Season, I think you are a wonderful, bright, loving, intuitive and talented woman but right now if you were a mere three thousand miles closer I would throw a mud pie at you. (I would take the worms out first.)
I have just written a light and philosophical piece about how once we find someone who loves us and who is very, very good at this whole spanking (and all the rest of it) thing we are free to not want it. Once we have found him we can relax and let him decide and be free to say no and mean it.
But then I realised that I need to say more. I am swearing about this need for honesty and specifics and I hope you (almost all of you) can hear the words not fit for human ears swarm out of my mouth.
Before I die of shame I will type on.
In recent conversations with the man I adore the topic of enemas has arisen more than once but never from my lips or even the darkest recesses of my mind.
Unbeknownst to him (I think) in a previous lifetime I acquired an enema kit (is that what it is called?) and have experienced it more than once. It is a difficult and horridish experience from a man who has a slight inclination towards those practises. The positions and the reality of it are uncomfortable in mind and body and it was with a sense of relief that it was abandoned.
It is gathering dust now in a very pretty box under my bed, with a range of other, now unused, bits and pieces. Until recently I had all but forgotten it.
My life has changed since that previous existence.
I no longer seek out the edges of what I want. The man I love seeks out my edges for both of us and that (I think) is how this topic has arisen. I do not believe he has any edges. I think he is entirely without shame or any sense of propriety.
I believe that I am developing a small skill with words but I cannot explain to you how very, very much I want to forever avoid an enema from him. My hands pause on the keys as I type this. More than once I have sat here with my fingers over my eyes. I do not even want to tell you how much I do not want it.
This is the point though. I am free to tell you how much I do not want this.
I do not want to be told that something so exceptionally personal will be done to me without having a say in it. I do not want to even imagine that he could decide that this event will take place, and for him to even think about it makes me want to hide under my duvet and read childhood books.
I can’t think much further forward than this with any lucidity. I have flashes of ignoble positions, of pleading, or shyness beyond anything I ever imagined. My mind is protecting me by not allowing me to tell a future story that I wish so much to avoid.
I want to tell you about one moment I had a few weeks ago. I have not told him about this moment. He will read it here, with you.
I was head down, bottom up over his lap. My shackles were spiked and my mood was iron. I felt stubborn, angry and ready for a fight. There was a practical reason I was being spanked but we both knew it was due to my shackles.
He wanted me to say sorry for whatever the infringement was. He was aware that when I said sorry it would be because I was calming down, coming home to him.
I did not say sorry for some time and there was a moment (between one implement and the next) when I thought to myself,
“What if I tire him? What if my rage is too much? What if he hates me for being like this? Should I submit without meaning it?”
It is the cry of the unloved, the unsure and the afraid.
He broke into my thoughts with a mean crack of a paddle and in time I submitted with my whole heart and came home to him for real.
I have found the man I do not need to pity. I do not need to make it easy for him to win. I do not need to lie to him or to say something to make it easier for both of us. I do not need to think for him. I just have to be honest and open.
Joy of joys, he makes it perfect when he makes it so that I genuinely do not want him to do what he does. We have no need of role play or pretence.
This is all I have to do. I must tell him the truth as often as I am able and deal with the consequences when I do not. I must understand that if I request something for pleasure then I may well get it but it will no longer be used as any form of discipline.
It is the very fact that he overrides me and does what I do not wish that has changed my life forever. All my life I have wanted it and now I have found it I am free to not want it. I can relax of controlling the world. I can let go.
You may think this is a double bluff – she says she does not want it so it feels better for the words. Not true.
I do not want to be spanked by him. He loves me and is so strong and wise and talented that he is able to do exactly what it is I do not want. I hate it when he tells me off. I loathe it when he spanks me and there are other things that he does which I assure you I cannot bear even for an instant but I am too shy to say any of them.
He is really, really very good at this thing we do. It is a gift he has and that is why when I plead, “Please, don’t,” I can mean it. I do mean it.
It may be, of course, that my not wanting something so much means something to him. I do not know for sure. I am lucky enough not to have to think for him.
