Fragile

I arrived at HH's tired and stressed this weekend. In short I was feeling fragile and in serious need of R&R. And I got it, spanking style. I had warned him before my plane left Dublin that I was grumpy and moody. He replied he'd brought a hairbrush with him to the airport.

It was exactly what I needed to hear. I wanted to feel disciplined, and in being so I would feel safe. In being spanked I would feel cathartic. And if I was a grumpy lil brat I'd pay for it.

Over the weekend HH certainly delivered on that front. Reading me very well, mixing real life needs with play. I even found myself being spanked into bed each night instead of being spanked out of it in the morning!

We passed a pleasant first day sight seeing and catching up and even just being around HH I felt much calmer, no spankings required. Until it was getting late in the evening. And I was due my punishment for losing yet another mobile phone.

In truth I actually wanted to be spanked, I just didn't want it to hurt. But punishments have to hurt. And HH's spankings always do. My only concession was an OTK hand and leather paddle spanking, before the real thing was delivered. A heavy, wide leather strap was produced and the pillows were placed on the bed. Over them I lay, my bottom raised high for the strap.

It had been a long time since HH had given me a proper strapping. I've often admitted I find him far more terrifying with straps than any other implement - scarily accurate and always with huge force, I dread the pain. And this was no different.

After just a few strokes I was crying. Not just from the pain though, but from the opportunity for release. To cry out all those stresses of the week. It was no longer just about the phone, it was catharsis. And when he cuddled and put me to bed I was asleep in a few minutes, almost unheard of for an insomniac like me.

And the weekend continued in that vein. Acts of brattiness or disobedience were duly punished and I welcomed it all. Even the hairbrushing for spending too much time on twitter I secretly approved off. Although the whacking with the giant wooden spoon for dropping it on his knee might have been a lil unfair!

But the most cathartic punishment was for no reason at all. I was withdrawn, saying little, looking on the verge of tears. 'Out of sorts' as HH put it. 'I'm going to strap you now,' he pronounced. 'It will do you some good I think.'

And so over the pillows on the bed I went again. Feeling confused: I hadn't been naughty. Then feeling scared as I noted him fetching his two heavy tawses.

At first I resisted it, tried to just ride out the pain. Tried to cling on to the bed and not react. But he was persistent and I couldn't deny it hurt, hurt a lot. It wasn't long before the tears started.

'Yes definitely doing you some good,' he commented.

I felt, rather than saw the change in tawse. The heavier of the two really made me sob in earnest as it cracked down mercilessly. It's impossible to describe both the thud and whippiness of the tawse. It sears on impact and burns long after the stroke. So many delivered in quick succession makes you feel you'll die if it continues much longer, that you couldn't take another stroke. Yet even at that point, where you can't take anymore, you can. And then you can even take some more after that.

I was soon ready to be done. All sorted, honestly. He paused again. Seeing I'd had enough, was experiencing the release he knew I needed. And then gave me a final set. Because he could and because I would take it.

And in taking it I would surrender every last shred of control. Expunge everything, every heavy feeling. Become light and empty. By the time he was done I was hyperventilating, my face a red ugly mess, eyes red and puffy, my nose dripping. Cried in his arms til there were nothing left. Until I was limp and exhausted and at peace.

By the end of the weekend I was feeling more like myself and ready to face the big, bad world again. And despite the enormous crash on parting I knew I was OK again. That I could get on with things, without the need of a man with a strap to direct me. My fragility was back under control, carefully hidden from the real world again.