Archive for the ‘Love’ Category


August 7th, 2010    Posted in Love, Reality

Tomorrow he will be home.

Tomorrow he will smile when he sees me.

Tomorrow I will shed tears of joy when I see him.

Tomorrow I will quickly run into his outstretched arms.

Tomorrow our life together will finally pick up where if left off.

Tomorrow we will both be able to breathe again without heartache.

Tomorrow we will again do what we’ve done for most of our lifetime.

Two bodies, two lives, one heart, one soul.

Tomorrow, together again.



I Think I Need A Spanking

July 29th, 2010    Posted in BDSM, Love, Reality, Spanking/Beating

“Honey, I think I need a spanking.”

It was a blunt, ‘to-the-point’ statement rather than the cutsie, beat around the bush, hint-hint stuff I am usually known for with Randy. Then I looked directly into his eyes…..those enveloping, all-seeing, gorgeous blue eyes that have the power to penetrate to my….sorry dear reader, I tend to get lost when I think of his eyes and how they always make me feel. So, how did this come about? I can and will only speak for myself. The following may not be the way you are…but it IS me…me and Sir (TheRandyBeast).

I don’t call it “whining”, I call it “whimpering”. I cannot whine. It is not allowed. Our family’s “Eleventh Commandment: Thou Shalt Not Whine!” Whining implies that one is grumbling and extolling their misery on an ongoing basis again and again and again and again. It gets on my nerves real fast.….even my own whining. I’m a sub yet I want to go all hardcore Domme on a whiner. Yet how can I go hardcore Domme on myself? I can’t. Therefore I need Sir, TheRandyBeast, to fix me. I am temporarily broken and in need of repair.

Although I call it a whimper today, I know I am on the brink of “The Eleventh”. I am stressed. I am tense. I cannot focus or concentrate. I start a project only to stop a short while later, leaving it half finished, which gives me a sense of failure. I inexplicably feel scattered to the four corners, incapable of any resolute action. I have a hard time making any sort of decision, large or small, important or insignificant. I am temporarily broken and in need of repair.

My social life is at a standstill in every area. I do not want to interact, to talk, to share or even to help others, which has always been one of my driving forces. It is not that I am feeling selfish. It is not that I am anti-social. It is because I am temporarily broken and in need of repair.

Like a small child, I forget to look before I cross the street. I find I sometimes scuff along as I walk and often do not pick my feet up high enough, therefore I have stumbled a few times when stepping up on a curb or over something. It is lack of attention, lack of focus. It is lack of incentive, lack of self-care. It is because I am temporarily broken and in need of repair.

I have trouble falling asleep at night, regardless of how tired I may be. Insomnia has become my nightly bed partner. The few hours I actually do sleep each night are fitful, full of tossing and turning and disembodied dreams that I cannot fully remember. It is because I am temporarily broken and in need of repair.

Soon I will be repaired…..mended and restored… good as new, probably better. I will be purged of my inconsistent expenditure of energy and will instead find myself with the pin-point accuracy of a laser. I will once again become steadfast and reliable in my efforts. My thoughts will be positive and channeled into productive ways. I will once again feel my womanly sensuality and sexuality and it will openly show as I walk with him. My steps will again be light and sure. My determination and dedication will grow by leaps and bounds.

Soon I will be repaired…..mended and restored… good as new, probably better. And all this will take is his touch, his attention, his actions, his love. Laid bare across the bed, sure in the knowledge that each resounding blow I feel and receive was given in the utmost of love, he will repair that which is broken. He will never do this in anger, in malice, in anything except love. He loves me enough to know I need this from time to time. And so, I am back at the beginning again….“Honey, I think I need a spanking.”



Along OUR Beating Path

June 15th, 2010    Posted in Love, Pain, Reality, Spanking/Beating

A special thanks—photo courtesy of the beautiful Lilly of This Could Be Dangerous…

Unlike the majority of spankers, we do not use spanking as a form of punishment at all. The way we feel, punishment should be something you do NOT like. I like spankings. Most of the spankings I crave, actually need even, have no explanation, no reason at all. I just want and need them. The want part is easy to explain, or is it? I want to feel his dominance over me. I want to have him control me. (As a self confessed ‘control freak’ for most of my life…sometimes I dearly love not having to control myself, to be able to be without self-control.) I want to feel his physical touch. But that being said, wouldn’t a lovers embrace be a more appropriate physical touch? Make no mistake here, I do get that as well. I could glibly say , “I’m a masochist therefore I want the pain of the spanking”. To tell you just that, would be a half-truth since I could get pain without the spankings. But it is the spankings I want the most. And I am blessed that I have a husband, TheRandyBeast, who loves me enough to give me this thing I seem to need.

Yes, I am a masochist. I am not a major ‘pain-slut’…I truly have my limits. Yet those limits get tested regularly and stretched quite often. I am glad for that, because I want to extend myself, push my envelope and experience as much as I can while I draw breath. I have, in years past, tried and occasionally succeeded in living a mediocre, judicious, temperate and self-controlled life. I know vanilla through and through. I could write an encyclopedia on vanilla. What those years, no, decades, taught me was this…vanilla is a wonderfully sweet flavor…for some people…but I want more variety, more flavor in my life and more life in each flavor. I want peach, orange sherbet, strawberry, pistachio, butter pecan. I want to scoop them all into a huge bowl, add just the right amount of nuts, whipped cream and the perfect little cherry on top. Then unlike the middle America, white-bread, vanilla woman…I don’t want to eat it…no, being the kink I am, I want to roll around in it, get spanked in it and fuck in it. Yes, I’m kink and I like it.

It is the quintessential embodiment of trust to allow a man, usually stronger than a woman, to wield an implement of sometimes torturous pain and allow that person to strike you with said implement. To have that person you trust so well, spank you, bring you to sweat, tears and perhaps even muffled screams and then have that same person hold you, comfort you, minister soothing balms, whether they be words or actual ointments…to have this treasure, this bond is a source of incomparable ecstasy. Nothing I have ever experienced in my life has even begun to come close to the heights I reach through spanking followed by his tender and loving attention to me. The sensations that run through my body are explosions of monumental proportions. But it is not all about the physical aspect of spanking. My mind and his have to be in the right place for it to work like we want it to. And that is sometimes the most difficult part of spanking, D/s, BDSM or TTWD.

Yes, I am a “submissive” by nature. He is a “dominant” by nature. But we are vastly more than just that. He is dominant, yet loving, caring, compassionate, patient, understand and even tender at times. He is also a sadistic bastard with a wicked-sick sense of humor. I am submissive, yet not nearly a doormat. I am opinionated, smart-mouthed, sassy and very much a control-freak in my own life (something I battle constantly). We are incomplete without each other. Together we work. Together we feed and nurture each other. Together we create beauty in and with the pain of spanking. And it is beauty.

To see a submissive or a bottom, give more and more of themselves and go beyond where they previously have gone…to watch the beads of sweat trickle down between breasts and see the trembling of thigh muscles that have stood rigid as a Master or Sir put his ownership marks upon those same thighs with a paddle or belt…to watch the dynamics of a D/s relationship as it ebbs and flows, giving, taking, sharing…this is beauty. We create art. We create life. He is an artist. I am his canvas. We need each other to be fulfilled. He takes up the brush and paints broad stokes over the canvas, spreading just the right colors to form a base. With a different brush he makes more detailed strokes and brings the canvas to life forming an intricate picture of breathtaking design. He surveys his work and adds more nuance, more detail, perhaps more shading. The canvas is euphoric, feeling the “paint” being applied and knowing that it is being worked into a living, breathing piece of temporary art.

I am not totally altruistic here. Art for the sake of art is fine, but I am also a selfish little bitch as well. When Randy spanks me, especially when he gets my head in the right arena, the cosmos align or whatever the fuck they do….then a good spanking is cathartic, releasing me from not only my emotional pains that I’ve allowed to build up, but it releases me from any guilt I may have developed. It is New Years Day…a fresh start, a do-over, a clean slate, fresh pure snow, a pristine blank page. Along with that, if Randy messes with my head in a sexual way while spanking me, it is an almost guaranteed way to instantly arouse me to unbelievable heights. With each contact that a paddle, belt or whip makes to my very pale, soft skin, I almost gush with sexual desire. Randy especially likes that part I believe. He definitely takes advantage of it.

So you see, to me, Ptunia, a spanking is not punishment, but is reward. I earn my spankings. Not by being a “bad girl” but by being a “good girl”. I need them to clear my head, my heart and help me keep my life in a particular way. When I don’t get spanked regularly, I get irritable, clumsy, forgetful and downright bitchy at times. Randy knows then that it is time to tear my ass up again. I’m glad when he notices that I need it. And even happier when he takes me in hand and bends me over something…it’s for my own good….and his pleasure.

Viva la spanking!