Sometimes, I spill all my secrets, tell all my stories. Sometimes, I hold them tight inside, barely voicing them to myself.
I share the sting of the hanger. “Two sets of twelve,” he says, “On both sides.”
I bring you with me for the whoosh of the belt, landing with a firm whack, leaving a strip of pain
I want you to feel the tawse with me, the strip of pain that blossoms, that I absorb – even when it curls around and almost hits my poor tender pussy, exposed as I am, bent over, legs spread wide, defenseless.
The wooden spoon, “Two sets of twelve, each side,” but then,
while the round marks are still indented and red on my bottom, he says “Now hold it by the fat end, yes hold the bowl of it. Now use the other end.”
I want you to picture me, obediently whacking myself with the thin, wooden strip of the handle.
“Which end is worse?” he asks.
Oh, my brain can’t quite think – I don’t know, “I don’t know, Sir,” I say.
“Well, try it again.”
So I do, and then, “Now the round side,” he says – and I still don’t know, I don’t know, they both hurt, I can’t measure it.
“Do it again,” he says, and I am sure that I’ll be here forever because I’ll never know, I’ll never be able to judge which end is worse.
Except – this time I do know, this time, it’s clear that the fat, round side is worse. Thank goodness, I can resolve that!
I can tell you all of that, intimate though it is. I can talk about the joy of obedience and letting my mind go still (for the most part, except when he’s asking me hard questions!). And even then, I glow with the pleasure of being his and obeying him. I can tell you that.
I can never tell you what it’s like when he has gently stripped away all my defenses and I stand before him, completely exposed and vulnerable – and safe. I know that he sees me and values me, and I am so deeply touched that I can barely tell myself what that’s like. How could I possibly tell you?
Olivia 
I loved reading this, my dearest friend. This resonates with me in so many ways…being able to openly describe blush-worthy shenanigans to our readers and yet, being unable to fully articulate my deepest, most private, lived experience of submission. Even though we strive to put words to these emotional experiences, there is so much beauty in what is left unsaid. I am grateful for you and grateful for this post…thank you for sharing ❤️
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It is really something, isn’t it. So much to share, and so much that is left unsaid. I thought you did such a beautiful job of capturing your recent experiences with your Sir, and you know loved reading that, And yet there is so much left unsaid. I’m so glad that we share so much of this 💜💜💜
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There’s a baring of the soul that goes with the baring of the flesh. There’s a marking of the soul that goes with the marking of the flesh. Yet, strangely and in the right circumstances, the experience of the soul is quite different from the experience of the flesh.
You describe the experience beautifully, Olivia. And even without being able to tell us, you share it with us and we are the richer for it.
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Yes! I love the way you put that. “… a marking of the soul…”
Thank you for the kind words – I really appreciate your feedback. 💜
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Hi Olivia, I so love this! And how beautifully put. It warms my heart so much seeing how happy you are.
It’s easy to articulate the physical but not so easy to articulate the emotional side of submission. The impact on the submissive soul.
Hugs
Roz
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Thanks so much, Roz. I am really happy. And you’re right, the emotional side of submission is harder to convey. But I know that my submissive friends already know. 💜
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