And sometimes, I need for him to take care of me, when I’m striving too hard to take care of him. As per the last post, I was stressing myself out massively over the events this weekend, and more. I talked to him a bit about it after posting. And we both reminded me that, among other things I need to let go of attachment to a specific outcome, and everything being perfect. It isn’t a failure if other people don’t show up. We will make due.
So, the next night I took some time, Specifically, to Let Go. I sat down in my papasan of soft, and meditated and let go. This reduced my stress about the weekend, and I was able to let myself go with the flow. Things didn’t go perfectly, not everyone showed up, and it was Okay.
On top of that, he offered me a scene on Saturday. I knew he had a lot lined up, so I went into it with no expectations, and, as usual, he knew what I needed and far exceeded any expectations I could have had.
He started with a warm-up spanking of my ass, and then some nice rhythmic flogging. Into harder flogging and faster, building up my moans to groans to occasional screams. I had side thoughts of my body being unused to this, and mild concern my skin would not hold out terribly long. But it didn’t have to, after a song or two, he ran his fingers along my skin, making me shiver and moan. Then dragged me by the hair to the spanking bench.
Where we really got down to work. Hand spanking, foam bat, leather paddle, and a gods-be-damned hard plastic hot spoon. Spanking to the music, setting me into happy space. Foam bat was a nice transition, only becoming painful after a while. Leather paddle started the screams and writhing, as he used his free arm and chest to hold me to the bench. Then the spoon brought the tears, first of frustration, I knew he wasn’t actually hitting me that hard with it, but DAMN it stung. “Let it out.” I hear him say, and the tears did flow.
Crying and screaming and legs writhing as my body is pinned and the hits keep coming. Until we settle a little bit into some spanking again. Then he comes and checks in. Am I good or do I want more. I don’t think I managed to say anything, but he nodded, More.
And I’m screaming and crying harder than before. I hear someone comment they’ve never heard me make those sounds. It Has been quite a while… Sobbing into the bench. I hear them discuss how many big hits I should have to count. But I’m not there, yet. He continues to paddle and smack with the spoon, and spank with his bare hand until I’m able to make words again.
I’ve traveled through the catharsis fully now, and I try to count spoon strikes. He laughs, no, not that one. He picks up the paddle again, and I count. Up to Seventeen, I think, or was it Twenty. Screaming each number, but no longer crying. I have come through the pain, and cried out the stress, covering the spanking bench in my tears.
When I finish, he spanks me a little bit more, happy slaps on a very red ass. Then comes back to my head, where I thank him, so very much. And he counts me twice to orgasm to land me back in my body. Where I sit for a few moments before I’m able to stand and clean up, ready for the rest of the night.
