He Came and Got Me

I've said it before, more than once, that one of the very most difficult things about the whip is the distance that is necessary for its use. There is no way for Him to whip me and touch me simultaneously. I go through whippings apart from Him. And that is a terribly frightening prospect for me, because He is my absolute source of strength and energy in session. I can do almost anything if I have Him to anchor to. Alone -- I'm not nearly as strong.



I was sick with the flu for most of last week. Beginning last Tuesday, I battled with viral symptoms including fever, aches, weakness, and intestinal upset. It was not been pretty -- or much fun for any of us. Then, Saturday in the middle of the day, it was as if someone had flipped a switch and I was well! I was hungry and energetic and good again. I was ready to play and make love. He, of course, was tired. So we napped.



We napped and looked at TV and napped some more -- until late. Very late. Past midnight, when our hapless Reds finally won a game, and the mood here was celebratory. Knowing that we had to get going on Sunday morning for a brunch date with Grandpa, I'd set the alarm for 8:15 and explained to my Dear Sir that there was no way we were sleeping in "too" late. Laughing, we toddled off to bed, ready to play a bit before sleeping, and so I got a late night spanking and caning, and we drifted off wrapped in each others' arms.



Sunday morning, we were awake before the alarm, and ready to play in earnest. Over the pillow I went, and He went to "work," with a couple different straps and then a lengthy, rapid-fire paddling that built to a crescendo, and left me gasping. Still, I was doing OK... working with it, and breathing, and staying in the warm and positive regions -- avoiding the dark edges where I slip over into hate and rage.



Then, He went for the whip -- the new whip. I saw Him move toward it and began to "chant" to myself in my head: "I love You, Sir... I love You, Sir ... I love You, Sir..." That little mantra tends to do several things for me: it keeps me focused on Him and my connection to Him, it helps me remember to breathe rather than holding my breath, it puts a sound in my head that keeps the roaring rages at bay. There is a "heartbeat" feel to that "I love You, Sir" repeated over and over that just works for me most of the time.



I felt the strokes begin to fall, and I kept chanting, and chanting, and chanting. I was so intent on doing what He wanted me to do -- determined to not disappoint.



And then...



I was plastered into the corner of the bedroom, clutching my "fluffy" blanket, shrieking -- and He had me wrapped in His arms, holding me and speaking calm, soothing words into my face. I had no idea how I got where I was; had no recollection of ever moving from my accustomed spot. All I know is that, whatever happened; however I got there, He came and got me. From across the room, from the other side of the bed, from the other end of that whip -- He came and got me. He held me and rocked me and murmered soft sounds until I was breathing more reasonably. He assured me that I was fine and wonderful and fabulous -- told me He was proud of me. We eventually came together and made soft, sweet love.



In the end, we were completely in touch, completely at peace, and I knew the one thing that I will remember always -- He came and got me.



swan