Guys look away now

This is a question for the girls.
Does your menstrual cycle affect how much pain you can take? Ever since my disastrous encounter with the hairbrush of doom, I've been wondering quite why it was so damnably awful. I have read in a few places that a woman's pain threshold varies during her menstrual cycle, but I've not really been spanked enough yet to be able to draw any correlations as far as my own reactions are concerned. So I'm asking the more experienced of you out there. Do you have days where you just can't take the pain? And if so, have you ever looked at when those days are in relation to your menstrual cycle? I would really like to get a handle on this so I know that at least if I am having a particularly bad time, there might be another reason apart from the fact that I am, fundamentally, a wimp!

Wow, need to get better at answering that one...

I told a vanilla friend about my new found interests the other night. She's actually the third friend I've told and one of these days I will get round to writing a longer post about telling them.

Anyway, she was generally very cool with it, but we were sitting there chatting and she said 'I don't get it, you're always such a wimp when you fall over or stub your toe or something. When did you start liking pain?"

"Well, actually, I don't like the pain at all when it's happening. In fact, when I'm being spanked, in that moment, I would give quite a lot for it not to be happening, because it HURTS!"

"So why do you do it then?"

Ummm...

Cue quite a lot of waffling from me about how it's the scene I enjoy, the anticipation, the dynamic, the not being in control, that lovely warm afterglow that you can feel the next day as well. I don't think she really got it though. I definitely need to come up with a succinct answer if I'm going to insist on carrying on coming out to my vanilla friends!

Forgiveness

I hesitate to write this as it sounds a little over dramatic, but probably one of the hardest things I have to learn to do in this life is forgive myself. I have no problem with forgiving other people. I believe life is too short to go to bed on an argument, and I will pretty much always make the first move to patch up something that has gone wrong between me and someone I care about. Though I try very hard not to get myself into a situation where something would go wrong anyway.
Forgiving myself? That's a whole other thing. Things that I would forgive other people for in a heartbeat take weeks and weeks for me to accept and move past if I do them. I will endlessly mentally beat myself up over the smallest thing. Not very healthy.
Tonight, though, I might have had a bit of a breakthrough. Those of you reading the comments and post of the last day or so, will have noticed that I had been rather stupid. I kept this blog a secret from someone who mattered to me, and whose trust and opinion I valued. When I eventually told him, he was understandably upset. I was probably more upset. I was so, so angry at myself for having kept it a secret. I spent a fair amount of last night crying, and struggled at work today to not keep going over it in my head again and again. I had to rush off to the toilets a couple of times to mop up the tears. I didn't think there was any way I could get past the guilt of knowing I'd screwed up. I knew I would be punished, and that it would be more than deserved, but I didn't think it would enable me to put the incident behind me.
It turns out I might be wrong. I'm currently sitting on a *very* sore bum. It was a fairly long punishment, and it was a hard one too. I tried my utmost to stay in position, as I knew everything I was getting was fully deserved. I was mostly successful as well.
And then it was over. And we talked. And by the end I felt, I don't know, lighter? And I can read the post and not burst into tears, but look at it a bit more objectively and go "yes, I really mucked up, but it's been dealt with, and maybe I shouldn't obsess over it for the next three weeks". If this is what forgiving myself feels like, it's a nice feeling. I may have to try it again.

I screwed up...

G.

I'm sorry. It's as simple as that.

I know... I know... I *know* I should have fessed up. I should have been honest about the existence of this blog from the start. But I just didn't tell you... shyness, embarrassment or whatever, and then it sort of reached the stage where it was too late because I should have told you way earlier. So then I didn't want to tell you even more. And then people started linking here, so I freaked out that you might stumble across it if you ever read of the blog links I sent you when you asked for them last month. I even asked someone not to write a post about this blog, just in case...

So it basically got to the stage where I was too scared to say anything, until I realised I'd rather just tell you and get it over with. I'm sorry for not telling you earlier. I know you have every right to be seriously annoyed, especially given our conversation on Internet usage, and my failure to say anything about this blog at the time. I also know that I shouldn't have put conditions on telling you this "little" secret. I accept I'm very much in the wrong here.
I'm cut up with guilt right now. I don't know what the best thing is to do to fix this.
I know this probably also isn't the post that you requested me to write, but it's the one that came out.
Sorry.

E.

Lochgelly

Browsing on Wikipedia, as I am wont to do during those moments of boredom at work (i.e. often!), I ended up looking up Lochgelly, home of the oh-so-famous Lochgelly tawse. I was charmed to discover that Lochgelly is apparently next to the village of Lumphinnans. Now to me, that sounds like the after effect of a competent application of a Lochgelly: "Oh, I've got a bad case of the Lumphinnans on my bottom after that tawsing!"

Yeah, yeah, I know... I said I was bored, didn't I?!

Fear

There's a new blog out there that I'd like to point you in the direction of. Freshly Spanked is written by two freshers off to university, Smudge and Irelynn, and so far they are proving themselves to be great writers. Smudge wrote a post about how a childhood experience with a cane (not BEING caned, I hasten to add!) had given her a lifelong fear of them, and how she was now plucking up the courage to ask Abel, from The Spanking Writers to give her a "proper" caning, in a sort of kill or cure scenario. I am absolutely full of admiration that she has the courage and maturity to try and overcome such a deep-seated fear.

Reading her post made me think about how I should react to my much more recent 'fear generating' experience with that stupid hairbrush. I wrote in that post about having basically had a bit of a meltdown after the hairbrush had been used, and having to stop everything. What I didn't write about was how much it affected me afterwards. The whole experience completely threw me. I cried on and off for two days. I don't know what it was that got to me so much. Was it the reaction to the hairbrush? Was it having to stop afterwards with the crop? Was it the feeling of failure, or that I couldn't understand how I could take so much one week and so little the next? Was it instead the feeling of having completely lost control, both in a physical sense to someone else, and an emotional sense with my reaction? Whatever it was, it put me into a pretty bad place for a couple of days. And it still puts me into a bad place thinking back on it.
We've met up since then, it's been fine, painful, but lovely ;-) I've had 20 with a tawse and six with a cane one evening, without having another emotional meltdown, so I know *I'm* back, and that this is what I enjoy.
But... I still can't put that evening out of my mind. The idea of that hairbrush now doesn't just scare me, it makes me feel sick, terrified, wanting to cry. Actually crying. The emotional associations with it now are not pleasant, and I have no desire to go back to that bad, dark place, and I wouldn't imagine he has any desire to take me back to it. I've told him that stupid piece of wood is *completely* off limits, and is staying that way. He seems to have accepted that. For now.
Reading Smudge's post made me think though. If she can be that brave to face her fear head on, and deal with it like that, maybe I should be doing the same thing. Instead of letting the hairbrush be associated forever more with the dark place, maybe I should get it out and give it to him again and see whether things are different this time. Maybe they won't be. Maybe it will be a disaster and I'll spend another two days lost down my own little rabbit hole. Or maybe it won't, and it will turn out that this knot of fear I've built up inside me is completely unfounded and it's not a big, bad, scary piece of wood. It's just a hairbrush.
I'm not making any decisions just yet, but it's food for thought, so thank you Smudge.

Submission, again.

Sometimes I find myself in the situation where on an intellectual level I know I deserve the punishment that is coming to me. I know that I have violated the rules that I put in place and that I want to live my life by. In effect, I know I've let myself, and potentially others, down. So I know I deserve exactly what I'm about to receive. At least intellectually. So why do I find it so hard to submit and accept that punishment gracefully? The sheer act of bending over or going over someone's lap is at once exhilarating and terrifying, and is also very submissive. You bend over in the knowledge that what is about to happen will hurt. A lot. That it is unlikely to stop when you are ready for it to stop, but my well carry on considerably passed that point. You know that you may cry, and will certainly struggle to stay in position. But you also know that you deserve it. At least, as I said above, intellectually. So why do I struggle with that act so much. Why do I struggle not just to bend over, but to mentally submit? Even though I know that I ask for this, and that I'm a willing participant in the unfolding game, I often feel very far from submissive. I feel rebellious. I feel annoyed. I feel angry at myself both for making the mistakes in the first place, and for submitting. I certainly don't feel contrite until a long time into the punishment. Yet I *want* to submit, to be contrite. I don't want to be in that resentful headspace. I want to be accepting. But it often takes me a long time to, in effect, give in to the pain and give in to the event. I need to find ways to submit on an emotional level from the start. If for no other reason than if he's not trying to spank me into submission, if I am already on the way there, it might mean a little less attention to, and pain for, my rear end...!

Bookshop dreams

I was one of those children who scoured their reading matter for hints of spanking, fascinated by the whole dynamic of corporal punishment. I was also an avid reader of school stories, Mallory Towers, St Clares, The Chalet School etc. and was always secretly a little disappointed that there wasn't more spanking action, though if I remember correctly there was a little bit of parental discipline in some of the Chalet School ones. I still have them buried away somewhere... must get them out and check!

Anyway, wandering slowly back to the point... I had a dream the other night where I was in a bookshop that had a large children's section, and a display of thirties and forties children's literature that had been reprinted as part of a celebration of the genre. I was overjoyed. Especially when I found that several of the books in the series had those wonderful, evocative illustrations on the front, with titles like "Angela Gets A Caning".

I seem to remember that in the dream, my credit card took quite a hit as I bought up the entire collection. It's probably a good job that it was only a dream!

Wait, wasn't spanking supposed to HELP with this?!

This being PMS. Yes, to any men out there, feel free to go find another post to read. Seriously, though, a good spanking will often spank the PMS right out of my system. Not tonight though, it seemed to flick my switch to on and then keep it stuck there. A hard spanking, a few tears, it all should make for a much calmer me. Instead, I head of out to a group event and can feel that horrible, tense, annoyed feeling welling up inside me. An hour into the meeting and I was about ready to do horrible, torturous things to 75% of the other people there. Some of them were being genuinely annoying, it has to be said (well, in my not so humble opinion they were), but some of them were incurring my mental wrath just for breathing wrong. Then on the way home I mentally bawled out pretty much every single car on the road, nearly threw my current favourite 'sing along in the car CD' out of the window just because their voices were annoying me (understand this is the CD I put on every single day for at least 10 minutes on the drive to work), shouted at several traffic lights when the did not change quickly enough, and generally was in the foulest temper ever.
None of which is necessarily unusual when I have PMS, but the point being that tonight's spanking was, amongst other things, supposed to help, not make it ten times worse so I'm at the point where I now want to fight with my shadow ;-)
Right, off to do some deep breathing, and then when that doesn't work, kick some car tyres till I feel less annoyed!
(Oh, and to anyone who dares suggest it, NO I DO NOT NEED ANOTHER SPANKING!!)

;-)

And now for the spankees...

Yesterday I asked what went through a spanker's mind when they were spanking, and so far have had some really interesting responses. Feel free to go add to them :-)
Today I thought I should let the spankees have their say, because I'm basically a nosy so and so and want to know what goes on in other people's minds! As I said yesterday, my thought process is pretty simple when I'm being spanked. In general the sensations occurring down on my rear end pretty much override my ability to string a coherent idea together. Not, in all fairness, that I can do that when I'm *not* being spanked ;-)
Is it like that for other people? Or are you able to have a deep and meaningful dialogue going on in your head while being spanked?

What goes through a spanker's head?

What goes through a spanker's head when they are spanking? I'm very curious. My thought process while I'm being spanked is pretty simplistic. Depending on my mood, it will consist of one or more of the following thoughts, generally repeated ad infinitum: "Ow ow ow ow.... OWWWW"; "Noooo, not with that, please no"; "Mmm, nice"; "I am *not* going to let you see me cry, no way"; "Oh crap. I'm crying".

Pretty simple, right?

So what goes on in a spanker's brain? Is it all a bit Homer Simpson, as in "mmmmmmm, spanking.....", or does it rise to more exulted heights?: "Ah, there is a nice piece of bottom as yet unmarked which I shall aim for." or "I wonder if my aim is good enough to get the next three all in the same place". Then again, maybe they are all angels at heart, and are thinking things like "Poor love, it doesn't look as though she can take much more of this. I'll go easy with the next few, make them nice and light". Yeah, maybe not.

The point being though, that I truly have no idea. Would anyone care to enlighten me?

Sigh...

I spend a lot of my time trying to prove to the world that I am a capable, responsible adult. Unfortunately, my true self occasionally shows me up in a most embarrassing way. This morning for instance, when, after a 45 minute drive, I arrive at my office only to realise that my laptop, a fairly, well no, completely essential piece of my work paraphernalia, is sitting contentedly at home in its laptop bag. So I have to turn right round and drive 45 minutes home again. Sigh... Shame it's not possible to spank the stupid out of someone...

Books

Argh, how did I not realise there was a new Terry Pratchett book out?
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Nation-Terry-Pratchett/dp/0385613709/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1221160047&sr=8-1
There goes my resolution to not buy any books this month.
.

Corporate Kink?

A friend once told me a tale of a senior executive in a big corporation who used to keep a butcher's chopping block in his office, with a sign on it saying 'The Buck Stops With You' or something similar, to remind people that they all had responsibilities. So far so corporate... However, in an idle moment I was googling butchers blocks (yes I was that bored) and came across several images just like this:

Well, the knives are a little OTT for me, but get rid of those, and to me this looks for all the world like an ideal table to bend a girl over and give her a good spanking on. So maybe it wasn't the BUCK, but the BUTT which was stopping... And the executive kept it in his office ready for use with recalcitrant young employees who weren't taking their responsibilities seriously enough?


By the way, just in case you are now desperate to go out and buy a butchers block, the picture was taken from this website: http://newtonapple.trustpass.alibaba.com/

The hairbrush of doom

Let it be announced to the world that this hairbrush will henceforth be known as the hairbrush of doom. And will be burnt as soon as I get chance. Except of course it won't, as I don't dare. Severe and horrendous consequences have been promised if I even think about it. To be honest, right now I can't think of anything more severe and horrendous than that hairbrush, but apparently such things exist.
It was SO bad that I subsequently managed only 3 of a promised 12 strokes with the crop before bursting to tears and being on the point of being sick, which, given that I took 36 with the belt a couple of weeks ago (and he wasn't going easy then) says something about the evilness which is that hairbrush.
I was beside myself. He stopped, obviously, and refused to continue afterwards, even when I begged him to. (Yes, I know, very responsible and sane). So now I feel completely pathetic and like a total failure, despite a lot of reassurances to the contrary from him.

And I'm blaming it ALL on that evil, evil, evil hairbrush. The moral of the story is, next time you see a massive great piece of wood in a shop, and think, ooo, I should buy that, DON'T!!!!

Failure

I'm cross at myself. Again. Cross at myself that I seem to be unable to deal with certain issues on my own. I know swearing is unpleasant and shows a lack of imagination. That's why I want to stop. It's OK with my friends, but I'm all too often in situations where I could easily offend people when the language that pops out of my mouth 'normally' continues to pop out; and I really don't want to be the one who teaches my friends' kids to say f*** and s***. See, I'm a (mostly) rational, (sometimes) intelligent woman, I know swearing is bad. I also know that having more books sitting around waiting to be read than I could probably get through in a year's non-stop reading and THEN going out and buying eleven in one weekend, is impulsive, bordering on irrational. I know that I need to go to bed at a decent time or else I am a crabby cow the next morning. Seriously, I KNOW all this stuff. So why do I still do it? Why am I incapable of taking myself in hand on these issues? Why do I need someone else to hold me accountable for those behaviours in order for me to change? That's what makes me crossest with myself. I know I should be able to deal with these things, and yet I can't. Which is a failure in itself. And what do I fear pretty much above all else in the world (save bad things happening to those I care about?) why yes, you guessed it, I hate failure. So to fail before you even start to address your failings has a bitter little twist to it.
Do you know what else makes me cross as well? The fact that the threat of punishment actually seems to work. I'm not saying that I don't have one hell of a punishment coming to me tomorrow for swearing, but as the last 10 days have progressed, I've found myself swearing less and less, and catching myself literally in the act of uttering a word and stopping. In fact I've not sworn at all for the last two days. Is that mostly through sheer terror that the number of swats owed to me was rapidly advancing towards the high tens? Yes, it most likely is, but it's achieved the desired effect. I also haven't bought a book for a week, despite being tempted several times, and I have mostly gone to bed at a half decent hour. Don't get me wrong, I am proud of myself for making this progress, which for me, on these issues, is not insignificant. But that doesn't stop me being absolutely furious with myself for not being able to address my faults by myself in the first place. I still feel like a failure as both a human being and a woman.

RIP Mr Badger

I think I may have killed a badger on the way home this evening. I went over something with a loud bump on a very, very dark country road. When I eventually found somewhere to turn round and go back and look (just in case, you know, it had been someone, rather than something), there was a badger in the middle of the road. Of course, I may not have killed it, but as I'm pretty sure it was my left wheel that had the impact, and by the time I drove passed and turned round to face home again, said badger was on my right hand side. So yup, I think it might have been me. Sorry Mr Badger. I feel really bad, if it's any consolation.

Emotions Involved... beware

I wrote this last week, and I nearly didn't post it. It's a bit too personal, so I just saved it, not intending to do anything with it. Then I reread it and I realised even though it's not particularly coherent, writing just helps sometimes. And maybe reading will help someone else.

My dad died six years ago. I was 26, and while I know that I was lucky to have him as long as I did, it still felt far too young for both me and him (he was 54). It's an absolute truth that the death of a loved one is something you will never truly get over. You learn to cope, you get on with life, the pain and grief dwindle and very rarely surface. But just once in a while, sometimes for no real reason that you can even perceive, you will just be completely blindsided, and thrown back into that well of grief, even if only for a few minutes. Which for some reason is where I've ended up tonight. I was thinking about what he would have thought of the whole spanking thing (not that I ever would have told him if he had been around, lol!) , and I came to the conclusion that he wouldn't exactly have been proud of me... and then I thought again and decided that might not be quite true. Oh, I'm not sure he would have approved, but he was always telling me that I could do whatever I wanted to do with my life, and be whoever I wanted to be. And that's what I am doing - I'm doing what I want to with my life, and the spanking is a facet of who I want to be and it makes me happy. After all, life is too short, I know that for a fact. So maybe he would have been proud? Anyway, it was that thinking that landed me where I am now, with the tears running down my cheeks, the red eyes, the highly unattractive snotty nose and the certain knowledge that however far behind you you think you have put something, it will always pop up and catch you when you are least expecting it.
Apologies for the random whinging. Normal service will be resumed shortly.

How to distract from the pain of a spanking

Want to know how to distract yourself from the pain of spanking? Get yourself a mouth ulcer. Sounds simple, I know, but if you manage to get it in the right place (the side of your mouth is good), you will get referred pain from your neck to your ear, which will happen every time you swallow, breathe, talk etc. Do I still care about my butt hurting? Not so much.
OK, will stop whinging now.

Implements

Given that I've not been doing this whole spanking thing long, I've actually experienced a fair amount of implements. So here's my run down from what I know so far:

Hands. Hands can be gentle, caressing, wondering things. One of the nicest things about a spanking is having the sore bits rubbed gently afterwards. On the other hand, it's also pretty amazing just how hard some guys' hands can be!!

Belts. I think it very much depends what sort of mood I'm in with the belt, and, as with anything, how much force it's used with. I've had quite gentle spanking with a belt, yummy, but I've also had that thrill of fear rush through me when I've heard a belt being unbuckled and known that it's heading for my rear! And belts can MARK as well. I'm currently sporting a 1x4 inch vertical bruise on the inside of one of my butt cheeks, and I don't even remember them being, well, um, open enough for anything to land there... but something did. Well, either that or I sat on a marker pen!

Paddles. If they are wooden, get them the hell away from my rear end please. Big pieces of wood, chopping boards etc. are not designed to be placed on my derriere with any level of force. Of course, if we are talking leather paddles, feel free to go right ahead!

Other wooden items. Wooden spoons are made for cooking. As are spatulas. Bath brushes are made for well, baths, and hairbrushes get used on my head, not my butt. Now that SHOULD sum it up pretty well, but apparently I have lost my mind recently.

Canes. I have been caned twice. The first time it hurt. A lot. The cane scared me immensely. However the second time was not quite so terrifying, though that swishy sound behind me and the tapping of it on my cheeks was still nearly enough to have me jumping up and running away as fast as my not very fast legs could carry me.

Tawses. Much to my surprise, quite yummy actually. Now don't go TELLING anyone that, but yes, I wouldn't necessarily run and hide from a tawse. Of course, I reserve the right to withdraw that statement if I ever see an XH Lochgelly zipping towards my butt! But yes, for now the jury's decision seems to be that tawses are the right combination of sting and thud.

So, what am I missing? Any reasonable suggestions gratefully received! (Birches are not reasonable. Just so you know!)

Just Being Me

I suppose this is a bit of unintentional juxtaposition to yesterday's post Feeling Like A Freak...

Once in a while you get the opportunity to spend time in the company of people where you can just be yourself, however good, bad or indifferent that might be. No need for artifice, no need for pretence. I was lucky enough tonight to be able to just be me for a few hours. The me that loves to be spanked. The me that is not well behaved, is not submissive, and is completely incapable of stopping the smart mouth comments escaping from her lips. Ever... The me who will quite cheerfully blow a raspberry at someone in the middle of being caned (and yes, the caning did start again!), and know that they will find it just as funny as I do.
For those of us who are kinky in a vanilla universe, such opportunities don't arise that often, and should be treasured when they do. The chance to be completely comfortable in the company of a friend is a wonderful thing.
So this is my thought for the day. Treasure all your friends, but especially treasure the kinky ones, as they will be the ones who you will get to 'just be you' with, and sometimes that is a very nice thing to be.

Feeling like a freak

Occasionally, I'm completely OK with my 'newish' found desires. I would be quite happy shouting from the rooftops "Yes, I love to be spanked, do you have a problem with that?!". The rest of the time I vacillate between tentative acceptance, and feeling like a complete freak. I can cope with the tentative acceptance, though it would be lovely if I could feel completely at ease with it more often. It's the feeling like a complete freak that wears me down. Rationally (in that little rational corner of my brain that hides somewhere deep in my skull) I know that there are thousands of other people like me out there, literally thousands, and I'm grateful that I live in the Internet age and can actually see their (well, your!) presence out in the ether and know that I'm not alone.

But when that rational part of my brain runs off to hide, the irrational part is left thinking that I'm just a complete weirdo with unacceptable desires, who, quite frankly is a little bit sick. I mean, seriously, who gets off on pain? And being controlled? That's just wrong, isn't it? I look at my friends around me and I think, what would they do if they knew? Would they be able to accept the new me? Would they ever be able to look me in the eye again? This need of mine is so much in conflict with their image of me, that I doubt they would ever be able to reconcile the two.

So I stay locked in my head wondering if I'm just too sick for words, hoping that it's not too long before my little pendulum swings back to 'acceptance' again.

Learning to read

In common with lots of you out there, I sometimes have trouble with my reading skills. Like the other morning, when they nearly caused me to crash my car. In the UK we have a well known national driving school, called the British School of Motoring, aka BSM. So there I was, in my usual morning fug, when I drove past a car with BDSM.CO.UK emblazoned all over the side. Well, I was so shocked I nearly drove onto the pavement. Of course, within a few seconds, my spanko brain had switched off, and my actual brain had switched back on, and I realised that is was a BSM car. Shame really.

To be filed under...

What was I thinking?!

I think that will be hidden in my deepest, darkest drawer, and never spoken of again.