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breaking the seal

Posted at 21:55 on 3 Jun 2010 by Pandora / Blake

Tags: health and disability, kink

Funny how the longer you go without blogging, the harder it is to start again. I've got a few ideas for posts lined up, none of which I quite have the energy to write just now, but I reckon it'll be easier to write one of those next if I write something tonight, just to say hi, start getting back into the swing of things. I haven't been reading any spanking blogs, either - once I find time for that you can bet I'll start writing again, you guys do tend to inspire me.

It's been a hectic few weeks. Legal wrangling over contracts, LOTS of stress and waiting around, then a working holiday which involved 7am-1am days. (So yeah, the word 'holiday' is a bit inaccurate. It was an intensive build for a cool project, and while builds are definitely work, they're also outside the real world in the same way that a film or theatre production are; I find being physical and working with my hands energising and refreshing, and the change of scene from desk work means they count as a 'break' in my head. But yeah, the categories are kind of blurred.) Like the special snowflake I am, I managed to badly injure my ankle on day 2 of the build, so I got to sulk and do skilled sedentary work (painting, mostly) for the rest of the week, while everyone else bustled around me being useful and active. So, er, not that much of a break after all, except perhaps in the morbidly literal sense.

This was especially ironic since I'd just been enjoying being all butch and reconstructed during stage one of the housemove - I was all, hey, I'm actually relatively fit these days, I can totally lift that box/bed/wardrobe/sofa! A novel experience, and one I revelled in. I ended up covered in bruises and absolutely loving it, gallumphing up and down stairs, full of energy. There is nothing that makes me hate myself faster than playing the weak and feeble girly who needs to get big strong men to do her DIY/IT/heavy lifting. It's a cultural trope I try to avoid at all costs, so it felt good to have the energy, confidence and physical strength be one of the people that others were asking for help.

And then I had my accident and suddenly I was an invalid, under stern instructions to not put weight on my damaged leg or do ANYTHING physical, my hard-won self-reliance whisked out from under me. I coped with it pretty badly. I mean the pain was bad, for a start - I pride myself on a high pain tolerance, but wow, this was WAY off the scale of anything I've taken for the sake of kink. But it was the psychological stuff that really got me. I hate asking for help - I hate being dependent on others for anything - and I'm chronically busy and impatient. I am, in fact, a shit cripple, and it's my good fortune (and a privilege for which I'm grateful) that the situation was only temporary. I'd like to say that the experience taught me a bit of zen and built character, but mostly I just angsted until I was well enough to gallumph around on crutches and earn stern glares from those with my best interests at heart.

("Can I use a stepladd - ?"

"NO.")

Then we moved house, and now we're here, exhausted from the build, from all the stress and heavy lifting of the move, from having basically been camping for the last ten days - and that's on top of the long-term fatigue I've been accumulating since before the election campaign. We haven't unpacked much of our stuff yet, but Tom's back at work now setting up his new business, and I'm forcing myself to take some time off before I go haring off into the next big project. So we'll be living out of boxes a bit longer, I think. And no, Tom hasn't had the energy yet to make good on his intention to spank me every day, but that's okay.

In fact, he's only spanked me once since I left my London flat two and a half weeks ago, and that was on the build. I was necking cocodamol and ibuprofen to try and manage the pain in my foot, but it was still getting me down, and I found myself worn out emotionally and physically. I hadn't got laid since before we'd left London, and although my sex drive was at a low ebb, I was pretty sure that endorphins would be able to help where pharmaceutical analgesics failed.

So, while enjoying a brief post-lunch cuddle, I asked Tom if he would do the honours. He was doubtful at first - aware of both our fragile emotional states and not wanting to take the risk, and also genuinely wondering if he was too tired to cope with a scene - but I think he sensed how much I needed it, and agreed to oblige.

At the time, I thought my very low pain threshold as he started to spank me was the result of my injured ankle - as if all my tolerance was being used up on that, and there was no extra pain stamina to spend on the spanking. But perhaps the explicit therapeutic dynamic of him doing it for my sake rather than his own desire was a factor - I do find CP much easier to take if I'm doing it for someone other than myself, if they really want to do it and I really want to please them.

Anyway, he started patty-cake lightly, and I, spaced out on unsexy pain and not having been spanked for weeks, squirmed and gasped and clenched my teeth and tried really, really hard not to freak out at how much it stung. I mean, seriously! He was barely tapping me, but it was a huge struggle for me. Still, the body's pain responses are not objective, and after a few minutes even that light smacking was enough to get my blood moving, my cheeks flushed and that warm sensation spreading slowly over my limbs. Before too long I found that I was murmuring languidly rather than hissing through my teeth. He stretched out that part for a few minutes, letting me enjoy the buzz. My ankle wasn't hurting for the first time in days, and the relief was so enormous my whole body felt giddy.

My beloved stepped up the pace just enough to make me feel like I'd been pushed, but as soon as my involuntary kicks started to threaten the safety of my damaged limb, he switched to a warm rub and let me up. I was tousled and spaced out, and nuzzled him with a grin that lasted for the next three minutes, right up until the endorphins wore off and I landed back to earth with a bang.

Still, even once my ankle started hurting again, the fuzzy warm sensation lasted the rest of the day. One of my (kink-friendly) friends commented when I rejoined the group that I was smiling for the first time in ages. When I told her why, she wasn't at all surprised.

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