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July 7, 2011

Advice from Abraham Lincoln (Sorta)

Negativity hurts me. I don’t mean it hurts my feelings, I mean it physically hurts me. Sounds overly dramatic, non? Yes, yes it does… and I am completely aware. But I just have to go out on a limb here and tell y’all that I don’t watch the news. I don’t read the newspaper. I don’t watch CNN or Headline News. Hell, I don’t even watch the Daily Show, and John Stewart is MF’in funny.

I am standing (Sitting? Kneeling? (mrow) Writing? Whatever.) before y’all claiming ignorance. Blissful ignorance.

Yes, I know about the big case, yeah, I hear about stuff. I just don’t want to. Every little jab, “Well, that little bitch got four years in prison!” “She should have gotten MORE!” and the like is almost like a physical stab to my … um… (points in general vicinity of sternum area) this place right here. It actually hurts.

Pop Culture references, I get them. I hear enough and see enough to not be that guy crawling out from under the rock in the Geico commercial, “Well, would you look at that… Hey Clem!” Or whatever. I just do not want to know the bad stuff.

Ostrich? Fuck yeah.

I don’t want to wall myself up and be all emotionally void like I have done in the past. I may be a touch (pronounced “tetch” in the South) sensitive, and I am aware… this is why I do not want to dwell on people hurting other people and the tone of vengeance that it seems to spawn.

I don’t do well with racism, bigotry, hatred, blanket statements of anger or negativity in general from one person towards a whole herd of others or just person to person. You argue in front of me, and if I have no cause to be there, I will politely leave. It’s not my business, why should I have to suffer for your drama?

Prime example. Mr. X was (and I am sure, still is) a good and very considerate driver. He merges well, use his blinker, all that polite car stuff that everyone should know and practice. However, (COMMA) there were times when the stupidity of others would cause severe road rage in the man. Six foot five, retired Marine, bald, thin mouth, mottled knuckles gripping the steering wheel and he’d shout at other motorists for being impolite, rude, mean, unaware, ect. And you know what? Those people… they couldn’t hear him. You know who could? Me. (Also… LOUD NOISES!)

I told him that those people he was yelling at could not, in fact, be corrected by his constructive criticism, but that I could hear him and his anger and the negativity was not helpful. He (on his own accord… I had nothing to do with it… I ASSURE YOU) slowed down, started listening to the Spa channel on XM and generally chilled the fuck out.

(And yes, for those of you who were in the car with me Sunday evening during that insane traffic for the fireworks thingy…. Um… Sorry. Wine?)

So all this talk about … you know, I’m not even gonna go into it. Suffice it to say I don’t like hearing about people hurting children, the elderly, animals (shut up Willie Nelson and Sarah McLachlan … FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND THE ASPCA!*) or each other.

So… in the immortal words of Abraham Lincoln (from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure (OMG… 1985!?)… “Be excellent to each other. And... PARTY ON, DUDES!”

*Yes, I am THAT kid who would watch Sally Struthers on Sunday after church and cry when my daddy said I couldn’t send my allowance to save the “babies with flies in their eyes.”

July 8, 2011

Five O'Clock (Part V)

Click here for Part I.

Click here for Part II.

Click here for Part III.

Click here for Part IV.

He stepped back and fully released her hair. Her arms dropped to her sides, her palms open to him in supplication and she licked her lips as they felt large and pulsing from his passionate kiss. She was surprised at the mention of “beginning” but was not fearful of this self-possessed man. He knew what he wanted and she was sure as her name that she was going to give it to him.

He stepped forward and slowly circled her as if measuring a prized pony. She stood still, her skin breaking out in goose-flesh where his shirtsleeves brushed her. She kept her eyes forward and down, she let him lift her hair as if weighing it. She let him wrap his hands around her upper arms as if testing the resilience of her skin. She let him remove the small sweater from her shoulders and slide it down her arms. He folded it and placed it near her small purse. He put her arms back to her sides, palms forward as if this pleased him.

As he went around her she involuntarily turned her head towards him and caught the intoxicating whiff of his exclusive cologne and underneath that, the smell of him. He smelled of sandalwood and the expensive leather of his shoes. He smelled of a fine cigar and a hint of another aroma; something spicy, it just screamed power and MAN in her mind. His breath was warm and his hands large and dry. She swooned slightly at the effect his scent had on her. Her body clenching and growing damp at his nearness.

He looked straight into her eyes as he circled her again. The dark gaze and glittering depth belied the smile lines around his eyes. That predatory gaze was back and she snapped her attention forward and lowered her eyes. He stood behind her and parted her hair into three bundles; he rapidly braided her thick mane so he could throw the heavy braid over her shoulder, loose wisps of hair coming undone around her face. He smoothed his hands over her shoulders then moved to her left side. The sensation of him playing with her hair had her so calm that when he placed his left hand on her left shoulder she almost leaned into him.

He stiffened his arm and the sharp crack of his open palm spanking her underneath her buttocks almost lifted her off her feet and drew a quick yip from her throat. She blinked and felt the pressure of the air before the hard smack of his hand caught her first on the right buttock and then on the left. Her arms were locked tight at her sides. He steadied her and then slowly moved his hand from her shoulder to her left hand. He moved her tight arm to be cradled from elbow to wrist in the small of her back, he told her, “Clasp your arms together behind your back.” She did as she was bid. His voice so soft, so commanding, he slowly bent her at the waist said, “Keep your chin up.” and continued to spank her. She found herself arching her back and lifting her ass to receive the blows. Small tracks of tears ran silently down the sides of her upturned face.

She made no move to protect her backside as it stung and grew immensely hot. She felt no embarrassment in the act of one adult spanking another for sheer pleasure, this man, this stranger; this Master was tearing down her walls without even being told what they were. He could read her soul through her as she had read so many others before.

She relished giving up the control and slowly melted at his hand.

He cupped her bottom feeling the heat of her skin through her pants and slowly, gently pulled her shoulders up so she was standing upright. Her sensible heels still shoulder width apart, her arms still linked at the small of her back, her chin up, her chest heaving with deep breaths and silent sobs. He grasped her shoulders, palms first then his strong fingers wrapping around joints and turned her towards him. As he wiped away the tears, he gathered her to him in an embrace covering her face and eyelids with small delicate kisses he placed her head on his shoulder. She finally let loose at his gentleness and small praise and cried in earnest.

“Chaton,” he said as he wiped away her tears and pressed her head more firmly to his shoulder, “darling, you were splendid. Those beautiful tears and that proud stance, such beauty and passion, you have truly made me proud. I am so happy to have found you at last.”

Quieting her sobs against the hollow of his shoulder she waited for him to go on. She would follow him anywhere. With grace and tenderness he had shown her power and control that she had given to others. Now she understood why her previous lovers pursued her so hard for something serious. This breaking down of her walls opened her to more sensuality, to heightened awareness of pleasure. They had not even touched flesh to flesh and she felt so drawn and unlocked to him.

She knew his name. She knew he could release her from her own control issues, freeing up so much pleasure. She looked up into his tan face and sure eyes and drank in the sight of him. He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, her chin, her top and bottom lip and said, “Chaton, I do have something for you. I was hoping to give it to someone some day, and the day is today and that someone is you. May but I ask one small favor in return?” She unclasped her arms from the small of her back and threw them around his neck, kissing his face in abandon. A hundred small kisses, her chest heaving and her mouth aching for each kiss. “Anything, just ask, and you shall have it.” She replied.

He picked the braid off her shoulder and pulled it back her head being pulled back in the process, lifting her chin with the other hand her head came up and she stared him in the eyes.

“What is your name?” he asked.


“I will not ask again. What is your real name? I must know. And before you hasten to answer, know that this will be a binding between us. Proximity and geography do not matter. I have been searching for someone with your spirit for such a very long time. You have been on MY side of the paddle, so to speak.” Her eyes widened at his correct guess. “No need to look surprised Chaton, I know that with your control issues that I had to find someone who had been on the delivering side. I gambled,” he paused with a wry smile, “some say I’m lucky.”

She thought for a moment. This would change her life. Not keeping someone at a stiff arm’s length, giving up more of her soul to this man in the short time they had spent together than any man or woman she had ever been with. She took that breath, wiped the fresh tears from her cheeks and blurted out, “Vivianne… it’s Vivianne.” Before she could stop herself.

He closed his eyes and gathered up her hair in his hands, pressing her head back into his shoulder again he lifted the hair and pressed his face into it, smelling her hair as if memorizing the scent. “Vivianne,” he whispered reverently.

She knew that regardless of her punishments and rewards with this man that he would keep her on a pedestal for their full relationship, just as she would hold him in high regard.

He stood her back and went to sit on the chaise in the room. Vivianne stood where she was and watched him reach into his valise and withdraw a small box. He bid her to come nearer and without him having to ask, she dropped to her hands and knees and closed the distance between them. Once reaching him she laced her arms behind her back again, bent forward to kiss the hem of his cuffed trouser and then leaned back on her heels.

He was beaming at her as from the box he pulled a narrow velvet lined jewelry casing. He opened it and asked for her right arm. She obediently gave it to him and lowered he eyes. She could feel him watching her. There was a weight, a heat to his gaze. Vivianne felt the cool band of metal being opened upon her right wrist, she glanced up and the Cartier bracelet was closed with a firm little click and then the golden screw was fastened securely into both sides of the bracelet, locking it onto her wrist.

He put the little screwdriver back into the velvet box and then with both of his big hands, he pressed the bracelet to her skin. He asked, “Do you like it?” Breathlessly, she nodded. She had been fond of the thought of eternity necklaces and cuffs for years, but never had she dared to dream that she would find someone like him to claim her so effortlessly and in such a short period of time.

He stood, drawing her to her feet. He cupped her face in his hands, and brought her forward for a chaste kiss.

“We must plan for our next meeting. We have so much to discuss!” he said with great excitement. He led her to the door and told her, “Call me at five o’clock… in the morning. Five o’clock and not a minute later.” And then she was standing in the hallway.

She pulled her phone from her purse as she slowly started her dazed march to the elevator. Only an hour had passed. She didn’t know how she would be able to wait eleven hours to see his face, feel his breath or hear his voice. She was mentally and emotionally stunned, but her body was vibrating with excitement.

Vivianne set the alarm on her phone.

*This is Part Five of a series. If you are interested in having it continue, please leave a comment below.

About July 2011

This page contains all entries posted to Suzanna Danna in July 2011. They are listed from oldest to newest.

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