The PB has been relatively quiet lately, though research shows that’s not due to a lack of spanking or spanking writing by many of the authors here. Here’s my research update. Since last we heard from them, the ever so sexy Natty has been experimenting with topping and (of course) she has been spanked as well. The lovely Haron has been welcomed home with a whipping (o that Abel!) while sparkle has been directed to devise her own painful welcomes for her reunion with Chris (who has been posting pictures of sparkle’s bum, but that’s another matter). DykeGrrl / Jigsaw Analogy can often be found on the forum where I discovered she’s getting regular maintenance spankings on Sundays (me too!).
Finally, Paul pointed out late this afternoon that Iris was in trouble today too and going to get a spanking. More sunburn trouble for Iris, complete with (perhaps) a spanking with / in front of a girlfriend guest.
Okay, so I’ve delayed enough I guess. A careful reader (which I’m sure you all are) would have noted the word “too” in that sentence above. “Too” as in “also” or “as well.” Since it was agreed last Sunday that we would use Sunday’s to discuss the week, and I’ve known all week I’d be spanked Sunday. A tiny part of me has been looking forward to it because it would mean I was going to wear my new uniform. But only a tiny part because I knew that the very act of wearing it would prompt a hard spanking and I’m not crazy. You see, a little over a month ago, Paul surprised me with two authentic gym-slips. They were ordered from a UK eBay vendor but they’re imported from South Africa where school girls still wear them. Although I’d tried them on, personal circumstances which required Paul to travel to the UK quite suddenly coupled with a heat wave (the uniform is a black wool blend) here when he returned (with some authentic uniform shirts no less) meant I hadn’t had a chance to really wear it yet. Those of you who know me know that in addition to being a “sick little hand-tawsing freak” (thanks Niki), I have serious love for traditional uniforms. Had this managed to be simply a maintenance spanking, it probably would have been eager anticipation I felt last night.
Instead, given that the phrase “You’ll get an e*e*a to clean you out in the morning when we get up and then we’ll deal with everything else this afternoon” or something very close to it, was uttered, I was kept awake by more than just concern over the Doctor Who cliff hanger. The e*e*a was to be my punishment for having eaten sugar without permission.
I should back up a little bit.
As I mentioned above, Paul and I were unexpectedly apart for a couple of weeks this past month. Earlier, when the new gym-slip arrived, we were already discussing how to move back to a more disciplined life following my rather lengthy period of depression when there wasn’t much discipline going on for obvious reasons. We had already moved that direction a bit — mostly by Paul administering a very hard spanking and tawsing to mark my finally having finished off the 2007 Short Story Contest for soc.sexuality.spanking, albeit some 6 months after it should have been done. The slate was clean and we were already talking about how we should begin again. And then suddenly we were apart.
One effect of being away from each other is that we both always seem to gravitate toward thinking and talking about not just spanking, but discipline / punishment and such in our relationship. That was the case this time as well. In fact I started keeping my discipline journal (it’s just a little one of the black moleskin note books) where I’m supposed to note the good and not good things I’ve done each day even before he got home.
Last Sunday we sat down and basically made a list of goals and tasks for the week. Paul typed it up and printed it out. I put a copy in my journal and kept another copy on the coffee table for easy reference. And then mostly the week was mine to do or not do. I got spanked some nights for breaking specific rules (especially regarding my old friend sugar) and smacked quite a bit just on a day-to-day basis. But what I didn’t get was nagged about what I was supposed to be doing.
It would be lovely to write that left with that sort of freedom I’d been ever so good and gotten all my jobs done. I could say that, but only if I lied like a rug.
What went well:
- I kept a food journal on Fitday.com (because I need to keep track of my protein intake to make sure I get 70grams a day and also because I’d like to lose 20 pounds by Shadow Lane).
- I mostly took all my medications each day (no small task lemme tell ya).
- I keep my daily journal.
- I did lots of little tasks around the house. (Can we say “displacement activity” boys and girls?)
What didn’t go so well:
- I did miss one of my doses of pills.
- I did miss one day of journaling
- I didn’t get a proposal for a study grant (due July 1) written.
- I did get a rather scary email from my college sent via my department asking for a progress report on my dissertation.
- I didn’t make it to the gym once even though I’d promised to go three times.
- I did manage to eat sugar without asking 3 days out of 6 (we weren’t even talking about today yet).
Quite an impressive list for only 6 days, right?
So anyway, the morning started with me in my pajamas and Paul telling me I didn’t need my bottoms. Or my glasses or my panties. He was in the bathroom already getting the bag ready. I was in our bedroom freaking out.
Why freaking out you ask? Because not only does having to have an e*e*a for any reason make me feel pretty upset and having a punishment one only more so, but just to add to the fun, it was 9:30AM and my father was coming at 11:30AM to go to brunch with us. Well, he was supposed to be arriving at 11:30 AM. But knowing my dad he would likely arrive sometime between 11:10AM and 11:20 AM. Add to that my knowledge that Paul never gives me just one. No, there’s always the soapy one and then the not soapy one after.
Time was not my friend. So much as I wanted to try and delay things, I did have to just try and take them as quickly as I could. Note that I said “quickly” — no mention has been made of “quietly” and indeed there was nothing quiet about how these went. I think I complained most of the way through both — with the terrifying image of what the hell would happen if my dad showed up. There’s nothing about have a nozzle in your bottom and wondering if your father is about to arrive that makes for happy thoughts. Had there been more time, I suspect a spanking would have ensued during and after. However, there wasn’t time. Mostly there was me rushing to get dressed and my father arriving just as I finished brushing my hair.
Oh yes Reader, he was early. But thankfully not too early.
Late in the afternoon, after I got back from a walk, Paul told me to take my time, which meant I could finish answering email and such, and then go into the bedroom and change into the uniform that was out on the bed. (I took a picture of it first — it’s the one you see above.) After going in for a peek and seeing the terrible London Tanner tawse arrayed with my uniform, I took my time, waiting almost an hour before changing. But I did dress carefully, making sure to get the tie just right, laughing a little at the tag which warns me in red letters that I should “KEEP AWAY FROM FIRE.” Clearly a case of warning being too little too late.
Finally I was ready. I came out, only to discover that Paul wanted to change for this meeting as well, something which made me nervous. While he likes disciplining me while I’m strictly uniformed, generally he goes for comfort with regard to himself (despite having his own fetish for uniform shirts worn by either of us). That he was changing meant this was serious.
He changed, carried a straight back chair into the study, and then called me in, passing me in the hall with the casually terrifying comment “I’ll just fetch the hairbrush and then be right back.” Gulp!
Sitting in front of Paul and going over my week and then talking about the next one left me feeling very discouraged, mostly because it means dealing with my research and writing, something that’s been mostly left on the wayside for the past six months. Part of me felt totally overwhelmed while another part felt a bit of dread knowing that I was not only about to be spanked very hard but that if I couldn’t make myself do the things I’m supposed to do I’m going to keep getting spanked very hard. There’s something so dreadful about knowing I deserve the spanking I’m about to get.
Finally the talking was over and then I was otk. He used the terrible ebony hairbrush over my knickers. They’re pretty heavy, but no match for the brush. I was left kicking and putting my hands back and making all sorts of other attempts to avoid the brush. The thing and Paul were relentless though. In fact he paused at one point to comment on the spanking being hard and to ask me if I deserved the spanking I was getting. Breathless and crying I had to tell him yes. That I did deserve it.
And I hated saying it too.
After a few more minutes of hair brushing, I was released, only to be told to kneel on the edge of the sofa / futon, bottom high and shoulders down. In that position I got (I think) 36 strokes of the tawse on my knickers (except for the ones on my thighs which were just on my thighs). I had to stay still but I didn’t have to count. What I remember was howling into the pillow.
The bad thing about being spanked or tawsed in knickers is the constant realization that however much something hurts it could hurt a lot more if those knickers weren’t there. That was proved by a final twelve which I can still feel. But it wasn’t over. I was told to remain kneeling in exactly that position, bottom bare and raised.
You see, as a final bit of punishment, Paul wanted to put a butt plug into my bottom. We do have one and it has been in before. But not for a long time. What was painfully discovered over the course of the 3 hours (okay, maybe 10-15 minutes) that Paul worked on me with his fingers, the plug and (thankfully) lots of lube, is that I’m currently too small for this plug. The sense of humiliation and failure was quite profound. While I didn’t want the plug in, I also was upset about feeling like I was failing. In the end that was what the comforting I got was about.
With that perspective and in retrospect, what I’m hoping is that this means I’m too small for any plug again ever.
Hopefully next week I’ll just be talking about a good girl spanking.