Sunday, February 19, 2017

A weekend without Eric

I miss you, my love

We chatted on the phone while I shopped for new toys
Ben Wa Balls - I decided on the Noir Lelo Luna Beads
So elegant, the packaging
Sleek black box with a satin bag to keep them in

I wore them down to the beach,
watched the waves crash up against the rocks
and wondered what they were supposed to be doing to me

My mind drifted back to my last spanking.
You had my wrists overhead on the closet shelf
And your hand held tight to your favorite strap
As you punished me for overdosing on caffeine and diet pills

Today, I need to study and keep my focus on school
It is you who fills my mind.

I tried to make myself cum with images of you in my head.
The Ben Wa Balls didn't do much,
a straight vibrator did a bit more.

Self discipline with a plastic hanger and a metal spatula,
a round with a leather belt.

Am I studying?
Obviously not.

I walk along the shore and imagine you finding me,
taking me home
and punishing me for misbehaving and procrastinating.
I read and write and do my homework with a red ass
and a half pout on the lips
that will kiss you at night
while you ride in and out
where the Ben Wa play.

Forget working, my love.
Come join me!


Saturday, February 11, 2017

Not a good day

My mother's husband had a heart attack today.

He's still alive so that is good news.

He's in the hospital two hours from her.

She's home alone waiting for word; unable to drive at night.

I'm thousands of miles from them and wishing I could be a better daughter right now.

Eric is away.

I haven't let him know.

Wednesday, February 8, 2017

A brutal spanking

Do you ever just need or want or crave a brutal spanking?

I'm trying to do so much.  School is back in session, work requirements are through the roof, Sara is Sara and living with us. I'm exercising and dieting, there are travel plans this year, financial strains and car issues.  It all builds up inside me.  I said yes to all of these things and am determined to reach my goals but internally, I'm losing ground and feel as though I am slipping down a muddy embankment. There is nothing to grasp, nothing to catch my fall. I desperately dog pile in hopes of latching onto something familiar and known.

This is where I become critical and mean.  I am cruel and not nice to the grown-up girl on the outside.  I tell her she's not that pretty, she's not that smart.  I remind her of failures from the past and the old mantra, "you are not lovable" begins to play over and over again. Not good enough. Not worthy. Not valued. I tell her she's spoiled, has no right to complain, is luckier than many and not nearly as deserving.

None of these statements are factual. Intellectually I know this but the child inside believes the voices of others who planted seeds at a vulnerable time.

Eric works steadily to erase the negative broken record of a lifetime I fight to leave behind.  He talks about how small and insignificant the rear view mirror is compared to the large windshield.  He tells me he loves me, would move Heaven and earth for me, and is my greatest cheerleader. On most days, I see the future as bright and worth working towards. On bad days, I see the future as a place of heartache and lost love; parents, friends, co-workers.

When the voices in my head worm their way into my day, I discover the side of me who is a bully.  I want Eric to find that mean girl and punish her intensely.  I want him to uncover her ugliness, destroy and replace it with the truly happy and positive me who is hiding inside.  The one who grows and thrives and believes in the beauty of life rather than fearing the sadness of loss.

I long for the whole experience.  I want to be threatened that discipline is coming and I want to become anxious in that period of anticipation.

I need to hear him lecture, firm and commanding in stance and in tone. "No girl of mine is going to be a bully. I'll set you straight..." and so on.

I crave being put into position for a brutal beating with his belt or the paddle through my jeans.  Slow and deliberate.  Each swat breaking out in beads of sweat down my spine. Each strike searing his words to my ass, a memory felt for a long time to come.

I want to be stripped and given corner time, put over his knee for another round with his hand, the strap, a hairbrush.  When I fight, I want him to clasp my wrist to my back and continue to spank until I give in and fall limply across his lap with tears releasing all that is bottled inside.

At that point, I want to forgive and be forgiven.  Battered and bruised I want to curl up in his arms and feel his strength bathe me in acceptance and understanding.  No more bully, no more mean girl. Just Amy and Eric, with a lifetime ahead of us.