Spanking Appeal

Pizza and spanking: my two favourite things. If I had to choose one or the other, I'd have to say both! Maybe not at the same time, but close together.

This peel works well for either a medium pizza or a large bottom. It's even capable of handling two small pizzas or two medium bottoms at once.
Toppings extra.

The Planets are Aligned

In a previous post I described the positions we use for spanking. I'll admit it - that post was a veiled complaint that we hadn't tried very many. In his comment, Paul described an over-the-lap position that sounded just perfect. So I decided that would be my next challenge - to let Ron know somehow that I wanted to be spanked in that position.
As I said in my last post, I have three options: forget the idea, talk about it ahead of time, or just go for it.
I have tried to put it out of my mind, but that hasn't worked! Once I get an idea in my head, it doesn't go away, especially when it's something to do with my favourite pastime.
I was reluctant to bring the subject up for discussion because as you read in the post I mentioned above, I had asked Ron for an OTK and he refused. I can see why, though. Our bed has a very deep mattress and is quite high, and he probably wouldn't be too stable if he were sitting on the edge trying to deal with me. I'm afraid I would end up on the floor. I could explain the alternative, which I think would work pretty well, but he might reject it out of hand.
My third option was to just do it. That has worked well in the past. But it was easier said than done. Week after week I kept on coming up with a valid reason each time for not suggesting it: we were trying out a new implement; I had on something lacy and frilly; we needed a session without anything different going on.
I finally gave myself a stern talking-to. It's your kink, I told myself. You're entitled to say what you need. I spent the next few days working out the logistics and mentally creating plans A, B and C. When the time came for our weekly date, I was pretty nervous, but was going to go through with it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I undressed and slipped into bed.
Ron joined me, we kissed and cuddled, and he gave me a few warmup hand spanks. Then he turned away and reached for our new black leather paddle. Now's your chance. You go, girl. Grabbing a pillow, I propped it up against the headboard, and when he turned to me, paddle at the ready, I patted the pillow and said, "Sit up here. We're going to try something different."
He did as he was told. Get over there before he changes his mind. I practically threw myself across his lap. I didn't have any time to wonder if he was going to protest. WHACK. The first swat landed almost immediately. Then another, and another. So far, so good. I'm afraid I wasn't paying much attention to them, or enjoying either the position or the implement. My mind was still agitated and I felt flustered.

He stopped and rubbed my reddening cheeks. That feels good. Is he okay? I turned my head and looked back at Ron.
"Are you comfortable?"
"Uh-huh"
The swats started again, and I began to notice that they were making a definite impact on my bottom. Then Ron shifted beneath me. Now what? Oh, no! I'm too heavy. I'm crushing him. I lifted myself off his legs and away from him, but then I felt an arm around my waist, and I was firmly pulled back into position. Yes, that's more like it! I looked back again. Oh, I see. Ron was clearly enjoying himself.
I pressed my body snugly against his, then settled in to enjoy myself too. Hey, I like this! It's really a very comfortable - ouch! And Ron thought so too, because he didn't seem in any hurry to stop. The spanking continued for a lot longer than usual.
Eventually Ron was done, the paddle was laid aside, and I felt gentle fingers caressing my bottom and vicinity. I slithered off his lap and into a position more appropriate for enjoying what followed. I took great pleasure in enthusiastically showing my husband how much I had appreciated his cooperation.
When we lay curled together, exhausted, I murmured, "I really enjoyed that."
"Me too."
And that's five.
Our enjoyment of each other didn't stop there. We dressed, went downstairs to start dinner, and suddenly found we had a lot to say to one another. I had been preoccupied all week with my planning for today, and Ron had also had things on his mind. We had been peacefully coexisting, but not interacting much. Now we were talking a mile a minute about all sorts of things. We kept it up through dinner and afterward as we cuddled on the couch and watched television. I couldn't tell you what was on; we were too engrossed in our conversation.
Who knew what a difference a little extra closeness would make?

Venus and Mars

It's not easy talking about that thing we do. As I look back, I realize that Ron and I talk about it much more easily and freely now than we once did. I still find it hard on occasion, but not as hard as it was a few months ago, when I tried, and failed, to tell him what I wanted.
I'm sure I got the idea after reading more than one blogger's account of a deliciously long session, and I decided that I deserved one too. So I rehearsed what I was going to say - several times over the course of the next few days - then waited for the right moment when Ron and I were in the kitchen together one evening.
The right moment never appeared. This happened some time before Christmas, when stress levels are always high. Ron was concerned about something and wanted to talk about it. We did, but he seemed preoccupied with the problem, so I figured he wouldn't appreciate it if I changed the subject to spanking. I kept silent.
The next evening was no better. I got home much later than usual, so there was less time to talk. I had rehearsed again and thought I was ready, but the moment still wasn't right. Ron was still, I judged, not in a suitable frame of mind to be receptive to talking about 'that'. But I wasn't happy about it.
I spent a mostly sleepless night rehearsing my little speech, telling myself that my needs were being ignored and just generally feeling sorry for myself. By morning I had worked myself into a state. Ron saw me looking sad and tearful and asked what was wrong. but did I tell him? No. Suffice to say that everything came out the wrong way, I said things I shouldn't have, and never actually said what I wanted to say. At first Ron was apologetic, then angry.
We had a silent breakfast, then established an uneasy truce that lasted through the day until late afternoon. Then more "words" were said, more anger, and I started wishing I had Harry's invisibility cloak to hide under. We struggled through another silent meal, and I fretted for another two hours. Finally, later in the evening, amid floods of tears, I told him how hard it was for me to talk about it, but that I wanted him to give me longer spankings.
Ron quietly said, "Okay." Then, "Is that what all this has been about?"
The poor man. Mars, meet Venus. What he has to put up with sometimes! The bright side was, he was as good as his word, and he gave me a very, very long spanking the next afternoon. Unfortunately that was the only time he did. For all the rehearsing and planning I had done, I hadn't actually made myself clear when I finally got the words out. I had meant every time, not just once.
Communication between us has vastly improved since that awful weekend, I'm relieved to say. But the reason I'm sharing this with you now is because I fear it's going to happen again. I have something similar on my mind that I need to share with Ron and I don't want to make a total mess of it again.
My choices are to say nothing and hope the desire will go away, or to talk about it when the moment is right - good luck with that one - or to just take the initiative and do it.

To be continued.....

Spankos Need Not Apply

Still on the topic of being out with a spanking lifestyle, here's a very timely article. The man in question was fired from his position after his employer found out he had had a one-night stand that included bondage. Was he fired because he strayed, or because of the specific sexual activity involved? It's an interesting read.

On Leniency

A word to the wise disciplinarian:

"Leniency gives rise to the ultimately necessary exercise of a degree of cruelty which could have been avoided by the employment of an efficacious punishment at an earlier time."

Cardinal Richelieu (1585-1642)

Which Me am I?

Recently I was reading an article in the paper, and a quote struck a chord with me. The person being interviewed said that the way she presented herself to the world was false and, "If you really knew me, you wouldn't like me at all."

The 'me' who writes here and enjoys reading blogs and talking to other people interested in spanking is very different from the 'me' that most people see. I like the 'me' that's out here in blogdom. I don't care as much for my other self. You probably wouldn't either. What you see here is the real me, honest and open about a very important part of my life.

Sometimes I get a bit confused between the two me's, and for seconds or even minutes at a time I'm not sure who I am. Maintaining two separate identities was a bit unnerving when I first started this blog. It's becoming clearer now. The two selves aren't as disparate as they once were, and the good things about the self you see here are starting to seep into that other self you can't see. The more I write, the more comfortable I feel about this 'me'. 

Bonnie's recent post generated a lot of interesting comments. She said in her reply, "I think it would be refreshing to just be me all the time." Imagine it. What a luxury. The other comments that various readers left made me realize that we are all at different stages of 'outness'. 

Some of us are totally out: we use our real names and are completely open and honest to everyone about the lifestyle. Others of us use various combinations of pseudonyms and disguised details, and keep our secrets within the family, limiting our revelations to only our partners and maybe some close friends. Still others of us cannot even bring ourselves to tell our partners the basics: that we read or write spanking blogs, or that we need to spank or be spanked.

Yes, it would be nice to be just one me, all the time.

Something to Cry About

One morning recently we enjoyed a rare treat of breakfast in a restaurant. Ron normally cooks something special on weekend mornings, but a planned power outage meant that we would have to wait until noon for that first cup of coffee. So we chose a place outside the blackout area and had a delicious meal.
As we lingered over our third cup of coffee, a family was shown to the empty table beside ours. A man, a woman and two preteen children sat down. The boy was clearly sulking, his face screwed up in a frown. The woman, who was sitting beside him, said in a stern voice, "Now don't you start crying or I'll give you something to cry about!"
Ron and I exchanged glances, abandoned our coffee and left. Neither of us cares to be around children misbehaving in public.
Do people really still say that to children? I haven't heard that particular expression since I was little. Back then it was extremely common, and effective too. I quickly figured out that sulking and crying were very unwise and learned to control my emotions at a young age.
That included complaining about discomfort. If I protested when the tangles were brushed out of my hair, well, we all know there's more than one use for a hairbrush. Even legitimate distress from injury or illness was likely to result in anything from moderate disapproval to physical punishment.
So since stoicism in the face of pain resulted in parental approval, if not affection, I resolved to be very brave, to conceal any number of foxes beneath my cloak and to endure silently whatever hurts came my way. I was passionate about cowboys back then - those were the days of Roy Rogers, Gene Autry and Hopalong Cassidy - and everyone knows cowboys don't cry. I could be just like those cowboys.
It may be that this is why I am the way I am; then again, it may not be. I am not sexually aroused by any painful experiences other than spanking. Having my teeth drilled without a local anaesthetic, for example, wouldn't turn me on. But I am an extremely co-operative patient, and what happens is, I develop something of an emotional attachment to any doctor or dentist who is doing something unpleasant to me.
Not too long ago I spent a fairly difficult half hour undergoing what should have been a simple medical procedure. The specialist involved was having trouble, and frequently asked me how I was doing. Each time, I answered, "Fine." He finally said to me, "It's all right. You can say it hurts."
I didn't know what to make of that. I have no inner armor to protect me from kindness. But cowboys don't cry.

Canadian, eh?

I saw this on a t-shirt and modified it slightly to include our favourite pastime.

I Am Canadian

I do not travel by dogsled
I am not a fur trader or a lumberjack
I live in the second largest country in the world
I live in a house, not an igloo
Winter only lasts one season
I do not know your second cousin Dave in Moosejaw
Our currency was not based on Monopoly money
The maple leaf is our national symbol
The beaver is our national animal
A loonie is a dollar, not a relative
and

We are the best spankers in the world!

The View From Here - Why?

There are many different reasons kinds of spankings: erotic, stress relief, good girl, maintenance, discipline, punishment, playful. What labels can I give to ours?

The Fantasy - I would like to be lectured and punished, for real or in play. All my fantasies are about punishment. A spanking for being good would also be as welcome as one for being naughty or for breaking the rules.

The Reality - Spankings are part and parcel of our romantic life. They are always erotic in nature and ignite a spark in both of us that bursts into flame with the intimate activities that always follow. So when I ask to be spanked, or Ron suggests it, it is always in the context of an amorous encounter.

Punishment is not an option. Ron thinks knows that I would enjoy it so much it wouldn't have any effect. When he finds some reason to complain about my behaviour, I usually tell him that he should spank me. His response is, "Good things don't happen to people who mess up." Or if I ask him if I'm in trouble, he'll reply, "No. there'll be NO trouble for you." Then we both laugh, and my crime of commission or omission is forgotten. But I can still fantasize!

Then there is stress relief. I have found that while a spanking will excite me, it can also help reduce any stress that's building up inside. More and more, I can tell when things are getting out of control inside my head. I know when a spanking is what I need to calm me down and restore inner balance.

And sometimes, especially when I am stressed, I just don't feel like I want or need the erotic activities that go along with spanking. The spanking itself is all I crave. Ron, however, sees my request for a stress-reliever as an invitation to the bedroom, and he might or might not be interested in such an invitation. If he isn't, then the spanking doesn't happen.

So the challenge was to explain to Ron that spankings now have two purposes, and that while one does not necessarily exclude the other, it's perfectly fine with me to have a spanking without sex. And that's what I did. We discussed it on two separate occasions, and I explained that when I requested a stress-buster, that was really all I needed. He probably would find that my body would be giving out signs of being aroused but it wasn't necessarily a demand on my part for sexual activity. I could enjoy a spanking for its own sake, and anything more would be his choice.

After our second conversation, Ron understood where I was coming from, and must have decided I'd better have some stress relief soon. The next day, he got out the new wooden paddle and applied it vigorously to my posterior, without benefit of a warmup. (I don't count six hand spanks as a real warmup.) He definitely got the idea! And we concluded in the usual way, to our mutual satisfaction.

Lately I haven't felt stressed enough to put our new agreement to the test, but I'm sure something will come up soon!

A New Paddle

A few weeks ago I told you about an implement shopping trip that I was planning. Here's what happened.


When I arrived at the conference, the first thing I did was check the agenda for the lunch break. It was an hour and a half long; great, that would give me plenty of time. 


The morning session was very interesting, and I enjoyed chatting with the other delegates at my table, but my mind was still on my lunchtime plans, and a little knot of apprehension formed in my stomach.

At noon we adjourned for lunch. I lined up at the buffet, took my plate back to our table and ate quickly. Then I excused myself, saying I wanted to go outside for some fresh air and exercise. Since the conference was health-related I feared someone would want to join me for a walk, but luckily the rest of the people at the table were content to sit and chat over dessert and coffee. 


Once outside, I took off my name badge which was flapping in the breeze and walked up the street, keeping a lookout for my destination. A few blocks later, I saw it on the opposite side. it looked ordinary and quite inviting. I kept walking until I reached the next set of traffic lights, then crossed over and made my way back towards the shop, keeping up an encouraging commentary to myself so I wouldn't back out. 


I reached the door at last, took a deep breath, and opened it. I found myself in a room full of very attractive leather garments. The implements were not, of course, the first thing a person would see upon entering. I finally found a large selection as I browsed through the store to the back. They were attractively displayed in a long row on the wall, but were out of reach behind the sales counter and cash register. I could look but not touch.


That was when a sales associate I'll call Max appeared, and asked if he could help me. He seemed quite friendly, and when I told him I was interested in the implements, he led me behind the counter so I could have a closer look. 


The first item I took down from the wall was gorgeous. I'm not sure what it was called, and I've never seen anything like it before. Made of various thin strips of coloured leather braided together, it had a handle, a few tails, and some knots. it looked much too severe for me, but oh, I wanted it!


"It's beautiful!" I gushed, then searched for the price tag. "Yikes!"


"Yes, it's expensive," Max agreed. "But it's a work of art."


That did it. All my apprehension disappeared. I was clearly in a place where I belonged. Together, we went through the rest of the implements. I would take one down and inspect it, and Max would explain its special features. He was so informative, so matter of fact, and so enthusiastic about the subject that I was very glad I had come. 


I don't remember the details of everything I saw. There were leather floggers and straps, some with ball bearings for added weight. There were wooden paddles in all sizes, shapes and colours. Some had two different surfaces "for a variety of sensations," Max explained. 


There was one paddle coated with what I thought was sandpaper, but Max said it wasn't. The sand would wear off in time if sandpaper was used, so the substance was actually the same surface used on skateboards. I had to take his word for that! Then Max laughed, leaned closer and said in a stage whisper, "We call this one the hair remover." 


Then there was the paddle made of bulletproof plexiglass. And of course - my heart's desire - the leather paddles. I couldn't make up my mind about shape or colour, they were all so appealing.


"It's so hard to decide on just one. This will give me an excuse to come back," I grinned. 


"You don't need an excuse," said Max. "Come back any time." Wasn't that nice?


I finally settled on a black, rectangular-shaped leather paddle. As I handed over my credit card, Max asked where I was from. I told him, then added, "We don't have this sort of thing there."


"Sure you do," countered Max. "You just can't buy them anywhere."


I laughed. Of course he was right! 


I took my new implement, wrapped and enveloped in a plastic bag emblazoned with the name of the store, and left. Once outside, I pulled a folded nylon tote bag out of my pocket and stuffed my purchase into it. Then I returned to the conference centre for the afternoon session.


Before I took my seat at the table, I tucked my paddle, in its double wrapping, into my knapsack which I had left behind when I went out. During the afternoon I glanced at it several times, thinking of the lovely secret hidden within. When the others left the table for coffee during a break, I actually unzipped the top and peeked in at my lovely leather friend, concerned that it might be folded and creased or otherwise uncomfortable. I stroked it briefly, settled it in, and thought about how it would feel when we used it in play. What fun to have a secret! Then I got out my Blackberry and typed a message to Ron, telling him I had bought something special for him to enjoy using on me. 


The rest of the day passed, and I did my best to listen and participate, but I couldn't wait to get home. I'll leave the rest to your imagination.

An Apology

This just might help you avoid a spanking.


Click on the form to make it bigger, print it, fill in the blanks and return it to your nearest disciplinarian.

Bum Lookers!

One of my favourite characters on Saturday Night Live was Simon, the little boy in the bathtub who liked to do "drawrings". Played by Mike Myers, the neglected child who travelled with his father but never left the hotel room always had a story to tell about Daddy, and his new mummy who was "ever so pert". Simon never failed to accuse his audience of looking at his bum. "Bum lookers!" was my favourite line.

I found some scripts here and here for your entertainment.

The View from Here - How Many?

I've read, fascinated, the accounts of various bloggers who have received 48 with the cane, 6 sets of 12 with the hairbrush, 100 with the riding crop, et cetera. Wow! that's no mean feat!

The Fantasy - I would like to be made to count out the strokes, or to hear Ron count them. What would 100 feel like? What about 300?
 

The Reality - I never think of counting to myself how many I get. Sometimes I plan on trying, but by the time I am in position I am very much in submissive mode, thinking only of the sensations. Even though I am usually such an over-achiever, it simply doesn't occur to me to count. As for counting out loud, Ron has never asked me to, and it doesn't seem appropriate for me to do so unless he directed me to count as part of the scenario. He's never counted out loud, although I suspect he may be keeping track of how many he gives me. 


There was one time, though, the day before a spanking, when I had found the courage to ask for a longer one. (and I'll elaborate on that in an upcoming post.) So when Ron picked up the dogging bat and got things underway, something inspired me to start counting after the first ten or so. And although it isn't a competition, and I won't be telling you the final tally, the number was quite respectably high. (Oh all right, we got into triple digits.) I was quite impressed. And sore. Ron never repeated the length of that spanking, but since then we have been moving towards longer ones, so who knows?

Crocs

Are there any slipper spanking enthusiasts out there? Have you tried spanking, or being spanked, with a Croc?

Crocs are popular in our home. No, not for spanking, only for wearing. We have regular Crocs for outdoor use, Crocs we wear as slippers indoors, and Crocs without holes for gardening. We have real Crocs and knock-off Crocs - Croc-offs - that are just as comfy but a fraction of the price.

Recently Ron wanted to buy me a present, so I suggested a fancy pair of black slippers I saw in a mail-order catalogue.

"Why do you want those?" he asked.

"They'd look pretty when I wear my sexy lingerie for you," I answered honestly.

"That would be a waste of money. You'd only have them on for a couple of minutes."

True. When I dress up to please him, he makes sure I don't stay dressed for long. But somehow, with a black lace teddy, black garter belt and black fishnet stockings, pink Crocs are just so wrong.

Oh well, whatever turns him on.