From Top To Bottom


I was reading on Erica’s blog her thoughts about Tops and Bottoms, about switching and not wanting to watch male Bottoms get spanked. The discussion got a bit heated and I found that fascinating because even as I was reading what Eric wrote I found myself feeling very strongly on the subject. I was just like the few others who got a bit tense. Most people behaved well, only a couple got tetchy, and I was well behaved. But it took effort for me to do that. I went from totally calm to all tense and jumpy, and that reaction fascinates me.

We were not talking about abuse or injustice (and in fact those topics make me calm because I believe calm is the only thing that helps victims of those things) only about a variation on TTWD. So why was I so uptight?

I know we all have our own preferences and there is no reason why this aspect of our lives should be any different. I think no matter what our likes and dislikes are, when we express them some people feel hurt and judged, and that is in no way my intention here. I will write what I feel about different ways of doing TTWD and I worry that this may hurt some people but that is in no way my intention. I have worked hard to express myself here in a way that will not cause unhappiness to others. By writing this, I am trying to work out why these feelings are so strong.

I don’t understand switching. (Not the use of a switch which I think is just mean and horrid but rather the swapping from Top to bottom and back again.)  I think switching is neither right nor wrong, but a way of doing and being that I find it hard to understand. I think that may be because for me being spanked and told off is a way I live, and I need to see the Top in my life as being in charge of me. We have an intense relationship. I don’t want to think of him being spanked because that would reduce my trust in him. Is that silly? I don’t think so because I want to look up to him all the time. I don’t think he is perfect and I know he makes mistakes, but I do not want him to be accountable like I am accountable. The thought of him being told off, let alone the physical aspect of it, makes me shudder and turns me off utterly. I do not know why that is but I feel it deeply.

It does occur to me that switching is quite a natural way for a couple to be. Sometimes the husband is in the right and sometimes the wife, that is the normal pattern of things. But still I find the subject causes me stress and makes me more uptight than it should.

If my lover switched I would hate it for many reasons. I think I would feel too far below the bottom of the pile. I do not want to be a bottom’s bottom.  I feel too emotional about it. I like the linear structure of the relationship. I like the faux traditionalism, the “father knows best” aspect of it. I like that he is stronger than I am and taller. I like that he always wins; that  gives me tremendous comfort, and the idea of losing that makes me feel sad.

I can see how switching may work for people at parties. (“So I got caned by him and then I thought I would try it so I caned her.”) I also think there are people who live full time as switches and this makes them happy and relaxed, just as the way I live makes me happy and relaxed. I do not understand that for a moment. I also do not understand how light splits up into infra red and ultra violet. It goes on happening though.

I know all of this, so why does the idea of switching bring up such a strong response for me?  Part of this must be to do with empathy. I cannot help but put myself in the part. Am I expected to switch or to be topped by a switch? Of course not, but the feeling of that pressure does lead to a feeling of anxiousness.

That may be increased by the way I am within TTWD. I am still new at it and the way that TTWD manifests itself in me is that my feeling of being new, innocent (ironic, huh?) and open is increased. I love the change I feel but it means that I am very affected by new things and new ways of being. Simply my being a bottom and open to the leadership of Himself I am more affected by what I hear about others. It is part of my way of living that makes other people’s ways feel like a threat sometimes.

As for male bottoms, the thought does not float my boat at all. I find men attractive when they are in charge and assertive, and I used to struggle with the idea of men wanting to be spanked. It was only when I read this and this by  Prefectdt that I could understand it at all. I know there are lots of men in the world and that men who wish to be spanked will not all be like Prefectdt, but in my head they will, and that means I can understand and be more relaxed around them. I know if I tried to be all Toppy with Prefectdt he would tell me to get over myself. That makes things terribly easy with him, and learning that helped me to understand something about my approach to male bottoms.

I used to (wrongly) see them as wanting to be like girls in this but I do not think that is the case. They are men, still men who want to be spanked. They are still men, still a wide variation of men and not someone who expects me to see them as just like me. We can be different still. I do not know why that matters to me but it does.

Except I have met in the past some male bottoms who would bounce up to me without introduction and want to tell me all about their last spanking and what their bum looks like. I found this to be invasive, a horrid parody of what they thought was female bonding and a kind of pervy invasion. It was too much and it mean that when I wanted to be safe and relaxed I had to toughen up and assert myself. I lost my place to be calm and happy.

But reading Prefectdt (who is not like that even a little bit) has reduced that memory. I am still anxious around male bottoms but not so much.

In the same way, Our Bottoms Burn make sense to me. They switch, which I could never do, but conduct themselves with decorum everywhere that I have read them. This makes it easy to read about them and to engage with them. I feel I can still be me while they are being them.

It is some other switches and male bottoms I have encountered expect me to be part of their lifestyle choice, and for me that causes tension. I have encountered switches who expect me to relate to them as though he or she is my Top, and male bottoms who expect me to be all Toppy around them. I just can’t fulfill these roles, and that expectation makes me anxious.  I think I have the same feelings towards male Tops who try to boss me around with no relationship already established.

I think that sums it up for me. I need very much to explore the submissive part of myself in a way that makes me happy and relaxed. I choose to do this with a male Top and in an exclusive relationship. I require space from others to do this. If I read something that turns me off then that is my problem, and I should click away from the site. But if someone chooses to engage with me then he or she cannot expect me to become part of his or her dynamic unless that suits me.

I do know that if I am expected to be part of someone else’s role play I get tense and it annoys me. I like it when there are proper Toppy men around who speak to me in a proper Toppy way, and by that I mean they conduct themselves with dignity and decorum and have that manly thing going on. I do not like it if someone strolls in and starts speaking to me as though I need telling off or, even worse, down to me.

Most of us have such strong feelings on these topics. I am starting to understand what it is that pushes my buttons and why I feel so strongly. What has surprised me very much about the journey I have undertaken is how many good people there are. I was scared to start a blog because I thought not only would I have nothing to say, and also that I would lay myself open to aggressive, nasty people, but almost every person I have met has proven to be a delight, no matter what his or her chosen role.

PS: I have just been reading about that poor couple that got bashed by all the DD haters. I then, quite stupidly, went and read a bit more. I found a site where people were talking about it and read for about three minutes and it made me feel sick. Those people were convinced that any womna in this life style is an absolute victim and abused and deluded. I am trying now to forget what I read and I know I will get told off a bit for reading something that upset me. We have to be kind to one another. That’s all.

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Posted in a world like this, amazing Top knowledge, submission by any other name | Tagged , , | 11 Comments

The End Of Summer

It is the second of September.

The summer is over.

I should be allowed to sulk with no fear of reprisal.

But I do like autumn. I am all grown up now but I always get that back to school feeling at this time of year. The smells and the feel of the air bring with them a whiff of new stationery, blank pages, new school shoes, and everything being fresh and lovely. The world brims with possibility and hope of change.

I don’t know how this happened to her. It is a new term, a new start, a new year. It cannot be like this all over again.

Hurumph.

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Posted in a girl who gets spanked, being naughty, bent over, school for grown up girls | Tagged , , | 14 Comments

Caned As Punishment

I tried to answer the question below on American Spanking Society a few days ago.

Do you believe it is possible for a “spanko” to truly be punished/disciplined by a spanking? If so, how can something they like (a spanking) be turned into something they wish to avoid? If you don’t think it is possible, than what do you think the point of so-called “discipline spankings” is and do they actually motivate BAD behavior?

I tried to do a brief answer but it was rubbish. So here is my story about what happened to me a couple of weeks ago.

I could not give up smoking. I did not smoke a lot but had the odd one when I had a drink and I did not know how on earth to stop. Himself agreed to help me and this is what he did. I have written this to him because when I started to write it came out like that.

I can smoke whenever I want and while I smoke you will say not one word about it. It is just that after each time I must pay the price. I cannot help it. I cannot believe you. I cannot make the punishment worse than the pay off of smoking and so out I go to have a cigarette. From where I stand I can see the dining table inside and I flick my head away to ignore it as well as I can. I can see you sometimes, sitting there reading or writing. It is an odd feeling, knowing that soon you will be making me wriggle and cry out. You sit so calmly. I love you for that. I love you for being so unflustered about the whole thing.  I smoke, inhale, exhale, and as the light burns down I think more and more of that table. I think more and more of that nasty cane.

After I put my cigarette out I return. Sometimes the cane is waiting for me on the table but sometimes you send me to collect it. I hate both. Today you send me and I hang my head when I go. I hate that lazy snake of a cane. Fetching an implement is not something I often do. It is a combination of shame and irritation. I don’t want to collect the ruddy thing. If you want it then you get it. To have to bring that back and hand it over like some errant schoolgirl is hideous. I feel about twelve years old. I wish myself elsewhere. I go as I am sent.

I know I am in trouble. I know exactly what I have done and I knew what the result would be. This has to be the worst moment. I stumble out of the room and go to his closet. I have a private moment there with the cane where I tell it that I hate it. It sits silently in my hands and says nothing. I don’t care if I hurt its feelings. It will get its revenge soon enough.

You tell me to bend over the table. I do so and say nothing. We have done this time and time again. I know the score and I bend before the maestro who, without a word, flicks up my dress and pulls my knickers down to mid thigh. I shudder and spread my fingers out on the table.

You spank me and tell me just what you think of smoking. You spank hard, a solid hand, an unforgiving touch. It is hard, sudden, shocking spanking. There is no lead in and no warm up. I bite my lip and watch my hair bounce in front of my eyes. I know this is going to get much worse before it gets better. I listen to what you say and I know every word is true. I am ashamed and I want you to stop. I don’t say a word because we both know you won’t stop until you have given me what I need.

I hate that I need so much.

You place a hand on my back. We have discussed this. I need that hand to keep me calm and still. I am terrified of the pain of the cane, of its whippy nature, of the wait, the sound, everything.

You don’t talk much when you cane me. You just say what you need to to ensure that I stay in position and that I breathe. I wish I could cry. It would help because two or three strokes in I am begging you to stop. I tell you I am scared. I tell you I am sorry. I hate the pause between each stroke. I hate the sound before the pain. I hate that you use a tiny portion of your strength to apply each stroke. You could do so much more if I needed it. My toes point and I dance. It hurts so much that I forget why I am there. I just want you to stop.

You stop. You ask if I need more. I hate myself as I nod. I can’t lie to you. You need to finish me.

By the end my bottom is red, swollen, and I can feel the stripes as I can walk to the corner. I feel so miserable as you leave me there. It hurts and I want you to comfort me. I want to lie on my tummy in your bed. I want you to rub lotion where the cane has stung me.

Instead you leave me in the corner with only stern words for company. I am there for an age. My fingers find each other behind my back, resting on my bare skin. That is how I am told to stand, like an errant schoolgirl. My dress is tucked up leaving me exposed and my bottom is a beacon to the world. Sometimes you are there and you tell me sternly not to fiddle. Sometimes you may be gone but I do not dare risk to turn around.  I can’t take one more swat, I can’t risk it.

Besides, you frighten me when it is like this. I like that you can scare me. I like that you have that ability. I still want to be in your arms. Only you can protect me from me; you are the only one strong enough.

Eventually you return. You send me to the sink to brush my teeth. I stumble there, aware of how you can see my naked bum, aware of how foolish I look bent over the sink with you standing behind me. I use one hand to try to cover my bottom as I bend. I think this may make me look even more foolish. I don’t care. I don’t want you to see me like this.

You hold me then, soothe me, gently rub lotion into my sore striped bottom and let me sleep in your arms.

I don’t know how many times we do this. We do it again and again, each time a kind of therapy and healing. I needed a record. I know that you were shocked when I asked you to take a picture of me. I was bent over and I had stripe upon stripe, calm in the aftermath. It occured to me that I love you. You stand beside me so solid, so filled with love that I feel  peace. I know I can depend on you to do this a thousand times if I need it. So I ask you to take a picture. I want to be able to see this when I am away from you. I want to remember just how it felt. More than that, I need to know what you see, to be able to reconnect to that humility when I need it.

You do as I ask and the sight shocks me. I could never have believed how I could be so naked. The drape of my dress over my pale back, the startling red of my bum, the almost purple stripes, all of these make me more naked than if I had stood in front of a whole crowd without so much as a handkerchief.

I can see this picture now and I know how the girl in the picture feels.

I cannot look at a cigarette without wanting to beg you to stop.

I love you. I am so grateful to you.

One last thing to my readers.

Please don’t lecture me on smoking. I don’t care what you say about it and it doesn’t work. Hearing how bad it is just makes me want to go and buy a packet because I don’t want to be that good girl. What Himself did helped so much because I could smoke as many as I wanted. He never said one word about it. That freedom helped. Please no lectures as they are likely to make me smoke.

Thank you.

And if you are a girl and feeling a bit tense then go and look at Maria’s blog- she has a delicious film clip.

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Posted in bent over, cane, punishment | Tagged , , | 18 Comments

Someone Has Annoyed Me

So I am sending that person a spanking.

I am not sending a soft spanking or a loving spanking.

No way. I am sending a proper, hard, sorting out, don’t do that again, mean, nasty, ouchy spanking. The worst one I can think of is with a bath brush- so here it is.

That feels so much better. I may have discovered a new form of therapy.

(A more normal post to be in a few hours. It is all written and everything. It is just not time yet. Meanwhile, I am going to the cinema.)

N.B I hope no one thinks Himself has annoyed me. It is not him. He doesn’t and hasn’t and if he did I would tell him and he would sort it all out and kiss me a lot to make it better. Just in case someone thought that.

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Posted in getting sorted out, punishment | Tagged , | 15 Comments

Bare Your Bottom

As requested by Rich in a comment and Himself in real life.

Living so far away from my lover there are times when he tells me to remove my knickers.

He tells me to remove them when I am in the corner which he can see. This is a very horrid and embarrassing thing. He watches me and I tug them down and he won’t let me leave them up even a little bit.


He tells me to take them off completely if I pull them back up without asking or sometimes if I am a bit uppity. It is difficult to be uppity when someone has told you to remove your knickers. It makes one a bit shy and hesitant to be knickerless. It is not just that he knows but also that he told me to do it. That is such a personal act. It makes me a little quiet to think of it.

He tells me to remove my knickers when he tells me squirmy stories but I may die of shyness if I tell you about that.

When I am with him the baring of my bum is out of my hands, with one exception.

Most of the time he does it when I am in position. I am curved over his knee, making a sullen S shape and I am sulky, angry, sorry, bratty or one of a million other moods. He may give me two or three swats and then down they come. He may do it briskly, a business like tug which I hate. It is like he does not even care that I want my knickers up; he thinks it is all his choice. I know it is but that lack of choice makes me feel so submissive and surprised.

He may do it before I end up bent over in one way or another. I stand in front of him because that is what he tells me to do and he reaches up and pulls them down. My head hangs low when he does this. Standing before him all bare is horrible and it is almost a relief when he bends me over the bed or his lap or a table.

The exception is rare but it does happen. I will write about this event a bit more at some point but for now I just want to tell you about how it starts.

I am in trouble for a specific offence. I know just what it is that I did and what the result will be. He tells me to get the cane (I have written about this properly, and I long to tell you all now, soon, soon) and to take it to the table. He further instructs me to bend over the table and put my dress up and my knickers down. That calm, lonely moment, that shame and lack of contact, that waiting and fear – all of that may be the worst time I am told to bare my bottom.


Thank you , Richard, for requesting this subject. I was surprised to find I had a gazillion pretty pictures on this topic and I have no idea why.


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Posted in a girl who gets spanked, amazing Top knowledge, being told off, bent over, bottoms, embarrassment, getting sorted out, obedience, scolding, spanking | Tagged , , , | 11 Comments