Posted in spanking

Favorite position? #NSFW, 18+

What is your favorite spanking position?

Personally, it is hard to commit to just one as there are so many delicious ways that a naughty submissive can be positioned for discipline.  Pictured above is one of my many favorites.  I love that sense of humility when you are ordered face down over a piece of furniture, with your bare bottom raised behind you, ready for a thrashing.  Knowing that you are very much “on display” to your disciplinarian….

Happy Sunday, my friends!  Would love to hear about your favorite position 😊

Love, nora

Posted in D/s, domestic discipline, spanking, submission

I am his #NSFW, 18+

Yesterday, I received a text from Daddy while I was at work.  This wasn’t the mundane “what should we do for dinner?”, or “don’t forget to pick up such-and-such”…oh no, not a text of the vanilla variety.  This text read, “You’ve been needing a reminder of my dominance over you.  It will happen tonight.”

Needless to say, I immediately felt those special tingles, imagining what such a reminder might entail.

Fast forward through the rest of the day, and Daddy is ordering me to strip right there in the living room.  He then sent me to stand in the corner of our bedroom and wait for him.

He hadn’t given me any special instructions for what I was to think about while standing in said corner, so I allowed my mind to drift.  I’ve recently had cause to reflect on some of our earlier D/s experiences, and I found myself turning these memories over in my mind and drifting into a more submissive mindset.

When he entered the room, he took me by the hand and guided me to our bed.  He ordered me to lay down, face first.  He gave my bottom a small pat when I was in his desired position and left the room.  I lay there, face down, bottom bare and exposed, thighs slightly spread.

I could hear him in our walk-in closet.  That part of me that always needs to be in control, assumed that his show of dominance meant a spanking.  However, when he returned, he held my cuffs and a bottle of lube.  A bit in shock, I audibly whimpered.  Lube is not required for a spanking, and I had been ordered onto my tummy.  That could only mean one thing…

But first, he placed each of the leather cuffs on my wrists and locked them together.  Bending down, he whispered in my ear that he was doing this because he loved me.

He left the room again.

When he returned, I was almost quivering in anticipation (and a little bit of fear).  We have many toys for that particular part of my anatomy, but they have not been used in quite some time.  What did he choose?  Would it hurt?  Was he going to plug me, or fuck me with this toy?

I had my answer shortly.  Out of my peripheral, I saw Daddy pick up the bottle of lube off the dresser.  It felt like eternity that he stood over me.  When his hand began to spread my cheeks, I tried not to tense up…but it didn’t matter….in the stainless steel plug went.

“That’s my good little bunny,” he said.

Inwardly, I shuddered in humiliation…as much as they fascinate me, there is nothing like an animal tail plug to knock someone down a peg or two.

Daddy then began to tell me things.  Things like he loved me, that he would protect me, that I was safe with him.  Things like I am his, that he owns me, that I belong to him.  All of those perfect words that bring out the little girl in me.

And then he picked up the riding crop.

I hadn’t seen the crop yet and it was quite startling the first time he brought it down soundly on my upturned bottom.  There were a few strokes to my bare behind, but then he began to repeatedly strike me right on my sit spot.  He commanded me to repeat the line, “I am Daddy’s little girl” after each stroke.  I’m not sure how long this went on, but the transformation was complete.  I am HIS little girl and he will do with me as he pleases.

Later, he released my cuffs and held me as he stroked my sore backside.  I felt safe.  I felt loved.

Thank you, Daddy ❤

Love, nora

Posted in Uncategorized

Taboo to tell the truth?

I am fucking miserable.  There, I said it.  And honestly, it feels good to get it out.

Truth be told, I have no where else that I can say it…no where else that I can own it.  My husband knows that I am struggling with depression, but not another soul in my “real” world has an inkling.  It makes me feel so stupid to feel this way. To not be able to find my happy place again.  To not feel like me.  I have always been a pretty happy person, and damn, did I take that for granted!  It used to be effortless.  But apparently, I am not resilient, nor am I as strong as I believed myself to be.

I work with clients every day who have significant, sometimes almost unsolvable problems….many are homeless, most suffer life-changing mental health diagnoses, some are addicted, and some have so many defenses in place from past trauma that they cannot let anyone in to love them or they actively drive others away.

That is not my reality.  I grew up privileged, and I grew up loved by both of my parents.  There was no abuse, no neglect…just a lot of happy memories of childhood.  I always had friends, and I never struggled finding a romantic partner.  I was so fucking lucky and I didn’t even know it!  As an adult, I have always worked hard…earned my degrees, have done what was expected.

Speaking of doing what is expected…picture this…. I found out my husband was having a love affair with a co-worker.  It was about 9 o’clock at night.  My husband and I were decorating a Christmas tree.  The very next day, I sat next to him and held his fucking hand at Thanksgiving dinner so that nobody would know what was up…because I felt like that was what was expected?  Who does that?!?

Please know, I am no angel.  Prior to his infidelity, I cheated on him twice.  My cheating was more of the getting drunk at a party variety, getting caught up in the thrill of the chase…. while his was more of a feeling angry/resentful/lonely and sneaking around with a co-worker type.  But, really?  Cheating is cheating.  My cheating was about sex and ego, while his cheating was out of self-pity and needing connection.

I know what you are thinking….it’s time to break up already!  But see, that’s the thing…there is something about having been to hell and back with someone and both of you choosing to continue to want to make it work…that is worth holding on to.  I still love him.  He is still my best friend.  I cannot imagine my life without him.  I have complete faith that he feels the same way. And, I honestly believe that neither of us will ever hurt the other like that again.  He has done a lot of self-growth work…and has really come far.  And then there is me.

I don’t know where to grow to….what to run towards…what goals to set.  I’ve gone as high as you go academically… I have two respectable, well-paying careers.  I designed a beautiful home and survived an extensive remodel, managing multiple construction crews every day for six months.  I am the friend that everyone comes to when they are hurting.  I am the family member that people call when things go wrong or they need a shoulder to lean on.  None of this is being said in a braggart way.  Believe me,  I am a fucking mess!

And I can’t tell that to anyone.  Except to you….so thank you, if you are still reading.  This honestly isn’t a self-pity thing…it’s a “I am so lost” kinda thing.

I want to feel alive again.

So…that’s it.  I was finally able to say it.  And, it’s a little hard to believe…but I feel a little bit better.  I wish I was in a different place and this was some super sexy, spanking escapade to recollect…but, this is real.  This is me.

~ nora