The constant burn didn’t stop the pleasure from building. At first it was centred inside my pussy, then it seemed to spread outwards, to tap into my bottom, to swish around the top of my legs and the pit of my stomach.
At last it inhabited me entirely and I was its creature. My orgasm wrenched me out of everything controllable and took hold of me, a bodysnatcher.
Dan pumped harder, whispering, ‘Oh, yeah, oh, yeah, you like this, take this,’ until he emptied himself inside me and pushed me down flat on the bed, crushing me to the mattress.
I shed a few tears, nothing to do with pain or sadness, everything to do with exhaustion and intensity. He pushed his cheek against mine and turned his face to kiss me.
‘Are you OK? Was that all right? You should have said if I …’
‘No, no, it was good. Surprisingly. Powerful.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Positive.’
We fell asleep like that and I dreamt I was trapped by an avalanche.
25 December
I know, I know.
It’s been months since I last updated. I meant to keep this more regularly, but it’s been a busy time. Besides, I have that other diary to keep now. Dan’s famous online discipline journal. He makes me write in it every day, and describe the day and what I’ve found difficult and what I’m getting better at. If I’ve earned a punishment, he makes me blog about it in fine detail – pseudonymously, of course. Then he adds his comments and sends it out into the web for general perusal.
It’s weird, but we’ve made a lot of new friends through it. At first, I was terrified we’d out ourselves, but we’re careful and at first nobody seemed to read it anyway, much to my relief.
But then, as autumn crept towards winter, we started to get comments. And the commenters linked us on their own blogs. And then we got more comments and more links until we seem to have become part of a big online community of corporal-punishment enthusiasts. Some are more extreme than us, and some have an ideological stance we don’t agree with, whilst some are at the milder end of the scale, but we’re all in a similar boat – some of us sitting less comfortably than others.
At first I was horribly embarrassed by this, but now it’s nice to have friends who are in a similar position, striving for the same things. I’ve had lots of good advice, and so has Dan, and it’s kept us going even when we’ve started to feel discouraged or freakish for what we do.
As far as I know, my old university friends still think I walk all over Dan’s back in pointy stilettos. As for Dan’s colleagues at the station, I don’t think Patrick has said anything to them, although he makes the odd snide remark in the locker room
from time to time.
Work continues to be fraught and stressful and, while I still snap and bitch at Dan when I come home after a particularly shitty day, the inevitable bottom-warming that follows heads off the moody sulks I used to indulge in and clears the air.
And it relieves some of his stress too. Win win.
We even met up with a couple we got to know through our blog. I wasn’t keen on this – it seemed too soon. But emails flew between us and eventually they talked us round. We went for a drink in town and they were lovely – slightly older than us, but they’d been living this ‘lifestyle’ since they met and were very experienced.
I stood outside the pub for ages, telling Dan I didn’t think I could go through with it. I didn’t think I could look them in the eye, knowing what they knew about me.
‘We don’t have to do this, Pip, but we can’t just stand them up. Let’s go inside and say you aren’t feeling well.’
‘They’ll try to reschedule,’ I wailed, taking a few steps away towards the tube station.
Dan took a firm hold of my wrist and shook his head.
‘Don’t run away from me,’ he said. ‘It’s basic good manners to apologise to them. Come on.’
‘Well, if I have to face them anyway, I might as well stay. I don’t want to go in there. Dan. Don’t make me.’
‘You’re being ridiculous, Philippa.’
Uh oh. Philippa. Code for ‘I am considering spanking you’.
And then a woman came out of the pub and said, ‘It is you, isn’t it?’ and I couldn’t make my excuse after all.
It was excruciating at first, having their eyes on me, feeling that they knew my deepest secrets. They knew all about the caning and how I howled my head off and locked myself in the bathroom. They knew about the time Dan put ginger root up my bum and it burned so that I couldn’t keep still. Worst of all, they knew all about my silly little foibles and shamefully childish strops.