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.
I haven’t done a Kink of the Week topic in a while. I looked at the list, and discovered that I’ve missed two full two week cycles, but that Jade left them open (possibly by accident, but I’m willing to take advantage of that). Both the topics that I missed are ones that I have a lot to say about. So, like the horribly naughty girl I am, I’m just going to slide this homework into the bottom of the pile and hope that my teacher believes it was there the entire time.
The kink of the week topic (from a while ago) was Dacryphilia, or the fetish surrounding crying. Without further ado, I shall now address this!
My most read post on this blog is one from 2012 entitled “On Being Spanked to Tears.” In it, I outlined the different ways in which a spanking could lead me to cry. Three years later, I’ve grown and learned and experienced many more things, and I’d like to add some new thoughts on the topic.
Crying is something which carries a great deal of importance for many spankos. I get the impression that spanking is one of the fetishes which most embraces, or even focuses on, dacryphilia. When I started crying on one of my first spanking video shoots, I felt almost embarrassed by it, but the producer called my tears “liquid gold” and told me that a tear covered face was “the moneyshot” of spanking videos. So what is it about crying that is so central to a large number of people’s spanking kinks?
The first is the idea that tears are tied into the “realness” of a spanking. I hear this often in comments various places where I post spanking photos on the internet: “It’s not a real spanking unless you make her cry.” I haven’t spent enough time immersed in other kink communities to know whether or not they have a similar obsession with verisimilitude as the spanking community presents, but I know that for spankos, we talk about what makes a spanking real all the time. Tears are very tied into this.
Part of this obsession with making spankings real comes from the fact that a lot of our fantasies are based on things that actually happened in the past. I don’t knock this at all, and totally embrace that many of my core fantasies are based around the recreation of school, institutional or domestic punishments that used to actually take place. So, sometimes the word “real” is meant to mean “similar to a historic/real life spanking situation.” And in our conceptions of those scenes, tears are a key part. The first hand accounts of these punishments that we read or hear almost always end with the spankee bawling, sobbing and crying uncontrollably. Of course they would: these punishments were painful, embarrassing and, whether we want to focus on this or not, non consensual.
Before I was ever spanked, I read as much writing about spanking as I could, and I remember being deeply engulfed in the fantasy of being helpless, overpowered, intimidated by authority, stripped, held down and thoroughly chastised. These fantasies always ended with me in tears. Now that I spend my life actually enjoying spanking play, I like to recreate these fantasies. I like to make them as realistic to what I imagined as possible. I buy uniforms from school uniform suppliers, or even better, find vintage ones that were being worn at a time when corporal punishment was actually practiced. I get implements that are also vintage, and which were actually used in the original situations. When I can, I like to dress up the setting, finding places to play that look like I’ve stepped into my fantasy world. And I like to be spanked hard and, if it’s possible, pushed to cry. My tears are part of what makes it feel like I’ve truly created the scene from my fantasy. In this situation, “realness” can be better defined as “authenticity” and tears add to that. [Author’s note: I do not actually support non consensual corporal punishment of any kind, and fantasizing about recreating something in a way which is positive and consensual is not the same as supporting the original institution from which my fantasies stem.]
Another thing which I believe has influenced the spanking community’s interest in tears is the way which spanking pornography evolved. In the pre-internet days, before the first spanking videos were even available, spanking porn was delivered via magazine. It was much harder to find a like minded partner at this time, so spanking porn carried even more importance: for many people with spanking fetishes, those magazines would be the only way they’d ever get to interact with their kink. When you look at spanking in still photographs, it is very hard to tell whether someone is actually being spanked or if it’s just a picture. It’s even harder to tell if the spanking has been severe or “transient and trifling.” One can easily use acting to make a facial expression that depicts being in pain. There are only two things that can make a still image show that a hard spanking is actually taking place: the presence of marks and the presence of tears. Admittedly, neither of these things is actually a good litmus test for the severity of a scene, since some people simply never cry, others can cry from a light hand spanking, some people will be bruised purple by the same hand spanking but others can take a good, hard caning and have only a pink bottom to show for it after. But these visual queues at least suggest to us that a spanking is actually happening and that it actually hurts. Even now that our spanking pornography is primarily videographic, we often continue to identify the severity of a scene based on these two visual queues, hence the fact that my tears were liquid gold to the producer in my earlier story. Both tears and marks send us a strong visual message: that a spanking is happening here and it’s real: here, realness can be defined as a spanking carrying any level of severity.
Leaving aside realness, there’s another thing that makes tears very appealing to many spankos: vulnerability. No matter who a person is, they’re vulnerable when they cry. They’ve let their guard down and they’re showing you their inner emotion. They aren’t fighting against you or resisting you as you spank them. They are, in a way, letting you in. This is the draw of tears for many spankos. Tears are a sign of intimacy. Tears are a sign that your feelings are genuine. Tears are a sign that lessons are being taken to heart. Of course, a person can be vulnerable without crying, but tears give you a tangible sign of this vulnerability. For the person crying, tears can be refreshing. They can give an emotional release. They can get something out that words can’t articulate. Communicating this way can be very emotionally intimate and draw people together.
Of course, no matter the reason, not everyone likes tears. For some, the presence of tears makes them worry that they’ve really upset or truly hurt their partner. Others find tears or being made to cry triggering, as a reminder of a time when something non consensual brought about that sort of emotional state. Others don’t like to be that vulnerable, and that’s entirely okay, too. Despite all the reasons why tears may make something feel more authentic or more real, a scene can be perfectly wonderful and very real without them,
What makes a spanko cry?
Personally, I cry all the time. Outside of the spanking world, I cry when I’m sad, lonely, scared, hurt, even angry. I’ve always cried a lot. I was made fun of for it throughout most of my life, often being called a crybaby or other similar taunts. As an adult, I was made to feel that crying was something I should find embarrassing, that it was a mark of lack of self control or that I wasn’t a “real adult” (another concept that has caused me a lot of struggle).
The first time I was ever spanked, I didn’t just cry, I sobbed. I cried until I shook, in a way which was extremely disproportionate to the severity of the spanking I was receiving. It took me a long time to unwind the tight ball of emotions that I felt there, but the primary one was relief. I was relieved that after eighteen long years of carrying around this seemingly dark secret, my most precious fantasy was coming to life. And, once I started crying, I was relieved to discover that it was perfectly acceptable in this situation to cry when I felt the impulse to.
Crying from a spanking isn’t something rare for me. I’d say that it happens about 40% of the time that I have a serious scene. It’s not uncommon for someone to specifically ask to make me cry, either in my personal play or during a video or session. Other people have asked me to make them cry when I was Topping them, or to teach them how to make someone cry. It isn’t this simple. Everyone is different and every spanking presents a different set of emotional and physical stimuli. Like during that first spanking I received, the cause of what brings one to tears can be hard to unravel. It can be caused or hindered by a variety of things. Here are some of those that I’ve discovered.
Crying fueled by regret for bad behavior:
This was one of the causes of crying which I identified in my post three years ago. This is one of the causes of tears that people most often think about when imagining a punishment spanking. You feel bad about what you did, so, aided by the scolding words and pain associated with your punishment, you cry. It’s important to point out that just because someone isn’t crying during a disciplinary spanking, that doesn’t mean that they don’t regret whatever they did to earn the punishment. Everyone expresses their emotions in a different way. This reason for crying is something which the Top can influence to a degree, especially with the words they choose when scolding, and by creating an environment in which the bottom feels safe to be vulnerable. For me, sternness, seriousness and calm are important in creating this sort of atmosphere.
One thing I noted in my original post which I highly agree with is that if someone is crying due to regret for bad behavior during a scene which isn’t meant to be disciplinary, then something isn’t right. Sometimes, the differences between funishment or play punishment and real discipline can get blurred, and it’s important to make it clear to the person that you’re playing with what kind of spanking you’re really giving them.
Crying fueled by letting someone down
I realized recently that, to me, there’s a difference between the feeling of regretting having misbehaved and feeling bad that I’ve disappointed someone that I respect. In detangling the feelings that I have when I get a real punishment spanking, I’ve realized that a large part of what makes it emotional for me isn’t just the fact that what I did was wrong and needs to be corrected, it’s also the fact that I’ve let down a person who I love and respect. This is part of the reason that I only have an interest in doing these kinds of scenes with someone who I know well and feel these feelings towards. Because, really, we all know which stings more: a hairbrush or the words “I’m disappointed in you.” Just knowing that I’ve let my partner down will almost always bring tears to my eyes, without even the need for anything else.
Crying fueled by stress relief or emotional release
Sometimes, a person who gets spanked just needs to be spanked. They have too much bottled up emotionally. They are having trouble focusing because their mind is full of distractions and they need something to center them. Life is just wearing them down, and they need to not have the responsibility of being in control all the time. This kind of crying can come from any kind of spanking, and I think that’s it’s actually fairly common, although you can intentionally try to create this atmosphere for a person who needs it by providing a safe and secure emotional environment surrounding the scene. For me, this works best when it’s a mixture of caring and sternness, and when the spanking slowly builds up to a place where I can’t resist it anymore and I *have* to let my vulnerability physically manifest.
Crying fueled by submission or surrender
This is another one of the types of crying that I identified in my much earlier post. I wrote that post when I was a fairly new submissive, and when subspace was something which remained very alien to me. Here’s what I had to say:
Some bottoms talk about subspace- going off into some floaty, magical, trance-like, trippy state from getting a very hard beating which pushes them towards submission. They sink into the bed, they stop feeling pain, they float on endorphins, they get high, they can’t talk properly…
This doesn’t happen for me (although it did once). I’m a very cerebral person, and I’m uncomfortable letting go of my awareness. Instead, when I’ve been pushed to a place where I cease my fighting, I get to a point of submissive crying. It’s a calm sort of sobbing where there’s no urgency in the sound. I’ve given myself over to the spanking that I’m receiving and I have no will regarding when it will end. It’s certainly not as exciting to talk about, or as filled with mystery and intrigue as traditionally described subspace is, but the land of my submission is just a place where I lie still and take a lot of hurt and cry about it. It probably sounds pretty pathetic to a listener, and it doesn’t feel “good” in a traditional sense, but it’s a very peaceful place where I feel incredibly safe and loved.
Nowadays, the more traditional subspace is no longer illusive to me the way it used to be, but I still find myself getting into this kind of “submissive cry space” (that’s a technical term :P) on a pretty regular basis. “Traditional” subspace doesn’t actually feel so submissive to me: it feels passive, and I identify those two things as being related but different. When I’m in a deep subspace, I don’t really feel things the same way. I’ve let myself be taken to a place where spankings don’t actually really hurt. When I’m in this space, I still feel everything, but I’ve given up my resistance to those feelings and I’m willing to let them happen. This is a place that one should only go to with someone they truly trust, since it basically means that you’re just going to let someone do whatever they want to you and not resist, but it can be a very beautiful thing in the right situation.
Crying fueled by physical pain
When I wrote my original post, I said that I felt like it was taboo to admit that I sometimes cry because spankings hurt that much. I don’t know if I think that anymore. I think that’s dangerous for a Top to believe that crying is the *only* sign of physical pain, or that by increasing the amount of pain that you’re causing someone you can *make* them cry, but I do think that it’s very common for people to simply cry because something hurts. I have to feel safe in order to do this, and I have to feel some sort of connection to the Top that I’m playing with, but this is honestly a very common reason for me to start crying. This hurts: that’s what this is all about. And sometimes, this hurts enough to make me cry. Nothing more complicated than that. That’s okay. There doesn’t have to be some grand and difficult to explain background behind everything. Sometimes, it’s just that someone is hitting you with a piece of wood and that hurts enough to make you cry.
The spanking community puts so many positive associations on crying that it can sometimes be easy to forget that crying isn’t always a good thing. For some people, crying is a sign that they are upset and that the scene needs to stop. If someone starts crying in a way that you don’t expect from them, or from a scene that wasn’t meant to be that intense, it’s a good idea to check in. Sometimes, when a person starts crying, it’s because the spanking isn’t fun anymore. The scene isn’t working for them. But if they’re already in an emotional place where they feel particularly passive, it can be hard to use their safeword. While it might break up the scene in a way that isn’t ideal to check in with your partner, it’s better to be safe than sorry in this case.
Other times, a person cries during a scene because, to put it in the vernacular, the Top is being a dick. Using people’s fears, playing to their insecurities, saying insulting or hurtful things and other forms of emotional sadism certainly get inside someone’s head and make them cry, but it isn’t creating the kind of safe vulnerability that I talked about before: it’s just being abusive. The bottom is crying because they’re hurt in a bad way. It’s entirely possible to do consensual emotional sadism/masochism scenes: there are people who are into that. But this is something that has to be very explicitly negotiated before playing. Additionally, it’s important that if you are going to play this way, that the people who are around you (if you’re playing in a public space) know what you’re about to do and that what you’re doing is consensual: probably not the best scene for a suite party.
So, bottoms, do you cry when you get spanked? Tops, do you like it when the person you are playing with cries from a spanking? Do tears carry a certain emotional weight to you? What do they bring to the spanking? Let me know in the comments section!
[Final author’s note: I used the term “we” a lot in this post. I do not mean to speak for everyone in the spanking community: this is just shorter to say than “many people in the spanking community.” I hope this was not offensive to anyone.]
For those of you who don’t know, Kink of the Week is a biweekly prompt which opens up a conversation between bloggers across the kink and sex writing spectrum, each focusing on how they feel about a particular kinky topic. ❤︎
So, this Kink of the Week post is blatantly late. I don’t know if it will even get posted up on the KOTW page, as it’s technically Tuesday of the new week now, but I wanted to write about this topic anyway, so I think it’ll be a worthwhile post even if it “doesn’t count” in the end.
This week’s topic is “real” (as opposed to “play”) punishment. Discipline and punishment are things which I’ve always been open about as existing in my life. They’re a huge portion of what I get out of TTWD, yet I’ve only written about disciplinary scenes a handful of times over the course of the past two years. Usually, I’ve included the story when what I did wrong can be retold in a way which is comical, like this post from a long time ago or my recent “Target Incident.” This is because I find actual punishment to be very private, personal and intimate. I used to feel very uncomfortable sharing this aspect of my life with the general public. Now, I feel a lot more comfortable with it, although I sometimes don’t want to talk about the things that I’ve done to require the punishment. So this shall be my first post ever which is explicitly about this.
Spanking first entered my consciousness at an incredibly early age. I remember no inciting incident, simply a burning obsession to know more about it and a feeling of secrecy and shame about my ever developing “interest.” All of the thoughts I had and the fantasies that I made up were about disciplinary spankings, as was the entirety of the media that I encountered that had spanking in it, although that was extremely sparse. In my mind, spanking was a very, very serious thing. It was a severe punishment, the ultimate sanction, the consequence of the worst behavior. As I became a teenager, I craved guidance, structure and discipline in my life, longing for the feeling of being loved and taken care of that I imagined would accompany those things. Spanking as part of sexual activity didn’t occur to me at that time. Spanking as something fun and enjoyable seemed like a weird and alien idea. This contributed to my early confusion about my desires. I characterized this activity as something entirely unenjoyable, but desired nothing more than to experience it for myself.
When I turned eighteen and I *did* get my first spanking, it was for demonstrative and introductory purposes. After that, my relationship with SF (my first Top) was entirely disciplinary. It allowed for a lot of space, which is to say that he never policed me. I simply came to him and self-reported about the things which I had done which were against the standards which we had mutually agreed upon and he punished me for them. The relationship was very sterile and austere, with an understanding of affection and caring between us which was rarely expressed. We were kind of an odd pair, me and SF because he’s Forever The Most Serious Man Ever (SF stands for ‘Serious Face”) and I’m patently ridiculous, but he had a pretty decent amount of patience for my antics and I enjoyed his stern nature. It was really, at the time, everything that I wanted because it was everything that I had ever imagined that a spanking relationship could be. I did my best to be good. I sometimes was not, and when that happened, I was soundly corrected.
For the first five years (I think) that I was getting spanked, it was only by SF. After he went back to England and, a little later, I moved to Los Angeles for the first time, I started to venture into the scene there. When I did, I had trouble with my identity and I struggled to identify what I actually wanted. At first, I attempted to find someone to replace SF, which I found tremendously disappointing. Everyone wanted something different from spanking. Some people wanted dominance. Some people wanted sexuality. Some people wanted to embrace and explore the younger, more vulnerable side of me. Some people wanted to do complicated roleplay. Some people just liked smacking a girl’s bottom without any reason for it. It was during this time that I realized that needing to be punished and needing to be spanked weren’t the same thing. Both were real and valid needs, but spanking could be a variety of other things. With my play-partner, J, I explored playing “just for fun” and did my first forays into roleplay. I explored arbitrary and enjoyable spankings with a variety of friends that I met in the local scene, many of whom weren’t spankos, and therefore had a vastly different attitude towards playing than that which I was used to. Eventually, I met Malignus and began to question whether or not I was actually interested in submission. I determined that I was and began the process of exploring that with him.
While punishment was a fairly significant part of my first D/s dynamic, I’m not going to go into the details of how it worked between Malignus and I. At the time that I started blogging, Malignus and I discussed what parts of our relationship he was comfortable with me posting about and we decided that the details of my punishments were too personal to be written about, although I sometimes asked if it was alright for me to post about a particular scene (like the post I linked to earlier) and he always agreed. Although our relationship has ended, I am going to continue to honor this agreement because I feel that it would be disrespectful and “the wrong thing to do” not to. It’s not like there was anything secretive or mysterious about this aspect of our relationship that others shouldn’t know about. That’s just what we decided at the time, so I’m sticking to it. Punishment certainly wasn’t the center of our relationship, though, and I’d say that it was probably the least common reason for me to be spanked, as the most frequent spankings were arbitrary, goal-based or D/s centric, reaffirmative scenes. This was a huge change from where I’d started out, but it was a positive difference, as I had expanded my options for what a spanking could mean.
Fast forward to the present time: I’m extremely comfortable with my role as a submissive, and as I continue to grow in the my spanko identity, I’ve branched out to embrace forms of play, atmospheres and additional kinks that I would have never thought I’d love so much when I was first starting out in my exploration. In my relationship with Paul, punishment is both something that we play with for mutual enjoyment and something that can be as serious as can be. Playing with lighthearted punishments for silly things by no means dilutes the actual act, and it’s just as important to me now as it was when it was just a daydream.
Sometimes, punishments happen immediately after the punishable behavior takes place (like in the “Target” story). Other times this isn’t possible, and I’m punished later that evening (usually right before bed) if that’s an option. If not, the offense and the requisite discipline are entered into a notebook entitled “Alex’s Behavioral Record” and the punishment is meted out at a later date. The “book method” of dealing with things was the only way that punishment was delivered when we were in a long distance relationship: things got recorded and then, when we saw each other, those things were addressed. I really, really like the fact that things don’t get forgotten just because “too much” time has passed since the original behavior. It’s obviously more effective for me to be punished as quickly thereafter as possible, but the inevitability of knowing that at some point, no matter what, I’m going to get corrected for the things that I do that I shouldn’t gives me a marvelous sense of security.
Basically all of my punishments are corporal, ranging from OTK spankings to a series of hard smacks on the insides of my thighs to strappings and canings. Since all these activities are also part of our “for fun” play, the only differences are atmosphere, tone and mood. Being punished makes me feel very vulnerable, and Paul takes a very stern approach towards punishing me (which I like very much). Often times just the scolding brings me to tears, and when I’m in that headspace, there’s very little pleasant about the spanking that follows. I say “very little” instead of “nothing” because being punished makes me feel particularly loved and taken care of, and I do enjoy that feeling, even as it’s happening. Being disciplined almost always makes me cry, and afterwards the seriousness of the actual punishment quickly melts away and I climb onto Paul’s lap, sometimes continuing to cry for a bit as he tenderly comforts me and assures me that I’m a good girl again. Everything is right in the world during those moments, and I couldn’t feel safer.
As much as I enjoy “for fun” “play” punishment, and as ultimately positive and edifying as the experience of being discipline is for me, at the end of the day, I want to be a good girl. I want Paul to be proud of me, and I do my best to avoid getting into real trouble. It’s intricate, the way that something which is so enjoyable in a different setting can be made truly punitive, but it’s not a novel idea, nor is it a particularly rare phenomenon.
I hope that this is at least somewhat articulate: I’ve just recovered from having been ill, and I’m struggling to get caught up, so I wasn’t able to really draft this the way I usually do for posts that are this wordy, and I was getting really tired by the time I was finishing it. I’ll be posting more about other aspects of this topic in the future, so stay tuned. ♥
I’ve never let this blog sit around uncared for for such a long time. I finally have the basic pieces of my life in order now, though: my house is nearly unpacked, I have most of the furniture that I require and all of my appliances, my cats are happily adjusted to the new home and, perhaps most importantly, I finally have internet. It took them two weeks to get around to setting it up. It was ridiculous. I got tremendously behind on everything that I needed to do, since nearly all of it involves being online.
I’m finally getting caught up now. It’s very time consuming.
But life is good.
Paul and I are growing into a comfortable lifestyle as things get settled. Like everyone else in the world, we spend most of our days doing our respective jobs, but we both do large parts of that from home so we spend a lot of time together. I make dinner nearly every night and do lots of baking, which makes me happy. Between work and chores and making cookies, there’s time for me to do the silly things that I like, such as drawing with sidewalk chalk, chasing my cats around and doing craft projects such as making foxes out of paper.
|Two dozen cookies from scratch, one dozen foxes from construction paper|
After I made them, Paul used string to carefully hang them from the weeping branches of the tree in our yard, whose trunk is wrapped with tiny, solar powered Christmas lights. Our mail box is matte black, so I color on it with the sidewalk chalk. We have a pumpkin on our stoop and yellow flowers growing in a planter. It’s so incredibly obvious that I live here. It’s a very happy house.
Paul and I have grown very comfortably into having D/s as part of our daily lives instead of maintaining a long distance relationship, probably partially because the foundation that we built during the time that we were long distance was so strong. Aiding in the ease of this transition is the fact that we both have a very strong and well defined idea of what we want from one such relationship and that those ideas are very much in line (see also, our compatibility). I’m sure that being seriously in love doesn’t hurt, either.
Just as our daily life has become very domesticated, our daily kink life has, too, in a way that I find infinitely comforting. Spanking fits into our daily life seamlessly. It’s the most natural thing in the world. Our bedtime ritual involves me getting spanked each night as a re-affirmative act, but spankings just happen throughout the day, too, whether it’s taking a break from work for spontaneous play or setting time aside to address something more serious.
Interestingly, now that I’m living in a location where I have a lot more kinky friends and scene activities to participate in, I’ve found myself much more involved and interested in my vanilla life. I’ve been reconnecting with old friends, doing personal writing projects, doing craft projects, doing more baking and more experimental cooking and just generally rediscovering interests that I had put aside.
One thing that I really like is walking. That sounds like a very lame thing to like, doesn’t it? I do, though. In college, Zeki and I used to walk huge distances, sometimes passing through two or three towns, or even out of the county. We’d talk and share stories. Some of our best mutual ideas were fostered during these walks. Other days, I would walk by myself, usually on a shady trail that followed the Bronx River. I would get deeply involved in daydreaming and often make up spanking stories in my head or review others that I really enjoyed, sometimes from films, sometimes from my own limited experiences with SF.
The other day I decided to go take a walk, since I needed to talk to someone on the phone I get antsy when I’m just sitting still when I’m on the phone. Paul was working in the study, so I told him I’d be back shortly. I did plan to be back shortly. Maybe I didn’t really plan at all, because I was wearing jelly flip-flops and I didn’t have any water with me and it was a particularly dry, hot day. None the less, my conversation ended pretty quickly, but I kept walking for a while, daydreaming happily like I used to do. I realized that I was walking in the direction of a particular major road where Target is located, and I decided that it would be neat if I walked all the way there. It’s about a mile away from my house, so it was certainly feasible– I’ve done 8 – 10 mile walks in the past. I needed to go there anyway, and I estimated that I was about halfway there already. I’d walk the rest of the way, get the hangers I needed and then walk home.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t actually walking the way that I thought I was.
Two miles later, I was hot, dehydrated and tired. My feet were incredibly sore and seriously blistered. I decided that I needed to give up and turn around.
I tried to walk home, but I got about six blocks before I realized that there was no way I could possibly do that. I was tired. I needed a drink. This was a stupid idea.
I slowly began to realize how poorly I had planned this. Why did I think it was a good idea to walk in the heat without water or proper shoes? I hadn’t even told Paul where I was going, and he was under the impression I was going to be back shortly. I realized that I’d been gone for nearly an hour. Under the strap of my sandal, my feet looked like they were about to bleed.
It was then that I realized I was going to have to ask Paul to come get me in the car. It was also then that I realized that I was probably going to be in pretty serious trouble. Taking care of myself is pretty much rule #1. This was a serious failure in that department.
Paul agreed to come get me without really saying anything about it, but as soon as I got into the car, I knew that he was seriously displeased with me.
“Are you mad?” I asked, my voice small and meek.
“You’re going to be punished when we get home” was his only response. We drove back in silence. I could do nothing but think about how thoughtless this had been. I’d interrupted Paul’s working. I had entirely failed at taking care of myself. Tears ran down my face, and I sniffled a bit.
As soon as we got in the door, Paul turned to me and said “Go to your room.” I went into our bedroom and flopped on the bed. I didn’t want to stand up. My feet hurt too much. I was hot. I was tired. I was in big, big trouble. I lay there like a lump, doing an activity which really can’t be described as anything but “sulking.” In the seeming eternity (but actually one or two minutes) before Paul came in I could hear him moving around in the kitchen. Then I heard the sound of a cabinet being opened and shut again, and my heart began to pound.
There’s a shallow, white cabinet in the kitchen. It’s separated from the other kitchen cupboards and obviously original to the house, but it’s only about three inches deep. I’m not sure what it was used for, but it’s become the official storage place for some of our meanest implements.
I wanted to mope about the fact that I was about to be seriously corrected, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I knew that I deserved it. Still, my tummy hurt.
Paul finally came into the room holding a cane. I had sort of known that was going to be the end of this story from the moment that I realized that I had messed up so badly, but the reality of the situation was sinking in very quickly.
In addition to feeling upset about how thoughtless my actions were, I had been really focused on worrying that Paul was mad at me for inconveniencing him. Having to stop your work to go rescue a silly girl who got herself into a mess is bound to annoy anyone. But once he began to scold me, I realized that he was much more upset about the fact that something bad could have happened to me. I felt very loved as he lectured me about thinking before I did things and taking care of myself. I could feel how precious I am to him, and how he won’t let any harm come to me, even through my own poor judgement.
Then he ordered me over the bed and began to spank me. While technically a warmup, he started hard and furiously. In my tired, vulnerable state, I pretty instantly started to sob hard, offering absolutely no emotional resistance to the spanking. I needed it. I knew that.
I felt impossibly sore after the warm up, but this was probably mostly because of my mental state at the time. Then Paul ordered me to kneel up on the bed, which I did quickly. I kept my feet off the edge of the bed because they had gotten filthy as I was walking around on the dusty sidewalks in flip flops. Paul noticed this, too, and said “You’ll clean your feet after this,” which I quietly affirmed through my tears. “Get down on your elbows,” he told me, and this made me cry harder, but I did as I was told. This position means only one thing: strokes to the tender area where my thighs and bottom meet. Paul then tapped my bottom with the cane before simply saying “Ten.”
The first stroke startled me into some sort of clarity for a second, although after the initial crack, during that long moment when the pain begins to built and develop, I felt overtaken by hurting and began to cry again. The next two or three were quickly paced– no time for one to finish building before the next and I could make no attempt at processing them. I wailed. After five strokes, he gave me a little break, pressing his hand against the welts in the same motion that I do when a beating is over. The pressure seems to hold the pain in for a moment. I caught my breath, but didn’t slow my sobbing.
The next two strokes were to that aforementioned tender area. I did my best not to yell, but I felt an overpowering warmth: burning, biting, pinching, gnawing heat. The rest of the strokes came in quick succession, and after each one, my cries became louder and more desperate.
It’s a very good thing that we live in a house instead of an apartment. I’m….noisy.
When the whole thing was over, Paul immediately sat down on the bed and pulled me onto his lap, holding me close to him. I wiped tears all over my face in some attempt of cleaning myself up and apologized over and over. He stroked my hair and told me he forgave me.
Part of our protocol surrounding scenes is that I always thank him for spanking me. This is something that I initiated because it makes me feel very submissive in the best way. After being soundly punished I felt a bit shy to say this this time, but I managed it out in a coy whisper. “Good girl,” he told me, kissing my forehead. I sat there on his lap for a long time, entirely vulnerable, my bottom aching and burning but my tears drying. I felt lucky to be so loved. I was filled with contentment.
Finally, I felt calm enough to get up and get myself properly cleaned up. I rinsed my feet off and then climbed into a cool bath, the water still feeling tingly and antagonistic against my welts. I was glad, though. I didn’t want them to be fully soothed. I didn’t stop to take a picture of the lines, but they were impressive: perfectly parallel and close enough together that they very nearly touched, but not quite.
Anyway, I’m back now. I’ll be updating one to two times a week, as I used to. I’ve missed writing, and I hope you’ve missed reading.♥
edited for gramatical improvement.
Friday night was a very good night. Everyone enjoyed each other’s company, and for the first time ever, I got to go to sleep next to ellee and YS. He slept in the middle, and a few times in the night I woke up and turned over to see him sleeping next to me, only to become so excited about this fact that I found it hard to get back to sleep. While this sounds kind of cute when I retell it, it wasn’t very practical.
As is usual for me, I woke up feeling slow moving and like it would have been very easy to become cranky. It was like, 9:30 in the morning when ellee and YS got out of bed, and I considered trying to just resist the entire morning thing and just keep lying there. I’m not sure if ellee did what she did next intentionally, having assumed that this would be the case based on her twinly abilities, or just because she wanted to, but she turned to YS and said “I know a certain Alex and ellee who did not get bedtime spankings last night.” This was my fault: I had gone to bed earlier than the rest of them which had put a kink in the bedtime spanking routine. YS responded to this the way that any reasonable spanking man would: by giving us wake up spankings instead.
Wake up spankings used to seem like an inhumanly cruel idea to me. When Malignus first suggested them to me as a possibility when I was planning my first visit to his place in South Dakota ages and ages ago, I was originally pretty resistant. If I hate being awake in the morning in the first place, why in the name of Science would I want to find myself getting whacked repeatedly before I had even come to my senses? I agreed to give it a try, though, and found it to be very different than I imagined. See, spankings create adrenaline Adrenaline is the opposite of sleepiness. Spankings also create endorphins. Endorphins are the opposite of grumpiness. I soon discovered that a wake-up spanking was the easiest way for me to transition from sleepytime to the land of the living, and I’m always appreciative when I get them.
YS set ellee and I up side by side and on the bed and spanked us with his hand, giving each of us a few spanks and then moving on to the next adorable, semi-undressed girl that he happened to have in his bed (YS is sometimes referred to as “The Lucky Bastard”). My mood and perkiness improved greatly as the spanking went on, and ellee and I held hands and sort of snuggled while getting spanked as we are known to do. After a bit, YS stopped and went over to some of his luggage.
“What are you doing?” ellee asked.
“I’m looking for some lotion,” YS told her.
“Oh, I have that right here!” she volunteered helpfully. YS turned around and approached us with a London Tanner’s spanking strop.
“I lied. I wasn’t looking for lotion. Lay back down.”
(♥ I love that kind of stuff)
We both got back into position and he continued to spank us with the strap, making us both produce our own distinctive vocalizations. ellee sounds much happier than I do when she gets spanked: she sort of chirps and purrs and makes all sorts of adorable and energetic sounds. I just produce a varying level of gasps, whines, wails and, eventually, sobbing sounds. Just as I don’t fake orgasms, though, I never manufacture these reactions in my personal play. If a spanking doesn’t hurt, I don’t respond vocally. If it does, I generally don’t hold back (although there are situations where some amount of holding back is appropriate). This morning, I was a bit whimpery, and crying out a bit, but still obviously very happy with the strapping I was receiving.
|Post spanking coziness|
Once we’d both been thoroughly spanked, we somehow ended up getting even further undressed for a bit. Then we finally got dressed and went out to get ellee some makeup products which she had forgotten. After that expedition where YS also bought us candy and gave us each the occasional stray swat right in the middle of the mall, which I’m not used to at all and which made me blush ferociously, we ate a delicious breakfast then went to finish getting ready for the day. After I got out of the shower, YS directed me to the ironing board which was set up in the corner of the room. He showed me which shirt he wanted to wear that day and asked me to iron it, and to use the lint roller on it and also the pants that he was going to be wearing. This filled me with submissive bliss, as it was the first time I had ever had a chance to do a service-type task for YS (although I had made him sandwiches and things like that before our D/s dynamic started). I decided that for full effect, I had better do my ironing naked. (Dear Prestigious Women’s College from which I graduated: there, there. It’ll be alright.)
YS was pleased with my work and we both got dressed for the day. I asked YS if he wanted to pick out my panties for the day, which was something that would never have happened in any of my other D/s dynamics, but which felt VERY right in this case. He selected a gray, cotton pair that were cute and matched my outfit well (I actually happen to be wearing them RIGHT NOW). As soon as we finished this, he decided that he was going to spank me with my new hairbrush. He had purchased me a Mason Pearson hairbrush off of my amazon wishlist a little while ago as a thank you gift for being such a good girl (awwwww).
|Some hairbrush related photos which I took for YS when it first arrived.|
I had wanted a Mason-Pearson hairbrush because I had read about them in spanking stories for a long time, and they seemed both classy and mean. They’re plastic, in case anyone doesn’t already know, so I was not entirely sure how much it would actually hurt. I went over YS’s lap again to find out.
It hurt. Specifically, it stung. I could have probably deduced this, since it was a firm but lightweight material. YS was able to get a good rhythm and motion going with it, and my bottom began to be overwhelmed with buzzing, burning, inescapable sting. I put my effort into not resisting, but I made quite a bit of noise. YS wrapped his other arm around my waist while he spanked me, going on and on with no end in sight. It built and built, but because of the nature of the implement, never descended into the gratification of thud, even when he started to give me harder swats. It just stung more. I had wanted to cry during the first spanking that YS had given me the day before, but I was too busy being happy and floaty. This implement was very good for that: it kept me very present and aware, but because of the emotional connection created by having had the implement purchased for me by my Dom, I felt very, very submissive. As both the pain and the submission increased, I started to make sobbing sounds. I didn’t have a full out, proper cry, but I wailed and let go and a few tears came out. YS continued spanking me for however much longer he felt like, and then pulled me up for hugs tiem. It was perfect.
The rest of the day was very nice and it involved lots of fun times with various friends, as well as a few other scenes here and there and a complex and unusual prank involving a burrito which was maybe the funniest thing I’ve ever witnessed. I laughed so hard that tears literally rolled down my face. The most significant thing which occurred during the rest of that day, in my mind, was what I have been referring to when chatting to friends as “The Bear Story.”
Right before we went to pick up YS and ellee, Lily Starr brought me into her room and gave me a present. It was an adorable brown teddy bear with a big, teal bow. As soon as I picked it up, though, I discovered that it was different than other bears. It’s full of lavender and some kind of beans, and it can be put in the microwave to heat it up before cuddling. It’s amazing! It’s also really fun to play with because it’s weighted and kind of heavy. I had a lot of fun swinging it around by it’s various limbs. Lily then gave ellee a matching bear, which made things EVEN MORE PERFECT. Do you know why they make more than one of cute things? It’s EXCLUSIVELY so that ellee and I can have matching ones. Aren’t you glad I’ve explained that? I knew people were probably wondering. 😛
Unfortunately, this bear caused me a little problem. In addition to enjoying swinging it around, I really, really enjoyed whacking my friends with the bear. I know, I know, this is the most childish thing ever, but it was REALLY satisfying and I REALLY couldn’t stop myself. Now, sometime before the party, I had called ellee to talk about a few things and the topic of people who I sometimes want to punch came up. The conversation had gone something like this:
Me: There are people in the world who I really want to punch, but I probably can’t. 🙁
ellee: Oh! YS is here! Let me ask him!
ellee (to her husband): YS? Can Alex punch someone if they’re really horrible?
YS (super stern): No.
YS (loudly, so that I can hear through the phone) Alex, you can’t punch people unless they punch you first or they’re trying to rape you.
Me: Harumph, yes, Sir.
That’s the problem with Doms. They’re always making all these rules that prevent me from punching people in the face, or getting hit by cars, or dying in a fire and they go around making sure that I get proper sleep and take care of myself and don’t get arrested. (Thank you, Malignus and YS! I love you!)
Anyway, it had been clearly established before the party that I was not to non-consensually assault people. Really, this is also basically just common sense, and also part of my rules from Malignus, so there’s no excuse for any of this.
But this bear. It was SO GOOD for whacking your friends with. I had done it a little bit without anyone saying anything, but on Saturday afternoon in Beth/Heather/Missy/Stacey/Jules/possibly more people(?)’s suite, I got to swinging the bear around and hit both ellee and Heather. Heather, being a boss of me, wasn’t going to take any bear-smacking, so she grabbed me by the arm and marched me into a corner. My reaction was instinctual, if not entirely logical.
“YS!” I yelled. “Help! Heather’s being mean to me!” YS gave a response about how he was not going to interfere with other people’s dynamics while I stood there with my face in a kind of oddly smelling curtain. Then, I guess either ellee or Heather explained to him why, exactly, I was standing with my face in a kind of oddly smelling curtain.
“Alex!” he scolded. “Did you hit her with your bear?”
“No,” I said, without any understanding of why that word was coming out of my mouth.
“Are you really going to lie to me about this?” he asked.
“…I meant no, I did do it.”
Even though that made absolutely no sense, YS seemed to accept that answer.
Still, he added, “We’re going to have to have a discussion about this later, I think.” I gave a resigned “Yes, Sir,” and returned my face to the corner.
“Oh no, are you mad?” ellee asked, concerned about me, because ellee is the sweetest friend ever.
“No,” YS, consoled her, “I’m not mad. All this means is that Alex is going to get spanked later, which is the whole reason that we’re at this party.”
The promise of being spanked for it later sent a little shiver down my spine, even though I was in an environment where there was zero risk of not getting spanked, and I remained in the corner until Heather decided to let me out.
I rejoined the party and continued to have a nice time. Then, less than an hour later, I was sitting on the couch with ellee, YS and the same bear. ellee said something silly or teasing, and I responded by sort of tossing the bear at her head.
“She just hit me with her bear!” ellee said with shock.
“Okay,” was all the YS had to say about this. What he had to say wasn’t the important part, though. What he did was stand up, grab me by the wrist and lead me to a bar stool at the front of the room. I felt a surge of nervousness. While I was fully aware as soon as the bear-tossing had occurred that I’d probably be spanked for it, it hadn’t occurred to me that it would be done right there, right then in front of everyone. The offense of throwing around bears wasn’t particularly serious, but this was also the first time that I was getting a chastisement style spanking from YS since our dynamic began. He had given me an #offchartbossing “punishment” spanking during the second cabin party, which I described as this:
When ellee and YS arrived, we exchanged some presents that we had collected for each other, because we’re the kind of besties who get each other cute things. ellee is really good at buying presents. I was overjoyed. In the middle of mini-Christmas, though, YS came into the room with an implement and a semi-serious look on his face. Heather, ellee, YS and -lostkitten had carpooled from the airport together, and they had taken longer than I determined acceptable, so I got a little beyond my bounds and sent a text to Heather scolding YS for getting everyone lost and taking too long. This was about to catch up to me in the form of my first spanking of the party. My sense of self preservation must not have been unpacked yet, though, because when he said “You got a little mouthy there, Alex” I responded with “My mouth was not involved! I was texting!”
Surprisingly, this did not save me, and I got ten firm swats, followed by a very nice hug and more presents. Have I mentioned that YS and ellee are pretty much my favorite people ever to live? Yes. That.
What happened this time was not ten firm swats, followed by a very nice hug and more presents.
YS instructed me to bend over the barstool and he lifted my skirt. Then he asked whose toy bag was on the table. It belonged to StrictDave, and he happily offered the use of his implements. I could hear the distinctive sound of wooden things clattering against each other, to which I have a Pavlovian fear response. I instinctively looked back to see what had been selected.
“Don’t look back,” YS chided. “Just keep your face forward, hold still and be a good girl.”
I did my best to do that. YS wrapped his free arm around my waist and began to spank me harder than he had ever before. The spanking was at a rapid pace and, from what I could gather, was with a wooden implement with a short range and a spanking surface about the size of my fist. It was the kind of hurt that burns and buzzes and very quickly overwhelms me, and I am pretty sure that I made pathetic vocalization for basically the entire thing. I don’t remember YS saying anything to me throughout: no scolding or coaxing, just the constant presence of his other arm. That made me feel very Dominated: it was stable, secure, strong and unyielding. These are all important aspects of Dominance to me, and this non-verbal communication had a potent effect. I soon began to cry and apologize, entirely unaware of the fact that there were people around me. My entire world consisted of me, YS, the barstool I was leaning on, whatever implement he was using and an inescapable, undeniable, constant pain.
The last time that someone attempted to correct me in a public party setting I felt extremely insecure about being observed in such an intimate act, even though it was much less serious and less intimate than this, and I fell into a panicked and upset state and prematurely ended the scene. This time, I was entirely comfortable and entirely unaware of anyone else. It helped that no one interacted with us in a disruptive manner: no suggestions were made, no one announced when I began to cry et cetera. It just happened, and it was perfectly natural. Finally, he finished and wrapped me in a hug. After I regained my calm, I got some ellee hugs as well (apparently her spanking empathy is so strong that she was almost crying watching me, and I assured her that I was not only fine, but I felt very loved and well taken care of).
|Quite soundly spanked.|
YS sat back down on the couch and I climbed onto his lap and put my head on his shoulder. He stroked my hair and kissed my forehead.
“You’re a very good girl still,” he assured me, “but no more assault, even in jest.” I melted into him a bit more.
“Yes, Sir,” I answered, my voice hardly above whispering, “thank you for correcting me.” ♥
I later discovered that the implement I was spanked with is an incredibly evil hairbrush which should probably not exist. It’s that big type of hairbrush which is somewhere between a hairbrush and a bath brush and could only possibly make itself useful by making girls cry lots and lots.
Also, this is one of the only times that I’ve told a chastisement story on this blog. I usually consider this to be personal, and often sullied by public sharing but because this one was delivered in a semi-public setting, not over something deeply personal and very important to the narrative of my developing relationship with YS, I’ve decided that I have positive feelings about sharing this. I’ll eventually write a longer post about my feelings towards punishment and the public eye (by which I mean it’s been a draft for approximately 3 months).
I’ve had a hard time keeping up with my blogging recently. This is largely because I’ve been working very hard trying to get another spanking related internet project (which I will hopefully be finishing and launching before the end of this week) off the ground. I’ve had a lot of technical difficulty but I’m a very proud person and I’ve been insistant on doing all the work by myself instead of seeking help. I’ve done a lot of other great things recently that I can’t wait to share, but I have to slog through them one at a time.
Today, I will be telling you about my third time shooting with Lily Starr Spanking. I’m very fond of Lily and her boyfriend, Robert Wolf. They drove out to Los Angeles from their location in the desert in order to shoot with me and with Erica Scott the next day. Unfortunately, NOTHING went right about getting to the shoot. It’s a ridiculous list of things that became problematic. It would have been a night of wacky hijinxes if I hadn’t been tired and desperately wanting to arrive at my shoot so instead it was a night of sad problems that annoyed me and were almost funny, but not quite.
I eventually got to Lily and Robert’s hotel room in the middle of the night. They were quite happy to see me and we talked and joked for a little while. We then filmed our first scene. It was an F/F scene where Lily discovered some slutty underwear (given to me by Maddycake) in my drawer and got all irate about it. It was a lot of fun to film and I got to say some good, witty lines.
After this, Robert and I decided to do the most serious scene that I’ve done with them. It’s actually the most serious and personal scene that I’ve done to date. It’s a real scene between us, in which Robert gives me a super hardcore spanking for showing up late and for messing up my plans that day and other irresponsibilities. This scene is pretty severe and has a lot of real crying in it, but it also highlights the excellent rapport that the two of us have, and it shows a lot of affection on his part afterwards. I should hope viewers will be able to tell that it was extremely relieving for me to be spanked in the way that I was during that video, and it was an experience I was really glad to share with Robert, because he’s awesome.
After shooting, Robert told me that there were a few times when he felt a little bad because he was hitting me so hard and almost laid off the intensity a little bit, but then he thought “Wait! This girl lives with Malignus!” and kept going. 😛 True. Story.
When we were finished, my pillow was wet with tears and makeup:
And so was my face!
|I REALLY like this photo of my face. I think it captures a lot of the way I was feeling.|
I can’t wait for Lily to post the clips and to share those with you! Stay tuned for more updates!
Note from the future: I don’t actually support a lot of what I said in this post anymore. There are A LOT of signs that my relationship was unhealthy that can be seen here.
For the past few months, I’ve been working on a particular skill within the realm of submitting to spankings. I’m very, very good at taking hard spankings with the right atmosphere. The atmosphere, however, has always been highly important for my success with these things. I generally experience these things as if I am being “guided” to a particular headspace and then kept there. I think this is partially because my early spanking experiences were highly directed and I never learned how to create a headspace for myself and partly because when it comes to physical things, I’m far better at passive submission than active submission. Recently, we’ve been working on my ability to give myself over to a hard spanking without direct assistance.
It is way, way more difficult than it sounded to me in the beginning.
No atmosphere means no phrases of comfort or reaffirmation, no “good girl”s, no questions that focus my mind on submission like “to whom does your body belong?” or “do you want this spanking?” It turns out those things go an extremely long way towards creating a submissive headspace for me.
It also means no warmup. This is the biggest difference between the kinds of non-punitive spankings I was used to getting and the kind that I’ve been getting recently. A warmup eases me into a scene both physically and mentally. The mental side of it is what’s the most important for me. It gives me time to accept the fact that I’m being spanked and slowly start giving myself over to the spanking, suspending my sense of self preservation and surrendering my free will for the time being. It’s like slowly inching forward to get wet in a lake before going swimming (this analogy is particularly effective for me because I have a strong fear of water so preparing to submerge myself is far more mental than physical, but I’m sure that it will make at least some sense to others). You take one step, then another step, then another and at first every step makes you gasp from the cold but eventually, you put your head entirely under the water and then you’re ready and can swim for however long you want.
Without a warmup and with few words of guidance or correction, I’m more like a cat who has just been dropped into a full tub for her bath than a swimmer slowly preparing to enjoy the water. The first smack hits my bottom and I pretty much immediately start crying out, rolling back and forth on Malignus’ lap, yelling in the style that Ami would call “like a dying monster” and being entirely incapable of keeping position. This is relative to my normal ability to be extremely still: I’ve seen other girls who simply have to be held down and pinned in place to take a spanking, and recently, I saw one of my friends climb over a couch when her arms were being held down and she was trying to escape swats. The logistics of that maneuver still befuddle me. To my own credit, I will add that I’ve never put my hand back during a spanking, that I’ve never gotten off the Top’s lap, that I’ve only kicked a Top in the face twice and that it’s been over three years since that time that I broke a lamp. Basically, I’m not horrible, but I try to cling to my resistance as much as possible and relaxing and giving myself over to being spanked isn’t the first thing on my mind. In fact, instead of thinking about how much I want to be spanked and how I never want it to end, I find myself latching onto thoughts of how it’s too hard, it hurts too much, I can’t be still for it and I want it to be over. Not very productive.
|That’s my brain, basically, when I’m not doing things right.|
I’ve been working on this for a long time, and that’s not to say that every spanking I receive is done in this method and intended to work on this. Malignus had told me that I’d been making progress but I personally was getting frustrated with myself: I knew what things I should be doing during a spanking and I just never brought myself to do them.
Last week, we obtained a new implement. Peachy Keane sent it to me as part of a gift box. I’ve talked about Jenny before: the wooden spatula that Malignus loves and most girls hate. Here’s a photo of Jenny, in case anyone wasn’t sure what it looked like:
Ben is about 1.5 – 1.75 times as thick as Jenny. This was EXTREMELY noticeable the first time I was spanked with it. Jenny was my “warm up” (this was quick and very firm) and then he started to hit me with Ben. I kicked and bucked around and screamed and could barely be kept under basic control. I’m pretty sure that the spanking ended earlier than intended because I was taking it with so little grace and dignity. But geeze! That thing is HORRIBLE. It’s the epitome of an awful spoon (you can tell because scotchgrove calls his “the perfect spoon.” )
The other day, I got into a mood and I started having a really awful attitude while Malignus and I were trying to get things done in a limited amount of time. I’m really ashamed of the way I acted. I was scolded about my attitude and just a minute later, he asked me something and I responded rudely and immaturely. He then started to scold me very, very harshly. I snapped out of my funk immediately and began to cry guiltily. I was suddenly aware of just how badly I’d been behaving. A minute or so later, he called me into the bedroom. He was sitting on the edge of the bed holding Ben. I felt a mix of terror and relief– despite my extreme dislike of that implement, I knew that I deserved to be disciplined for my behavior and I wanted him to spank me very hard. Once I had bared my bottom and gotten over his lap, he gave me another stern scolding and then did just that. It felt as though he really laid into me with it (I say this in non-concrete terms because the way that I experience pain during a disciplinary spanking is different than usual and often much more severe). There was no denying the fact that he spanked me very thoroughly, but because of my mindset at the time, I lay quite still and did nothing but cry submissively into my pillow. The spanking finished with corner time followed by a long, comforting hug and a chance for me to behave better. I spent the rest of the afternoon focusing on being cheerful and getting things done, and I was successful at both.
Later, when we were driving in the car to go out to eat, Malignus noted that I had been very still for my spanking. It hadn’t even registered to me that I had: I had been focusing on other things. This was important for me because it had reminded me just what I was capable of. When I want to, I can endure anything. This had stopped being a reality for me when I had continuously failed at my earlier attempts to fully submit. That night, Malignus gave me a bedtime spanking with a different spoon. My bottom was still sore from my discipline earlier that day, but I know he didn’t spank me as hard or with as fast a pace as he usually does. Still, I was able to channel the same feeling of wanting to be spanked and I successfully gave over to the spanking. I was very proud of myself, indeed, and Malignus told me that he was proud as well.
|This post has too many words in it! It needs one of these!|
Since then, I’ve only had one other spanking, which was also with Ben. I took that one similarly well. It’s exciting to feel like I’m on a roll and finally mastering something and making real, measurable progress.