Lordy you'll never guess what my caregiver discovered as she was vacuuming under the bed this afternoon: a cane. Granted it's a small one that was originally a proper one but was broken during shipping. She picked it up and showed it to me with a puzzled look on her face.
"Oh, yeah...that's something that broke," I said as she handed it to me, and I placed it on the bedside table. She didn't say anything. Just went back to vacuuming. I didn't say anything else either.
Thank god she didn't notice the riding crop on the floor underneath the baseboard heater. Or the longer cane against the wall next to the bedside table.
We really do need to keep our toys picked up better.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Yellow light
Yesterday the base of my spine started hurting exquisitely again. At first I figured it was the apparently unknown infection in my pelvis acting up again since I'm not on antibiotics at the moment. But the pain is slightly different than normal. It's just my right leg and it's more sciatica-like than it usually is. And the pain is particularly sharp right in the middle of my right buttock.
It's feeling a bit better today after I put some ice on it -- thank God! Especially as I was starting to worry I'd have to go to the emergency room and explain all the marks on my ass and listen to them be aghast that I'm getting spanked while on anticoagulants. Though I have to say the bruising really isn't all that bad. I've bruised a lot worse in pre-Coumadin days.
But it does leave me feeling rather concerned.
It's feeling a bit better today after I put some ice on it -- thank God! Especially as I was starting to worry I'd have to go to the emergency room and explain all the marks on my ass and listen to them be aghast that I'm getting spanked while on anticoagulants. Though I have to say the bruising really isn't all that bad. I've bruised a lot worse in pre-Coumadin days.
But it does leave me feeling rather concerned.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Resistance is futile...but fun
After doing nothing but thinking about spanking for the last two weeks, I finally felt up to getting a half-decent thrashing this afternoon.
It started innocently enough. I was laying on the bed taking a rest. Sleepy but not really sleeping. A. was out on the balcony smoking and also sleepy but not really sleeping. I tend to sleep diagonally but the more I snuggled on the bed, the more my backside came into better and better view of the balcony. Which, um, may have been somewhat on purpose.
Not that it worked immediately. I expected A. to smack my ass as is his Pavlovian response when greeted with a unhindered view of my backside. Instead when he came in from the balcony, he came around to the other side of the bed and sat down next to me. Ah, but then the Pavlovian reflex kicked in: he patted my ass. But before I knew it, he grabbed my shorts and gave me a wedgie.
I was a bit surprised. However, I've been toying lately with the idea of resisting a spanking and indeed tried it out a few days ago when we were both feeling frisky. It turned out to be fun and so I decided I'd take it to the next level today.
"You're mean!" I exclaimed with a scowl after my mock gasp. He responded by giving me an even stronger wedgie and several hard smacks. "Owww -- now you're even meaner!" Immediately my shorts were digging even further into the depths of my crack. This time I reached back and started pulling my shorts out and over my cheeks. It was A.'s turn to let out the mock gasp before pinning my arm down in the small of my back and letting loose a torrid of sharp smacks.
I was not deterred as I continued with my other hand to try and cover my bum. However, he had me pinned down at an awkward angle and the best resistance I could mount was in the form of trying to move my bottom out of the line of fire -- without much success I might add.
"Right, over my knee."
I glared at him and did nothing. Which, of course, resulted in another torrid of sharp smacks followed by a repeat of the earlier command. I glared again and tried to move my bottom but, alas, no luck. He repeated the command a third time and after glaring briefly, as well as assuming he was expecting me to simply lay over his lap from where I was positioned on the left side (meaning he'd be spanking with his left hand rather than his dominant right hand), I decided to take my chances with the left-handed spanking.
It wasn't too bad except that was just the warm up.
"Lay down on the bed," he said as he reached for the strap.
Again, we played the glaring game. I even pulled up my shorts. I considered telling him to "make me," but wasn't sure I was quite strong enough for a wrestling match. With a scowl and a huff I obeyed.
"This first part will be for hesitating when I told you to lay down." He pulled down my shorts. "Then we'll get to the real spanking."
Ugh. I suspect rolling my eyes and groaning didn't help matters at that point. And my oh my is he getting proficient with that strap. Especially right along my crack. Ow.
In fact, I was approaching the tears horizon when he suddenly stopped. Apparently there was a pimple on my bottom that started bleeding. God bless -- I mean, damn those blood thinners!
Not to worry, there are other implements available. He picked up the little cane, aimed it carefully and whipped me along the same spot over and over. At first it wasn't too bad, but the strokes -- and the pain -- accumulated quickly. I tried kicking and wriggling out of the line of fire, but that just seemed to make him annoyed as he went into the kitchen and fetched a wooden spoon.
"Fifteen on each cheek. Count them please."
Now, there are wooden spoons for the kitchen and there are wooden spoons for spanking and the first kind are not necessarily recommended for the latter. Three strokes into the spanking the spoon broke. I cracked up laughing, then whined about how that was my best mixing spoon. A. returned to the kitchen and fetched another, slotted one.
"We'll start from the beginning --"
"Hey! That's not fair!" I turned around to see A. shrug.
"As Newton pointed out, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Therefore your ass clearly broke the spoon. And whenever you break a spoon, the spanking starts over."
"Nuh uh! My ass didn't do anything, it --"
"Newton was a genius. No arguing with geniuses."
"Newton was also a fucking alchemist." I turned around to find A. shaking his head and putting his finger up to his lips motioning that I should be quiet. Rolling my eyes, I turned back to my pillow.
Five strokes in, the second spoon broke.
"Would you just use the damn spoon under the bed instead of ruining all my kitchen spoons?"
What the hell was I saying? That spoon is heavy and hurts like hell!
A. dug through my under-the-bed craft box that has also become our de facto toy box and took out the big heavy spoon.
"Okay, we'll start at five."
That was fair. And then it occurred to me that frequently during a spanking A. will comment on the appropriateness of an apology. Well, why not do it before he asks? And who knows? Maybe I'd get some mercy points...
"I'm sorry."
"Well, I should think so. "
He was at about ten or so when he stopped again because of that bleeding papule -- this time, blood was splattering slightly.
"I'm not sure about this," he said.
"Oh I so cannot be asked to make the decision about whether or not to continue during a spanking," I half joked.
"Oh you're still getting spanked, I just have to figure out the best way to go about this." He paused. "Maybe I'll give you a one-cheek spanking."
"Nooo!" That would just suck way too much. "Can't you just spank lower, or..." I stopped myself before saying on my thighs. Oh my gawd, shut up now!
He figured out how to spank around the bleeding spot and finished off the thirty strokes. Then it was cuddling time.
"You were so overdue there lady."
I was indeed. In fact, it's been a long time since I had that post-spanking glow that has now melted into bruises that I feel every time I sit down. Even that last one I got a month ago didn't mark me much.
A. also suggested during our cuddle that the thrashing I got would teach me not to be so bratty. Actually, I think it's just whetted my appetite. ;-)
It started innocently enough. I was laying on the bed taking a rest. Sleepy but not really sleeping. A. was out on the balcony smoking and also sleepy but not really sleeping. I tend to sleep diagonally but the more I snuggled on the bed, the more my backside came into better and better view of the balcony. Which, um, may have been somewhat on purpose.
Not that it worked immediately. I expected A. to smack my ass as is his Pavlovian response when greeted with a unhindered view of my backside. Instead when he came in from the balcony, he came around to the other side of the bed and sat down next to me. Ah, but then the Pavlovian reflex kicked in: he patted my ass. But before I knew it, he grabbed my shorts and gave me a wedgie.
I was a bit surprised. However, I've been toying lately with the idea of resisting a spanking and indeed tried it out a few days ago when we were both feeling frisky. It turned out to be fun and so I decided I'd take it to the next level today.
"You're mean!" I exclaimed with a scowl after my mock gasp. He responded by giving me an even stronger wedgie and several hard smacks. "Owww -- now you're even meaner!" Immediately my shorts were digging even further into the depths of my crack. This time I reached back and started pulling my shorts out and over my cheeks. It was A.'s turn to let out the mock gasp before pinning my arm down in the small of my back and letting loose a torrid of sharp smacks.
I was not deterred as I continued with my other hand to try and cover my bum. However, he had me pinned down at an awkward angle and the best resistance I could mount was in the form of trying to move my bottom out of the line of fire -- without much success I might add.
"Right, over my knee."
I glared at him and did nothing. Which, of course, resulted in another torrid of sharp smacks followed by a repeat of the earlier command. I glared again and tried to move my bottom but, alas, no luck. He repeated the command a third time and after glaring briefly, as well as assuming he was expecting me to simply lay over his lap from where I was positioned on the left side (meaning he'd be spanking with his left hand rather than his dominant right hand), I decided to take my chances with the left-handed spanking.
It wasn't too bad except that was just the warm up.
"Lay down on the bed," he said as he reached for the strap.
Again, we played the glaring game. I even pulled up my shorts. I considered telling him to "make me," but wasn't sure I was quite strong enough for a wrestling match. With a scowl and a huff I obeyed.
"This first part will be for hesitating when I told you to lay down." He pulled down my shorts. "Then we'll get to the real spanking."
Ugh. I suspect rolling my eyes and groaning didn't help matters at that point. And my oh my is he getting proficient with that strap. Especially right along my crack. Ow.
In fact, I was approaching the tears horizon when he suddenly stopped. Apparently there was a pimple on my bottom that started bleeding. God bless -- I mean, damn those blood thinners!
Not to worry, there are other implements available. He picked up the little cane, aimed it carefully and whipped me along the same spot over and over. At first it wasn't too bad, but the strokes -- and the pain -- accumulated quickly. I tried kicking and wriggling out of the line of fire, but that just seemed to make him annoyed as he went into the kitchen and fetched a wooden spoon.
"Fifteen on each cheek. Count them please."
Now, there are wooden spoons for the kitchen and there are wooden spoons for spanking and the first kind are not necessarily recommended for the latter. Three strokes into the spanking the spoon broke. I cracked up laughing, then whined about how that was my best mixing spoon. A. returned to the kitchen and fetched another, slotted one.
"We'll start from the beginning --"
"Hey! That's not fair!" I turned around to see A. shrug.
"As Newton pointed out, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Therefore your ass clearly broke the spoon. And whenever you break a spoon, the spanking starts over."
"Nuh uh! My ass didn't do anything, it --"
"Newton was a genius. No arguing with geniuses."
"Newton was also a fucking alchemist." I turned around to find A. shaking his head and putting his finger up to his lips motioning that I should be quiet. Rolling my eyes, I turned back to my pillow.
Five strokes in, the second spoon broke.
"Would you just use the damn spoon under the bed instead of ruining all my kitchen spoons?"
What the hell was I saying? That spoon is heavy and hurts like hell!
A. dug through my under-the-bed craft box that has also become our de facto toy box and took out the big heavy spoon.
"Okay, we'll start at five."
That was fair. And then it occurred to me that frequently during a spanking A. will comment on the appropriateness of an apology. Well, why not do it before he asks? And who knows? Maybe I'd get some mercy points...
"I'm sorry."
"Well, I should think so. "
He was at about ten or so when he stopped again because of that bleeding papule -- this time, blood was splattering slightly.
"I'm not sure about this," he said.
"Oh I so cannot be asked to make the decision about whether or not to continue during a spanking," I half joked.
"Oh you're still getting spanked, I just have to figure out the best way to go about this." He paused. "Maybe I'll give you a one-cheek spanking."
"Nooo!" That would just suck way too much. "Can't you just spank lower, or..." I stopped myself before saying on my thighs. Oh my gawd, shut up now!
He figured out how to spank around the bleeding spot and finished off the thirty strokes. Then it was cuddling time.
"You were so overdue there lady."
I was indeed. In fact, it's been a long time since I had that post-spanking glow that has now melted into bruises that I feel every time I sit down. Even that last one I got a month ago didn't mark me much.
A. also suggested during our cuddle that the thrashing I got would teach me not to be so bratty. Actually, I think it's just whetted my appetite. ;-)
Saturday, August 19, 2006
No spanking? Isn't this the nineteenth century?
I've been curled up in bed watching Anne of Green Gables tonight. A.'s been paying attention off and on, despite finding out that there isn't any spanking in it. Though it's not for lack of Anne getting into trouble. At one point, Anne is caught reading Ben-Hur during class and told to stay after. She apologizes profusely to Miss Stacey and after saying "I won't touch Ben-Hur for a week as penance," A. laughed.
"It's like, what do I have to do to get a spanking? Isn't this the nineteenth century?"
We both agree Marilla would make a great strict aunt or nanny, though in the book she was rather uncomfortable with spanking. If only she could be converted to the spanko side...
I never read the book until after I watched the Kevin Sullivan movie on the Disney Channel when I was 18 or so. And I remember sort of gasping when I heard Anne say to the train station attendant that she preferred to sit outside because there was "more view for the imagination."
Oh my gosh, somebody else thinks like that? Followed a moment later with, Oh but you're not supposed to say stuff about views for the imagination and sleeping in cherry trees out loud!
What I've always loved about Anne was knowing that I wasn't the only one who lived in my imagination. Who catches the bus a few stops down where there's "more view for the imagination." Or is so often filled with awe at beauty. Or conjures up scenarios of great pathos and romance. Even created my own alter ego with her own wonderful, happier life. Anne was such a kindred spirit.
And yet, just like Anne, the older I got, the more I favored pragmatism over romance. I mean, the world so rarely measures up to my imagination. It's simply easier to be practical rather than be disappointed all the time.
In fact, at times I've even felt frustrated with Anne of Green Gables. How can this girl who was so abused for the first thirteen years of her life end up so unscathed once she moves to Prince Edward Island? Real life is not that tidy. Indeed, it certainly wasn't that tidy for L.M. Montgomery, the woman who wrote the Anne of Green Gables books and herself suffered through depression and an unhappy marriage.
But sometimes it's just nice to escape real life for a few hours on a Saturday night in bed. To live vicariously through Anne and imagine a life of bosom friends and kindred spirits and various predicaments while adorned in dresses with puffed sleeves on an island of stunning physical beauty.
Even if there isn't any spanking.
"It's like, what do I have to do to get a spanking? Isn't this the nineteenth century?"
We both agree Marilla would make a great strict aunt or nanny, though in the book she was rather uncomfortable with spanking. If only she could be converted to the spanko side...
I never read the book until after I watched the Kevin Sullivan movie on the Disney Channel when I was 18 or so. And I remember sort of gasping when I heard Anne say to the train station attendant that she preferred to sit outside because there was "more view for the imagination."
Oh my gosh, somebody else thinks like that? Followed a moment later with, Oh but you're not supposed to say stuff about views for the imagination and sleeping in cherry trees out loud!
What I've always loved about Anne was knowing that I wasn't the only one who lived in my imagination. Who catches the bus a few stops down where there's "more view for the imagination." Or is so often filled with awe at beauty. Or conjures up scenarios of great pathos and romance. Even created my own alter ego with her own wonderful, happier life. Anne was such a kindred spirit.
And yet, just like Anne, the older I got, the more I favored pragmatism over romance. I mean, the world so rarely measures up to my imagination. It's simply easier to be practical rather than be disappointed all the time.
In fact, at times I've even felt frustrated with Anne of Green Gables. How can this girl who was so abused for the first thirteen years of her life end up so unscathed once she moves to Prince Edward Island? Real life is not that tidy. Indeed, it certainly wasn't that tidy for L.M. Montgomery, the woman who wrote the Anne of Green Gables books and herself suffered through depression and an unhappy marriage.
But sometimes it's just nice to escape real life for a few hours on a Saturday night in bed. To live vicariously through Anne and imagine a life of bosom friends and kindred spirits and various predicaments while adorned in dresses with puffed sleeves on an island of stunning physical beauty.
Even if there isn't any spanking.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Brains and bottoms
My brain so wants my bottom to be spanked.
My brain wants to be bratty. Wants me to dress up in my pink dress and pigtails and throw a temper tantrum and be pulled over A.'s lap kicking and screaming and spanked until I'm sobbing.
Or maybe outfit myself in my school uniform, which now includes A.'s old school tie and patch (for real!). And show up late for class and without my lessons prepared so that A. bends me over the desk and canes me severely.
I just wish my bottom -- or rather my body -- would cooperate.
Do any of you ever get like that? Where the spirit is willing, but the flesh is, well, so very weak? Or maybe the other way around?
My brain wants to be bratty. Wants me to dress up in my pink dress and pigtails and throw a temper tantrum and be pulled over A.'s lap kicking and screaming and spanked until I'm sobbing.
Or maybe outfit myself in my school uniform, which now includes A.'s old school tie and patch (for real!). And show up late for class and without my lessons prepared so that A. bends me over the desk and canes me severely.
I just wish my bottom -- or rather my body -- would cooperate.
Do any of you ever get like that? Where the spirit is willing, but the flesh is, well, so very weak? Or maybe the other way around?
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Back in business
As you can see, the center-aligned problem when viewing this blog through Internet Explorer has been fixed. Thanks to sparkle for steering me in the right direction as to its cause.
No spankings to report as I've been down with another round of infection that acted like a urinary tract infection but this time wasn't. Something appears to be infected down there, but God only knows what. And my GP and I sure wish He'd let us in on the secret.
I have been thinking about spanking, though. Well, at least starting a couple of days ago. Hopefully I'll start blogging about those thoughts soon.
Oh, and a big welcome to all of you visiting from Spanking Blog, where Dan was recently bemused by my being transfixed (briefly!) by lint during a caning. Yes, I admit it. I'm hopelessly neurotic when it comes to a tidy home (well, when I have the energy to be). To the point of getting in trouble.
No spankings to report as I've been down with another round of infection that acted like a urinary tract infection but this time wasn't. Something appears to be infected down there, but God only knows what. And my GP and I sure wish He'd let us in on the secret.
I have been thinking about spanking, though. Well, at least starting a couple of days ago. Hopefully I'll start blogging about those thoughts soon.
Oh, and a big welcome to all of you visiting from Spanking Blog, where Dan was recently bemused by my being transfixed (briefly!) by lint during a caning. Yes, I admit it. I'm hopelessly neurotic when it comes to a tidy home (well, when I have the energy to be). To the point of getting in trouble.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Technical difficulties
I generally use Mozilla Firefox but today I've been using Internet Explorer only to find to my horror that this blog is center-aligned. Ugh! I'm afraid I'm too drugged up at the moment to figure out what's up (more UTI fun), but I apologize to all of you on IE.
Btw, how long has it been this way?
Btw, how long has it been this way?
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