R/L: Defiance in Action

[note – all dialogue is paraphrased – except for that line about smacking my legs – stuff like that sticks in my head!]

This was written in October of 2024. For lots of complicated reasons, I haven’t been able to post it until now, but it’s about real-life play that really hit a deep and vulnerable part of me. It was really meaningful and special at the time so I wanted to write about it. Enough time has passed that I feel comfortable sharing it now. I’ve edited some of it for tense, and to protect the persons privacy, but mostly left it as it was at the time.

I’ve written about defiance before – how it manifests, why, how it’s different from the manipulation of bratting for me. It’s as honest an act and feeling as obedience, when it shows up – and my mood was ripe for it in Las Vegas in 2024. Saturday was especially difficult for me. It was a day I had expected to be able to fully engage with my friends and the party (even after COVID, since I’d tested negative twice), and I couldn’t. I was emotionally raw, tired, frustrated, and decidedly not in control of the situation in any way, shape, or form. I was also cranky about it. I had FOMO.

Earlier in the day, Chris (aka FiremanChris) came down and gave me a “good morning” spanking. We are close friends but hadn’t played in over a decade (Jesus Christ that makes me feel old) and had been trying to make it work for ages and I was bummed I wasn’t up for what we had originally planned. This was a nice way to reconnect. We chatted and it was a nice sort of relaxing bit of time.

Some other friends walked to Starbucks and graciously offered to bring me a drink. We spent some time in my room chatting and they told me their plans for the day – party events, alone time, etc. Eventually, I was alone again and got myself ready for the day. Showered. Tossed a dress on. I rested, I was feeling a lot better. I didn’t have much to do, however. I sulked. Elephant texted me a photo of himself in his uniform because he was going to be adventurous and check out the male bottoms party. I’d never seen him in person in his uniform and was bummed I wouldn’t get to because I couldn’t go in the party spaces.

I sulked some more, hard. Cleaned my room – I never had such a clean hotel room in my life. Clothes all folded away, bathroom tidied, snacks put away, surfaces clear. I got a text. Elephant was leaving the event and asked if he could come to my room. I said yes, of course – and put panties on this time. You see, Friday when he stopped by, I hadn’t been wearing any because what was the point? I wasn’t leaving my room and wasn’t expecting to play, so why dirty a pair and no one would even see them? Embarrassingly, I had to tell him that and then put a pair on after he’d arrived and asked if he could spank me since we had good masks on and I was feeling well enough. (Who am I, after all, to deny a man the simple pleasure of removing my panties himself?)

This time, I was not going to be caught off guard. Just in case.

It was so lovely to see his uniform – a privilege that I got to share that thing with him. When he walked in, he gave me a hug and took my face in his hands, looking at me, “Are you just sulking?”

“Yes.” Shrug. What else was there to do? I was sad. We sat on the couch for a bit in silence and he held me. There was no judgment in his question, just acknowledgment, and space for my disappointed feelings.

“Would it be weird to be spanked by someone dressed like this?” He motioned to his own uniform.

I laughed a bit, “Not for me!” I briefly wished I was also in uniform. I went over his lap on the couch and he hand spanked me a bit – took my panties down, too – then stood me up. I had left my hairbrushes (two different MP brushes and an ebony brush) on the coffee table, because I had been letting a friend test out their weights compared to another (different style all together) MP brush that she had felt. This was a mistake. I stood to the side as he picked each up and chose my large MP brush amongst them, and started arranging the armchair in the room so he’d have more space. I started protesting immediately. (note: we didn’t have any sort of dynamic but this was well within the bounds of the consent and negotiations we’d already exchanged)

“No, no, no! I don’t want the hairbrush.”

He continued.

I wanted nothing to do with this plan. I was feeling out of control (and not like I’d handed control to someone else, just like I was floundering) and mad and I did not want to be hairbrushed. Out of control – not just of the situation, but of my emotions. Like I couldn’t get a grasp on them, there was no anchor there and I’d been isolated simply by the circumstances.

I gripped my already lowered panties in front of me so they wouldn’t fall to my knees and flattened myself against the wall next to the sofa as he quietly arranged himself on the sturdy squared arm of the chair, his left leg extended on it.

“Come here, Marie.” He held the brush and patted his thigh with his left hand.

“No. I don’t want that.”

My face flushed. I don’t think I’d ever explicitly told him no before. Not to his face. By telling him no, I was trying to grab onto a tiny shred of control. And I didn’t want it, either.

“Come here.”

Silence.

“If I have to come get you, I am going to smack your legs.” His voice was the same as always. No harshness. Quiet, soft. A bit firm. Unwavering. Just him.

As a spanker, this friend expects obedience when spanking someone (if they’ve got that consent, of course) and he had made it clear he had no problem making sure that happened – ideally with his voice, but with his body if necessary. I froze a bit when he said this, because I now knew just how hard he could – and would, and was willing to – smack my thighs, and I knew he would. He wouldn’t just take me by the ear and put me over his knee. He was going to follow through and smack my thighs and then put me over his knee and wallop me with the hairbrush.

So. I closed my eyes so I couldn’t see him coming.

He set the hairbrush down and came over to me, taking me by the shoulders to move me away from the wall. I whimpered and he smacked the backs of my thighs really hard with his hand while I whimpered, then took me by the ear and lead me over to the chair where he re-arranged himself and directed me over his knee. My panties fell to my ankles before I was even settled. My bottom was bare and high and my thighs were stinging, and he wasted no time in walloping me with my hairbrush.

I kicked a lot – this is a good position for kicking (and I needed the outlet for my frustration), it’s easy for him to hold me and my legs are very high off the ground and for my upper body to feel supported, my head and torso will be low into the seat of the chair. I let myself basically dangle, head on the seat of the chair and legs kicking. I whined a lot. Had my tantrum. Let out the frustrations. Eventually I stopped struggling and just sniffled and squirmed a bit. This wasn’t a terribly long spanking – it didn’t really need to be – but it was just hard enough and effective. Nearing the end, he said softly, “Not so defiant now, are you?” and I blushed hard and was grateful my face was in the chair. I shook my head no.

He stood me up and hugged me, put his hands on either side of my face and looked at me. Then took me to the corner, where I stood with my head leaning against the walls and my arms behind my back, my stinging red bottom on display, and I relaxed. And cried. He was nearby, watching me, and I don’t think I’d felt quite this at peace all week. I needed that. I was a very good girl in the corner and didn’t fidget at all. There was much comforting and lotion after.

You see, this was neither play nor formal discipline nor chastisement. It was affection. My defiance was not in response to an instruction necessarily (“give me your hands” or “take off your tie and replace it with the cardboard and plastic”) but rather from a deep sense of frustration and sadness and desperately needing someone to deal with me and take control when I felt like nothing and no one was in control. We’d talked a lot about defiance and how and why it happens and what moods bring it on – and it was not usually part of the head space of our previous play where I am very focused on obedience and want to wear my uniform and actively participate in my discipline.

Not that our other play wasn’t also real but this was raw emotion on its own, not in response to a planned scene or a facilitated moment. Letting that genuine expression of defiance out was no different than those genuine expressions of obedience in other situations. I felt deeply seen and dealt with and cared for in this unexpected moment. It’s something that needs to happen organically, you can’t really facilitate this or make it happen. It was entirely circumstantial and the biggest positive to come out of that weekend: My friends saw me in this raw and uncontrollable sad & emotional state and they took care of me. Yes, him, but not only him. I was a lucky girl.

I also got to see how an expression of defiance would be handled in reality – that’s a bit scary. Any top could decide they just don’t want to deal with that kind of thing – he had reassured me that he was more than capable of dealing with my defiance, were it to come up, but to experience that in the moment was reassuring and affirming.

I took this photo after he left and you can see how red my bottom and thighs were. It was just what I needed and it felt good to be seen and met right where I was in that moment.

Having lost all of that, all those friends who saw me so wholly and completely, and held me, has been devastating.

-M