Tag Archives: punishment

What Makes A Punishment Take?

*There is a man. He spanks me. I don’t want to talk too much about him so I am going to call him something made up. I picked ‘Dexter’ because it means “right” and this guy always thinks that is what he is.

A couple of weeks ago I fell over. I was on top of a cliff and the view was amazing so I took great care with my steps all the way until I stepped back from the edge. I had some miles to cover and was doing my hike at a bit of a trot. I caught my foot in a tree root and had that horrid moment when one is completely airborne and knows that very soon everything is going to hurt a lot.  I landed with all my weight on my upper arm on a pointed rock. For a few moments I lay totally still and silent on the ground and when I was able I moved myself a little and the pain arrived.  There was a lot of it – and now I know how I deal with a lot of pain.

 Dear Reader, I shouted “Ow.” I shouted it as loud as I could and I shouted it for about a minute. That landing really, really flipping hurt. And not for one second did I even consider shedding a tear. I shook, I even felt a little faint and had to lie down for a moment. But not the thought of a tear came to my eye.

Physical pain does not make me cry. It can frighten me, make me angry, make me anxious and even make me sick but it does not make me cry. I am certain I share this quality with a lot of people.

I have been told that I am not easy to be in charge of. I think that may be true. I have a strong will and, again I can only go by what I have been told, a hard bottom. I am not designed for a weak man.  I am the kind of girl to raise one eyebrow and think to myself, “You had better bring your A game.” But recently a punishment took- it really had an effect on me and I want to write about exactly why it took.

I think I am writing this for Tops. I rarely write for Tops (although I am gratified if they read me and love it when they comment) but this is for them .

The reason I wanted to talk about crying at first is that some people (me included) have crying as an indication of whether or not a punishment spanking has had an impact and it may well be but not always. No matter what it is useful to separate the idea of pain and punishment, making it hurt more does not necessarily make it take more, it is a more subtle art than that. I appreciate Tops know that but it is worth considering.

The punishment that took – I can feel it now, it reaches deep into me, it stays with me. The specific thing I was spanked for I would not do again.

I want to try to describe what it is about that kind of experience

The Threat

“You are in so much trouble.”

I knew I was. I was very worried he would do something where we were. I knew he would not take my knickers down but he has been known to give a public swat and I know he would not be shy about detailing what he was going to do to me. I get very shy in public, he does not. He also makes good on his threats. He will not promise something and not do it.  I could not look at him because he scared me then.  He also is good at glares, think
Victorian headmaster. A threat and a glare followed by a period of enforced waiting start to have an impact on a girl. It is not fear of pain, it is embarrassment of someone else deciding that you are to be punished for something in their own time.

 

The Business Like Nature

There was nothing I could do once we returned to his space. He broke the cigarettes and put one in my mouth. The taste of it was surprisingly unpleasant, not terrifying but ignoble and unwelcome. He moves swiftly but without shaking. He does not make any show of nerves. I believe that he knows everything that is about to happen. He has made his mind up and I know that.  When he is like this he takes up more space than normal and I don’t want to be near him. I gravitate to the edge of rooms and forget what I normally do with my hands.

The Telling Off

I could have died. He made me stand in front on him and he made me look at him, in the eye. He held my chin and made me meet his eyes.

“You are a grown woman and you are capable of waiting for a punishment but you seem to need an immediate punishment like a child, so if you want to behave like a child I am going to treat you like one.” There was more but I am not telling you what it was. I can tell you I was spanked with myknickers around my ankles but the being told off bit makes me so shy that I want to fall over.

But right there- I was all done in. I felt so embarrassed, really just wanted to ground to take me away. He was right. And it is not how he normally speaks to me. I wanted my dignity back. I wanted not to be treated like that. Before my knickers were lowered, before he had laid leather on flesh he was going to win.

It should be noted that there was a specific focus on what I had just done (smoked in front of him) and that is the punishment that really took. He verbally linked that behaviour to the paddling that followed. I can’t imagine that I would ever smoke in front of Dexter again.

Please don’t assume you can mention something once and then spank us for it and assume we will forever link the two. Take your time when you tell us off, don’t rush this bit and don’t assume we know what you spank us for, even if you have told us before it is up to you to make us remember exactly what it is that you want to discourage.

Therefore, what I was caned for, I will not do for ages but I can imagine it happening again. The connection needs to be solid, it needs to be reiterated. Dexter assures me he knows all this so it will be no surprise to him. He will cope.

The Position

I did not realise this until recently but he has a method. I sometimes get spanked while I am laid over his knees on the bed, all comfy and safe but that never happens when I am in trouble. When I am in trouble he sits on a chair and I go over his lap and my legs and arms dangle either side of him. I really dislike being spanked like that. It means I can’t go off in my head because I have to use my arms for balance.  I feel like my bum is more exposed. I have to concentrate to keep my legs together. It annoys and scares me that he uses his left arm to hold me in place and sometimes he clamps my legs in his to make me still when I struggle.

In short, I am only ever in the position when I am in trouble and once he has me there there is nothing I can do to get out of it until he decides. Just writing this and thinking about being in that position makes me feel ill at ease.

The spanking

The paddling was only the first part of the spanking but it is the paddling that specific and stays with me. It was very hard; he has a mean leather paddle. It does not bruise me so I don’t have to worry about that.

He takes care of me; he would never harm me so I know that he is in charge and I can’t wrestle control from him by pointing out that he is doing it wrong. He can do as much as he thinks is right, there is no reason to stop. I struggled and he held me tight- he had to. He did it until I gave in and a bit further.  I remember how hard it was right from the start and I remember sincerely telling him that it was too hard that I could not take what he was doing. This did not make him stop (or have any impact) and it was this part of the spanking that made it so effective.

The follow up

Now this is going to make some of you  a bit wide eyed but the follow up was two extended periods of corner time with a very intense 30 (I think but it could have been more) strokes with the dragon cane in between.  But this is not what made it take. The caning and the corner times had to happen because he said they would.  If he had not done them then future threats would not work. I will write more about corner time and really hard canings at some future point.

I know, because he told me later, that the spanking took about 15 minutes. The corner time was very long and hard. The caning was incredibly hard. But the caning and the corner time were both follow up.

Tops,  lean in close because I am going to whisper this, the whole game will most likely be won or lost before you have even touched her.  Take your time, be specific, use your brain
and your words before you even think about using your hands.

Xxx

I would love to know what other people in my position (the spanked rather than the spanker) think on this topic- what makes a punishment take for you?

xxx

Just so you do not think me hard as nails, I can cry- this clip here can reduce me to such sobs that an unwarned observer may think my family has been accosted by evil aliens. It is from The Slipper And The Rose, a Cinderella story and this takes place after Cinderella has finally been located and brought to the palace by the Prince- this is supposed to be the happy ending.  If you need me I will be laid on the floor under a blanket- I really am committed to a happy ending. I would appreciate some chocolate.

Feel free to share:
  • RSS
  • Print
  • email
  • Add to favorites
  • PDF
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • del.icio.us
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Blogosphere

Would you like another?

Tagged , ,

The Challenge

Emily understands how people could sell their souls. There is a
kind of wanting that is so severe that the possibility of its being unfulfilled
is unthinkable. Any price is reasonable, any demands will be met, and failure is not an option.

That is why it took roughly fourteen seconds to smile at, befriend and plead with the girl at the table next to her to provide a cigarette. By the fifteenth second she was inhaling, and with her exhale came the first genuine relaxation she had felt all night.

It was a perfect moment. The gin and tonic had a neat slice of lime in it, the evening was politely cool, and the river flowed beneath the edge of the pub providing a perfect view of the city she was being introduced to.

Earlier in the evening they had walked along the edge of the river, dipping in and out of streets, finding a path to the water and back again. He had pointed out buildings that he had shown her days before from a distant hill, the major landmarks of a great city. She had tried her best to commit each detail to memory, to build an inner map; she wanted to know what he knew, she wanted to know him as he knew the city.

Emily knew that no matter what happened between them, this city would forever be him. She would see its towers and streets as tales from his life always. And as she walked she was finding her own story in this place.

The view in front of her as she smoked was an illusion. It had taken Stephen ten long minutes to explain how the river twisted behind the buildings she saw in front of her.

He had not said that at first. He had said, “That is not the other side of the river.”

She had squinted and laughed. It had taken time, but eventually she managed to wrangle meaning from his explanation. They laughed at themselves and each other, each thinking the other slightly silly for not being clearer in the first place.

 Each time she touched the glowing stick to her lips, a delicious sensation ran through her. It could have been the nicotine easing itself into her cells, it could have been the relief of getting her own way, or it could have been the final element of a perfect evening slipping into place. She briefly toyed with the idea of flicking the cigarette into the river after three drags, but realised that there was no hiding this from him. Vehement anti-smokers were always excellent detectors of smoke, so he would smell it on her. Emily’s smile slipped from her face as she realised she could not kiss him for at least an hour. It would take that long to get back to his place and to her toothbrush. No pushing herself up on tip toes and reaching for his lips, no tempting him into returning her passion.  She dejectedly put the burning stick to her lips, a poor substitute for his mouth. But still, she inhaled the smoke into her lungs and exhaled the pale cloud into the indigo night.

Stephen came back far more quickly that she could have ever expected. The bar had been busy, she was sure. He should have been at least ten more minutes.  She sat stock still, her hand holding the cigarette right by her face as she smiled at him. It took him a full five seconds to see it. 

They were good seconds, but too good to last. He looked at the smoking evidence and incredulously at her. Emily smiled a hopeful smile.

“It is a lovely evening, isn’t it?” she said. “No, you can’t …” as he reached across the table and took it from her hands. She looked briefly at the next table, “They will see …” she started and stopped as she watched him inexpertly stub the cigarette out.

He looked at her, holding her eyes with his as she struggled to free herself. After a few moments he let her go, a subtle gesture that allowed her to wrestle her eyes away from his and look at the river. It was dark inky blue now, with the yellow and orange lights of the city reflecting on its moving waters. She glanced back at him.

He had not moved. “You are in so much trouble.”

Stephen did not even bother to lower his voice, and blushing as she was she could not look at the girls on the next table for fear they had heard him.  Emily wished she could hold his hand and hide from him. She wished she could find a switch somewhere and turn him off, or down, or something to alter this part of him. She tried twice to explain why she had succumbed, but each time he responded that he did not care, and Emily let it go because she knew he would have no qualms about explaining loudly and clearly just how much trouble she was in.

And that is how she found herself later with her chin in his hand, trying desperately to avoid looking at his hard blue eyes as he spoke in a calm, quiet voice about her attitude. He told her she had been childish, and his words twisted into her. He always treated her like a woman, like the woman she had always wanted to be, and yet here he was, telling her how childish and silly she had been.

It was only then, when he spoke, that she wanted not to behave as she had. She wanted to have been better, she wanted to separate herself from the girl he described, but it was too late. He had her.

Hideously he tipped her forward, over his knee so she faced only the carpet. He always spanked her like this when she was in trouble. She much preferred the bed, where she could rest her legs and her top half in comfort. There was more dignity in that, unlike this tentative position, this (she squeezed her eyes shut with the realisation) childish position. The first strike of the heavy, long leather paddle made her screech out.

It had to be the fact that it was the first one, she thought. It will get easier.

But it did not get easier, and her position was not in the least tentative. She kicked and pushed against his calvesl she begged and bucked up and down; she cried out and tried to prise his left hand from her waist. The strokes were hard and each one burned her swollen bum. She twisted and turned as well as she could, and used all her strength to get away from his punishment.  

“I can’t,” she begged at last, “I can’t take it.”

But Stephen said nothing, abandoning words in preference for the piece of leather that was an extension of his arm.

There was more afterwards. There was much more. There was time in the corner, an ignoble waiting room where she submitted, fidgeted, raged, and submitted all over again. There was a settling of an overdue account by the cane method.

The cane was long and wicked, and the strokes were more than she ever thought she could have taken. But she took them because he would not let her do otherwise. There was nothing complex about the situation.

 But if you could have held Emily as Stephen did, if you could have let her head rest on your shoulder as he did and listened to her as he did, you would have heard her. She would have clung on tightly, tenderly whispering a thousand apologies and conciliations.

And much, much later, had you held her eyes with yours and looked deeply there, if you had silently asked what it was that had reached her, she would have blushed and smiled at the floor. She could not tell you, so deeply does the moment still hold her. She waits for the moment to release her.

She suspects it may never release her, but she does not struggle anymore.

XXX

*In two days I will write about this sort of thing, about what makes something take, in detail. I think I realised something about it all recently.*

 

Feel free to share:
  • RSS
  • Print
  • email
  • Add to favorites
  • PDF
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • del.icio.us
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Blogosphere

Would you like another?

Tagged ,

Fantasy Monday

They had been lovers for some time. She still found his imposing stature and demeanour to be so desperately attractive that it could make her forget herself. Watching him when they were out together she found herself distracted from her conversation and let the coquettish flirtation with her new acquaintance, that had so amused her for a few brief moments, flicker out and die.

The man she flirted with was intrigued at first, and then realizing that he had all but disappeared from her awareness, smiled at a friend across the room and excused himself, leaving her to her own thoughts. Her lover saw this, caught her eye, and tutted at her. Blushing, she lowered her eyes and quietly gasped a breath, and experienced a feeling somewhat short of shame.

Two hours earlier she had sat at her dressing table with her lover standing behind her, his fingertips resting lightly on her shoulders, his eyes on her face in the mirror. He was ready for the party and looked dashing in evening dress, and normally the difference in their clothing, her in stockings and a slip, hair all done up, would have made her rest her small hands on his and lean back for a kiss. But there was no time, and there was tension in the air.

She flicked her eyes at him with annoyance.  When he told her to remove her slip and role her stockings down to her knees she whimpered pettishly.

“But you will muss me all up,” she said. “I just need five more minutes and I’ll be ready, and if we do that I’ll have to start all over again.”

She slammed a perfume bottle on the table.

‘Men can be so thoughtless, so utterly useless. They have no comprehension of the pressure we are under. I have to look good. I have to be seen as good enough for him.’

The fear she felt about the evening, about bitchy comments from ladies who saw their age difference  and the difference in their status, her with no money and no family and him with her and not their own daughters.   Those ladies assumed her to be a nothing, worse than a nothing, she was an interloper, a thief, a cuckoo in the nest.  Those ladies and their vicious   whispers preyed upon her, a Greek chorus around her while she dressed.

She sat still. He stood still. There was a brief détente before he came to take her into the mood that he chose for her.

That is how she found herself, naked but for her stockings and a bow in her hair, in the half-light of the schoolroom. Their relationship had its quirks; that they had a schoolroom was simply a manifestation of their particular type of love.

He stood in the half-light of the single shaded desk lamp, cane in hand, and watched her. She shivered a little in the cold, but he knew it was the embarrassment more than the chill in the air. He watched as the haughty defiance left her,watched it become the honest fear of another’s judgment, and finally reach a more permanent truth.

All she felt now was the shame of being seen this way by him, the only true source of authority in her life. When he saw the change, he called her forward and positioned her, bent over his wooden desk, breasts on the smooth wood, light against the dark.

Soft instructions about how apart to place her legs and how to arch her back whispered like moths in the dark, and gathered along her flushed cheeks and made them glow even brighter.

A light hand on her back, he swept into her rounded bottom with a cane. The pain was only mercy, as it drove all except thoughts of him from her mind. She called out with each stoke, and each time he let her, never forbidding her the release. Line did not cross line, but rather sat close to one another, expertly placed by the man who knew just how to impress her.

And it was this moment they both remembered, when he tutted at her hours later. She dipped her head and bit her lip. The ladies passing shook their heads in unseen disapproval at the beautiful young woman, dressed in her finery  who did not notice them and only had eyes for her lover.


Feel free to share:
  • RSS
  • Print
  • email
  • Add to favorites
  • PDF
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • del.icio.us
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Blogosphere

Would you like another?

Tagged , , ,

Good Day, Bad Day, Great Day


Just in case you thought I was getting too esoteric – I thought I would tell you about my day.

I woke up and knowing I had the day off, I ate porridge and snuggled my dogs.

I drove into town to buy an outfit for a party tomorrow night- a party which will filled with stunning people and then me, not stunning at all. I walked from shop to shop in increasing despair. There are some ghastly clothes around at the moment, lots of big sixties prints, yuk! I eventually gave up and tried on a cowboy style shirt which is supposed to look cool and sexy. I looked at myself and decided that I would have to crash the car on the way to the party. I explained to the shop assistant who, to her credit, agreed that the shirt looked like someone who hated me very much had dressed me.

But this being the kind of shops that has personal shoppers, a very kind lady suggested that rather than crashing my car (which I was not keen to do after losing my last car in a fire) I try on another outfit. I explained that I had been hit with the ugly stick and there was no saving me. But she … wait for it ladies … brought me a dress two sizes two small for me that I had looked at longingly and dismissed (mostly due to the two sizes thing.) She said, “Try it.” and me, being an obedient girl, did as I was told. It fit!


And then … wait … it was supposed to be £85 which is a lot for a Friday night party but I thought, heh ho, cheaper than the excess on my car and it was on sale which no one knew until I started to pay. It was  (drum roll please) £25.

Two sizes below what I thought I was and £60 off. Happy Poppy.

Then I drove home and my computer stuck two fingers up at me and told me, “Hah! I am filled with viruses and I will eat all your words.” I was unhappy and tense. (This is called understatement by the way. I have thousands of words on here, stories, a half written book and about 5, 000 pictures. And that is before I even think about all my work stuff.) I put a program on to hunt out the little devils and went to see how much I could hurt the treadmill in a head-to-head-combat-to-the-death battle. The treadmill won but I gave a good fight.

I made dinner and with a great knife the cost lots of money, I almost cut the top of my finger off- the knife hit my nail which saved a lot of extra fuss and mess.

And then, and this is the best bit, I was a bit (very) grumpy and I spoke to Himself and he told me off. You know the kind of telling off when you think you might cry, you shrink down into yourself and you hold your own hand?

He lowered his head and his voice and did that with Toppy bells on. He told me not to be so stubborn (I was being) and to stop minding other people (I had been) and to mind him (I had not been.)


It was like being in a dark, dank, yucky place and being picked up in a King Kong style and put down somewhere much prettier and when I said, “But …” and looked longingly back at Miseryville I was told very firmly that I was to stay where I had been put.

Tops, I need to tell you this.

We need you to tell us what you think. If you are in charge of one of us and we are being naughty and difficult it does not help us if you are super patient and kind. We do not want to be always in charge of us. We do not want to be the one setting the tone. I know good manners tells you to listen endlessly and to mollycoddle us but could you please stop?

We do not like being told off but it can help us feel much, much better.


Calmly and firmly tell the one you are in charge of how it is and how it will be. It is not a bad thing if we cry and it is good if you see us shrink down a little bit. You are the one that makes a bad day great. You are even better than a dress that is two sizes smaller that you thought you were with £60 off.

Just so you know.

(Girls, if you get told off, it so was not my fault. I do not know how they come up with these ideas.)

((I may get told off for writing this late at night but I had to. It popped into my head and it would not let me sleep until it came out. Please don’t tell me off for it.))

Feel free to share:
  • RSS
  • Print
  • email
  • Add to favorites
  • PDF
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • del.icio.us
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Blogosphere

Would you like another?

Tagged ,

The Cat Is A Brat

PSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSStttttt.

I wrote something I am rather proud of and you can find it here.

Tee hee But he did as he was told. I think he should get away with it. I like that cat’s style. Catwoman could be a role model to many of us. Isn’t she pretty? I think she is much more attractive than Batman. He should never have been able to outfox her in the series. She can run rings around him. I have no idea how this could ever happen. I think that is why it is drawn and not a photograph. Batman would never be able to do this.

Feel free to share:
  • RSS
  • Print
  • email
  • Add to favorites
  • PDF
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • del.icio.us
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Blogosphere

Would you like another?

Tagged ,