I had a lot of downtime from blogging here, and I missed a lot of things that happened in my life. For now, though, I’m just going to pick back up with writing about what most recently happened. And that was today.
I’ve talked before about the difference between play punishment and real punishment. Play punishment is a big part of my daily life with Paul, where real punishment happens fairly rarely. Although I enjoy being naughty when it’s just-for-fun, being good and obedient in “real life” is important to me.
I don’t wear shoes in the house most of the time. This is primarily because I have a lot of pain in one of my knees and so I have to keep it straight if I’m sitting for long periods of time, such as when I’m working or writing, or watching TV, or playing video games… so a lot of the time. This leads to me usually sitting with my feet up on the couch or working from my bed with my laptop on my lap, like I’m doing right now. So, no shoes.
The first time that Paul went back to England after he had been here, I set up an outdoor sitting area for him as a surprise. We don’t have much of a yard, since our house is still in a semi-urban area, but underneath the camphor tree in our yard, I put a couple of chairs, a chiminea and a small table. Paul spends a lot of time sitting out here when he’s taking breaks from work. He sits in one of the chairs there and reads: Paul reads more than anyone else that I know, which is something that I really like about him.
So, when I want to find Paul to ask him something, or just to climb onto his lap for cuddling, I first check in his office. If he’s not there, he’s almost always in the yard. The problem is that when I want to go out into the yard to talk to him, I often don’t bother to put shoes on before I do this.
At first, I thought that the reason that Paul kept scolding me about this was because I then tracked a lot of leaves and things into the house on my feet, but this didn’t really matter that much, I didn’t think, seeing as Paul wears shoes in the house and we have really fuzzy cats, so the floors are almost always in need of sweeping up anyway. Admittedly, I really didn’t take being scolded when I didn’t wear shoes in the yard very seriously at first.
One day, though, I went out to talk to him and noticed that there were a lot of bees in the yard. In fact, I very nearly stepped on one while barefoot. This is a big problem, since I’m seriously allergic to bees. After that happened, Paul started being very serious about the “wear shoes when going outside” rule.
The problem is, I keep forgetting about it. I had made such a habit of just running out without bothering with shoes. Because I get to the backyard through the back door, which is located in the kitchen, there isn’t any room for me to just leave shoes by the door. I have to actually go find my shoes and put them on. Ugh. My life is so hard. 😛
Despite getting (not so severely) spanked for not wearing shoes in the yard several times in the past, I forgot about it again today. Paul was in the yard reading, and I had just finished watching the most recent video for Northern Spanking. At least half the time now, I make up the names for videos. I watch them once the editing is done, then I make a list of ideas and ask Paul which ones he thinks are the best. This time, I had pretty much decided which one was the best one, and I felt enthusiastic about zipping out the yard to let him know.
Of course, I did this without shoes on.
After I told Paul what I had decided on, and he agreed with me that it was good, I curled up in his lap to snuggle for a little bit. It was sunny and bright out, and I felt very content.
“How’s your tummy feeling?” he asked me, stroking my hair.
I had eaten a sandwich which was questionably not good earlier in the day and had been feeling a bit queasy. I told him that I still didn’t feel 100% right.
“Tell me when you do,” he told me, his voice sounding stern and serious. “I’m going to punish you for not wearing shoes in the yard.”
“Well, I’m never going to feel better,” I moped, trying to curl my toes up as if that would somehow make it less noticeable that I was barefoot. We both knew that wasn’t true, of course.
Soon, I was feeling pretty okay, and I went to the gym. This is a new thing: while I had previously only worked out at home, I’ve been actually going to the gym and following a routine there now. It’s kind of intimidating to me, because I don’t know what I’m doing with half the stuff there, but it’s really rewarding to see myself getting stronger and fitter.
I came home and took a shower, then got dressed again and found Paul in his office. It was time for more cuddling, of course. I seriously spend a pretty decent percentage of my days snuggled up to him when I can. I have to save up for later. 😉
“Are you feeling better now?” he asked. I nodded hesitantly: I couldn’t lie. “Go to your room,” he told me. Paul has a specific tone of voice that he only uses when I’m in real, actual trouble. It’s very tender and gentle, but extremely authoritative. The sound of that tone touches at the core of what D/s is about to me, and I would never disobey him when he talked to me that way.
I sat on the edge of the bed for a few moments, waiting for him. It seemed like a very long time to me, but I knew that realistically, it wasn’t long at all.
Then he came into the room. He wasn’t carrying anything with him, which didn’t necessarily mean that I wasn’t going to get punished with an implement: there were several in the room already.
“Stand up, Alex,” he instructed.
I stood up next to him, looking up at his face.
“I’ve punished you for this before, haven’t I?” he asked.
I nodded sadly, not wanting to admit that I hadn’t really taken those minor punishments to heart before.
“Like almost all your rules, this is to preserve your safety and well being,” he lectured, reminding me about the fact that I could get stung by a bee or step on something sharp outside.
I felt guilty and I felt a little embarrassed. In my previous D/s relationship, I used to get punished for things that, primarily, annoyed or caused inconvenience to my ex. These things didn’t make me feel the same way. I felt like I was in trouble, then, and it felt real, but it lacked the feeling of being nurtured and taken care of. The fact that my rules exist because Paul cares about me and wants to protect me makes me feel particularly bad when I break them.
Paul sat down and pulled me over his lap, lifting the skirt of my dress to expose my bottom. Then he began to spank me with his hand. Each swat was particularly hard and forceful, much more than it would be if we were just playing. They stung and bit, and I found myself struggling over his lap a little bit: I was still slightly sore from the spankings I had received the two previous days.
Paul grabbed my hand and held it behind my back. He wasn’t pinning my wrist in place, just holding my hand there. It made me feel like I was very much under his control, but it was still an affectionate gesture. It calmed me, and I lay still, taking the spanking fairly quietly. It got to a point where I was sufficiently warmed that each hard swat didn’t hurt so much anymore, and things were almost becoming nice.
It was then that Paul stopped and instructed me to get up and to take off my dress. I did as I was told, folding my dress and setting it on the dresser behind me as Paul grabbed four pillows and put them in a tall stack on the middle of the bed.
“Over the pillows, bottom uppermost,” he instructed.
This is a very normal instruction for us. I like being in this position, with my bottom higher than the rest of my body. It makes me feel vulnerable. It makes me feel like I am on display. It makes me feel like my bottom is a very obvious target. All of these things make the submissive part of my brain hum happily.
Paul stood to one side of me, so he was in my field of vision, and then he removed his belt. He did it fairly quickly, with strong, sharp movements that foreshadowed how, exactly, it would be moving in just a moment.
He took his position and lay the belt on me, finding his mark. He did this motion a few times before the first stroke, and with each one, I whimpered as I awaited the biting sting that would soon be following.
After what seemed like ages, he snapped the belt down against my bottom. It hurt, but I was ready for it. The second and third strokes made me grunt and gasp a little. The fourth was particularly sharp, and it landed with a pinching feeling on my bottom, reminiscent of the tawse. I let out a wail. The strokes began to fall harder now, and each one solicited small cries from me.
After five strokes, he changed sides. This is something that Paul almost always does, and which very few people who I play with do. Because most people I play with tend to only swing from one direction, and it’s been this way for the past nine and a half years that I’ve been getting spanked, the opposite side is still somewhat less conditioned, so these strokes always hurt more. I gripped at my Rilakkuma cuddly toy (who I call “Fat Head”) and pressed my face into the plush material, as if this would bring me some kind of relief.
Once ten strokes had been delivered, I expected Paul to change sides again. Paul and I tend to play so that far fewer, but very hard strokes are delivered, usually of a set number. This is different from the way that I’ve played with a lot of other people, but it’s a headspace that has a strong effect on me. It feels formal, more like a school punishment. It feels very controlled, which is something that gives me great comfort and allows me to let go more during the scene.
Instead, Paul started to scold me again:
“You’ve been punished for this before, haven’t you?” he asked.
I nodded, my voice not coming through for me.
Paul’s only response to this was to tap the belt against my thighs.
I whimpered and lowered my head, knowing that this was really going to hurt. And, in a second, it did: a bright, blazing light of pain across the middle of my thighs. I let out a cry that probably sounded fairly desperate. The next several strokes landed this way, seeming to illuminate my entire body, each stroke feeling like it covered much more flesh than it actually did. I struggled to keep from reaching back, and sometimes raised my feet after the belt landed and had to force myself to move them back down before I was asked to.
Having my thighs spanked and otherwise punished has always been psychologically important to me. It’s the ultimate love/hate relationship, and I was fascinated with it even before I actually started to play. It always seemed like a punishment within a punishment: the harshest of sanctions.
When the belting was finished and my legs were striped by the strokes I had received, I felt very passive and chastised. I curled up in Paul’s lap, thanking him for punishing me, as is our protocol. I felt very young and very taken care of, and these are two of the feelings that I cherish the most that can come from this thing we do.
I’ll be careful with my shoes in the future, not because I’m afraid of being punished again, but because I know that it’s important and that Paul cares about me enough to make sure I know, and that’s the best feeling.
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