Committed, in spite of the fact, or perhaps because of it – I can no longer tell – that his fingers are clasped around a beautiful, free, transforming black belt of pain and his strong right arm is moving it swiftly and with complete authority downward. Our eyes lock in the mirror as the stripe is painted diagonally across my white, white cheeks. His are filled with wisdom. His are filled with love. Mine are filled with tears. Mine are filled with gratitude.
- Anastasia, guest post (Poppy's Submissions) (11/29/11)
"My need for a spanking woke me up this morning , I do not know what that says about me other than I am built for a certain type of man."
-@PoppyStVincent (Poppy St Vincent) (14 hours ago)
(If you do not follow @PoppyStVincent, and read her Submissions, and tumbl(e) her Crimson and Black tumblr, you should.)
The recent guest post on Poppy's Submissions made my throat constrict and my heart flutter when I read it a few days ago. I know the feelings Anastasia describes. The above tweet made the girl in me ache when I read it last night. I have thought of it, and my need to be thoroughly spanked for hours on end ever since. I text messaged my Sir this morning and told Him how I am feeling the strain, and very badly need to run away with Him and then be spanked and pushed until I scream, cry and fly.I have been writing posts all day and now I need to be spanked and ravished. Except I have to wait until Friday. BUT I need a spanking NOW. - @PoppyStVincent (Poppy St Vincent) (23 hours ago)
I think I just wrote the rudest thing I have ever written. I need my lover and I need him now. - @PoppyStVincent (Poppy St Vincent) (14 minutes ago)
I feel need in my skin. It echoes in my voice. I want to be bratty, to have a tantrum. My body clamors to feel the red sting and to wince and squirm as I find it hard to sit. A part of my mind is working tirelessly on a puzzle -- how to give myself the sorting out I need, so I can just get back to life -- but the puzzle is impossible. There is a reason for the rule against 'self scene-ing.' We joke about it, Sir and I, because I can be a klutz and that may result in bumps and bruises of a very different kind. But the reality is no joke. The need I feel is intense, and it marks me. I am frustrated and am torqued that I cannot push myself this way:
I cannot roll up my own sleeve past my elbow,
while myself watches, trembling from her bent over place in anticipation.
I cannot lock eyes with the girl in me, and assure her that she can be helped and freed,
while myself shudders with relief and great big butterflies of dread dance in her tummy.
I cannot be strong and commit to the best course of action,
when that moment of panic comes crashing in,
and the pain is the most unbearable thing myself can imagine.
I cannot wield the strap, or the cane, or the hair-brush with love and determination,
watching her pale cheeks pink, and redden and bruise,
while myself muffles her cries in the bedding, or lets them echo off the walls,
begging me to stop with her words, and not to stop with her body.
I need His strength, because I do not have it to give,
when myself acquiesces.
And He is 251 miles away.
And His text message response reminds me that He needs -- just as I need -- that spanking. He assures me,"Remember our times together and draw on that. Reach out and draw from my energy with your mind and heart. It is there for you. [Soon] we will have time and space."
For now, I will make use of my own strength. I will write about how I need Him, how I ache and burn for Him. I will use my words to express the awful needful, hungry feeling that pulls at my flesh and torments my mind. Then I will spend some time imagining the last time He spanked me and pushed me.
The last time I flew.
Finally, I will find my strength in His energy, and I will get dressed and go do some adult things -- like paying bills, or Christmas shopping, I will not have a bratty tantrum when it won't get me the spanking I need.