In Preparation.

It's either a phone call, or a text message, or an email or an IM chat and then I know when I will next be receiving a smacked bottom.

From the moment I know when that will be it becomes ever so hard to concentrate on anything else!

For those of you that live with your spanking partner I imagine you still sometimes have to wait, that there is a build up, an anticipation, a wait for them to return home, and probably sometimes your spankings can also happen spontaneously just because of your proximity to one another..um, in the same house! :)

I always have some build up, it can sometimes be hours but it is most often a few days. On the morning of " Discipline Day ", I often do those usual girly things of getting ready for a date, a bit of grooming etc :)  Although I am not really sure why I bother as I get pretty ruffled pretty quickly when I am across his knee.

Sometimes I'll have been told what knickers he expects to see me in, other times I deliberate for a little while, choosing which pair to wear after imagining the expression he is likely to have when he lifts my skirt. 

Then I often just sit still for a while and try and settle the butterflies in my tummy, then I'll be up again and might even open up the drawers where all the implements are kept, mostly considering if I should once and for all * loose* the plimsoll.

I've been known to barely sleep the night before, nervous excitement is not much of a sleeping anecdote ( although it is amazing how much a smacked sore bottom is ).

Most recently , I was so fidgety that I was doing the hoovering when he arrived :)

I was wondering how other readers prepare for their spanking, both mentally and physically!

And also how Spankers prepare too.... like do they need to do any hand exercises ;-)

P.s.  Something I learnt yesterday, was in future I MUST NOT log in to my blogger account when I am intoxicated upon arriving home from the pub.... there used to be drunken text messages, there is now the extra hazard of drunken blog posts / comments   ;-0

Another Vignette.

" Step inside"

I was stood in my navy duffle coat, the piece of paper crumpled and slightly sodden in my hands.

The instructions had been very clear and I knew what I was arriving too.

Something that I had imagined again and again in my mind.

I did step inside. Inside into their home, and inside into something that had been welling up for a long time in my heart.

He looked more himself than I had ever seen. This was where he needed to be to. I could see the excitement in his eyes, like I had come home to him.

He took my hand, taking me off the door step, taking me into our world that we had created so many times in our imagination. 

It was all unspoken. He just nodded, I knew to just look at him and follow his eyes, follow instinctively what I knew he had planned.

I walked up the stairs, feeling him watching me. I walked into the bedroom right ahead of me.

She was there, sat on the bed waiting for me. As I entered the room, she stood up. We exchanged looks. 

I slipped off my coat, shivered , it was damp, I was cold. My cheeks were glowing, partly through the cold having stung them, partly through the anticipation of being here. Here, in my room, a room prepared for me, my place to stay, with them.

I took in the room then. A tidy, thoughtfully prepared guest bedroom. Mirrors that I knew had found there way there because they had an important place. A wardrobe with one door hung open, a rail decorated with pressed and prepared outfits that I could only assume were for me. And on the bed, layed out with precision, my clothes. 

I even smiled then, through the overwhelming nerves and excitement and trepidation, I smiled at the site of the uniform, of the knickers, of the contradiction of their familiarity and embarrassment. 

Standing still, taking in all that was around me, I waited for her. My bag slipped off my shoulder and crumpled to the floor. 

She walked towards me and as she reached me I held my hands behind my back. I stood as still as I possibly could as she unbuttoned my blouse, slowly, with care, with purpose, I felt her hand moving down me until she opened it and it slipped off my shoulders and I was stood there, my nipples pricking up with the brush of her hand against them.

She didn't pause here as I thought she might and instead she walked behind me and unzipped my skirt, letting it fall to the ground, leaving me standing there in my knickers. I trembled as she stepped back to look at me a moment.

" I need to prepare you properly for him "

I stayed still, knowing that is what she needed to do and accepting that was how this whole weekend was going to be.

Intimacy.

Some days, not as often anymore, I get overwhelmed with feelings of guilt about how I have treated people in my past.

I was thinking today about some of the men I have dated ( which isn't really very many! ) and how cold and dismissive I had been with them at times, especially in moments of intimacy. I recognised the feeling today as one of resentment. Not a feeling I am proud to have felt, but it felt like I had unravelled its meaning a little.

I do think that I resented them for not sensing my submissive nature. I resented that they were not responsive or aware of the nuances just beneath the surface. I resented that they only saw what was easy to see. I'd buffer up against people hoping that they would SEE me, try and sparkle for a moment but it would quickly flutter away and I always felt disappointed, let down, and empty of meaning. The shutters would come down and the rest of me would march right in, take control of the situation, and leave it. And leave them.

And I know now that I was expecting ever such a lot of them!  and how incredibly unfair I was being.

Now I know what is my responsibility. And how to take responsibility for it. 

I know that for me intimacy is not possible until I can, from an aliveness within myself, express who I am freely, and be with another person as they express who they are freely with neither of us feeling the need to shut down or protect ourselves.

Having found this kind of intimacy, I am so grateful to have come to know my own self more,to have learnt how to express and communicate who I am and I hope this is helping me to have softer and more honest experiences with others.

My Anchor.

I'll swim out.

He'll be watching, a caring eye glinting with affection and excitement.

A hand gently nudging me to go a little further.

A smile of encouragement.

I did use to swim, I did swim out, I swam out far, and deep, but I never came up for breath.

I had my eyes shut a lot.  Or I was swimming so fast that I didn't see all that was around me.

Or I'd swim like a dead weight, often feeling it was only a matter of time before I'd sink to the bottom.

These familiar waters feel warmer now, they are a place I want to inhabit and open my eyes to.

Now, I stop, I bob in the water. I'll play there a while, or I'll happily and peacefully just float.

I turn back to look at him and he is still there, watching and waiting.

Sometimes he can't watch or he can't see me, because I have dived right down to the depths, or I've turned a corner, but then I swim back to him and show him all that I discovered on my way.

I'll bring him gifts of my stories, or something I've seen that I'll know he'll especially like. 

Now, I'll swim into new places too, my stroke is stronger and I glide through the water with more grace and knowing. A toe dipped in to a forbidden rock pool that I may have naughtily dipped my toe in before, but this time He is there to raise an eyebrow and gently steer me away from it. 

Now, when I am standing on the rock, poised and preparing to dive in, He is there in the corner of my eye and the corner of my heart quietly cheering and reassuring. I notice that I pay that little bit more attention to how well I point my toes, how much more mindful I am to getting the dive as good as it can possibly be, and when I am surging through the water on my way back up for air, I know he will be there to share that with.

My adventurous and independent spirit has a place to rest now, a place to go back to and feel safe within, a place to go back to where I can show all of me and bring with me those things I may have picked up on my way that I am not proud of or don't know how to shake off.

Swimming back to him I am sometimes tired, but there is a small trail of lights on the sea bed that guide me there. 

Sometimes I arrive and collapse on the deck spluttering water and flailing my arms.

Sometimes I just cannot swim back there fast enough ;-)

It's cosy and warm and replenishing. It is steadfast.

The Eyes.

At the beginning of this year I met a girl 10 years my junior. She was painfully awkward in herself, under-confident, shy and incredibly defensive.  Attempt at conversation was often met with tightly folded arms at her chest and her hair shielding her face whilst a forced few words were spoken.

During the last 9 months I have seen each part of her start coming to life, like a doll, each limb awakening as if in the Midnight scene of the Nutcracker ballet. And then this week it was as if the fully alive doll began to walk, to stride with easy movement. And this was because her eyes had suddenly come to life, like the last part of her had switched themselves on. I couldn't work out what it was at first, but then I saw them, partly because they were no longer hidden by her hair, but also because they just shone, and her smile lit them up even more as if working together from the same mechanism. 

What had happened in the last 9 months?  She found the courage to step into exploring her life-long desire to be spanked. With each step she's been a little more adventurous, a little more able to speak of what she wants and a little more able to reach out, accept and enjoy it when she's found it.  This week she told her 2 childhood friends and that was when her eyes changed. It was as if that was the last piece in place, fully absolved and all of herself present and accepted and in harmony.

It has been an affecting journey to watch, so I just wanted to share it with you.

It made me think too of what people have said of me over the last 3 years. They have mentioned my eyes, and particularly after I have been spanked, friends ( not knowing why of course ) have commented on the vividness of their colour.

 I wear colour now too, and having my long, almost waist length hair cut into a playful bob marked my lighter and more weightless self. My head feels like it is held a little higher and my smile is broader, and I know that even the way I walk feels slightly different, and I don't just mean when I am trying to walk with a sore and tender bottom ;-)

Seeing my friend this week has been such a reminder to me of how connecting fully with our sexuality brings us fully to life.

I'm wondering if any readers of this blog have memories of when they came " alive", if they'd describe it in that way, and if they noticed physical changes too.

The Package.

My Disciplinarian once wrote me a story called " The Package" and it was all about an older gentleman sending a beautifully wrapped brown paper parcel to a young lady at her workplace full of delicious instructions and blush making wares. 

I was imagining what package I'd most like to receive today and all of the details it might contain...

It is a concertina style folder, brought to the front door by an elegant older lady ( I often imagine Kristen Scott Thomas in these kind of scenarios ! ).....

She doesn't speak a word,  just places it in my hands and walks back with an impressive poise towards her car.

Untying the ribbon, the folder falls open, each compartment lined with a deep red satin, and the dividing tab on each one numbered, guiding me where to look first.

1) I pull out a slip of paper with a hand written note  " See the colour of this satin sweetheart? I chose it carefully to match the shade that your bottom cheeks will be one hour from now."

2) In the next compartment there is an empty white envelope, and written on the front " Now remove your knickers, fold them neatly into this envelope and seal it, placing it back in the sleeve of this folder for me to inspect upon your arrival here in due course."

3) The delicate lace hem of some Edwardian bloomers is spilling over the edge of the third compartment, upon pulling them out a parcel label threaded through there waistband reads " Remove your dress, unfasten your bra,  and when you are fully naked you may read the instructions in the next compartment."

4) In the next compartment, slightly distorting the neat shape of the paper sleeve is an ebony hairbrush, another handwritten note tied around the handle " You may now telephone me ".

A recorded message speaks down the telephone.

" I assume you are fully naked? "

" Good, now go and kneel by your bed and under my instruction you will use that hairbrush on your bare bottom for two whole minutes, making sure that you cover each cheek with a thoroughness as if I was doing so with my own hands."

" I shall give you one minute to get yourself prepared"

A pause.

" You may start, and remember the colour of that satin, that is how I want your bottom cheeks to look, understood?"

After 2 minutes.

" You may stop and do not rub your bottom but you may go and look in the next compartment of the folder".

End of message.

5) This is a typed message, set out like an old telegram " I hope your bottom is sore and crimson now. Step into the bloomers and tie the waist into a neat bow. When you have done so you will go to the window of your front room, turn so that your bottom is facing out toward the beautifully composed woman still sitting in her car, and you will stand with your feet 12 inches apart, your back slightly arched, your hands on your head and ensure that your bloomers are parted with a precision that presents your reddened bottom to her just so. You will stand like this for 2 minutes. "

6) The last compartment has a photo inside, a previously taken photograph of my bottom, freshly spanked and on view for him. The final note " I expect that your bottom is looking not dissimilar to this, and no doubt your face is crimson too. Good girl and well done for being so obedient. If you call this number the woman in the car will bring you your final gift, and then deliver you to me, perfectly packaged to receive a final caning, with her there to witness it and hold you firmly in place across my desk. I shall look forward to seeing you soon my darling. "

After telephoning her, she comes inside with a beautiful plain ivory classic music hall corset. Standing there with my deep crimson stained bottom, framed by the fragile gauzy bloomers, fully exposed to this most composed woman who is lacing me into the corset..... and ready to be taken to him.

As I was writing this I wanted to start elaborating on how I would feel after each instruction, but that would have ended up as a story within itself, and most of all this post was to ask any of you what package you would most like to receive.

What would it contain?

Who would deliver it?

What would it look like?

Where would you be when you received it?

Olivia

x

Expressions.

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