A few months ago I posted a funny picture of a spanking-related street sign. I'll have to confess that I made it courtesy of Imagechef.
Bonnie also posted a cute spanko street sign here.
But if you're interested in actually ordering the real thing, I found a place that makes street signs to order.
I don't think they'll care what you ask to have printed on the sign. It would look lovely on your front lawn, or perhaps in a dungeon.
Go on. I dare you. Check it out here.
Yesterday Spankedhortic wrote about myths involving pain. You really have to watch his Mythbusters videos! Especially the one comparing men's pain tolerance to that of women.
My response to that post is a little discovery of my own. A recent article in the newspaper announced that our perception of pain is enhanced by talking about it. Saying "This may hurt" can actually make the pain more intense. Talking about pain stimulates a part of the brain called the "pain matrix".
What does that mean for those of us who seek pleasurable, erotic pain? During a spanking, the spanker can produce a greater effect with less effort by simply telling the spankee that it's going to hurt excruciatingly. The spankee will then experience more intense pain (along with corresponding enjoyment) without fear of excess bodily harm. How convenient!
Ron and I were assembling a small bookshelf, and you know how those things are. The instructions are often hard to understand, or there are parts missing, or the right tools for the job aren't available.
This time, however, everything went smoothly and we were finished in no time.
"Gimme a high five," Ron said, and we smacked the palms of our right hands together.
"No, wait," he ordered, and he reached around behind me and firmly swatted my bottom.
"What was that for?" I asked.
"That was even better than a high five. It was a low five," he explained.
Well, I can't argue with that. Give me a low five any day!
My optometrist has a great sense of humour!
Here is a third and final excerpt from Mind Guest by Sharon Green, a Science fiction novel with roughly equal measures of adventure and BDSM. Special space agent Diana has arrived on a distant planet that needs her help in resisting an invasion, and she agrees to take on the identity of Bellna, a princess who also happens to be a spoiled brat.
In our last installment, Diana was almost spanked by Fallan when the bad guys intervened. After some pretty intense experiences as a slave, she escapes, but is injured and falls ill. She is once more under Fallan's stern protection; he insists she stay in bed and threatens her with punishment if she disobeys. Naturally that's exactly what she does.
I reached through the dusty sunlight to the side of the window, opened the latch, then pushed the window wide against a small amount of resistance. My clothes in the wardrobe were probably still wet, so I'd be better off forgetting about them. The nightshirt covered me well enough, and would certainly do until I got where I was going. I leaned out the window to see how far it was to the ground, pulled my head back in and hiked up the nightshirt, then--
"There is clearly one of us who is incapable of understanding simple speech," Fallan growled from behind me, all traces of patience gone. "Take yourself from that window and do so now!"
I glanced back over my shoulder to see him standing there...his dark eyes flashing with such strength and dominance that my body attempted to respond...I turned back to the window and threw a leg over the very narrow sill, started to swing out--but was caught before I could free my second leg. Fallan pulled me back in with very little effort, his arm wrapped tight around my waist. I screamed and kicked, but he still reached out and pulled the window shut.
"You should be taught a good lesson for such foolishness," he growled, fighting to hold me still. "Were you not hurt I would--"
"Release me at once!"
"I am to release you so the long series of accidental mishaps which have descended upon me since we met might continue?" He demanded, forcing me face down across his folded legs. "It is now time to cause a mishap of my own, one that has been much too long in the coming."
He held me across his knees and pulled the bottom of the nightshirt up, and I didn't know what the hell he was doing. I struggled and fought to get loose--and then howled with the first swat from his big hand on my bottom. It stung less than the second smack, and the second less than the third, and after that I lost count. I couldn't believe he would do that to me, that he would dare spank me, but that's exactly what he was doing. It began to really hurt and I began to cry, but that didn't stop him. He continued to hold me down across his lap and spank me, and I couldn't stand any more. I had to get away--and then everything suddenly changed, but only inwardly.
Outwardly Fallon was still spanking away, but inside nothing I'd done seemed all right any longer. Somehow the Bellna presence had gotten the upper hand without my realizing it, and this time I was really stuck with the consequences. I'd never been spanked before, not even as a child, but it was much too late to stop it. All I could do was squirm against his leg as I stared at the dirty wooden floor, while Fallon paid me back for everything I'd ever done to him--and what Bellna had done as well. I really felt it every time his big hand reached my bottom, and it didn't stop reaching my bottom for what seemed like a very long time.
When the bastard finally let me go, I crawled off his lap and knelt there, with my hands behind me, the tears streaming down my face. Bellna had started the crying but I couldn't seem to stop it, not with the way my backside stung. It wasn't the pain that was so terrible--it was nothing compared to the way I usually got hurt on the job--but the humiliation was more than I could stand...
"You may now return to your bed," he said, sounding all through with playing games. "Should I find you out of it again without permission--MY permission--you will find sitting a [pony] even more difficult than it currently is for you. Now, go!"
Many pages and several adventures later, Fallan reveals his true identity. He is Valdon, the one who explained the concept of "swatting" in the first excerpt I shared with you.
"If stubbornness was a power source, you could handle a city," Valdon growled, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head at me. "A large city. If you're that dead set on taking the blame, maybe getting punished for it would ease your nonexistent conscience. Suppose I turn you bottom up again and find out?"
He began reaching a hand out toward me, but I knocked it away with a snort.
"That's not funny," I told him, remembering all too well the first time he'd done it. "I'm used to coupling crime with escape, not with punishment, so don't do me any favours. As a matter of fact, your--interesting--manner of punishment was a prime motivation for what happened later. Was that Fallan's way of doing things or yours?"
"Mine," he admitted with no backwardness or regret, but with a broadening grin. "I'd worked pretty damned hard pulling you out of that fever, and I was in no mood to see you wandering around. Just being out of bed so soon might have gotten you that whacking, but then you started pulling some of your fancy tricks. I suddenly remembered all the other things you'd done, and that clinched it."
So there you have it. The two eventually tumble into bed together and team up to work together doing whatever space spankos do.
Last week Ron decided to give me a really memorable spanking. His chosen implement - the black leather paddle - was one he seldom uses, although it hangs from the bedpost as a constant reminder. He finds it a little hard to control because it is quite supple; he prefers implements that are more rigid, with just a little flexibility. So why did he decide on Black Beauty? Who knows?
What I do know is, once I was in position, bent over the end of the bed, the first few swats were agony. I squirmed and kicked as I struggled to stay in position while trying to avoid the worst of the impact. If I had to rate that pain on a scale of one to ten, it would have been ten, or pretty close to it.
I exhaled loudly when Ron stopped for a brief intermission and some gentle rubbing. But all too soon, the break was over, and I clenched my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut as the evil black strap connected with my bare bottom. each stroke was still very sharp, although the worst of it had passed. Even after a few more sets, with pauses in between, the severity was only slightly lessened, and I echoed each loud swat with an equally loud vocal response.
Then it all changed. The strokes were still as hard as before, and as loud as before, but I stopped minding them. They hurt, but in a good way. I stayed silent and drank them in.
I would like to say I stopped thinking about them and drifted away, but there was that tiny objective part of my mind that was asking, "Is this subspace?" Probably not, but I could tell that I was relaxed and still, breathing deeply and calmly. Pain? What pain? A two, at most.
Ron stopped. His work was done, and he had done it well. And he swore that he hadn't decreased the intensity whatsoever near the end.
So tell me, readers, have you experienced this sort of reversal of the amount of pain a spanking causes you? (No, I'm not going to ask you if this is "normal" :-) Do you go from a lot of pain to only a little? Or does a spanking hurt more and more as it progresses?
I'm curious.
Like Dr. Ken, I love it when I hear a spanking reference on TV. These aren't as good as his recent TV surprises, but they aren't bad. Interestingly enough, my spanko moments are mostly on cooking shows on the Food Network.
On Restaurant Makeover, executive chef Lynn Crawford is teaching the chef in the restaurant being renovated to make an omelet. As he stirs the eggs, she encourages him to put more energy into it.
"Whip it! Whip it like you mean it!"
The advertisement for another program featuring Lynn Crawford shows a closeup of her scowling face as she says, "I want to go home. I want to pull up my pants and go home." It's an adventurous, outdoorsy cooking show, and she seemed to be on the receiving end.
Guy Fieri gets a lesson in making marinated salmon on Diners, Drive-ins and Dives. The chef demonstrates how to rub the salty mixture over the fish, saying, "You really have to spank it in." Gravlax, anyone?
Moving along to shows not related to food, there was a comedy sketch - the name of the show is long forgotten, but it was probably Mad - with a timid news personality reading the sports results. He is constantly stopped and corrected by an off-screen writer, who patiently tells him to beef up his metaphors and use the usual terms like spanked, whipped, belted, punished and so forth to describe team A's victory over team B. Our gentle newscaster gradually gets into the swing of things, and ends up with some descriptions that are far more violent than our favourite CP words. His creative inventions go so far as to describe how team A "put cement overshoes on team B and dropped them in the river", "ripped off their heads" and "tore out their pulsing spleens".
And finally, in a preview of a new program - Love, Incorporated - about a speed-dating service, the voice of the male partner is heard to say, "At the staff meeting, everyone decided I needed my butt whacked." Immediate cut to a view of him, face down on a table, with his wife and another woman watching. He screams. Oh, my mistake. The butt in question needed waxing, not whacking, and that's what prompted the scream.
This young lady seems to be getting a spanking from a lizard wearing goggles. is the wind blowing her skirt up, or did she use too much starch?
Disney World sure has changed since I was there last.
(Photo is from Hawtness.com)
This billboard is announcing what I consider to be a major improvement at Canada's leading fast food chain. Softer buns - that's very good news.
In the past, their buns have been small and solid; smoothly rounded yet resistant to pressure; firm and unyielding to the touch.
Now that I think about it, the old ones sound pretty good too!
(I confess that in the past I may have misled you with phony fast food signs here and here, but this one is the real deal!)
I challenged my readers to describe what happens next in this picture.
You'll love the suggestions I received. They're all winners!
The men said to the naughty lady, "For being so cheeky, Each one of your bare bottom 'cheeks' will receive a rosy hue."
And then she realised they were all alike, the boys wanted to be spanked as well and she wasn't going to disappoint them.
They had the same potential for beauty: all she had to do was get them over her knee and teach them how to properly blush for a woman.
A rose between two thorns.
She just happened to have the One-Size-Fits-All Paddle at home.
I think she's a professional Dominatrix. No matter what the men she deals with claim they wants her to do at first, it all comes back to spanking in the end. She's quite pleased that she'll get to have one tied to the bed frame, while spanking the other over top. She's very excited indeed.
She realized that all grown men would benefit from being spanked, just some of them can't bring themselves to admit it.
Nah, friends, she's talkin about the HATS.....
Bet they are fighting over who is going to spank her.
Man on left says to woman in center: "My paddle's bigger than his Dickie!"
Man on rights says to woman in center: "True story, but my Dickie's longer than his scarf and your chin strap together."
Two hours later: Woman in center says to men on outside: I find each of you to be so special... really but Jamie Fraser is waiting for me in Scotland and his belt has more purpose than than both your egos, so I really must be going..."
That was fun! Thanks to all who participated.
When this young lady's disciplinarian told her she would be getting the cane over her drawers, this isn't what he meant!
Photo is from Hawtness.
Here's another selection from the science fiction novel by Mind Guest by Sharon Green. If you missed part one, read it here first.
Diana is in disguise as the spoiled brat Princess Bellna, whose personality threatens to take over Diana's mind at times. She is travelling by vair-drawn coach with her four ladies-in-waiting and soldiers riding alongside for protection. She notices the captain watching her through the window of the coach. They are mutually attracted to one another. When they stop at an inn for rest and refreshment, she conceals her interest in him and stays in character as the spoiled princess by stepping on his foot as he helps her out of the coach.
"Oh, how clumsy of me!" I exclaimed immediately, as he closed his eyes and flinched. "I do hope you will forgive me, Captain."
"Certainly, Princess," he got out through his teeth, then looked at me with a lot less friendliness. "Had the misstep not been an accident, it would certainly have been punished. As it was an accident, it will certainly be forgiven."
"How fortunate, then, that it was an accident," I said with a pleasant smile, ignoring the fact that he had told me he suspected it wasn't. "Shall we enter the inn now?"
"As soon as I am able to walk again," he muttered, turning back to the coach to gesture the four girls out. They came out one at a time, making sure to touch the ground nowhere near Fallan's feet...
The urge to cause more mischief strikes our heroine after the meal is over. She somehow manages to switch drinks with Captain Fallan, and he takes a big swig of what he thinks is wine, but is really the non-alcoholic beverage given to the ladies. Diana/Bellna explains:
Andilla isn't bad when it's warm; cold, it tastes like unwashed armpits. Half a dozen men at a nearby table laughed uproariously, obviously seeing what I'd done and eagerly awaiting the trap to close. Fallan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as his eyes moved to me, and Bellna was suddenly all out of giggles.
"I would know the meaning of this--gift, Princess," he ground out, the expression on his face and the blaze in his eyes enough to replace the recent laughter at the nearby table with immediate silence. "Has it some significance which eludes me?"
"I merely sought to emulate your actions, Captain," I answered in the most innocent tone I could manage, at the same time rising from my chair. "Your anticipation of my wishes was enviable, so much so that I attempted the same for you. Have I failed so dismally, then?"
He stared at me briefly without answering, returned the goblet to the table with a thud, then came closer to take my arm.
"Had you truly sought to anticipate my wishes, you would have bared your bottom, Princess," he growled very low, his hand closing a bit more on my arm. "Another doing such as this, and I will make the effort for you. For that you have my word."
Later in the day, they stop for a comfort break. The Captain insists the ladies exit the coach, but Diana doesn't have to go, I suppose, because she resists, and after a scuffle she kicks him and threatens to tell her father of his abuse. He orders her to be silent.
"I will not be silent!" I huffed, ready to climb back on the high horse he'd shouted me off of, but Fallan wasn't about to give me the chance to remount.
"You will be silent," he growled, looking down at me as he rested his left hand on the sword hilt. "You will also obey me, for I mean to see you to your destination in the most effective manner. We not go [sic] to the tent which has been erected to protect your sensibilities. Should you attempt to disobey me, your sensibilities will be sorely bruised. Leave that coach, you wenches, and follow us quickly."
To further complicate matters, Fallan decides that - in order to confuse the enemy that they know is planning to kidnap the princess - Diana will switch clothes with one of her attendants. She refuses, they struggle, he overpowers her and tells her:
"Though the pink of embarrassment remains in your cheeks, still do you strive to give me blow for blow in defense against attack. Were you a boy and of proper background, I would take you in my company and teach you the weapons of a man. However, as you are not a boy--and therefore in need of learning the benefits of maidenly silence--I fear I must further bruise your sensibilities."
By that he means he will force her to swap clothing by undressing her himself. More struggling, but no spanking, although...
"You may now arise and begin dressing, Missy," Fallan spoke from behind me, a casual pat on my horribly bare bottom coming just before the sound of his rising.
Fallan explains to the princess how she must behave in her new disguise.
"You will be required to serve yourself, and my men and I as well. You are to be a peasant wench, and convincingly, else I shall be forced to punish you soundly. Far better a strapping at my hands, than a sword in the throat from those who seek your life. Your safety will be assured--at whatever cost."
Sounds fair to me.
There is a close call when someone does get close enough to harm her, but the soldiers repel him. Our heroine is far from grateful because she has been roughly handled, and sulks.
"Should the Captain see such an expression upon your face, he will punish you to an even greater extent than he now intends," a whispered voice came, and I looked up to see the brown-haired girl who had told me how unhappy Fallan was with me that morning. "Should you give him the apology he wishes, he will surely be more lenient with you."
The other two (girls] nodded their agreement to the sentiment, all three of them looking extremely uncomfortable, and I didn't have to wonder why. In my place they would have been punished, and undoubtedly knew what it was like.
"There will be neither apology nor punishment," I assured them.
Really?
Punishment is on the minds of all the women in the coach as they journey on. They talk among themselves, and the red-headed girl with whom Diana was forced to exchange clothing said:
"A pity we left the last inn too late to reach the next at a comfortable time. We must now take lodging in a woodsman's house, a location far inferior to an inn, yet the Captain feels it best that we travel as short a distance as possible in the dark."
A woodsman's house obviously has a woodshed. I've told you about that woodshed here. Diana had better prepare herself for a spanking. That seems to be the first order of business as they enter the warm house, and Diana wants to check for a way of escape.
Curious about how many men had been left outside, I turned toward one of the front windows, but Fallan caught my arm before I was able to take the first step, and took me with him over to the woodsman.
"A good evening to you," the man greeted Fallan, raising his goblet to him. "Will you join us in a a cup of my best ale?"
"With pleasure," Fallan answered... "First, however, I must attend to a matter too long unseen to. I have a girl to be punished, and would ask the use of your stables."
"Why, certainly," the woodsman agreed with a chuckle while ... I stared at Fallan in disbelief. "My stable is yours, for however long you require its use."
"My thanks, Woodsman," he said, tightening his grip on my arm. "This matter will not take long, and then we may drink to one another's fortune."
"You may not do this to me!" I hissed at Fallan... "I refuse to accept this! I will not accept it!"
"You will accept all I give and more," Fallan muttered back, not even looking at me. "The time has come for a true understanding between us, one too long in coming."
...Fallan reached the door, pulled it open to reveal a large, dimly lit stable that was closed tight from the inside, and then--
At that very moment they are besieged by the enemy, so no spanking. The stable didn't have quite the panache the woodshed would have anyway.
Never fear. The spanking eventually happens. I'll tell you all about it next time.
I grew up in a city that was sharply and clearly divided into separate groups that tolerated and accommodated one another, interacted out of necessity, but usually avoided one another. Some of the factors at work in determining the makeup of these divisions included socioeconomic level, race, language and, not surprisingly, religion.
Where schoolchildren were concerned, it was easy to tell who belonged to what group, because uniforms were mandatory at both the Protestant and the Catholic schools. During the school year, a quick glance told you who was an ally and who was someone to steer clear of, as well as which language to use to address that young person.
Younger girls wore tunics very similar to the ones in this picture I found on the internet.
Older students wore uniforms similar to these. The colours were different at each school.
An incident from my childhood comes to mind. I was ten years old, and my friend and I went to the park on a summer afternoon to spend a few carefree hours on the swings. Uniforms had been put away for two months, and the park was full of anonymous children dressed in t-shirts and shorts.
We approached the playground apparatus and saw two girls, roughly our age, climbing the jungle gym. We paused and listened, and were pleased to hear that they spoke English. So we joined them, and although we didn't know one another, somehow we quickly discovered that we all loved Barbie dolls. For the next half hour we chatted happily about Barbie, Ken, Midge and all the details of life with fashion model dolls. We eventually got around to exchanging names, but then someone asked the inevitable question.
"What school do you go to?"
"Wellington School." That was the Protestant school two blocks away. "How about you?"
"St. Martha's." That was the English Catholic girls' school.
"Oh."
"Well, we gotta go now."
"Us too. See ya."
"See ya."
And that was that. We never saw them again. That was just the way it was back then.
The reason I mentioned this incident at all was because in some way it's similar to the distinctions that sometimes arise among us. Those of us who enjoy reading these blogs are all spanking enthusiasts of one sort or another, but it's easy to apply labels that lead to judgements and misunderstandings. DD, D/s, TPE, TTWD, S&M, BDSM, erotic spanking, disciplinary spanking, playful spanking - yes, they're all different from one another in significant ways, but the similarities are what bring us all together as a spanking community.
I hope we can all play nicely together in the same sandbox.
I love this picture! There are so many possibilities here. Why does she think they're all alike? How did the three of them happen to get together? What will happen next? Could spanking possibly be on their minds?
Leave a comment with your interpretation of what this trio is up to, and I'll publish them in an upcoming post.
Last week Ron had lunch with a good friend. That evening he brought me up to date on the latest news about Greg, his married son and his unmarried daughter. I listened with interest, but noticed that he hadn't mentioned Greg's wife. Finally, with a frown, Ron said, "So I asked Greg about Penny."
"And?"
Ron looked concerned. "He said she didn't want to be spanked."
"Oh! What? You asked him about--? You told him--?" I saw the corners of his mouth twitch. "No you didn't!" Ron laughed, delighted that he had fooled me.
I giggled and asked, "What about him? Maybe he would like to be spanked. Some men do, you know."
Ron agreed. "Okay, next time I'll ask him. 'Greg, do you want to be spanked?'"
"Not like that," I laughed. "He'll think you're offering to spank him." I got a swat on the bottom for saying that.
I wonder what those two had for lunch.
This happened last weekend on the day of our usual spanking date.
Ron had been very generous in his selection of implements and equally energetic in their application. In fact, my bottom felt like it was on fire by the time he let me get up.
A couple of hours passed, and the burn was still there - a happy reminder of our afternoon fun. As we cleared the table after dinner, Ron gave my posterior a solid slap as I bent to put the plates into the dishwasher.
"Ow," I yelped.
"Did that hurt?" my dear husband queried innocently.
"Yes," I whined in mock annoyance.
"Good." Ron sounded satisfied that his earlier exertions had had the desired effect.
Later as we snuggled on the couch watching tv, I squirmed from time to time as my sore bottom reminded me of the earlier spanking. At bedtime I stood up and rubbed my cheeks.
"Oh, they're still sore," I informed Ron. "You did a very thorough job." I put my arms around him and hugged him. "Thank you."
He seemed happy to hear the praise. By way of reply, a hard swat landed on my right bottomcheek.
"Did that hurt?"
"Yes!"
Another swat. "Did that hurt?"
"Ow! Yes!"
A flurry of open-handed swats followed, interspersed at intervals with the same question. I giggled, wiggled, and replied emphatically in the affirmative. By the time he stopped I had been treated to my second spanking of the day, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.
We gasped, still out of breath from laughing, and Ron gestured to the couch we had recently vacated. Our three furry companions were lying there quietly - Fluffy and Crookshanks together at one end, and Fang at the other - and all seemed totally unimpressed by our antics.
"They aren't even bothered by all the noise," Ron said. That had often been a concern in the past, but obviously our pack has adjusted to loud smacking sounds.
This opens the door to all sorts of possibilities.
Here is an excerpt from Mind Guest by Sharon Green, a science fiction novel with roughly equal measures of adventure and BDSM. Special space agent Diana has arrived on a distant planet that needs her help in resisting an invasion, and she agrees to take on the physical and mental identity of Bellna, a princess who also happens to be a spoiled brat.
Tough, aggressive Diana soon locks horns with a dominant male, Valdon. They argue, and she challenges him to a fight. His response:
"If you're expecting me to start a fist fight with you, you can forget it," he said, his tone flat and final. "Despite your generous offer, I don't make a habit of fist-fighting with women--even when they deserve a good swatting at the very least. All you can expect from me is the swatting, but I'll choose my own time and place, thanks."
"What's a swatting?"
We know she'll find out eventually, don't we? Diana and Valdon are forced to work together, and she irritates him with her behaviour. He issues this warning:
"Since you seem to have slept through all the briefing sessions you were given, let me repeat the point I thought I'd made when you first got here: if you keep wise-cracking the way you've been doing, you'll either outline yourself as a complete stranger and foreigner, or end up tied to a whipping stand. You won't find either possibility enjoyable."
She now finds herself being put to the test. Her personality is now a combination of herself and the bratty princess Bellna, and Grigon is treating her as a poor peasant girl, to evaluate how she will perform when she goes out on her mission in disguise. Grigon speaks:
"I shall now allow you the sip of wine I promised you earlier..." I reached for the glass he held out toward me, but he shook his head. "Both hands, if you please, little peasant. I should dislike having the contents of this glass emptied upon me. You have my word that I would dislike it a very great deal."
The hardened glint in his eyes told me that he would undoubtedly use an excuse like that to beat me, and a beating was one thing I couldn't risk. I didn't yet have a experienced enough hold on the Bellna presence to believe I could hold her back during the infliction of pain...
"You will lie flat so that I may examine you at my leisure... Should I hear a single sound from you, you will be punished. Have I made myself clear?"
Yes, I think he has, but our heroine is unable to remain quiet, with the obvious result.
That was what Grigon had been waiting for, of course, and the open-handed slap brought me back and told me I'd lost the round.
"Again you disobey! Go and fetch my belt, at once!"
Teary-eyed and trembling I backed away from him, then slid off the bed to do as he'd ordered... I groped in the shadows for Grigon's belt. It was lying half covered by his pants, as though it had been set in place in anticipation of use, which of course it had been. I picked up the soft but heavy leather in my trembling hands and held it to me, still not knowing whether or not I could go through with it. I had a thing about being beaten that stemmed from a very unpleasant experience during one of my assignments, and I didn't know whether or not I could hold still for being beaten by Grigon. I rose to my feet again, still clutching the belt, and hurried back to the bed through the chill of the room. One way or another, my question was about to be answered.
Grigon was waiting for me on the bed, the small candle above throwing shadows all about us as I climbed over his legs. The tears were still running down my cheeks as I reached the belt out toward him with both hands, and for a minute his eyes met mine. That I knew he was going to beat me must have been clear to see, as he took the belt a peculiar expression flickered across his face. He glanced at the trembling in my hands, the hopelessness my face must have been covered with, the roundness of defeat in my shoulders, and suddenly there was a different decision in his eyes.
No, the belt didn't get used. Instead, they talk, and her tormentor is not convinced of her suitability for the mission. She addresses her issue with punishment when he questions her competence:
"...Are you competent enough to overcome the handicap you have? Will you be able to handle it no matter what the situation?"
"Well, I can think of one situation when I may not be able to handle it. I'm glad you didn't try beating me with that belt. I don't know if I could have kept control of myself."
"You think you would have lost control to Bellna?" he asked with a frown. "Because of a beating? What makes you think she would have dominated you at a time like that?"
I'm not talking about her dominating me... In fact, it has nothing to do with Bellna. I'm the one with an aversion to being beaten, and I've been known to be somewhat--harsh--with people who try it. I had a run-in with a heavy whip once, and the passage of time hasn't done much to make me forget it."
"Harsh," he echoed, a strange expression on his face as he looked down on me. "Your eyes turn soulless when you say that. I've never had a heavy whip used on me, but I can imagine what it must be like. Tell me what was done to you."
"It's impossible to imagine what it's like without experiencing it," I said, unable to keep the harshness out of my tone even though I looked away from him. "As far as the rest of it goes, I'd rather not discuss it."
So Grigon doesn't get to hear the details, and neither do we. But I promise there is more fun to be had in the next installment, coming soon to a browser near you.
What would I do without CBC radio to entertain me during my daily commute? This little gem by James Morrison caught my attention. Can you guess why?
If loving you is easy,
Playing by the rules,
But you said love tastes so much better when it's cruel.
To you everything was just a game.
Yeah, you played me good,
But I want you, I want you, I want you,
So much more than I should,
Yes I do.
I've got my hands up so take your aim,
Yeah, I'm ready.
There's nothing that we can't go through.
Oh, it hit me like a steel freight train,
When you left me,
And nothing ever hurt like you,
Nothing ever hurt like you.
I was naive and wide-eyed
But you made me see,
That you don't get to taste the honey
Without the sting of a bee,
No you don't.
Yes, you stung me good,
Oh yeah, you dug in deep,
But I'll take it, I'll take it, I'll take it
Till I'm down on my knees.
I've got my hands up so take your aim,
Yeah I'm ready,
There's nothing that we can't go through,
Walk a thousand miles on broken glass,
It won't stop me
from making my way back to you.
It's not real till you feel the pain,
And nothing ever hurt like you,
Nothing ever hurt like you.
Listen to the song here.
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