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!

Amy

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.

Monday, February 6, 2017

Still floating

After a week away, Eric came home and held me close on our bed. His lips, so passionate against mine, taking his time to kiss and cuddle as though there were not another care in the world.

Eventually we stood and Eric pulled my dress up over my head, telling me how pretty I am as his eyes scanned my body.  Bra and panties gone, I began to unbutton his pants; fingers searching, finding, grasping, stroking.

"Not yet," he said, backing away and leading me to the closet.  Sara was downstairs with the television on and our bed can squeak quite loudly so I felt certain he meant to avoid the noise of welcome home sex while tucked behind a second closed door.

Once inside, Eric took a scarf from the hook and covered my eyes, pinching my nipple and pecking my neck.  He left for just a moment and then returned, with the spanking chair and his favorite strap.

"You've been a very bad girl, Amy," he cooed in my ear.  His hands grabbed my ass and began to tap it softly as a lecture ensued.

"You drank five hour energies, took diet pills, pounded caffeine and sugar without saying a word to me for six weeks last quarter."

I nodded, truly ashamed of my go-to when stress and lack of sleep kick in.

"Should I leave you?" he asked and a lump grew in my throat in time with the tears in my eyes.

"No Sir," I said.  "Please don't leave me."

"Other men would," he commented.

"Other men have," I was clear.

"You are not with other men anymore," Eric stated, sitting and gesturing for me to lay across his lap.

The strap was harsh, no warm up and a sting against cold skin in a closet without heat.  When he finished, I was told to stand and place my hands above my head on the rack.  Again, the strap came down on my ass, then strayed to my thighs, then slapped hard across my back.

"You will not go down this road again," Eric commanded and I agreed, made promises and felt the power of his discipline wash over me.  I took the beating as best as I could, a long time since my last encounter with pain through leather.

Eric returned the chair and I dropped to my knees, eyes full of apologies as he rode in and out of my mouth.  I made him rock hard and he handed me the mouthwash so we could continue to kiss.

On the bed, Eric made sure I was listening to each and every word. "I fell in love with you Amy Lynn, as you are. Do not ever take diet pills or self medicate or change for me.  Do you understand?  I love you. Not some drug induced version of you. I will help you make changes if that's what you want, but we will do it in a healthy way."

Eric made love to me.  The kind of love that makes you catch your breath, his hand tightly clutching my wrist, my legs spread wide, my body drinking him all the way inside.

As he showers, I lie here with a bruised bottom and a healed heart.  My journey to be better and do better will continue without the fear or threat of being left by the man I love.  I am human and will make mistakes, but he's not the type to cut and run.

There is no greater feeling.

Still floating...

Amy

Sunday, February 5, 2017

Sara needs more than a spanking

Eric has been here but not here, all at the same time.  His January travel budget was drastically cut so his feet have stayed on the ground but work has been all consuming; his time, his conversation, his mind. I see him very little as we struggle to mesh calendars and fit the pieces of our lives together enough to have some quality time in each other's arms. February brings travel back and the strain of changing times reads heavily on his face.

For me, school is once again in session and my job is as demanding as usual.  I battle with my inability to keep to a schedule of healthy exercise, eating and sleep.  It affects my mood and my weight; and not necessarily in that order. Plans frequently slip out the window as deadlines approach, homework increases and drama ensues.

Sara is the drama in our home and my cousin from New Orleans.  She's young and impetuous with legs that won't quit, jet black hair with bangs, a sleek little bob hair style, and the reddest fire engine lipstick money can buy.  She wears short skirts and dresses that show off her cheeks if she ever bends to pick something up off the floor, with high high heels and two tone sun glasses framing her face. Her suitors come sniffing around, often in pairs, and she's not the least bit shy about making eyes and flirting with them all in the room.  She has no job and no source of income, yet she never seems to go without. We took her in after my family begged us to save her from a slippery slope in the land of Mardi Gras.  We were clear, "No alcohol, no drugs, back to school".  She's in her twenties and keeps to our rules but "No men" was not one of them.

It's been almost six weeks since Sara crashed at our house.  Quite frankly, it is nice to have someone around to walk the dog, have dinner with when my husband works late and bring life back into a place that used to bustle with children living full happy lives.  She's bright and fun with a classy look on the edge of call girl; in many ways, Sara is mesmerizing.

Eric and I had planned a weekend in the snow two weeks ago.  We left Sara to watch the house and care for the dog.  Half way to the slopes, the road was closed so we headed back late in the evening. I believe every light in the house was on when we returned.  It was practically glowing from a block away.  Eric and I couldn't park in the garage as our driveway was filled with multiple cars so he parked on the street and took my hand, leading me to the backyard where tall windows served as eyes to our living room.

Live porn.  That's the only way to describe it.  Right there on the floor near the sliding glass door. There were two men, Sara and another girl, naked and entangled with arms, legs, lips; every sexual crevice being either touched or tasted.  Four camera's angled around the group and mid-action, one of the men stopped everyone to change the height of a tri-pod.  We stood there; mouths open, eyes gawking, for an eternity.

I angrily reached for the door but Eric grabbed my wrist and pulled me back to the car.  We drove to a local hotel as I sputtered and downloaded every single thought as it crossed my mind.  "What the hell was that?  Who does she think she is?  In our home? Are you kidding me?" I went through it all and then turned on my husband. "Why are we leaving? Aren't you going to do something?!"

He laughed.  Eric actually laughed.

"Look at you," he said.  "That girl has got you by the tail and all spun up.  She's a grown woman and can make her own choices in life.  It's none of our business how she makes a living. I'll handle it."

The next day, we returned home to a clean house, a well fed dog and my cousin Sara.  She had laundry running, was taking an on-line class and there was even a chicken roasting in the oven.

"You're back early!" she exclaimed.  "I didn't expect you until tonight."

Eric grinned.

"The roads were closed," he said, eye brows rising on his forehead as he drilled his gaze directly through to her core.  "We came back last night."

Sara froze right there in her chair, a myriad of possibilities running through her mind.  It was obvious that he, that we, knew.

"Never again in my house," he stated after a pause long enough to choke a horse.

She went scarlet and looked down at the floor.

"You can stay but somebody deserves one hell of a spanking."

That was it.  Eric went upstairs and when a barrage of criticism began to spill from my lips, he placed his hand tightly over my mouth and pulled me into his chest.

"It's done." he said firmly.  "She won't do it again.  At least not here."

His grip lessened and I backed away, ready to spew another round of my opinion.

A scolding finger caught my sentences before they escaped.

"Another word and the spanking will be yours."

Time makes it less awkward, the unspoken tension between my cousin and me.

Eric took his stand and I have kept quiet. He has "handled it".

Sara's skirts are longer this week.

Amy