I've been holding this story back for a dry spell, but after the last post, this seemed like a good time to post it.
**************************************
Story: Porn [M/F]
They were spread out over the metal coffee table with a couple of tiny yellow Post-It pads supporting one leg. Glossy pages of careful, luscious poses.
"I found these under the mattress," said Adam, nodding to the contraband.
Melissa could feel the hot color warming her cheeks as she faced the blue-gold shag.
"Didn't imagine I'd ever find them there, did you?" he asked.
The instinctual gulp before she found her words. "No, Sir."
Adam sighed. Shook his head.
"I must say, I'm disappointed in you. Your lack of creativity. Allowing someone to exploit your fantasies for their own financial gain -- not to mention the people who work for them."
"But these people are Swedish," insisted Melissa as she pointed. "They always treat their workers well. And they don't cost much!"
"Excuse me?" The sharpness of his voice stunned Melissa back into silence. Back to staring at the blue-gold shag. "I think leather would be most appropriate on this occasion. Fetch me the strap, please."
"Yes, Sir." Melissa bit her bottom lip as she went to the bedroom. Pursed her lips as she returned to the living room and handed the strap to Adam.
"Right, then. Bare bottom, please. Over the back of the sofa." Adam unbuttoned and rolled up his right shirt sleeve while Melissa removed her trousers and panties and draped her voluptuous creamy buttocks over the plain, brown couch.
"I'm going to give you fifty."
She gasped but swallowed the protest filling her lungs.
"Count them, please," Adam instructed.
"Yes, Sir."
Adam's strokes were sharp, rapid splats that were hard for Melissa to keep up with.
By eight she began to panic knowing that forty-two more loomed ahead.
By seventeen she began to release her grip on the bottom of the sofa back.
By twenty-nine she was shutting her eyes tight and stumbling over the numbers.
By forty she was moving her hips back and forth to at least move the burn around.
Finally it came.
"Fifty," she squeaked out. Adam helped her stand up and led her around to the front of the couch.
"Alright, big cuddle for my girl," he said as he laid down and pulled her to him. Melissa smiled. She always smiled when it was over and he said that and they cuddled. "You and your furniture porn," tutted Adam.
"But look..." Melissa pointed to the bed on the cover of the Pottery Barn catalog. "So pretty! Oh and this..." She picked up the Ikea catalog and flipped to a coffee table. "...Would look perfect in our living room, see? And look at the price!"
"Fecking Ike-er," Adam sneered. "I see you've learned your lesson well."
About as well as the British have learned to pronounce words that end in an "a" without adding an "r." But saying that would be too cheeky.
"Yep," Melissa replied with a grin, "I need to hide my porn better."
There's always room, however, to be a little cheeky.
Copyright 2007 Natty
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While I wrote the story for the annual SSS Short Story Contest last summer, I also happened to write it on the occasion of Ikea finally opening here in Portland last July. Gawd I love their kitchens...
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
The Lady Jane bench
My very favorite on-screen spanking of all time is in Lady Jane. You remember the one (I mean, how can you forget?). Her mother tells the staff to "prepare the gallery." Young Jane (played by Helena Bonham Carter) is escorted to a u-shaped bench and given the birching of her life.
If I owned the movie (which I should but, sadly, don't), I would show you a picture. However, MovieSpanks over at YouTube has the clip along with nine others in his list of the top ten spankings of the 1980s. Lady Jane is ranked seventh (?!) and as the list is M/F F/F oriented, it's also lacking one of my other favorite spankings, the paddling in Dead Poets Society.
Um...right, I can't help it; one of the spankings in his list takes place on a plane and all I could think of was, hey, Spanks on a Plane...
So back to Lady Jane. It came to mind just now as I was looking at a household catalog online and came across this:
I know! You can own your very own Lady Jane bench for less than $25!
The castle and costumes needed to make the recreation complete, however, might set you back a bit more.
If I owned the movie (which I should but, sadly, don't), I would show you a picture. However, MovieSpanks over at YouTube has the clip along with nine others in his list of the top ten spankings of the 1980s. Lady Jane is ranked seventh (?!) and as the list is M/F F/F oriented, it's also lacking one of my other favorite spankings, the paddling in Dead Poets Society.
Um...right, I can't help it; one of the spankings in his list takes place on a plane and all I could think of was, hey, Spanks on a Plane...
So back to Lady Jane. It came to mind just now as I was looking at a household catalog online and came across this:
I know! You can own your very own Lady Jane bench for less than $25!
The castle and costumes needed to make the recreation complete, however, might set you back a bit more.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
The phone calls of doom
There was some discussion of my last post on the soc.sexuality.spanking newsgoup (I generally try to cross-post there for friends who can't make it to the blogosphere) and at one point during the ensuing thread, I mentioned that, aside from the ick factor of discussing my sexuality with her, I would never want to tell my mom about my disciplinary arrangement with A. because she (and my grandma) would totally be trying to get me spanked.
Not only can I point to the linked post above as proof, but I would also cite the first Christmas A. was here. I was taking pictures of my super-adorable nieces and nephew during Christmas dinner and, apparently, holding up the flow of food around the table. My mom complained, prompting A. to grab my camera and set it to the other side of him, making it impossible for me to reach. Both my mom and grandma clapped their hands together and giggled with glee. It made my skin crawl.
At any rate, one poster as S.S.S suggested that there could be fodder for fantasy there.
Once off the phone, he'd probably order me to stand in the corner while he fetched the straight-backed chair and the clothesbrush. After several minutes, A. would call me to him, look me in the eyes and tell me that my nurse has told him that perhaps some disciplinary assistance from him would make certain that I eat my leafy greens like I'm supposed to. That keeping my INR at a consistent level is important for my own safety (which is true: the higher my INR, the higher my risk of bleeding to death).
Then he might ask me if I had done my physical therapy exercises. I'd bite my lower lip and slowly shake my head. "Yes, I know you haven't. Earlier I got a call from your physical therapist," he'd say with his deep, stern, British-accented voice. I would gulp as he'd tell me how she too thought I'd benefit from the business end of a hairbrush. I'd try to think of an excuse for why I hadn't done them, but before I could think of anything remotely adequate, I'd be ordered over his knee.
And, well, we know what would happen there. Lots of hard, wooden splats and me kicking and squirming and promising to eat my greens and do my PT.
I might just be sent to the corner again, with my panties around my knees and red blotchy bottom on display. You know, to think about what I'd done -- or rather, hadn't done.
He might even set me some lines to write. Fifty about how I will eat my greens regularly and fifty about doing my exercises. And I would have to take them to my next appointments with my nurse and physical therapist to show them that I'd been adequately chastised. Perhaps they would have to sign them, so I could verify that I had indeed demonstrated that they had seen, if only in part, my punishment.
oo0oo
Interestingly enough, I can only imagine women doing the tattling. Trying to imagine my GP -- a man -- totally doesn't work for me. Go figure.
Also I actually like eating my greens (if properly prepared) so the only time there's a problem, it's because I'm physically incapable of eating them (indeed, sometimes I eat too many -- it's a very fine balancing act). Though there have been times I've just forgotten to eat them, especially as my meals aren't planned out (hell, I have a hard enough time just trying to remember to take this one medicine a half-an-hour before I eat -- not to mention keeping all the other 20+ drugs straight!).
However, I have been spanked once already for not remembering to do my physical therapy exercises, which strengthen my hip flexor and trans-abdominal muscles and take about five minutes while laying in bed, along with playing around with some "theraputty" in my hand for a few minutes to strengthen that finger I broke back in November.
Speaking of which, I better get this posted and get my exercises done before bed. ::grin::
Not only can I point to the linked post above as proof, but I would also cite the first Christmas A. was here. I was taking pictures of my super-adorable nieces and nephew during Christmas dinner and, apparently, holding up the flow of food around the table. My mom complained, prompting A. to grab my camera and set it to the other side of him, making it impossible for me to reach. Both my mom and grandma clapped their hands together and giggled with glee. It made my skin crawl.
At any rate, one poster as S.S.S suggested that there could be fodder for fantasy there.
If it wasn't your mom, if it was someone else, how would the fantasy play out? I mean, the idea of knowing that when you met your boyfriend, he might have received a note or phone call suggesting that you definitely needed to be soundly chastised? Would it be a man or a woman who'd have the authority to make that request? And what would be the terms?Once the heebie-jeebies at the idea of my mom wore off, and I could think about it a bit more clearly, a few candidates did come to mind: my former caregiver, or perhaps Nurse K. Indeed, I could imagine Nurse K. calling A. to tell him that I hadn't had enough of my leafy greens so my INR was elevated this week. (If you need an explanation of what an INR is, see this post and/or this post. And, of course, if my INR was high, A. would have to be extra carefully about bruising me...but hey, to hell with pesky real-life details, on with the fantasy!)
Once off the phone, he'd probably order me to stand in the corner while he fetched the straight-backed chair and the clothesbrush. After several minutes, A. would call me to him, look me in the eyes and tell me that my nurse has told him that perhaps some disciplinary assistance from him would make certain that I eat my leafy greens like I'm supposed to. That keeping my INR at a consistent level is important for my own safety (which is true: the higher my INR, the higher my risk of bleeding to death).
Then he might ask me if I had done my physical therapy exercises. I'd bite my lower lip and slowly shake my head. "Yes, I know you haven't. Earlier I got a call from your physical therapist," he'd say with his deep, stern, British-accented voice. I would gulp as he'd tell me how she too thought I'd benefit from the business end of a hairbrush. I'd try to think of an excuse for why I hadn't done them, but before I could think of anything remotely adequate, I'd be ordered over his knee.
And, well, we know what would happen there. Lots of hard, wooden splats and me kicking and squirming and promising to eat my greens and do my PT.
I might just be sent to the corner again, with my panties around my knees and red blotchy bottom on display. You know, to think about what I'd done -- or rather, hadn't done.
He might even set me some lines to write. Fifty about how I will eat my greens regularly and fifty about doing my exercises. And I would have to take them to my next appointments with my nurse and physical therapist to show them that I'd been adequately chastised. Perhaps they would have to sign them, so I could verify that I had indeed demonstrated that they had seen, if only in part, my punishment.
oo0oo
Interestingly enough, I can only imagine women doing the tattling. Trying to imagine my GP -- a man -- totally doesn't work for me. Go figure.
Also I actually like eating my greens (if properly prepared) so the only time there's a problem, it's because I'm physically incapable of eating them (indeed, sometimes I eat too many -- it's a very fine balancing act). Though there have been times I've just forgotten to eat them, especially as my meals aren't planned out (hell, I have a hard enough time just trying to remember to take this one medicine a half-an-hour before I eat -- not to mention keeping all the other 20+ drugs straight!).
However, I have been spanked once already for not remembering to do my physical therapy exercises, which strengthen my hip flexor and trans-abdominal muscles and take about five minutes while laying in bed, along with playing around with some "theraputty" in my hand for a few minutes to strengthen that finger I broke back in November.
Speaking of which, I better get this posted and get my exercises done before bed. ::grin::
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
The spanko tutor is in
In the last two days I have found myself in the position of tutoring someone on the topic of S/M and spanking.
The first tutorial was brief and, er...uncomfortable as my tutee was my mother. See I've strongly suspected that part of the reason her current (fourth) marriage is not working out is that her husband may actually be submissively oriented, as is she.
Now why would I even know enough to deign passing judgment on my mother's sexual life? Well, because I get to hear about it in intimate detail.
Yes, I know. EWWWWW!!!!
My mother cannot grasp the concept that children do not want to think of their parents as sexual beings and has always shared freely with me about her sexuality. Not to mention, has always felt it her duty to share sexual information with us. I'm still traumatized by our discussion regarding blowjobs. I was in the car. Nauseous. Begging her to please...stop...talking...
I've gotten more comfortable over the years (not totally comfortable but, you know, I don't completely want to vomit) as she and I have been much more like sisters than parent-child anyway (hence my hunger for some sort of parental figure). So yesterday as she was driving me to Trader Joe's and talking about her husband, I finally just blurted out, "why doesn't he just go to a dominatrix already!"
"What's a dominatrix?"
Was she serious?
"You know, a woman a guy pays to have order him around and often, you know, whip him and what not...you know, S/M and what not," I tried to explain.
"What's S/M?"
My jaw dropped. For a woman who has always seemed to be this fount of sexual information, I was shocked.
"You know dominance and submission. Where one person's sorta in charge in the bedroom...In fact, I've often thought that you, with your obsession about having a husband who is the head of the household and takes care of you, would totally be into domestic discipline..."
"What's that?"
I took a deep breath. Then shook my head.
"I should probably talk about this later and do my shopping," I said grabbing the car door handle. "You can look it up on the Internet."
"Good idea."
The Loving Domestic Discipline page probably had a few hits from Clackamas, Oregon last night.
I've actually been toying with talking to my mom about the whole DD thing for awhile. Yet aside from the ick factor, there's also the concern that if she did totally get into the whole thing, I'd never be able to go to a spanking event in Portland again without my mom being there (yes, she's little Miss Outgoing).
Then again, it could solve my transportation problems getting to and from said events. Just kidding! The gross-out factor would always, always override my mobility problems.
Still, I often wonder if she'd finally find happiness if she did start looking into DD. But I'm not sure I feel comfortable talking anymore with her about it. That's what Google is for, right?
The second conversation was this afternoon with my godfather. That was less uncomfortable as my godfather is my gay best friend (if we lived closer and I didn't have a boyfriend, I'd totally be his hag) and very familiar with deviant forms of sexuality. It was the logistics of how it worked that he was a bit mystified about, especially when I explained that often it is the act of being spanked (or playing pony, which was what started our conversation) that provides sexual gratification, not necessarily penetration. Indeed, penetration may not even come into it at all. When I was first coming out, I got spanked by many guys but it never involved sex.
"So, what does the top get out of it?" he asked.
"A lot of it is about sadism. About being able to hurt someone and getting pleasure out of that as well as pleasing the person you're hurting. And controlling how the scene is going to play out once you've negotiated the ground rules." As a newly practicing switch, I actually had an answer to that question which as a bottom I'd always sort of wondered about myself.
"I have to say, it's all about penetration for me," he stated. "...I wouldn't really know what to do in that context."
"Well, while I do think there is a lot about our sexuality that can be learned, I also think a lot of it is inbred. A form of sexual orientation, if you will."
"Interesting."
After that we talked about how wrong a certain professor of ours was when he used to go on about how the Internet was going to create political revolutions throughout the Arab World when, in fact, the revolution really has been in sexuality. I don't see the monarchy changing in Saudi Arabia anytime soon, but dating certainly has (i.e. it actually happens) thanks to instant messaging.
I'm sure that you, dear reader, can relate to that last point. Google has almost single-handedly changed our lives and blogs like this help both writers like me and readers like you know that we're not alone.
At any rate, those have been my spanking tutorials over the last two days. The weird and the interesting. The disturbing and the thoughtful.
If I'm not careful, I'm going end up teaching community college courses on spanking and D/s. Then again, I do miss teaching, so that wouldn't be such a bad thing.
Just as long as my mom doesn't enroll.
The first tutorial was brief and, er...uncomfortable as my tutee was my mother. See I've strongly suspected that part of the reason her current (fourth) marriage is not working out is that her husband may actually be submissively oriented, as is she.
Now why would I even know enough to deign passing judgment on my mother's sexual life? Well, because I get to hear about it in intimate detail.
Yes, I know. EWWWWW!!!!
My mother cannot grasp the concept that children do not want to think of their parents as sexual beings and has always shared freely with me about her sexuality. Not to mention, has always felt it her duty to share sexual information with us. I'm still traumatized by our discussion regarding blowjobs. I was in the car. Nauseous. Begging her to please...stop...talking...
I've gotten more comfortable over the years (not totally comfortable but, you know, I don't completely want to vomit) as she and I have been much more like sisters than parent-child anyway (hence my hunger for some sort of parental figure). So yesterday as she was driving me to Trader Joe's and talking about her husband, I finally just blurted out, "why doesn't he just go to a dominatrix already!"
"What's a dominatrix?"
Was she serious?
"You know, a woman a guy pays to have order him around and often, you know, whip him and what not...you know, S/M and what not," I tried to explain.
"What's S/M?"
My jaw dropped. For a woman who has always seemed to be this fount of sexual information, I was shocked.
"You know dominance and submission. Where one person's sorta in charge in the bedroom...In fact, I've often thought that you, with your obsession about having a husband who is the head of the household and takes care of you, would totally be into domestic discipline..."
"What's that?"
I took a deep breath. Then shook my head.
"I should probably talk about this later and do my shopping," I said grabbing the car door handle. "You can look it up on the Internet."
"Good idea."
The Loving Domestic Discipline page probably had a few hits from Clackamas, Oregon last night.
I've actually been toying with talking to my mom about the whole DD thing for awhile. Yet aside from the ick factor, there's also the concern that if she did totally get into the whole thing, I'd never be able to go to a spanking event in Portland again without my mom being there (yes, she's little Miss Outgoing).
Then again, it could solve my transportation problems getting to and from said events. Just kidding! The gross-out factor would always, always override my mobility problems.
Still, I often wonder if she'd finally find happiness if she did start looking into DD. But I'm not sure I feel comfortable talking anymore with her about it. That's what Google is for, right?
oo0oo
The second conversation was this afternoon with my godfather. That was less uncomfortable as my godfather is my gay best friend (if we lived closer and I didn't have a boyfriend, I'd totally be his hag) and very familiar with deviant forms of sexuality. It was the logistics of how it worked that he was a bit mystified about, especially when I explained that often it is the act of being spanked (or playing pony, which was what started our conversation) that provides sexual gratification, not necessarily penetration. Indeed, penetration may not even come into it at all. When I was first coming out, I got spanked by many guys but it never involved sex.
"So, what does the top get out of it?" he asked.
"A lot of it is about sadism. About being able to hurt someone and getting pleasure out of that as well as pleasing the person you're hurting. And controlling how the scene is going to play out once you've negotiated the ground rules." As a newly practicing switch, I actually had an answer to that question which as a bottom I'd always sort of wondered about myself.
"I have to say, it's all about penetration for me," he stated. "...I wouldn't really know what to do in that context."
"Well, while I do think there is a lot about our sexuality that can be learned, I also think a lot of it is inbred. A form of sexual orientation, if you will."
"Interesting."
After that we talked about how wrong a certain professor of ours was when he used to go on about how the Internet was going to create political revolutions throughout the Arab World when, in fact, the revolution really has been in sexuality. I don't see the monarchy changing in Saudi Arabia anytime soon, but dating certainly has (i.e. it actually happens) thanks to instant messaging.
I'm sure that you, dear reader, can relate to that last point. Google has almost single-handedly changed our lives and blogs like this help both writers like me and readers like you know that we're not alone.
oo0oo
At any rate, those have been my spanking tutorials over the last two days. The weird and the interesting. The disturbing and the thoughtful.
If I'm not careful, I'm going end up teaching community college courses on spanking and D/s. Then again, I do miss teaching, so that wouldn't be such a bad thing.
Just as long as my mom doesn't enroll.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Yay!
Just got off the phone with A. and after an ambitiously austere January, a short-term loan, and a few tips (see bottom of left sidebar) here and there from readers (one in particular saved our ass with a very generous donation -- you know who you are!), A.'s been able to book his ticket back here to Oregon. Basically he either had to return by the end of April or the price was going to go up significantly, leaving us with, potentially, another 8-month separation like last time. But thankfully, he'll be back on April 29th. Only three months apart, per the loose "guidelines" border agents follow (don't get me started on the bizarre arbitrariness of US Visa policy...unless, of course, you happen to be a border agent, in which case, have I ever told you what beautiful eyes you have...how brilliant you are...how brave and strong?).
Seriously. Finding that out made today a lot easier to get through.
Seriously. Finding that out made today a lot easier to get through.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Playin' (slightly slutty) school
Sigh. My last post before A. leaves. ::pout::
Not sure if we'll get a chance to play tonight before he leaves, especially as I've got a chest cold. (Though who says you can't get caned if you've got a cold? That's what NyQuil is for, right?) But now that I've caught up on my sleep and the Super Bowl is over (of which we shall no longer speak...grrr) and house guests are back home, I figured it was time to catch up on blogging. Especially as I promised a post in my last post about playing school.
Yes, last week A. set me some schoolwork: I was to learn about the seventeenth-century British monarchy (prompted by a discussion regarding the chronology of that period which was prompted by...er, I can't really remember now). He went out to the shops and I was to get dressed into my school uniform. By the time he got back I was dressed except my tie (the very tie A. wore to school when he was a lad -- something I think is most cool, but got no attention when I mentioned it at the Punishment Book). It had been so long since I had to tie a tie that I had forgotten.
"Here we go." He towered over me and held the tie around my neck. "The thin side goes over here..."
"Ohhh, right. I forgot."
"Don't worry. I'll make sure you remember."
I didn't doubt it.
I settled down with Wikipedia on my laptop. As well as Yahoo Messenger. New PB friend, Bridget, and I chatted when A. had his back turned or went out to smoke. Not to mention, I read her delightful blog and chatted with another spanko friend.
But it was not my lack of studying that caused me to get spanked.
No, it was a surprise inspection that got me in trouble. I was wearing an official white shirt. My tie was clearly on and tied correctly. I had my blazer with correct school badge (also from A.'s childhood uniform). White knee socks. Black shoes. White bra.
"What are these?"
"Um, my red lace panties..."
That's right. I was wearing red lace cheeky panties. What can I say? I wanted to be at least a little slutty. ::grin::
Well, the headmaster was not pleased. Without a word A. closed my laptop and set it on the floor. Moved my over-the-bed table. Ordered me to take off my blazer, then lay myself over his knee. Needless to say, I was quickly stripped of my forbidden panties.
"Right," said A. after a number of increasingly stingy smacks. "Twelves strokes on each cheek. Count them please."
"Yes, Sir."
It wasn't the hardest spanking I've ever received, but his hand sure does hurt.
There was some groping after my spanking. Some practice tying a tie. And a more intimate inspection which revealed that I wasn't, um, shaved.
"Very, very naughty," A. said before fetching the razor and shaving gel.
That's right. I had to lay down on my back on the bed, pull up my skirt, spread my legs and present my cunt to be shaved.
What can I say? This school has very strict rules about grooming.
And not only was my cunt shaved, but then I had to turn over onto my belly and present my ass to be shaved.
It was embarrassing to say the least. But not half as embarrassing as it would have been had it been atop a large oak desk with a large stern school matron doing the shaving. (One of these days we hope to have both the large oak desk and the large stern school matron. ::grin::)
If all that wasn't embarrassing enough, A. got out the medical tape. My ass cheeks were spread far apart and a small butt plug inserted. It was time to punish my bummy hole.
Now, I've always fantasized about having my bummy hole spanked. Lemme tell ya, it HURTS. And A. was only softly spanking me.
After my butt plug fucking and bummy hole spanking, A. began to play with my newly shaved cunt. Between all the anal play and being on my tummy (as opposed to my back), I managed to come. It wasn't the best orgasm ever, but hey, it's better than what I've been getting.
Oh, um, right. We never did get around to my test on the seventeenth-century British Monarchy. Who knows? Maybe we'll get to it in the next four hours before he leaves. If not, I'll certainly have plenty of time to study.
Not sure if we'll get a chance to play tonight before he leaves, especially as I've got a chest cold. (Though who says you can't get caned if you've got a cold? That's what NyQuil is for, right?) But now that I've caught up on my sleep and the Super Bowl is over (of which we shall no longer speak...grrr) and house guests are back home, I figured it was time to catch up on blogging. Especially as I promised a post in my last post about playing school.
Yes, last week A. set me some schoolwork: I was to learn about the seventeenth-century British monarchy (prompted by a discussion regarding the chronology of that period which was prompted by...er, I can't really remember now). He went out to the shops and I was to get dressed into my school uniform. By the time he got back I was dressed except my tie (the very tie A. wore to school when he was a lad -- something I think is most cool, but got no attention when I mentioned it at the Punishment Book). It had been so long since I had to tie a tie that I had forgotten.
"Here we go." He towered over me and held the tie around my neck. "The thin side goes over here..."
"Ohhh, right. I forgot."
"Don't worry. I'll make sure you remember."
I didn't doubt it.
I settled down with Wikipedia on my laptop. As well as Yahoo Messenger. New PB friend, Bridget, and I chatted when A. had his back turned or went out to smoke. Not to mention, I read her delightful blog and chatted with another spanko friend.
But it was not my lack of studying that caused me to get spanked.
No, it was a surprise inspection that got me in trouble. I was wearing an official white shirt. My tie was clearly on and tied correctly. I had my blazer with correct school badge (also from A.'s childhood uniform). White knee socks. Black shoes. White bra.
"What are these?"
"Um, my red lace panties..."
That's right. I was wearing red lace cheeky panties. What can I say? I wanted to be at least a little slutty. ::grin::
Well, the headmaster was not pleased. Without a word A. closed my laptop and set it on the floor. Moved my over-the-bed table. Ordered me to take off my blazer, then lay myself over his knee. Needless to say, I was quickly stripped of my forbidden panties.
"Right," said A. after a number of increasingly stingy smacks. "Twelves strokes on each cheek. Count them please."
"Yes, Sir."
It wasn't the hardest spanking I've ever received, but his hand sure does hurt.
There was some groping after my spanking. Some practice tying a tie. And a more intimate inspection which revealed that I wasn't, um, shaved.
"Very, very naughty," A. said before fetching the razor and shaving gel.
That's right. I had to lay down on my back on the bed, pull up my skirt, spread my legs and present my cunt to be shaved.
What can I say? This school has very strict rules about grooming.
And not only was my cunt shaved, but then I had to turn over onto my belly and present my ass to be shaved.
It was embarrassing to say the least. But not half as embarrassing as it would have been had it been atop a large oak desk with a large stern school matron doing the shaving. (One of these days we hope to have both the large oak desk and the large stern school matron. ::grin::)
If all that wasn't embarrassing enough, A. got out the medical tape. My ass cheeks were spread far apart and a small butt plug inserted. It was time to punish my bummy hole.
Now, I've always fantasized about having my bummy hole spanked. Lemme tell ya, it HURTS. And A. was only softly spanking me.
After my butt plug fucking and bummy hole spanking, A. began to play with my newly shaved cunt. Between all the anal play and being on my tummy (as opposed to my back), I managed to come. It wasn't the best orgasm ever, but hey, it's better than what I've been getting.
Oh, um, right. We never did get around to my test on the seventeenth-century British Monarchy. Who knows? Maybe we'll get to it in the next four hours before he leaves. If not, I'll certainly have plenty of time to study.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Twitter tweedled out
I apologize if you had problems loading the blog yesterday. It was all Twitter's fault (naughty superfluous blogging function!). And since it's rather unnecessary, I ditched it.
Now back to good ol'perverted blogging. And if my tummy ache goes away (which I hope it does 'cause it's feeling strangely reminiscent of the one I had with my PE), I'll tell you all about playing Slutty School the other night. A little hint: it involved studying the British monarchy in the seventeenth century. And some red lace knickers.
Now back to good ol'perverted blogging. And if my tummy ache goes away (which I hope it does 'cause it's feeling strangely reminiscent of the one I had with my PE), I'll tell you all about playing Slutty School the other night. A little hint: it involved studying the British monarchy in the seventeenth century. And some red lace knickers.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Moving slowly to the girlie side
For the last month and a half I've been in a bit of a dommey mood. Or rather, I haven't really been in much of a kinky or sexual mood at all, but if I had to be kinky, I found it easier to be the demanding goddess than a child-like submissive (and when I did feel child-like, I just wanted to be cuddled). Hormonal craziness, unresolved grief, and just plain feeling like shit left me with little inclination towards sex. But it did leave me hungry to be in control of something. And I have to say, I found it rather satisfying making my beloved happy by dressing seductively, barking orders at him, and taking out my frustrations on his backside with a riding crop. I even ended up with a foot massage to boot.
Yet as that last post of mine demonstrated, I'm starting to feel more like my bratty, little girl self. With a touch of slutty school girl thrown in for good measure (more about that in a forthcoming post). I could feel the girlie side slowly taking over the other day while I was topping. Not that it came all at once. I was enjoying my foot massage. I was relishing A.'s wincing while I whipped him. And I was loving the view from the top while we fucked.
Then A. grabbed my breasts and broke the dommey spell.
I slapped him reflexively and castigated him for touching what he knew he was not allowed to touch. He apologized and said he thought I was switching back to subby mode.
"No. I'm not done riding you yet," I said with another slap. Which, I wasn't that exact second, but within three or four minutes I was. I laid down next to him and meekly said, "okay, you can top now."
He seized my breasts.
"These are mine and I will have them whenever I want them." He pinched and pulled my nipples until I yelped.
"Yes, Sir."
"And this is my cunt that I will fuck when I want to." He grabbed my legs. "That's it -- legs up! That's the proper position for fucking."
I grinned. And spread my legs wide.
Now it had been awhile since we had had good ol' missionary position sex as during the last time few times, I would start to pass out. This time as he entered me, I hoped that everything would be fine.
Wrong.
At first it was just a little bit of nausea. Then I started shaking -- almost like shivering, except I wasn't cold. I kept telling myself to take slow, deep breaths. But this horrible, icky feeling flooded through my whole body until I could feel it from my sternum to my fingers and toes. And aside from the light shining out of the lamp next to me, the room had a darkish-tinge. I began pushing A. away and started crying.
"I have to stop! I can't...have to stop..."
Immediately he was beside me, pulling me to himself.
"Hey...oh, baby..."
I cried softly for a few minutes until the icky feeling subsided and I could speak normally. We talked about what had happened. Tried to figure out why (we didn't -- and still can't). And cuddled a lot. Needless to say, the cuddling made me feel like his cherished little girl.
As I mentioned, this always seems to happen when we do it while I'm on my back. It never seems to happen in any other position. However, when I orgasm -- usually from wanking on my back -- I do get this sort of full-body twitching thing going on. Again, almost like shivering, except I'm not cold.
But last night when A. was wanking me off, it was a lot like what happened the other night. I didn't feel so much like I was going to pass out. At first I thought I was just too tired to come -- my clitoris got too sensitive before I could orgasm. Then the twitchy thing started and I thought maybe I was coming, except within a minute or two, that horrible icky feeling started again and I couldn't speak much. And again I cried a bit and we cuddled. And I wondered, am I going to be able to come again anytime soon?
I have no answer to that question (and if you have any idea what's happening to me, feel free to comment), but for the meantime, I think we're going to stick to spanking -- spanking me, that is. Indeed, I'm off to put my school uniform on. I'm feeling like a cheeky schoolgirl tonight.
Yet as that last post of mine demonstrated, I'm starting to feel more like my bratty, little girl self. With a touch of slutty school girl thrown in for good measure (more about that in a forthcoming post). I could feel the girlie side slowly taking over the other day while I was topping. Not that it came all at once. I was enjoying my foot massage. I was relishing A.'s wincing while I whipped him. And I was loving the view from the top while we fucked.
Then A. grabbed my breasts and broke the dommey spell.
I slapped him reflexively and castigated him for touching what he knew he was not allowed to touch. He apologized and said he thought I was switching back to subby mode.
"No. I'm not done riding you yet," I said with another slap. Which, I wasn't that exact second, but within three or four minutes I was. I laid down next to him and meekly said, "okay, you can top now."
He seized my breasts.
"These are mine and I will have them whenever I want them." He pinched and pulled my nipples until I yelped.
"Yes, Sir."
"And this is my cunt that I will fuck when I want to." He grabbed my legs. "That's it -- legs up! That's the proper position for fucking."
I grinned. And spread my legs wide.
Now it had been awhile since we had had good ol' missionary position sex as during the last time few times, I would start to pass out. This time as he entered me, I hoped that everything would be fine.
Wrong.
At first it was just a little bit of nausea. Then I started shaking -- almost like shivering, except I wasn't cold. I kept telling myself to take slow, deep breaths. But this horrible, icky feeling flooded through my whole body until I could feel it from my sternum to my fingers and toes. And aside from the light shining out of the lamp next to me, the room had a darkish-tinge. I began pushing A. away and started crying.
"I have to stop! I can't...have to stop..."
Immediately he was beside me, pulling me to himself.
"Hey...oh, baby..."
I cried softly for a few minutes until the icky feeling subsided and I could speak normally. We talked about what had happened. Tried to figure out why (we didn't -- and still can't). And cuddled a lot. Needless to say, the cuddling made me feel like his cherished little girl.
As I mentioned, this always seems to happen when we do it while I'm on my back. It never seems to happen in any other position. However, when I orgasm -- usually from wanking on my back -- I do get this sort of full-body twitching thing going on. Again, almost like shivering, except I'm not cold.
But last night when A. was wanking me off, it was a lot like what happened the other night. I didn't feel so much like I was going to pass out. At first I thought I was just too tired to come -- my clitoris got too sensitive before I could orgasm. Then the twitchy thing started and I thought maybe I was coming, except within a minute or two, that horrible icky feeling started again and I couldn't speak much. And again I cried a bit and we cuddled. And I wondered, am I going to be able to come again anytime soon?
I have no answer to that question (and if you have any idea what's happening to me, feel free to comment), but for the meantime, I think we're going to stick to spanking -- spanking me, that is. Indeed, I'm off to put my school uniform on. I'm feeling like a cheeky schoolgirl tonight.
Brat rule #34
- Never brat when you've just had a bath. Spankings -- even hand spankings -- can be nearly unbearable on freshly bathed skin.
Yes, I bratted right after having my bath tonight -- er...this morning rather. A. told me to go to bed and I made the mistake of telling him to "make me" with a cheeky glint in my eyes.
Needless to say, he grabbed me by the hand, led me to the bed, and took me over his knee.
Ouch.
It was just a hand spanking but...OMG did it sting! Even after I'd taken my nighttime narcotic dose (which, paradoxically, could be making my spankings hurt worse).
So, um, note to self and all that.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Notes on blogkeeping
Alrighty, the dust is gone. I may tinker a bit more, but changes have been made. Widgets and buttons added. A blogroll finally -- FINALLY -- sorted and organized (now that I've figured out 1-click Blogrolling, I'm in blogkeeping heaven!). I still want to put my archives in a drop-down menu one of these days. But, you know, one of these days.
So the changes are as follows:
Recent comments widget: This way you'll be able to follow a thread of comments on a post without having to scroll down, click on comments, scroll through comments, etc. Hopefully this will make for easier reading and commenting. Not that I'm a comment whore or anything like that...
Yahoo Messenger button: Now you can see if I've got my messenger open so you can chat with me via instant message. I do tend to be slightly bi-polar between introverted and extroverted. When I'm extroverted, I'm really chatty on IM. And when I'm introverted, you may not see me on messenger for months.
Pillow Talk: Cunning Linguists is a list of well-written journals that talk about sex. A number in our spanking community are among this fine group and as my blog has become increasingly sexually-oriented (though will probably never be much about fucking), I thought I might join the fun.
The Essential Natty: Sorta like an anthology of what I think are the pivotal or favorite moments in the life of this blog. Note that a few more have been added to this list and a few dropped off.
The Blogroll: I've finally got a 1-click blogroll (I know, where the hell have I been for the last several years?) so now I'll be able to update my list of favorite blogs instantly. And it's in alphabetical order so you -- and I -- will be able to find the blog we're looking for. Though I do reserve the right to change the order as, well, alphabetical order is so done, ya know?
Great Spanking Sites: Somehow I forgot to include Laura's Spanking Corner when I first created this section, a travesty I've now righted. I've also added a link to "This Thing We Do," an online forum Jigsaw Analogy (aka Dyke Grrl) started for those of us in real life disciplinary relationships who want a place to chat with other people into WIIWD.
Tip Jar: The tip jar started out as me trying to figure out how to put a PayPal button on a friend's blog and practicing on this blog. I decided to leave it on last Christmas when we were desperate for money to make A. come back to me faster but I was limited physically in just what I could do to earn money (and still am). Since then it's been a handy source of spare cash from generous readers (you know who you are) to add to our plane ticket fund. I decided to move it further down the left sidebar to give readers a chance to read a bit before they choose whether or not to tip. I've been considering advertising, but I dislike the idea forcing people to view advertising against their will. That said, I may include advertising someday down the road, but it will only be from carefully selected vendors (no Google ads, no random dodgy spankingporn outfits) and absolutely, positively will not include any animation of any kind. In the meantime, I'll just stick with you all and the PayPal button, as well as hopefully finish a spanking story or two to sell (if I ever finish physical therapy, that is).
That's it, dear reader. Those are the changes that I hope will make your time here more pleasant. Enjoy!
So the changes are as follows:
Recent comments widget: This way you'll be able to follow a thread of comments on a post without having to scroll down, click on comments, scroll through comments, etc. Hopefully this will make for easier reading and commenting. Not that I'm a comment whore or anything like that...
Yahoo Messenger button: Now you can see if I've got my messenger open so you can chat with me via instant message. I do tend to be slightly bi-polar between introverted and extroverted. When I'm extroverted, I'm really chatty on IM. And when I'm introverted, you may not see me on messenger for months.
Pillow Talk: Cunning Linguists is a list of well-written journals that talk about sex. A number in our spanking community are among this fine group and as my blog has become increasingly sexually-oriented (though will probably never be much about fucking), I thought I might join the fun.
The Essential Natty: Sorta like an anthology of what I think are the pivotal or favorite moments in the life of this blog. Note that a few more have been added to this list and a few dropped off.
The Blogroll: I've finally got a 1-click blogroll (I know, where the hell have I been for the last several years?) so now I'll be able to update my list of favorite blogs instantly. And it's in alphabetical order so you -- and I -- will be able to find the blog we're looking for. Though I do reserve the right to change the order as, well, alphabetical order is so done, ya know?
Great Spanking Sites: Somehow I forgot to include Laura's Spanking Corner when I first created this section, a travesty I've now righted. I've also added a link to "This Thing We Do," an online forum Jigsaw Analogy (aka Dyke Grrl) started for those of us in real life disciplinary relationships who want a place to chat with other people into WIIWD.
Tip Jar: The tip jar started out as me trying to figure out how to put a PayPal button on a friend's blog and practicing on this blog. I decided to leave it on last Christmas when we were desperate for money to make A. come back to me faster but I was limited physically in just what I could do to earn money (and still am). Since then it's been a handy source of spare cash from generous readers (you know who you are) to add to our plane ticket fund. I decided to move it further down the left sidebar to give readers a chance to read a bit before they choose whether or not to tip. I've been considering advertising, but I dislike the idea forcing people to view advertising against their will. That said, I may include advertising someday down the road, but it will only be from carefully selected vendors (no Google ads, no random dodgy spankingporn outfits) and absolutely, positively will not include any animation of any kind. In the meantime, I'll just stick with you all and the PayPal button, as well as hopefully finish a spanking story or two to sell (if I ever finish physical therapy, that is).
That's it, dear reader. Those are the changes that I hope will make your time here more pleasant. Enjoy!
Pardon the dust
I've been meaning to clean this blog up for awhile. My blogroll -- or lack of one -- has made for a messy group of urls with glaring omissions and broken links. And I've been wanting to add some goodies like the comments widget, Yahoo Messenger button, Twitter, etc. Some of that I've accomplished tonight (er...this morning). Some of it I have not. But I will get it finished this week (tomorrow, insh'allah as my Arab friends say -- God willing!), and I appreciate your patience while I try to make this blog a even more enjoyable.
In the meantime, my spanking mojo is coming back here and there (well, my domme mojo has been back for sure and my little girl mojo is also creeping back). New juicy posts should be forthcoming both here and the Punishment Book soon.
In the meantime, my spanking mojo is coming back here and there (well, my domme mojo has been back for sure and my little girl mojo is also creeping back). New juicy posts should be forthcoming both here and the Punishment Book soon.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
A swinger of birches
Afraid my spanking mojo has gone to "tentative" the last couple of weeks while I've been a bit sickly. Nothing serious, just the ebb and flow of a weakened immune system, adjusting to new medication (my insurance company finally approved the long acting narcotic my doctor prescribed -- yay!) and too many doctors appointments (now that I'm done with pelvic floor physical therapy, it's on to hand therapy for that finger I broke during my tumble down the stairs back in November).
I keep wanting to post something, especially as my StatCounter numbers have been higher than ever. But while I've plenty of material in my mental notebook to post, I haven't had a matching level of energy. So tonight I will simply leave you with the closing line of the Robert Frost poem, "Birches," (alas his mind is not as prurient as mine) which I came across at my new favorite web addiction, poets.org:
I keep wanting to post something, especially as my StatCounter numbers have been higher than ever. But while I've plenty of material in my mental notebook to post, I haven't had a matching level of energy. So tonight I will simply leave you with the closing line of the Robert Frost poem, "Birches," (alas his mind is not as prurient as mine) which I came across at my new favorite web addiction, poets.org:
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.I daresay that more than a few of us would share such a sentiment.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Nothing says Christmas like a Santa with a tree up his ass
I tried to take a picture of the plastic Santa atop my tiny Christmas tree with his slightly surprised but clearly pleased expression despite the evergreen branch up his ass, but unfortunately my batteries are not charging like they should. I figured you all, my dear pervy readers, would appreciate a Santa who doesn't mind being anally impaled.
Not sure that Christmas trees are quite my thing (I'll stick to good ol' butt plugs and ginger root), but after last night I can say I do like having my ass cheeks spread wide with medical tape. It made me feel so deliciously exposed and naughty. We're definitely going to be playing with that again.
But not tonight...er...this morning. It's time for me to take a bath and go to bed. And maybe get the last of my Advent spankings (if we're up to it). I've been wondering what the most appropriate implement would be for Christmas. My first thought was a cane, but this afternoon as I dug out our heavy duty wooden spoon to use, ya know, for actually mixing, I thought it too might be a good one. I am curious which implement you, dear reader, believe imparts the most Christmas spirit.
Merry Christmas, my friends. Hope your holiday is that perfect mixture of blessed and kinky.
Not sure that Christmas trees are quite my thing (I'll stick to good ol' butt plugs and ginger root), but after last night I can say I do like having my ass cheeks spread wide with medical tape. It made me feel so deliciously exposed and naughty. We're definitely going to be playing with that again.
But not tonight...er...this morning. It's time for me to take a bath and go to bed. And maybe get the last of my Advent spankings (if we're up to it). I've been wondering what the most appropriate implement would be for Christmas. My first thought was a cane, but this afternoon as I dug out our heavy duty wooden spoon to use, ya know, for actually mixing, I thought it too might be a good one. I am curious which implement you, dear reader, believe imparts the most Christmas spirit.
Merry Christmas, my friends. Hope your holiday is that perfect mixture of blessed and kinky.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Happy Solstice!
It's the shortest day of the year but at 10:08 tonight (PST), the winter solstice occurs. It will also be time for the Second Annual Global O when people all over the world will orgasm for world peace. True, it does feel a bit like Sting (who, apparently, all men hate) and his tantric orgasm. And orgasming at exactly 10:08 (or wherever you are in the world) is a bit of a challenge (bet Sting has been practicing for this for a long time). But, you know, it's an orgasm and it's for world peace, so it can't be too bad.
Sorry to be so quiet lately. Last week was a rough week, health-wise. And every time I start to feel better, A. starts feeling me up and we start doing stuff and then the next day I feel like shit again. The other day when he was taking his trousers off and starting to flirt with me, I told him to put his thing away as I was finally feeling half-way decent and wanted to stay that way for awhile.
But I think it's coming out tonight. Especially after he catches up on my Advent spankings (eek!).
Sorry to be so quiet lately. Last week was a rough week, health-wise. And every time I start to feel better, A. starts feeling me up and we start doing stuff and then the next day I feel like shit again. The other day when he was taking his trousers off and starting to flirt with me, I told him to put his thing away as I was finally feeling half-way decent and wanted to stay that way for awhile.
But I think it's coming out tonight. Especially after he catches up on my Advent spankings (eek!).
Friday, December 07, 2007
Reaquainting my bottom with the belt and more
Despite the whole falling down the stairs thing, I had had a lot of pent up spanking energy the last couple of weeks. And what was really keeping us from playing much was hosting my dad for a few days as he's been having a particularly bad time of it lately. But once we had some time to ourselves last Tuesday night and our cuddling on the bed could lead to groping and petting, all sorts of things happened.
Like A.'s member swelling and myself getting a bit dewy. And me scraping the splint on my finger down his dick (which made it swell more). And my ass getting butt plug-fucked. And, of course, spanked.
At first I did the topping from the bottom bit. "Please don't spank me with your belt!" I begged.
"You so want to get spanked...Say it! I want to hear you tell me what you want," A. demanded.
Hmph! I hate asking!
But as I was naked on all fours with my ass high in the air hungry to feel that belt on my ass, I quickly gave in.
"I want you to spank me," I admitted just above a whisper. "I want you to whip me with your belt."
And, dear reader, he did. And oh did it hurt! Within a couple of strokes, I was swimming in nausea (the room spinning every time I turned my head didn't help matters any) and shocked at how much it stung. I thought about stopping the whole thing but kept thinking I would adjust to the pain. Instead I just kept thinking "oh God -- make it stop!" Thankfully A. sensed this from my yelping and moving about and lightened the strokes, then stopped completely and went about trying to increase my endorphines the old-fashioned vanilla way.
And I didn't even get a decent orgasm out of it. Even worse, I was soooo sore the next day (worse than falling down 23 stairs!). I mean, some of those muscles haven't been used for, like, eight months.
Needless to say, it kind of put me off spanking for a bit. At least any spankings with implements. I was still craving the odd hand spanking. But frankly, my friends, I was rather afraid of encountering that belt again. Or straps and ping pong paddles. And hairbrushes, canes and riding crops were too hideous to even contemplate.
So when A. announced the night before last that he wanted to finally break in our new futon-cum-spanking bench, I was a bit reticent. I mean, I was sorta in the mood for a spanking, but more of a little girl over the knee hand spanking sort. And I certainly wasn't in much of a submissive or sexual mood. I had been feeling annoyed with everything since the night before, though I didn't know why. As I watched A. get out just about every implement we own, I felt even more ambivalent and slightly sick.
Yet I think it was that fear that finally pushed me to go ahead with it. If I wussed out, the fear would just grow and it would be even harder to meet up with that belt again. Or any other implement for that matter.
So I stripped as ordered (except the cast boot on my left ankle that I sprained in September which the doctor said on Monday I have to wear all the time now, not just when I leave the house, because it's still not healed), though pouted a bit to myself as I did. Sat naked on the bed while he went out for a smoke. Contemplated my impending thrashing, still feeling petulant and afraid, yet also determined. When he returned, I timidly made my way to and over the new bench. As I rested my arms on the seat of futon and laid my ample bottom right on top as my feet dangled several inches above the carpet, my emotions felt like two weather fronts about to collide in the form of a nasty storm. My eyes were already slightly moist. This was it. This just might be the time I actually cried.
After giving me several smacks with his hand, A. decided he wanted my bottom a bit lower. I jiggled my hips down so that my toes touched the floor. He smacked me a few more times, then started softly with the strap. But the edge of the top of the futon was pressing against my pelvis -- you know, the pelvis that always hurts -- and the nausea started trickling back.
"I gotta move," I practically whined. A. fetched a couple of pillows to place under my pelvis as I scooted my bottom back up on top. This was bit more comfortable and after I took a deep breath, A. continued with the strapping.
"What's that like on a scale of 1-10?" he asked after a succession of progressively harder strokes.
I always find that a difficult question to answer in the midst of a spanking because at that moment it will feel a lot more painful than if I have time to compare it with other spankings. On the other hand, each spanking is unique and this one in particular had some very specific conditions attached to it making this a necessary question.
"Um...maybe a seven or so," I answered.
"Let's see if we can get it up to an eight or a nine."
Ugh.
"I'm going to give you 12 strokes. Count them, please."
I groaned aloud reflexively before I remembered that was serious transgression.
"Yes, Sir," I said as submissively as I could. But it was too late.
"Was that a groan I heard?" A. asked as he patted my head.
I stopped for a second to consider if somehow I could spin it as something else but quickly decided to just apologize and hope he had mercy.
"I'm sorry, Sir."
"Right. That will be an additional six."
D'oh! I almost groaned aloud again by accident but stopped it with a deep breath just in time.
A. brought the strap down with a reasonable amount of force. Certainly not full force, but definitely harder than he had been. After the first six strokes, he changed sides so my left cheek wouldn't feel left out. At nine and ten, I was getting close to my limit, especially as the strap kept landing just inside my cheeks. At twelve he rubbed my bottom and switched sides again.
"Now for the extra six. Continue counting, please."
I think it was during those six that my endorphine spigot finally turned on (in addition to another sort of spigot). When he finished with the extra six and groped my bottom, I eagerly pulled my legs apart. His fingers wandered a bit, just as I'd hoped they would.
But he wasn't done with that strap yet. And I wasn't quite finished pouting either. Indeed, a part of me was even just a little irritated that I was getting aroused. Yet I couldn't deny that I was hungry for that strap even as it hurt so much. When he switched to the ping pong paddle and it kept hitting me just inside where my thigh and cheek meet, I so wanted to plead and beg him to stop. And I also wanted more. More, more, more, more, more...
Of course he did stop -- with the spanking, that is -- and turned his attention to more intimate areas. I still didn't come (I'm not sure if I can in that position), but I did feel all nice, warm and fuzzy when I laid down a few minutes later (which I made sure to do earlier this time as I didn't want to get too sore again).
However I still felt like crying. As I got ready for bed I thought about asking A. to spank me more. To give me a hard spanking full force with the hairbrush until I bawled my eyes out. But when it really came down to it, I knew I probably wouldn't get the release I needed that way.
No, I needed to do it in a less kinky, less fun way -- sitting down with myself and being aware of my feelings. So I went to bed and A. went back to work at the desk in the kitchen and I pouted and cried my way through my frustration at having to spend so much time going to doctors appointments lately and being too tired to do much of anything else. And having a broken finger that makes typing hard. And a stupid ankle that STILL has to be in a cast boot. Yeah it was definitely wallowing. But somehow by letting myself wallow, I went to sleep feeling a lot better.
And by pushing myself over the back of that futon, I was able to feel a lot better about getting thrashed. Which is good because tomorrow is my birthday -- the most spankable day of the year.
How do you think I should get my 35 whacks?
Like A.'s member swelling and myself getting a bit dewy. And me scraping the splint on my finger down his dick (which made it swell more). And my ass getting butt plug-fucked. And, of course, spanked.
At first I did the topping from the bottom bit. "Please don't spank me with your belt!" I begged.
"You so want to get spanked...Say it! I want to hear you tell me what you want," A. demanded.
Hmph! I hate asking!
But as I was naked on all fours with my ass high in the air hungry to feel that belt on my ass, I quickly gave in.
"I want you to spank me," I admitted just above a whisper. "I want you to whip me with your belt."
And, dear reader, he did. And oh did it hurt! Within a couple of strokes, I was swimming in nausea (the room spinning every time I turned my head didn't help matters any) and shocked at how much it stung. I thought about stopping the whole thing but kept thinking I would adjust to the pain. Instead I just kept thinking "oh God -- make it stop!" Thankfully A. sensed this from my yelping and moving about and lightened the strokes, then stopped completely and went about trying to increase my endorphines the old-fashioned vanilla way.
And I didn't even get a decent orgasm out of it. Even worse, I was soooo sore the next day (worse than falling down 23 stairs!). I mean, some of those muscles haven't been used for, like, eight months.
Needless to say, it kind of put me off spanking for a bit. At least any spankings with implements. I was still craving the odd hand spanking. But frankly, my friends, I was rather afraid of encountering that belt again. Or straps and ping pong paddles. And hairbrushes, canes and riding crops were too hideous to even contemplate.
So when A. announced the night before last that he wanted to finally break in our new futon-cum-spanking bench, I was a bit reticent. I mean, I was sorta in the mood for a spanking, but more of a little girl over the knee hand spanking sort. And I certainly wasn't in much of a submissive or sexual mood. I had been feeling annoyed with everything since the night before, though I didn't know why. As I watched A. get out just about every implement we own, I felt even more ambivalent and slightly sick.
Yet I think it was that fear that finally pushed me to go ahead with it. If I wussed out, the fear would just grow and it would be even harder to meet up with that belt again. Or any other implement for that matter.
So I stripped as ordered (except the cast boot on my left ankle that I sprained in September which the doctor said on Monday I have to wear all the time now, not just when I leave the house, because it's still not healed), though pouted a bit to myself as I did. Sat naked on the bed while he went out for a smoke. Contemplated my impending thrashing, still feeling petulant and afraid, yet also determined. When he returned, I timidly made my way to and over the new bench. As I rested my arms on the seat of futon and laid my ample bottom right on top as my feet dangled several inches above the carpet, my emotions felt like two weather fronts about to collide in the form of a nasty storm. My eyes were already slightly moist. This was it. This just might be the time I actually cried.
After giving me several smacks with his hand, A. decided he wanted my bottom a bit lower. I jiggled my hips down so that my toes touched the floor. He smacked me a few more times, then started softly with the strap. But the edge of the top of the futon was pressing against my pelvis -- you know, the pelvis that always hurts -- and the nausea started trickling back.
"I gotta move," I practically whined. A. fetched a couple of pillows to place under my pelvis as I scooted my bottom back up on top. This was bit more comfortable and after I took a deep breath, A. continued with the strapping.
"What's that like on a scale of 1-10?" he asked after a succession of progressively harder strokes.
I always find that a difficult question to answer in the midst of a spanking because at that moment it will feel a lot more painful than if I have time to compare it with other spankings. On the other hand, each spanking is unique and this one in particular had some very specific conditions attached to it making this a necessary question.
"Um...maybe a seven or so," I answered.
"Let's see if we can get it up to an eight or a nine."
Ugh.
"I'm going to give you 12 strokes. Count them, please."
I groaned aloud reflexively before I remembered that was serious transgression.
"Yes, Sir," I said as submissively as I could. But it was too late.
"Was that a groan I heard?" A. asked as he patted my head.
I stopped for a second to consider if somehow I could spin it as something else but quickly decided to just apologize and hope he had mercy.
"I'm sorry, Sir."
"Right. That will be an additional six."
D'oh! I almost groaned aloud again by accident but stopped it with a deep breath just in time.
A. brought the strap down with a reasonable amount of force. Certainly not full force, but definitely harder than he had been. After the first six strokes, he changed sides so my left cheek wouldn't feel left out. At nine and ten, I was getting close to my limit, especially as the strap kept landing just inside my cheeks. At twelve he rubbed my bottom and switched sides again.
"Now for the extra six. Continue counting, please."
I think it was during those six that my endorphine spigot finally turned on (in addition to another sort of spigot). When he finished with the extra six and groped my bottom, I eagerly pulled my legs apart. His fingers wandered a bit, just as I'd hoped they would.
But he wasn't done with that strap yet. And I wasn't quite finished pouting either. Indeed, a part of me was even just a little irritated that I was getting aroused. Yet I couldn't deny that I was hungry for that strap even as it hurt so much. When he switched to the ping pong paddle and it kept hitting me just inside where my thigh and cheek meet, I so wanted to plead and beg him to stop. And I also wanted more. More, more, more, more, more...
Of course he did stop -- with the spanking, that is -- and turned his attention to more intimate areas. I still didn't come (I'm not sure if I can in that position), but I did feel all nice, warm and fuzzy when I laid down a few minutes later (which I made sure to do earlier this time as I didn't want to get too sore again).
However I still felt like crying. As I got ready for bed I thought about asking A. to spank me more. To give me a hard spanking full force with the hairbrush until I bawled my eyes out. But when it really came down to it, I knew I probably wouldn't get the release I needed that way.
No, I needed to do it in a less kinky, less fun way -- sitting down with myself and being aware of my feelings. So I went to bed and A. went back to work at the desk in the kitchen and I pouted and cried my way through my frustration at having to spend so much time going to doctors appointments lately and being too tired to do much of anything else. And having a broken finger that makes typing hard. And a stupid ankle that STILL has to be in a cast boot. Yeah it was definitely wallowing. But somehow by letting myself wallow, I went to sleep feeling a lot better.
And by pushing myself over the back of that futon, I was able to feel a lot better about getting thrashed. Which is good because tomorrow is my birthday -- the most spankable day of the year.
How do you think I should get my 35 whacks?
Monday, December 03, 2007
Kinky in the ER
So when last I left you, dear readers, I had fallen down a very long flight of stairs while incurring relatively minor damage. Actually you can barely tell I fell except for the red splint/cast on my left index finger.
I did promise to share some kinky moments from our time in the ER, and I apologize I've been slow to get to that as well as to your comments. While the fall itself wasn't so bad, it's meant even more doctor's appointments (I had 3 last week and have 4 this week). Coupled with vertigo (that finally went away last Friday -- yay!), it's left me knackered. Plus, it's hard to type with a broken index finger.
At any rate, during the several hours they kept me in the ER for observation, A. and I tried to pass the time as best we could.
We considered snagging some of their purple nitrile (latex-free) gloves, but then I pointed out that I'd already absconded with a whole bunch of gloves from my clinic a few weeks back. "Very naughty," A. said. Indeed. And I'm hoping the punishment for said theft will require those gloves.
After the doctor put my finger in a splint, he handed us a large roll of medical tape and instructed me on how best to wrap my finger until I was able to consult with the hand surgeon sometime the following week. Upon seeing the sizable roll of medical tape, I immediately thought about a thread on the newsgroup many years ago about using medical tape to hold the cheeks open in order to administer discipline to one's bummy hole. After the doctor left, I promptly told A. about this other possible use, who seemed to agree that some medical tape experimentation would be in order.
The whole time, of course, I was hooked up to an oximeter which read my heart rate and displayed it on a large monitor. A. decided to have a bit of fun with it.
"Let's see what words make your heart rate go up," A. said. "I'm going to fuck your ass..."
82..84...85
"I'm going to open your cheeks and tape them back with medical tape... "
86...87...91
"...so I can plug your ass with ginger..."
91...92...93
"And spank you with a hairbrush."
88...83...82
"Ah so spanking isn't doing it for you," A. said
"Well, maybe the thought of spanking is relaxing for me," I offered.
"It shouldn't. I'm not doing it right if it does."
"I dunno." I shrugged. I didn't consciously feel less inclined to being spanked.
"Uh oh, your spanking mojo is critically low." A.'s voice became urgent. "Nurse -- get me 5 CCs of spanking mojo right away!...Then show me your knickers."
I always giggle when A. says knickers. I mean, how can you not? It's a funny word!
What ended up affecting my heart rate the most was talking to my mom on the phone. The almost perfectly identical waves on the heart monitor suddenly became erratic and my heart rate jumped up to the mid 90s. True, I was talking about the fall. But I do think it suggests that my mother may actually be hazardous to my health.
The next day when I had to go back to the ER to get another CT scan to make sure the vertigo wasn't from something more sinister, my mom drove us to the hospital and stayed with us. At first we thought about playing our little heart monitor game again, but quickly realized we'd have to do a more PG-rated version. Thankfully there was a television in the room to pass the time. And also thankfully my CT scan ended up being normal. So my mom stepped out while A. helped me get dressed (him dressing me made me feel very child-like, in a kinky sort of way), after which he managed to steal a few soft, playful swats on my bottom with me bent slightly over the gurney.
Despite what my heart rate did when A. suggested he was going to spank me, my spanking mojo has actually remained mostly intact. But as this post is long enough, I'll post about that tomorrow. Promise.
I did promise to share some kinky moments from our time in the ER, and I apologize I've been slow to get to that as well as to your comments. While the fall itself wasn't so bad, it's meant even more doctor's appointments (I had 3 last week and have 4 this week). Coupled with vertigo (that finally went away last Friday -- yay!), it's left me knackered. Plus, it's hard to type with a broken index finger.
At any rate, during the several hours they kept me in the ER for observation, A. and I tried to pass the time as best we could.
We considered snagging some of their purple nitrile (latex-free) gloves, but then I pointed out that I'd already absconded with a whole bunch of gloves from my clinic a few weeks back. "Very naughty," A. said. Indeed. And I'm hoping the punishment for said theft will require those gloves.
After the doctor put my finger in a splint, he handed us a large roll of medical tape and instructed me on how best to wrap my finger until I was able to consult with the hand surgeon sometime the following week. Upon seeing the sizable roll of medical tape, I immediately thought about a thread on the newsgroup many years ago about using medical tape to hold the cheeks open in order to administer discipline to one's bummy hole. After the doctor left, I promptly told A. about this other possible use, who seemed to agree that some medical tape experimentation would be in order.
The whole time, of course, I was hooked up to an oximeter which read my heart rate and displayed it on a large monitor. A. decided to have a bit of fun with it.
"Let's see what words make your heart rate go up," A. said. "I'm going to fuck your ass..."
82..84...85
"I'm going to open your cheeks and tape them back with medical tape... "
86...87...91
"...so I can plug your ass with ginger..."
91...92...93
"And spank you with a hairbrush."
88...83...82
"Ah so spanking isn't doing it for you," A. said
"Well, maybe the thought of spanking is relaxing for me," I offered.
"It shouldn't. I'm not doing it right if it does."
"I dunno." I shrugged. I didn't consciously feel less inclined to being spanked.
"Uh oh, your spanking mojo is critically low." A.'s voice became urgent. "Nurse -- get me 5 CCs of spanking mojo right away!...Then show me your knickers."
I always giggle when A. says knickers. I mean, how can you not? It's a funny word!
What ended up affecting my heart rate the most was talking to my mom on the phone. The almost perfectly identical waves on the heart monitor suddenly became erratic and my heart rate jumped up to the mid 90s. True, I was talking about the fall. But I do think it suggests that my mother may actually be hazardous to my health.
The next day when I had to go back to the ER to get another CT scan to make sure the vertigo wasn't from something more sinister, my mom drove us to the hospital and stayed with us. At first we thought about playing our little heart monitor game again, but quickly realized we'd have to do a more PG-rated version. Thankfully there was a television in the room to pass the time. And also thankfully my CT scan ended up being normal. So my mom stepped out while A. helped me get dressed (him dressing me made me feel very child-like, in a kinky sort of way), after which he managed to steal a few soft, playful swats on my bottom with me bent slightly over the gurney.
Despite what my heart rate did when A. suggested he was going to spank me, my spanking mojo has actually remained mostly intact. But as this post is long enough, I'll post about that tomorrow. Promise.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Taunting gravity
So I got that spanking a few hours after my last post. It was a lovely over the knee, good-girl sort of spanking with A.'s hand. Just the perfect getting reacquainted kind of spanking.
However there have been a few kinks in our spanking play since then, despite both of us being eager to try out our new wooden-slatted futon-cum-spanking bench. There's been a family issue. And A.'s jet lag. And my shoulder getting really cranky. And then there was last Wednesday.
Once a week my massage therapist/acupuncturist massages and needles away my pain and makes my life just a little bit better. The only drawback is that her office is up a long flight of 23 hard wooden stairs. So every week I slowly make my way up the stairs with little rest breaks along the way and carefully make my way down after my session.
Except I wasn't very careful last Wednesday. I quite foolishly decided to attempt going down the stairs with my bum right knee, a cast boot on my left foot, a plastic bag of groceries and my cane in my right hand while holding onto the railing in my left hand. It only took one step for me to completely lose my balance and fall head first down each and every one of those 23 hard wooden stairs.
As I was falling -- you know, after the obligatory SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! -- I remember being amazed at what was happening to me. I mean, I never fall down head first. In all my years of bad balance, I've learned to fall backwards onto my butt or against the wall. I also remember thinking while I fell that I had to finally stop falling at some point. And eventually I did. I landed flat on my back on the concrete floor next to the door.
A woman in the shop next door heard me fall, came over and ordered me not to move. My massage therapist came down and (I think she was the one) called the ambulance. Someone got my mother sitting out in the car waiting for me. "Why hasn't the ambulance gotten here?" she demanded and was answered a moment later by the paramedics arriving.
There was a lot of concern about internal bleeding because I'm on Coumadin, but after being examined by a zillion nurses and doctors and various radiological equipment in one of those blindingly bright trauma rooms in the ER, I had only sustained a cracked nose (with a tiny bit of bruising under my right eye), a dislocated/broken left index finger (it makes typing LOADS o' fun!), and lingering vertigo (also great fun on the computer). And, of course, lots of beautiful bruises. Oh and a large scrape under my nose that A. says makes me look like Hitler (though it's close to gone thanks to Neosporin). I totally look like I've been fighting with the bruises on the knuckles of both hands and the broken nose. Or like a domestic violence victim (yes, we've been having fun joking about A. slapping me around -- not that domestic violence is anything to joke about!)
Everyone from the doctors to my family were amazed. A. figures I used up one of my nine lives (I think that makes four left). We can't decide if I was unlucky because I fell or lucky because the damage was so minor. I mean, I wasn't even that sore the next day like I expected to be. Though the vertigo has kept me from moving much -- both because moving aggravates it and because the medicine to treat it makes me very sleepy.
In some ways, the fall has actually been a good thing. It's been a reminder that I'm not as fragile as I sometimes feel. I've also stopped getting that sharp, icky feeling in my sternum that I had been getting lately when I thought of pain (a good thing for my spanking mojo!). And it seems to have actually relieved some of the chronic pain in my tailbone so that I've been able to lay on my back for the first time in awhile. It's all so very yin and yang, ya know?
And to top it all off, my neck and shoulder, which my massage therapist spent a lot of time working on during my session, felt great the next day. Now that's a good session!
I have some funny, kinky moments that A. and I had in the ER to share with you, dear reader, but I'll leave that for a later post.
However there have been a few kinks in our spanking play since then, despite both of us being eager to try out our new wooden-slatted futon-cum-spanking bench. There's been a family issue. And A.'s jet lag. And my shoulder getting really cranky. And then there was last Wednesday.
Once a week my massage therapist/acupuncturist massages and needles away my pain and makes my life just a little bit better. The only drawback is that her office is up a long flight of 23 hard wooden stairs. So every week I slowly make my way up the stairs with little rest breaks along the way and carefully make my way down after my session.
Except I wasn't very careful last Wednesday. I quite foolishly decided to attempt going down the stairs with my bum right knee, a cast boot on my left foot, a plastic bag of groceries and my cane in my right hand while holding onto the railing in my left hand. It only took one step for me to completely lose my balance and fall head first down each and every one of those 23 hard wooden stairs.
As I was falling -- you know, after the obligatory SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! -- I remember being amazed at what was happening to me. I mean, I never fall down head first. In all my years of bad balance, I've learned to fall backwards onto my butt or against the wall. I also remember thinking while I fell that I had to finally stop falling at some point. And eventually I did. I landed flat on my back on the concrete floor next to the door.
A woman in the shop next door heard me fall, came over and ordered me not to move. My massage therapist came down and (I think she was the one) called the ambulance. Someone got my mother sitting out in the car waiting for me. "Why hasn't the ambulance gotten here?" she demanded and was answered a moment later by the paramedics arriving.
There was a lot of concern about internal bleeding because I'm on Coumadin, but after being examined by a zillion nurses and doctors and various radiological equipment in one of those blindingly bright trauma rooms in the ER, I had only sustained a cracked nose (with a tiny bit of bruising under my right eye), a dislocated/broken left index finger (it makes typing LOADS o' fun!), and lingering vertigo (also great fun on the computer). And, of course, lots of beautiful bruises. Oh and a large scrape under my nose that A. says makes me look like Hitler (though it's close to gone thanks to Neosporin). I totally look like I've been fighting with the bruises on the knuckles of both hands and the broken nose. Or like a domestic violence victim (yes, we've been having fun joking about A. slapping me around -- not that domestic violence is anything to joke about!)
Everyone from the doctors to my family were amazed. A. figures I used up one of my nine lives (I think that makes four left). We can't decide if I was unlucky because I fell or lucky because the damage was so minor. I mean, I wasn't even that sore the next day like I expected to be. Though the vertigo has kept me from moving much -- both because moving aggravates it and because the medicine to treat it makes me very sleepy.
In some ways, the fall has actually been a good thing. It's been a reminder that I'm not as fragile as I sometimes feel. I've also stopped getting that sharp, icky feeling in my sternum that I had been getting lately when I thought of pain (a good thing for my spanking mojo!). And it seems to have actually relieved some of the chronic pain in my tailbone so that I've been able to lay on my back for the first time in awhile. It's all so very yin and yang, ya know?
And to top it all off, my neck and shoulder, which my massage therapist spent a lot of time working on during my session, felt great the next day. Now that's a good session!
I have some funny, kinky moments that A. and I had in the ER to share with you, dear reader, but I'll leave that for a later post.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
I'm gonna get spanked...
...in about two hours (stupid late flight). Well, if he's up to it after flying for nineteen hours or so.
I'm a little tired too at the moment. I've been working on all kinds of things to prepare for A.'s arrival -- a few kinky things included -- and I'm starting to wear down a bit. But I've actually had energy to do some things before A. comes. That's right. No blood clots in my lungs. No fickle spanking mojo. No stubborn UTIs. This time just lots of pent up kinky energy and a tingly bottom (and other parts) hungry for attention. Finally.
Yes, I know it won't last forever. And I have to be careful not to exert myself. Indeed last night A. was reminding me of this. He didn't order or threaten. Just pleaded fervently with me to be careful and please, please not overdo it.
Well, okay, I probably overdid it just a little bit. But not enough to seriously set me back. Though maybe just enough to get spanked for it.
::grin::
I'm a little tired too at the moment. I've been working on all kinds of things to prepare for A.'s arrival -- a few kinky things included -- and I'm starting to wear down a bit. But I've actually had energy to do some things before A. comes. That's right. No blood clots in my lungs. No fickle spanking mojo. No stubborn UTIs. This time just lots of pent up kinky energy and a tingly bottom (and other parts) hungry for attention. Finally.
Yes, I know it won't last forever. And I have to be careful not to exert myself. Indeed last night A. was reminding me of this. He didn't order or threaten. Just pleaded fervently with me to be careful and please, please not overdo it.
Well, okay, I probably overdid it just a little bit. But not enough to seriously set me back. Though maybe just enough to get spanked for it.
::grin::
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Coming out
A few months ago my best friend T. and I were talking about the process we each went through in discovering our core sexuality (homosexuality for him, spanking for me). At one point we began comparing when this exploration took place and he suddenly exclaimed, "oh wow -- you came out the same time I did!"
I had never really thought of my spanko discernment as "coming out" but as I thought about it some more, there were certainly a lot of parallels to the experience gay people have in processing their sexual orientation. Though to be fair, some of my experience also reflected a combination of situations specific to me. But hey, isn't that the way it is for everybody?
I never really dated growing up. As I considered why this was, my first thought was that I was a very devout Evangelical and very adamant about saving myself for marriage. In addition, I was generally too busy with raising my siblings and church activities and school to have much time for it. And besides, I was fat and guys weren't really all that into me.
Yet I knew plenty of other Evangelicals who were just as adamant as I was about sexual abstinence and somehow they managed to date (though I don't doubt that some of them eventually abandoned their refusal to fornicate). Likewise my sister -- the next one down from me who was supposed to help out with babysitting -- also dated (it helped that she started working fast-food when she was 15 and therefore was out of the house a lot more than I was). And though I was fat, there were guys who were into me. It's just that I wasn't really all that into them.
That lack of connection really is what kept me from dating. Like most teenagers, I certainly fantasized about having a boyfriend and doing all those things girlfriends and boyfriends do (with the exception of sex), but that cultural expectation wasn't enough for me to date guys who were very sweet yet lacked that certain something I wasn't even aware yet I wanted.
And, of course, I fantasized a lot about getting spanked. Mostly by a stern but loving father-figure. Which caused me a great deal of angst because I didn't want to marry a guy in order to obtain the father I didn't grow up with. I wanted to be my future husband's partner. I mean, who wants to be married to someone who is a perpetual child? What sort of intellectual and emotional communion can exist in such a relationship?
Eventually Google came along and I found that I could have both: a loving disciplinarian and a partner. I remember those heady early days of exploring my spanking kink. Meeting all sorts of guys to spank me. Suddenly dating was easy. I finally had my first kiss -- at 27 from the first spanko guy I dated. Before I knew it, I was spanking around. I was a spanking slut, even if there was no sex involved.
Yet I worried what my friends might think. It felt weird hiding a whole part of my life -- and an increasingly important one at that -- from my friends and family. Indeed at one point T. complained that I was withdrawing from him, and he was right. I was so afraid I would accidentally spill the beans about my alternative life and I knew he would be horrified to know I was meeting guys off the Internet to spank me.
T. and I are very close. He was actually my sponsor when I converted to Catholicism and in the Byzantine rite I'd chosen, that made him my godfather. My priest even had to make sure that we wouldn't end up married down the line as it would be "awkward." My soon-to-be godfather hadn't come out yet, but like many fag hag relationships, we'd already explored the possibility of marriage and assured my priest there would be no potential bishopic dispensation needed. Looking back I know I was attracted to T. because he's such a natural disciplinarian. But like him, I hadn't come to terms with my own sexuality enough at the time to know the sort of verbal discipline he was so good at was not at all what I wanted. We did know, though, that there wasn't any chemistry even if we didn't know why yet.
In many ways I think the act of delurking on soc.sexuality.spanking five years ago really was a form of coming out, complete with coming out narrative, as it is for so many people introducing themselves in online forums. And the relief and euphoria that accompany finding other people like you probably is similar in some ways to the excitement T. felt when he first started dating and fucking guys, even if it lacks the pain and profound lifestyle change being gay was for my Arab-Catholic godfather.
It's funny but that above linked post, my spanking memoir, is invariably among the most popular pages -- if not the most popular post -- on this blog each day. This post, I suppose, is now a sort of adjunct to it, made possible by five and a half years of hindsight with which to analyze a bit deeper some of the issues I didn't understand quite yet then. Obviously, it was written before I met A. And I've also clearly decided against saving my hymen for a future husband. But then, how I came to that decision and my thoughts on marriage as an institution would be far more appropriate for an entirely different post. Probably on my non-kink blog.
I had never really thought of my spanko discernment as "coming out" but as I thought about it some more, there were certainly a lot of parallels to the experience gay people have in processing their sexual orientation. Though to be fair, some of my experience also reflected a combination of situations specific to me. But hey, isn't that the way it is for everybody?
I never really dated growing up. As I considered why this was, my first thought was that I was a very devout Evangelical and very adamant about saving myself for marriage. In addition, I was generally too busy with raising my siblings and church activities and school to have much time for it. And besides, I was fat and guys weren't really all that into me.
Yet I knew plenty of other Evangelicals who were just as adamant as I was about sexual abstinence and somehow they managed to date (though I don't doubt that some of them eventually abandoned their refusal to fornicate). Likewise my sister -- the next one down from me who was supposed to help out with babysitting -- also dated (it helped that she started working fast-food when she was 15 and therefore was out of the house a lot more than I was). And though I was fat, there were guys who were into me. It's just that I wasn't really all that into them.
That lack of connection really is what kept me from dating. Like most teenagers, I certainly fantasized about having a boyfriend and doing all those things girlfriends and boyfriends do (with the exception of sex), but that cultural expectation wasn't enough for me to date guys who were very sweet yet lacked that certain something I wasn't even aware yet I wanted.
And, of course, I fantasized a lot about getting spanked. Mostly by a stern but loving father-figure. Which caused me a great deal of angst because I didn't want to marry a guy in order to obtain the father I didn't grow up with. I wanted to be my future husband's partner. I mean, who wants to be married to someone who is a perpetual child? What sort of intellectual and emotional communion can exist in such a relationship?
Eventually Google came along and I found that I could have both: a loving disciplinarian and a partner. I remember those heady early days of exploring my spanking kink. Meeting all sorts of guys to spank me. Suddenly dating was easy. I finally had my first kiss -- at 27 from the first spanko guy I dated. Before I knew it, I was spanking around. I was a spanking slut, even if there was no sex involved.
Yet I worried what my friends might think. It felt weird hiding a whole part of my life -- and an increasingly important one at that -- from my friends and family. Indeed at one point T. complained that I was withdrawing from him, and he was right. I was so afraid I would accidentally spill the beans about my alternative life and I knew he would be horrified to know I was meeting guys off the Internet to spank me.
T. and I are very close. He was actually my sponsor when I converted to Catholicism and in the Byzantine rite I'd chosen, that made him my godfather. My priest even had to make sure that we wouldn't end up married down the line as it would be "awkward." My soon-to-be godfather hadn't come out yet, but like many fag hag relationships, we'd already explored the possibility of marriage and assured my priest there would be no potential bishopic dispensation needed. Looking back I know I was attracted to T. because he's such a natural disciplinarian. But like him, I hadn't come to terms with my own sexuality enough at the time to know the sort of verbal discipline he was so good at was not at all what I wanted. We did know, though, that there wasn't any chemistry even if we didn't know why yet.
In many ways I think the act of delurking on soc.sexuality.spanking five years ago really was a form of coming out, complete with coming out narrative, as it is for so many people introducing themselves in online forums. And the relief and euphoria that accompany finding other people like you probably is similar in some ways to the excitement T. felt when he first started dating and fucking guys, even if it lacks the pain and profound lifestyle change being gay was for my Arab-Catholic godfather.
It's funny but that above linked post, my spanking memoir, is invariably among the most popular pages -- if not the most popular post -- on this blog each day. This post, I suppose, is now a sort of adjunct to it, made possible by five and a half years of hindsight with which to analyze a bit deeper some of the issues I didn't understand quite yet then. Obviously, it was written before I met A. And I've also clearly decided against saving my hymen for a future husband. But then, how I came to that decision and my thoughts on marriage as an institution would be far more appropriate for an entirely different post. Probably on my non-kink blog.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
The naughtiest of one all
Sorry to be so quiet this week. Apparently, Vitamin B complex makes me very very sleepy, and I've practically slept the week away.
But yesterday during my INR check, sans the Vitamin B, I wasn't quite so sleepy. When it was super high (4.8), I grinned mischievously at my nurse.
"Uh oh. I guess that makes me naughty," I said. To be fair, it wasn't really my fault but the fault of the antibiotic from the week before that interacted with the Coumadin.
"Yes, now I have to consult with the doctor," Nurse K. replied with mock annoyance.
Now, don't go getting all pervy on me, dear reader. She just meant that she couldn't instruct me on my Coumadin dosage herself because it was in the "panic" range. Really. The computer even highlights it in yellow and says "panic." Though, it's not really "panic" in the ER-get-me-a-shot-of-whatever-stat! way. More like the make-extra-sure-not-to-blow-this-off sort of panic.
At any rate, she couldn't remember what the exact number my INR was so she checked the little machine that sips my blood to see how quickly or slowly my blood is clotting (actually it's a lot like a big glucose meter). After she found it, she started pressing the button several more times.
"Hey, wanna see what everyone else's INR has been today?" She asked. Don't worry, it didn't show who any of those patients were so there was no breech of confidentiality or anything.
3.1...1.7...3.3...3.1...1.9...1.6...4.2
"Wow, so nobody's been therapeutic today," I exclaimed. (Therapeutic is generally between 2.0-3.0, though for some patients it can be between 2.5-3.5.)
"Yes, but yours has been the highest."
"Oh. So I suppose that means I'm the naughtiest one of all."
"Yes, Michelle. You're very, very naughty," Nurse K. said with mock sterness.
Right as she was telling me how naughty I was, one of the other nurses walked by the room.
"Ohhh, now I'm probably going to get in trouble for calling a patient naughty," she fretted.
Which, I suppose, would make me even naughtier for getting my nurse in trouble for having to tell me how naughty I am.
Though any forthcoming spanking for my naughtiness will just have to wait until my INR is lower.
I think the 10 days until A. gets here should be plenty of time. ::grin::
But yesterday during my INR check, sans the Vitamin B, I wasn't quite so sleepy. When it was super high (4.8), I grinned mischievously at my nurse.
"Uh oh. I guess that makes me naughty," I said. To be fair, it wasn't really my fault but the fault of the antibiotic from the week before that interacted with the Coumadin.
"Yes, now I have to consult with the doctor," Nurse K. replied with mock annoyance.
Now, don't go getting all pervy on me, dear reader. She just meant that she couldn't instruct me on my Coumadin dosage herself because it was in the "panic" range. Really. The computer even highlights it in yellow and says "panic." Though, it's not really "panic" in the ER-get-me-a-shot-of-whatever-stat! way. More like the make-extra-sure-not-to-blow-this-off sort of panic.
At any rate, she couldn't remember what the exact number my INR was so she checked the little machine that sips my blood to see how quickly or slowly my blood is clotting (actually it's a lot like a big glucose meter). After she found it, she started pressing the button several more times.
"Hey, wanna see what everyone else's INR has been today?" She asked. Don't worry, it didn't show who any of those patients were so there was no breech of confidentiality or anything.
3.1...1.7...3.3...3.1...1.9...1.6...4.2
"Wow, so nobody's been therapeutic today," I exclaimed. (Therapeutic is generally between 2.0-3.0, though for some patients it can be between 2.5-3.5.)
"Yes, but yours has been the highest."
"Oh. So I suppose that means I'm the naughtiest one of all."
"Yes, Michelle. You're very, very naughty," Nurse K. said with mock sterness.
Right as she was telling me how naughty I was, one of the other nurses walked by the room.
"Ohhh, now I'm probably going to get in trouble for calling a patient naughty," she fretted.
Which, I suppose, would make me even naughtier for getting my nurse in trouble for having to tell me how naughty I am.
Though any forthcoming spanking for my naughtiness will just have to wait until my INR is lower.
I think the 10 days until A. gets here should be plenty of time. ::grin::
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