The Twelve Days of Christmas (My Version)

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me…

With a Domme (and a sub) who loves numbers, Christmas and various versions of that song how else could we celebrate Christmas but with a little game.

And so, on Christmas Day there was one stroke from the black cane for my submissive.

The next day my Boy was again ordered to lie down on the bed and present his bottom for two strokes from the butter hand (ridged side down) and, of course, one from the thin black cane.

I’ll spare you the elaborate version of this tale to reveal that on the twelfth day there was :

Enjoying Anticipation

Christmas day is over (although the twelve days of Christmas are still young) and I’m curled up thinking about how much fun it all was.

We instigated an Advent caning, starting with one stroke and counting up to twenty-four. I had thought that might prove difficult to sustain but my boy lay down willingly each day when I asked, allowing me to hurt him. Those special few minutes every day just added to the anticipation of Christmas. That’s a tradition I’d like to keep.

My Christmas day was loving, sexy, fun and joyful. There wasn’t enough time to do everything I would have liked and my current state of tiredness and continual coughing didn’t help either but I had a wonderful day and I feel loved and secure enough to know that there will be other days to play in.

So now I’m thinking about what sexy fun we can have next. Certainly I have fantasies that involve more public fun. Taking my boy out and exhibiting him, having him used publicly, are all things which would delight me (and him) but until I find people who actually and actively want to be part of such a fantasy such things are inherently limited by imagination.

The fantasies that really draw me today though are the private ones. Mat and I alone, with time and space to play. Imagining going through my day knowing that there is playtime ahead, planning (some of) what I will do to him. Ensuring he spends the day anticipating, imagining but uncertain of what will be required of him.

Then, finally, getting him naked. Hurting him, music playing, all my toys spread out for me to choose from. Raping him, putting him on his back and fucking him like a girl until he whimpers. Tying him, so that he lies bound and helpless next to me. Holding him, knowing that we have as long as we need to be together, to enjoy being ourselves. Finally sleeping next to him, holding his lead in my hand, knowing he is my Boy.

Yes, I’m looking forward to such a day.

Rescue Puppy

He is my rescue puppy.

This particular puppy though, is no newborn bundle of fur. Still definitely a puppy, slightly gangly, sometimes awkward and unfailingly enthusiastic; but no longer a baby.
No longer carefree either. This puppy has been hurt in the past and there are scars to show for it. My puppy is loved and treated gently now. He responds with a desperate eagerness to please, rarely but randomly punctuated by a sudden cowering or an unexpected snap of anger. I feel a flare of indignation at each past hurt which left such a mark.

I must be patient with my puppy, persistent and kind. Rewarding good behaviour, quietly discouraging the bad. Giving love, always giving love.

This puppy is not just for Christmas. He is my rescue puppy to keep.