Canvas

March 13, 2014 at 3:28 pm (Uncategorized) (, , , )

Kneeling, decorated.

The tree on my back. Kneeling, decorated.

“Would you like to decorate me this evening?”

It’s come up in conversation so often, but the mundanities of life tend to interfere. We’re both disabled, he’s my carer. There are events to organise, jewellery to make, songs to practise, writing to proofread, dinner to cook. Games to play. Admin, and housework, and procrastination.

But today, we both noticed that it isn’t such a hard thing to find, that calm space for a while to find a point where our two kinks – his asexual, aesthetic, cheerfully sadistic, cuddly dominance; my intense, playful, passionate, shyly exhibitionist switchiness – can meet and enjoy each other.

And, he’s an artist. And I’m having body confidence trouble. No brainer, really.

So, after dinner, it comes up again. The bed hurriedly cleared of the trappings of a bed-ridden day. The fan heater moved into the bedroom. I wash my face, brush and tie back my hair. He brings through his pencil case. The subject of outfit comes up, and it is generally decided that my wearing clothes would not in any way add to the setting. šŸ˜‰

For all my eagerness, it takes me a while to get comfortable, and I shift position a few times rather abruptly, trying to find a place where my abdomen doesn’t hurt, where I can breathe easily, where my hands aren’t getting tingly, where the ache of my breasts pressing into the duvet is pleasant rather than distracting.

His hands are warm, reassuring. On my bottom, on my shoulder, on my side. The pen is deliciously scratchy on my back. I trace the pattern of the trunk, the branches, the curlicues in my mind. I know and love his style so well. We share an obsession with trees.

I expect the moment to come when I slide into subspace; then am surprised to notice I am already there. I am naturally such a fidgety person; the necessity of stillness, of feeling him close and quiet and intent upon me, leaves me soft, relaxed, his. I know he could give me a command and obeying would happen automatically, instinctively. But there is just this: the silence, the scratch of the pen, his breath warm upon my lower back, my breath deep and luxuriating into my pillow. I feel myself turn into a canvas. A page for him to pour his work on to.

My mind is busy yet, of course. A restless inner monologue, at odds with my body’s stillness. I, inevitably, write bits of this essay in my head. But over and above it all, the peace of the deep water. Of knowing that I’m here, and his.

He finishes the tree. The grand initial S at its roots could stand for many things. One of them is “slave”.

Tree, lying.

The tree on my back. Lying.

There are photos, cuddling, scratching. I bury my head in his neck, nibble his ear. Ask if he might like to spank me.

Then another pattern, green, on my leg. Almost too ticklish to bear, but weight is firm on my other leg, and I hold myself still with an effort. Sliding further down.

Green branches, leg.

Green branches on my leg.

The first swat from the little leather strap against my left cheek is shocking, and I yelp despite myself. Six of those, twelve from the beautiful soft flogger that he made to fit his hand. More from the strap. More from his hand, heavy and merciless and wonderful. I count and thank him for each one. Thirty-six in all. The strap is hell with each stroke, glorious pleasure in the afterglow. I know I’ve done well.

More photos, then we lie together, the pen drying in the warmth from the heater. He praises me. I surface. We check in. Exchange words of love, of thanks, of reassurance.

The endorphins will take a while yet to fade. The pen still longer – perhaps tomorrow’s bath will wipe it away, perhaps not. We will both watch for the fading lines, grin at the memories. Agree on the general desirability of him decorating me a little more often.

Tonight, I wear his marks.

Tonight, I am a canvas.

Decorated, spanked.

Decorated, spanked.

8 Comments

  1. Pandora said,

    This is so beautiful. I’m sure I am not alone in wanting to see photos šŸ™‚

    • motleywanderer said,

      Bless you, thank you! šŸ™‚ I’ve used this as an excuse to finally figure out how to insert photos into posts, so, *bows* here they be. ā¤

      • Pandora said,

        Oh wow. Gorgeous! The artwork, the photography and, if you don’t mind my saying, the bottom šŸ™‚

        Mind if I share these? They are genuinely wonderful.

        • motleywanderer said,

          Oh, thank you so much! šŸ™‚ Iā€™d be absolutely delighted if you shared them. šŸ™‚

          (And apologies for multiple replies! For some reason I had WordPress set for only allowing 3 nested comments. Have fixed, and shall now tidy. šŸ™‚ )

          • Pandora said,

            Yay, thank you! I’ve tweeted a link to this post and might re-post the images in a blogpost with a link back, too šŸ™‚

        • The Magician said,

          Thank you! One of these days, we’ll manage to do this in daylight, with the proper camera charged & handy, but for now phone cameras are a blessing and a virtue. (I did the artwork with a Letraset Promarker, incidentally.)

          • Pandora said,

            This would make a *fantastic* Dreams of Spanking scene…

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