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?)
Friday, November 27, 2009
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...
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
“I was born to do this”
I have been trying to find time to write a blog since getting back from California on Monday morning. Taking the red-eye Sunday night and then going right to work left me exhausted. I've had about five or six starts and stops on the writing, most of which ended with my nodding out.
The weekend in Southern California was beyond my expectations, and the highlight was finally getting to play with Real_Discipline (RD) after about a year of bantering back and forth. I didn't think we'd get to meet this soon, so I was happy to get the opportunity.
My curiosity had been piqued after Erica Scott played with him and shared her experiences on her blog. (I'll link to this later).
Since I've been toying with the idea of a “Corporal Consultant World Tour 2010,” I decided to do the first leg early, November 2009, in Los Angeles. My three-day weekend was filled with promoting my consulting business, seeing friends old and new, visiting a BDSM club, going to a spanking party on Sunday afternoon -- AND getting spanked by RD on Sunday morning.
During the day on Saturday, and Sunday morning before he got to the hotel, RD was sending me light-hearted but ominous text messages. "Too late for excuses now. Tomorrow you're going to experience Real Discipline" ... "You will be taken to places you've only fantasized about."
When I confessed to a little nervousness, he responded, "Just relax--I'll take the lead and we'll dance with true adult discipline ... this will be something special you and I will never forget."
Wow. And in one of his texts on Sunday morning, he said, “I was born to do this.“ I liked that. I've always found a little bit of cockiness appealing in a man, even more so in a top.
I'm nervous every time I play with a new partner, especially a hard player, as RD was reported to be. But real fear doesn't tend to kick in until we've actually started to play and I suddenly understand just what I've signed up for. And on Sunday morning, RD definitely took charge.
He was very calm, but firm. I had confessed to a real offense and had accepted that I was going to be spanked for that. RD said my "crime" was a major annoyance of his and he felt quite justified with punishing me.
To be continued...
The weekend in Southern California was beyond my expectations, and the highlight was finally getting to play with Real_Discipline (RD) after about a year of bantering back and forth. I didn't think we'd get to meet this soon, so I was happy to get the opportunity.
My curiosity had been piqued after Erica Scott played with him and shared her experiences on her blog. (I'll link to this later).
Since I've been toying with the idea of a “Corporal Consultant World Tour 2010,” I decided to do the first leg early, November 2009, in Los Angeles. My three-day weekend was filled with promoting my consulting business, seeing friends old and new, visiting a BDSM club, going to a spanking party on Sunday afternoon -- AND getting spanked by RD on Sunday morning.
During the day on Saturday, and Sunday morning before he got to the hotel, RD was sending me light-hearted but ominous text messages. "Too late for excuses now. Tomorrow you're going to experience Real Discipline" ... "You will be taken to places you've only fantasized about."
When I confessed to a little nervousness, he responded, "Just relax--I'll take the lead and we'll dance with true adult discipline ... this will be something special you and I will never forget."
Wow. And in one of his texts on Sunday morning, he said, “I was born to do this.“ I liked that. I've always found a little bit of cockiness appealing in a man, even more so in a top.
I'm nervous every time I play with a new partner, especially a hard player, as RD was reported to be. But real fear doesn't tend to kick in until we've actually started to play and I suddenly understand just what I've signed up for. And on Sunday morning, RD definitely took charge.
He was very calm, but firm. I had confessed to a real offense and had accepted that I was going to be spanked for that. RD said my "crime" was a major annoyance of his and he felt quite justified with punishing me.
To be continued...
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