postseason

Summer's coming to an end and it's time for me to calm down.
I've been neglecting this space because, well, I've been out partying like a rock star.
(sans the cocaine)

I have been traveling and playing and dancing and laughing and enjoying as much as possible.
I've also been working as little as necessary.

I'm ready to slow down a little.
Take some deep breaths, and settle in for the long winter ahead.

Hope everyone's summer has been as fantastic for them as mine has been for me.

*smile*
xo

The Cigar

"You will buy a cigar..."


His words echoed through my head for weeks before I finally obeyed the request. It wasn't even so much a request as it was a declaration. He does that on purpose, or at least I think he does.

"..... and the next time you smoke, I will burn you with it."

He wasn't happy that it took me so long to procure said cigar. But he didn't put up too much fuss about it either. I've been acting up left and right, and he's had a lot to deal with in terms of correcting my behavior. He's picking his battles selectively.

Now I'm not certain if I thought he was bluffing, or I just didn't think he would be able to go through with it... but apparently the threat of such filthy injury was not enough to stop me. Sure it stopped me for a few weeks. But that is my recent pattern. I go out with friends and every few weeks, I end up smoking a cigarette. It has to stop. I don't want to smoke. I was once a regular smoker, I will not become one again. And he's going to help me make sure of that. Even if in order to do so, he has to be a cold-hearted sadistic bastard.

˙˙˙˚˚ººº˚˚˙˙˙

"Honey?" My voice quivers.

"Yes baby?"

"Please don't burn me."

"With a cigar?" He inquires, "did you smoke?"

I lower my eyes and say nothing.

"I am." The disappointment washes over his voice, "I am going to burn you."

"No honey, please, you can't..." I am filled with dread and desperation. And for some reason, I think I can talk my way out of it, talk some sense into him, and somehow escape what I knew I had coming.

"Oh I can and I will." He is unyielding from the get go.

This goes on for days. I beg and plead and argue and he doesn't budge. He is adamant. He is going to burn me. And still, I refuse to believe it. He guarantees me that there is nothing I can say, nothing I can offer, nothing I can do to get me out of this. I had fair warning. He was very clear. I smoked anyway. I promised him I wouldn't, and then I went ahead and did anyway. My regret is large but his disappointment is paramount. He wants me to learn the lesson. He has to burn me. He's going to hurt me, not harm me. But I am terrified that he's going to do the latter without intending to.

I am terrified.

I don't even know how to describe the quality of my fear. It is consuming and I am distraught with it for days.

˙˙˙˚˚ººº˚˚˙˙˙

So he burned me.

Three times.

The last two left two red marks with three little blisters, on the inside curve of each ass cheek. It hurt exactly the way that burning flesh hurts. Each time lasted a fraction of a fraction of a second. He didn't harm me, he hurt me. He did what he said he was going to do. He burned me, which in effect was insist I surrender to something I did not want to surrender myself to.

It's really very simple. I don't want to smoke. I'm not allowed to smoke. The punishment for smoking is getting burned with a cigar. I knew that when I decided to smoke. I smoked anyway. I needed to be burned with a cigar.

As easy to understand as that is, I freaked out and refused to surrender myself to the punishment. I bitched and argued and begged and exaggerated and pleaded for days. And in the end, I didn't hold still ( he had to sit on me), I didn't take it quietly ( my poor neighbors), and yet according to him, I took it well.



Truth is, I surrendered myself to it the moment I bought the cigar.... and he went easy on me. He went way easy on me and I'm not exactly sure why.

The Belt

Spankings for me, are a cure-all. No matter what ails me, I need a spanking. When I'm naughty, I need a spanking. When I'm happy, I need a spanking. When I'm pretty much anything, I need a spanking. Even when I'm tired and have a head-ache. Nothing has as much effect over my state of being. It's remarkable, truly. I am the essential spankee. I'm not bragging as this has many unfortunate consequences for me; I have simply come to terms with this over the years, and I'm secure enough in my desire to own my proclivities.

So I like to be hit with things. Lots of different kinds of things. Interesting, creative, mercilessly painful things... such as his hand, a wooden spoon, the tawse, the cane. A variety of implements adorn my closet wall. And of them all, in much the same way that spankings are my panacea, the belt is my most favorite of favorite implements. When given the choice, more times than not, I choose to be hit with the belt. The deepest, darkest bruises, (I have a bruising fetish), have come from the belt. Truly, there is so much about the belt that appeals to me, I'm not even sure where to begin.

The domestic connotation cannot be ignored... and although I was spanked for discipline and punishment as a child, I didn't feel the belt until I was a consenting adult involved in a DD relationship. In fact it was probably the first implement, besides his hand, the first man to ever spank me ever used. My love for the belt has developed over years and every time it kisses my skin, my appreciation grows. When I'm being hit with it, I surrender to it quicker than I do any other implement. It's almost as if it comforts me. It certainly hurts, and yet there is this security that permeates the pain. It doesn't disguise the pain, it enhances it in just the proper way so as to quiet my mind and allow me to drift off into the depths of rapture that is a spankee being spanked.

In general, I'm not a pain whore. I don't get off on the hurt. I don't crave the ow. I don't necessarily find comfort in the agony. I am able to translate pain into pleasure, but not exclusively so. However when it comes to the belt... I am a slut. I relish in the hurt of the belt. The closest I've come to coming from a spanking, was with the belt.


But not just any belt, his belt.