I had such a crappy, stressful week that this weekend was sorely (pun intended) needed. We started off with the SSNY party on Friday night at the LGBT center. Another fun party, hosted by Jules, Mike, Mike, and Miranda (and all the elves and other helpers).
I came straight from work, and walking into an already crowded party was rather overwhelming. My apologies to all I was somewhat abrupt with as I tried to acclimate myself. I did already make amends to one top. After working my way through the gauntlet of hellos, I was finally able to hang up my coat, put my baked goods on the table, go to the bathroom to change into party clothes, and finally grab some food from the buffet. I needed food badly, and also needed to sit and relax for just a few minutes. Before I could sit, however, there was one more interruption. "Are you topping or bottoming tonight?" a gentleman asked me.
He didn't know he was the 25th person I'd had to talk to before getting to the table with my food. My response: "I'm eating tonight." As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I realized it was a bit rude. As nicely as I could, I then said, "I'm switching -- and let me talk to you in a bit." I sought him out later and apologized for my abruptness.
I never DID get any peace, but that's the price you pay for fame and notoriety, I suppose! The food was yummy. Hope everyone liked my raspberry mini-tarts. I like baking something special for these parties -- not that it was needed; there were massive quantities of food there.
Of course no one wants to hear about food. The play's the thing! I was non-stop. Sorry, it's hard to say "no" when you've only got a few hours. My husband Rad manages much better than I do at kicking back and just talking to people. Thank you to all my wonderful tops! It was good to catch up with (or in some cases, meet for the first time) the out-of-town guests. M&K from Colorado; Sass and HL from Georgia; Phineas and Michael from Texas; Joe & ____ (drawing a blank) from Michigan(?); the beautiful and very strict disciplinarian Miss Chris from Arizona; Stella and Kay from Florida and Delaware (they were running The London Tanners booth because our good friend Ian couldn't make it. We greatly missed you, Ian, and very sorry about the personal situation that caused you to miss the event); Tony from Florida; Brad, Mr. Meanie and Cara Marie from Maryland; and many NJ, Pennsylvania, Maryland, and I don't know where else friends.
I mostly bottomed, but at one point a nice gentleman politely approached me, introduced himself and said he'd like me to top him. He said he'd been trying to get up the nerve to say hello at the last party. When we spoke, I was on my way to play with someone else. But I told him that I was definitely interested, and I would come and get him soon.
A short time later, I scanned the room and found him in a small group, chatting. His girlfriend (wife/date?) was with him. I tapped him on the shoulder. The look he gave me as he turned around and saw me was priceless -- a poignant combination of longing and trepidation ... mmmm. I know that feeling well.
His girlfriend asked if she could watch. "Of course," I said (I love performing!) and she pulled up a chair just outside the cubicle where we were about to play. He and I spoke briefly about what he was looking for, limits, acceptable implements, etc. I could see that a good hard hand spanking was in order at the very least, and although he didn't ask for a strapping specifically, I thought the medium-intensity strap would be good as a follow-up.
I had him stand in front of me. As I like to do, I undid and pulled his trousers down myself. I gave him the courtesy of a warm-up over his briefs, because I don't think he'd played in a little while. Then they came down and the real spanking started.
A good hard hand-spanking can be very satisfying, and he was making all kinds of nice noises of "appreciation." I was appreciating the view, meanwhile -- he had a nice ass. I finally ordered him off my knee and told him to stand in the corner with his hands on his head. I moved the chairs around into position for his strapping. His girlfriend was enjoying the whole show. I told her at one point, "Don't be hesitant to spank him harder, because he really needs it." Then I asked him, "Isn't that true?" Of course he said, "Yes, Ma'am!" Smart boy.
It was very satisfying to give him his licking. A nice, evenly paced strapping, not too hard, not too soft, just enough to get him squirming and wriggling a bit. Mmm.
A good time was had by all ...
I'll write a little later about Saturday. I've already said too much for one blog here.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
Family, friends, food, figure
Thanksgiving was fabulous. As I posted on my other blog (Ms. Cassandra Park, The Corporal Consultant), I think it's my favorite holiday because usually the whole family is together and it doesn't really have the "pressure" that you feel from Christmas -- not to mention, let's face it, even at an advanced age you sometimes feel disappointment. Hard to let go of those inner-child expectations.
For me, I love watching my many nieces and nephews rip open their presents, but I feel pangs because I don't have my own kids. And then in lean years, as this one is, I simply can't buy them all gifts. I have 10 nieces and nephews and three "greats" already. The older ones are well into adulthood, however, so I don't have to worry about them as much. The younger ones -- I do what I can.
Thanksgiving is easier. It's just coming together to eat, hang out. Maybe watch some football. Maybe play a game after dinner (a big part of our family traditions). Yesterday, I let myself eat what I liked, in moderation, took a walk after dinner with my sister, and then allowed myself a little dessert. I have been doing good on my diet, now it's time to relax a little, food-wise (I don't need to lose any more weight) and just work on exercise, toning.
I know my mom was just kidding, but it didn't help to hear, "You're not part of the family anymore -- you're too skinny!" Ouch. I guess this is the price you pay when you try to get in shape. I've mentioned this before -- I was taunted and tortured my entire growing-up years for being fat.* Now I'm suddenly unacceptably thin? Nonsense.
However, my problem is that I myself have trouble accepting the status quo. In the spanking world, when I play, people see my naked butt, hips and thighs -- my most troublesome areas. Yes, it's "acceptable"; I am "just fine" the way I am -- but I want to see if I can get better than "just fine." On top of that, I also want to get stronger. I want to try rock climbing, martial arts, kick boxing -- something new.
All I can do is TRY. If I NEVER get rid of my cellulite no matter what, it's okay. I guess I figure I CAN. It's POSSIBLE. Today I had a healthy breakfast, started back (as planned) on my workouts. Goal: weight training three times a week, with walking or other cardio on other days. I still have to watch what I eat, because I can't work out if I'm sluggish.
*I think it's about time to leave this little painful part of my history behind. It's not who I am anymore. (perhaps more on this in an upcoming blog?)
For me, I love watching my many nieces and nephews rip open their presents, but I feel pangs because I don't have my own kids. And then in lean years, as this one is, I simply can't buy them all gifts. I have 10 nieces and nephews and three "greats" already. The older ones are well into adulthood, however, so I don't have to worry about them as much. The younger ones -- I do what I can.
Thanksgiving is easier. It's just coming together to eat, hang out. Maybe watch some football. Maybe play a game after dinner (a big part of our family traditions). Yesterday, I let myself eat what I liked, in moderation, took a walk after dinner with my sister, and then allowed myself a little dessert. I have been doing good on my diet, now it's time to relax a little, food-wise (I don't need to lose any more weight) and just work on exercise, toning.
I know my mom was just kidding, but it didn't help to hear, "You're not part of the family anymore -- you're too skinny!" Ouch. I guess this is the price you pay when you try to get in shape. I've mentioned this before -- I was taunted and tortured my entire growing-up years for being fat.* Now I'm suddenly unacceptably thin? Nonsense.
However, my problem is that I myself have trouble accepting the status quo. In the spanking world, when I play, people see my naked butt, hips and thighs -- my most troublesome areas. Yes, it's "acceptable"; I am "just fine" the way I am -- but I want to see if I can get better than "just fine." On top of that, I also want to get stronger. I want to try rock climbing, martial arts, kick boxing -- something new.
All I can do is TRY. If I NEVER get rid of my cellulite no matter what, it's okay. I guess I figure I CAN. It's POSSIBLE. Today I had a healthy breakfast, started back (as planned) on my workouts. Goal: weight training three times a week, with walking or other cardio on other days. I still have to watch what I eat, because I can't work out if I'm sluggish.
*I think it's about time to leave this little painful part of my history behind. It's not who I am anymore. (perhaps more on this in an upcoming blog?)
Thursday, November 26, 2009
"I was born to do this" part 2
RD's spanking started very benignly. He sat on the edge of the bed, put me over his knee with my jeans still up, and began to spank me--hard, but it felt nice through my jeans. This was a brief tease of a warm-up. Soon he told me to stand up, lower my jeans and panties and get back over his knee. He started to spank harder, and now it hurt.
He ordered me into the corner. He kept telling me the whole time that I was really going to be taught a lesson. The same, vague not-sure-how-afraid-I-should-be feeling persisted, and I think this was mainly because he was being so calm, even a little “logical” -- I'd misbehaved, I needed punishment, he was going to deliver it.
RD led me from the corner. He had pulled a chair out and was now holding a brush, a round wooden bath brush. Shit. Things were about to get serious.
I dreaded the brush, but was not about to say “no” to anything. “Get back over my knee,” he said. He started to spank me briskly with the brush, all over my bottom. Damn! I kicked my feet a few times, and he responded by spanking my thighs. “Every time you kick, you're getting spanked there,” he said. “I want those legs straight – understand?”
“Yes,” I murmured.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir!” I happen to like calling my tops “sir,” but in the heat of things, I sometimes forget how to speak properly. He seemed annoyed, and spanked me harder and faster. I sort of wanted him to get angry, to raise his voice. That tends to bring the scene from the physical into the emotional real quick for me. Sometimes the fear I feel makes it easier to process pain, too.
RD said he doesn't play while angry. I said it was okay to pretend that he was.
And he certainly felt angry when next he took off his belt. I got a painful taste of that, and then he moved on to a stiff leather strap. Very nasty. It was just a very solid impact and he had me crying out, yelping, quite a bit. I stayed down and took all he handed out. The thing actually felt like a paddle at times. During this part of the session, he did raise his voice a little, lecturing me about my irresponsibility, my inconsiderate behavior.
Everything he said was true, and I hated it. I've been trying for months to improve this particular habit. Still, I said I would work at it harder. I don't think he liked that "promise" -- but I don't know if I can change overnight.
“You know we are not finished here, Sandy,” he said. “I am going to make sure this lesson sinks in, and that you remember it.” I already would remember it. My ass was on fire from the strapping, and I was sobbing a little in points. “When you get back on the plane tonight, you are going to have a very uncomfortable time sitting, young lady.”
Then he sent me to the corner again, but this time he told me to kneel. (This was something my father used to use as punishment when I was a kid -- scary.)
When RD beckoned me back over, he was holding the cane. I had expected that. There were pillows piled on the bed for me to position myself over. He told me to keep my bottom up, and to stretch my arms out in front of me. I clutched the bedspread and buried my face in the pillow.
“You are going to take every bit of this caning, Sandy. You deserve it."
I did deserve it. And it was awful ... and wonderful. Not at the time, of course. At the time, it was just excruciating. I loved him pushing me, hurting me. I loved him telling me that my sobs were not going to get me out of it. He paid particular attention to my thighs, whipping the rattan down and leaving a series of red lines, some of which became welts. I had strokes all up and down. He knew where to aim to make it hurt. I'd guess there were around 200 strokes, all told.
I wanted to cry, to let loose with a real cry, but I could only sob a little. At last he stopped. "That's it, Sandy. We're done." He climbed onto the bed and suddenly he was holding me. I curled up into his arms and sobbed a little more, let my breathing gradually return to normal. Awesome. I felt ... cared for. I felt special.
What a trip. Hope I don't have to wait another whole year for round two...
He ordered me into the corner. He kept telling me the whole time that I was really going to be taught a lesson. The same, vague not-sure-how-afraid-I-should-be feeling persisted, and I think this was mainly because he was being so calm, even a little “logical” -- I'd misbehaved, I needed punishment, he was going to deliver it.
RD led me from the corner. He had pulled a chair out and was now holding a brush, a round wooden bath brush. Shit. Things were about to get serious.
I dreaded the brush, but was not about to say “no” to anything. “Get back over my knee,” he said. He started to spank me briskly with the brush, all over my bottom. Damn! I kicked my feet a few times, and he responded by spanking my thighs. “Every time you kick, you're getting spanked there,” he said. “I want those legs straight – understand?”
“Yes,” I murmured.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir!” I happen to like calling my tops “sir,” but in the heat of things, I sometimes forget how to speak properly. He seemed annoyed, and spanked me harder and faster. I sort of wanted him to get angry, to raise his voice. That tends to bring the scene from the physical into the emotional real quick for me. Sometimes the fear I feel makes it easier to process pain, too.
RD said he doesn't play while angry. I said it was okay to pretend that he was.
And he certainly felt angry when next he took off his belt. I got a painful taste of that, and then he moved on to a stiff leather strap. Very nasty. It was just a very solid impact and he had me crying out, yelping, quite a bit. I stayed down and took all he handed out. The thing actually felt like a paddle at times. During this part of the session, he did raise his voice a little, lecturing me about my irresponsibility, my inconsiderate behavior.
Everything he said was true, and I hated it. I've been trying for months to improve this particular habit. Still, I said I would work at it harder. I don't think he liked that "promise" -- but I don't know if I can change overnight.
“You know we are not finished here, Sandy,” he said. “I am going to make sure this lesson sinks in, and that you remember it.” I already would remember it. My ass was on fire from the strapping, and I was sobbing a little in points. “When you get back on the plane tonight, you are going to have a very uncomfortable time sitting, young lady.”
Then he sent me to the corner again, but this time he told me to kneel. (This was something my father used to use as punishment when I was a kid -- scary.)
When RD beckoned me back over, he was holding the cane. I had expected that. There were pillows piled on the bed for me to position myself over. He told me to keep my bottom up, and to stretch my arms out in front of me. I clutched the bedspread and buried my face in the pillow.
“You are going to take every bit of this caning, Sandy. You deserve it."
I did deserve it. And it was awful ... and wonderful. Not at the time, of course. At the time, it was just excruciating. I loved him pushing me, hurting me. I loved him telling me that my sobs were not going to get me out of it. He paid particular attention to my thighs, whipping the rattan down and leaving a series of red lines, some of which became welts. I had strokes all up and down. He knew where to aim to make it hurt. I'd guess there were around 200 strokes, all told.
I wanted to cry, to let loose with a real cry, but I could only sob a little. At last he stopped. "That's it, Sandy. We're done." He climbed onto the bed and suddenly he was holding me. I curled up into his arms and sobbed a little more, let my breathing gradually return to normal. Awesome. I felt ... cared for. I felt special.
What a trip. Hope I don't have to wait another whole year for round two...
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