Monthly Archives: February 2005

The Devil On My Shoulder

I might be alone on this.  My fellow authors might understandably be flabbergasted (and mortified) by this topic. 

However, this blog is written by women, right?  No, I do not intend this as a debate on whether we should be called or call ourselves ladies, girls, hotties, wives, bottoms, subs, spankees, women, chicks, or any other myriad of labels assigned to our gender.  It’s just that I believe that all of the authors of this site are of the female persuasion.  Not that our gentlemen (and not so gentlemanly) friends and observers don’t enjoy the blog – but there are a few topics that truly are generally confined by culture and modesty to discussion among women, and I need to write about one of them. 

[Hint:  If you can imagine anything related to the female body as the least bit squicky, perhaps you ought to skip to the next article.]

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Being Bad

I’ve been struggling with a chapter of my thesis. This is because I’m lazy. But also it’s because the chapter had little to do with the lovely, exciting European Court of Human Rights, which is my specialty, and lots to do with the dull, disgusting European Union legislation. Yawn. My usual way of dealing with a tricky piece of work is to avoid it for as long as possible, and then even longer, way past the possible avoidance cut-off date, and then get depressed because it had to be done OMG THREE MONTHS AGO, and freeze.

So I did that.

The complete freaking out over this paper happened just about at the time when we started this blog. Abel and I had been going easy on discipline for a couple of months. And the stuff we’d tried before hadn’t really worked for me, because, frankly, I don’t think Abel realised just how bad my work habits are, and how much control I need in order to work out some better ones.

But here I was, blogging about discipline, and at the same time having so little of that discipline that my work had got to the stage where the task seemed too great to even attempt it. So, you see, I *had* to tell Abel that it would be nice of him if he could rub my nose into my work more thoroughly than he’d done it before.

He’s a soft man, but he obliged. He told me to submit a report on my progress every day, and that, if by 5 pm next Friday the paper wasn’t finished, in our weekly review meeting he would put me over his knee and spank me harder than ever before. He would spank me for six minutes.

He’d spanked me awfully hard before, and for nothing like this long. In fact, just the previous day he’d spanked me for two minutes with his left hand, because it was the way I happened to have landed over his lap, and it had *hurt*. It was definitely going to be his stronger right hand doing the smacking if it came to that. I had an uh-oh feeling, and on Monday morning I got to work.

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I Really Do Appreciate It, I Think

This incident begins about two weeks ago – the day our daughter discovered that the shredder bin was full of a million tiny pieces of paper.

Now, she’d found the shredder before, and delighted in dropping things into the bin.  I’ve found lost sets of keys, lost highlighters and pens, lost baby toys, even lost rubber duckies.

About two weeks ago, however, she discovered that she could reach down into the shredder and pull out all of the delightful mess inside. 

I hate messes. 

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I’ve decided that I’m very annoyed by people who write incredibly sexist things regarding domestic discipline (or whatever you want to call it – I think for the purposes of this blog WWD, or What We Do, seems to sum it up best). I’m tired of reading long essays describing how best to take a woman in hand, or deal with her "feminine misbehavior" or any of that SHIT. (I didn’t ask if profanity was okay … If it’s not, I’ll edit it. Or take some paddle swats for it. 🙂 I know a guy on the couch in the next room who’d be happy to oblige). Why does that attitude seem so prevalent in this "scene?"  And yes … I know there are MANY guys out there who don’t take that line, but there are a lot who do. And even some women who do …

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Abel has threatened to make me the first Punishment Book author to be spanked for not posting about my punishments in a timely manner.

*sulk – stomp – whinge – whine*

Let’s see… would the reason for me not posting be that I’ve been *on a punishment regime* with severely limited spare time? Do you think?

*moan – pout – complain*

That’s OK, I’ll be writing it all up as soon as my ego heals.

Blurring the Lines

I always thought RL discipline was such a hot idea and I fantasised about it being a part of my life. Then I experienced it. And of course reality can’t compete with fantasy. At various times I’ve felt absolved, conflicted, ambivalent, resentful and turned on by RL discipline. I’ve never quite been able to reconcile my feelings about it. Then Mija invited me to join this blog. At first I declined because RL discipline hasn’t really been a part of my life lately. I mentioned this to my partner. He raised his eyebrows and said, ‘Oh? Isn’t it?’ Well, fair enough.

We’re basically roleplayers. Obsessive roleplayers. We have a stable of different personae, some recurring, some one-offs. Which brings me to a favourite phrase: blurring the lines. One of the ways we’ve circumvented my resentment of RL punishment in the past is through roleplay. By way of introduction I’ll share one of those stories.

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Diminishing Returns?

I really MUST get some work done this evening.  For my own peace of mind, I know, but that peace of mind has been chiseled away over the last three or four days.

Still, C and I have been having an ongoing discussion about something that I think is relevant to Punishment Book – we’ve been discussing the power of rituals.

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A Sunday in Disgrace

So last night I posted that I wouldn’t be on-line today (Sunday) and that I was to be punished but didn’t know what would happen. Pablo has done a number of different things to punish me over the years we’ve been together. I suspected it would involve pain and my bottom, but also wondered what else might be done.

Frequently the “what else” is the hardest part.

All day yesterday I seemed to be pretending tomorrow (today) was Monday rather than Sunday. Sunday is our traditional day for accounting the past week and planning the next. And this was an accounting I feared, while at the same time I was also afraid that maybe Pablo was going to tell me that since I wasn’t putting in any effort, we were going to once again put the idea of discipline (I like sparkle’s term “methodic discipline”) on hold for a while. You see, one of the things we’ve discovered is that Pablo can’t pull me along (at least not very far or very often). He can be very effective at pushing me back on track, but the primary motivation must always come from inside me.

This week it hasn’t.

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Getting Back on Track

I was punished today.

Basically, I have very simple rules. Drink at least 32 ounces of water each day (you wouldn’t believe how incredibly difficult this is for me!), clean the cat’s litterbox Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, and use the Clinique stuff I just got for my face as directed — which means the cleanser and creams each night and the creams in the morning. These are basic, simple, ordinary things — things I should be doing anyway, without external motivation.

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