About consent

This is just a quick note based on some comments we've had here recently.  We all freely to consent and in many cases initiated discipline / punishment relationships.

This is not a blog about wives and girlfriends who get beaten because that's the way wives and girlfriends should be treated by the men or women in their lives.  It's a real life discussion (albeit rather a slow one lately) by women who freely choose this because, for whatever reasons (it varies — just ask us, we've been writing for six years here alone) it works for us. 

How does discipline / punishment work for me?  I like it.  I like the way it makes me feel.  How does it make me feel? Focused.  Loved.  Respected.  Looked after.  Powerful.  That Paul punishes me makes me, well, feel lust in my heart toward him.  If he decided he didn't want to do it anymore, I would feel the loss.  I asked for this — I love that we have this dynamic between us, want Paul to have the power to punish me if and  when he decides to do it.

Go ahead and think me twisted or sick if you want.  But don't paint me as an unwilling victim.  I won't let you. 

Demon Torrents

[My dad is currently out of town for a week.  The plan was that I’d be spanked each night.  Nice spankings though.  Except, well, I got in the way of that lovely plan.]

criminal-mindsAs Paul reported in a not-at-all cryptic comment on Twitter:

Not meant as ooo-look-at-us, but @eltercerojo went to bed genuinely scolded and spanked tonight. Both real and surprisingly resonant.

That’s the short version.  All of it is true.  This is going to be the longer story, one maybe that will keep something like it from happening again anytime soon.  As I’ve reported repeatedly in the past, most of my being in trouble and punishments happen not because of anything willful, but because I either don’t think things through or am not paying attention to what I’m doing.

So what happened?

Last night as I was getting ready for bed, I did a final check on my computer before letting it go to sleep for the night.  Paul noticed what it was busy doing and asked me what I was downloading.

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Thoughts on the punishment – Part 1 – Ginger Figging

ginger-plugI have so much to write about last night’s punishment that instead of trying to do one of my epic posts and it taking so long that I don’t post anything for the next three weeks, I’m going to try the mad notion of breaking things up into more manageable posts – crazy talk, I know!

I have so many emotions that I’ll start off with something more simple and basic: facts and thoughts about the new type of ginger butt-plug I made.

It was not an unmitigated success, but it did have a huge successful point in that we were a lot less concerned that we were going to loose the fig inside me, never to see it again. (As happened on Kink.com a while ago!)

However, I am used to carving ginger plugs with one notched area to simulate a butt-plug – and didn’t think about the fact that this time the notched area, which is usually where the sphincter ani internus (internal anal sphincter muscle) grabs aholt of the notch in the ginger, to keep it from sucking on in, or spitting it out (And the fact that I never trusted it for the former, and it didn’t work so great for the latter is why we were trying new methods!), was used by the flange from the cut-down butt-plug, and so the big fail was that I did not make the notched area longer nor make a second notched area….

So my bottom spent the whole punishment happily trying to spit that mean old ginger root right out! (I am pretty sure that actually ginger causes the anus to spasm and expel the burning foreign object from your bottom. I get why it would try to do this, but it’s something that needs to be worked around, because figging is the best punishment in the world. More on that later.)

I’m happy to say that the one worry I had, that the plastic flange would break the ginger did not happen, although this was a thick, tough old root. (We did the world a favour by stuffing it up my bum instead of leaving it for someone to try and cook with!) I should add that because this root was pretty old, it was stringy, which was probably good for tensile strength, but also meant it was very, very strong, intensity-wise.

Mr Defeu did not have it more than one-third up my bottom before the stinging began. I knew I was in serious trouble at that point!

To sum up on the actual fig-plug: yes, cutting the flange off a butt-plug works well, and at least on thicker ginger-roots, does not break it at the notch you have to cut in to hold it there. However, that notch either needs to be lengthened to give the anus room to grab on, as well, or a second notch needs to be put on. Unsure yet which will disturb structural integrity more. I will report back after the next punishment or discipline session in which ginger is used. (I hope soon!)

Okay, more about the experience of the ginger tomorrow!


In the meantime, I just found this blog, and loved the discussion of real punishment and the emotional journey it entails: Bonnie-Jo — Life of a College Spanko

(Reposted from my blog, to share with my darling PB-ers! I’m such a dork that when I found out I was getting a punishment, one of my thoughts was, “Ohmigawd! I’ll have something to post on PB!” [blush])

Less A Woman

At some point in the last ten years, I began equating my femininity with my sexuality. I don't know when or how this happened. I suspect that Chris's concerted efforts at making me feel beautiful and sexy – often while we were doing something sexually arousing – contributed. But, in the end, the mental connection was one I made.

That was all well and good until sometime around Halloween, when gynecological issues (you may know more detail than that if you follow my twitter feed) interrupted* our sexual and spanking play. Increasingly as November went by and by, I felt more and more blue. It might have been, as some have experienced, a natural consequence of the month and season. But when December and Advent came, and my mood continued in a relatively consistent downward spiral, I started being my introspective self.

You'll notice I stopped blogging. It's because I knew what I wanted to say. I knew I wanted to say it. But I didn't know quite how. I didn't know quite how to say it without it seeming like it was Chris's fault. I couldn't quite write it down without a solution.  I couldn't imagine having to respond to the practical advice of just be patient to anyone more than my doctor and overly patient husband.  (BTW, phone call to the doctor next week, as soon as we're back in town again.) I'm still not sure I'm saying anything worth actually writing down.

You see, we weren't having sex. Or spanking. And so, you see, I felt increasingly … well, ugly. Unwanted. Unwomanly. Asexual. It didn't matter that we were being intimate occasionally. Chris does enjoy oral sex (seriously, I don't know any man who doesn't) and he was able to stimulate me to orgasm, though less so as December dragged on and on and on, and my blue-ness and depression sort of worsened.

When it came time to pack for vacation, I wasn't really excited. And I'm afraid my lack of enthusiasm for much of anything contributed to the problem – why would Chris want to be intimate with me when I must have been patently uninterested? To be sure, I was uninterested in anything:  paying attention to him, working consistently, doing housework, cooking, shopping, going to Animal Kingdom and Hollywood Studios…  And I knew why. I just couldn't do anything about it. 

As the weeks passed, and the relationship between my sexuality and my femininity crystallized. I knew what was missing quite keenly (sex, spanking, kink, naked intimacy, hormonal balance, etc) and there I was, making an effort to put a facade on for the world that Christmas was coming and that everything was cheery and glorious.

Chris and I had proper sex for the first time in nearly two months on Christmas night. It was in a strange bed, in a different state, and I was so relieved I almost cried. It'd been so long that we had to think even about the position, and clearly Chris's wrist is out of shape. Boxing Day saw a repeat. Monday was a lost cause – the 20 hours spent fighting airports and airplanes and traveling was a loss – despite the best of plans I was just happy to collapse onto my own pillow last night and Chris was already snoring.

He woke me up at 5:30 this morning to fuck my ass.

I think that might have been the best Christmas present yet.

I realized this morning that, despite a vicious cold virus, I feel almost whole again. I haven't been spanked yet (staying with family and all) though we have plans to do that in a bit when the princess is off on a playdate. It promises to be a significantly painful event, made more so by my near-virgin bottom, his itchy palm and my recent acknowledgment that a significant spanking (and other bottom-related attention-getting activities) would help balance me.

So now I am wondering how I can break this sad link I have made in my head. Clearly I am a woman, whether I am celibate or sexually active. But feeling like I am not one – or less of one than I ought to be – is clearly getting in the way of my productivity, cheerfulness and wifely compatibility.

Help!

 

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* According to WordPress, I spelled femininity, interrupted, and gynecological all right on the first try! Whee! I even checked to be sure spell check was on!

Toyland

Since I'm writing this on Christmas, the title seemed appropriate.

I've been thinking a lot this week about different implements and the images or feelings they evoke. In my mind, there are some that are very traditionally "domestic discipline" types of implements, and some that I could only put in the "S&M" category — they "feel" more like a sexualized, eroticized implement, to me, and I don't understand their appeal. Let me explain …

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Apologies

Master,

I’m really sad today because I feel like I have really failed you recently. I hope in the near future I can prove to you that I can engage and provide you the kind of service you deserve, but I can understand why you might be questioning that.

K told me today that you are out of socks, and that another load of laundry has been discovered with ink on it. I just want you to know I’m really sorry. I don’t really even have any words for the situation – every time things fall behind you run out of things, and when I try to rush and catch up things slip through the cracks like with the ink on the laundry.

This is all my fault, and I’m really sorry. I imagine you will punish me if you feel it will help, but regardless I want you to know that I want to make this situation right and I’m working on it. I want to please you, and I’m trying to adjust my habits so that things like this will happen less and less. It shouldn’t ever happen, you deserve better than that.

love,

bridget

 

PB 2010 Closing Days — Opening Lines


calendar[I got the idea for this blog post from padme’s blog (and she got it from viemoira’s who got it from — well you get the idea –) and it seemed like a fun idea. I did it first on my own blog and liked it so much I decided we should have one here too. This blog entry is constructed by taking the opening sentence or two from the first blog post of each month.]

We missed Love Our Lurkers this year, but I though the PB could offer a Thank You to our readers and also play along with this way to close the blog for 2010 and ring in 2011.  I didn’t note who wrote what because, well that’s not the point and it’s on the posts anyway.  Thanks for being with us in 2010 — I’m looking forward to where 2011 takes us.

January: 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.

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

March:  Last week (at least it was last week when I started this post) I read Jessica Wakeman’s piece over at The Frisky about her first D/s relationship and was going to write about the similarities/differences with my own first spanking relationship.

April: I’ve been organizing the books in our apartment, as they are threatening to take over the place, and I found this gem among Papa Otter’s erotica collection.

May: Crashing has a way of putting me in a very Natty mood. And last Wednesday, after a long Mother’s Day, a longer ME/CFS Awareness Day, and a trip to the acupuncturist, I crashed.

June: Dear Readers, Please be patient with me as I hash out one of the age old questions of kinky people: What is the purpose of punishment? I am sure you’ve all seen articles and opinion pieces about this before, but I’m not asking it in general. I’m asking it for myself. Why do Master and I include punishment in our relationship?

July: PB was off this month.  How shameful!

August: This is the first time I’ve written about this at the time rather than after a restart, maybe because the reason doesn’t seem quite as personal as has sometimes been the case.  We’re not doing punishment right now.

September: I am only recently starting to get back my spanking mojo after an extended hiatus for pregnancy- and postpartum-related issues.

October: Chris (of sparkle and Chris) and I have been having a conversation lately about what he as a top gets out of the punishment dynamic.  We thought it made for an interesting post, since we talk a lot about what the bottom gets out of a discipline/punishment arrangement, but we don’t hear about the other side very often (or if we do, it’s from an unrealistic Tops Are Superior Creatures perspective).

November: Today I was thinking about my first time. I guess for most people (read: Vanillas) the “first time” means when they lost their virginity. I could tell you that story but it’s boring and sad.

December: In discipline or punishment terms, I always choose the not-spanking option.

Ring out the old year, ring in the new!  And if you decide to blog your year’s opening lines, let us know!

 

 

Vote For Our Zille! 2010 Best New Spankee of the Year

zilleThe lovely blogger and model Zille Defeu (one of the charming and witty PB co-authors) has been nominated on the spankingspot.com as the best new spankee of the year.

Though I’m not sure “new” quite describes someone with the range and experience of Zille, I’m thrilled for the chance to recognize her film work and encourage you to click here and vote for Zille (or Zillie as they seem to be calling her).  I mean, look at this picture.  Doesn’t she clearly deserve it? (To win I mean.  What on earth were you thinking?)

Addendum:

Right after I hit send I thought I’d add this.  In addition to her own blog writing and modeling, Zille has done a lot in the spanking scene this year.  I don’t follow her every move (much as that might be great fun) but I’ve seen her organize the CF-CP spanking party up in San Francisco (and epic fun night) and know she’s worked as a volunteer judge for this year’s SSC contest.  She’s also attended Shadow Lane as well as UK hosted parties.  She and her partner were a great help at helping run errands for the Northern Spanking suite party at Shadow Lane.

What’s my point?  Vote for Zille not because she’s got a pretty face.  Vote for her because, in best sense of the term, she’s a good all-rounder and gives back to our scene and community.  What more can anyone ask of anyone, spankee or not?

 

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. 

 

There’s a First Time for Everything

(The following post is gonna be a LOT more … uh … *sexual, I guess* than I normally write. It's a cross-post from my own blog, and I'm not editing much. I hope that it inspires some discussion about others' first times — in spanking, that is — but I didn't want to take the sex that happened off, because it's kind of important to a post that will come later about how I began to know what I wanted as a spanko. Forgive me if it offends your sensitivities. *Hands you smelling salts and a fan*)

Today I was thinking about my first time. I guess for most people (read: Vanillas) the “first time” means when they lost their virginity. I could tell you that story but it’s boring and sad. (Well, that is, except for the fact that I actually had anal before I had the other kind but I do digress …) No, when I say “the first time” I mean spanking, of course. And that story is much more fun.

Like your average, everyday spanko, I believe I was “born this way.” We can have the Nature vs. Nurtue debate some other time, but I was definitely the kid who looked up the word spanking in the dictionary as soon as I could read; remembered every spanking scene I saw on television; and tried to just “happen by” when one of my cousins was getting spanked at a family function — which happened frequently. One of my cousins — who I spent the majority of my youth with, it seems — had a father who made a leather paddle, with holes, and hung it up in the livingroom as a warning to any children considering misbehaving.

I was spanked at home, and no, I didn’t like it — and as I discussed before it always made me feel very unloved and unwanted. OTHER people getting spanked, though, that was awesome. And we would play “House” or “School” in the neighborhood and I would always seek to be the Bad Kid … which I find odd considering how abhorrent I found actually being punished at home. But by my cute, red-headed next-door neighbor boy? Or the older girl up the street? I would tease and taunt and brat like crazy …

So, by the time puberty hit, I was pretty sure there was something seriously wrong with me. There was no Internet then. (Or, maybe there was by then but it was still being used in military or whatever the hell.) When I was 17 I discovered Letters to Penthouse at Borders one day with my high school best friend. Imagine my complete delight at the entire section for bdsm. I dog-eared the several “good” spanking stories. I still wasn’t sure that feeling I was having was an orgasm (though I’d had sex several times by then – stupid teenaged boys) but it was worth doing again anyway.

When I was 19, and getting ready to move to North Carolina for the first time (long story – but the first time “didn’t take”), I was dating a guy who was REALLY into me, and I thought he was very, very nice…

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