It’s not a secret: I cry from spankings a lot. There are videos of me crying available from Spanking Court, Assume the Positions Studios, and Lily Starr Spanking. I talk about it here all the time, too, and I’ve posted about it on various fetlife threads from time to time. So it isn’t surprising that one of my friends sent me a message asking me for more insight into my ability to cry. This is the second time that I’ve been inspired to respond to a question in the form of a blog post, because my thoughts organized themselves so well that I figured that others might enjoy reading my insights as well.
There are several different ways in which a spanking can make me cry. I can break my crying during a spanking down into several categories:
*Crying fueled by regret for bad behavior.
This is one of the more common forms of crying from a spanking in general, and the psychology of it is very straight forward. This takes place during disciplinary spankings. In my opinion, if a spankee is in this mindset and that is not the intended atmosphere of the spanking, then something is wrong. Either the top has not communicated the intended purpose of the spanking effectively or the bottom is dwelling on previous or otherwise unaddressed bad behavior. This is the easiest way for me to cry during a spanking, although it is rarely ever particularly difficult.
The atmosphere of a disciplinary spanking keeps my mind focused on my wrong-doing and just how unenjoyable it is to be punished. This atmosphere makes me extremely vulnerable and therefore makes my experience of the spanking much more physically painful. For me, a spanking serves this purpose most effectively if it is delivered either very sternly or, in certain situations, harshly. What’s the difference? To me, a “stern” delivery is very calm and controlled, with some level of formality, but unbendingly serious. A “harsh” delivery involves some expression of annoyance (as opposed to just displeasure) and is a bit “gruffer”: there might be some raising of the voice or rougher shoving back into position. It’s the difference between “Bare your bottom and get in position” and “get your pants down and get over my lap RIGHT NOW!” The latter is generally more effective if the offense which has earned me the punishment is related to my attitude, just because it’s more jarring and it makes it much harder for me to keep feeling sorry for myself. 😛
Either way, the creation of this atmosphere makes me vulnerable and receptive, and it makes me most contrite and regretful, and therefore brings me to tears very quickly.
*Crying fueled by stress relief/emotional release.
This is the kind of crying that happens when I get that feeling that I just need a good spanking. This happens when I feel like I’ve been keeping things inside myself, or I’ve been struggling hard with something, or life has been wearing me down. These spankings have always been most effective for me i they begin with sternness until I reach the point where I’ve begun to cry and then the tone becomes more affectionate. Again, this is about being vulnerable: in this case, the spanking is effective because I allow myself not to fight against it (or, if I cannot do such a thing on my own, to break me down) and instead use it to push everything out. I originally imagined that a stress relief style spanking would be calm and soothing, but I discovered with experience that it works best for me when it’s merciless, hard and long. A good example of this sort of spanking can be found in the story told in the last couple of paragraphs of this post.
*Crying fueled by relief.
This is a different kind of relief than stress relief. It’s relief that a long anticipated spanking is finally happening. This sort of tears is generated by a spanking that is usually very connecting, reaffirmative and filled with caring. Alternatively, these tears can be part of the reason I cry during a long awaited punishment. The point is, I’m moved to tears by the feeling that I’m back where I belong and that I’ve obtained something that I’ve long desired, or that some sort of waiting period has ended. My first spanking was the ultimate example of this: I was overcome with the most extreme relief I’d ever felt, since the burden of waiting for my first spanking was finally lifted from me. These tears are very happy, and filled with satisfaction.
|Photo by Assume the Position Studios|
*Crying fueled by submission or surrender.
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 endorphines, 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.
*Crying fueled by physical pain.
What’s that?! It’s kind of taboo in the spanking community to admit that crying happens because a spanking hurts, but for me, yeah, that happens. I know that the fact that it’s a safe environment where I’m engaging consensually in something that I love and that I’m allowing to make me vulnerable plays a part in it, but even with amazing atmosphere and the best, most loving connection between me and my Top (so, when Malignus is spanking me), I’m going to get to crying much more quickly from a hard paddling than from a hand spanking. It’s not like I cry because things hurt in my non-spanking life (except for the occasional migraine) so it’s clearly not all about the physical pain, but I won’t deny that a harder, faster paced, longer spanking (that is to say, one which hurts more) will be far, far more likely to bring me to tears.
I was browsing through my search terms when I saw one that really struck my eye: “Land girls spanked.”
“I think I have a lot of aquatic visitors,” I told Malignus. “They’re looking for something other than the boring mermaid spanking photos they’re used to.”
I’d imagine that my blog satisfied the searcher’s desires: I live on the land and am not a mermaid or other kind of aquatic being, and I get spanked with extreme frequency. It did, however, get me wondering. Do mermaid spanking photos exist? I’ve never seen such a thing or even thought about the idea! I was slightly taken aback that there was a spanking scenario that I hadn’t even considered. I discovered a couple of things when I got to work googling.
First, I found this cartoon, courtesy of the Chicago Spanking Review:
I like her shocked face when he bares her bottom. OH SNAP! You got pwnd! Additionally, the sailor looks extremely pleased with himself while spanking her in that last image. That seems very accurate to me. I don’t get to see my tops faces while they are spanking me, obviously, but I’d imagine that’s kind of what they look like. Unfortunately, I doubt the verisimilitude of successfully delivering a bare bottom spanking in a rowboat. Also of mermaids. But whatever.
Secondly, I found this photo via Dave Wolfe’s blog:
This time, it’s the mermaid who seems pleased with herself. Seeing dolls spanking each other made me pretty nostalgic: my ken dolls and my Aladdin doll were total spanko players and always had some barbie or similar sized doll over their laps. None of my girls ever got spanked by a sea monster, though. Nor have I, for that matter. Hmmmm. . . bucket list addition? 😛
Finally, I found this real life photo of Dallas of Dallasspankshard.com spanking a girl dressed as a mermaid:
I’m very fond of the way they made the tail. Pretty creative stuff.
Thanks for the inspiration, my dear aquatic searcher, and I hope you enjoy seeing this land girl get spanked. 😛
I don’t know if you guys have noticed this or not, but I get spanked a lot. I almost always get a spanking at bedtime, and more often than not, I find myself getting some sort of impromptu spanking in addition to that.
The other day, one of my friends asked me how I manage to keep my butt from falling off when I get spanked so damn much (and often, so damn hard). It’s a challenge, I will tell you! When I first moved in with Malignus and I was adapting to getting spanked so often, plus my skin was outraged at the change in climate and this “winter” thing that was happening, I had some problems with weird, hard, dried out skin on my bottom and thighs. Over the past couple of months, though, I’ve perfected my butt-skincare regime, which I will now share with all of you! I’ve written this in the form of instructions, but I certainly don’t think that I’m the shining beacon of right in the black night of wrongness. I’m very open to suggestion, or to being ignored entirely. 😛
Lotion is a spanko bottom’s BFF. There are a lot of kinds of lotion available– there are special aftercare lotions offered by some places that sell implements and there are billions of types of lotion offered in stores. What should a spanko look for in a lotion? You probably want an unscented and uncolored lotion. Pretty, sparkly, nice smelling stuff tends to have things in it that cause irritation, and that’s contrary to the cause of making the skin on your butt nice. If you’re getting spanked, you already have enough butt irritation in your life. There are a couple of ingredients that are particularly good for the skin- Collagen Elastin is one and Vitamin E is another.
Personally, I use this: St. Ives Skin Renewing Lotion.
I do want to point out that products containing Collagen Elastin are generally very not vegan. I use this, because I am not a vegan and if my skin can be made better by slatering on stuff that came from some other skin, then I’m okay with that. 😀
I’ve also had great success with Vitamin E Body Butter from The Body Shop. This is actually vegan, for all you vegan spankos.
Now that you’ve selected an excellent lotion, you need to use it. I suggest using it every morning and night, after every time that you shower, take a bath or otherwise emerse yourself in water and every time you get a spanking. I try to keep up with doing it that often and it works out well for me. The point of lotion is to keep your skin healthy and moisturized, and to keep it both strong and soft. It makes your skin less likely to break during a spanking, because most people don’t want a bloody butt, and it also keeps the texture from feeling dry and gross.
I take warm baths in order to relax. I also find it to be very good for my skin: it makes all the dead skin soften up and makes exfoliation (coming up!) easier, and if your skin has become hard from a spanking, it helps it to soften in the deeper layers. I also use Colloidal Oatmeal in my baths. Pretty much everyone I’ve offered this to says that it’s lame, but it’s incredibly soothing. It makes your skin feel wonderfully soft, too. Most importantly, you know how if you eat a really spicy dish and your mouth hurts, drinking water will actually make it worse? You’re supposed to eat bread? My friend, Peachy, just told me that if you make a paste of Colloidal Oatmeal and rub it on your butt, it can help to neutralize the effects of capsaicin in the same way (if you are sad and unfortunate enough to have it put there by a sadist). I haven’t actually tested this myself, but the theory behind it is sound. The most common brand of Colloidal Oatmeal is Aveeno. That is what I use.
IMPORTANT NOTE ABOUT OATMEAL BATHS: be sure to clean out your tub after you drain all the water out, or else the residue from the oatmeal ends up looking like you got drunk and puked in your tub. You might want to keep this in mind if you ever want to do a prank that involves making it look like someone got drunk and puked in the tub, though. (I know how you brats are, with your pranking!)
Depending on how much of a callous you get on your butt, you might need to exfoliate a little or a lot. A little bit of exfoliation would be kind of scrubbing with a washcloth or a sponge in the shower. A medium amount involves actually using the brush side of a bath brush (WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT?!) or a loofa (also in the shower.) Personally, because I fear getting a calloused butt and I get spanked ALL THE TIME, I’ve taken to using the gentler side of a foot-file while I’m in the bath. If it hurts, you’re being too rough (so, the opposite of the way things usually are). After you exfoliate, use moar lotion.
THIS IS EXTREMELY IMPORTANT: DO NOT exfoliate just after a hard scene. DO NOT DO NOT DO NOT. Even a little. Don’t even rub a washcloth on your butt. You know what will happen? Your skin will all come off. That is what will happen. I may or may not have discovered that the hard way.
Afterthought: Arnica and bruise reduction
Most spankos seem to swear by arnica for healing bruises. Healing bruises is not part of skin care, but I am going to talk about it right now anyway, because it *is* part of butt care. Personally, there is only one time when I care about healing up my bruises, and that’s when I’m modeling. In my day to day life, I like to have a bruised bottom. It makes me happy. That said: the times that I’ve used arnica in its various forms, I have seen no measurable improvement in the healing time on my bruising. What DOES seem to work well is using ice immediately after a spanking (but not if you’re getting spanked more that night, ugh!) and massaging my butt a lot. Hand spankings count as a massage.
That’s all I’ve got. How do you do your butt-care? Do you have any tips or tricks that I left off? Let me know in the comments!
Note- This post is kind of mushy and self-serving. I’m okay with this.
As I’ve mentioned before, I can’t remember a time before I was obsessed with spanking. It was always there in the back of my mind and it felt like some sort of strange defect in me. There were times when I felt like it would ruin me. There were times when I felt like I needed to be institutionalized because of it. There were times when I wanted to kill myself over it. Dramatic much?
Now that I’ve met the most amazing man, made some of the best friends I’ve ever had and been part of one of the most positive communities I’ve ever been involved in because of spanking, it seems pretty stupid. I’ve talked before about my anxiety, but to most, I think I seem pretty well adjusted about my life in Spankingland. And I am. I love it. It’s a source of positivity, joy, happiness, growth and relief.
That said, I must confess to feeling something that I know many other spankos either feel or have felt: shame.
Shame was a corner-stone of my upbringing. The Christian environment in which I was raised taught me that there was a particular way that God made humans and that deviation from that norm was sinful and shameful. My early rational mind believed that things should make sense. If something didn’t make sense, there was probably something wrong with it. Unfortunately, my obsession with spanking didn’t fit the way that I believed I was meant to perceive a “normal,” godly individual, nor did it make any sense.
I got over the God part. I rebelled against the idea of the social norm and preferred to simply be myself. I came to enjoy being a blatant and unabashed sinner. Still, I want to live in a world which makes sense. I want to understand the origins of my actions. I want to know who I am and why. When something is veiled from me, I become angry and frustrated. I taught myself never to accept “just because” as an answer to things. I want to know why I’m like this. I want to know what made me this way. Is it genetic? Is one of my parents secretly a spanko? Is it something I was exposed to when I was very young and before I had the ability to retain memories? Is it entirely without reason, some random fluke? I’ve long believed that knowing why I ended up a spanko would make being one easier for me.
The truth is, I can’t know why, and knowing why wouldn’t be useful to me anyway. It wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t make anything that feels wrong feel right. I, however, can do those things without any answers being required.
The origin of my affliction may be unknown, but the nature of the beast is not.
I’m a spanko. I like to be spanked. I like baring my bottom and lying over a lap. I like the feeling of being bare and vulnerable. I like the spanking itself. Even when it’s horrible, even when it’s with an implement I hate, even when I struggle and have a hard time lying still. I like to be spanked until I cry. I like to have my thighs spanked. I like the feeling of submission, of giving up my will. I like to be spanked for fun. I like to laugh during a spanking. I like having someone in my life who will give me disciplinary spankings when I am not my best. I like having an opportunity to grow. I like being corrected. I like being put in the corner. It makes me feel safe and contemplative. I like being put there with my bottom bare after a spanking to remain in the feeling of vulnerability, gather my thoughts and get the most that I can from the experience. I like getting spanked with my female friends. I like being comforted after a spanking, a gentle hand rubbing my back or my sore bottom. I like waking up and still feeling sore from the night before. I like learning about myself as a submissive and striving to be better. I like being rewarded with a hard spanking that brings me to happy tears when I’ve done an excellent job. I like getting a hard smack on my thigh or bottom at random, just because he feels like it. I like being a vessel for sadism. I like spankings that relieve my stress. I like spankings that make me feel loved. I like spankings that hurt terribly. I like spankings that don’t hurt quite as much.
I’ve found a way to be happy with who I am. It doesn’t matter why I am the person that I am. It only matters that I admit it and that I am going to force myself to stop feeling ashamed. Because you know what? You’re here, too. You like it, too. You wouldn’t be here, reading this, if you didn’t like spanking: giving it, getting it, watching it, thinking about it. Whatever. There’s a part of it that you like. That’s okay. Maybe you were born with it, like me. Maybe this is the first time that spanking has ever crossed your mind. Maybe you’ve got some other kink, or you’re mainly a BDSM person, and you’re interested in spanking. I won’t judge you. I won’t judge myself, either. And if someone DOES know, if someone DOES have the ability to read my mind when I’m thinking about spanking in the grocery store, if someone IS mentioning it in vanilla conversation because they suspect something about me, then oh, well. There’s nothing I can do about that. It’s certainly not the worst thing in the world. If people don’t like me for it, then there’s nothing I can do about that, either. It won’t be any different than the friends I lost for having a girlfriend. I’m not going to throw it anyone’s face, but I don’t see the point in being so afraid anymore.
Really, I have nothing to be afraid of. Except the cane. And the lexan. Aaaaaaaaaaand pretty much anything on my thighs. 😉
There’s something that has boggled my mind for a very long time about other spanko bottoms. Almost all of them seem to engage, at least from time to time, in a practice that I’ve long found repulsive, uncomfortable and simply far too masochistic for me.
They wear pants.
Now, when I was younger, I used to wear pants pretty often. The change had to do with an embrace of my femininity and realizing that I was just legitimately more comfortable, physically and socially, in a skirt. I still wore pants when I was doing stuff that meant that I would otherwise flash the world, but mostly, I went over to the skirts and dresses side of things and was very happy.
|20 year old Alex in pants|
I still wear certain kinds of pants, too: I wear sweatpants when I go running and I wear what I call “fuzzypants” (pajama bottoms) about 90 percent of the time when I’m in my apartment. These pants are pretty awesome because they are soft and lose fitting and therefore allowed me to forget all the reasons that I didn’t like pants in the first place.
When I started my job in retail, I had to wear pants to work. I dug out my only pair of jeans and kept pairing it with different shirts and sweaters to make it look like I wasn’t wearing the same thing everyday. This was alright: I didn’t really enjoy pants, but they weren’t the bane of my existence that I remembered them being.
Then came the day that I got a spanking before leaving for work. Malignus gave me a pretty hard spanking with Warren and then dropped me off pretty immediately after. This was when I rediscovered that pants really suck. You know that feeling when someone grabs your bruises? Wearing jeans, even properly fitting ones, felt like that. All day. The more I walked around, the worse it felt. It took hours before it stopped feeling awful. It made me wonder how pants-wearing spanko girls can stand it! Do you not realize that you’re making it hurt more? Do you enjoy the prolonged discomfort? Is there something strange about me that makes me find something painful that others dont?
So, ladies: do you wear pants? I sometimes feel like I’m the only modern girl who does so with such rarity. If you do, do you find pants to be less comfortable on a freshly spanked bottom than a skirt? Do you have any secret techniques for having your pants make your butt feel better? Am I just really weird to think about this so much? Tops: do you have any preference between pants and skirts on your female spankees? I always thought that Tops preferred girls to wear skirts because they are oh-so-easy to flip up when turning a girl over one’s lap spontaneously. I may just be assuming this based on what I know that those I have the most experience with prefer.
So tell me about pants, people!
Yesterday was a pretty big day in the house of Malex. (Malex? Malignus + Alex. We made this up during my first visit here when we wanted to name a spreadsheet of our expenses and it kinda stuck. You’re welcome.) Several important things happened. First of all, my (somewhat controversial) post on Tuesday generated a lot of traffic: I reached 592 hits, my highest number in a day ever. Talking about traffic is always a little awkward, because, like talking about how long of a spanking one took, it’s entirely relative to the number of hits one was used to getting previously (HA!). As a frame of reference, I usually get between 200 and 300 page views per day, so this was nearly double that. It pleased me quite a bit.
Secondly, and perhaps more excitingly,
On Monday, Malignus spent the night out of town and I played through part of the second to last dungeon out of my own free will (after I finished eating nachos, Sour Patch Kids and strawberry ice cream for dinner).
On Tuesday, I beat the second to last boss without ever dying, then started the final dungeon. I was clearly getting better .Yesterday, I sat down and finished the ENTIRE REST OF THE GAME. I only died one time when beating the final boss, too. I was super proud of myself for this. In fact, I was almost pissed off that the game had gotten so easy for me right when it was over. Why wasn’t I always this good at it? Lame.
Malignus was clearly proud of me, too. When he got home yesterday, I asked for a spanking to reward me for my hard work. He decided that the most appropriate thing to do would be to beat me with the cable to the Nintendo 64 controller. As hilarious and awesome as that sounded, I was a bit concerned about this idea, for I have heard stories of people being hit with cords and cables that never seem to end with “AND IT WAS AWESOME.”
I know it doesn’t look like much, but holy crap, the cable hurt! I was rolling around on the bed and shouting “I DON’T LIKE THIS! JUST SO YOU KNOW, I DON’T LIKE THIS!”It was not just stingy, it was bitey. Every swat nipped at me. I was totally laughing while crying out though. Too ridiculous.
|My signature scrunchy face|
But, with Ganondorf defeated, peace returned to Hyrule AND my bottom made properly sore, one might think that this story was over. That said, have you ever heard a story from me which just ended when it was supposed to? Of course not! That would be far too convenient and against my luck’s better judgement.
Malignus decided that the only appropriate thing for me to do after having beaten the hardest and most frustrating video game that I’ve ever played in my life was to START PLAYING IT AGAIN FROM THE BEGINNING. I can’t make this stuff up. I seriously considered throwing a giant fit, but A) I’m an adult, B) Malignus is scary and C) I *did* just complain about how it had gotten easy, so I suppose I could live with running through it quickly. So after dinner and with my bottom still sore from the congratulatory beating, I was back in my place in front of the TV, controller in hand.
The problem was, this time I was playing with stricter standards. These do make considerable sense: I’m not learning how to play anymore, so it kind of follows that if I’m dying, I’m just not putting any effort into things. I get it. It’s for my own good and stuff: I just didn’t particularly enjoy it when Malignus made it a rule that every time I let a particular (easy to beat) enemy hit me in the game, he smacked me on my thigh. My bare, inner thigh. In the same place. When I finished the first section of the game, my leg looked like this:
So that’s the end of the story, right? Wrong!
Malignus went into the other room to talk to some other girl on the phone, and I thoroughly iced my poor pathetic thigh while complaining to Ami and anyone else who would listen to me about how much it hurt. When Malignus returned, I made sure to let him know how sore I still was. He responded with “That makes me want to hit you again” and a wicked, sadistic smile.
I shook my head vigorously. “But I’ve just iced it! You can’t hit me when my leg is all iced and cold! Doooooooon’t!” (I’m know, I know. I sometimes toss my dignity to the wind.)
He told me to stand up. I’d changed into my pajama pants while he was on the phone and he told me to come stand in front of him (he was sitting in a chair) and pull my pants down, which I did. He then told me to sit down on the floor facing him, which I also did. “Is it appropriate for you to tell me what to do?” he asked in a dangerously serious voice. When spoken to with that tone, it’s a struggle for me to maintain a full voice. I managed to get out a “No, Sir” without sounding ALL THAT pathetic. Then he smacked my leg again, MUCH harder than he had been doing before. I started to cry, because it hurt like crazy and I’m a total weakling when it comes to the thighs, and I scooted over to where he was sitting and put my head on his lap. He stroked my hair for a moment as I quieted.
He then decided that the best thing to do was to put capsaicin cream on it. I had promised on his birthday not to protest against capsaicin anymore, so I got up and brought it to him. I then spent the entire rest of the night being sad about how much it hurt. Christ, it’s really the worst thing. At best, it makes you unable to avoid feeling the fact that you’ve been spanked. At worst, it feels like you’re going to die by being immolated. It kind of went back and forth between those extremes for the rest of the evening.
Story is still not over.
Now, the other day, Malignus discovered an implement which I had brought back with me from New Jersey which had been previously ignored in favor of heavier artillery. It’s a small, lightweight bamboo spoon. It really doesn’t weigh anything, but it has a good sized spanking surface. I call it “Panda Food” because of the bamboo handle.
On Tuesday night, Malignus gave me my nightly spanking with it and I was extremely surprised by just how awful it was. The thing just. stings. There’s no other way of putting it: there’s no weight to it, and therefore it’s the least thuddy thing I’ve ever been spanked with (even less than a plastic hairbrush). I shudder just thinking about it. I think that many spankees prefer thud because it’s very gratifying– you really can tell that you’ve sustained a heavy impact and it makes you kinda feel like a BAMF. Sting is just surface pain, there’s none of that long, sustained throbbing that comes from the body recognizing injury afterwards. It’s superficial. But it hurts like a total bitch. Malignus has been sure to point out to me that because it causes no real damage, I could be spanked with this spoon all day without any detrimental effects. Except, you know, insanity.
After I spent a while trying to enjoy Star Trek TNG despite the fact that I was in various states of agony, Malignus decided that he wanted to hit me on the thigh AGAIN and that this time, he wanted me to bring him the aforementioned spoon. I was hesitant to do so, but did not protest. Again, I bared my thigh, and this time I buried my face in a pillow. The pain of it made my head explode, pretty much. He hit me more than once, and I found myself rolling around and freaking out. I became so not concerned with my surroundings that I hit my head into the wall a bit, but I didn’t even care. Somehow, I found myself curled up in Malignus’ lap sobbing while he comforted me and reminded me that he loved me and that I’m a very good girl. I know it sounds horrible, and it was, but at the same time, I loved it. I loved how happy indulging his sadism made him. I love being pushed that far. I loved that I had (mostly) accepted something that I hate. Lying there while I regained my calm, I found myself in this sort of otherworldly state of comfort– entirely spent, but the vacant space where all the fight in me had been was filled with a warm and enjoyable sense of comfort.
I really hope you aren’t bored yet. Because there’s more.
Eventually, it became bedtime and therefore, time for me to receive my spanking. Malignus asked me if I still wanted one, but that’s kind of a dumb question. I always want a spanking. Unfortunately, he decided to use that stupid spoon again. I cried from pretty much the start of it because, as previously mentioned, the fight in me was all used up. It hurt like hell and it was a very satisfying and relieving cry. When he’d finished and I’d pulled up my underwear (I’d given up on pajama pants at some point) he decided to give me a good smack on either hand. When those were both done, he grabbed my left hand again and tapped the spoon against my palm. I prepared myself for it, but instead, he hit me on the inside of the elbow. UGGGGGGGGGH! Finally, the night finished up by him grabbing my welted and bruised thigh as hard as he could. Just the grabbing made me burst into tears a final time. This pleased him a great deal, and he laughed and hugged me, obviously very satisfied with himself.
So that was my day yesterday! I kind of want a t-shirt that says “I beat Zelda and all I got were these lousy bruises.”
I love getting comments on stuff. Comments on my writing, comments on my photos, comments on my blog (wink wink!): all of it makes me happy. There are certain kinds of comments, however, that never fail to produce this face: >_< . It’s my guess that others feel the same way. Being the careful researcher that I am, I’ve complied this list of “Comments Most People Don’t Enjoy.”This isn’t to say that these sorts of comments are NEVER acceptable, and are sometimes quite funny when used jokingly between friends. Please feel free to add to the list, or to protest my judgement. I want to add that I’ve never gotten a comment on my blog that was annoying or inappropriate in anyway. It is not my intention to make anyone feel uncomfortable or judged. Thanks.
Type 1: “I want to have sex with you” comments.
This kind of comment gets deleted immediately. I haven’t had any on my writing ever, which is kind of disappointing. If someone wanted to throw me on a bed and fuck me based on the quality of my prose, well, maybe I’d smile at that. I get a lot of comments from strangers on my public fetlife photos stating what things they want to do to me, and they never fail to make me displeased. “I’d love to spank you” is always ok with me. “I’d love to put my tongue in you for hours” makes me block you. The more words you use, the worse it gets.
Type 2: “I could do better” comments.
These comments appear on photos of a freshly spanked bottom and say things like “If I had spanked you, you’d be purple!” or “Where are the bruises?!” or “That was a nice warm-up.” Hot damn, people! Not every spanking has to be a murdering! Besides, some gals just don’t mark anymore! I personally get these kinds of comments rarely, because I don’t post a photo unless I think it’s worth showing off. Once in a while, though, my bruised and reddened bottom isn’t enough for the peanut gallery. I got a comment on the below that said something along the lines of “If I’d have spanked you, you’d be purple down to your knees.” I don’t have the exact wording anymore, because I deleted it out of frustration. I’m glad to say that the poster never spanked me 😀
|By my definition, I was purple enough, thanks.|
Type 3: “Your [body part] is [size]!” comments.
Sure, sometimes, when I look at photos on fetlife, I think to myself “Damn, she’s got a tiny butt!” or “Holy cow! I bet that having breasts like that is uncomfortable!” but I never, ever post these things as comments. Why? Because commenting on someone’s body is just rude, even if it seems like a positive to you. I get body part comments ALL THE TIME. “You have a huge ass! So spankable!” is not a compliment to me. Nor is “Pretty ass but it’s so tiny!” (I got both those comments on the same photo):
|Tiny or huge? The jury is still out on that one!|
I’ve been told that I had way too much “boob mass” to be pretty, that I should get implants, that I should be ashamed of my stomach and that have a perfect, Rubenesque figure. At the end of the day, it only matters if one person likes my body, and that’s me. I know my figure isn’t perfect, but people only have the right to offer their opinion on that if I ask them for it, otherwise, they’re being rude.
Type 4: “What did you do?!?!?!” comments.
It never fails. I post a photo of my butt after a spanking, and someone asks me what I did to deserve that.
Yes, I get disciplinary spankings. They’re hard. They hurt. I cry a lot and feel sad. Even if I photograph the results of such a session, I don’t want to announce that it was such, because I find discipline to be a very private thing, and I don’t want to get positive attention for my bad behavior. Yes, I tell my sisters and best friends when I’ve gotten myself into trouble, and I could see myself potentially blogging about it if the situation had some underlying lesson about DD in general or something, but I don’t want to publicize it to the world every time I’ve been a disappointment.
Secondly, I don’t just get disciplinary spankings. I’m from the “spankings are for everything” camp. I’d say that only 1 in 10 spankings I receive is for corrective purposes. It’s silly to assume that I did something bad because I got spanked. I’d say a quarter of the time, the reason that I got spanked is because I asked for it really nicely. My dynamic is far more complicated than “discipline only” and I play with a bunch of other people, too. And geeze, don’t I act good on the internet? Next time someone says “What did you do?” I’m going to respond with “I got spanked. Duh!”
Type 5: Comments that assume annoying things about me.
I’m cute. I get that. People want to hug me and stuff, because I’m cute. I went out on Halloween looking like this:
I’m not “a little.” I’m not into ageplay. I get comments assuming that I am all the time. I get “Your daddy is a lucky man” pretty often. Yeah, no. Are you talking about my father? Because he’s in prison. Not so lucky.
Then there are the posters who say “Just a spanking? I’d give you a good long single tail whipping!” No, thank you. I’ll also decline having my feet beaten, being blindfolded, having my tits “destroyed”, having my temperature taken rectally and a dozen other things that I’ve had offered on my photos. Your kink is totally cool with me, but mine is spanking, and that’s pretty much it.
Type 6: “I like it better this way!” comments
The number one reason I get this type of comments is about my pubic hair: I alternate between having it and not having it, usually depending on how I’m feeling or particular work I’m doing as a model. I literally do not care what you think of my pubic area. At all. When I have it, I get tons of comments about how strange men on the internet don’t want to eat me out. I’m okay with that. When I don’t, I get comments saying that it makes me look like a child and they wish I would grow my hair back. I don’t know ANYONE who would change their bodily presentation because of the preferences of a stranger on the internet. I also get comments about how people like to see marks on my butt: “I’d prefer a little less bruising next time” and “It’s hotter if it goes all the way down to your knees” have both been left on my photos. Right. I’m going to tell my tops to make sure to satisfy strangers online when we’re having a scene. No. Not happening.
Type 7: “OMG SUDDEN BUTT DEATH!” comments
We’ve all seen it happen: someone posts a photo of their butt after a spanking and someone else comes along and says that it’s dangerous. Mind you, there *are* situations where something is dangerous: if someone doesn’t know where kidneys live and is belting a girl in a way that’s probably going to make her pee blood, that had ought to be pointed out. If someone is missing all their skin from the waist down, they are probably going to require serious medical attention. There are areas that some people don’t agree on: some spankos are opposed to the hitting of thighs, some are into it. Some spankos think that wrap is evil, others are okay with a little. Friendly comments about that stuff is pretty normal and actually nice. Because I operate on Risk Aware Consensual Kink practices, I appreciate any additional risks being pointed out to me. What I hate are people who freak out for no reason.
“HE SPANKED YOU WAAAAAAY TOO HARD! THAT IS NOT EVEN SAFE! YOU’RE GOING TO DIE!”
Apparently if you get spanked too hard you can get a blood clot which will then go (somewhere generally unspecified in the comments) and make you dead. This condition is known as Sudden Butt Death, and as the name suggests, it’s extremely fatal. I know that this is true because someone that’s a Nurse’s Aid said so on the internet.
It’s okay not to like hard play. It’s okay to be grossed out by photos of multicolor bruises and blood and plasma leaking all over the place. But seriously. I don’t think anyone has ever died from a spanking.
I enjoy checking the search terms that bring readers to my blog. I find it particularly pleasing when people get here by searching for my name. Sometimes, people search for things that are very appropriate indeed: “happy consensual spanking,” “girls who love to be spanked” and “writing about spanking” all make a lot of sense. Others make me a little scrunchy in the face, but may well be true: “people who cry a lot” and “the spanking model who cries the most” were high on that list. Some are just slightly creepy, or at the very least, too extreme for me: “dark blue ass after caning”and “spanking till scars” are in the DO NOT DO category. Some people get really ridiculous ones, but thus far, I haven’t really had that many of those.
Tonight, however, I saw a search term come up that was almost a request: someone searched for “Alex Reynolds Lexan Video.” Now, I can tell you straight up, dear searcher, sadly for you, but probably happily for me, such a video does not exist. It may well exist someday, though, and if it does, it’s going to be one pathetic film. I’ve talked before about having a “love/hate relationship” with certain implements. I wouldn’t say that’s the case with my lexan paddle. I’m pretty sure I just have a “hate/hate relationship” with it.
My original lexan paddle is a Lexan OTK Paddle from Cane-iac.com. It was purchased for me by my friend, IG, who is tremendously sadistic. There are a couple of things that I find noteworthy about this particular piece: first of all, it’s thickness is significant. It’s 1/2 inch lexan, where as almost all other lexan paddles are 1/4th inch. That means that it’s heavy and solid and packs an incredible amount of weight. The second feature is that it has a “blade” of only six inches in length. Having a small surface area means that all the force of a strike is concentrated in a small area of the bottom (or, in more terrible cases, the thighs) and makes it hurt a lot in one spot instead of spreading it out. It’s a recipe for serious agony.
That’s the physical side of things: there’s also a psychological component for me (as there always is). IG’s partner and submissive, my friend Peachy, had told me all kinds of stories about what a horrible implement it was before I received my own for my birthday. I brought it with me on a visit to Malignus’ and he discovered it the second morning that I was there. He brought it out and asked me if I’d ever felt Lexan before. I told him I had not, and he told me how truly terrible it was and said that it was too sadistic even for him: an idea which was kind of terrifying to me, considering our previous experiences together. He then said that he was going to give me four swats with it, so that I could understand what I was dealing with, but that he would probably never use it again. Because tops can’t count, I then got six swats with it on top of the mess of bruises that I’d already had from the night before. It was horrible: the pain was deep penetrating and sort of “buzzed.” It was a mixture of way too much sting and way too much thud. I was extremely grateful for the idea that it wasn’t going to be used again. Except for the fact that it totally was, a bunch of times, and it continues to be fairly regularly. It really, really hurts, but I know that my experience of it is greatly enhanced by the amount that it has been built up in my mind as something ridiculously horrible. Truth be told, the other night Malignus made me cry just by leading me into the bedroom with it in his hand.
Fast forward to this month: I had recently gotten back from my visit to my family’s house when another package from IG arrived. He had certainly one-upped himself: besides containing a few other choice nightmare-makers, he had sent me a new lexan paddle:
It is also 1/2 inch thick, but it’s quite a bit larger and it has holes in it. It’s heavy and thick and doesn’t create an air cushion. It does create screaming, though: it’s now tied for the thing which hurts the most in the entire world. I think that highest amount of strikes I’ve received from it at a time is four and that’s way more than enough for me.
Here it is pictured with my original paddle (which I still despise.)
Since I can’t provide you with a video to satisfy your curiosity, dear searcher, I hope this story will suffice. Here is a photo of my butt after a very hard spanking with the smaller lexan paddle (without a warmup and starting with the thighs, because I live with a horrible sadist.) There are also older cane bruises that still show a bit- I think they are from playing Zelda.
More search terms that amuse me will result in more “Your Wish is My Command” posts. Stay tuned!
Note- this entry has very little spanking in it and mostly deals with submission, sadism and video games. Kthnx.
I don’t really remember how the whole thing got started. It had to do with the fact that I made the mistake of bringing my N64 and the combined collection of me and my elder brother’s game cartridges with me when I moved. I had figured that Malignus and I would have fun playing classic games together, that I could play Pokemon Snap, and that there would probably be something in my selection that Malignus would enjoy playing himself.
Little did I know that in that cardboard box, I had packed my new worst enemy in the form of a shiny, gold game cartridge that was once my brother’s.
It turns out that Malignus loves The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time. I had watched my brothers play parts of it when I was a girl, but had found it too frustrating for me and never even maintained a save file. At some point, Malignus got the idea that he was going to make me play it. What started out as a simple assignment quickly turned into a nightmare: I’ve never been worse at anything in my life. I’m not kidding when I say that. Every frustrating thing I’ve ever attempted- learning to drive, doing ballet, jumping hurdles when I ran track and field, learning about Quantum Physics, writing characters in traditional Chinese with a brush and ink- they all pale in comparison to the difficulty that I have with playing Zelda. It’s worse because I’m traditionally a fast study at video games, even those that I don’t like. Yet here are a few scenarios that I’ve run into when playing this one:
* I attempted to get past one hallway which is littered with traps a total of 37 times before I got through.* I prepared for a boss battle by collecting two red fairies (items that let you regain all your life when you die) and having full health and then died entirely before I entered the room. That means that I lost 30 hearts in a single hallway which was supposedly so simple that the people who make walkthroughs for Zelda didn’t even bother to say anything besides “avoid these guys and go in the door.”*I spent a total of two and a half hours attempting to beat a boss that is described in the walkthrough as being able to be beaten in literally less than a minute.*I dedicated three hours to completing one dungeon. At the end of the first half of that time, I had not yet made it past the first of five steps it takes to ENTER said dungeon.
|The Trinity of Terror +1|
The first couple of times that Malignus told me I was going to play Zelda after it was shown just how horrid I am at it, I responded by whining and protesting in a way most out of character for me. This attitude was quickly abandoned when I was asked if I needed a caning to motivate me. Still, there were times when I simply didn’t listen to what he was instructing me to do in the game, or I didn’t try, or I just kept royally failing at things and he decided that I needed that “motivation.” You know what words are always scary?
“I’m getting the cane.”
That can never not be scary. Some very stupid part of me didn’t except Malignus to actually come back with a cane the first time he said that regarding Zelda. I mean, who gets caned over video games? Answer: me. Not only did he come back with one, but he came back with the scariest one I own (pictured above) and gave me a pretty hard stroke with it. He then continued to sit near me waving it back and forth (it’s extremely flexible) and hitting the furniture to “keep me focused.” I guess it kinda worked. I certainly started putting forth full effort. Slowly but surely, putting in an hour or two at a time, I made it through quite a bit of the game. In some ways, I improved, but I remained horribly bad at platforming, dodging traps and fighting bosses.
Yesterday afternoon, Malignus told me to start playing Zelda again and I responded by asking if I could finish something first. I didn’t stop right away when he said “No,” even though we’ve “talked” (I’m sure you understand what that means, right?) about that sort of thing fairly often recently. As a result, I ended up getting sentenced to play through two dungeons of Zelda before bedtime instead of one. Because I’m a highly responsible person, I played until he left for work and then went to the store to get waffles, then played a little more, then talked to a partner, then took a nap, then text messaged Peachy for a while, then talked to Heather online and only started playing with true focus and dedication at 8:30 PM.
I kept playing for the next five hours and I still didn’t finish the amount of game that I’d been told to do. While I played, I felt a flurry of emotions. The primary one was frustration. I was frustrated at the stupid game for being so damn difficult, at Malignus for making me do such a stupid thing, and, more than anything else, at myself for sucking so hard. I nearly broke my controller at least once. I got so pissed off that I started intentionally abusing my horse, Epona, who I had originally promised never to hurt, just to have a vessel for my rage.
At one point, I got so angry about it that I got tears in my eyes. It was then that I had to remember why, exactly, Malignus was having me play Zelda. It wasn’t purely sadism (although I can’t help but believe that it was at least part of it). It was to teach me to persevere without getting angry, to apply the things I already knew about the world to new situations, to use my brain and to be patient. It probably also had to do with time management: something I’d failed at yet again. With this in mind, and with the knowledge that my D/s dynamic is founded around the idea that I may not fail myself, I continued to trudge forward.
When I finally fell asleep at 3:30 this morning, I hadn’t finished the amount of Zelda that I’d been assigned, but I was damn proud of myself for my endurance in making it as far as I did. There’s something very satisfying in giving something, even something that seems dumb, your all. I know that next time won’t be as bad. It’s kind of amazing how horrible/educational everything can be.