Breaking Leigh – Epilogue

(Note – this epilogue will have little meaning if you have not read Breaking Leigh)

12, 018 words to describe thirty minutes Leigh and I shared one amazing June evening. In literary terms that constitutes a novella.

When I signed Act XI the other evening I felt empty, vulnerable, fragile. It was akin to cradling a newborn, or handling other extremely delicate items that have personal value beyond measure. In a way I guess I was doing just that.

A memory. A precious moment now frozen in the sands of time and, through the marvels of 21st century digital technology, in bits and bytes for all of you to share in with us. I’m still, as I lie here on our bed not even five feet from where the story unfolded spank by smack, feeling a bit off. It’s entirely possible I’m experiencing an extremely mild and rare case of second-hand (heh) Topspace as a result of verbally articulating the keepsake that is the memory of that night.

I admit to actually being mildly afraid to writing that final Act out of not just the fear that I did not have the writing chops to do the moment’s beauty justice, but also that I was not sure how I was going to react myself. But I did, I am glad I did, and I am appreciative of everyone’s patience (I know, I know…) as Act to Act slowly unfolded like a rose bud into a full bloom.

Truth be told the night did not end there. Aftercare was administered with the same feelings that I mentioned above. Leigh was gone. Her body was there, but she was so far inside her self that only her gorgeous, school girl outfitted shell was there. I helped her to bed, got her some water, then wrapped myself around her. I held her tight, soothed her tears, stroked her hair, whispered enough sweet nothings to write a novella in and of themselves. Limp is an understatement as far as her body. She allowed me the honor of taking about everything that makes her Leigh and trusted me with it while she soared in subspace. There were no emotions left to give, no sparkle in what now looked like a doll’s eyes all glassy and black, not even the ability to hold me.

When she came back a short while later it was with a perverted vengeance.

We fucked like wild animals. Viciously. Sweating. Physical. Primal heat. Raw. We tried to kill one another with cunt and cock. The resultant mess of vaginal fluid soaked bedding and semen splattered plaid skirt was downright pornographic. Hyde got to play with Leigh’s counterpart. If a seething fuck is possible, we seethed each other’s brains out.

And I could have easily written another five or so Acts about that. But I won’t.

No, the end was when she looked back at me with her face a shambles of tear induced chaos and meekly smiled. Actually it just occurred to me that was Leigh saying “Thank you” in silence right before she left me for subspace.

This was a difficult story to write for, as I mentioned, a number of reasons. And for a number of Peekers™ it was a difficult story to read, especially the final three acts. Your Comments did not go unnoticed. It never occurred to me that by sharing our new memory that it may rip the scar off an old one for others, a wound that perhaps they did not willingly submit to receiving. If any undue trauma or the like resulted as an after effect of reading this story I apologize for your pain. Please know that Leigh’s desire to do this, as well as her eventual breakdown, were all done consensually with compassion, care, consideration, concern and above all love.

It may sound odd to those who do not understand or participate in WIITWD, but as violently as I attacked her ass with hand and hair brush every one of those strokes was administered with her well being in mind. The emotions that streamed out of her eyes in rivers were as pure as you can find, streams of salted emotion that flowed from the same pools from which tears of joy flow. You have to trust me on this. If you have ever just started crying from overwhelming happiness, or a stimuli of that sort, that is a variation of what she shed in great, heaving sobs over my knee.

It is NOT easy to just let go. Leigh’s role in our dynamic is far more complex and involved than mine. For her to truly experience the wondrous joy of total freedom and release she needs to leave reality behind. That is fucking difficult. Know why?

Because people fear themselves more than anything else. Leigh would argue she fears snakes more than anything, but I digress.

In her poem Our Greatest Fear Marianne Williamson sums this up best when she states:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

And she is right.

Leigh was powerful beyond measure that night. And I was, and am, blessed to have her as my best friend, coffee drinking bud, wife,  lover, kitchen helper, dog player wither, joke cracker, confidant, favorite hugger, slice of caker, and yes, my slutty doll behind a closed bedroom door.

– Scot


8 responses to “Breaking Leigh – Epilogue

  1. Okay, so reading the final act of breaking Leigh, I also felt “empty, vulnerable, fragile”. I was thinking about it today– about why this particular piece had that effect on me. Obviously I write about spankings on a daily basis, which also means I read about them almost that often as well. This was a different sort of piece.

    I think you very clearly portrayed a real violence – that was the part that was uncomfortable to read, that made me feel vulnerable, shocked, etc. But at the same time there was so much love, reverence – a sharing of a sacred space, almost, so much tenderness, that when combined with the violence, just made me feel like weeping. It reminded me of giving birth– the violence that overtook body and the absolute sacredness and love of what comes forth.

    • I cannot even begin to convey how much I appreciate your sharing you, dare I say, not just expert insights but also some extremely personal ones as well. To have impacted someone writes/reads spanking on a daily basis like this. Thank you for sharing this.

  2. I honestly can’t express how much this whole series touched me. I feel like you crawled inside my head and found my vision…all that I seek…all I have ever imagined and thought I was crazy for wanting. That no one could/would ever understand what I have tried to explain for the last 3 years….until I had all but given up and thought I was just being a silly girl.

    D and I talked about just such a scene…I swear to you….before you ever published word one of this series. And when we started to read it (he has read your series to me as a bedtime story)….we were both just so excited that someone was living out the thing we have both imagined and carried with us, separately in separate lives…that brought us eventually here and made (at least me) realize….it CAN happen. I’m not silly. I can be reborn in just this way….and you restored my hope that…its possible..that my wait will not be in vain because there really are Doms like you (and D I have an instinct is one) who can and will deliver just such a “break” in the most beautiful, loving, selfless, SAFE way possible.

    That old saying “I’m afraid of falling” she whispered….”I’ll catch you” he answered…..letting go…such a strength….a struggle. So much more I want to say and ask but maybe I’ll email you and end up in a Sunday post of IWASV :).Sorry for blathering on…..

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