Step By Step

We slept very late this morning. As both He and I recover from the colds we've battled for the last week, it does seem that we have an almost insatiable need for sleep...

I woke some little bit before Him, and as often happens when I have time to just lie there and fret, I managed to work myself into a fairly gloomy head space. It comes out of an internal monologue that goes round and round in an elliptical orbit, basically revolving around a couple of points:

FIRST -- I fuss to myself that, no matter what happens, it is all going to lead to that darned paddle. Emotionally, if all roads lead to Rome, and you are not really interested in going to Rome, then the road begins to seem way less interesting.

THEN -- I yank myself up by my collar and explain to myself that it really doesn't matter what I want or like. It is slavery, dummy (that's what I call myself when I find myself having good slave/bad slave conversations in my head), and since it IS slavery, He doesn't have to care how I feel or what I want. Remember, dummy, this is supposed to be about making Him happy.

Then back to the first point, then on to the second, then first, then second... Repeat until the whole of life seems dull, gray, and entirely dismal.

By the time He woke up and was ready to play, I'd worn myself down to the hopeless, who gives a shit, place where it just really didn't make any difference to me one way or another. "It all ends up being about the paddle anyway," I told Him. "So, we might as well just start out there and skip all the other stuff... Grab the paddle, and I'll go get us set up." And I trudged off like Eyore on a particularly grumpy day.

Now, I am the slave, and He is the Master, and He really doesn't have to care how I feel, but He does care anyway. I think He gets a little baffled by the circuitous route that my thinking can take, and I know that He really doesn't get the difficulties and struggles that I seem to have with SM play. For Him it is all about spanking, and there is surely no dearth of material out here in Cyber space written by "bottoms" who just love spanking, so how is it that it seems so all fired complicated for me to just settle in and go with it? But, sometimes, He just shrugs and tries to figure out how to do things in a way that will make it "good for me, too."

That ended up being the path He took this morning. While I was getting myself all smashed into the crack in the sofa, where I could just hang on and wallow in the misery of it all, He was wandering around amongst the toys, gathering up a whole collection of implements that we don't use a lot of the time: the new wenge cane, and the dressage whip, and a couple of leather straps, and the rattan cane, and... yes, the paddle.

He started off with a really long, really intense, really good hand spanking, and some knife play, and I found myself following along with the sensations, and losing track of the continual mental bitch that was going on in my head. And then that wenge cane -- that lands with such a surprising slap. It is not nearly as intense as it looks like it would be, but it is out there... The contrast between that heaviness and the light, stingy, whippiness of the dressage whip was really stunning, and I found myself shivering and shaking and vibrating between sets of things -- just trying to process the energy that seemed to be surging through me.

Playing on the couch, keeps Him in contact with me in a way that isn't really possible when we play in the bed. I was acutely aware of His hand on my back, holding me in place, but also just steadying me and keeping me calm and focused and centered where He wanted me.

At some point, He took me through that litany of questions and responses that binds the two of us together:

"Whose are you?"

"Yours, Sir."

"And when?"

"Always, Sir."

"And how?"

"All ways, Sir."

I don't remember exactly how it all went... what came first and second and third. I remember grunting and whimpering and breathing and shaking. I remember pain... And then, suddenly, He was pushing His fingers into my pussy, pumping into and out of me as I writhed and groaned and howled. I was amazed and shocked and thrilled and excited and entirely lost, completely His. I came in a shattering, sputtering, growling, exhausting bodyquake of an orgasm.

Laying there, breathless and grateful and spent, I heard Him tell me it was time for the paddle, and there wasn't one shred of resistance or frustration or anger or denial in me. He paddled my already tender ass, and paddled and paddled and paddled. I hurt for Him and happily... and then He pulled me unsteadily to my feet and walked me back into the bedroom.

Later, as we talked about it, He was clearly baffled about what made it go so well this morning -- do different from other times. It is hard for me to find words about what works and doesn't work for me in session. It isn't something that seems to have a prescribed formula. Today though, I felt as though things progressed more slowly. The image in my head was of walking across a flowing stream on some well placed stepping stones. Step by step, I was able to follow His lead into the deeper waters without getting swept away in the flooding emotions of fear and anger that well up in me when I am overwhelmed at the beginning of a session. It really is true that, for me -- for us, spanking is akin to sex, and just as I am slower to "warm up" sexually, it takes me longer these days to get ready for intense spanking. But I am only slower. Clearly it is still possible for me to "get to it" with enough time. I can still follow the path and find my way across the river...

swan