Wednesday, February 11, 2015

The parts we play, when we finally express our deepest needs: what Emily is up to

I'm still hard at work on Directing Kirsten. As you might be able to tell from the Caroline series, I was an avid college thespian. It's fun to be revisiting the amazing feelings acting always brought out in me, and to explore what they might have to do with playing BDSM.

Had she really almost said "for you"? Was she playing a part, or trying to express the terrible truth about her desires?

Was there any difference?

She became hyper-aware of her hands' entrapment by Michael's. Michael: director, prospective boyfriend. Spanker.

One part of her tried desperately to slow down, and to think straight, while another said that the last thing she should do right now was stop and consider. Let it happen, said that part. You are about to get everything you always dreamt of--everything you were thinking about that shameful morning. Don't fuck it up, for God's sake.

Her hands, in his. Michael had seized them. Not roughly: no, he was not rough even when he was… doing that--the thing he had done, with his hand, hard on her bottom over and over.

The spanking: Kirsten August's very first spanking.

"Who is he?" Michael's voice seemed to come from very far away, as Kirsten gazed down only at his hands, holding her hands.

Don't say "you." For God's sake…

"The man who… who… Oh, God, Michael. Please… don't make me say." She felt she could barely get her voice to work. Her cheeks burned like a furnace, and she didn't think she could look him in the eyes now if her life depended upon it.

"You, young lady," he said very softly, "have a great deal to learn."

But he didn't say anything else, and she did look at his eyes, and saw the resolve there. By itself, that steady look made her give a little whimper, and then Michael was pulling her to the side of his legs, and toppling her over his lap.

Oh, God. Oh, God.

And then he spanked her bare bottom. Over and over: not like when he was spanking her through her jeans, all on the same spot, but from right to left and then on her upper thighs where the sting was even worse. It hurt so much more than she had thought it would that she struggled, but Michael held her down with his arm around her waist. When she threw her right hand back, he caught it, just the way he was supposed to do, and bent it behind her back.

"No," he said. "When I spank you, you keep your hands away." His hand fell hard, then, in the same central spot, five times, then ten times.

Kirsten started to cry. The terrible arousal--the wetness she was sure he would see, trickling down her thighs and into her bunched panties--went away, but somehow despite the pain she still wanted it. She wanted the pain itself, because the pain came from him, and he had declared that this punishment would repay Kirsten for the naughtiness that lay at the foundation of her nature.

She hung her head, and cried, not from the pain, but from the way Michael spanking her seemed to clear away the shame.

"Who did you wax your pussy for, Kirsten?" he asked, not stopping the spanking.

"For you!" she sobbed. Did she hope that she might surprise him into halting her punishment? No, she knew in a flash: she wanted to push against the boundary, and find it unyielding. Kirsten wanted to confess, and have Michael give her what she had coming for what she said in the confession.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, for me. And I like your pussy that way, sweetie. I can tell I'm going to like fucking it very much indeed."

Whoa. Yes, she had hoped, and yes, he embodied that man… the director. But…

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