Monday, August 29, 2016


Our birth, the moment we enter this world, is the time we step on a path that is unique to us.

We are not alone.

At the very least, our mother is there, but she is on a path next to ours. It is one that is unique to her.

Imagine, every single person on earth, standing at a particular point in time, on their path. It is one that stretches behind them and in front of them, the very beginning of life to the very end.

Paths cross, but they are never one in the same.  Each individual is alone on a path. Alone but not necessarily lonely.

My children were born and for years, our paths rode side-by-side. As they grew older, their paths led them away from me, then back and then away again. Time gave them the space and confidence to push forward as they matured, while time dictated my need to be near and then far.

Eric and I have been so close, that our paths bump and collide with each other.  We have also been far enough apart that neither path is aware of the other. It is the choices we make that are the ones that bring our paths in and out of view of each other. Sometimes, those choices are made for us.

There are moments on my path where I am overwhelmed with sadness or even anxiety at the idea of being away from my children or Eric.  It is too much to feel how truly lonely my life is without them. Yet, even when we are together, my path is one that is unique to me. They are alone on their paths and I am alone on mine.

Lately, I've been doing my best to enjoy the path of my life by picturing the people I love as vista points along the road I have set to go down.  There is solace in the idea that while we are apart, they continue down their paths as if on a fabulous adventure that we can share when we happen to meet up again.

I look ahead for that next vista point, while learning to savor the scents and sounds of the place on the path where I am right now.

It's 1 o'clock in the morning and I'm awake, in our bed, wondering what this path has in store for me.


Wednesday, August 24, 2016

House maid gets spanked multiple times

“What are you doing?” Eric asked, his voice crackling through the hollowed echo of a hands-free microphone.

“Just driving home from class,” Amy said drearily. Summer had slipped away and school was back in session.

Thursday night had finally come to an end and she was wiped out.  Work, school, the house… she was on her own as he was gone for months at a time; struggling to pave the way for a better life.  He would be back but not anytime soon and they both longed desperately to be in each other’s arms; to melt away the exhaustion of doing too much, the stress of being alone, the pain of being apart.

“Are you still keeping up with everything?” he inquired.  “Work, school, house… you got it all under control?”

She bit her lip and tried to avoid the question.  He certainly had enough on his plate and didn’t need to know she was slowly but surely losing all sense of balance. 

“Amy Lynn?” he asked, breaking her train of thought. “Are you there?”

“Oh. Yes!” she remarked. “It’s all good.  I got this.  You know I do.  Everything is ship shape.”

The lights on the freeway blurred and the rhythm under the tires, riding low on cracked pavement, rocked her in the driver’s seat.  The nightly 45 minute drive was mundane and routine after two years of classes. Frequently she’d be pulling into her garage not remembering anything between the freeway and the exit, not to mention the winding side streets to their home. 

Eyes half open, brain half functioning, Amy finally turned down their block and pulled up to the house.  Suddenly, her foot hit the brake and she lurched forward, two lights shining on his car in the driveway.  Eric was back.

The surge of butterflies flapping excitedly in her stomach catapulted her from the car and she raced toward the door, flung it open and ran into the house. 

“You’re here!!!!” she yelled, spying his silhouette in the partially lit kitchen.  Eric stood tall and handsome, bright blue eyes, smile glowing and strong arms reaching out to her.  She leaped into his grasp, wrapped her legs around his middle, arms around his neck and lips all over his mouth, his cheeks, his face. Grinning, he stepped back against the center island and allowed her to embrace his entire being with every ounce of strength she could muster.  It had been way too long.  They held on, breathing in each other’s scent, tasting of each other's tongue, and touching all over each other's body.

“I thought I’d surprise you,” Eric said between kisses.  “I didn’t even wait for my suitcase to come off the ramp.  I just jumped in the car and drove until I got here.  I couldn’t wait to be home.”

Happiness flowed over Amy – his voice filling her ears, his hands feeling her body and her eyes slowing scanning his face, his lips, his shoulders, the counter, the floor, the room and then, in horror, the dishes piled high in the sink, her laundry all over the couch in the living room and the stack of school books dripping down the stairs. Her mind raced.  Her body tensed.  Slowly, she released her grip around his middle and put her feet back on the floor.  The change in her physical aura, her passion, her focus, was clear.

Eric stopped, gently grasping her face in his hands and asked, “Are you not happy to see me?”

Amy swallowed and her lower lip began to quiver as her eyes weld up with tears.  “I didn’t clean the house,” she spat out.  “I told you I have everything under control but I'm an M-E-S-S when you're away.  I think I lied to you… by accident for real!”

Eric's face relaxed and he couldn’t help but laugh at the childlike reaction to her epiphany.

“Well, young lady,” he stated as matter-of-fact as he could, “that you did and we will address this tomorrow,” he added, turning her toward the door and swatting her behind in a playful warning.  “But for now, I just want to hold you all night.”

They climbed the stairs and after tossing a hundred pillows off the bed, crawled between the sheets and made love until they couldn't stay awake a moment longer.

Morning came, pasty and white, like a dream weaving in and out of her mind.  Had Eric really come back?  Was he really there?  Amy's foot moved across the sheets in search of his warmth but found nothing but a wad of comforter, a couple of pillows, and an old sock.  It had seemed so real.  She rolled to her side and blinked away hours of sleep.  She squinted toward a clock that read 1:22 pm.

“Good morning, Sweet Pea,” his sexy voice rang from the doorway.  “Or should I say, good afternoon?”

There he was; bright and tanned, smiling and happy- that amazing man who kept her glowing and alive with his playful creativity and supportive attitude.  Nobody had ever loved her for who she was the way he did. Relief and excitement rang over her and she held out her hands, beckoning him back to bed.

“No way, Amy Lynn,” his tone stern and solid.  “Apparently, we have an issue to discuss from last night. Do you recall?”

Her face went scarlet and the heat of the moment swept over her body.  She gulped past her nerves and sat up, quickly concocting a list of excuses for the “little white lie” and state of disarray in the house.

“I promised to keep you on track,” Eric said, voice strong and unwavering.  “We agreed that I would keep you accountable and this house was part of that commitment. I've let you down by being away but now I'm home and we are gong to take care of business beginning now.” 

Again, her face deepened with a red flush as he scolded and chastised her.  Her heart began to race and her palms began to sweat as the moisture between her legs slowly started to build.  He epitomized safety and that security that only comes with a partner completely trusted and caring.  Her vulnerability rose as her breathing became shallow.

“Am I in trouble?” she asked, small girl voice and a modest pout crossing her pale pink lips.

“Oh yes,” came the quick reply.  “So, this is how it’s going to go.  YOU are going to get your sleepy self out of bed and put this on.” 

With that, he laid at her feet a French Maid outfit, complete with black mini skirt, white apron, collared shirt and feather duster. 

“You’ll then go from room to room and clean as quickly and completely as you possibly can; while I time your progress.  Once I assess and approve the job, you will receive a spanking equal to the number of minutes you took to clean the room- with an implement of your choosing from that room.  Then, we’ll move onto the next, and the next, until the entire house is clean.” 

He paused to give her a moment to let the game sink in. 

“Wear the outfit, every room. Clean, every room. Spanking, every room. How many rooms are in this house?” she wondered, suddenly unable to remember what her own home looked like.

“Well?” he demanded, that adorable evil glint in his eye. 

Unable to find her voice, she merely nodded and reached for the clothes.  Skipping past him, she stepped back to plant a quick kiss on his cheek, when the sharp smack of his palm across her bottom filled the room.

“No time for kisses, Sweetie,” he teased.  “The clock starts now.”

Seven minutes later, his naughty girl emerged from the bathroom dressed for day.  Her toe nails were painted red and peeked out from bare feet. Long muscular legs, silky smooth and lightly tanned stretched out beneath the frilly black skirt; white apron pressed flat and tied in a bow around her waist.  The collared shirt, also perfectly pressed, revealed a sprinkling of freckles between her breasts and she held the purple feather duster in her right hand.

“There aren’t any panties,” she said, noticing he had moved from the doorway to the black spanking chair they had in front of the bedroom window.

“I’m aware of that,” he said, still not breaking character with an all-business aura about him.  “It took you seven minutes to get dressed,” he stated, tapping his lap and motioning for her to move closer.  “We can use that number to discuss your lying to me about everything being ship shape last night.”

A wave of anticipation, fear and excitement rolled from the tips of her toes all the way to the top of her head.  She flushed.  She wavered.  She stalled.  Their eyes locked and the air in the room dared not move.  A tiny bead of sweat formed on her neck and rolled down her spine as she found herself kneeling before him, head down, eyes pleading upward, apologetic and full of remorse. 

“I’m sorry I lied,” she whispered and he swept her up, across his knee, hand on the small of her back as he slowly raised the skirt above her cheeks.

“Count,” he commanded, and the first slap came down swift and hard across her left side.

“One!” she squealed, shocked at the force he displayed as her body fell forward and her hands landed in front, catching the floor.

“Two, three, four….seven”

She was suddenly turned back on her knees, his hand grasping her hair, pulling her face to his,lips pressed on lips, mouths dancing, breathing enhanced and his searing hand print lying red across her cheeks. 

She reached for an embrace but he pushed her back and grinning, waved a scolding finger at her face. 

“You’ve got a house to clean,” he warned, pulling her away from him and pointing her in the direction of the kitchen.  “The clock starts now.”

The sink was atrocious and she truly wondered if there was a clean dish anywhere in the place.  Plates clattered, glasses clinked, water sprayed and soap lathered.  He stood by, watching her scramble, enjoying her features; the blue of her eyes, the blonde streaks in her hair, the pink hue in her face.  He grabbed a can of Lemon Pledge and went to work on the table, chairs and bar stools.  She wiped down the counters, dumped the trash and swept the floor.  One quick swipe down the refrigerator door and she turned with a flourish announcing its completeness.

“Twelve minutes.  Choose your weapon.” He couldn’t help but grin when he said it. 

She swallowed and biting her lower lip, revealed a flat wooden cheese board that rested comfortably next to the refrigerator.  He motioned for her to come around the center island and taking the handle, bent her over a bar stool, again raising her skirt and exposing two white cheeks.  One swat to the left side and a red outline formed.

“It doesn’t look like you’ve cleaned this kitchen in a week,” he said landing another smack in exactly the same spot.  “Afraid you’re going to feel this one for awhile.”  He paused for nothing, rained all twelve on her left side and perfected a quick flick of the wrist that sent stinging chills of heat throughout her body.  He could feel the sweat beading up on her back again and the intense reaction caused his pants to bulge.  Placing the paddle on the counter, he undid his zipper, and grabbing her hips, centered them before him.  Then he pressed a cool hand onto her burning flesh and pushed his burning cock into her melting juices.  Deep, straight and long; Eric sent shivers down her spine and causing her to cry out in intense pleasure.  Three deep thrusts and he pulled back, helping her to an upright position.

“The clock starts now,” he said, nodding toward the living room.

Dazed and reeling, Amy stumbled into the room and stood for a moment, getting her bearings and clutching the couch for support.  Finally, it registered.  Laundry, everywhere.  She raced to the garage and grabbed a handful of hangers.  Back in the living room; folding, hanging, matching socks.  Every time she bent down to grab another article of clothing, he caught a glimpse… a curve, a color, a patch.  He pulsed and throbbed, ached to have her, entirely, crazy with excitement over the curly brown tuft that had manifested while he was away.  The build-up became unbearable enough that he slipped into the bathroom and cleaned everything to quiet his body and focus his mind.  When he returned to the living room, she had just stuck the last pair of socks in the basket was hurriedly vacuuming neat straight lines across the carpet.

“Nine minutes,” he said, holding out his hand.  She scanned the room.  A CD case, a small book, a perch from the bird cage.  Inhaling deeply, she walked to the stack of hanging clothes and pulled a pink plastic hanger from one of the shirts.  Handing him the implement, she placed herself over the back of the couch and raised her skirt, secretly praying he would grant some relief to her left side and focus on the right for a change.

“Good girl,” Eric stated, sending an unbelievably sharp sting across her entire buttocks.

“Ouch,” Amy yelped and stood, grasping her scalding cheeks. Suddenly, there were both laughing at the broken hanger dangling in his grasp.

“Should have gone for the CD case,” he commented, pushing her back over the couch and carrying out the remaining eight with his hand in quick succession.

Again, hair entangled in his fingers, Eric pulled Amy from the couch, past the vacuum and down on the carpet.  Her heart was racing, breath labored as he wedged himself between her legs, towering over her body.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he growled and grabbing at her shirt, ripped it open, popping one button after the other and revealing her heaving breasts.  His mouth on her nipple, sucking hard and deep, his hips grinding into her pelvis, they moved in unison and allowed the passion between them to rise.

“I want you so badly,” Amy said grabbing his hair and pulling him towards her face.  “Please. Please.  I want you now.”

Their eyes and their breath met and mingled in the space between their faces.

“One more room, darling,” Eric stated, pulling her to her feet and planting a wonderfully slow and solid kiss on her mouth.  “I’ll put the vacuum and the clothes away.  You hit the bedroom. The clock starts now.”   

Ass on fire, butter between her legs, heart pounding… she found herself racing to the bedroom.  Books in the backpack, clothes in the hamper, bed made – he was not satisfied.  Vacuumed, counters wiped down in the bathroom, make-up put away – still just shook his head.  Windows cleaned, dresser straightened – another “no”.  She stood at a loss.  Everything was put away.  Everything was done. 

“Seriously, did you forget something?” Eric asked, winking with a devilish sparkle in his eye.

“No,” Amy cried.  “I did everything.  I made the bed.  I vacuumed.  I cleaned the windows and I put everything away.  I even…” suddenly a huge grin crossed her face and she ran downstairs where she had left the feather duster on the kitchen table.  She burst into the room and flitted from vanity to dresser. 

“And I dusted!!” she exclaimed.

Eric shook his head, grinned from ear to ear and said, “What the heck did you do to your shirt?”

Amy turned to the mirror and saw the fancy collared shirt that had been so perfectly pressed, hanging button-less, her breasts only partially hidden by the floppy material and her belly ring shining just above her waistline. 

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this,” Eric said, gently walking her to the bed and pulling two soft pink satin ribbons from his pocket.  Carefully, he placed her on her knees facing away from him, removed the tattered shirt and tied her wrists to the headboard.  Tucking a number of white fluffy pillows under her torso, he untied the white apron and released the black mini skirt from her hips.  A battle field of welts and redness streaked across her cheeks and he gently outlined each mark with his fingers while kissing her hips and back.  Taking a moment to check the ties on her wrists, he kissed her lips while removing his clothes.  Gathering his favorite strap from the closet, he also retrieved the pink rabbit and a bottle of baby oil.  The radio played softly in the background and Eric first massaged her behind with the baby oil, comforting on her wounds from earlier discipline.

'You are getting 15 swats," Eric announced, the strap high overhead and sticking slightly in the oil before pulling away and crashing down for the next strike.

Amy cried out, the pain and passion mingling in intensity, until Eric put down the weapon and inserted the vibrating toy.  Massaging her clit with his fingers, he waited until she started to moan and then, releasing one of her hands, allowed her to hold the toy while he used both hands to spread her cheeks wide and place his tip, bareback, inch by inch deeper inside her.

“You were a very bad girl, not keeping up with your housework and then lying to me about it,” Eric scolded, pressing further into her hips and gliding back and forth as her body released to him. “I don’t ever want you to lie to me again,” he growled, pulling the back of her hair right at the base of her neck and increasing his speed as he rode deeper and faster within her.

“I’m so sorry,” Amy panted.  “I’m… I’m… I’m going to cum!”

“Not yet,” he commanded.  “Not until I say you can.”

Eric slapped her left side one quick time and pressed faster and harder, harder and faster, until her whole body began to shake and a loud carnal yell began to form in her throat.

“NOW!” he yelled.

Amy released until Eric pulsed and pumped every bit of cum, time, frustration and desire they had been holding onto for each other from his body into hers. Exhausted and content, they let the world revolve without them without a care. Nothing mattered beyond that moment.

*Yes, too good to be true. I do start classes again tomorrow and would LOVE for this to be a reality but it's just a fantasy. October 27. Still waiting.


Tuesday, August 23, 2016

Non-stop to tears

The day was so busy, Eric barely crossed my mind.

Only once, when I thought, "I've got this. No problem."

It was like he never existed.

I dealt with everything and everyone we ever encounter together, on my own.

I came home to rushed dinner, chores, work duties lasting into the wee hours.

Neither of us reached out.

Both slammed.


I went to bed exhausted but fine... woke up sobbing in the middle of the night.

I do not enjoy this life without him.


Sunday, August 21, 2016

A hired hand - anyone been down that road?

Hermione was talking about DD relationships during her Spanko brunch. Eric and I had played around with the idea of it but have found our spanking relationship has blossomed into a variety of different types of play/discipline/reset while keeping our 51%/49% intact.

I absolutely value the fact that my husband is open to me doing anything and everything I'd like to do, as long as I am safe and smart about it. What he cannot stand, is when I find myself down a path of doing what everyone else wants me to do. This is especially true when I've got my own ideas as to what would be best for me but put them on hold to take care of the rest of the world.

Classes start again this week. My house is a downright mess. I've been driving upwards of 400 to 600 miles every weekend and I am dead dog tired a lot. Eric is gone and that's hard on both of us. I promised myself, thus promising him, that I would spend some time at home the next few weekends so I would not pile on, crash and burn, overload and tank myself before the semester even started.

Friday, the plan was to leave work at noon and spend one night away, return by 5 p.m. on Saturday and get ready for the week on Sunday.

"You are a very bad girl, Amy," was the stern response on the phone when I spelled out how the weekend had actually gone.

Trust me, when we are apart and I hear that tone on the phone, it is music to my ears. Eric's statement is usually followed by 30 to 60 minutes of a verbal scenario starting with my arm being guided upstairs, clothes unzipped and thrown to the side, me over his knee,  implements out, bottom spanked, nose to the corner; all of this followed by a plethora of delicious sexual acts. Ah.... I digress.

The fact is, I left late Friday, spent one night and left late again Saturday, arriving just in time to hit the nail salon where I ran into an old friend, went to her house for dinner, started a Netflix series that turned out to be scary as hell (and I don't do scary), watched the entire thing (8 episodes) and then was too frightened to go home at 3:30 a.m. so stayed all night, woke up at 8 when called into work, overtired and cranky left the office three hours later so stopped for a doughnut and got a massage on the way home where I now sit in the late afternoon, blogging rather than handling a single thing on my list. Come on ladies, we've all been there.

The lecture began. It was a lovely array of reminders, scolds, threats, and promises. I found myself excited and wet. Then, the unthinkable.

"You know what, Amy Lynn, I don't think this can wait until I get back at the end of October. It might be time to find a hired hand to get you straightened out."

I laughed.

He wasn't laughing.

I guffawed.

He didn't do that either.

Following this blog, I will get my act together and the next three weeks will be mapped out, laundry in motion, dishes done and groceries put away. There is no chance, if I have anything to do with it, that I am risking our next phone call being anything like the last one.  I don't know how serious he was, but not something I feel like risking. I did promise to ask if any of you have ever had or been a hired hand. Consider this "the ask".

Eric and I talk about going to the Citadel or some place where someone else would spank me in front of him at his direction but when he's not even in the country?! Wouldn't that be like being sent to the principal's office to be paddled forty years ago?

Eric! Corporal punishment was outlawed way back then!!!



Eric has been talking to me about the thoughts and feelings he has nestled deep within his heart.

That is the positive side of being forced to be apart; connections must be made in other ways.

I no longer fear where he stands when it comes to me. Perhaps that was all made up in my head.

I want to go camping to all of the places he loved as a child and have him tell me his favorite stories.

Then I want to create some stories of our own.

I want to travel to all of his favorite destinations and have him show me the world according to Eric.

Then I want to create the world according to us.

I want to finish what we've started here and begin again, away from it all, on a beach with an unlimited quantity of possibilities rolled out in front of us.

We both wanted to go cherry picking this spring but time got away from us.

When Eric gets home, I think we need to cherry pick our future,

so we know where we are going,

and can take the steps,

to get there.

Then I want to thrive, together, on a path that is uniquely our own.

Those of you who have already gotten there, make today magical.

Thursday, August 11, 2016

Waiting for the paper

The newspaper comes at 3 and today there is an article about my boss.

I'm at home, waiting for it to arrive.

I go in our room.

The spanking chair sits vacant, but memories of me over your lap fill my brain.

You undress me, slowly, seductively.

You sit and pat your knee, "Come on Amy, you know what to do."

I collapse, safely nestled between your arms and legs as you start to rub and tap at my cheeks.

"Why are you getting spanked?" You will ask.

"What do we need to change today?" You will inquire.

"Talk to me." You will insist.

I look at the floor, hold on tight to the chair leg, and wait.

The spanks will ensue and grow in intensity.

I'll wiggle and squirm, answer what I can.

Your strap will start making an impression and I'll kick in the air.

"Legs down, young lady." You will be stern.

I'll move back into position but the next strike will be harder and followed by many quick swats.

My hand will reach back to cover my ass,
but you'll grab it tightly and keeping it against my back,
continue to punish me.

I'm waiting for the paper, on the chair you wait to spank me from.

I miss you.


Wednesday, August 10, 2016

Worst Cook Ever - can ya help a girl out?

I admit it, I've never been much of a cook.

I find it boring.

It does nothing for me.

Eric, on the other hand, is a master chef.

He can work wonders in the kitchen or on the bbq.

Most nights, when we eat at home, he does the cooking while I
hang out on the counter top chatting, flirting and toying with him.

The kitchen is a great place for foreplay - not to mention all of the wonderful
spanking tools that are readily on hand.

Anyway, it's not fair that Eric has to do all of the cooking so I decided as one of
my things to do while he's gone, I would learn to make some things to help out
when he returns.

Tonight I chose Chicken Ravioli with a red sauce.  All I had to do
was boil water, put the pasta in for seven minutes, strain, cover with sauce and eat.

Eric called while I was cooking.  We talked for twenty minutes. I thought nothing of the
pasta and when I looked in the pot, most of the ravioli had split open and the stuffing
was floating on top.

No biggie.  I strained it and continued talking.

Another twenty minutes (a heavenly conversation, I might add) and the ravioli had gone cold.
I dumped the  pieces that managed to stay together on a plate, threw some pasta
sauce from a jar over top and microwaved it for 2.5 minutes.

Eric and I continued to talk for ten minutes after that so I zapped my dinner 45 additional seconds before sitting down to eat.

Chewy, like leather, on the outside and mushy and gross on the inside.  Sigh.  I ate it anyway.  Yuck.

Ladies, I have read your blogs and know you are far more talented than I.  Do any of you have
some REALLY REALLY easy to make recipes that I could surprise Eric with... without killing either of us?  Send me your favorite; simple healthy best.  PLEASE. :)


Monday, August 8, 2016

44 Questions - you've seen it many places

44 questions

1. Do you like blue cheese?
Not on a salad but love it on a burger.

2. Have you ever smoked?
Bad girl, Amy - a pack of menthol cigarettes when I was in high school.

3. Do you own a gun? 
No way... Eric has a smoking gun between his legs. Whoah! Sailor mouth.

4. What is your favorite ice cream flavor? 
Frozen yogurt vanilla with fruit and gummy candy.

5. Do you get nervous before Doctor visits?
Only when the word "cancer" is in play.

6. What do you think of hot dogs?
Better with a bun, maybe some chili, a dab of mustard.

7. Favorite Movies?
9.5 Weeks - got me on a path I enjoy exploring

8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning?
Semen (sorry, missing my husband). Water with lemon.

9. Do you do push ups?
Push up bras.

10. What’s your favorite piece of jewelry?
My new bracelet. 

11. Favorite hobby? 
Blogging and fantasizing about new things to try with Eric.

12. Do you have A.D.D.?
No but I do hate to sit still.

13. What’s the one thing you dislike about yourself?

14. What is your middle name?

15. Name three thoughts at this moment.. 
I need a spanking. I miss Eric.  There is a brand new unopened bondage rope in my closet.

16. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink?
Water, green juice, beet juice.

17. Current worry? 
I'm going to let Eric down.

18. Current annoyance right now? 
Eric is far away.

19. Favorite place to be? 
Eric's arms.

20. How do you ring in the new year?
Goals and a plan to stick to.

21. Where would you like to go?

22. Name three people who will complete this?
Me and hopefully Abby and Willie

23. Do you own slippers? 
Not a one. Don't like shoes, sure as hell don't like slippers.

24. What color shirt are you wearing right now?
White soft cotton undershirt. Yes, it's his.

25. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets?
Never tried it.

26. Can you whistle?

27. What are your favorite color?
Black and pink

28. Would you be a pirate?
In a heartbeat! I love dressing up and playing... I wonder if Eric would make me 
walk the plank.

29. What songs do you sing in the shower?
Thinking Out Loud by Ed Sheeran

30. Favorite girls name?
Evelyn or Madison

31. Favorite boys name?
Eric or Mitchell

32. What’s in your pocket right now?
$12 in cash

33. Last thing that made you laugh? 
A Dallas Cowboy joke I sent to Misty.

34. Best toy as a child?
Bongo Board

35. Worst injury you ever had? 
Broken Heart

36. Where would you love to live?
That'd be Eric and me at the BEACH

37. How many TV’s do you have?
Two. How many TV's do you watch? None.

38. Who is your loudest friend?
The one being spanked.

39. How many dogs do you have?
What up dawg? None.

40. Does someone trust you?
I have no doubt, my children and Eric do.

41. What book are you reading at the moment? 
Sears toy catalog

42. What’s your favorite candy? 
Almond joy and jelly beans

43. What’s your favorite sports team?
Bears. That's a team, right?

44. Favorite month?
At the moment, really liking October. Favorite day, October 27th.

The Magic of Cock Talk

I came tonight.

On a towel, in the closet, using an arsenal of battery operated toys to get me over the edge.

There have been four failed attempts prior to this evening.

"Honey," Eric said from halfway around the world, "I know it's a mental block but I need you to be able to relax while I'm gone.  Keep trying Sweetheart."

I did.  I tried at the beach.  I tried at home.  I tried and I tried but it just wouldn't happen.

Today, I received a text that said...

"I miss u. B ready at 4 o'clock for Cock Talk with yours truly."

Eric is very open about anything and everything sexual.  It took me a long time to be able to tell him what was in my head but he never made me feel uneasy or like it was weird what I did or didn't know, etc. We keep saying we should have a call-in show called "Cock Talk" where people can ask those burning questions and get the real scoop. At 4pm, I got a phone visit from Mr. Cock himself.

"Amy," oh the sound of that voice I love, "I want you to put a plug in and get out all of your toys."

I did.

"Amy," he had on that authoritative, you-will-follow-my-directions tone that makes me melt, "lie on the towel and ...."

I won't bore you with the details but suffice it to say, I am a screamer and Eric had no problem hearing me regardless of the miles between us.  He didn't let me stop there but pushed until I came again and again.

We had to hang up before I was ready to stand.  I just lay there, drenched in sweat, smelling like sex with a clit that was vibrating quite nicely on it's own.

The mental block has been broken but the emotional roller coaster is still in full swing. This girl sure could use a spanking. :( I'm being taught patience. I get it. There is just so much we both want and are willing to do... it's very hard to wait, but no doubt, worthwhile.


Sunday, August 7, 2016

One week down

"I miss touching you," Eric said,
ending our six minute phone conversation yesterday.
My love has been duck, duck, GO!

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I play with my bracelet at the table, memories filling my brain.

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The computer glows in front of me.

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My paper is left unwritten.

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All I want, is to be in his arms.
Long slow days until October 27th;
it's like watching pumpkins grow.

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"AMY LYNN!" I can hear him now.
"Young lady, you better get that homework done
or my hand is going to kiss your ass."

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I love his kisses.

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Monday, August 1, 2016

Flipped upside down

It's official.

I'm having a long distance relationship with my husband.

He'll be gone, looking like, three months.

Ugh. We just discovered the wheel barrow position on Consensual Spanking! We just bought sexy black bondage rope and a door swing!! We just had the most incredible hardcore therapeutic spanking and butt fuck ever!!!

What do I do?

For him, I'll make sure my schedule matches the times he can talk on the phone so we can have daily conversations.  I'll write him love letters, fantasize about him coming home and text him naughty pictures. (Sniffle)

For me, I'll sleep curled up tight in his t-shirt like he's hugging me all night long.  I'll use self discipline if I start going off the deep end, will wear my new bracelet every single day and do my best to stay focused on school, exercise and work so he comes home to a productive wife instead of a depressed phatty. (Sniffle, sniffle)

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For Blogland, I'll have nothing to share! :(

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What to do, what to do. (Flat out tears.)

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Sad Amy