The Tyre Tread

As Sam drove along she lamented the fact that it was starting to get dark again earlier. It was 7pm on a Sunday, and the roads were quiet as she drove through the gathering dusk, heading for the petrol station on the retail park. She turned a corner and drove over a speed bump in the road, and heard the sickening thump of a tyre blowing out. Luckily, she was close to a supermarket car park, and pulled in, under a light. Of course, it was empty as the store was closed, but at least she was off the road. She got out the car and looked at the offending tyre. Definitely flat. And worse than that, as she looked more closely, the tread on the tyre was worn to practically nothing.
She thought about her options. Greg was working tonight, worst luck. Well, there was nothing for it. She would just have to call the RAC and keep her fingers crossed.

Twenty minutes later, the RAC van pulled into the car park and her already sunken heart hit the bottom of her boots. Greg was at the wheel. Just her luck. Of all the patrolmen they had in his segment, it had to be him. He couldn't have been caught on another job? No, of course not. At least if she'd got someone else, they might not have known Greg, and the news might not have got back to him. She unlocked the door and got out with a wan smile. Greg leapt out and gathered her up in his arms.

"Sweetie, are you OK? As soon as I realised it was you, I swapped jobs with that new guy Tom, and headed out here. The report said you had a flat?"

Sam nodded her agreement mutely.

"Right, well let's get your spare on and then you can get on your way. Are you staying at mine tonight?"

"Um, no" said Sam, desperate to avoid the inevitable consequences if she stayed at her boyfriend's flat tonight. "I've got to get up really early for work, and you're on a late, so I'll just go home to mine."

Greg looked a little disappointed as he headed round to the other side of the car to change the wheel. Sam kept out of the way as he started work. As he jacked up the car, his face became grimmer and grimmer. He called her over.

"Sam, what the hell is this? Your tyre tread isn't just worn, it's gone! You've got no grip at all. You're lucky you haven't crashed. I'm always telling you to check them. Do you just ignore me?"

"I keep meaning to check, but I just forget..." was her lame response.

"You can't just forget! This is serious. Ignoring the fact that your forgetfulness left you stranded in a deserted car park at night, if that tyre had gone on the motorway you might have been killed. I'm going to make sure you never forget to check them again."

Sam hung her head. She knew that she was in the wrong. She watched as Greg opened to back of the van to throw his tools in, waiting to hear him tell her to go to his house, and so was startled when he turned, and grabbed her by the wrist to pull her into the van.

"Greg! Stop it! You're not spanking me here - we're outside."

"We'll be in the van. That's not outside. But if you don't get in I'll bend you over the bonnet of your car and deal with you right there."

Sam knew that he meant what he said, and so followed him into the van. It was big enough to stand up in. He pulled the door closed, and turned to her.

"Get your skirt and knickers off and hold onto that bar"

Barely had Sam done what she was told when Greg's hand landed with a sharp crack. She swallowed a yelp. Greg and never spanked her that hard before. The swats carried on at that level for what felt like hours, but in reality was probably only a couple of minutes. Greg ordered her to stand up and stand facing him with her hands on her head. He then gave her the most serious lecture she'd ever had. It was obvious that he was seriously unhappy with her carelessness in letting her tyre get to such a state of disrepair. He told her about the people he'd seen who'd put themselves in serious danger like that, and as his voice cracked as he told her how he couldn't cope with loosing her, the tears started rolling down her face. He took her chin between his fingers, and looked in her eyes.

"I'm going to make sure you never forget to check those tyres again. Turn back round, and brace yourself. If you stand up, I'll start again."

Sam gulped, but turn round and grabbed onto the rail. She resolved to take whatever was coming as well as she possibly could, because she knew he was right. She'd seen how worn her tyres were, and she'd heard plenty of times before his warnings over accidents that he'd seen.

As expected, she heard the sound of his belt slipping out of its loops. Normally this was the sort of noise that would make her melt, but not this time. She braced herself, fear coursing through her, as the leather whistled down and slammed into her cheeks. It was worse than she could have imagined. How could something that she usually loved so much hurt like this? Again and again the belt hit home, and each time Sam felt a little bit worse about what she'd done, or not done, really. After six strokes, she started crying, after 10 her bottom hurt so much that she gave into wracking sobs that left her shaking. Nevertheless, she held onto the bar, and Greg brought the belt down three more times, still at full strength. Then he paused.

"Two more, Sam, and I want you to take these as well as the rest. Then we'll be done."

Once, twice, that now-hated belt hit home. And then it was over. She collapsed in a heap on the floor, weeping, but he pulled her up into his arms and held her tightly as she sobbed into his shoulder. He rearranged some of the blankets he kept in the van, and pulled her down onto them, cuddling her until the sobs had subsided and she was calmer. He pushed the hair out of her eyes.

"You know I didn't want to do that?" Sam nodded, and mumbled an apology into his chest.
"I'd much rather use that belt on you for more enjoyable purposes. I know how much you usually love it".

Again, she nodded, head still buried in his chest, which meant that the little smile that played on her lips was hidden from him. Even though she never wanted to experience a punishment like that again, there was still one part of her that seemed to have enjoyed it on some level. No need to tell
Greg that though. Doubtless he would find out for himself, eventually.

Control

“Does it kill
Does it burn
Is it painful to learn
That it's me that has all the control.”

Lyrics from Maroon Five's “Harder To Breathe”.

I used to listen to this song loads when it was first released without really listening to the lyrics much, but it appeared on my ipod the other day, and I had to replay it a couple of times to check I'd heard correctly.

Control. It's a funny thing. Anyone who knows me will know that I can be a bit of a control freak. I like to know what's happening, I like things to go my way, I like to be the one defining the situation, the outcomes, the parameters. In my daily life one of the most upsetting things that can happen to me is to feel like I'm not in control.

The thing is, control is exhausting. I have got better, as I've got older, I've learnt to let go a little, but when you've run your own life, paid your own mortgage, made all your decisions about everything from what can of soup to buy to what house to buy, for eleven years, you are pretty used to being in control, and to having to make every single decision and organising every single thing. Letting go, even though you know how tiring it is not to let go, is tough.

This is one of the reasons spanking and CP appeals to me so much – having someone deliberately take that control away from me, and take over, even if it only control over what is happening to my bottom, is a bit of a revelation. Not having a say in the matter is freeing, while at the same time being utterly scary. “Is it painful to learn that it's me that has all the control?” Oh yes, both mentally and physically.

Of course, at the end of the day, if you are playing as a bottom in a safe, sane, and of course consensual manner, you actually still do have all the control. You can stop the scene. It can all be over in seconds. On the other hand, if you're doing it properly, the illusion that the control has been taken from you will be very real indeed. And very hot indeed.

Birthday Post (Do not read if allergic to schmaltz!)

It's my birthday! Well, it's 17 minutes into my birthday and I've just got back from a night at the theatre. When I go to bed and wake up again it will be properly my birthday!
This is in effect my third birthday as a kinkster. The first time, I was barely “out”, and certainly wasn't going to be getting any spankings, though co-incidentally (and I had to check to make sure I'd remembered correctly!) it was the day that a small if ultimately very significant event happened in my kinky life: Abel sent me a mail in reply to a comment I'd made on the Spanking Writers blog. While it was lovely to receive at the time, I didn't realise what a huge impact that mail would have on my life.
Indirectly, it was the cause of my first ever birthday spanking, one year later. Or possibly birthday spanking(s), five I believe in total, at a spanking club. Of course, as we were there as Lowewood girls, it was actually Jemima receiving the birthday spankings, not me, so the total number of strokes was considerably lower than it otherwise would have been (thank goodness!)
This year, like the first kinky year, will be lacking in birthday spankings. Not that I'm complaining, I have plenty of other fun things to keep me occupied over the next couple of weeks, but they are all of the very vanilla variety. In a way though, that makes me feel even more blessed. Yes, I might not be getting a birthday spanking tomorrow, but I get to spend time with family, and then next weekend time with many friends, some of whom know my secret, none of whom have rejected me for it. Since I came out more into this strange and wonderful world of ours, I haven't always been the best friend in the world to my friends “from before”, but the fact that they are still so lovely to me, despite this, makes me feel like the luckiest (if most undeserving!) girl in the world.
Of course, to add to these friends, I have a whole other set of amazing kinky friends who I also feel incredibly blessed to have, and who have enriched my life no end over the past couple of years.
Sorry, this is probably a terribly nauseating post – I'll stop with the nice soon, and you can all go and find a sick bucket, but as it's my birthday, you'll have to indulge me for a couple more sentences.
There's a line in the Sound of Music, in the song called “Something Good”, which goes something like “for somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good.” And that's what I feel, because while I may not be getting a birthday spanking today, the fact that I have such lovely people around me means that I'm one hell of a lucky girl.

An Update (Or Not)

Dear Reader/Random Passer-by/Russian Spy *

Many apologies that this blog/totally truthful account of life/secret private diary has not been updated recently.

This is because I have been busy watching the world cup/fraternising with the enemy/being spanked repeatedly/overdosing on chocolate.

In the event that you care that this blog/account/diary has not been updated recently, please rest assured that it will be updated as soon as I have pruned the roses/oiled my canes/rescued a stray sheep/investigated a secret spy ring/stalked George Clooney. Unless of course, I get bored/a cold/whisked off to sunnier climes/arrested.

We thank you for your continued loyalty/monetary donations/silence.

The Writer.

* Please delete as appropriate.

Running In The Family?

I've had various conversations over the past few weeks where people have talked about either the suspicions they've had that family members are kinky, or the absolute proof that they have of that fact. This is always a difficult question for me. On the one hand, I have to deny absolutely that there is any genetic element in my kink. Obviously there's not. That's just a very squicky idea, let's move on please, and fast.

Of course, on the other hand, I've heard enough anecdotal evidence to suggest that even if there is not a genetic element to kinkiness for me, there certainly seems to be for other people.

So, without further ado, a little poll. Also feel free to add comments if you have any thoughts on this subject.

Runs In The Family

Are you aware that anyone in your family is kinky? Yes, I'm sure that someone in my family is kinky. I have my suspicions that someone is. Lalala, I'm not listening - stop talking about kink in relation to my family! Current Results

Learning To Cane - Or Not?

A friend tried to teach me to cane last night. My lack of topping skill is a well known joke among my friends, as is the disparity between my ability to "talk the talk" and my total inability to do anything more than that! To be fair, people do generally seem to think that I will eventually get the topping bug, and they are probably right. At the moment though, even if I intellectually want to top people, I find it quite hard because, well, I don't like to hurt them!

First of all, I just worry about hurting them with the spanking, despite the fact that I know that on some level they will be enjoying it. I also worry about hurting them in a way I don't intend to, e.g. with improper technique. For this reason I often will ask people for tips about technique.

Therefore, when a friend offered to give me a caning lesson, I of course accepted. Well you would, wouldn't you? Everything was set up - an "easy to handle" cane, furniture moved out of the way, cushions positioned over the sofa. So there I stand, cane in hand, having had some basics demonstrated, start to try and hit the cushions, and basically have a wee bit of a meltdown.
I suddenly found myself on the verge of tears. I was stressed, I was upset, and wasn't truly sure why. I certainly thought I was being pretty bloody silly. After all, I was caning a cushion. There's not a huge amount to get upset about doing that. It became obvious fairly quickly that this disquiet that I was feeling was not about to magically disappear, so we hugged, and chatted about why I had reacted like I had. In my normal style, I was inclined to be hard on myself, calling myself an idiot, and generally being cross that I'd been so silly. My friend was lovely and reassured me that I was not an idiot, and we talked about what might have been behind my reaction. I don't know to be sure, but I think that it may well relate to the way I view the cane.

As I've posted before, the cane is my nemesis. It's an implement that I fear like no other, and that I don't ever think I would truly be able to "love". On the other hand, it also has a psychological power over me like nothing else. It's possible that my little "meltdown" was related to the fact that it was caning we were trying. After all, the act of using something that has such a psychological hold over me, even if I'm merely using it on cushions, is a powerful thing. Logically, it's maybe not surprising that the thought of inflicting something that I hold in such awe on another person (the ultimate end goal, even if not in that lesson!) was an upsetting one.

I think I'm going to lay off the canes for now. I might aim for something I love first, before moving onto something that I've got a less straightforward relationship with.