Category Archives: Slice of life

Listening & Leading (or sometimes, topping from the bottom is okay)

We were together on the bed not so long ago, doing what we do very well. Canoodling, I called it once, and Chris laughed at the word but agreed. Sometimes it is foreplay, and sometimes not. It is touching, often naked touching. Sometimes there is spanking.

It'd been about a week, because of one thing and another, and I'd sorely missed his time and attention. In addition to my own woes, I was under a work deadline (finished 2:30 this morning, yay!, waiting for feedback now). And I have a bit of a cold coupled with a nasty cough. Chris has just started another semester of graduate school and the subjects addressed in these courses promise to be of a pertinent and absorbing nature for him. He has a new toy and is busy getting iTunes behaving properly instead of me.

And, he'd been to the gym that evening.

You know, in and of itself, that's not a problem. Except his particular fitness facility is filled with college co-eds, most of whom have been worshiping at their own altars since puberty and are exceedingly conscious of how they look. Everywhere. I've seen them.

So he comes home and tweets this sentence while grilling dinner: "Saw a great pair
of shorts at the gym today. Well, wasn't so much the shorts as what was
in the shorts. Or rather partially in the shorts."

For some reason, it hit me the wrong way, you know? Now, I'm not a jealous person, normally, although I've had my moments, and my jealousy tends to focus on things rather than people (i.e. that video game, that volunteer opportunity that takes 40 hrs of your week outside of work, that iTouch you're playing with when I'm in the room trying to have a conversation with you, etc). And, as Chris pointed out later, I'm generally just as likely to point out that cute bum before he even notices it. Generally.

So we're canooding, and he's got me all tucked up against him.

Intending to confide, I told him that I'd been jealous about the girl whose bottom was half-displayed by her shorts, presumably intentionally.

He was honestly surprised, and why shouldn't he be? I'd normally not care a whit. But "I haven't felt very sexy lately," I reminded him, proceeding to cough up a lung into my pillow.

Chris gathered me up in his arms and muttered against my ear. "I should hairbrush you for that."

And here's why this blog entry is on Punishment Book… because if he had hairbrushed me, it wouldn't have been a nice little loving spanking with a hairbrush. No, it would have hurt. It would have felt like punishment, and he would have intended it to be painful. I don't think the momentary reaction of jealousy would have been included in why he wanted to hairbrush me then and there, but the feeling that caused the jealousy – the feeling and sense that I was undesirable – would have been what he was punishing.

He doesn't like it when I express self-doubt. I believe there is a standing rule around here that if I ever say "I'm a terrible mother" again, I'm headed straight over his lap with the ebony hairbrush, no ifs ands or buts. I know this and how he feels about my expressions of internal angst and self-loathing.

And yet, I need to be able to confide in him and tell him my fears and my hopes and my needs. If I can't confide in him and trust him to make it better, then who else is there to turn to? (Nobody, not like that, and my heart would break or ice over, and I would withdraw emotionally and probably sexually.) And if I can't confide in him and trust him with my whole heart and not just the stronger pieces of it, then are we really as strong as we believe us to be?

But, if he can't punish me for fear of breaking that trust, am I manipulating things to get my own way? And is, as he pointed out in very pertinent ways much later, my backside really his to do with as he pleases if he can't hairbrush me without risking a silly breakdown? Should I be repressing all of those feelings so that he can hurt me at will and way? Should he hurt me at will and way even if he risks those silly breakdowns, just to prove the point that he can and that he's unhappy with me?

In the end, this is yet another reason why our relationship is not a simple Top/bottom arrangement, and why Chris must be (and is) a listening leader. It's a symbiosis … and that's probably best. He didn't spank me, but listened to the tremors in my voice when I pointed out that hairbrushing me would discourage me from, in the future, telling him when I was upset. I did suggest he arrange for a hairbrushing on a different night. I even suggested (for more selfish reasons!) that he combine it with bondage. And the moment passed without tears or recriminations or the hard spanking he wanted to give me.

This morning, I'm still confused as to why I was jealous.


Thank you, Chris, for not forcing the hairbrush. And thank you, for listening when I said to please not. I don't think it would have worked out quite the way you intended – then and there in that moment, I think it would have escalated it instead of purged it as you intended – but I know you could have. And you know I wouldn't have stopped you, if you'd insisted. So thank you.

Open Door – Juggling Kids, Honesty and Disclosure in a Kinky Household

Parenting kids in a kinky household really is different. I suppose everyone experiences parenthood differently, but I think kinksters definitely have unique challenges.

Our kids have been raised in a very non traditional environment.  I
don't think that will really come as a shock to anyone who knows much
about our family. First, they were exposed to polyamory from their
earliest memories. There was always Mommy, Daddy, and, from the time
they were 4 (almost 5) someone else. I wasn't the first person either
of them had in their lives seriously, either. It has always been
perfectly natural for them to see multiple people loving each other and
sharing affection.

They also see evidence of our dynamic. Both CC and I always called
him Sir, and I still do.  When they were very small they actually
thought it was his name. We also slept on the floor, each with our own
beds on the ground next to Daddy's. Again, I still do this.  They've
never thought of it as sleeping on the floor of course, they think,
"Daddy's bed and bridget's bed."

Yet, for all this openness we've
always tried to be very careful about crossing age appropriate lines.
They never see or hear us play. They aren't aware of the specific
sexual dynamics that exist between us. In fact, when CC was pregnant
with the little guy they told me they consider all three of us to be
"married" and then hastened to add, "But you and Daddy don't have
sex… right?" At the time I told them they really needed to talk to
Mommy and Daddy about that.

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I've had this plan for a while now to write about topics other than
specific punishments. There are a lot of things that float around in my
head and some day I will have some spare time and be able to actually
sit down and write about some of them. I was just thinking this week
that I needed to make time to write a post for the PB.

From now on I am not going to allow myself to think this thought. It clearly jinxed me. I fear this will be especially long winded story telling, but the back story really does lead up to the conclusion.

My old nemesis has returned, and it's name is toilet paper. Yeah, really. Running out of TP is Master's biggest pet peeve and it's gotten me into trouble in the past. In fact, it is the only offense I can ever recall being punished for more than once. Two nights ago mark the third time I've been punished for it.

This was especially hard for me because there was a guest in attendance. Master is dating someone right now. They've been seeing each other since October.  We'll call her J. She is wonderful and I hope to
see great things from this relationship. However, last night her
presence worked against me because she used the last of the toilet
paper in the main bathroom and there was no spare under the sink.  Her
natural response was to come out and say, "I am going to steal toilet
paper from the other bathroom." Master's natural response was to give
me the look of death.

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Unresolved: Establishing Authority

I wrote this to post over at This Thing We Do Forum, and then thought that it would be a useful post for the Punishment Book as well. I also want to encourage people–especially tops, we REALLY need some tops over there–to check out the forum and join in the discussions there, if they are so inclined. It’s a pretty great place, or so the people who are members keep telling me. 🙂

W asked me to post about this, although I admit that I can’t remember all of the specifics of what she wanted me to say. So I will go with my best memory, and add some things from my own perspective, and we’ll see where that gets us.

We have been struggling for a while with W establishing her authority. I am frustrated. I feel like either I’m making myself follow the rules and behave–which undermines my perception of W’s authority, because I feel like I’m the one in control of what happens, and whether or not we get into fights. Or else I’m breaking the rules, and causing W to respond to my behavior–that kind of topping-from-the-bottom thing, which makes me feel like I’m still the one in control of the situation.

W, on the other hand, is frustrated because she feels like she *is* establishing her authority. From her viewpoint, either I’m following the rules, or I am breaking the rules, and she is enforcing them. And then she’ll get feedback from me, usually afterward, that says, “Well, but I felt like I was the one in charge of that situation.” Which, frankly, undermines her confidence in her authority.

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Maintenance Fail…

I can't remember the last time I was actually punished for something. Honestly.

It's not that I'm perfect, but that I'm not spanked for being imperfect. We're all imperfect. So fouling up Chris's lunch or forgetting to get the car washed or not doing the laundry do not garner punishments. Chris gets serious if it affects the family's health, the family's safety or putting shredded paper in the canister without bagging it first. Otherwise, he's just as likely to indulge me as not.

I'm perfectly happy with that.

The thing is, discipline – punishment – has been part of my quirky head for as long as I've had it. A variety of fantasies have provided me with dream fodder for decades now, and I'm not ashamed to say that in the days that preceded a real, live disciplinary agreement, the whole notion of being punished was a lot more rosy than reality. In my dreams, I'd misbehave a lot more and get spanked a lot. In reality, I misbehave very little and get spanked a lot.

So for a few months now, I've been pondering … and I think I have to conclude that mock punishments and maintenance ('just because') spankings are no longer enough of a substitute for discipline. And, I have to say, I'm not entirely happy about that. It doesn't seem quite right that I should be jonesing for punishment, simply to satisfy some sulky petulant corner of my brain. It doesn't seem fair to me or to Chris, and as really pushing his buttons means needlessly endangering someone or something, it really isn't fair to our home and family.

Add in 4-6 days of enforced neglect from regular reinforcing intimacy and I have been ripe for challenging Chris in the last two evenings.

So last night I took our daughter's 50-cent disk shooter off the bureau, where I'd left it after confiscating it from her, and shot it just past his head. It hit the wall behind him, but he did stop talking mid-sentence, grabbed me, and dragged me over his knee for 5 minutes of hard spanking. I remember dimly hearing the words "You're asking for it, aren't you?" I don't really remember answering.

Tonight, after he studiously and deliberately ignored my three hints that he might want to do the dishes, I took an ice cube from the freezer and put it in the back of his shirt. I'm sure I had a good reason – maybe to get him to pay attention, as he kept ignoring me. Or maybe to get him to pay attention to me? In any event, when he very clearly told me to remove it from the back of his shirt and said he'd had enough, I did remove it.

And then pushed it down his pants so it slipped between his ass cheeks.

Of course I got spanked for it, later. When the princess was asleep and the house quiet, there was a paddle and a strap. Perhaps the playfulness of it all has gotten to me too, because I didn't have to fight off any guilt. Pain, yes. Guilt, no. Not even much repentance, honestly.

I've never really been a brat. I doubt I've bratted like this since well before the princess was born. Even Chris asked me what had gotten into me. I'm worried that I'm trying yet a new way to get what I want from him on a nearly constant basis – his dedicated, focused, energized attention.

I suppose this is one of the problems of taking a fetish and turning it into a working, living relationship. There's no question that discipline helped me master the concept of locking the doors to our house, or taking care in the sun. I'm more careful about what I do with a cell phone in the car, too. There's also little question that I pursued a disciplinary arrangement with Chris because I thought it would help me prioritize his needs and desires more, and I think that it still mostly has that effect. But I can't and won't deny that I also found the whole concept of a disciplinary relationship sizzling hot. It pushes nearly every power-exchange fantasy in my head and feeds my sexuality with instantaneous arousal.

I'm afraid that spanking me 'just because' isn't a preventing sort of
spanking anymore. But if it doesn't work, what will stop me from
pushing again and again and again?

Tears at Bedtime

What Happened: I got spanked at bedtime last night.  It wasn’t especially hard (a bare-bottom, over the knee hand spanking) but it included scolding (I had stayed up later than I was supposed to, even after being reminded to go to bed) and went on long enough to hurt.  Not a lot, not like a hairbrushing, but enough so I started feeling very sorry (okay, mostly for myself rather than my actions) and telling, then begging Paul to stop.

sailor-suitThat doesn’t work.  As I was reminded, I don’t get to decide, just as it wasn’t for me to decide that I didn’t want this spanking.  I hadn’t wanted it either — by the time he took me otk, I was tired, even over-tired, and wanted to go sleep.  Plus it was late enough and quiet enough that I thought the spanking could be heard from the street.  Our window, you see, was open because I hadn’t expected this.

Then it happened, and not for the first time. My whiny frustration at not being able to get away, at the spanking that continued and I wanted stopped, at not ever feeling like there was enough time for anything rushed together with the frustrations of the day and guilt at being scolded and for ignoring Paul, I burst into racking sobs.

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Course Corrections

My Master is going to beat me.  I don't know exactly when, and I am
not even 100% clear as to why. Yet, it has become clear to both of us
that this is what is going to happen. We both need to clear the air.

I'm terrified. I haven't been seriously beaten in a very. long. time. 

It makes sense, our dynamic has more or less taken a backseat to the
events of the last couple of years. First, Master and CC were changing
and having issues and most of the focus was there. Then, they were
splitting and the focus was there. It's really been at least two years
since we've been focused on each other and our dynamic in any real way.

For a highly dramatic and whiny account of the unraveling of our poly family you can read backwards on my personal blog. For the purposes of this post, it's enough to know that CC has decided to go her own way, and the last year has been spent largely on this change in family status.

are a lot of things that are different now. I am not sure we will ever
be back to that "pure" Master and slave dynamic we had in years past,
but it's certainly a goal of ours. Running a household and supporting
each other through a painful breakup has changed things in ways neither
of us would have guessed.  It put a huge amount of stress on each of us
individually and on our relationship. There have been moments when I
was not at all sure we were going to make it together.

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Rules of the Lashes

A. finds the darnedest things while websurfing. Like this list of rules from a nineteenth-century American school — along with the number of lashes delivered should the rule be broken — in a manifesto about what’s wrong with public education. “We’re going to play a game,” he said when he first told me about the table below. “You’ll have to memorize each of the rules and number of lashes. And if you get the number of lashes wrong, you will, of course, receive that number of lashes.”

He’s not kidding either. Once he gets here next week, he’s planning a session with these rules, a cane, and me in my school uniform. I can’t wait.

Except I don’t know which will part of me will win out — the Lisa Simpson in me or my spankophilia. Indeed that’s always my problem when playing a schoolgirl: I can never decide if I want the “A” more or the spanking. However A. assured me this afternoon that there are always plenty of spankings for being a smarty-pants.

I wonder how many lashes Wm A. Chaffin would ascribe to that misdemeanor? 


Rules of the Stokes County School, November 10, 1848
Wm A. Chaffin, Master (click on the table to see it in full)

I think the biggest shocker in this list was the penalty for playing cards. I mean, why the hell is playing cards worse than betting in any other form?

(Cross-posted at Natty’s Spanking Blog)

Fear and Tawsing in Los Angeles

I got tawsed tonight.  Not for discipline, not to remind me to be a good girl, but as a punishment for not doing what I’d promised to do today.  You see, after a week of cruising along, doing more work than I’d even needed to some days (this included working after coming home from a day working on campus), I was supposed to transition to the next stage of my work. This next stage is writing.  Not writing ideas of others, but laying out my own.

caning-blockFear stalled me. Not fear of punishment, as some out there who don’t think What It Is We Do is a good for me, but my ever-present fear of not being good enough.

Instead of fighting through my fear and forcing myself to work, I let myself get caught up in the fun of the first day of fall on Twitter and the Mad4Plaid day some of us were having. (It was great fun, marred only by the gnawing guilt I occasionally (but only occasionally) experienced as thoughts of my neglected text passed through my mind. There was time for both, but I didn’t want to do the work and it didn’t get done.
That was all well and good until the clock chimed 6:00PM and Paul got home.  I looked like a good school girl in my plaid skirt and a pink oxford cloth shirt, but it quickly became clear as we talked about our respective days that I’d accomplished no school work today.  Paul spent a while talking to me, figuring out where the problem was.  It wasn’t just, as I first declared, that I didn’t do my work today. It was partly because I hadn’t thought about what I’d promised (an outline) and had no idea where to start work on the task.
We broke the problem down, bit by bit, teasing out what was insecurity and what was confusion.  And of course, the over arching issue of why I’d stopped dead rather than try and work through any of it. The talk was exhausting — any criticism of my academic work makes me defensive and cranky.  I know Paul must have to put on his best armor to talk to me about it.  We ended up curled up together on the sofa, my head in his lap.
And then he said something along the lines of “I think we need to go into the bedroom and talk about this.”


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Taking the new system for a test drive

W and I revised our system (rules, consequences, stuff like that) this week. This was a planned revamp, because we discovered things need to get tweaked on a regular basis, and we had hoped it would work better to plan to do this, rather than just waiting until things jam up and then fixing it when it's in a mess.

The title of the post is my face-saving way of saying that in spite of knowing that 1, W has gotten fairly consistent with enforcing the rules, and 2, that the new consequences could easily be far more severe than W would get on her own, I still felt the need to break rules this afternoon.

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