When I start to write about Sir, and the things we do, I hit this pocket of resistance. Internally, that is. I can’t find the words, I can’t quite capture the feeling. Where do I start?

We had planned this time for weeks. I have very little privacy so live time on video is precious. Live time on video when we can indulge in spanking or other kink is even more rare and precious.

“Have your spoon beside you,” he says.

”Yes, Sir.” It can be difficult for me to slip from vanilla to submission, but those directions take me there immediately. I am anxious to please him, a little bit on edge with uncertainty.

He prompts me, ”What else do you think I want you to bring?” My mind goes blank – I have no idea. He waits a minute, looking quizzical. Then, “The belt,” he says, patiently.

“Oh, yes, of course, Sir! The belt, yes.” I’m mentally collecting these items, the spoon, the belt….

“And what else?” He asks.

I’m blank again – I have no idea. The belt, the spoon – what else?

He points toward the other side of the room, nods, and waits. What – what could he – Ohhhhhhh!

I had completely forgotten. “The Tawse, Sir.” I was almost whispering; I am awed by it.

It arrived wrapped in brown paper, every inch of it sealed with clear packing tape. It took my good scissors and some careful snipping to unwrap it.

Y’all. It is beautiful. And scary. Thick leather, split at the end – I knew that from the picture when I bought it. I didn’t realize each of the tails is split again, so there are two layers of each of the tails. It is supposed to be a “proper Scottish tawse.”

“I think it will be too loud to use,” he said. “But I want to see it.”

”Yes, Sir. The spoon, the belt, and the Tawse.”

”Good girl,” he said, and I beamed.

**************************

The next day, I carefully gather my spoon and my belt, arrange my computer so it will provide the appropriate view. Excited and nervous…

”Show me what you’ve brought,” he says – and it is only then I remember the Tawse. Fortunately, it is close by and I grab it quickly. Fortunately, Sir is not a demanding task master. I imagine he just shakes his head at my scattered thinking.

Being a submissive girl is humbling. I have a Master’s degree, have had a lot of responsibility in my career, and continue to be competent in all kinds of ways. But here I am, fumbling around, can’t remember to bring three things with me…

****************************

I am bent over, wearing the belt, my caftan tucked into it exposing my bottom. I am lost in his voice. My hand may be holding the spoon, but guided by him, it is as if my hands are his.

“That’s it, keep tapping with the spoon, all over, there now, you’re starting to get pink…”

“Now harder. Twelve on the right side.” I am clumsy, maybe 3 or 4 of the whacks don’t land with any effect. Sir counts steadily, but only the ones that land.

”Now twelve on the other side.” Patiently, he guides me. I become less clumsy.

“Twelve more on the right side.” “Twelve on the left side.”

They land quietly. With a thud, a whack, not really a sting, but solid. It hurts.

I lose count of how many sets of twelve. I am getting sore.

I have been mostly silent, I think, but now I can hear myself, little whimpers escaping me, my bottom beginning to burn…

*******************************

”Good girl,” he says. I am curled into my chair, one hand on my cheek, the other crossing my body and holding my wrist as if I am hugging myself. I make a little humming noise.

My bottom is sore, Sir assures me it was red – or at least reddish. I am a little dazed, but very content. I am his girl.

He talks to me, his voice lulls me into a meditative state, it is our own version of after-care.

Mmmm… thank you, Sir.