Stressed? Who's Stressed?

Like many other people, our lives have a certain amount of stress in them. Lately that level has risen rather dramatically. Ron and I both need to cope with it, but the nurturer in me says that I need to help him manage his stress level as well as my own. So I do all I can to support him and ease his burden. Sometimes that doesn't work too well.

Last weekend we had company. It was pleasant, but was an additional source of tension. In the busyness of having guests, our weekly spanking date was overlooked. I hadn't forgotten about it and I suspect Ron hadn't either. But I didn't say anything because I figured he had enough on his plate and didn't need me making demands on him too.
It might have been better for both of us if I had spoken up. Without my much-needed stress-buster, I wasn't quite so considerate and understanding in the following days, and we both let our stress get the better of us.

Luckily, another weekend rolled around, and I tactfully made sure that Ron had included some plans for spanking among his other activities. We agreed on a time that fit in around the first football game of the season.

Ron had thoughtfully chosen two wooden implements: a light, stingy one and a heavier, thuddy one. He picked up the thuddy one and started off with brisk strokes.

Slow down, take it easy, I screamed silently inside my head. Not wanting to give him any actual direction, I didn't say the words aloud, but I did a fair amount of squealing and dancing that made him switch to the lighter implement. That was much better. Relatively speaking, you understand. It still hurt, but it didn't HURT.

After a bit, Ron changed to the heavier implement, but he could tell I still couldn't take it gracefully, so resumed his attention with Mr Stingy. I settled into the rhythm, although Ron decided to be clever and intersperse the steady swats with periodic rapid-fire bursts aimed directly at my sweet spot.

"You never know when to expect it," he enthused as he delivered a volley of shots and I protested loudly.

All too soon, Ron asked if I had had enough.

"No," I replied. Foolishly? Perhaps. "Go back to the heavy one, but slowly."

Ron proceeded to swat my cheeks with the thuddy paddle; slow, steady whacks that hurt, but not so much. I relaxed and absorbed the impact gratefully. He increased the speed of the swats and they still felt good. I was silent.

"That's enough. Your bum is purple." And it ended.

When I had checked my bottom in the mirror and arranged my clothing, I gave Ron a big hug and told him, "I feel better now." And I did.

The following week was as stressful as the one prior to it, but I felt restored and calm. I was able to get us both through the next seven days with patience, good humour and gentleness. Smiles came readily, and I smoothed over any potentially tense situations. But I think Ron was more relaxed as well. The spanking did him good too, whether he will admit it or not.


Spankings? Keep them coming!

White is All Right

It snowed last night! I guess that's why they call it the Great White North. But still, enough already! It's spring. We had more snow in December and January than we've had during the whole winter in previous years.

One weekend in particular was especially memorable. The snow started falling on Saturday afternoon, continued throughout the night, and was still coming down on Sunday morning. We wouldn't be going anywhere for several hours at least. Ron did a bit of necessary clearing as soon as he got up. Then after breakfast we bundled up and went to work clearing the driveway, paths and the front walk.

While we worked, a thought buzzed inside my mind. Would Ron be too tired from all the shovelling to spank me? Would I be too tired to care? Sunday is our day for spanking fun, and I had good reason to be concerned this weekend. I had had a rough week at work, full of ups and downs, and Monday morning threatened to bring on a crisis of sorts. I desperately needed some stress relief. And my spanko senses were telling me that the chances weren't good.

We did as much as we could, then went inside to warm up and rest. After making several trips to the front window, the weather channel on TV, and weather websites, Ron announced that we wouldn't be shovelling any more that day. As long as the snow was still falling, we would wait until the next morning before we did any more. My inner spanko child cheered! That was his way of telling me we were on for our regular date.

Then I started to ponder what implement I needed to eradicate my stress and prepare me for the next day. I slipped upstairs and opened the implement drawer. The dogleg brush would do it, I was sure. It has proven its usefulness more than once. But then I noticed the white paddle nearly hidden at the bottom. It produced a very significant sting, and I hadn't felt it for quite a long time. I picked it up and laid it on Ron's bedside table, then hurried out before I changed my mind.

Later, I waited for Ron in the bedroom. He came in and saw the implement I had left for him.

"I see you've chosen your weapon."

"Uh, yeah."

I wanted to remind him to give me a generous warmup. I wanted to tell him to use it to finish, after first spanking me with a kinder implement. But the words wouldn't come out. Something inside me cried out for everything the paddle had to offer.

The first three or four swats were sharp, and I squirmed. Then I held my breath and let the rest come. When Ron paused and put the paddle down to rub my cheeks, I exhaled and struggled to breathe normally again. I actually felt my lungs deflate, and along with air went stress and anxiety. As he picked up the paddle to resume, I inhaled deeply, gripped the metal rails in front of me, and braced myself.

The second series of swats was more endurable because my bottom was warm enough to accept them, although I did my share of wriggling and squeaking. Again came the rest and rubbing, and more tension left my body. After the third paddling--which ended with a flurry of sharp, fast strokes that left me gasping--my bottom was hot and stinging and the rest of me was more than ready for whatever amorous adventure Ron chose to take me on. Trouble at the office was the last thing on my mind right then.

The next morning we shovelled more snow, then I got into the car. I sighed with relief as my tender posterior came in contact with the cold car seat, and drove to work with a light heart. My good mood lasted through the meeting I had been dreading, and--by smiling but otherwise keeping my mouth shut--I was able to get through it remarkably well.

When I got home that evening I told Ron about my day, and ended by saying, "So you really didn't have to spank me that hard after all."

"Oh yes I did."

Yes, he did.

Don't Feel Like Spanking

This week I got an email with the subject line "Holiday stress reduction" and opened it eagerly. That's what I need all right! Sadly, it wasn't about spanking at all.
We've both been feeling kind of grumpy and out of sorts this week. Ron was preoccupied with his concerns, I had my own stress, and we hadn't been laughing or even talking much. We just weren't connecting. One evening Ron actually apologized for being so uncommunicative. I thought a minute, then listed six different things that I knew were bothering him. Once I reassured him that he had every right to be unhappy, he cheered up and we had a reasonably pleasant evening.
I later took the opportunity to think about why I wasn't behaving much better, and came up with my own list of six concerns. The one we both had in common was the upcoming holiday season. (Our pre-holiday stress started in mid-August this year.) No wonder I hadn't been looking forward to my next spanking. That was okay, though. I gave myself permission to not feel like it, and you know what? I started to feel a bit better.
This morning, I was determined to enjoy the weekend, but still didn't feel like playing. We made our weekly trip to the supermarket, and as we walked past the shelves stacked with cereal, I missed the usual feeling of anticipation that I usually enjoyed as we walked along the familiar aisles. By the time we got to the soup and canned vegetables, spanking was much more on my mind. When we finally came to the laundry detergents and floor cleaners, I was definitely feeling that tingle of arousal. Routine is a wonderful thing.
We spent a pleasant afternoon outdoors working in the garden. The weather was cool but the sun was shining, and by the time we finished we were cold, tired, and happy. As we started fixing dinner I smiled at Ron and he smiled back.
"I need a hug," I said, and Ron put his strong arms around me and held me tightly. I hugged him back, then reached behind me, took hold of his wrists, and moved his hands lower down.
"That's more like it," I murmured as he cupped my bottom cheeks, squeezed them, then gently patted them. I thought about the next day, when those hands would not be patting gently at all.
As I write this, there are only . . . let me see . . . twenty-two hours to go until I get spanked. I can't wait!

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!

In Case of Emergency

I have done a log of complaining about the bath brush and how much I hate it. So it's only fair to tell you that Mr. Dogleg and I have reached an understanding. This is how it all came about.



I hate doing my income taxes. It's the only time I procrastinate. I leave it until the last day then grumble because I'm surrounded by a sea of forms. Even the thought of the generous refund I always manage to get is not enough to inspire me to get them done early. So I was in a pretty bad mood. I wasn't happy about wasting part of my precious weekend fiddling with a calculator. I finally finished the endless calculations, transfered all the numbers to the good copy, and stuffed the completed forms and handfuls of receipts into the envelope. 

That's when various other unpleasant and unrelated events began to unfold. Without going into grim detail, I seemed destined to continue having a really bad day. Normally I keep my emotions under tight control and try to smile as much as possible because that usually keeps me feeling cheerful. But that day, it didn't work. My dark side was showing, and I didn't like that at all. By evening I was down in the dumps, big time!


The following morning, I couldn't finish the lovely breakfast Ron had made me, which is very unusual because I like to eat! Instead, I burst into tears, which is even more unusual. I knew I had to get a grip. Not even telling myself to cheer up and snap out of it, or my husband's helpful advice to "Get over it" did any good. 


Later that day we would be having our regular weekly date for spanking and loving, and I sure wasn't in a very romantic mood. I wasn't even looking forward to the spanking that I usually couldn't wait to get. This was serious. For a moment I considered having a "headache", but in the dynamics of our relationship that isn't really an option, so I discarded the idea.


I had had spankings in the past that, besides being very exciting and erotic, had greatly helped to relieve stress. That was what I needed - a stress-relief spanking. But how could I be certain it would do the trick? A tiny voice inside my head whispered, "the brush". I tried to ignore it; that bath brush was wicked. I couldn't deny that something heavy duty was what I needed. Ron had never used it again after that first time; would I have the courage to ask for it? 


Later, I found myself in my husband's arms. He kissed me, then caressed my bottom before smacking it with his hand a few times as a preview of things to come. When he stopped I looked at him and asked, "Will you finish off with the bath brush?" 


"Okay," my man of few words agreed. And on we went.


As I got into position over some pillows on the bed, Ron reached for the much-loved leather paddle then applied it vigorously, alternating left and right cheeks. He stopped to rub my bottom while I caught my breath and waited, both wanting and not wanting him to continue. Continue he did, and the swats were harder and quicker. Then another pause for caressing, and he put down the paddle. 


I heard the drawer open. He reached in and picked up the bath brush. Was it too late to stop him? Did I want to? I didn't. I braced myself and held on tight to the brass rails of the bed.


The wood cracked against my right cheek. Pain seared through me but I kept silent. The left cheek got the next whack, and I took the scalding blow, relishing it. Ron kept up the rhythm of strokes, and all I thought of was enduring the ordeal and letting the pain heal me. All the other emotions that had been swirling inside me melted and vanished as the brush did its work. 


Then Ron laid the brush aside, caressed my sore bottom and explored further. I was gasping from the intense burning, yet very ready for attention of a different kind now, and he lost no time in slipping inside me from behind. If that sensation was lovely, the ones that followed, as he gently and skilfully took me completely out of myself, were even more wonderful. Finally we lay exhausted, and I was once more at peace. I smiled. 


I know it's an old cliche, but every cloud has a silver lining, or in this case, a wooden one, with bristles.

The View From Here - How Long?

Today's post is about my quest for that Holy Grail familiar to some, but elusive to many: the hour-long spanking. I'm definitely torn between the idea that the hour should be occupied with nothing but spanking, and the concept of an hour of amorous expression that includes many other activities besides spanking.

The Fantasy: In order to fill in the entire time period, we would have at our disposal a variety of implements, and would also be comfortable moving from one position to another. We would also need some means of apportioning the allotted time, and luckily I have a nifty electronic timer capable of timing four different activities at once. The times would be set, say, to 15, 30, 45 and 60 minutes, and when each distinctive alarm tone sounded, we would switch to a different variation of spanking combined with or followed by cuddling in varying degrees.

The Reality: Some spankings are quite spontaneous. They happen during other erotic pursuits, and may last for brief moments or go on longer. The elapsed time for the whole amorous interlude can sometimes be fairly extended.

Our regular, weekly spanking follows a set ritual of time, place, and format. From the time Ron says, "It's time" to the aftermath, when I am examining my bottom in the mirror and once again have the mental capability to check the clock, well, we don't even qualify for a half-marathon. However, there is room for flexibility.

Recent weeks have been fairly stress-filled for me. It's nothing I can't handle, and Ron is being extremely supportive. So much so that, in the moments that preceded a spanking recently, I was able to ask for some of that support. Although my husband is always in control of events at that point in time, I found the courage to tell him that I needed a much longer spanking than usual, to help me deal with the stress.

He smiled, patted my bottom, and as I positioned myself over pillows, he reached for my all-time favourite, the dogging bat. Yes, that would do it! And it did. It was perfect.

No, I wasn't watching the clock, or timing either the spanking or subsequent love-making. But I was definitely spanked at least half again as long as usual. A girl can tell! And Ron has understood this request to be a standing order, because on subsequent occasions he has consistently applied the implement of his choice for a generous period of time.

And that's all that matters.