Category Archives: Fantasy

Maturity vs. Perversity

He spanks me. Not every day — we have a little one in the house. Spanking, these days, is infrenquent enough that I sometimes lose sight of what it feels like to be over his lap and somewhat helpless. I never completely forget, but I temporarily forget, distracted by the complex details of everyday living. It's not that he doesn't want to spank me, or that he's disenchanted with me, but we have a little girl in the house. She observant, smarter than a whip, and asks questions. She asks a lot of questions. By the time the blossoming interrogator is asleep, both of us are usually too tired for a proper spanking and indulge in the wicked delight of cuddling naked, stroking bare skin, and pretending to be vanilla.

So we drift.

There are punishments. Not often, and usually not serious. I am a good girl. Chris has said that I'm too good, at times. The mistakes are few enough, the circumstances of life trying enough, and he knows I sincerely regret them enough, that he struggles to punish me for them. Ten o'clock at night is a difficult time to start an emotionally and physically difficult experience. Also, I'm really good at distracting him. My mouth can do positively magical things when it comes to distracting him.

Do try to pull your mind from the gutter — mostly frequently, I distract him with conversation or chores. 

So we drift. 

Not badly. Many of the changes, I suspect, come with maturity and an appreciation of the good parts of our lives. Our relationship is unquestionably important to both of us. We take time and care with it and I'm a little obsessive about every word and expression that comes out of him when we are together. (Indeed, sometimes I overanalyze. Just a bit, really.)  He does many nice things for him while I usually depend on the usual methods of organizing the household and providing oral sex to let him know he's important. 

(I got your attention that time, didn't I? Hah!)

Anyway, I think we're less interested in the 'scene' online and as 'players' than we used to be, because we have each other, even though we've had each other for a dozen years now. In fact, I'd say one huge change has been a disenchantment with the spanking and BDSM 'scenes' (read: public communities) as we've come to see some of the seedier and less ethical people who lurk at its center and along the edges. I make mistakes, and there are good, bad, and middling people in every community. However, in the BDSM and related scenes, we are perhaps overly-sensitive and distrustful to folks who say one thing and then behave a different way. So instead of flinging ourselves wholeheartedly into the business of being part of a physical community, we're on a long slide toward engaging primarily with physical friends, virtual friends, and those we think are going to drift into one of those two categories or both of them. (People in my physical world, virtual world, or both, I'm not abandoning you, even if I revert to silence sometimes.)

We share less with the world, if still too much for some of the most conservative of our loved ones. I went nine months without blogging on my personal blog At A Kinky House, and it's not ever really been a sex blog. It's always been a life blog that included sex and kink because my life includes sex and kink.

It's been more than a year since I have written here, too. We've drifted.

This morning, then, while I was settling nicely the spooning position where Chris had organized me, I confessed to something in the back of my head. The ultimate result of this confession was the announcement that I was to be punished.

Let me repeat. I am spanked often, and punished occasionally. I often crave and love spankings. Conversely, I am strongly averse to punishment, even if it undeniably clears my head and my conscience and frees me from guilt. The actual conversation which produced this pronouncement is somewhat irrelevant; my unusual reaction has sparked this blog entry on Punishment Book.

I think we've drifted pretty far, to be bluntly honest. And maybe we've needed to drift. 

Having been punished, even occasionally, I am well aware of the procedure and probable outcome of the evening. It will be at least 9:30 PM before we even attempt such a thing, because earlier than that we risk waking the blossoming interrogator and, well, being interrogated. I'll have showered, and he will tell me what to wear. This might range from a full schoolgirl uniform with Mary Janes and pigtails to nothing but a white t-shirt and socks to a babydoll nightie to nothing at all. 

Just because I'm being punished doesn't mean he shouldn't enjoy it. I'd prefer he get something pleasurable out of it, after all. Punishment is difficult enough, there's no reason to make Chris miserable too. After that, he will probably stand me in front of him and remind me why I'm being punished. In this case, it will likely be a little lecture about having faith and trust, even with the worst two months of the year for me still to come. The lecture will be followed by a round with the hairbrush, because he said this morning that I needed hairbrushing.

He means a hairbrushing with the ebony brush, too. I hate the ebony brush. I will cry, and whine, and whimper, and not be the least bit stoic. Hairbrushing has this effect on me; I am a pathetic mess from the first impact and my responses do not improve. 

Afterwards, he will cradle me close to him and remind me of how much he loves me. It will be nearly bedtime, because it is a work night, and I will fall asleep on his shoulder, maybe with the iPhone in my hand as I read or check e-mail or try to read back through a Twitter feed or two.

I will be safe and loved.

I know all this. I expect all this. I can cope with this, and probably not much more. 

This morning, when Chris announced I was to be punished, however, I didn't have the typical reaction. My stomach didn't clench with nerves, my tongue didn't run off and make any sincere or insincere apologies, my guilt-ridden consciousness did not kick in and intervene. 

No, a wave of lust hit me so hard I nearly rolled over and tackled the man. He was indignant, a little hurt, and all I could think about was a long, involved fantasy spinning out in my mind, a fantasy punishment that would, in the real world, quite possibly break me down emotionally to the point that the lust I felt in that moment did not make any sense at all.

The fantasy starts much the same as the reality, with me presenting myself — clean and dressed to his specifications — to Chris. Doubtless there would be a short lecture, and then I would be hairbrushed. I would not like it. But then fantasy interferes with reality. In reality, I am usually incoherent or at least struggling to breathe through the pain. In this fantasy, he leads me to the corner and tells me to stay there, as he goes about his evening: checking email, chatting with friends, reading, paying bills, preparing for work on Monday, etc. But when he chooses, he pulls me from the corner, arranges me over the end of the bed, and straps me. He then leaves me there, open and with my hands behind my back, by sheer willpower or with assistance. I am left again to cope with the pain and wait, until he returns with yet another implement, and there is the corner to face again. 

In my fantasy, there are at least three rounds of this, perhaps more like five, until I am completely mindless, and I am tucked into bed.

In the early days, I lusted for punishment like this. In the last few years, I wished for time like this — stretches of attention where we are primarily focused on each other and energized about being with each other. Recently, I knew this was the sort of scene that was almost for certain better played out in the recesses of my mind than in real life, and coping with what punishment I do receive has been quite enough.

So why, this morning, did punishment suddenly become a fantasy again?

Bonnie’s Question: Choosing Spanking

[I didn't get a chance to answer this Sunday, but it was such an interesting question I thought I'd reply here and and on my blog.]

This week at her brunch, Bonnie asked: 

Have you or your partner been given a choice between receiving a spanking or something else and chose the spanking? If so, how does the act of consciously choosing to be spanked alter the spankee's mindset?

In discipline or punishment terms, I always choose the not-spanking option.  It's not often that Paul gives me a choice — a large part of what works in our dynamic is that I'm not in control, that I don't get to decide.  But when I've had the option of writing lines or something non-physical I think I've always chosen it.  This is because for me the idea that I could be spanked is the powerful one, more powerful even than the act of being spanked.  Part of that for me is that spanking has to feel like the last resort as a punishment, heavy enough that I'd choose anything else above it. That's the theory anyway.  The reality hasn't been tested much.

I suppose in reality most of the time I'm being punished I've chosen to be spanked in the sense that I could always opt out.  Probably.  I've never tried to though.  The times I've asked to be spanked / punished for something are few and far between.  Those have been very submissive moments and during the punishments I've found it easier to accept the pain and not struggle against it. 

Play is different.  I do ask for spankings sometimes in play / everyday life.  Those times, when I get them which is almost always, I feel a lovely contentment and gratitude for my partner.  Best of all?  When he pounces on me and spanks me just because he wants to — those times I feel attractive and well loved. 

 

Examining My Conscience

quia peccavi
nimis cogitatione, verbo et opere:
mea culpa,
mea culpa,
mea maxima culpa.

(Okay, this starts out like an account of a play scene, but isn’t. If
you’re looking for that you’re going to be disappointed.  Fair warning)

Here I’m going to digress just a little bit.  I’m Roman Catholic —
have been since birth.  My first 13 years of education were in Catholic
schools, mostly taught by nuns.  In my own weird way I’m quite
religious.  I’m not very spiritual however — in fact I have almost no
faith in God.  It’s the ritual that attracts and comforts me.  I’ve
been away from the Church for a while — the typical lapsed Catholic.
There are a number of reasons I’ve absented myself — disagreement with
RC politics and my own personal choices (marrying after a divorce and
outside the Church being chief among them).  Being away and not
attending Mass or joining my local parish have been my doing and I
mostly don’t feel inclined to return.  But right now it’s May and the
roses are blooming.  There are alters to Mary all around. 

Right now I miss my religion*.

Continue reading

Life Imitates Art

I hate writing these
entries. I really do.

Last week I was
spanked for not doing housework. Again. This is the only thing I seem to get
spanked for. Never mind that visitors often remark how clean and lovely the
place is (and I’ll say it again – it’s a huge bloody house!); it’s never clean
enough for his Lordship.

I’ve become Colette.

Continue reading

Spelling Redux

My previous account hints at an earlier spanking for poor spelling.  Here’s the actual account, finally.

Once upon a time, many many moons ago, in 1997 when Pablo and I first started falling in love via email and posts to ASS, he wrote a story for me called  "Spelling" which was based, in part, on spelling mistakes I’d made in posts and emails to him.

For Christmas the following year he gave me a dictionary.  Though life, mine anyway, sometimes imitates art, the dictionary wasn’t used in the following real life story.

Continue reading

Fantasy… meet Reality

It seems that a lot of our musings about the discipline lifestyle have to do with reconciling fantasy and reality. May I gently shove you all in the direction of this fascinating post  by DykeGrrl, where she explores the difference between spanking relationships in her various stories and her own life with her very real wife.

While you're at it, take the time to read about the poor girl's punishments in the surrounding posts; she does suffer so. 🙂

P.S. I do, in fact, have an actual punishment to tell you all about, but not before I do a lot more work than I've been doing in the last week. Stay tuned.