Bruising

When it comes to complexion, I'm very much your typical English Rose. I.e. I'm pale, I blush very easily, I burn even more easily (I have friends of Italian heritage who think that putting factor 8 on two times a day is plenty in the sun, I need to put on factor 30 every 45 minutes, and generally try not to go into the sun at all...).
Of course, one other downside of this is that I bruise very easily. Which is a bit of a downside when one is into spanking... it freaks out the people doing the spanking, because they can see you marking as they spank and think they are causing real pain/damage (which they're not). It also means that you have to spend several days being quite careful about where you are waving your bottom around. Now I'm not an exhibitionist, and I don't take every opportunity to show my arse to the world, but I do love swimming...
So this morning I put on my swimming costume, just to check. Nope, won't be going swimming today... and that is a costume with REALLY low cut legs! I do also have bikini shorts, which would probably cover most of the bruises, but they have a horrible habit of riding up as I swim. Revealing all those nice black bruises. Which would take some explaining.
So what to do? Stop being spanked, or persevere with the arnica cream? I think it's going to be the second option ;-)
Any other suggestions?

Thursday's spanking

This is quite long, and has not been proof read. Apologies on both counts!
You hold out your hand, and I take it. You move towards the sofa and sit down, and pull me towards you. I know what you want me to do, but I’m really not happy about it. Can’t you see I’m too big to go over your lap? I protest. You tell me to stop being silly and to do what I’m told. I put myself over your lap, resting my legs on the sofa and my head against the arm. I can feel you pushing up my skirt, but you’re leaving my knickers in place, thank goodness. You’re talking. Telling me that I have to listen and do what I’m told throughout the spanking, or else there will be ‘consequences’. Yeah, yeah, blah blah, just get on with it already, I’m not exactly comfortable here, you know.
You start in with your hand. It doesn’t actually hurt that much, but I suspect you’re being gentle with me. Just as I’m thinking this, it starts getting harder, your hand making contact with my bottom, covering all of it. You stop for a minute and ask me a question. “Which part of your bottom is the most sensitive?” Of course, I know the answer, but do you really think I’m going to answer?! I stay silent. You apply a sharp smack about half way down my thigh, and my leg rockets upwards in response. That stung! “The bit between my bum and my thighs” I mutter sulkily in response. Which, obviously, is exactly where you start smacking next. OK, I’m really starting to feel this.
You push my hair away from my face, and tell me to look at you. Urgh, I hate this bit. Spank me all you want, but don’t make me look at you while I’m in such an embarrassing position. I turn my head so it’s at least in your general direction, and half raise my eyes to yours. You tell me you’re spanking my sit spot because you want to make sure I feel this tomorrow. Somehow I don’t think you need to worry about that one. Your hand moves south and you start on my thighs…. And oh my god it hurts! I’ve never been spanked on my thighs before and I had no idea how much it stings. My legs keep coming up, I just can’t help it. You tell me to keep still, and even though my head is screaming ‘fat chance!’ I do actually try. You probably give me about five more swats on each side, and then tell me to spread my legs, as you want to spank my inner thighs. Again, much to my amazement, I obey… luckily you don’t dwell too long on that area. Instead you pause, and tell me to look at you again. I reluctantly turn my head towards you.
“So, what did we discuss about many strokes you were going to get with your new hairbrush?”
Oh crap, I genuinely can’t remember. We were talking about it on email like three days ago, do you have any idea how many emails I’ve received since then?! Then it comes to me. I hope…
“Um, twenty on each cheek…”.
“Per offence” you counter, “which makes forty”.
Damn. Well, if I’m right about this I don’t think that hairbrush is going to be too stingy, so forty on each cheek shouldn’t be too bad. You’re talking again.
“I’m not going to ask you to count out loud, but I suggest you keep count in your head, while you are thinking about why you are receiving these strokes”
Stroke number one lands on my left cheek, then two on my right, three, four, so far, so no too bad… five, six. Oh no, I realise I’ve been counting total number of strokes, not strokes per cheek, and as I’ve been thinking that thought, it’s made me lose count altogether. Well, you didn’t ask me to count out loud… A pause.
“How many strokes have you received”. Oh bugger.
“Urm, ten per cheek?” I ask hesitatingly.
“Were you not paying attention when I told you to listen and obey during this spanking?”
“Yes” I reply in a small voice. “But I lost count. I’m sorry”.
“Well, never mind, this hairbrush is not having any effect on you anyway. Go out and buy a new one please, a decent one, made of a nice, hard wood.” I protest that the hairbrush really is having an effect, though, truth be told, I’m lying through my teeth about that. At the same time I’m thinking to myself that there is no way on this earth I’m going to be buying myself a ‘proper’ hairbrush. You must actually think I’m insane. Whoops, you are talking again.
“Given that the brush is having no discernable impact, I’m going to use the belt on you instead. You will receive twenty strokes.” Wait! What?! Twenty strokes with the belt?! And there, before I can stop myself, it’s popped out.
“Evil sod!”
Silence.
“What did you just call me?” I stay quiet. You turn my head round to look at you. There’s no use hiding it.
“I called you an evil sod, but I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean it…”
“That’s six extra strokes you’ve just earned yourself. Now stand up.”
I roll off your lap and stand up. My skirt falls back into place. I’m starting to feel a little scared now. You reach over to me, and unzip my skirt. It falls to the floor. You guide me over to the sofa and tell me to bend over and hold on to the arm. You also tell me that you expect me to stay still to receive my strokes, and to count them. You ask me why I’m receiving these strokes with the belt. Despite my precarious position, the first thought that pops into my head is “because you didn’t like my hairbrush!” However, I still have some sense of self preservation, and with a massive effort I manage to swallow that answer and come up with a more appropriate one.
I can hear you undoing your belt. I’m properly scared now. You move my top upwards out of the way, and pull my knickers up into my bum crack. And then pause. I can’t bear the wait. And yet I don’t want it to start. I’ve read so many blogs and stories where people talk about the noise of the belt whistling through the air, but I genuinely don’t hear it. Or if I do, I certainly don’t register it. All I register is the sting as the belt lashes into my bum. I gasp, and my legs dance around a bit. I compose myself, and another blow lands.
“Are you forgetting something?” What? What am I forgetting? Oh. To count.
“I’m really sorry” I gabble “I was doing it in my head, I promise, I really promise, I just forgot to say it out loud!” For once I actually manage to look you in the eye, and I think you believe me, as you let it go and move on to ask “What makes a spanking hurt more?” I know the answer to this one. When it’s fast. We’ve talked about this before. I’ve told you I hate fast spankings, I find them so difficult to take. There’s just no time for me to process the pain.
“Well, these next four ARE going to be fast. I want you to try and hold as still as possible, and you don’t need to count out loud, but you do need to count in your head. Four more strokes rain down. I can’t help moving around a bit, but am able to answer you when you ask how many we have reached.
“Yes, that’s right, six. And think, if it hadn’t been for your smart mouth, you would have been nearly half way through. As it is, you still have the twenty to come that you earned. Count out loud again please”
I groan inwardly, and probably outwardly too. You start. Each stroke feels like a fire stick being slapped onto my butt. I try and count out loud, but by 11 I feel as if I’m being overwhelmed. I jump up, and away from the sofa arm.
“Back in position.”
I can’t. I really can’t do this. I tell you so. You counter that I can, and I will, and what’s more I will be getting four more to make up for my inability to stay still as you wanted.
Do I really have to do this? Bend over and hold on to that damn arm again? The fundamental answer, of course, is no. If I out and out refused to bend back over, used my safe word, you would stop. But if I did that, I would feel like a failure. So I bend again and spread my legs wider, like you tell me to.
By stroke nineteen, I really, really don’t think I can take anymore. Even though I am trying desperately hard not to cry, there is the odd tear dripping from my nose onto the sofa arm. I am determined that you will not see my cry, so I start to chew on my lip to distract myself. Another horrible stroke lands. This time I don’t jump up, just crumple up over the sofa arm. But I know by now that I can’t stay there, so I get up, and somehow get through the last four strokes. I stay holding on to the sofa. I’m not stupid enough to stand up without being told. Even I’m not that slow a learner. You move round to my side.
“Well done” you say “You know, everyone makes mistakes, even me. And looking back there, I think I’ve made one just now”. This is the part where he says I’m marked really badly, I think, which is not an issue, because I always do. Instead he comes out with “I seem to have neglected your left butt cheek somewhat, so I’m going to rectify that now. Stay in position, no need to count.” Sorry, what?! I try to stammer out something about me not minding at all, and my left cheek being able to live with being less spanked, but my breath gets taken away by the belt landing and pressing into me. I move again. And again, after each of the next three strokes. I’m learning fast though, and get back into position every time.
“I really don’t like the way you move around so much. Firstly, it’s not a respectful way to take a spanking” (WHATEVER, I think, you try and be on the receiving end of that damn belt) “but also it’s downright dangerous. I could catch somewhere or something I don’t want to catch, like your hands. So this spanking will only end when you have taken two strokes in a row with the belt and have remained as still as possible. And of course I decide what as still as possible means.”
My heart sinks, but there is no way on this earth I am going to take any more that two more with that stupid thing. I plant my feet and grip onto the sofa arm for dear life. Stroke one lands full over both cheeks. It hurts so much, but I am NOT moving. You pause, and then stroke two. Still not moving. See? I can do this.
You congratulate me, and tell me the spanking is over, but you make me stay bent over for a few more minutes (though it feels like hours) as you talk to me, remind not to be a repeat offender, and tell me that this time you were being kind to be, and if I give you back chat like that again, or move around so much next time, you will cane me. Gulp. And then it’s over, and I can get up, and you hold me and check I’m OK. And within about five minutes, I am. I’ve bounced back. Even though I can feel a painful red glow on my now very swollen rear end, I’m not subdued for long. It’s going to take more than that to keep me down. And no, that is NOT a challenge!

Simple Pleasures

I've spent the day at a local stately home, where I often used to come as a child. You can't really go inside the house itself, it being a very posh hotel nowadays, but the grounds are a beautiful place to spends a summer's day. At one point, the gardens slope down from the house to the parterre lawn, and, as I walked down the slope there were three or four children rolling down it. And all of a sudden, I remembered all those feelings that they were having now. How the slope was so big (it's really not!), and how scared you'd get standing at the top, about to roll down, knowing that you'd just go faster and faster. That thrilling feeling when you actually did it! You'd be so excited when you got to the bottom that you'd get up, run to the top, and do it all over again. That's definitely a simple pleasure!
Of course, there's probably a parallel to spanking in there somewhere, but I can't be bothered to draw it, so please feel free to come to any conclusions of your own!

Note to self

Telling someone when you are over their lap that they are an evil sod is never a good plan...
However, managing to suppress the urge to respond to the question "Tell me why you are receiving the belt" with the answer "Because you decided you didn't like my hairbrush", was probably, on balance, a good decision!
Must learn to control smart mouth...

Anticipation - the aftermath

In response to a question:

How do I feel? SORE! Trying very hard not to sit full on my bum.
What else do I feel?
Embarrassed.
Annoyed with myself for crying in front of you.
Hating myself for screwing up in the first place.
Sore.
Proud at having (sort of) submitted
Annoyed at having (sort of) submitted
Really annoyed at having cried. Not that I did, you understand.
Mad that you said I'm naturally submissive. I'm bloody not.
Annoyed that I'm so damn contradictory, even in my own stupid head.
Emotional.
Bolshy.
Well spanked. In a nice way.
Hating myself for needing to be spanked.
Hating myself for being needy.
Pleased that I got spanked.
Determined not to screw up again.
Wishing I didn't find it so hard to look you in the eye.
Grateful.
Sore.
Wishing I felt able to stop beating myself up over every little thing I do wrong.
Scared of failing.
Numb (have not moved, so bum has gone numb, phew!)
Pleased.
Pissed off with myself.

Confused......

Anticipation

I'm getting spanked tonight. For (at my own request) my inability to go to bed at a half decent hour, rendering me too tired to actually function the next morning, and for spending several hours too long on the computer over the weekend when I should have been actually doing some housework. So while I (very literally) asked for it, I'm starting to get the lovely/horrid feeling of anticipation. You guys know the one... the butterflies in the tummy, slightly sick but at the same time slightly excited feel. Wondering in your mind how bad/good it's going to be. What is going to be used. How much it's going to hurt. That feeling...
Anticipation of a spanking. You've just got to love it. Or possibly hate it...

Shadow Lane

Reading around the blogs, lots of people are off to the Shadow Lane party in Las Vegas this weekend. I'm jealous of them. For two reasons... The first is obviously that it sounds like an absolute blast, and I would just love to be there. The second is a rather less noble reason... at work I have a colleague who I really dislike. Now there's not many people in this world who really wind me up the wrong way, but this one person does. She's basically a prissy c*w with a big old stick up her butt, who needs to be taken down a peg or 27. And she's on holiday in Las Vegas with her family this week. I just think it would be the funniest thing on earth if she ended up staying in the same hotel as the SL party... So I want to be there in the hope that that dream gets fulfilled, so I can be a fly on the wall when Little Miss Prissy realises she's in a hotel full of spankos!
However, as I can't be there, I may as well just imagine it happening anyway and amuse myself ;-)

Links

There's some great blogs out there that I've been reading over the last few months that have really inspired me to start sharing some of my random rubbish (i.e. you can blame them!)
In no particular order:

A day in the life
Life in Motion
Chris's Firehouse
Lowewood Academy
New Beginnings
My Bottom Smarts
Nothing Random
The Spanking Writers
Pieces

There's loads more, but that's just some for starters! If you haven't already discovered them, enjoy!

My dream

I dreamt this last night, and miraculously, it stayed with me till morning.

Standing in front of you. Feeling ashamed. My feet turn inwards towards each other. I’m standing like a little child. My hands are clasped together in front of me, and I’m playing with my fingers. I can’t do this. You sit there. You know what I’m working up to saying, but you’re not going to make it any easier for me.
Each second that passes feels like an hour. I know you are looking at me, waiting, but I can’t bring myself to meet your eyes. Can’t bring myself to see the disappointment in them. I know my hesitancy is making it worse. I know this is part of our deal, that I come to you, that I ask you this. But it’s too hard.
I stare at the floor, at my feet, anywhere but you. My toenails need repainting, I can see. I suppose my fingernails must do as well. I glance at my fingers. All these random thoughts flick through my head. Anything to delay the inevitable.
I start to fidget, looking ever more like the naughty little girl that I have been. I can’t do it, I just can’t. Can’t bring myself to voluntarily ask for the pain. To ask for the humiliation of being bent over and bared. To hear the real disappointment and sadness in your voice when you talk to me about why this is happening. That’s the worst part of it. I can handle the pain, I can handle the humiliation, but it’s knowing that I’ve let you down that really kills me.
But the time has come. We can’t stay like this forever, frozen in time, though I sometimes wish we could. It has to happen, and it won’t happen unless I ask for it.
I stand up straight, and put my hands by my sides. Pathetic though it is, this is taking all my determination and willpower. I raise my eyes to meet yours, still sitting there, looking at me. I take a deep breath, and stutter out the words I always dread having to say. “Tom, I really screwed up. I need to be spanked, please.”

Shopping

I was in the health food shop, looking for arnica, as I've read in various places that it's good for bruising. However, I couldn't see it anywhere in the shop, so I ended up having to ask the assistant. "What do you need it for?" she asked.. "just for bumps and bruises, or are you having an operation and need tablet form?". Well, how to answer that one? I could feel my cheeks flaming guiltily as I stuttered out something about bumps and bruises, trying to prevent myself blurting out, "Well, actually I love to be spanked, but I bruise REALLY easily, so I need something to sort that out...". I think I managed to get away with it, but I was convinced if my shopping bag fell open and she saw the nice wooden hairbrush I had just purchased, the game would have been up ;-)

Consequences

Not those sort of consequences unfortunately, though there could be some of those heading my way. This is the parlour game consequences. There was a group of us at a friend's house and we played this to amuse ourselves. I'll explain the game in a minute, but the results can be very funny, and were verging on the room sometimes. Unfortunately, with an 11 year old participating we had to try and keep it clean, but I imagine this could be a wonderful game to play with a groupful of spankos!
In terms of equipment, you need long, thin pieces of paper, and pens/pencils. Each person has a piece of paper, writes the answer to the first 'question' on top of the paper, folds the top over so what they wrote is not visible, and passes the paper to the left. Everyone has a new piece of paper, from the person on their right, and answers the next question on it, and so it goes. Once all questions have been answered and the paper passed on one more time, you start to read the results.
The 'questions' (well not really) are:
A woman's name
A man's name
A place
What she wore
What he wore
What she said to him
What he said to her
And the consequence was...

E.g. Buffy the Vampire Slayer met Jeremy Irons climbing up the Empire State Building. She was wearing an Alice in Wonderland Costume and he was wearing a red leather thong and a baseball cap. She said to him 'Catch me!' and he said to her 'I'd only recognise you by your behind' and the consequence was.... well I'll let you pick your own one!.
It may look at little silly, but I promise with a like minded group of friends with similar sense of humours, you'll have a blast... and the possibilities for spanko innuendo is limitless, I would think!
Enjoy!

Being Submissive

Out with friends a couple of weeks ago, someone mentioned to me that I was very feisty. I protested loud and long about this, and have asked several other friends since "I'm not feisty am I?!" only to have them collapse in fits of laughter.
So, yes, I suppose if I am being honest, I'm feisty in a lot of situations. In fact, if I'm being very honest, I'm pretty much always like that, especially with people I know. I will be the one with the smart comebacks, the one arguing the toss and pushing the point, and generally getting the last word (gosh, I sound awful, don't I?). Yet I've noticed, with my so far fairly limited experience, that as soon as I'm about to get a spanking, I instantly become incredibly submissive. Which, to be honest, scares me a little bit. I don't actually like being thought of as feisty, for some reason it seems like a bad thing, though I don't think my friends see it like that, but like I said, I am a lot of the time, and the fact that just the mere expectation of a spanking can flip some big old "submissive" switch in my head is a little disconcerting. Don't quite know what the point of this post is, it's really only my verbal diarrhoea, so apologies!

How you know you're definitely a spanko...

When you go to a very nice London Hotel for afternoon tea (the Lanesborough, on Hyde Park Corner, if anyone is interested) and on entering the ladies toilets you see a very large wooden clothes brush on a table for use by the patrons. And instead of thinking, gosh, yes, my clothes could do with a good brush, you think... mmm, big wooden brush. Wonder if that's left there for use naughty young ladies who need to be spanked... And do you think I can get anyone to try it out for me? Yes, I think I'm definitely a spanko! Though I have to say, I blame Abel and Haron from The Spanking Writers for this developing tendency to see spanking in everything. They are not only fantastic writers, but also are able to see the spank potential in pretty much anything. So I'm blaming them for corrupting me. That's my story and I'm sticking to it!

I wonder...

I was out at dinner with some friends the other night, a married couple and another female friend. We were talking about relationships, and I was saying that I can't be doing with guys who let me walk all over them... I need someone, well, a little bit dominant, or who at least will stand up for themselves.

Now, I've always had some suspicions of these friends, but I became a lot more suspicious when she turned to him, and said 'yes J, she's feisty, just like me. She needs someone to tell her 'enough' like you to do to me...'

I'm not a betting woman, but I would probably put some money on them being into spanking.