From The Tarot of Casanova. Not quite 1660's, but lovely and evoking a certain innocence nonetheless.Back in 1660, the Restoration was a period of social and artistic renewal following the reestablishment of the British, Irish, and Scottish monarchies under the helm of Charles II. Theaters reopened, women took to the stage, painters rendered canvases with an unknown realism and subtlety. Civilization - in all its plagued and painful glory - was back in action.
Call me vainglorious, but my return to blogging has arisen from a Restoration in its own right: the restoration of my bottom to its pre-spanked condition. There was a time, many years ago, that the slightest bottom-smack stung with the fierceness of a sadistic wasp. I could barely stand a palm to my backside, nevermind the increasingly agonizing implements of my years with Mr. Williams. I yelped, I screamed, I howled, I bruised from a good ten slaps. I was a tabula rasa so easily turned rose that it often seemed like I had taken far more punishment than I'd actually received.
It seems, Dear Reader, those days have returned. I was lying belly-down on the bed the other day, playing a video game with Mr. W. I get a little feisty when I play, and probably made some smart-aleck comment that caused him to smack my denim-clad bottom. It hurt! Really hurt. Reach back and rub hurt. And it was only a playful slap on my jeans! He did the same thing a few more times, and the truth hit me along with his palm: it has been so long since we've played that I have regained my sensitivity. My nerve-endings, my bruisability, my fear of pain have all been restored.
So much for that year of working towards accepting myself as a masochist.
Now that I stop to consider, it must be at least six months since my last spanking. I must be an angel to have been that good!
No, that can't be it. I don't think there is one single reason. I was worn out with the Naughty Abby videos, so we took a break, then both our jobs changed, then both our lives changed, and now? Well, I'm blogging again, so the subject is at least on my mind. Maybe, having finally accepted it as a definite and unchangeable part of myself, I can more easily set it aside and focus on the parts of me that are not so clearly defined. Maybe I like the thought of it more than the act of it right now.
Every fantasy I have these days is of Mr. Williams coming home and deciding enough is enough, and off comes the belt or out comes the cane, and then... that's it. I don't need more than that right now. I don't want to be hurt, I don't want to be in pain. This, then, is my Restoration, though it sounds like more of a regression of sorts. Perhaps I just need to be coaxed back into it. Or maybe even just told to take it.
The true Restoration of Abby will be the day I can write that I, in all my plagued and painful glory, am back in action. And then maybe I'll show you a picture to prove it.
Call me vainglorious, but my return to blogging has arisen from a Restoration in its own right: the restoration of my bottom to its pre-spanked condition. There was a time, many years ago, that the slightest bottom-smack stung with the fierceness of a sadistic wasp. I could barely stand a palm to my backside, nevermind the increasingly agonizing implements of my years with Mr. Williams. I yelped, I screamed, I howled, I bruised from a good ten slaps. I was a tabula rasa so easily turned rose that it often seemed like I had taken far more punishment than I'd actually received.
It seems, Dear Reader, those days have returned. I was lying belly-down on the bed the other day, playing a video game with Mr. W. I get a little feisty when I play, and probably made some smart-aleck comment that caused him to smack my denim-clad bottom. It hurt! Really hurt. Reach back and rub hurt. And it was only a playful slap on my jeans! He did the same thing a few more times, and the truth hit me along with his palm: it has been so long since we've played that I have regained my sensitivity. My nerve-endings, my bruisability, my fear of pain have all been restored.
So much for that year of working towards accepting myself as a masochist.
Now that I stop to consider, it must be at least six months since my last spanking. I must be an angel to have been that good!
No, that can't be it. I don't think there is one single reason. I was worn out with the Naughty Abby videos, so we took a break, then both our jobs changed, then both our lives changed, and now? Well, I'm blogging again, so the subject is at least on my mind. Maybe, having finally accepted it as a definite and unchangeable part of myself, I can more easily set it aside and focus on the parts of me that are not so clearly defined. Maybe I like the thought of it more than the act of it right now.
Every fantasy I have these days is of Mr. Williams coming home and deciding enough is enough, and off comes the belt or out comes the cane, and then... that's it. I don't need more than that right now. I don't want to be hurt, I don't want to be in pain. This, then, is my Restoration, though it sounds like more of a regression of sorts. Perhaps I just need to be coaxed back into it. Or maybe even just told to take it.
The true Restoration of Abby will be the day I can write that I, in all my plagued and painful glory, am back in action. And then maybe I'll show you a picture to prove it.
