Wednesday, May 1, 2013

Boston Strong

April 20, 2013. 6:00 am.

“Take everybody out of the bedroom,” he says.

I lift the two cats and our little dog out of the room. I close the bedroom door from the hallway side. I go to the kitchen to fill their separate bowls with breakfast. I refill their water bowls. I start the coffee. The ritual feels good. Today is the same as every day, I tell myself.  Last night the surviving bomber was captured. My home is still Boston. I'm 3,000 miles away, but it is still home. And we are all safe. In the back of my mind I know it isn‘t true. It doesn’t take an actual bomb to change absolutely everything. But it isn’t time to think about that right now. I return to the bedroom, ready and aching to be taken out of myself.

I re-enter the bedroom wearing only black cotton panties, my pajamas of choice. I hear the coffee pot start to percolate behind me as I close the door. I’ve been making the coffee too strong lately. The grocer was out of our normal breakfast blend and I’d had to purchase a darker bean. My husband is already sitting on the edge of the bed, his legs spread, his knee ready for me. I hope I’ve gotten the coffee-to-water ratio right this time, not because I’m afraid of not doing it right, but because I want so much to make it right for him. I know I’ve been a disaster lately. “Coffee’s cooking,” I say, hoping he catches the hint after my post-wake-up breakdown. I don’t want to go back to the images of disaster in my hometown . I want to play.

“Did you make it the way I like, young lady?” he asks.

“Of course, Sir,” I respond, falling into character, hoping I’m not lying.

“Not too strong, not too light?” he asks.

“Yes, Sir. Just the way you like it, Sir. I think I‘ve made it just right.”

He nods and pats his thigh. “That’s the way I’m going to spank you now. Not too strong, not too light. I’m going to spank you just right.”

I step towards him and straddle his thigh. This spreads my legs, leaving my bottom and thighs open to his administrations while my upper body rests on the bed, secure and stable. He sets his hand on my hip. “That’s my girl,” he whispers, and I realize he’s whispering to himself. I’ve been so caught up in my own worries, I hadn’t realized he needs this just as much as I do. “Please spank me, Sir,” I say. “I’m yours.”

The first smack is startling, if only because it’s early morning and my flesh has barely had time to wake up. He smacks the other cheek and I squeal. “Quietly,” he reminds me, because it’s Saturday and we haven’t heard the upstairs neighbors’ dog bounding about their apartment. If the dog isn’t up, they’re probably not up yet either.

“Don’t spank me so hard, then,” I reply, testing how much sauciness he feels like taking from me.

“Don’t make me spank you harder,” he says. Not much sauciness, I realize. This is to be intense, but connected. No characters after all. Just us.

A steady flurry of strokes comes next, bouncing from cheek to cheek, each one stinging but I maintain control of my voice. I don’t count, but after about twenty smacks he lets off and rubs my bottom while I breathe out a sigh of “Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch.”

“Good girl,” he says, still letting his hand circle my backside. “You’re doing so well. Are you ready for twice as many?”

“I think so.” I reposition myself, letting his knee fully rest between my legs so that he can feel the warmth of my body reacting to the spanking. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but you can pull my panties down. If you want. Sir.”

He yanks my panties to my thighs. “I was going to do that anyway,” he says. I look back over my shoulder and he looks towards me, both of us smiling. “Ready?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for my response.

He spanks me hard, but not too hard. Enough to draw a gasp out of me with each slap, but not enough to make me howl or squirm away. I don’t think about anything outside of the moment. I focus on the heat of his body close to me, the sting of each slap, the warmth spreading through my own body and the moisture growing between my thighs. If he keeps this up, I’m going to slide off his knee. I wiggle forward, trying to prevent the inevitable.

The spanking stops and he once again rubs my bottom in soft, circular strokes. I sigh beneath the touches. I want him, but I know it isn't time yet. After he rubs me for a few moments, he reaches under the blanket and pulls out a square leather paddle. He’d hidden it beneath the covers while I went to make coffee. “What else is under there?” I ask.

“Ssshhh,” he tells me. “I’ve got you.”

The phrase wilts me. It’s what we say to each other when the other is having a hard time, or not feeling well, or even completely falling apart. These past few months, I’ve been completely falling apart. “Tell me again?” I beg.

“I’ve got you,” he tells me, holding the leather paddle against my pink bottom. I nod.

As the leather paddle falls upon my warmed backside, I realize that instead of leaning away from it, I am thrusting back towards it, meeting it mid-stroke. He realizes it as well, and increases the speed and strength. Soon my body is rocking over his thigh as I would his cock, but the spanking overtakes me as no sex could. My face feels flushed; I am dizzy. I reach forward, grabbing blanket into my palms, clutching the fabric like reins and riding the pain.

“More,” I say, and he knows what I want. He slides his leg out from under me, pushing me up onto my knees on the bed. He grabs a pillow and shoves it under my hips. He slides the senior cane out from under the blanket.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his hand traveling over the warmest parts of my bottom, now throbbing with heat, pink and tender, but nowhere near where I need to be. I nod. “Don’t forget. This is for you. I’ve got you,” he tells me again. I know it’s not just for me, but instead I say the words he wants to hear:

“Cane me, Sir. Please, please, cane me.”

The cane is our everything. It’s our way to sex, to redemption, to escape. The cane is the physical representation of the electricity between us when everything is right. It’s the reconnection when we’ve disconnected and need to find each other again. More than anything else, I trust him with the cane. More than anything else, it’s the implement he uses when he needs to tell me he loves me.

This morning, it’s the way to show each other how much we need one another. I give myself to him. He trusts his strokes to me.

Six strokes, then another twelve. Another six of the best after that. This particular morning, it was not the strokes that were important. It was that he gave them to me, and that I took them. Willingly. Wontonly. And afterwards, my thighs parted and dripping, it was that he took me as if I were the only woman on earth. Perhaps, in that moment, I was.

When we finish, I am exhausted but exhilarated.. He asks me to lie still, and he takes photographs. In between shots, he strokes my stripes. He makes me feel beautiful. The world, in this moment, is not so terrifying after all. I am strong.

I am not afraid.


  1. Glad you connected. I would be seriously disconnect - the cane scares the hell out of me.

    1. I understand! Before I met Mr. W, I couldn't even read about canings in spanking stories. If the cane came out, I stopped reading. He is the only person who has caned me, and it began ten years ago, which definitely contributes to our comfort level now. Even now, we are still discovering parts of each other, how to please each other, and how to make this thing we do work. We share everything, and for us, that includes our fascination with the cane. But we use it together. He canes me to bring me my pleasure, and I let him know I want it, to bring him his. If it's not for you, that's definitely okay. There are so many fascinating aspects to spanking. Thank you for reading, even though I do come back to the cane fairly frequently. For us, it's the right implement, but never worry if it's not the right one for you. Only you know what you like, and what you want. It took me a long time to figure it out. If you know now what you want and what you don't, go with it. There is never anything wrong with being confident about your desires and your limits.


  2. Lovely reconnection and what a spanking! :)

    1. Thank you! We strive to connect whenever we can. It's been a pretty emotional 2013 so far, so these connections are very important to us, especially when I feel like I'm falling apart and don't know how to just be in the moment. We even have a phrase we use when we're out and about, to make sure we both have our phones on us and we're fully charged: "Don't get disconnected," we say to each other, just to make sure that we always have a way to reconnect. It may seem small, but it's important to us both to know that no matter what, whether we're shopping or in bed, we always have a way to find each other again.


  3. "You can pull my panties down. If you want. Sir.”

    That active bottoming going well for you then? :)

    Beautiful post. The cane is unique for creating that kind of scene where the struggle makes you stronger, in my experience. I'm really glad you got to reconnect like this, and it was lovely to read.

    Looking at those pictures - huh. Is Mr W a leftie?

    1. (Had to delete and correct, was missing a line in Mr. W's left-handed reply.)

      He is indeed a leftie! We are having our morning coffee right now, and I let him know that you could tell by looking at our pics. He replied:

      "Why are you smiling?"
      "Because I know something you don't know."
      "And what is that?"
      "I am not left handed!"

      But he is left-handed. :-) And quoting The Princess Bride. Because I am a lover of great poetry, my favorite line was always, "Anybody want a peanut?"

      And yes, the active bottoming is definitely going quite well. We have hit a completely new stride in our playtime, and it is fantastic.

  4. "I've got you."
    That is the sweetest thing.

    1. "I've got you," has got to be my favorite phrase in the universe. Even more than "I love you," it means that no matter what, I am in good hands. I just love it.


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