

Sol thought Daphne looked beautiful like this, her legs open, her pussy exposed, her bottom presented for punishment.

He lightly brought the cane lightly across Daphne’s bottom, measuring his stroke. Then he raised the cane and brought it whistling down across her upraised buttocks. The cane left a dark red welt over her already reddened cheeks. She took the first few strokes in silence. “Sol was not going make her cry like a little girl being spanked by her daddy”, she told herself. Sol gave every third or forth stroke across the tops of Daphne’s thighs and it hurt so much. She was sorry that she had been a naughty girl and even sorrier that she was getting a spanking. Soon her resolution to keep silent was forgotten and she was crying, the pillow muffling her sobs.”

I remember being a bit shocked when someone told me that spanking was a fetish for me, but omigoodness, yes, it is.

Off to do a little one-handed reading…

When He Says No

It is the coolness in his voice that does it, the way he looks at me when he says, “No.  I told you ‘no,’ and you knew then that there would be punishment if you didn’t think I meant it.”

i can’t protest, the gag allows only moans, noises without form.  i bow my head.

“Down,” he says.

My wrists are cuffed, fastened in front of me, attached to the ring in the center of my collar.  Already on my knees, i bend at the waist, press my forehead to the floor.

From this position, his footsteps seem loud.  He paces a bit, back and forth, then moves behind me.  His crop taps me between my thighs, he doesn’t need to say a word, i scoot my knees farther apart so that i am more open, raise my ass higher.  There is no response from him, but i don’t expect any.

He paces behind me.

The whistle of the crop is the only warning before it falls, striking hard, leaving a slash of pain across the middle of my ass. It stings first and then begins to burn, he pauses just long enough for the burn to set in before he strikes again, above the first mark.

i can feel the welt rising.  i would scream if i could, but the gag allows only moans.

i manage to hold my position as the crop falls, this third time below the previous mark.  i know the next two will be diagonal.  i know that they will slash across the previous marks, the next two will cross in an “X,” and at every point where the marks intersect, the pain will be so concentrated as to be almost unbearable.

The next one brings tears, i have been holding back, trying to avoid the almost chocking sobs that will leave me snot-stained, but i can’t hold out and i am snorting and snuffling, the gag keeping me from breathing normally, and i struggle to stop.

He pauses while the pain blossoms, waits until i regain some control.

The fifth blow, the one that intersects with all the others undoes me.  My moan is low and guttural, i can’t make it stop and the pain spreads until i think it is going to be unbearable, except of course it isn’t, and just when i think i can’t stand it, it begins to recede, and i can almost breathe again when i realize that i am not in position anymore.

My head is up, my shoulders off the ground, i have raised up as if i am going to get up and walk away.  This is not an option.  Quickly, i lower my torso, press my head back to the floor, but i know, i know it’s too late.

i can feel him, still behind me.



“Two more,” he says.  His voice is still cool, he might be ordering two more drinks in some classy bar.  Only he’s not.  “On your thighs.  If you move – well, i guess we can do this for as long as it takes for you to get it right.”

As the next blow falls, the next slashing, stinging, burning pain hits and spreads across the back of both thighs, and i find it, the place i’ve needed to be, the moment when i give up and let him have me, letting go of my own desire and wanting only to serve.  It still hurts, it hurts so bad, and i can welcome it, as the next one falls, i know that i could take it all night if he wanted me to.

He does not want to, and now i am almost disappointed when he stops, when i hear him walk away.  i know the sounds behind me, the drawer that opens and closes, and then the cold lube between my ass cheeks.  He is generous with the lube and i’m grateful for that, but the butt plug is still big, i almost resist but i lean into it instead, forcing myself to be open, to accept this invasively full feeling as he slides it past the tight ring of my asshole, pushing until it is fully inserted.

The burn of the crop is already receding and now i am focused on my ass, still uncomfortable – as i should be, as he wants me to be.

He removes the gag, without speaking to me, turning my head to one side to slide it out without letting me up.

i hear the tiny click of the monitor as he turns it on, and i know he is going to leave me here.  i know i will be safe, and i will be alone.

“Up,” he says.  i kneel up, feeling my muscles flex and adjust around the butt plug.  “I’m going to put you in the corner,” he says.  “And I want you to practice saying to yourself, ‘If Master says it’s not my fault, it’s not my fault. Not everything is about me.’  I want you to say it about 10 times, and then you can take a break.  And when you start thinking again, when you notice that your mind is thinking beyond the butt plug and beyond wishing you could come out of the corner, you say it again.  About 10 more times.  Let me hear you now.”

i can’t look at him, i look at the floor, at my feet, but i say, “If Master says it’s not my fault, it’s not my fault. Not everything is about me.”

He offers me water – a glass with a straw and i drink eagerly, then he says, “Again, say it again, while you get in the corner there.”

“If Master says it’s not my fault, it’s not my fault. Not everything is about me.” i say, and halfway through the mantra, i am in the corner.

“Now, say it loudly enough that I can hear you over the monitor if I want to,” he says.  “Don’t be shy.  I’ll be back.”

i repeat it, “”If Master says it’s not my fault, it’s not my fault. Not everything is about me,” wondering how long i might be here.  But even so, i can hear the smile in my voice.



Things are happening…

Three cool things happened yesterday.

i’d been chatting, super briefly, with a Dom in a nearby city who seemed like a nice guy.  But when MP agreed to be involved in finding me a Dom play partner,  i promised him that i wouldn’t exclude him from any relationship i might have like that.  So a couple of days ago, i told him about this guy, we’ll call him RS.

MP agreed that i could email him and explain our arrangement, so i did, fully expecting not to hear from him again.

Instead, i got an email back that said he was still interested.  MP and i talked about it for a long time, and then i emailed RS and told him (again) that he needed to contact MP if he was interested in moving forward.  (Is that too many initials?  It seems like a lot to me…)

But he did.  RS contacted MP.  MP was going to email him back after i went to bed last night, and he’s not up yet, so i don’t know what happened there, but MP and i talked about kink and D/s stuff at dinner, and later, which we hadn’t done in forever.  There’s a lot to think about and consider as we get ready to try on this type of relationship, but more about that later.  It was pretty exciting just talking about possibilities.

That was #1.

Then i got a couple of emails from my old Dom friend Burford, who had been silent for a long time.  He has some theories to share about long term D/s, and that was fun to read, plus then he just sort of peppered me with short messages about different stuff, which is always nice.  i suspect he’s bored, his submissive is out of town.  But that’s ok, thank goodness i don’t feel that desperate “won’t you be my Dom” thing right now.  So that was super cool, and i’m looking forward to chatting with him some more.

That’s #2.

Then, after we got home from dinner last night, i heard a bunch of weird sounds coming from the bedroom – no, not that kind of weird – weird like someone moving furniture.  When i yelled, “Honey, whatcha doing in there?” he replied, “Come see!”

He was getting out all our toys.  Yep.  Dildos, vibrators, nipple clamps, paddles, belts – all laid out on the bed.

i said, “Whatcha doing?” but it was in a whole different tone now.

“Come here,” he said.

i did.

“Put your hands on the bed,” he said,  “No, lean over more.”

So i did.

And he pulled down my pants and began to play with me.

i got to feel the belt – still my favorite.  Then  a little thin wood strip thing we have, which stings like hell, and finally, just a few times, the big paddle.  Not too long, not too hard, but juuuust right.

And then he made me cum.

That was #3.

Or maybe that was 3, 4, and 5, i dunno.  i know that i can still feel some little welts on my ass this morning, and i have not been this relaxed since i can’t remember when.

Lots of things happening here…


“Now,” he says.

i glance up – now, what?  “Sir?” i say.

“Now,” he says, “It’s time for you to come to bed.  It’s almost midnight.”

“Yes – yes, Sir, i am coming, i just need to finish…” but he raises that eyebrow, and i sigh. “Yes, Sir,” closing my laptop as i say it.

“Prepare for a spanking,” he says.

“What?”  i am dismayed – this was not on my agenda!  But that raised eyebrow again, “Yes, Sir…”

i pee and brush my teeth, strip, remembering to put my clothes in the clothes basket (not something i always do.)   i go to the corner, assuming i’ll be waiting a while, but he’s behind me almost before i can take a breath.

“No,” he says.  “On the bed.  Head down, ass up.”

i shiver, but not from cold, i love when he is like this, it’s a little bit scary, and so hot.  “Yes, Sir,” and i move toward the bed.

“Right,” he says, “Here, on the edge of the bed, I want your ass easy to reach.”

In position, ass up, head down, arms stretched out in front of me, i wait.

The hiss of his belt sliding out of the loops sends more shivers through me – i love the belt.  And he rubs my ass before the first blow, dips his fingers into the hot, wetness between my thighs.

“Open,” he says, and i scoot so my legs are further apart, wriggling til his fingers are just a bit deeper.  He lets me rock back on his fingers until he hits that spot, the one that makes me cum faster than anything, and then, of course, he pulls out, i knew he would, and i whimper, becuase it would have been so nice if he’d just let me slide over that top, and omg, just for a moment there, i thought he was going to…

Instead, i feel the caress of leather.  Across my ass, my inner thigh, smooth and cold, until, all at once – the caress is gone and i feel the bite as he strikes, not hitting hard, but sudden and sweet.  i sigh.

Sweet relief.

“More?” he says, and i hear the note of teasing –

“Yes, Sir, please,” i say, “May i have another?”

And he brings the belt down again.  And again.  Hitting above and below the first spot, hitting my upper thighs, hitting again and again til i moan and whimper, the pleasure/pain so sweet.

i sigh, content, knowing i’ll sleep soundly tonight.  Thank you, Sir.


“…sheer disrespect.”

i barely hear the words, it’s the tone that makes me look up from my computer, and then the words register, and i think, “oh, shit.  i’m in trouble now.”

“Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

“i’m sorry, Sir -”

“Are you working?”

“No, Sir.  Not really.  Just, um, just reading an article.”  i am dismayed.  And disappointed in myself.  My goal this month is to be more attentive, to stop what i’m doing when he’s talking to me and give him my full attention.  This is the complete opposite of that.

“Corner time,” he says, “Clothes off first, please.”

i start to protest, “Sir -” and quickly change that to “Yes, Sir,” as i pull my shirt off, bra, and slide my pants down with the panties for efficiency.  At the least, i won’t be slow to obey.

Naked, face pressed to the corner, i can feel him behind me.  i wish he would touch me, i can’t tell what he’s doing.

“Hands behind your neck, open your legs,” he says. i remind myself this is for my benefit.  With my hands behind my neck, my breathing gets deeper, i feel calmer.  My open legs increase my awareness of my vulnerability, and the heat between my thighs reminds me that i like this.  i have, literally, asked for this.

“Think,” he says, “About what it means to be aware and to be responsive.  Did you think I was talking to myself?”

Actually, i did – he does talk to himself when he works, muttering things about data and timelines and queries.  And i may have learned to tune it out.  But i’m pretty sure this is not the time to mention that.

“Think,” he says, “About what you offer me, what it means to be open and receptive.  Not just your cunt and ass, available to be fucked.  Not just your mouth around my cock.  Think about what it means to keep your mind open to me too.”

“Think,” he says, “About the real point of this.  It’s not that I think what I have to say is that important.  The point is that you need to be attentive, to serve me.  And you need this structure,  and the discipline that follows when you don’t live up to the expectations.”

He leaves me there, i can feel him move away, hear him sit back down at his computer.  i wonder how long i’ll be in the corner.  i have a fleeting wish that i had finished the article before i got in trouble, but push that thought away to focus on the things he said.

It’s not the first time i’ve heard the list.  Aware, responsive, open, receptive, to attend and serve.  He’s right, those are the things i want to be.  i feel a rush of gratitude that he’s willing to correct me, to follow through when i fail to live up to the goals we’ve agreed on.

“Put your hands behind your back,” he says, “and lean into the corner a bit more.”

It’s a relief to bring my hands down and clasp them behind me.  i  take a step away from the wall and lean forward, which pushes my ass out as if i am offering it.  Which actually, i am, i suppose.  It’s an awkward position, and i adjust my stance, widening it, and move my shoulders to get more comfortable.

He comes up behind me again to inspect the position, running his hands over my hips and ass, down between my thighs.  i shudder with pleasure, pussy clenching.

He laughs.  “Keep thinking,” he says, and moves away again.

i think about belonging to him, offering him my power, asking him to be in charge.  i think about the way he uses  clamps on my nipples to focus my attention, plugs my ass to bring me down a notch, uses my mouth to satisfy his cock.  i think about the times he fucks me tenderly, and the times he does it ruthlessly, making it clear that i am there for his pleasure, serving his whims and desires.

i think about his belt, his paddle, the cane and the crop, think about the different kinds of pain they bring, and the pleasure of a good, hard spanking.  i kind of wish he would let me out of this corner and get on with it.

At least i wish that until i hear him moving around behind me again, and then i’m not sure what i want.  Mostly i think i want to go back in time and have listened to him, but it’s way too late for that.

His hand in my hair makes me gasp, he pulls me out of the corner, “Offer your ass,” he says, releasing me, and i head for the couch, upending myself over the arm of it, head down, ass up.   i hear him pull his belt out of the loops – that sound that can not be mistaken for anything else.

“No need to count,” he says, “And you can wait til I’m finished to thank me.”  The first blow lands, burning a swath across my ass and i bite my lip.  There is a pause – he lets the pain of the first one fade before striking again, above the first.  The third one lands below it.

Five parallel lines across my ass, from the middle of my butt cheeks to my sit spot.  The rhythm designed for maximum discomfort, enough time for the pain to blossom but not fade.  Then he begins to criss cross them, so each blow that lands intersects with others.  The burning sensation where they intersect is intense, and i begin to cry out.  i know this won’t cause him to reduce the intensity or shorten the time.

There are hot welts on my ass and tears running down my face before he is done.

At last, he stops, and “Stay where you are,” he says.  “I’ll help you up in a minute.”

He moves away, back again.  “Spread your ass cheeks for me,” he says.

i don’t want to, i know what’s coming, but i do, i bring my arms behind me and open my ass for him.  The lube is cold and sticky, the butt plug still hurts.  “Breathe,” he says, “Do I have to beat your ass some more?  Who do you belong to?”

“You, Sir,” i say, “i belong to you,” and he pushes the plug the rest of the way in.  It is larger than usual, and i struggle to relax my asshole around it.  i know that he wants me to feel myself being stretched, that he intends for it to hurt.

“Now you can get up,” he says, helping me to my feet, arms around me holding me close.  “Here,” he sits down on the couch, helping me kneel between his legs.  “Comfortable?  Do you think you’re ready to listen to me now?”

i laugh, “Yes, Sir, i absolutely am.”