Monthly Archives: January 2006

Stop-watch Spanking (or nearly)

Sometimes the dispensation of discipline is so swift that, looking
back, I’m not sure: has it really happened, or was it a wild fantasy of
the type I tend to have when I can’t sleep at 4am?

Abel doesn’t like it when I lean against the radiator in the kicthen.
He thinks that there’s a good chance that it’ll break off the wall,
scalding me with hot water and flooding the house. I’ve only recently
became aware of this fear, having spent three and a half years happily
warming my bottom against the kitchen radiator whenever I felt like it.

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After Spanking

An acquaintance commented recently that while I have frequently described real-life scenes (play or punishment) and have shared them over the years in newsgroups, disguised as fictional writing, with friends and even in chatrooms with other spankos, I don’t generally report or share in written form what happens in the hours after the scene. As my playtime with C is usually overtly sexual, it stands to reason that my scene descriptions would be so, too.

Not necessarily so.

Certainly my scene descriptions often allude to an underlying sexual agenda even if I don’t address it directly. I don’t (couldn’t) deny the arousing aspects of play, or that I find certain types of kink extremely … err … exciting. I also can’t deny that spanking, in and of itself, is both stimulating and painful.

I have several reasons for creating a proverbial ‘line in the sand’ while relating scenes for public consumption, whether for play or punishment.

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Crikey, I’ve lost my spanko-mojo!

I’ve been living with some persistent urinary tract infections for several months now. It’s baffling the doctors who have both run a CT scan and done a cystoscopy but find nothing to explain the relentless number of bacterial visitors for which I’m now taking antibiotics for the foreseeable future. What really sucks is that it really hurts. Like someone driving a nail through the base of my spine. You know, just above where normally I’d get spanked.

As sparkle mentioned in the last post, we had someone email us recently asking if we all really get spanked. Of course, the answer is yes, for whatever reasons of emotional and sexual expression we might have. But for the first time in my life, I can totally see the world from that emailer’s perspective.

Why on earth would I want someone to hit me with a belt or a cane or a hairbrush? Why, why, why would somebody do that? Why would I let them — nay, seek them out?!

Now, ordinarily when I’m getting spanked, I rarely like it (though, yeah, there are a few exceptions). The appeal is usually the concept. One of the most core, intimate pieces of me is part child mixed in with the intelligent, mature woman. Punishment for real life things is a way of connecting to both of those at the very same time in which a type of fusion is created that is about as close to nuclear fusion we can get on a human level.

Or at least, normally it works like that. Except for the last few weeks, the concept has had no appeal to me.

Not. At. All.

As my boyfriend, A., and I cuddled last night, I said it was like someone has stolen my spanko-mojo.

We both chuckled awkwardly. And sighed. He rubbed my back and cuddled me some more.

But as the night went on, a little tiny bit of that child-part thought again.

"Well, maybe you could make me write lines or something," I said later as we drifted off to sleep.

"Yeah. I could make you wear your school uniform (which I don’t really have yet) and write lines…" A. began.

And the appeal of the concept came back a bit.

So, maybe I still have my punishment-mojo…