Emotional Release

I often wonder how many people use scenes and/or beatings to deal with their emotions. I’m certainly not saying all the time, that would be unhealthy. I am talking about those moods that just hit us and what you really want is to be hit until you can cry and let go and let it out and then feel better again. For those emotions that you contain, that are perhaps the lingering regret and hurt of past situations momentarily pounding your heart to break free and be felt.

I’ve had such a good 2 weeks, meeting lots of new amazing people, had a visit from a pretty lady, and general pervery and fun and I look forward to more. Tonight I was out to dinner at a friends. Homemade pizza, olives and melon, plentiful cups of tea ( fancy right:P) and lots of good conversation. I had nothing but positive thoughts and feelings, and plentiful stories of the pervery with aforementioned pretty lady.

It was quite late on in the evening, Lilly had disappeared to have a bath and Marlowe, Kami and I were sitting around talking and generally just relaxed in each others presence when the hints of not feeling 100% ok made themselves known in the back of my head. Yesterday was the anniversary of a large formative part of my life. One that is no longer present or part of me now and I increasingly started to be unable to accept their presence and was struggling to keep the fact that I was not ok hidden.

Why hidden? Why not say that I wasn’t ok? Frankly its not something I usually find hard to deal with on my own in my own way and it isn’t something that I want to talk out and get into. Marlowe had spotted something was wrong and hugged me and asked if I was ok and I briefly mumbled what was wrong. He was lovely but I didn’t want to spoil a good night with my emotions so I decided, maybe rashly, certainly much more impolitely than I would usually be I left before I got more emotional without saying goodbye to everyone.

I am the kind of person that tries very hard to deal with my own emotions and problems. I’m fiercely independent. I don’t seek out lots of sympathy or enter the territory of the drama llama. I like to not make a big deal of things. On the walk home I was glad that I was heading home to a safe space and felt tears brimming up a little. I know that by tomorrow I will be ok again.

I did however wish I could step into the door and find someone waiting for me. Their arms folded over their dark, sharp suit, standing opposite the door waiting for me. I’d see them and sheepishly put down my bag and hold the cuffs of my jacket in my tightly clenched hands as they watched me. Their face unreadable, their eyes cold and calculating.

I’d feel their gaze bore into me and shudder as I looked up into their eyes for the shortest of glances. I’d look down quickly, unable to keep eye contact. If I don’t look I can pretend that I have some control over my inner self, feeling less like I was exposing my subconscious and inner thoughts through the look in my eyes.

They would step forward and stalk towards me, slowly, deliberately, something almost predatory about their movements. I’d step back until I was pressed against the airing cupboard door,until I was pinned there, as they stood uncomfortably close to me. They would move their hand to my face and drag their fingers across my cheek leaving the lightest of scratches. They would move their hand to my chin, cupping it and pulling my face up until I can no longer fight it and I have to look into their eyes.

Tears would well at the corner of my eyes while I desperately tried to give nothing away  as I watched the line of their lips tighten. Disapproval would be apparent in their eyes. With a cold voice they would tell me I was a very rude young lady for walking out on my friends the way I did and ask if I thought it acceptable behaviour. I’d shake my head quickly before they tightened their grip on my face leaving me unable to move my head.

They would ask me what I thought should be done about it. Inwardly I would be grateful that they hadn’t noticed my inner struggle and look up defiantly and shrugging knowing the action would provoke them.

Grabbing the hair at the base of my neck and twisting it around their fist they would pull me roughly into the bedroom,  forcing me over the bed. Holding me down by my neck they would roughly pull down my trousers and my panties. They would tell me that someone needed to teach me a lesson in manners and that impolite behaviour needed to be beaten out of me because it was unacceptable.

They would start to spank me, hard and unforgiving as I wriggled and tried to pull away. When some of the fight had left me and I was no longer struggling they would pull out the cane and beat me with it. Stroke after stroke until I could no longer count and I was sobbing hard into the bed covers. Eventually they would slow, stroking my red sore bottom softly making me whimper and tremble and pull me up and hold me as I cried into their chest.

Once I had calmed a little and the tears had stopped they would stroke my hair softly and ask me if i felt less guilty for leaving so rudely. I’d nod not trusting myself to speak and as they looked down with concern and affection at me. They would whisper in my ear telling me they knew why I had done it, the real reason I left so suddenly and that it was ok, that I was ok and that any true friend would understand and that there was no need for the guilt. They would ask if i needed more or if I felt better
while pointing to the tawse on the bed….
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sometimes being able to let go is quite cathartic.

~ by veritypaige on July 30, 2012.