The Adventures of Spanko Girl

It's Part of What We Do, Naughty One

2006-05-11T23:33:00.000-04:00

Hiya Professor!

Thanks for today. I know it probably wasn't your dream spanking session, but obviously I needed what we did. I guess this is part of what we do isn't it?

Another cool example of melding fantasy and reality. Spanking sessions as therapy... :)

I am not sure what I am going to do about my dad, but talking about it helped. Talking about stuff with you usually does help though....

Anyway, thanks for today.

~Your Naughty One

Sometimes a spanking doesn't right my world. Sometimes a spanking isn't enough to make me let go. Sometimes a spanking session doesn't make me more open, trusting, more inclined to be intimate... or even wipe away whatever is eating me from the inside.

Sometimes a spanking session with Professor becomes less about spanking and more about talking, whether I want it to or not. There is a big difference between "want" and "need". I am glad he can see it when I can't.

Hello Naughty One,

Yes, yesterday is part of what we do: spanking therapy. I was happy with yesterday's session.

Be good.

- Your Spanking Therapist

Swoony Searches

2006-05-10T22:13:00.000-04:00

"Doing a search on Google is easy. Simply type one or more search terms (the words or phrase that best describe the information you want to find) into the search box and hit the 'Enter' key or click on the Google Search button." ~Google Help

I want to thank those readers who have used some wonderfully descriptive search terms to stumble upon this blog.

Swoon on...

exquisite pain
spanking my girl
sore bottoms
hairbrush howl bare
punishment spanking
spanking disciplinarian
girls bending over for the cane
spanking bath brush
schoolgirl ruler spanked
pantied bottoms
afterglow spanking

And some of my favorites?

I couldn't help but expand on them a little. These little fantasy bits practically wrote themselves with a lot of help from some very descriptive and kinky Googlers:

The Fairchild Young Women's Academy makes extensive use of corporal punishment. Our girls are spanked hard on their bare bottoms regularly...

She stood waiting outside the Headmaster's office, nervously playing with the hem of her skirt. People filed past and looked knowingly that this girl was in trouble...

"Sometimes the anticipation of a punishment is much worse than the punishment itself", she whispered to the girl sitting next to her on the bench. "Oh, is that so?" He asked, standing in the doorway to his office, while he slowly rolled the sleeves of his white cotton shirt...

Tugging on her waistband, he yanked down her gym shorts and bared her bottom, smacking it soundly as she tried desperately to twist her arm out of his iron grip...

He brought the cane down over and over again, leaving thin white lines of burning fire on her naughty bottom. She leaned hard over the chair, gasping for air, ...

She stood sobbing in the corner, soundly spanked and remorseful, her skirt pinned up, her panties still pooled around her ankles...

"Get the strap and meet me in the woodshed." She gaped at him open mouthed before turning slowly to fetch the thick leather strap hanging on a peg behind the door....

She looked at the welts on her bottom left by the strap in a mirror, and watched him trace the outline of each fading mark with his fingertips. "Did you learn your lesson?" His voice purred in her ear and she nodded slowly,murmuringg "Yes, Sir" as the wide strip of leather slid over her punished cheeks...

Musings of an Approval Masochist

2006-05-04T09:33:00.000-04:00

I was thinking about the fact that I am very stoic during a spanking. Actually, I am very stoic during the entire spanking scene. I listen carefully, try to do exactly what is expected of me, and genuinely take to heart whatever lesson is being taught during both punishment and roleplay.

Professor says that I am "approval masochist". That I seek his approval like another masochist might seek humiliation. I think that is pretty accurate. I especially get off on earning his approval after falling from grace. Strange, that.

I think my need to be a good girl in our dynamic is why I can take roleplay so seriously even though it isn't real. My feelings and need to please Professor are very real and transcend every situation, fantasy or not.

There are two very distinct sides to me. On one hand, I am reckless, independent, impulsive, rebellious... a "color outside the lines" sort... willingly challenging authority. And yet within the kink? I don't get any pleasure from resisting. I won't kick, scream... fight to keep my power. I willingly submit and it is freeing for me. I like the power exchange part of it and am perfectly happy not being in control for a while.

That being said, have I ever craved the chance to defy? To be openly defiant just to see what would happen? Yes. Have I ever wondered what it would be like to fight to keep my power only to have it forcefully taken... just because Professor can? Sure. Its been there, another part of me bubbling beneath the surface... a "what would happen if I" at odds with my deeper need to please.

A new roleplay maybe? I dunno. I also wonder, because I am such an approval masochist if in this case, my occasional defiance fantasy should stay just that... a fantasy.

Roleplay: A Playground for the Creative Spanko Mind

2006-05-03T22:35:00.000-04:00

I was thinking about roleplay and why I enjoy it so much, as well as why for me, it is more than just play acting. I was also thinking about what it takes to create a good roleplay. I imagine this will end up being a series of posts rather than just one because I have done quite a bit of thinking on the subject and I am sure that will translate into quite a bit of verbiage ;)

So why roleplay? What's in it for me? For us?

Roleplay is about freedom.

I know for some, playing a role, someone other than themselves, may seem silly or "too fake". The idea of dressing up in a short plaid skirt and being spanked like a schoolgirl may seem foolish. But I love roleplays, especially those that by the nature of their dynamic, hit my major emotional and psychological triggers.

Roleplay gives me freedom...it allows me to express myself. In my daily life I am confined to various roles... personality characteristics that represent just *part* of who I am. I am confined to a particular role with my family, peers, and in my community. Getting out of my usual role frees me from the inhibitions and baggage that goes with it.

Am I saying that the inhibitions or baggage associated with my "regular life" are bad? No... what I am saying is that I, like most, have a multidimensional personality and roleplay affords me the opportunity to express those other parts of myself... my inner parts that I have a harder time expressing. It releases me from the restrictions *I* put on myself in my daily life.

Why is it that children dream of being fairy princesses... brave knights fighting fearsome dragons... racecar drivers in the Indy 500? Because it is fun...fantasy is fun and because they get to be something they aren't in real life. They get to exhibit behaviors and "try on" characteristics associated with those roles.

And adult role play? Well similarly, it gives me the chance to be someone else - without all the difficulties of actually changing my life. I get to play a character with traits I want to explore, I can pick and choose the characteristics and attributes that suit my desires, and discard the rest. And I can do it for a finite period of time.

Roleplay can make me feel strong, powerful... and right.

There isn't a lot of room for insecurity in roleplay. Fantasies may seem too weird, too kinky, too wrong, too abnormal and it takes courage to own them, speak them out loud and ultimately, indulge in them. The wonderful thing about roleplay is that it is fantasy, not reality and being able to share it with someone who "gets it"... well, that's pretty damn cool.

Roleplaying is a way for me to say it out loud.

Finding Professor was a big self esteem builder because I found someone who not only listened to my "weird, kinky needs" but also shared them. He made me feel normal... confident that my kink was okay... that I was okay.

Roleplaying allows me to express my inner self. It allows me to bring my kinky fantasies out into the light, examine them... indulge in them... in a safe and non threatening environment.

Roleplaying can be therapeutic.

Now, I wouldn't advise everyone to use the kink as a cheap form of therapy, but it can be better than a self help book. My need for caring authority? Punishment and cleaning the slate? I have always said that I am in the process of growing into myself. Roleplay has afforded me the opportunity to examine things about myself and has offered parts of me the chance to heal.

Roleplay is sex for the brain.

Choosing a character. Setting the scene. Deciding on appropriate props. A good roleplay takes work and creativity. It requires imagination. Practice. And communication.

I love to think... to brainstorm... to analyze. I like figuring out what makes people tick... what gets my groove on. I revel in the subtle details of a good scene, the work it takes beforehand, the eventual blending of real life and fantasy. It's about intensity. Communication. Trust. Testing limits. Mental attraction.

One of the many reasons Professor rocks my world? His ability to roleplay. He is very good at it. He puts a lot of time and effort into making a scene that leaves me breathless. And he does it well. That in itself makes me swoon.

Engaging the brain enhances the physical sensation of spanking.

Roleplay gives me an afterglow for days.

Spanking roleplay is like walking into your own secret garden... a place where time stops. It is the very best of the kink; the fantasy... the thrill... the excitement. It builds intimacy, makes memories and gives two people something very personal to share.

Why do I love roleplay?

Because it is amazing and swoony, and challenging and exciting. Because it is healing. Because it is creative. Because it is something different. Because it can be so good, seem so real, be so intense that for the time being, you manage to lose yourself in it. Because it is fun, that's why.

Report to the Headmaster's Office

2006-04-30T02:43:00.000-04:00

Dearest Friend,

Happy Holidays to you and yours!

I hope the holiday season brings you good things and all the gifts of the season... truly!

I was just going through all these old boxes up in the attic and came across a lot of old school memorabilia, yearbooks, and all the other junk I kept from our time at Fairchild. I actually found an old school uniform! It took a while for me to sort everything out and figure out what to keep and what to throw away - it has been so long since I've seen anyone from the Academy. Do you still keep in touch with anyone?

The reason that I am writing is because I came across one of your albums by mistake (goodness, to think I've had it in my attic all that time...) and so I decided it would be prudent of me to return your album to you, even after all these years. I don't know if you are the sentimental sort to still keep things from school or not. :)

You know, going through all the junk, it made me remember with such fondness our times together - you were my best friend in our time there and my sanity! I can still recall all our demerits and our times in detention - I'm lucky they never threw me out! I've missed you throughout the years and I miss my time at Fairchild. Do you?

Speaking of old school memories, do you know what ever happened to Professor Stephen, the Headmaster of the place? Funny, after all these years, I look back upon my time at Fairchild and remember him fondly, strict bastard that he was! The last anyone had heard, he found a post at a woman's college or something out of state. I wonder where he is or if any of the alumni committee would know how to find him again.

Anyhow, lovely to write you and think of you again! Please keep in touch and share some of your memories if you wish...

Still being good after all these years,

Your fellow Fairchild alum

My Dear Friend,

It is wonderful to hear from you! Imagine my surprise when I opened the simple brown paper wrapped package that was delivered to my doorstep this morning. I have been flipping through the old school album you returned and enjoying every moment spent skipping down memory lane.

I, too miss our alma mater, from that giant oak tree in the center of the quad that shaded us while we spent hours avoiding our school work, to the second floor balcony window of the library - the after dinner perch for two gossiping girls. Oh, we did have fun, didn't we? I am simply amazed that we managed to fit enough time into our busy schedules for something as mundane as school work. We were a handful!

I heard from Ellie Parker that our esteemed Headmaster is still maintaining order and turning out disciplined young ladies at a private school somewhere in Connecticut. Poor Professor Stephen, I think of him from time to time and have considered sending him some sort of correspondence, but I am not quite sure whether I should thank him for just being who he was, or apologize for all my years of naughtiness! What a pair we were!

I still remember the day you and I met as clearly as if it were yesterday. We met in the hall as I was leaving the Headmaster's office and you were sitting on that horrid old bench just outside his door. Do you remember that bench? We certainly spent enough time waiting there...

**Click on the Fairchild paddle to go to The Fairchild Young Women's Academy

**Click on the links below to download audio roleplay

Report to the Headmaster's office (No spanking - lecture only)

Come Here, Miss Hastings (Handspanking and lecture)

Go get the paddle, Young Lady (Very swoony paddling and lecture)

Falling down the rabbit hole

2006-04-28T21:20:00.000-04:00

I have the most delicious roleplay. It makes me sort of trembly to think about it. We played yesterday... we played a scene that touched both of our cores, and to make it even better, he mixed real life and fantasy... used real life transgressions to enhance a wonderfully swoony schoolgirl scene.

If there is one thing that thrills me above all else... one thing that sends shivery tingles skipping down my spine... it is a well done roleplay. I love immersing myself in a good fantasy ... that feeling of slipping away... that free fall feeling down the rabbit hole when a scene is so rich with detail, so slowly and lovingly developed... so carefully crafted by one who knows just how to manipulate your senses, your psyche... your headspace... that you lose yourself in it, because he knows you so well.

The mental tweaking... the subtle crafting of a psychological and physical experience that envelopes you in such a way that you become part of it, suddenly swept along, as it changes you... leaving its mark...

This particular role play owes itself to a certain friend of mine... a journey pal... a fellow kinkster who, this past Christmas, gave me a gift that managed to touch the very essence of my spanko core, leaving me breathless and gasping for air.

Part of the gift was an album... a student's school album, complete with a history of the school (using information from Professor's Fairchild site), memories gleaned from my writings as well as other school oriented tokens. There were various implements included in the package... crops, canes, straps, etc. And then there was the letter... a wonderful letter from one former Fairchild alum to another.

And so, Professor and I used this holiday gift as our spanking muse... a kinkofied spring board... and did a roleplay, a swoony Fairchild roleplay just for this dear friend... and we made an audio recording.

I originally wanted to do a brief intro... something like what I just wrote before launching into a written preface to "set the scene" so to speak for our audio blog.

But, I think I will leave this post as is...the "reality" part.

A person's initial meeting with a white rabbit should stand on its own, don't you think?

So tomorrow then, Poiesia ;)

A Work in Progress

2006-04-26T23:00:00.000-04:00

I haven't posted in a while. I know I have a lot of catching up to do, spankings to recount, a bit of "speaking up" to do... basically I have some things to wrap up.

My absence can partially be blamed on a recent household addition of the four legged kind with an apparent penchant for electrical cords. We got another dog to keep AFP company, and he snores. Loudly. He doesn't bark. Ever. But he snores like a buzz saw and chews incessantly. Legos, shoes, the eyes off stuffed animals...flip flops... plastic dinosaurs and electrical cords... he chews it all.

He ate my laptop cord, happily... while it was still plugged into the wall. Hence my absence while said cord was being replaced. I think his alias on here will be Ohm. Somehow, it suits him.

I get spanked tomorrow. Its partly a carrot spanking and partly a stick spanking. We are doing a swoony roleplay (the carrot part) that I am longing to write about, but I will have to save that for another time. Maybe tomorrow evening. Oh yeah, but before we get to do the role play tomorrow afternoon, we have "a talk" to take care of (the stick part). The stick part has to do with procrastination and for not doing something I was told to do. More on that later as well...

The rest of this is long winded... analysis ridden... bordering on new age-ish... but I needed to get it on paper.

Consider yourself warned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Growing into myself...

I say that a lot, don't I? It is sort of a Naughtyopath catch phrase.

So what does it mean, exactly?

I have been told I am a young soul... my soul, fresh - still wet behind the ears, wonderfully naive and child-like in its openness.

You are a young soul, Naughty One... striving on noise, chaos, excess... an unstructured thing...

Yup, I'll buy that.

A young soul.

I certainly feel like a young soul much of the time, stumbling headlong through life with an insatiable need to know... constantly searching in an overly earnest attempt to make better sense of me... who I am... who I want to be, and how that person fits in this curious thing called life.

I think that is what I mean by "growing into myself". It is symbolic of a journey, my larger journey... and it is a battle cry... my "conscious growth" mantra.

Have you ever noticed that most of our ah ha! moments happen to us rather than us making them happen? We make forward progress in life because life has a way of pushing us forward, willing or not. Rarely is it the result of our own conscious choice... or even initiative for that matter.

Instead, throughout life, growth happens in fits and starts, unpredictably, sometimes through happy experiences and often through unhappy or painful experiences... as well as catharsis. At least that is how it seems to me.

My battle cry... my self defining catch phrase was the best "there has gotta be a better way" answer I could come up with (during one of my moments of quiet clarity when I wasn't busying myself by getting lost in the trees) to what I noticed to be a rather inefficient, unpredictable, life-meandering process... which I think some refer to as "unconscious growth."

Growing into myself is about conscious growth. It is about careful, calculated, "I know what I want to be when I grow up... the kind of person I want to be; now I just need to know how to get there" type growth.

So what does this rambly thought process (and it is about to get more rambly I am afraid) have to do with Spanko Girl?

The more conscious you are in your growth process, the more quickly you grow.

I would suppose you could say I am taking stock in things... reflecting. I am pausing to think about my personal growth... reviewing what I have learned.

A couple of years ago, a while after I had my revelatory a-ha! there has got to be a better way moment... a plan was put into motion... a plan that stemmed from my early and rather vague notions of who or what I wanted to be. At the time I didn't see the plan... the overall picture... I only had sight of what I wanted to grow into and the miles of forest between me and that very distant goal. I only had sight of my starting point.

Since that time I have found direction... and have managed to break down my far off and seemingly unattainable vision into a series of specific goals and worked consciously and conscientiously to achieve them. There have been bumps and stalls along the way, and some lessons I have had to learn twice, even three times but amazingly enough, I can now see that the series of goals... not only did they make a hard thing seem easier (the ultimate top down design, Professor... you do practice what you teach, don't you?) but they in their own right have amplified, enhanced my original vision. For example, by consciously following a set of higher rules, I have, by default, become a more ethical person, thus adding depth and dimension to the character of the person I hope to become.

I have also found that the distance between me and my vision is not as vast as I thought. Am I close to achieving my ultimate goal? Am I close to becoming what I want to be when I grow up? Hardly. That's the most ironic part of it all actually. I am and always will be a work in progress.

A work in progress.

That's okay by me, you know. It's one of the things I have learned along the way. Growth happens during the process. Not haphazard, fitful growth that requires alot of emotional effort, though. This is conscious growth... growth that occurs as I make a determined effort to achieve each of my smaller goals to the best of my abilities. As I do my best... as I strive to fulfill the plan set out for me... it is the work I do, the effort I put in, that brings me one step closer to growing into myself.

Tantalizing...

2006-04-03T21:22:00.000-04:00

I know, I know... I have been a very naughty girl. I have neither posted nor responded to recent comments in several days. I promise to reccount last week's session with Professor and get caught up with all other things of a blog type nature asap...

Until then, these used-to-be-vanilla-stock-photos-but-have-been-kinkified-by-a-naughty-pics are to build anticipation for two very special people in my life... you know who you are ;)

Swoon on...

Killing Me Softly

2006-03-30T22:05:00.000-05:00

I am not the kind of masochist who likes to be used. I don't like to be slapped cruelly, degraded, treated like an animal... called a whore. My form of masochism is a different breed of masochism... it has a softer side...it is tied to approval... acceptance... unconditional love, but I can't seem to give it an appropriate name.

Do you want me to feel pain? Do you want me to suffer? Tell me you care about me... call me your little girl... then tell me you are disappointed in me... that you "didn't raise me that way"... and then watch my heart bleed.

It's about killing me softly.

In my relationship with Professor I am many things; friend, mentee, fellow kinkster, student, confidant... spankee. And I am also something else... Naughty One. His Naughty One.

It is this part of me... this seemingly small but very important part that is, for lack of a more descriptive word, my keystone. It is this part that supports the weight of the whole... the part that absorbs the pressure of the rest...the key that keeps me in place. It is my "inner me".

It is a part that is cloistered away deep inside... small and hidden from everyone but Professor... and at times, can be so needful that it influences my behavior, alters my perceptions, effects my daily life.

I have always felt like some sort of fractured being... that there were several distinct "me's". At times I could be strong, fearless, confident... adult like... in charge and ready to take on the world. At other times I was weak, vulnerable... child like and I never seemed to be able to reconcile the parts.

The vulnerable part? My "inner me". The part that craves acceptance. Discipline. Unconditional love. The part that fuels my need for a father figure. And it is this part that is directly tied to my form of masochism. I want to be a good girl. I want to be good in order to win Professor's esteem.

There is so much more that I want to say... need to explore... but I am tired and sore. I am well punished, forgiven and reflective. Today was as much emotional and psychological as it was physical.

I want to talk more about my spanking journey... the way it has been woven from fabric based partly in fantasy and partly in real emotional need. I want to talk more about the Disciplinarian who has taken a mutual desire for spanking and used it as a tool to provide a stable and loving environment within which his Naughty One could finally grow up. But I am spent and my thoughts are disorganized. They need to be thinned out a bit before they are ready for reader consumption, and I am much too tired to do it now.

I think I'll go to bed instead.

Like a good girl.

I Accept Full Responsibility (Except That It's Not My Fault, And You Shouldn't Discipline Me)

2006-03-29T17:18:00.000-05:00

Did you know that April 13th is Blame Someone Else Day?

Hrm.

I get spanked tomorrow. Professor and I have exactly two things on the list to "talk" about and one of them concerns a Naughty One and a scene in a fast food restaurant... and both of them involve the theme of doing what's right... and anger management.

Do you ever have those moments... those moments where your inner child wins and you just really don't want to accept responsibility for something? So you do all sorts of rationalizing to explain recent actions?

Well... It wasn't really my fault. I may have over reacted a bit that day in MacDonald's as I stood coldly... angrily... and used my quick wit and gift of gab to completely eviscerate the unlucky soul who had the misfortune of making a nasty comment to my kid.

It's not my fault.

It's not my fault I got angry. It's not my fault I lost my temper. It's not my fault she was an idiot and made the choice to step over my line in the sand. It's not my fault that she chose to provoke me rather than just apologize and move on.

I over reacted...but she didn't give me a choice.
I admit my response was not measured or appropriate... but she started it.
I am accepting responsibility for my actions, but it wasn't my fault and you shouldn't discipline me...

And at this moment I am being a complete ass because deep down I know better than to make excuses... because you taught me better than that, didn't you? Yeah.

So tomorrow, despite my childish need to avoid... trivialize... place blame on someone other than myself, in the end I will do the responsible thing... the hard thing... the right thing...the adult thing.

And all the while I will be upended over your knee, getting spanked... like a naughty little girl.

Ironic? Yes...

And oh-so-comforting.

See you tomorrow, Professor.

Eye of the Beholder

2006-03-27T21:48:00.000-05:00

I came across this photo while searching a stock photo database for a project I am working on. The caption was "Businessman rolling up his sleeves and getting to work". Of course in my naughty little head, the words "I am going to spank your bottom, Young Lady", seemed more accurate...

Doesn't it make your stomach flip flop a bit?

Ohhhhh, the fantasy potential. Swoon ;)

Watchful Attention

2006-03-26T00:58:00.000-05:00

I have missed you lately... I have missed you for a while.

Lately life has had a way of keeping us apart. Not physically though... oh, we've had spanking sessions, talked on the phone, exchanged emails, but life for him has been hard... hectic... and draining for the last couple months.

I have been there for him as friend, spankee, confidant, and stress reliever... but not as his Naughty One. I tried very hard to be good... low maintenance... a calming voice... his voice of reason and was all of these things, successfully.

Life shook his very being... kicked him in the stomach hard, leaving him doubled over, stunned... and I was there to bear witness; The blow, the struggle to catch his breath... the uncertainty... the eventual emotional and physical fatigue... the slow regaining of strength.

And I have been patient. Waiting.

"Waiting for what?" he asked. He didn't understand and I couldn't explain. Up till now, I wasn't sure exactly what I was waiting for. But I'd know it when I saw it, and then... well then I could finally leave the holding pattern I have maintained since life sucker punched him not long ago.

And now... this week... I know what I have been waiting for. I saw it. I felt it. I heard it in his tone on the phone... caught glimpses of it in his recent emails. For the first time in months... for the first time since he was kicked... he is breathing again... normally.

No more half hearted, going through the motions, getting through the day stuff . He is back among the living... himself. The holding pattern is over, and I can be his Naughty One again.

Please...I need to be.

"Maybe it is because I miss you but I am in need of your "stifling, you are being closely watched" type of discipline."

I have been in a holding pattern for a while.

I feel too comfortable... too able to test... too able to push.

I have missed him.

The way he can twist my psyche into knots. His high expectations. His mandates. The way he can make me feel claustrophobic with his presence... even from a distance. His behavioral training. His confidence in the mental chokehold he has over me when he so chooses. His vigilance.

Please...don't let me walk so close to the line. Push me back from it... hard... just because you can... because I am yours. Your Naughty One. And it pleases you.

I crave his watchful attention... his Authority.

Please... Sir.

I Have a Cold... Sniffle

2006-03-23T23:13:00.000-05:00

I have a cold... ~sniffle~

Hmmm...let me rephrase that...

My head is stuffy, my nose is runny and there is a tickle in my throat.

No, no... maybe I should try again... ~sniffle~

My whole body aches, my nose continues to run and be stuffed up at the same time (how can that be?), my stomach is queasy from all the drainage, and my body seems quite determined to launch one of my lungs up onto the carpet at any moment.

Hrm.

Okay, how about this... ~snerrrrrrrrkkkkk!~

I can only breathe through my mouth which affords me my current "I'b so sick I bay die at any mobent" speak. I'm drinking Gatorade like a maniac to stay somewhat hydrated and I have hardly had to pee all day because I think it's all mostly pouring out of my still very stuffed up nose like the bathroom faucet.

Oh. And I sound a lot like a barking seal when I cough.

As a side note, I decided to forgo the fun curly straw that Skate Kid added to my glass sympathetically, due to an overwhelming fear that while drinking through said straw I might create a vacuum and implode, achieving death by "strawfocation".

I blame this on Skate Kid... and his recent "well visit" to the pediatrician.

Actually I blame it on that germ pit the office calls a toy box in the waiting room. I can almost see the nasty little viruses hopping from the GI Joes to a random My Little Pony just waiting for some kid to come along.

Usually I keep a sharp eye out, refusing to allow my precious progeny to go petri dish diving, but dammit, I really had to go to the bathroom. When I returned, my little germ magnet was sitting...yes, SITTING in the toy box.

~sniffle~

Needless to say, one booster shot, a Batman sticker, one fifteen dollar co-pay, and a minor plague infestation later, we were out the door and on our way home to start our own little personal epidemic. Woo! Hoo!

~sniffle~

Did you know, according to WebMD:

The common cold is caused by over 200 different viruses that can live for hours on surfaces like keyboards, chained bank pens, or anything within 10 feet of a kid? They enter the body through the nose, most often by a drifting sneeze droplet or a badly behaved finger.

Rubbing your eyes can also introduce the menace, which slides down your tear ducts to viral ground zero where the back of the nose meets your throat. Upon successful entry, it will inject its own genetic material into a nasal cell and seize command, directing manufacture of new, self-assembling viral parts.

Soon, hundreds of new viruses fill the cell to bursting, setting free an unruly mob ready to repeat the process. The body reacts with an immune response and releases, among other chemicals, histamine, which causes the runny nose, sneezing and watery eyes associated with a cold.

About 95 percent of people directly exposed to virus particles will become infected, though a quarter may not produce symptoms. Remarkably, it's those with strong immune systems who become symptomatic. The characteristic sneezing, sinus pressure, and low-grade fever are part of the body's defense mechanism. For example, fever and blocked nasal passages increase the temperature of the sinuses (to kill viruses), and runny noses and sneezing are an effort to expel the invaders.

A strong immune system, dammit. That's why I am hacking like a bull frog and high as a kite on cold medicine.

Usually I don't like to take meds... it must be that "Masochistic New Englander" thing I've got going. I caved yesterday afternoon though, when I spiked a fever of 102 and was willing to try anything that didn't involve leeches or bats in order to achieve some sort of comfort.

My cocktail choice of the cold season was Dayquil. :)

Yep, so here I be... happily high on caffeinated cold medicine, fluctuating between moments of I-need-to-do-this-right-now-right-now-cripes-are-those-my-fingers-going-rat-a-tat-tat-geeshh-I-am-sshhhaking! to Ohhhhh... I'm flooooooating... weeeeEEE!!!!. I am soooooooo graceful! No one has ever glided up and down the aisles of Walgreens with a kleenex hanging out of her right nostril in search of Vicks Vapor Rub as gracefully as I am doing!

So... where is my spanko mojo in all of this?

Hmmm:

Professor: ~In a tone true to his best "remember you always remain under my watchful eye, Young Lady" stern Disciplinarian form (via phone no less!)~

I want you to take care of yourself, Naughty One. Do you understand? I want you to get plenty of rest. We have a bit of unpleasantness to take care of when I see you next week and I don't want to have to add anything else to the list, got it?

Me: ~Blushing slightly, I pull my blanket up to my chin, and revel in the anticipation of our next spanking session as my belly flip flops and I shudder uncontrollably amid the backdrop of a humming humidifier and the heady menthol smell of Vick's~

Y,y,yes Professor, I understab. I probise to get pleby of resth.

Ahhhh...the simple joys of being a spanko...

Losing My Voice

2006-03-21T18:16:00.000-05:00

"Once you start compromising your thoughts, you're a candidate for mediocrity."

-Neil Simon, Biloxi Blues

I would imagine that all writers go through periods of writing and non writing... a sort of creative phasing, if you will... a natural cycle. But what happens when the period of "non writing" occurs outside of your normal writing cycle? What happens when for apparently inexplicable reasons, a writer simply cannot write? I wonder if any of you have faced this problem...

I haven't written anything in over a month. Not on this blog, not in my journal, not even in email. I have been suffering from I guess what you could call a serious case of creative constipation of the literary kind.

It was if one morning I woke up and couldn't write. I wanted to write, I tried to write, I sat with my laptop open, its screen glowing gloomily for long periods of time and yet I was unable to "put words on paper"... tap out a well formed thought in Word. It got to the point that I couldn't bear to sit at my keyboard because the experience was painful, demoralizing and worst of all, it just didn't make any sense.

I am/was a writer after all... I live and breathe words. Do I make any claims to be a good writer? No. I am just saying I am a writer... just as other people are listeners, or feelers, or talkers.

I find life to be a tactile, sensual, stimulating, thought provoking affair and writing affords me the opportunity to express my reactions to it. For me, it is through words that things make sense. I write to give order to my world... to understand myself and this thing called life.

In my head, things aren't as clear....they seem jumbled....large...and confusing...wispy half-thoughts fluttering about. However, when I capture them on paper, they are manageable and concrete and more importantly, they are still.

But not lately. Lately, I have had writer's block... or should I say blogger's block? Blogging is unique in the sense that as a writer, you are putting your stuff out there on the great information byway for everyone and their mothers to see, analyze, link to and opine on. It doesn't matter if you have a following of four or 40,000, your personal "junk" is not being recorded in your private journal hidden safely under the mattress. It is public and participatory.

So how does this contribute to my recent bout of "blockage"? Self censorship. When I started this blog, I had a purpose... and a voice. In the beginning I used my voice to explore and chronicle my personal spanking journey. This was my haven... the one place where I could unwrap the mysterious and often very confusing layers of my kink with unfettered abandon. And I wrote honestly... openly... innocently... and without censure.

Over time I became aware that people were reading what I wrote (and some of you actually liked it!) and this pleased me to no end. It energized me... spurred me on to share more of myself... of my journey. But with it came an acute awareness that I was not alone anymore.

What I wrote was being read by others... being judged by others. A few well placed criticsms, along with plenty of "helpful" advice on how to "blog better" became the mental pebbles that started my slide down the slippery slope of self censoring.

I became increasingly sensitive about what I wrote here. Slowly, quietly, I became less open... less willing to share my thoughts. The purpose of my blog changed as I deliberately began choosing not to blog about certain things... not to explore certain feelings or thoughts "on paper".

My choice of non disclosure led to an insidious problem that I have now realized had deep reaching implications. By choosing not to blog about certain things, I inadvertently made it hard to blog about any related issues, and by extension, anything related to that, etc.

This blog was a place for me to make sense of my kink... a place where I could grow into myself. How could I make sense of my kink if I chose not to offer up to the light those things I sorely needed to put down on paper in order to make sense of my kink? Soon enough there was nothing which was left to blog... except the "safe" stuff... the "generic" stuff.

Essentially, I lost my voice. And I was left with basic Blogger bullshit runoff: Cute quizzes, memes, bland entries devoid of any kind of serious emotion, and more meaningless fluff. I had nothing of substance to write about. I was just going through the motions.

Hence the block.

So where am I now, a month later? Alive. Well. And still naughty. And you know what? I think my block is gone. So here I am... reflective... refreshed... and with a renewed sense of purpose to stay true to my voice...

And did I happen to say naughty? ;)

Productive Authority On Ice

2006-02-09T22:46:00.000-05:00

So I have a thing for Skate Kid's skating instructor. This is a man who instills fear and respect in all of his students. A man who is able to control a rink full of normally rambunctious boys without even breaking a sweat.

A British born skater who retired from the figure skating world in his teens, Fascist Coach now torments... erm trains figure skaters for competitions as well as hockey players interested in learning the art of power skating. It is for the power skating component that Skate Kid trains with him a couple of times a week.

When we first heard about Fascist Coach, I noticed that people almost whispered his name with a mix of both awe and fear.

He is the best. He is a figure skater you know, but he also trains hockey players.

Er... he is a figure skater? I dunno, Skate Kid wants more of the hockey coach type. That is one of the problems we are having in his current skating classes... all of the instructors are female figure skaters.

Yes well Fascist Coach is different from your usual children's coach. You'll see.

Hmm...

And so I went to observe this figure skating Fascist Coach in action during one of his training sessions, and I found that yes, he is different.

He is dominance in presence. And he is productive authority.

And I have a bit of a thing for him.

Well, its kind of a love/fear thing. He pushes my buttons and intimidates me all at the same time, and whenever I am around him, I have this overwhelming urge to please... authority.

Yup. It is that mystical authority vibe...

It's also an "Ewww! I can't get the image of some sort of kinkofied Ice Capades show out of my head! Mixing Disney on Ice and a kinky fetish is just wrong... wrong I tell ya! And yet strangely I am drawn to this authority on skates..." kind of thing.

Professor said he wasn't surprised, by the way. Fascist Coach has many of the personality traits that inevitably push my buttons. "I can see why he makes you swoon. He is a strict authority figure."

I thought about that after he said it. Yes, Fascist Coach does have many traits that make me swoon: He is stern, commanding, demanding...meters out consequences...expects the best from his students.

He is authoritative. He is authority.

But there is more. It is more than just authority that makes me swoon. It is a particular type of authority: Productive authority.

I have realized that I really dig the "harsh taskmaster" type. I think that is why my kink tends to revolve around the school girl theme. I get off on authority... with a purpose.

Give me a challenge... mental, physical and/or emotional... and then give me a demanding taskmaster willing to help me overcome that challenge, and I am a happy girl. Actually, I am more than happy. I am fulfilled.

And so here it is... another piece to Naughty One's puzzle: I truly crave productive authority.

And apparently, even if said authority wears skates and sports mouse ears.

Puck Bunny

2006-02-04T14:55:00.000-05:00

**Warning! Meaningless Blog Filler Ahead!**
Lack of meaningful post to follow...

Yes, yes, yes... I know... I said I was going to write more about Skate Kid's skating instructor and I haven't done it yet. I haven't done much writing at all in fact, and for an avid journaller, its made me sort of twitchy.

Here in New England, as in any other winterfied area of the world, snow and cold weather = winter sports... and for Skate Kid, winter sports = hockey.

Hockey, hockey and more hockey.

As any other parent will tell you, a child becoming involved in hockey is like getting married. The commitment to the sport is huge, and for both parent and child, it is like this time sucking vacuum.

"What did you do today?"

"Oh.. we were at the rink."

"Did you have a good weekend?"

"Um, yeah... we spent both Saturday and Sunday at the rink... there was a triple header don't you know..."

"Did you watch the State of the Union Address the other night?"

"Um no... was that the same night as Celebrities on Ice?"

Yes, so this is where I am... no worries though... the "Kinksters on Ice" post is burning a whole in my head, so to speak, and I will write it all down very soon, I promise... if only to get it out of my head. I have several other half thoughts and beginnings of ideas written on concession stand napkins, scraps of note paper, etc. Maybe I should start bringing my laptop to the rink.

My Kink In Lights

2006-01-31T19:41:00.000-05:00

I was going to devote time and energy to elaborate on the statement, "I have a thing for Skate Kid's skating coach. Not like a "sexual thing" -its a "kink thing". He's a swoony vision of authority" from my mini blog, but somehow time got away from me.

My "Kinksters on Ice" post will have to wait until tomorrow because as you can see, I have been extremely busy this evening... doing all sorts of time consuming things.....

Virtual Lite-Brite... who'da thunk something so near and dear to childhood could be so...spankify-able? My amusement knows no end. ;)

Filed Under: Humiliation (Not the Good Kind)

2006-01-30T20:11:00.000-05:00

I am going to let the following speak for itself:

Study Boy and I at the breakfast table this morning:

Me: ~Glaring at the hated cell phone in question~ Okay, we are in cell hell and I am sick of it.

Study Boy: ~Munching away like that office cubicle guy in the cereal commercial who can't hear he is being fired~ Hmm?

Me: ~Still glaring at said phone~ Nextel. It sucks. We never have service and I want out. Besides, look it... it's an ugly ass phone. I want something stylish. I want something that works! And I am willing to "cell my soul" to get it! Ha! Ha! Get it? "Cell" my soul?

Study Boy: ~*crunch* *crunch* *crunch*~ Hmmm?

Me: ~Now annoyed and beginning to whine... getting ready for the pitch~ Aren't you even listening to me? It's time... we have been held hostage by shitty service for what? Now I know that it costs money to get out of our contract, but I think yours is up in a month... so we could wait till then and just pay the fee on mine. Hell, I think $200 is a small price to pay, don't you think? How about if I go call Nextel and find out if your contract is up in February okay? We can go from there. ~Looking hopeful~

Study Boy: ~*crunch* *crunch* *crunch*~ Hmm? Howpph mumch? Ummph... okaph ewipph meef.

Me: ~Grabbing my phone and heading outside to stand in the driveway for optimum cell reception~ Thanks hon, be right back!

Me: ~On the phone with "This is Chris, your Nextel Representative, how may I help you today?", while standing in the middle of my driveway in New England... in January... shivering~ Hi, could you tell me when my contract is up? I think it's this coming February, but I'm not sure.

Nextel Representative: Can I have your account number please?

Me: ~Running back up the steps of the front porch and into the house to get our recent bill~ Oh, crap! Yeah, sure... hold on one sec, let me... BEEP!! Uh... hello? Hello, can you hear me? Hello? Hellllloo?

Me: ~Looking at the LCD screen that now cheerily displays the message "Call failed, please try again"~ ARGGGGGGHHHH!!!

Me: ~Back out in the driveway, bill in hand, slowly reading my 75 digit account number over the phone to "Hi, this is Jane, your Nextel Representative, how may I help you today?"~ No, 54387-49. Yes, 8... that's correct.

Nextel Representative: Now may I have your password to confirm your account, please?

Me: Sure, its babelfish.

Nextel Representative: I'm sorry, that's incorrect.

Me: ~Confused~ Uhhhhhh... it's not babelfish? I thought it was babelfish. I always use babelfish...hmm... that's odd...did someone change it? Who'd change it?

Nextel Representative: According to records, the password was changed on November 16th via our website.

Me: ~Now *really* confused!~ Wha??? Are you sure? November 16th? Why would anyone change... wait.. online did you say?

Nextel Representative: Yes, on November 16th an online account was created for billing and such and the password was changed at that time. Do you need the hint provided?

Me: ~Horrified... the memory of establishing the online Nextel account and new password washes over me~ Um, no... that's okay.. I don't need a hint. I remember now.

Nextel Representative: And the new password to verify the account is?

Me: ~Standing in the middle of my driveway in New England... in January... shivering...with my phone pressed to my ear, blushing furiously~ Er, the password is... spankme.

Doh!

It's Gotta Be the Weather

2006-01-28T03:50:00.000-05:00

"What New England is, is a state of mind,
a place where dry humor and perpetual disappointment
blend to produce an ironic pessimism
that folks from away find most perplexing."

~ Willem Lange

I don't have much sympathy for someone else's pain. I am not sure if it is because I am a masochist, but if you complain about pain to me, you have to be pretty much dying... or in danger of losing a limb, in order to get sympathy.

Maybe it is partly due to geography.

I was born and raised in New England...a true 3rd generation Yankee... famous for characteristic traits such as thrift, resourcefulness, and my favorite... "determination in the face of adversity".

We are stoic. Self reliant. And it might have something to do with the weather.

Any group of people that chooses to live in a place with weather that is arguably the most varied in the world, including temperature extremes, droughts, flooding, ice storms, blizzards, nor'easters, hurricanes, tornadoes and more... well, we take hardships as a matter of course.

New England is populated by a large group of masochists... weather masochists.

Yankee children are born and bred this way. "Evolution by climate" so to speak. I wonder what Darwin would say...

And then, when you add our Puritan roots? Well let's face it, part of New England's Puritan legacy is self-righteous penance... long cold winters in the New World and all that (see the weather connection again? It is a deep running theme here!)... so a history of forebearance coupled with our evolved weather masochist tendencies, well, Yankees believe pain should be borne with indifference, suffered silently and accepted as just another part of the living experience... like bad weather.

My point to this rambling?

Study Boy ~Limping in the back door with Fuzzy One trailing behind, tail wagging~ Ugh, I slipped on the ice while chasing the AFP (Study Boy's term of affection for the canine member of the family: Annoying Fucking Pooch, shortened to AFP).

Me ~Looking at him critically, noting the way he cradles his right shoulder somewhat pathetically~ Are you alright?

Study Boy ~Grimacing and groaning a bit~ Yeah, I think so. My shoulder hurts a bit though.

Me ~Looking at him more seriously~ What do you mean, "it hurts"? How bad? Can you move it at all? Is the pain unmanageable? Do you think you need to see a doctor?

Study Boy ~Now limping pathetically around the house (Didn't he say shoulder?), his eyes squinting in pain~ Um, I...yeah....ouch!... yeah I can move it. How bad? I'm not sure... it hurts!

Me ~Getting a bit impatient at my usually linguistically gifted spouse~ You're not sure? Jeez...it hurts? What does that mean? Is it excruciating? What kind of pain is it?

Study Boy ~Grimacing and "ouching" under his breath~ Well, no its not what I would call excruciating...

I cut him off with a wave of my hand before he could say anymore and headed for the freezer for an ice pack.

Me: You probably pulled a muscle or strained something. Take this and put it on your shoulder and I'll get you some Motrin. You'll be fine in a day or two.

I spent the next couple of days telling him to suck it up.

Me: "Just ice the damn thing and take more Motrin. You'll be fine, just stop focusing so much on it... and stop talking about it!"

Yeah. And over a week later he was still walking around making those little gasping , sucking in air sounds through gritted teeth. I just couldn't understand why he was being such a baby. He fell in the snow for God's sake!

Me ~After yet another gasp~ Good grief, did you take more Motrin? I thought you said it wasn't a big deal?

Study Boy ~Mumbling a bit~ No... I never said that...

Me: You said it didn't hurt!

Study Boy ~Removing his shirt to show me a rather ugly looking black bruise~ I said it wasn't excruciatingg! I never said it didn't hurt!

Me ~Shaking my head, a bit worried~ Hmm... maybe you should call the doctor. That doesn't look so good. Why didn't you tell me that you were in pain?

Study Boy ~Looking rather miffed~ Well, you made me feel like it shouldn't hurt as much as it does. Like I am some sort of wimp.

Me ~Doing damage control while eyeing the obscene bruise and the funky cockeyed way he held his shoulder~ Oh come on, with how you described it, I thought it was nothing.

Study Boy made an appointment with the family doctor. The day of the appointment, I got a phone call around lunch time. It was Study Boy and I thought I heard a twinge of smugness in his tone:

Study Boy: Well I tore a tendon in my shoulder and he said I am lucky I don't need surgery. ~After pausing for just a moment to let his words sink in, he continued on, his voice definitely taking on a smug tone~ *And* I chipped the bone.

Me ~Not missing a beat~ Now you see? If you had only been more descriptive of your pain, I would have suggested you go see the doctor! You are seriously lacking in the descriptive skills department, you know that?

Study Boy ~Complete silence on the phone for a couple of heartbeats~ Uh huh... it wasn't your total lack of sympathy about my pain then? It was my descriptive skills?

Me ~Squirming in my seat, but determined to see things through~ Erm yeah... well, that and the fact that I am from New England and a bit tougher than you. See, you are from the Midwest and that just isn't the same. Here in New England, they make em tougher.... it's the weather you know... turns us into masochists... a weather masochist of sorts....

I stopped my blathering when he cleared his throat.

Study Boy ~Amused~ Honey, did you just blame your masochism on the weather?

Me ~Non plussed~ Well, not any old weather! New England weather, because you see.....

Yup. Masochism in the northern states? Definitely weather induced.... Yes, well it sounded good in the moment. I was backed up against the wall! I wonder if I should be spanked for telling tall tales..... hmmm.... ;)

So, What Does A VCS Bath Brush Feel Like Anyway?

2006-01-21T00:38:00.000-05:00

Professor seems to enjoy and be very adept at waging psychological warfare before (and during) a spanking session. He takes perverse pleasure in torturing me mentally... keeping me guessing... pushing me off balance.

A recent example? He had me lug our duffel bag full of spanking implements to my recent punishment session, and then proceeded to pull our recently purchased (and not even properly tested) Vermont Country Store Bath Brush out of his pocket when I got there. Did he use *anything* from the duffel I brought? Nope. He chose to punish me with this:

And there it is.

I think it looks rather wimpy. And really, when you hold it in your hand, there doesn't seem to be much weight to it, so it even feels wimpy. Guess what? It's not wimpy. It isn't even close to wimpy... and the pain the little sucker leaves in its wake... well, it is a bit hard to describe.

So, what do I think of our bathbrush after Wednesday's experience?

It stings like mad, but doesn't leave deep tissue bruising like a wooden paddle, and yet I would say that it is much more painful than the frat paddle Professor usually uses to punish me.

Actually, I will go on the record by saying that for me, it is the worst pain I have felt to date... from any implement, including the cane... and really, that is saying a lot. I am no shrinking violet when it comes to pain.
I have thought a lot about it... about why such a wimpy looking thing could be so painful.

It isn't heavy enough to do any lasting damage, at least not for me and my "born to be spanked/very rarely marks or bruises" spanko bottom.

When I get spanked with a wooden paddle, I always have deep tissue bruising and I am sore the next day. A paddle is thuddy... the pain sort of echoes over my bottom... and it is a deep, thick pain, followed by a rippling aftersting (that is actually very pleasant!) that fades over time.

That nasty bathbrush is different. It is a stingy type implement... like a cross between a cane and a hairbrush. Or better yet, imagine it as a hairbrush with cane like qualities... a hairbrush with an attitude. It is less thuddy and more stingy like a hairbrush, but the sting... well, it led into this burn... and then as an added bonus, the burning feeling grew like with a cane.

Just as a cane's sting grows after impact...you know, that "take your breath away" sting crescendo you get after a well placed cane stroke... the bathbrush's burn grows after impact.

Yeah.

I would equate the feeling to if you took a bit of sandpaper and rubbed it vigorously over your skin and then had someone whack the red and raw area repeatedly with something solid. Imagine rug burn on steroids.

It was something I have never felt before... seriously, a hairbrush with attitude! I think a hairbrush is VERY painful, but usually with a regular hairbrush spanking, my bottom gets blissfully numb after a while (thank god for small favors) and I am able to survive the experience emotionally intact.

For some unknown reason, I didn't go numb with the bathbrush... I was able to experience each and every swat in its fully glory... and none of my usual pain coping mechanisms worked at all. To be honest, after about five minutes I thought I was going to go out of my mind.

My experience with the bathbrush?

It was unbelievable...

And intriguing ;)

Tagged by Janeen

2006-01-20T00:28:00.000-05:00

A tag from Janeen! (and a belated response, but a response nonetheless!)

Here are the instructions:

1. Go to your blog archive
2. Find the 23rd post
3. Find the 5th sentence
4. Post the text of the sentence in a blog entry along with these instructions
5. Tag five other people

So, this Naughty One is used to not only regular meetings with her Disciplinarian, but also a pretty consistant diet of emails/IMs as well, and it keeps her grounded... anchored... because he is a steady, consistant voice of reason in the midst of naughty madness.

I tag: Poiesia, Dirty Girl, Kaya, Carrielily, and BadTom

You Are Spanked When You Are Bad

2006-01-19T19:20:00.000-05:00

It was a dark and stormy afternoon as I made the trip down to meet Professor...the strong winds and torrential rains echoed my own turbulent emotional state. I was agitated and afraid...my stomach queasy... and I spent the hour long drive fighting back tears, hastily wiping them away with the cuff of my sleeve.

Okay, I have to stop here for a moment because really, just how often does a writer get to use the phrase "it was a dark and stormy afternoon" and mean it in the literal sense?

This is one of the most ridiculed openings in literature, but in this case it works! I mean, talk about setting the mood for a punishment spanking...and not only that, but the weather clearly reflected my emotional state.

So yeah, it actually was a dark and stormy afternoon...a perfect setting for a punishment spanking...

By the time I got to the hotel, I had pulled myself together, and when I knocked on the door to Room 224, the only remnants of my panicked drive were the metallic taste in the back of my mouth and the oversized lump in my throat... the latter of which I had embraced as a permanent addition to my anatomy days ago.

The door swung open and there he was, his tall form filling the door frame and my stomach threatened to empty itself on the carpet. I stepped inside and shut the door, letting my back pack slide slowly down my slumped shoulders before I set it on the bed and backed up against the wall.

He looked resolved... grim... determined and I instinctively wrapped my arms around myself and pulled my shoulders forward. I don't want to do this today... I want to go home...I hate it when you have to look at me like that. "Stand up straight," he scolded. Is that disappointment on his face? Disappointment mixed with irritation? I swallowed several times and tried to ignore my growing panic. I am scared, Professor. Scared!

"Go get changed." "Yes Sir." I picked up my pack and headed for the bathroom. "Oh, and I brought the bath brush... its here in my jacket pocket. Go get changed, and when you come out I am going to spank you hard with it." Bath brush?!?! "You deserve the spanking you are going to get and I want you to think about that."

That's not how it was supposed to go..we were going to use that in fun for my first actual spanking with it ... I felt light headed. Don't you remember, Professor?

"This is serious."

"I know."

"As serious as it gets."

"I know."

He didn't have to lecture very much. I knew... we both knew that what I had done was wrong. Stupid and very wrong. His jacket hung on a tan plastic hanger in the pressed-wood room cubby and I watched rivulets of rain water slide down one sleeve and puddle on the carpet below before I headed into the bathroom.

You are spanked when you are bad, Naughty One...

He wouldn't have to spank me to teach me a lesson like he has done in the past. There were no new higher rules to learn... no need to spank the reasons for why what I had done was wrong into my bottom. I knew it was wrong, and why... so that just left...punishment.

You are spanked when you are bad...

I am scared Professor!

I came out in my skirt and clung to the wall. He spoke quietly and firmly, his eyes narrow. "Stand up straight, Young Lady! Look at me when I talk to you." I struggled to keep my body from shaking. It was if I couldn't stand on my own two feet and I needed the wall... for support... to hide... to wish myself away. Why can't you see that? I am so ashamed... scared...I need to hide. The wind made the window panes rattle...Will there ever come a time when you are unable to forgive me?

"Put your nose in the corner."

I was in the corner and the hotel cleaning staff was in the hall. I could hear their voices as they opened the door to the room next to us. "As soon as they are finished I am going to give you a spanking you will never forget." I know. His voice was in my ear and I pulled my arms up over my head, pressing my face closer to the wall. "Pull your panties down to your knees."

You are spanked when you are bad...

I closed my eyes and saw nothing but the image of the bath brush in the darkness as I slide my panties over my hips. I focused on the sound of the rain against the window. God...its raining so hard...I'm scared... The voices in the hall seemed to move away. Don't go! The rain seemed to fall harder against the glass. There was laughing in the hallway.

"Come here." No...please....I am scared!

I moved across the room to where he was sitting...my legs were someone else's legs...the bath brush was cradled in his hand. The carpet felt uneven under my feet and my ears were ringing. I can't hear the rain anymore...

"Over my knee." I am so scared! I looked into his eyes pleadingly, and then I saw it... the tiniest of hints... his eyes softened... just a brief moment... but I saw it. It will be okay. I saw it... and then I was going over his lap and wiping at my eyes, all at the same time... the cheesy calico print of the bedspread reached up to meet me... my face against the bed, my arms folded under my chin... his knees hard against my torso... my bottom bared his hand on the small of my back...and then there I was, ready to be punished... soon to be punished. I am scared...

CRACK!

Time stopped and I forgot to breathe. I listened to the rain pound on the window.

CRACK!

He began lecturing, but I couldn't hear him.

CRACK! CRACK!

I couldn't hear anything... not even the rain because the sound of my ragged breathing drowned everything else out. He brought the bath brush down again and again, covering my entire bottom with a pain that is difficult to describe.

It was mere minutes before I was writhing and wimpering... struggling violently to get away from the awful burn. His voice was insistent through gritted teeth, as he spread his legs apart, forcing my feet up off the floor until I was lying completely prone over his lap and unable to wiggle away.

CRACK! CRACK!

My bottom burned from the moment the spanking began and my eyes stung with tears from his lecture.
Back in the corner, I sobbed quietly, swiping at my tears before they were able to spill over on to my cheeks, before being called out again for another round with that bath brush.

It was a hard spanking and when he finally stopped, he asked if I thought I had been punished enough.

Punished enough?

His question surprised me and I didn't know how to answer. Punished enough? "I, er..." You could have hung me on the wall with thumb screws and whipped me with a cat o nine tails and I don't think it would be enough. "I...I..." He watched my face carefully. "It's okay, I want the truth." I watched the rain. "I...I...No." No? What is wrong with you? Your burning bottom is not enough? He nodded slowly.

"Come here."

Nooo....I changed my mind... can I change my mind? I was back over his knee and a new volley of spanks began... softer this time. I buried my face in the crook of my arm and closed my eyes. I am sorry...so sorry...can you forgive me? He continued to spank me with the bath brush. "I am sorry," I said simply... quietly. "I know," he said, now covering my burning bottom with light smacks...softer smacks... the smacks of a Disciplinarian who thought I had been punished enough. "I believe you."

He continued to spank for a few minutes longer, but for me, at that moment, it was done. It was then that I felt forgiven. It was then I could forgive myself. It was then I felt normal again.

Me: Professor? Someone asked me...someone asked if....well, I know right now I am nowhere near it, but do you think some day, .when I grow up...when I grow into myself...I will get to the point where I won't need to be punished anymore?

Him: Someday, you will.

Me: ~Slightly confused, that vague sense of dread growing again... B,B,B,But....wha?

Him: ~Stopping my stutter with a gentle look... Naughty One, your need for punishment was part of you when I met you, and it is part of you now, so we fulfill that need like we fulfill your others. It is all part of your puzzle. Will there come a time when you won't have that need? I hope so... I think so. Already your behaviour has improved... you are punished less.

Me: ~Shifting in my seat slightly, letting his words wash over me... Will I miss it?

Him: At the moment, you have a need for punishment and if that aspect of our relationship were taken away, you would miss it. But you are growing, Naughty One...changing... and your needs, what you need from the kink, from me, will change with you. And that's a good thing.

Me: But I am not there yet, am I?

Him: ~Laughing... No, Naughty One, you aren't.

Me: I am glad you are in my life, Professor...

Me: Hey look! It stopped raining!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Postscript: An excerpt of an email from Professor to a certain Naughtyopath:

Hello Naughty One,

How is the morning after? You didn't bruise, but I
imagine there must be some soreness. Is there?

It was a good meeting. It made things more "normal".
Amazing how a punishment can do that. That person
asked you if you would miss them once you "grew up" -
I wonder if I will also? I assume that I will
change as well.

I am glad that you are in my life too.

Be good.

- Your Disciplinarian

How Can I Say Sorry

2006-01-15T02:53:00.000-05:00

I am in trouble again... and really huge, scary kind of trouble, so I am preoccupied with the resulting upcoming punishment.

I wonder when it was that punishment became more about disappointing Professor than about the spanking itself. The respect and closeness...this caring about what he thinks sort of crept up on me.

In the beginning, it really was about exploring my need for spanking. Although we had established early on that I wanted more than just a spanko partner... that I wanted a Mentor/Disciplinarian...in the beginning, well, it was more roleplay than real.

When did it change I wonder?

The severity of a punishment spanking hasn't changed...it still hurts and will most definitely hurt on Wednesday. The lengthy Professorish lecture hasn't changed either...I know the drill... I can even hear his voice in my head as I type this.

I guess I have changed... *We* have changed.

There is this awful lump in my throat. It has been there since I called him to confess, and I can't seem to get rid of it. It isn't there out of fear... or anticipation of the spanking I will receive. Wednesday's punishment will hurt, and I deserve it...afraid or not. Really, the lump has nothing to do with the spanking at all.

I care what he thinks. A lot. And I screwed up. A lot.

When did it stop being an elaborate spanko roleplay?

I don't know, but it did... slowly... subtly... and now punishment isn't about the spanking anymore. Not really.

I am in trouble again... and really huge, scary kind of trouble, so I am preoccupied with the resulting upcoming punishment. How will I find the words to say I am sorry for what I did?

When I look up at him, when I look into his eyes...how can I say I am sorry for worrying him... for disappointing him... for making such a big mistake... with this big lump in my throat?

I really can't seem to get rid of it.

Spanking Game

2006-01-11T00:02:00.000-05:00

Ohhh I am so going to show this to Professor!!

*compliments of Reb's site, which I found via Spanking and Sex Games for Naughty Parties:

A Spanking Dice Game

Materials:
3 Dice
Paddle (or hairbrush), belt (or strop)

How to Play:
Position, Implement, Number of Swats and How Hard are decided by a random toss of THREE (3) dice.

Because you are using three dice, the possibility of the combinations of numbers are anywhere from 3 to 18 with each roll of the dice. The SPANKER rolls the dice to determine the fate of the spankee.

To add to the tension and uncertainty of the game the dice could be thrown one-at-a-time until the three are face up to reveal the:

POSITION
Over the Knee 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 14 - 15

Bending over 10 - 11 - 16

Over the end of the couch 12 - 13 - 17 - 18

The next roll of the dice decides the implement to be used:

IMPLEMENT

Hand 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16

Paddle 8 - 9 - 12 - 17

Belt or Strop 10 - 11 - 18

The next roll will determine the number of spanks:

NUMBER OF SWATS

from 3-18

And finally how hard?

HOW HARD

Light 3 - 4 - 5 - 6
Medium 7 - 8 - 9 -10 -11 -12 -13 -14 -15
Hard 16 -17 -18

100 Spanking Things About Me...About Us

2006-01-09T21:17:00.000-05:00

A spanko twist on the usual "100 Things About Me"...

1.I was never spanked as a child.
2.My earliest memory of my "spanko-ness" was 2nd grade. My teacher read a chapter of The Little House in the Big Woods (a book I had already read) each morning, and because I would get that squirmy feeling when someone talked about spanking, I kept asking to go to the bathroom during that time. After about a week, my teacher pulled me aside and asked me if I had a bladder problem. Nope....just a spanko who blushes easily....even back then.
3. Yes, I blush way too easily...especially when I am embarrassed or uncomfortable.
4. Basically its guaranteed that I will blush before, during and right after a spanking.
5.I am a spanko who is a sucker for all things schoolgirl, especially plaid skirts.
6.I am a spanko with a discipline core.
7.My first ever spanking experience was August 1, 2003.
8.I wore a black and white plaid school girl skirt, a white top, and black strappy sandals for my first spanking.
9.I am in a nonsexual, discipline based spanking relationship with Professor.
10.Professor wore a very white button down dress shirt, dark green slacks and black wingtips for our first session. (Are you impressed I remembered, Professor? ;))
11.I have never referred to or called Professor by his real name...and this includes when we are together. In the beginning, my choice to refer to him as Professor was based on respect as well as the swoon factor. Now, it is based on respect, swoon factor and endearment.
12.My favorite position is over Professor's knee while he is sitting in a straight back chair.
13.I am always spanked on the bare, unless we are in public.
14.I have been spanked in Chicago, Washington DC, and several states in New England.
15.A big trigger for me is public discipline....or the hint of it.
16.I have been publicly swatted in the hallway of the Supreme Court building in DC in front of several security officers, in CVS when purchasing my hair brush, and at the top of the Washington Monument.
17.I was spanked over Professor's knee in a public garden at the Smithsonian.
18.My first taste of a cane was in the form of a wooden mini blinds rod that was pilfered from my hotel room during our trip to Chicago.
19. The term "Naughtyopath" was coined by Professor in response to an email discussion we were having about my inability to "do what is right". Famous for being hard on myself, when faced with the realization that although I knew the difference between right and wrong, I often made the choice to do wrong, I referred to myself a sociopath. In his email back to me, he said that a better term for me was naughtyopath. :)
20.I used to have to keep a punishment list on yahoo briefcase that listed offenses I was to be punished for.
21. I have asked to be punished for present as well as past naughtiness and my first punishment spanking was for shooting a 22 rifle off a roof at a party several years before I met Professor.
22. I own 5 short plaid school girl type skirts, three pairs of white knee socks and several pairs of black shoes specifically purchased for spanking play.
23.We own two University paddles and I have felt only the smaller of the two.
24.My favorite Professor phrase? "Good Girl"
25. I rarely bruise or mark, no matter how hard I am spanked.
26. My least favorite spanking position is the diaper position....which we have done only once.
27.I don't like being verbally or physically degraded.
28.The lotion used during my aftercare is Solarcaine, a green gel-like stuff used to soothe sunburns.
29.When in the corner, I usually have to keep my hands on my head and my elbows against the wall.
30.We begin and end most spanking sessions with a hand spanking, otk.
31.I have to ask to be punished.
32.The most painful spank play I have experienced thus far involved having an ice pack placed on my bottom *before* being spanked.
33.My next spanking will involve a leg lock and the Vermont Country Store bath brush.
34.I have never had to use my safeword.
35.One spanking fantasy of mine involves Professor pulling the car over to give me an impromptu spanking.
36.I think impromptu spankings are very swoony.
37.I don't get enough impromptu spankings for my taste.
38.I love the sound a leather belt makes when it lands on a bottom....er...my bottom :)
39. Restraints are swoony, whether they are physical or mental, because I hate/love them...they push me outside my comfort zone.
40.Professor writes swoony spanking stories.
41.I have a hard time standing still when being lectured.
42.I try to get away with keeping my gum in my mouth during a spanking session just to be a little naughty because I know Professor forbids gum in those situations, and yet, if I am able to get away with it...I am left feeling oddly disappointed and guilty.
43.I love bedtime spankings.
44.Certain sounds and/or sudden changes in sensation (smacks mixed in with soft caresses) always puts me in subspace.
45.We have two rattan canes, a crook handled cane and a nursery cane and they were gifts from Poiesia.
46.My original hairbrush broke when it was thrown down my basement stairs by Skater Boy.
47.My earliest spanking fantasy involved Richard Dean Anderson (MacGyver).
48.I think it is incredibly swoony to sit through a class lecture on a sore bottom.
49. I never cry from the pain of a spanking.
50. While I was in Disney World last winter, I saw a Goofy paddle and it reminded me of Professor so I bought it for him.
51.Addendum to 50: The Goofy paddle reminded me of Professor because it could be used as a spanking implement, not because it had Goofy on it. :)
52.I do not have a list of simple rules to follow, like "go to bed at 11pm"...instead Professor has what he calls "Higher Rules".
53.The "Higher Rule" that tops the list? Do what you know is right.
54.For Christmas, a fellow naughty friend gave us a double strap, a flogger, a small cane, a hairbrush set, a long thin ruler type thing, a crop and...hmmm...a few more spanko toys. You know that old adage "With friends like these...."????
55.Hotel heaters are distracting... especially if you are standing in front of one, being lectured, and warm air is blowing up your skirt, caressing your freshly spanked bottom.
56.Yes, Professor actually calls me Naughty One in real life.
57.I get regular canings at school in Professor's office.
58.We met through a personals ad placed on Bernie's (remember Bernie's?)
59.From the beginning, our relationship has been unequal and discipline based. Somehow, over the last three years, we have managed to walk the fine line between friendship and discipline.
60.Professor is a left handed spanker.
61.My favorite kind of spanking is a "Spanking for spankings sake".
62.I believe in Spanking it Forward.
63.Professor uses the sorority paddle he bought on campus to punish me.
64.Our first role play occurred in a crowded mall, involved a VERY public lecture, a swat, an arm-grab-dragged-through-the-mall-wait-till-we-get-home-young-lady walk to the parking garage that was like, 3000 miles away.
65. When we first started talking via email, after a couple of months, I got scared and ran away. I came back to Professor more than a year later, and after another 4 months of talking, we finally met in real life.
66. Our first real life meeting was "in scene" at a hotel and then *after* the spanking session we went out to lunch. Seems backwards huh? It was...but it was worth it doing it that way...
67.Addendum to 66: You only have one "first time".
68.Professor's favorite implements are his hand and his belt.
69.I am not allowed to say "I don't know" when asked a question.
70.Professorisms I hear most often:
"Do what you know is right"
"I determine fair, Young Lady"
"Don't make me repeat my lessons"
"Got it?"
"You get spanked when you are bad, Naughty One"
"Get over my knee"
"Be open and honest at all times"
"Remember to keep your guard up in Nautcon situations"
71.Professor uses the terms "carrot" and "stick" when referring to the type of spanking I will receive at our next session... and carrot spankings are obviously more fun. :)
72.When in the corner, after being punished, I am expected to answer Professor's questions about why I was punished and what I have learned. If I hesitate... or am unable to answer them to his satisfaction, I get punished again.
73.Professor is the only Spanker I know who could make a spanko weekend in Washington DC educational. Spanked soundly in the evenings, my days were carefully (and anally!) planned by my map carrying fascist tour guide who made sure I got my fill of educational experiences.
74.Addendum to 73: I will NEVER be able to look at the Lincoln Memorial again without hearing Professor's spankofied Gregory Peck imitation in the background.
75.Professor usually wears black wingtips to spanking sessions ;)
76.Spanking pain is a good kind of pain.
77.If we haven't seen each other in a while, we have lunch before the session to "circle the spanking wagons".
78.Professor is a verbose lecturer (in and out of the classroom).
79.I love being blindfolded.
80.I love being challenged during a session.
81.Professor rarely uses non spanking punishment.
82.I always wear a short skirt for sessions unless we are at school.
83.Professor keeps our canes on his bookshelf in his office.
84.My favorite implements are my hairbrush and his belt.
85.I love it when he wears his glasses rather than his contacts.
86.The first gift Professor ever gave me? The Taming of Sleeping Beauty series.
87.The first gift I ever gave Professor? The Stephanie Plum series by Janet Evanovich (Professor says Stephanie Plum reminds him of me... and we both think she, Joe and Ranger are closet spankos).
88.My best friend (a vanilla) made the heavy strap we use... and I think that he could go into business making torture implements if he wanted to.
89.I have never reached my hand back to protect my bottom during a spanking. In the beginning, Professor told me I "would be very sorry" if I ever did... and I have been too afraid to ever since.
90.Regardless of how he is portrayed on here, besides being no nonsense, strict and capable of giving a very hard spanking, Professor is caring, moral, has a great sense of humor and he has dimples when he smiles (I bet he will spank me for divulging that little tidbit after the "Clueless" thing).
91."NAUTCON" is a reference coined by Professor that is comparable to military DEFCON alerts. A NAUTCON alert is a warning to me that I need to keep my behavioral guard up. Professor taught me to recognize situations where I was likely to get in trouble, and thus, needed to be more aware of naughty behavior tendencies.
92.I hate being made to say the words "naughty" or "spanking" during a session.
93.I love being called "Little One".
94.I LOVE a crop.
95.The ring I selected on my phone for Professor is the Muppet Theme Song. I chose it because it made him seem a little less scary and just to be naughty ;).
96.I get off on the subtle details of a good session like the slow rolling of sleeves or being forced to stand in the center of a room before being spanked.
97.I feel helpless when Professor chooses to lower my panties, rather than telling me to do it.
98.Speaking of helpless, while in Washington, I was in a cast. Professor had to do everything for me... from tying my shoes to opening my soda bottles... and I wouldn't order any food that needed both a knife and a fork the whole weekend, because I didn't want him to have to cut my meat!
99.I think about spanking constantly.
100.Professor is about as swoony as they get :).

I am me again

2006-01-05T23:06:00.000-05:00

I met Professor in the parking lot of the restaurant where we have lunch on days when we need to "circle the spanking wagons". I needed the extra time with him. I was feeling distant. Walled away... from him... and in some ways, from myself.

I had put up the walls for the holidays, and was having a hard time taking them back down. I was supergirlish... resilient...closed... wary... dependent on no one.

For some sessions... if we haven't seen each other in a while... or if we are meeting after a particularly stressful time (such as the holidays) in real life for either of us (usually me!), Professor asks to meet for lunch before spanking. We always spend time talking before/during/after a spanking session, yet nothing seems to compare to the unique way my world is righted after one of our lunches.

Is it the concentrated one on one attention? The easy, no pressure environment that lends itself to carefree banter? Or could it simply be Professor knows that people can't help but be better listeners when their mouths are filled with food?

I have come to realize that these lunches offer a platform from which the relationship between Mentor and mentee can be nurtured... as well as being a peg from which I am able to hang many things. Whatever the reason, when Professor suggests we should meet for lunch prior to spanking, I know that he is circling the spanking wagons... giving us a chance to reconnect... regardless of what kind of spanking he has in store for me later on.

Yesterday's spanking session... it wasn't one of those fear filled, lump so big in your throat it threatens to choke off your airway punishments. Or a swoony school girl role play replete with the trademark plaid skirt and stern Academic. Or even one of those sound spanking for spankings sake where there is very little talking, but rather, alot of spanking inflicted by someone who understands....

Yesterday's session....well, it started like this:

I met Professor in the parking lot of the restaurant where we have lunch on days when we need to "circle the spanking wagons"....

Professor grins ....greeting me with his arms wide open, before pulling me close to his chest...a simple yet monumental act that begins, as I close my eyes and allow my body to be saturated in his presence, our subtle return to familiarity...

"Hey! Nice sweat pants! I see you dressed up for me today!"

Hmphffing rather loudly and looking down at my army green Adidas track pants (They are track pants not sweat pants! Sweat pants have those elastic ankles and are made of that....ew...sweat pant material! Track pants! I am wearing track pants!), I scowl.

"Yeah, well it was cold out this morning Professor!" ... I whine, jamming my hands into the pockets of my AE vest, my scowl giving way to a sheepish grin. "I brought another outfit," I add, almost as an afterthought.

I feel as much like the naughty teenager I resemble, tagging along behind Professor, struggling to keep up with his long legged stride, clothed in track pants and black chucks, as the waitress leads us to our table. I am distant from him... tomboyish... remnants of the coping mechanisms I used to survive the holidays still stubbornly clinging to me like psychological armor.

I am antsy... giddy... guarded and unusually shy, and as I sit down across from him, I fold my legs up underneath my body and hold the menu like a shield.

I am distant from you...do you realize that? I giggle nervously and shift in my seat, all the while, hoping that you will find some way to reach me and pull me back out...

"Ohhh...I have a Christmas present that I need you to help me with," he says, reaching into his pocket. His eyes crinkle as he grins, and I giggle when I see his new cell phone. He squints at the screen, his fingers busily pushing various buttons, and I struggle not to laugh. "Shhh!" He admonishes, "I got a new phone and I need to put your number in." He pushes more buttons and I hug myself, my body shaking with laughter.

"Do you want me to..."

"No! I can do it! I just need to find my phone book."

I watch the ice melt in my water glass.

"You know, if you just let me..."

"Shh! I just learned how to use the phone book."

Is he sweating?

"Do I need to enter the area code?"

I am extremely amused, and lean in closer to watch my Professor...a highly respected faculty member of a large university...a PhD... an Uber Geek...as he struggles to add my phone number to his new cell phone.

He pauses to give me a warning look and I laugh out loud into my menu as the waitress stops by to see if we are ready to order.

Uh, yes, I will have the Chicken Caesar, and Professor will have the Cell Phone 101, with a "Let's make the leap to the electronic age, shall we?" on the side...

Lunch is light hearted and fun, and we spend the time catching up, laughing and re-establishing our relationship. I am nervous about our upcoming spanking session, but I don't know why...

I try to tell him about the distance... my nervousness, but I don't think he understands. "It's been a long time since we saw eachother, Professor. I feel distant from you... weird." He is confused. I can see it on his face. "A long time? We saw each other two weeks ago, Naughty One! I know it wasn't a spanking meeting last time, but we did see each other. Actually, we had a long session less than a month ago."

I nod vaguely. "Yeah, I know." It's not the actual length of time, don't you see? A lot has happened... junk... it seems longer... much longer... don't you see? Geesh, I sound like a freak, but it does seem longer.

When we get to the hotel, it is freezing. I don't want to change into the familiar plaid skirt and strappy heels. I don't feel girly...I want to keep my vest on. It's cold... I am cold... I don't want the intimacy, Professor...I can't seem to come back from where ever it is that I am. We spend some time looking at the new implements, we talk some more... and my nervousness grows.

I lean against the sink in the bathroom after getting dressed. Why is this so hard right now? Let go. Just be...

I come out of the bathroom and walk across the room to where he is sitting, the new double strap in his hand. He pats his lap and I am going over... the floor is rushing up to my face... my hands reach the floor...I feel his fingers hook in the waistband of my panties... he pulls them down gently to mid thigh... his hand is flat against my lower back... and I am....home? I want to be home..let go...just be...

"Hmm. I think we should just use the leather toys today." I smile and shift on his lap. He is talkative... playful. "A leather theme, huh?" I say, gasping as the double strap lands sharply across both cheeks with a CRACK! "That stings!"

He brings the strap down again and I yelp as it lands smartly on the crease of my right cheek. Damn...that sucker stings! "I thought it would be louder though, it's not too loud." He brings it down several more times, hard, pausing only to lift one cheek, then the other, with his free hand, to expose the tender flesh where bottom and thigh meet.

"It's loud," he says, "but not the CRACK! loudest toy we have. CRACK! The leather paddle CRACK! CRACK! is much louder." I am wriggling and gasping, my hands are off the floor and I grip the rung of the chair. "Truuuuueeeeeee. But this...is...more...sTINgy...*ouch!*... the paddle is... *ggggahhh!* *ouch!* *geesh!*... thuddier."

I am panting now, my bottom stinging. "You are really feeling the sting today aren't you?" CRACK!
I squirm and sigh. "Yeah...we are talking...*accck!*...too much and it's distracting...*ouch!*... me. CRACK! CRACK! ...*gasp*...I keep fighting it... I can't seem ... CRACK!... to *arggggh!!!!!* ... let... CRACK!...*ouch!*...ooooooo! you're wearing different shoes!" At once the spanking stops. "Those are my snow shoes." I can tell from the sound of his voice that he is laughing. "Ahh..snow shoes, gotcha."

"Did you ever see the movie Clueless?" he asks, as I am dangling over his knee, mid spanking, the blood pooling in the top of my head. "The scene where she is walking along, absorbed in a conversation, and suddenly she stops and squeals, oooooo Snickers!...here you are over my knee, getting spanked and I hear, ooooooo! Different shoes!" Erm...my Professor saw the movie Clueless? And he is quoting dialogue?

CRACK! *gggggaaaa!* "Ouch! That stings!! Do you think it stings more because I can't get in the right mindset?" I ask through gritted teeth. CRACK! CRACK! The leather paddle is now in his hand and it lands on each stinging cheek hard. "Hmm...ooooooo, different shoes? CRACK! Yes, your mindset theory might have merit."

He is laughing and whacking... and I am wriggling and laughing and ouching all at the same time.

And I am happy... and close...to him.

And then I am me again.

Just like that.

The Exquisite Pain of Spanking

2006-01-03T22:39:00.000-05:00

"The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery every day. Never lose a holy curiosity."

~Albert Einstein

I am fascinated by the topic of pain lately. This sudden keen interest is based less on idle interest and more on a very clear desire to understand why I am the way I am. Curiosity can be a rather strong motivator...so, simply put, the subject of pain is my new obsession.

My spanking journey has led to many paths of self discovery, some of which I have explored eagerly... running headlong... eyes, ears and mind open to whatever I might find at the end of my travels. And other paths...well, I have paused just long enough to stand at the entrance of a poorly marked trail, content in gleaning whatever bits and pieces of knowledge I could within squinting distance before moving on.

One such unexplored path is my reaction to the pain.

After experiencing several real life spankings, it didn't take me long to realize that among other things, I truly enjoyed the pain. Yeah. That was a bit of a kick in the pants. Spankings are supposed to hurt, and pain isn't supposed to be fun... or so I had read and been told by others more experienced than I. It wasn't something I expected to enjoy.

For me, it isn't a case of "grin and bear it" in order to experience the joy of aftercare... and it isn't about enduring the painful side effect of an otherwise enjoyable experience. I can't even say that I view the pain as a necessary tool used to help me open up, for discipline, or whatever. I enjoy the sensation. I find the pain of spanking to be pleasurable. Does it hurt? Yes.

So then, why do I enjoy it? And what do I mean by "enjoy the pain"? In the context of spanking, pain is a pleasant experience for me. As I have said before, it is "a good kind of hurt"... a good kind of pain... and I enjoy it.

This revelation was more than mildly disturbing to me and for a long time I chose to leave the pain part of my spanking journey unexplored, choosing to focus on other aspects of my spanko self instead. Recently though, I found myself returning to the pain topic.

I am not sure if it is because I am becoming more confident and feel more equipped to look at those parts of myself or if it is a simple case of quiet desperation...the need to assuage my "socialized" self- the part of me that is intent on "being normal".

It is my "socialized" self...the "what will the neighbors think?" part left over from childhood that is responsible for my reluctance to explore, and/or accept the pain aspect, so I hope this recent fascination is not about curbing the whispered judgments of my shame monster.

Personally? I prefer to think that as I stand on the precipice of the new year, I have a better understanding of who Spanko Girl is...who I am. And that, along with my overly curious nature has spurred my most recent search for explanations about the experience we refer to as pain.

Twilight recently posted this on her blog, Just a Little Bit Naughty:

"The best technique for pain-management does not involve ignoring or fighting the pain, but rather, moving into it. Instead of trying not to think of the pain, or railing your body and mind to fight against it, you have to submit to it...as you let the pain take over and saturate every pore of your body, you will begin to recognize 'pain' as just another sensory input - a signal sent from your body to you brain, no more, no less..."

She posted this and more, explaining that it was text from a book having nothing to do with BDSM, yet was an accurate portrayal of how she dealt with pain during kinky play.

I was bowled over by the text because to me, it was a clinical description of how to reach subspace.

And then I happened to read a brilliant essay on pain by Magdelena, on her blog Myths and Metawhores, called The Violence of Love- The Pleasure of Pain, and it was the following excerpt that spoke to me:

"...Within the context of a scene, beatings may give the appearance of cruelty, of violence but this is an illusion. Psychological empathy and insight allows one to collapse into the sensation and choose to interpret it differently. We change our experience of pain. Safe in the knowledge that no real damage is being done, that we are emotionally cared for, we can relax into the pain-pleasure paradox. There is no distress connected with the sensory pain of high intensity, because it is unaccompanied by suffering."

We... change... our... experience... of... pain.

Yeah. Oh yeah.

This very profound statement captured the essence of a very important piece to my own masochistic puzzle...and much more elegantly than my clumsy "it's a good kind of pain".

How is it that I am able to find the experience of a spanking pleasurable? It is the *context* of the pain experience. The pain is expected... welcomed, and it is inflicted lovingly...expertly...and by someone I trust.

Magdelena and the author of twilight's article both seemed to touch on something important: The role of mindset when coping with pain. And so, with my curious (and science oriented) mind sufficiently peaked, my quest for answers began...

Pain is defined as an unpleasant sensory and emotional experience associated with actual or potential tissue damage. Since it is not well understood and cannot be measured directly, it is very subjective; however it is usually associated with emotions such as suffering and distress.

Pain is a survival tool... a signal to the body that it is being harmed... a signal that whatever activity is causing said pain should be avoided.

What about non-injuring pain then? The "pain" of a spicy meal... a strenuous workout... the initial heat of a jacuzzi... Is it possible for the brain to be trained to not feel non-injuring pain? Or to not interpret it to be the type of pain usually associated with suffering or distress?

And how are pain and pleasure linked?

Scientists have recently discovered that areas of the brain that respond to feelings of pleasure also react to the sensation of pain. Researchers at Mass General Hospital stated that pain is a complex experience that includes both a sensation *and* an emotional reaction.

The first is a feeling called nociception. This is the feeling of perceived damage to the body. This is the feeling that seems to be located in your ear during an ear infection, or comes in the form of sharp pins and needles when the blood comes back into a leg that has been "asleep."

The second feeling is displeasure. Displeasure is just the opposite of pleasure: it's feeling bad, rather than feeling good. It is the emotive response to perceived bodily injury... the suffering. And this emotive response of pain can be separated from nociception.

According to the Pain-Gate theory, it is in the spinal cord that the first "processing" of painful stimuli occurs, and whether or not pain is "recognized" by the brain is determined whether the pain gate is open or closed. Pain can either be transmitted through the spinal cord to the brain *or* be inhibited... the brain controls the flow of pain quite directly, and can be trained to turn off forms of pain that aren't "useful".

The pain gate can be closed with non-painful sensory input like heat or cold or massage (or rubbing away the sting of a spanking!)... using things like imagery or breathing to tune out the pain... or by simply relaxing (decreased anxiety).

So what does all of this have to do with the "good kind of pain" I get when I am spanked?

Pain... is... subjective.

A person's perception of pain is influenced by emotions, mood, state of mind...even memories.

I love a hard spanking. When I go into a spanking experience...lets say, a session with a crook handled cane, I approach the experience positively....safe in the knowledge that I will enjoy it. The pain of the caning is wrapped up in many positive thoughts and emotions; the psychological pleasure of being over Professor's knee, the ritual involved in a spanking session, my own personal need to face a challenge and overcome it, the simple fact that the pain will be inflicted in a caring manner.

I change my experience of pain.

A person who fears the cane however, might experience pain differently. Maybe they have bad memories, or have a fear of the unknown, or have a bias based on what they have read or been told others, and so they approach a caning experience with fear... or preconceived ideas about how awful or painful it will be. Their fear, stress and/or negative mindset could contribute to their overall pain experience.

What is very painful for one person may just be uncomfortable for another. What was uncomfortable at one point in your life might be horribly painful at another point. Pain is a subjective phenomenon where mindset, memories, and emotions all contribute to our personal pain experiences...and one person's pain may be another person's pleasure.

When is pain a "good kind of pain"? For me, it is when I am being spanked... hard... on my bare bottom... over Professor's knee... safe in the knowledge that the pain I am experiencing is being inflicted expertly ... lovingly... by someone I respect and trust...

Is it then that the pain is exquisite...

P.S. ... I am getting spanked tomorrow. It is the first session Professor and I have had since before Christmas and we have lots of new implements to play with... but more about that later...I promise ;) Happy New Year everyone!

Closed for the holidays...

2005-12-21T01:27:00.000-05:00

It's time for this Naughtyopath to put her pen down for a bit and do a little decking of the halls.

Tis the season, for fa la la-ing, sledding, Red Ryder BB guns, season's greetings, mistle toe, silver bells, resolutions, new beginnings, champagne, shiny hats and noise makers... and I don't want to miss one bit of it.

I will be back to blogging after I have had my fill of snow dashing, reindeer games, corn cob pipes, pine needles, twinkling lights, Dick Clark, Auld Lang Syne, and crystal balls falling from the sky in Times Square...

From my house to yours,

Have a safe and happy holiday!

See you in 2006 ;)

'Twas the Night Before Christmas, Professor...

2005-12-17T00:38:00.000-05:00

My 100th post.

Yep, here it is.

This is my 100th blog post! Yay!

To celebrate this blogging milestone, as well as my upcoming bathbrush/leg lock spanking, and the holiday season, I wrote a little something... actually, I wrote it for Professor. This is becoming a bit of a holiday tradition....

'Twas the Night Before Christmas, Professor...

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the town
Naughty's cries could be heard as her panties came down.
"Professor, don't spank me; oh please, I beseech you!"
His Naughty One begged him, though long overdue.

Professor stayed firm, pulled her over his lap,
and raised her short skirt, to give each cheek a slap.
"Now listen Young Lady, soon I think you will find,
just how that brush feels on your naughty behind."

Gasping as she found herself trapped under his leg,
she stammered and stuttered before starting to beg.
"Oh please, can't you see? I know beyond a doubt,
that fantasy I mentioned? I can live without."

"I do see, Naughty One," was all that he said,
nudging her forward, till the floor grazed her head.
He picked up the brush and without further delay,
he started spanking with gusto; whacking away.

"A discipline spanking is what you asked for,
and that's what you'll get till your crying and sore."
He covered her bottom with hard stinging smacks,
then reddened her thighs with a few solid whacks.

She wimpered and squirmed and tried kicking her feet,
the implement kissing where thighs and cheeks meet.
Blood rushing her brain, her face all aflush,
she asked herself why she purchased that brush.

She needed this spanking, so that's what she got,
a bathbrush, a leg lock, her cheeks growing hot.
he paddled her hard, he fulfilled her deep need,
punishing the bottom that lay over his knee.

Gulping at air, her head thick with the pain,

a wimper through clenched teeth, she couldn't contain.
And the burning just grew, soon too much to take,
her eyes welled with tears, each nerve ending awake.

Soon her quiet wimpers, gave way to louder cries,
as that hateful wooden bathbrush punished her thighs.
Tears slid down her chin, and pooled on the floor,
her body gave a shake, and she begged him, "No more!"

He held onto her waist, while pummeling both cheeks,
as she silently shook, face wet with tear streaks.
She moved to avoid the smacks, but struggled in vain
'cause that wooden bathbrush, found its mark again.

Then when she could take no more, she finally let go,
the spanking seemed forever; she hurt from head to toe.
At that's when he relented, allowing her to rise,

wrapped his arms around her, wiping tears from her eyes.

She was smiling at him with a look we all know

her world now put to rights, and her bottom aglow.

"Merry Christmas Professor," she said and hugged him tight....

Merry Christmas to All, and to All a goodnight!

What Type of Spanking Do You Crave?

2005-12-15T19:05:00.000-05:00

Here is my first attempt at creating a quizilla quiz. Enjoy! :)

What type of spanking do you crave?

A spanking for spankings sake is what you wish for!

A general stress relief spanking,where there is more spanking than talking or lecturing and you just want to bury your head in a pillow and quietly cry while your bottom is being spanked.

With this type of spanking,there is no specific transgression to think about... just that you are fulfilling a need to have your bare bottom spanked, really spanked, by someone who understands.

You may like a long, hard hand spanking...or a strapping might do the trick as well.
Take this quiz!
by Spanko Girl.

Stupid Is As Stupid Does?

2005-12-14T23:46:00.000-05:00

Why do smart people make stupid decisions? And why are common mistakes repeated over and over and over and over? Why can’t we learn from the mistakes of others, as well as our own?

We all know people....smart people....of sound mind and reasonable thinking, who at times, have the ability to make such completely boneheaded decisions that defy all logic.

Why is that?

I am one of those people by the way. I am one of those pretty smart people who can make very bad decisions and I am also one of those people who stubbornly refuses to learn from the experiences of others.

I read somewhere that bad decision making can be attributed to thinking at the wrong level, and thinking in the short term rather tha the long term. At any given moment, when confronted with a problem or project, we are faced with an infinite number of levels of problem solving at our disposal. A smart person knows which level is the right one at a given time, and then thoughtfully thinks things (the myriad of possibilities within that level) through before making a decision.

For example, if you are over your Spanker's knee, panties at your ankles, and there is a rather large wooden paddle hovering precariously over your unprotected bottom, it is not the right time to ask what's for dinner. Nor, when faced with a spanko craving, do you run out and purchase every brutal spanking implement you find through Google.

Smart people. Stupid decisions.

What causes faulty decision making? What makes smart people go stupid?

David N. Perkins lists eight deadly sins of the stupid smart person, which seem to sum it all up rather elegantly: impulsiveness (doing something rash), neglect (ignoring something important), procrastination (actively avoiding something important), vacillation (dithering), backsliding (capitulating to habit), indulgence (allowing oneself to fall into excess), overdoing (like indulgence, but with positive things) and walking the edge (tempting fate).

That sounds like my entire life, actually. Yes, that explains a lot.

I wonder how many deadly sins I committed when I made this brilliant decision:

Hiya Professor,

Would it be weird if I were to say that our new bath brush is *still* my implement of choice for that "hard discipline type spanking" that I am craving? Me being soundly spanked over your knee, unable to move because you have me trapped in a leg lock..... The fantasy still hasn't changed, even after experiencing a couple of painful brush induced whacks in your office.

~Your Naughtyopath

Little One,

The bath brush and leg lock it is...

Be good.

- Your Spanker

P.S. How about Tuesday afternoon?

Professor,

Tuesday looks good. I will see you then. By the way, I think I have changed my mind about the whole "leg lock/bathbrush/hard discipline spanking" and I don't want to do that afterall, okay?

~Your Naughty One

Naughty One,

"By the way, I think I have changed my mind about the whole "leg lock/bathbrush/hard discipline spanking", okay?"

No, it's not okay.

See you Tuesday.

- Your Hard Discipline Spanker

Doh!

Smart people. Stupid decisions. Yeah.

The Gift

2005-12-13T23:21:00.000-05:00

Poiesia wrote: "Spankings that are meant as punishment reduce -- not diminish -- me. It outlines boundaries, coloring the edges so that I know what things to consciously care about, otherwise I'd overwhelm and drown myself in too many details. I'd be endlessly carrying random guilt with me for things that are, well, stupid and destructive to myself, because I've been conditioned by other earlier influences that have long robbed and raped the integrity of my own right to claim boundaries...."

When I first read this, I took pause in the fact that it spoke to my discipline core. As a spanko who enjoys a good hard spanking in play, it is difficult to reconcile, explain, and/or adequately describe how spanking can be both play and punishment...and how a punishment spanking can be both feared and craved...both a deterrent and a need.

I often refer to punishment as a gift, and pain is only an aspect of that gift. The gift of pain? I sound like a whacko, I know. Punishment spankings are meant to hurt...and oh they do! But as poiesia so eloquently points out, there is more to punishment than the pain. Much more. For those of us with whom a discipline dynamic relationship resounds, the magic of punishment is a well known secret.

Punishment spankings are meant to make me feel real fear... cry real tears... and feel real remorse. Yes, punishment spankings hurt. They hurt alot. But, it is not just about enduring pain. There are feelings, emotions, a sense of well being and trust that will/can only be achieved from being punished.

Nothing else....no other hard spanking, convincing role play, etc. results in the lightness of spirit associated with the endurance of a deserved punishment spanking. A slate wiped clean. A spirit righted. *That* is the gift. The gift of atonement... forgiveness. Once experienced, it may well be a windmill you chase your entire kinkster journey. It has been for me.

What do those words really mean? What do those common spanko discipline-type euphemisms mean...symbolize... for me personally?

Guilt. Confession. Punishment. Cleansing. Absolution. Forgiveness. Punished to be forgiven. Release from the bonds of guilt.

Punishment is a deterrent. A deterrent from "straying off the proper path", so to speak. It is also a motivator to do good.

It is a message. A message that Professor is not only watching but guiding as well. Punishment is a reminder of his role in my life....his watchfulness...his emotional stake....and the ever present expectation of obedience.

It is meant to be humbling. It motivates by being a consequence -- a reminder to both my adult and child self that although I have choices, although I ultimately decide how I behave... by exercising a decision that goes against what I know is right, what I know is expected, I must be prepared for the inevitable less-than-happy consequences. Professor maintains consistent and firm control over my behavior, free will or not.

Punishment acknowledges my intelligence, and my willful display of defiance. It symbolizes consistency. Consequences. Solid walls and boundaries. Catharsis.

Punishment is all those things, but most importantly, for me, punishment's gift is the chance to let go of guilt.

A chance to cut ties to past guilt by actively doing what I know is right, now. A chance to acknowledge wrongdoing... to take responsibility... to atone for both past and present mistakes. Punishment prevents excessive guilt from holding me back.

Guilt.

I use to spend a lot of time in my own head... my mind trapped in a vicious self depreciating cycle, going over and over my bad behavior, the choices I made and the results, while also experiencing an enormous feeling... of yuck... a mix of nausea and a palpable sense of significant regret. And yet, I seemed powerless to stop the behavior that made me feel so bad, so I was angry, guilt ridden, and stupid because I had lost the ability to learn from my mistakes.

Guilt.

Guilt leads to anger. Self loathing. Lack of control. Faulty decision making.

Guilt sucks.

And now? How am I now?

Can I go back in time and change how I used to be? No.
Can I redo the things I regret? No.

But I can let them go. I can let them go by focusing on a more responsible and disciplined future. Being held accountable... given the chance to show remorse...to atone for present mistakes and present bad behavior, has allowed me to let things go. To heal. To move on. And I am doing just that.

Punishment. Acknowledgement of errors and forgiveness. The payment of a debt incurred in wrongdoing. It allows for the expression of remorse, and a cleansing to allow for new growth and better future decisions.

It is a gift.

Remember, how bad you have been in the past is not nearly as important as how good you are going to be in the future.......

Nothing Says Christmas Like An Inflatable Homer Claus

2005-12-11T00:27:00.000-05:00

And the Lord said....let there be voltage......

Check out UglyChristmasLights.com.
You need to see it to believe it.
Frankly, I am speechless.

King Santa and Prince Frosty look down upon their adoring plastic public.

Never Underestimate An Oversized Hairbrush

2005-12-09T01:40:00.000-05:00

So it turned out to be a caning in Professor's office, plus a bit more, and it all began with me bent over the back of a chair with my jeans and panties pulled down to my knees.

By the way, there is nothing weirder.....or more swoony.... then being told to bare your bottom and bend over the back of a chair in the middle of the office of your Disciplinarian. Especially when your Disciplinarian happens to be a popular faculty member of a rather large University.

Especially when you are standing at his side, in the hallway waiting, as he has an impromptu meeting with whichever grad student or fellow faculty member manages to corner him on our way back from lunch.

It is always good for me to take pause and think about that every once in a while. I wonder how many spankos I have come in proximity to while standing in line at the post office, in school, at the bank or even grocery shopping.

And I also wonder how many spankings are taking place behind the closed doors of offices, random conference rooms, or even storerooms of various businesses, office buildings or academic facilities we come in contact with on a daily basis. The thought alone warms my little spanko heart. How very swoony. Very swoony indeed.

Anyway, back to Professor's office...

I had brought my new bath brush...the one I ordered from The Vermont Country Store. I had tried to order it months ago, but because of online ordering problems, I got frustrated and ordered a bath brush from somewhere else...and we broke it at our last spanking session. No, it wasn't a dramatic spanking thing...it was just a poorly constructed bath brush.

When I received the bath brush from The Vermont Country Store a couple of weeks ago, I couldn't wait to open it....this was a brush that spankos talked about in hushed, awe struck tones...it was the stuff legends were made of.

I opened the box carefully and peered inside, holding my breath as I took my first long look at the thing responsible for making many spanking fans cry and beg for mercy, and.....I paused. That's it?

I peered at the rather innocuous looking oversized hairbrush sitting in the box. Hmm. Maybe its got a little weight to it because it looks rather puny to me.... I picked it up by the handle and held it in my hand, judging its weight. I dunno...doesn't seem to be much to it. After a few moments, I dropped the brush into my backpack with a shrug and idly wondered what all the fuss was about. Maybe Professor will know...

Fast forward to this afternoon when Professor and I were hanging out in his office chatting.

"Oh! Here is the new bath brush I ordered," I said, handing him the brush. He looked at it and frowned slightly. "That's it? I thought it was longer. It looks like an oversized hairbrush." He turned it over in his palm a few times before tossing it on his desk. "Well, we can give it a try today... but just a whack or two because of the noise. How about we start with this first though?" He said, holding up the crook handled cane, his eyes gleaming.

He made me wait.

For several long minutes, I waited...bent over the chair, listening to the combined hum of his computer and the air conditioner. I shifted from foot to foot, stared at the pink waffle weave of the chair seat and clenched and unclenched my grip on the arms of the chair.

He pressed the cane against both cheeks and held it there, causing me to gasp slightly and close my eyes. I felt my body begin to relax, as my muscles responded in its frighteningly predictable pavlovian way. I stood perfectly still and waited...holding my breath...

CRACK!

The cane kissed my left cheek, and I hissed slightly, under my breath. The first stroke is always a shock... no matter how "ready" I think I am.

CRACK!

The cane came down smartly again, this time leaving a stingy line on my right cheek. I rocked on the balls of my feet and grinned happily.

For the next several minutes, Professor caned me, his wrist expertly flicking the thin, sting causing rod against my already squirming bottom, ever so often leaving a line of stinging fire on the tops of my thighs.

Ouch!

I never crouch down to try to bloke the pain... or bring a leg up to shield my bottom like some do.

Instead, it is almost as I try to climb OVER the chair to escape, so after several very painful whacks of any implement, I am usually draped over the chair back, clawing my way toward the front of the seat cushion.

There is only one problem with this stragegy. One *big* problem. In my efforts to pull away from the pain, and scramble over the chair to get to who knows where, I only end up putting the lower, fleshier and more sensitive spots of my bottom in the line of fire.

Stupid, I know... but in the "heat" (heh. Bad pun.) of the moment, I don't realize what I am doing until the nasty little implements lands, causing me to see stars.

*tap* *tap* *tap*

My chest was heaving and when I felt the tapping, my body relaxed because I knew he was allowing me a bit of time. He tapped the tip against my bottom and waited until my breathing had slowed. "Want to try the new brush?" He asked, his voice close to my ear.

I nodded and grinned, my bottom still stinging slightly. He nodded and set the cane on the desk before picking up the hairbrush and placing his right hand on the small of my back. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," I mumered and squirmed a bit, adjusting my stance, my grip on the arms of the chair, cleared my throat and shook my head slightly to get the hair out of.....

POP!

I think my heart stopped. Good gawd. I blinked my eyes several times and swallowed, trying to let my brain assimilate what just happened. Holy shit!! The sting....oh my g.g.g.gaw......

POP!

I don't think I can adequately describe what it felt like. My head swam and I struggled to keep my elbows from giving out. Panting, I tried to compare the sensation something....anything....pain...pain, pain and more pain. I waited for it to subside, but it didn't.

A burn. A rug burn. No....not quite. The gym. The gym at school...

And then I knew.

It was like a gymnasium burn....like the kind of burn you would get on your bare leg when you fell....no, kind of slid/skidded on the laquerred gym floor in middle school.

A hot, angry, stinging-like-fire, skin-sharply-pulled-and-then-rubbed-raw type of burn...that lasts.

My knuckles went white as I swallowed several times before trusting myelf to speak, and when I did, my voice was hoarse. "G.a.w...d.d.dd...thhatt...hhurrrttt...."

He nodded and sat down, motioning for me to pull my pants back up. I wimpered a bit at the thought of fabric sliding over the angry floor burn feeling I had.

"Um, I think its reputation is deserved." Professor grinned and watched me rub the seat of my jeans. "Yes, it appears so. But we won't know *how* deserved until we can really try it out. We need a bit more privacy though. The popping sound is pretty loud."

He glanced at the brush and then back at me. I grimaced ruefully and continued to rub.

Loud? Was it loud? I didn't happen to notice...the whooshing sound in my ears sort of blocked everything else out....

Cocking my head to one side, I grinned at him while picking up the brush and studying it a bit more carefully . "Um, so when can we *really* try it out, Professor? I mean, we should try everything at least once, right?"

Yeah right...oversized hairbrush indeed...

*Mental note to self: NEVER underestimate a bath brush or hair brush, no matter what the size...

You Need GRIN To Be Spanked GRIN Hard

2005-12-07T23:18:00.000-05:00

I'm getting SPANKED! to-morr-ow! And it is all I can think about.

Just imagine that statement uttered in a sing song sort of whisper, from the grinning lips of a squirmy...quivery... rocking-in-my-chair...roaming idly from room to room... SPANKED!...

Shifting in my seat...aimlessly flipping through channels, 500 channels and I can't seem to find anything to watch...remote SPANKED! forgotten, tv unwatched ...

Hmm food...SPANKED!... do I want food? Tea! yes, I'll have tea!... all the while a big ole shit eating grin plastered smack SPANKED! dab in the middle of my very happy face.

"You know, that grin on your face is so damn big... will you wait a minute, I was talking to..."

I heard Study Boy's voice trailing after me as I SPANKED! scurried off to the kitchen in search of marshmallows for my...tea? hhmm...what about hot cocoa?!?!!? Yay! What did he say? Did he say he needs cocoa too?

And so after doing a little impromptu twirl SPANKED! in the kitchen, I turned to skip back into the living room, two cups dangling from my fingertips...

"Hey babe? Did you say you want co-mmpfttthhh! AAAccckkk!"

"Where'd you come from?" I said rather nasally to the chest pressing against my now crumpled nose. SPANKED! Looking up, I continued to grin at the bemused figure presently occupying the doorway. I held up the cups in my hand. "Cocoa?"

Study Boy cocked a brow and after leaning back against the door jam, wryly remarked, "That grin of yours...the Cheshire Cat...you remind me of that smiling cat. That grin is so big that I'd swear you left it behind when you disappeared."

I looked at him and SPANKED! sputtered, "Cheshire Cat?!?" before bursting out laughing, my naughty SPANK!-o mind quickly conjuring up kinky images... SPANKED! cats, little naughty cats over SPANK!-er Cat knees...while my mouth shouted them out as quickly as they were conjured.

"SPANK!-o grinning cats! Discipline cats! With little SPANK!-o cat canes...OMG! BAHAHAHA! ...freshly SPANKED! cats who disappear, leaving behind glowing bottoms! HAHA! SPANK! HAHAHA!"

While I was killing myself laughing, Study Boy continued to stare at me. "Wow, you need to be SPANKED!, you know that?" SPANKED! His statement of the obvious sent me into yet another fit of uncontrollable laughter, and he left me there, crouched over in hysterics, while he went to make the cocoa.

Later, as we hunkered down to watch West Wing repeats, I caught him staring at me while I tried to fish a marshmallow out of my cup with my finger without getting burned. "What?" I asked, searching his face. "SPANK!-o Cheshire Cats?" I giggled and nodded. "Yeah. You didn't think that was funny?"

He cocked that damn eyebrow again and reached over to flick marshmallow out of my hair. "That sort of grin demands attention. SPANK!-o Cheshire Cats? You couldn't have thought of...I don't know... say, Alice In Wonderland's Cheshire Cat? Instead, your cat is kinky?"

Attention? SPANKED! Ya think?!?!?!?

I was so busy grinning that I almost missed it.

"You need to be SPANKED!. Hard."

*GRIN* *GRIN* *GRIN*

"SPANKED!? Yeah. I do, don't I?"

*GRIN* *GRIN* *GRIN*

Yes. I am getting spanked tomorrow.

It will either be a swoony office session, hushed tones, jeans and panties down, bent over, hands on the seat of a chair...oooooooooo a caning!

Or, if Professor doesn't have a bevy of panicking "It's the end of the semester" students clamoring at his door, it will be a swoony all afternoon hotel session, with lots of implements gulp! the new bathbrush! and lots of positions.

Either way, Professor? You heard it here first. I need to be spanked. Hard.

*GRIN* *GRIN* *GRIN*

If It Quacks Like a Spanko

2005-12-06T21:03:00.000-05:00

I just got done reading a laugh out loud funny, yet very poignant and thought provoking post by poiesia. In her post Bristles, she recounts a comical episode involving her vanilla husband, her spanko bottom, and one newly purchased hairbrush....bristle side up.

I encourage everyone to read it, not only because it is damn funny (thwumpff??), but also because the incident described is a wonderful example of why some vanillas will never be spankos.

I will say that again. Some vanillas will NEVER be spankos.

The issue of bringing vanilla partners over to "the spanko side" is one that is hotly debated in kinky forums, written about on spanko websites and blogs, and discussed in the bedrooms of spankos with non spanko partners across the kinkster globe.

There is a plethora of information and personal accounts that give hope to those who wish to incorporate spanking in their marriage/relationship and many, many spankos have given testimonials about successfully "converted" their previously vanilla loved ones and then living happily spanko after.

A simple "How do I get my husband to spank me?" search on Google results in pages of websites containing a myriad of suggestions for not only how to bring the topic up to a vanilla partner but also, ways to "educate" those vanillas that are opposed to spanking their partners.

There is so much information out there, so many first hand accounts of vanilla partner conversion as a matter of fact, that there is this perception being perpetuated that vanillas are just secret spanking fetishists waiting to be discovered. Okay, so maybe I am exaggerating just a wee bit :).

I do think though, that there is a perception that even if say, the *very* vanilla Study Boy expresses discomfort....no, make that squickiness bordering on sheer horror when confronted with the mere idea of spanking me, that he can be converted. Yes, converted... if he is exposed to a steady diet of patient, information packed, "tell him how much spanking means to you and then reward him with a blow job each time he agrees to whack you, that'll make him a spanko for sure! wink, wink, nudge, nudge" spanko propaganda.

Is that true? Can all vanillas be turned into spankos? And....even if Study Boy agreed to try this strange thing called spanking because he loves his Spanko Girl, does that make him a spanko? Or is he merely a vanilla who will forever view the magical world of spanking with his vanilla colored eyes, whacking away out of love for his wife?

Poiesia's husband Argos, when asked if he would try out the new hairbrush, spanked....bristles down. It never occurred to him to use the flat side of the hairbrush. Why would it? Hairbrushes are always used, bristles down, when brushing hair. It never occurred to him to use the flat side of the hairbrush because he is vanilla....and he was viewing the magical world of spanking with vanilla eyes.

Why don't I just have Study Boy spank me. Because he is vanilla. Sure, he could go through the motions, spank me if I asked him to....but what about the rest of it? The subtle aspects of the spanking magic?

Will he ever revel in the sight of his wife nervously playing with the hem of her skirt while she waits to be punished, or the sight of her reddened bare bottom on display in the corner? Will he ever know, when I myself don't even know in the moment... that when life gets hard for me, I need to be spanked hard? Will he ever be able to continue to spank me... hard...oh so very hard... while I grimace and squirm and finally plead with him to stop, because he knows in his heart that I need it?

Or can we both just accept, and be content that in this world, in this magical world of spanking, I will embrace my kink... revel in it... find fulfillment in it... while Study Boy watches and shares in "my spanko madness" cheerily from the *very* vanilla sidelines?

Yes, my vanilla man could be convinced to try spanking play. And knowing him and his need to do things well, he could even fake the role of a spanko fairly convincingly. But I guess I have to ask the question that if a vanilla acts like a spanko and talks like a spanko, does that make him a spanko... or is he merely a vanilla who knows how to fake it? And more importantly... is he happy faking it?

Its a good question to keep in mind the next time you are at the mall Christmas shopping for Great Aunt Martha and spot a long handled bath brush propped in the window of Bath and Body Works, the mere sight of which makes you get that funny little feeling in your tummy.

Or even a better question might be:

Even if I go to the mall like a vanilla, shop like a vanilla, look like a vanilla...am I a vanilla? Or am I a spanko who will always view the world wearing my spanko colored glasses?

Part One of the series If It Quacks....

Panties

2005-12-06T20:43:00.000-05:00

Heh...

You are

Mesh & Lace Boy Short

What Panties Should You Be Wearing?

Tis the Season, Mr. Claus

2005-12-04T18:44:00.000-05:00

I woke up this morning to snow falling and the sight of my neighbor putting one of those wire reindeer sculpture things on their front lawn and I paused for a moment to revel in the fact that it is December.

Yay! It's that time of year.

December means we are in the throes of the magical mistle toe hanging, silver bell ringing, chestnut roasting, what's a Parson Brown anyway? deck the halls, it aint over till the fat man in the red suit sings, holiday season.

Tis the season of good will toward men... candy canes... animated lawn Santas groovin' in time to Brittany Spears' version of Jingle Bells... department store shelves piled high with tinsel... cool holiday commercials by GAP and Old Navy... popcorn on a string... carol singers... hot cocoa... flying reindeer, and I dig it all.

From curling ribbon and six packs of scotch tape to homemade chocolates and holiday cookies, nothing shouts It's Christmas! like a holiday photocard of various family members wearing brown felt antlers or malls packed with a sea of sweaters adorned with reindeer and Ho! Ho! Ho!

The festivity, the wonder, the magic and anticipation. It is a time of year where good girls and boys are rewarded for their behavior and those who don't behave, ah well.....at what other time of the year can you be asked...or ask for that matter, "have you been naughty or nice?" to your heart's content?

I am going to school to on Wednesday to see Professor. This is a busy time for him because it is close to the end of the semester and that is always a hectic time, so I doubt he has been able to pause and revel in the magic of the season.

I want to share some holiday spirit with him.....get him in the Christmas mood, but decorating his office in holiday lights is probably a bit impractical, so I think I will go festooned in some holiday garb of my own instead. There aren't any reindeer or puffy angels on my Christmas wear, but it does sum up my love of the season all the same....in a Naughty One sort of way ;)

Peppermint Stick Ice Cream Rocks, Dammit!

2005-12-02T21:29:00.000-05:00

Naughty disclaimer: I love peppermint stick ice cream. If I write an essay exploring the reasons for why some people don't like peppermint stick even though I *know* it is the greatest flavor on earth, the chocolate ice cream lovers of the world need not despair because, afterall, the existence of my little essay should not threaten or diminish their own personal passion for chocolate. ;)

You Are Cherry Garcia Ice Cream

You're the coolest cat around, but too laid back to let it get to your head

What Flavor Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream Are You?

Why is it hard to admit we might like pain?

I often hear spankos* say, "I like spanking for many reasons, but pain is definitely NOT one of them."

*And by spanko, I am not referring to the erotic love tap variety, I am referring to those spankos who collect hairbrushes, paddles, straps and other paraphenalia, knowing full well the stuff will be used on their bottom... the type of spanko who enjoys a good bottom warming... the type of spanko who has been known to utter the words, Gawd, I need to be spanked!

"....pain is not one of them..."

Huh?!?!?

I don't understand, if that truly were the case, then why spanking? Why do you get spanked?

I also hear fairly often: "I don't like the pain of spanking at all. I just endure it for _______."

You can fill in the blank with a myriad of reasons including, but not limited to, the discipline, the aftercare, the ritual, the intimacy, the release....whatever.

I guess my question is, if pain is not on the list, why do you choose spanking as your means to your own personal end? Why spanking, an action that by its very design, causes pain?

If it is for discipline, why not some other non physical form? Why not writing lines, corner time, loss of privileges, a simple scolding?

If it is a case of wanting stress relief, why not aerobics? Or having your partner order you to rake leaves? Mountain climbing? Jogging? You want physical contact, how about Rugby?

If it is for bringing you and your partner closer, well...I can think of a zillion other ways to do that... talking, kissing, cuddling, fondling, sucking, licking, touching... even just massaging the buttocks.

Intimacy, ritual, being righted, clearing the slate.....all of those needs could be fulfilled with other activities besides spanking. So, why spanking? What makes spanking different from being grounded, getting scolded, any other form of sexual foreplay, or any other form of physical exertion?

Pain.

Spankings are painful and that is the component that sets it apart from all the other choices I offered above.

Now, it doesn't have to be horrendously painful, or even moderately painful...but at the end of the day, a spanking causes pain (and once again, I am not referring to erotic love taps).

Whether it be stingy pain, a slightly warming, make you squirm type of pain, an itchy, burning pain, a suck in your breath just a bit, oh that wasn't too bad...actually it was kind of nice! pain, an OUCH! Damn that hurt! pain, or an Oooooo...that kind of hurts...mmm......do it again pain...

At the end of the day, pain is pain....and a spanking causes pain....or if you don't like that term...discomfort.

And so what? What's the big deal?

Spankings are painful...you like to be spanked....you must like the pain a little bit...on some level...come on now...you do....So what?!?? Why is that so hard to swallow?

I mean, we are spankos...we like pulling up our little skirts, dropping our panties to our knees, bending over someone's lap and getting repeatedly whacked with some sort of whacking type implement until we are squirming, red faced, sucking wind...our cheeks warm and stingy.

Think about that for a moment. How weird is that??? To be honest, personally I think it is a little weird to go through all of what I just described, if you *don't* enjoy the pain on some level.

And just because you may like the pain associated with spanking doesn't mean you are turned on by *all* pain. I admit it, I like some pain. Some pain, but not all. Notice I said "some".

I think the reluctance to admit to liking pain in any form is based on misperception. For whatever reason, statements like "I like pain" tend to conjure up the extreme. Extreme as in the image of someone smashing their fingers repeatedly with a hammer while yelling, "Yeah baby! It hurts so good!"

Why is that? A simple statement like "I like sex" does not immediately conjure up images of someone arduously screwing an 8 foot long dildo, so why the mental leap to the extreme when confronted with words like pain....sadism...or masochism?

I like what I refer to as a "good kind of pain".

For me, spanking pain is a good kind of pain, and in order to get a taste of it, I willingly drive just under two hours and subject myself to all sorts of weird little rituals like baring my bottom while blushing profusely. Or standing in the corner with my skirt pinned up like a naughty little girl even though I am a grown woman. Why? Because, among other things, I like the pain associated with spanking.

I do not however, like the pain associated with say....root canal. Or pain caused by slamming my hand in the car door. Or pain caused by stubbing my toe on the edge of my bed, for that matter. Ouch!

So....you like pain.

That's okay you know...if you do. Liking the pain...well, it is part of who you are, and you know what? It's part of me too. So you aren't alone, okay?

Even Silk Can Be Tacky

2005-12-01T01:24:00.000-05:00

Some odd spanko ramblings that seemed too short to warrant their own individual posts and yet they both are spanking related.... so I decided to lump them all together and be done with it.....

Because it is part of you.......

Professor called today. I wasn't surprised to hear from him after my last email and blog post, and even still, when I answered the phone and heard his voice, it was as if an anchor was dropped, once again securing that which had been cast adrift over the holiday weekend.

I told him that I ordered the infamous bath brush from Vermont Country Store and he just laughed. I had tried to order the horrid thing a couple of months ago during a spank horny moment, but because of some issue with Firefox, and browser/online catalog compatibility, the thing never came. I reordered it this past weekend.

I am weird like that. I order implements when I am spank horny.....or after weirdness with my dad. I understand why I drool over spanking implements when I am craving a good whacking, but weirdness with my dad? I always crave a punishment session after weirdness with my dad. Hence the bath brush order.

~Craving punishment, boys and girls? Why not order an implement that is hailed by spankos worldwide as an implement of true bottom destruction?~

Maybe I want to be taken down so that I can be free to purge my emotional junk.....maybe I am looking for loving discipline....or maybe I feel that somehow....the weirdness is my fault. I am purposely not delving too deeply into "the maybes" because they just make me feel weird.

Professor laughed when I told him that I had ordered the brush. Fairly non-plussed at his response, I asked him why I was wired this way....why do I crave punishment when the adults in my life....the people who are supposed to be adults!....act like idiots. Punishment?!?!!? I, aka weird spanko one, crave punishment following a dip in the familial toxic waste vat.

"Because it is part of you." That was his very simple and non judgmental response. Yeah. I guess it is. And at the end of the day, the "why" really doesn't matter all that much does it?

Weird? Yeah, maybe. But its my weirdness..... part of my puzzle.....and I think I am pretty okay with holding it up to the light and claiming it as my own.

Viewing life through spank colored glasses......

I was at a dinner party this weekend and somehow, conversation wound its way to the subject of Singapore and then, caning. I am not sure how the topic came up because I entered in the middle of the discussion after my spanko trained ears heard the phrase "corporal punishment.

Sidling up to the group from whence the titillating phrase came from, I jammed a slice of lime into my Corona and listened eagerly to what I thought was the beginning of an interesting conversation.

The conversation had, up to that point, consisted of vague remarks about Singapore's judicial system and "that American kid who was nearly beaten to death for throwing eggs", and was being monopolized by a guy sporting a horrid silk shirt, who apparently, did a lot of business in Singapore and was living there in the nineties.

"Michael Fay," I said, taking a swig of beer. "His name was Michael Fay. And I wouldn't exactly say he was almost beaten to death. He got four strokes with a rattan cane." I rolled my eyes and took several more long swallows. "What a baby! You'd have thought someone had stuffed bamboo under his fingernails."

And suddenly, all eyes were on me. The guy who had brought up the subject, smiled patiently and asked, "You are familiar with the Michael Fay incident?"

I think it was at this point that Study Boy meandered up to our cozy little group, and catching the last bit of Even Silk Can Be Tacky Guy's question, he promptly staked out a decent viewing spot and leaned back against the counter, not wanting to miss what he thought would prove to be an entertaining show.

"Yup," I said, a look of disgust taking center stage on my face." "I am as well," he stated importantly, as if the knowledge of an event that dominated our nation's newspapers and nearly caused an international event was......well, of importance. "I was in Singapore in the nineties," He said, and I swear he puffed up his silk clad chest....importantly..... and rocked on his heels.

Who is this jerk off? "Yeah well, then I guess you got an earful didn't ya?" I sucked down the rest of my beer and took a deep breath before launching into my diatribe. "From the locals? About the spoiled American who cried because he was gonna get punished?" Even Silk Can Be Tacky Guy just gaped at me, but I plowed on:

"Good grief....how humiliating! If I were Michael Fay, I would hang my head in shame for being such a wuss! Poor wittle baby...boo hoo....did the crime but can't do the time. What a loser! The kid was charged with 53 counts of vandalism and his parents are screaming for US Govt intervention because he gets sentenced to four strokes? Four?????"

I was practically jumping up and down and madly gesturing with my hands at this point. "Like twenty Senators signed a petition and sent it to the High Court in protest....Fay's parents even got Clinton involved for fuck's sake. Four strokes.....pushaw...a big bunch of trouble over a caning......that was *deserved* mind you! Only four strokes! Geesh, he ought to be embarrassed.....didn't he ever hear the phrase "take your punishment stoically?"

By the time I was finished with my rant, I was sweating and out of breath.....and I noticed that everyone was very quiet. The guy in the silk shirt stared at me wide eyed for a moment and then murmured in an almost whiney voice, "Yeah well I think a caning would sort of hurt, even if it was only four strokes."

Er yeah. Um.... I guess it would. Welcome back to the vanilla world, Spanko Girl. Not everyone views four strokes of a rattan cane the way you do.

When I caught Study Boy's eye, I noticed he was shaking with laughter and his face was all red from trying to keep from busting a gut in front of my traumatized audience.

Yeah, yeah....funny funny. But I don't care what anyone says...spanko or not, Michael Fay got off easy in my book.

53 counts of vandalism? Spray painting cars? Kicking in doors and bumpers? Throwing eggs and stealing license plates? I wonder what a certain spank happy disciplinarian would do to his naughty charge if she went on a similar crime wave? Somehow I don't think four strokes would cut it.....

Oh and yeah, Even Silk Can Be Tacky Guy avoided me for the rest of the evening. I think it might have been something I said. ;)

The Non Physical Cuddle

2005-11-30T00:18:00.000-05:00

Carrielily asked me about aftercare a while ago and amid a lot of weird rambling (I have some stuff I need to get out of my head and get down "on paper"), I am going to attempt to answer her question here...

My writing is a way for me to express myself. I am able to tell stories, verbalize my feelings, or create any of the soul searching, angst ridden literary vomit-fest-like blog posts I have been prone to on occasion. I am able to "talk about my feelings" through my writing.

In person, however? Face to face with another human being? If I wanted spilled guts, I would go to a fish market, thank you very much....

I guess you could say that I am not in my comfort zone when verbalizing my feelings, so I make it a habit to avoid it if at all possible.

I am not an outwardly touchy feely person. Actually, barring the inevitable estrogen moment, I am sort of like a guy when it comes to girlie type displays of emotions. I get uncomfortable around "emotionals"....those people who tend to gush, snivel, hug/touch excessively or coo over me.

And you can just forget about the people who make the mistake of doing any sort of weeping/sobbing/wailing/gnashing of teeth in front of me. They are treated to a gaping stare and an expression of vague surprise mixed with bemused horror, while my mind frantically searches for the least obtrusive way for me to run screaming from the room.

I am pretty okay with expressing anger. Well I am good at *showing* that I am angry, which is not the same thing, is it? I am very good at expressing my trademark "happy go lucky nothing bothers me" emotion, though. And I am good at talking about "non-threatening" emotions.

Beyond that, anyone who knows me knows that they need a crowbar to get me to talk about my feelings because I am a bit emotionally locked up. I think I have pretty much always been this way, and no matter what friends, loved ones and even some professionals have tried, getting me to talk about my feelings is a bit like trying to herd cats. It just doesn't happen. Even after many long and frustrating hours.

When I was a sophomore in high school, my parents sent me to a psychiatrist because my grades had started to drop and I was getting into trouble in school and they thought I kept my feelings about the big D (Divorce) bottled up. They were right of course, and even then I knew they were right, but there was no way in hell I was going to talk to some head shrinker about my feelings.

I remember catching bits and pieces of the conversation over the music that blared out of the headphones of my walkman as my mother carefully presented their plan to have me seek "counseling". Counseling. The way she half whispered the word made me want to laugh, but I went out of morbid curiosity and spent one hour a week for the next 7 months, with an eminent Boston child psychiatrist.

Well, I sat in a room with said psychiatrist.....and played Game Boy.

During my first session, after about 15 minutes of deafening silence, my psychiatrist asked me what I was thinking about. "Uh....I dunno, that I would rather be sniffing glue right now than talk to you about my feelings?" It might have been at that point that he pulled a Game Boy off one of his bookshelves and handed it to me.

Looking back, I think he was trying to use the video game as a way to put me at ease, with the hope that I would open up, but it never happened. I don't tell my life story to friends, random passerbys, my siblings, or to my parents, so there was no way I would EVER be comfortable letting it all hang out with this guy, so I played Game Boy for the next 7 months.

He never did get me to talk.....but he did let me keep the Game Boy.

So what does this have to do with aftercare, or spanking for that matter? I was asked how post spanking cuddles work in my relationship with Professor.......aftercare. The short answer is non physical cuddling.

What do we do after a good spanking? We talk. And talk. And talk.

Talking....*really* talking post spanking is for us, amazing....and healing....and bond forming...and illuminating....and trust building. I would say that lengthy open and honest emails aside, our post spanking talks are responsible for establishing the framework of our relationship.

It is post spanking that I am able to find my voice. While many bottoms need to connect physically with their Tops after a spanking by cuddling or other acts of physical intimacy, I am able to and *need* to connect emotionally.

The combination of physical intimacy and the pain of a sound spanking weakens and/or breaks down enough of my walls that I am able to be open and vulnerable. My guard is down after a spanking, so I am able to talk about things I normally can't/won't talk about and Professor listens.

The weirdest thing? All of the post spanking talking? It's made me feel a bit more at ease about expressing my feelings at other times as well.

Am I like an emotional open book now? Hardly. But I am getting better. I am getting better at talking about how I feel....and I am getting better at telling Professor that I even need to talk.

So that is what aftercare is for us. Non physical cuddling.

I need a little non physical cuddling right now actually, after spending Thanksgiving with my family, life long residents of Dysfunction Junction.

The Thanksgiving horror show was held at my house and included, among other honored guests... parents *and* step parents.

I managed to walk on egg shells without drinking myself into a numbfilled stupor by 11 am, and for a while, I thought things were going to be okay. Until it came time to carve the turkey.....then all hell broke loose.

Before StudyBoy had the chance to pull the carving knife out of its box, my stepdad threw the first volley.....calling my dad a horrible father.

Yeah. Nice huh? Just like that....he let it all hang out in front of everyone....gnashing his teeth and such.

Of course immediately all eyes were on me, the progeny of said sucky father, and even now, I am not sure what everyone expected me to do. React? Over react? Gnash my own teeth? I dunno.

I didn't get the chance to do anything though, because while I was torn between wishing for some random vortex in the space time continuum to suddenly open up and swallow me whole, and running from the room in search of my Game Boy, my dad counter attacked.

His assertion that not only was my stepdad a poor excuse for a father figure to me, but also a horrible husband to my mother, just added to the overall uncomfortable vibe we now had going on. What followed was the inevitable weird silence while everyone in the room stared at me except of course for the two teeth gnashers, who were too busy glaring at each other to gape at me.

Yeah, it sucked.....muchly.

After several excrutiatingly long moments, they realized what they had done, and so they started apologizing. All of my guests were still looking at me, and both of them (at the same time!) attempted to hug me warmly so as to reassure me without making the whole incident freakier than it already was (which, with the three of us wrapped up in a freakish kumbaya group hugfest, was already *very*, *very* freaky), embarrassing me even further.

But even though I was pretty upset, and feeling very freakish and overwhelmed, I didn't want to ruin the rest of the day by making waves, so I just stood there and let them hug me awkwardly, all the while holding out for a glimmer of hope that a vortex might still appear.

But it never did..... and for the life of me..... I couldn't remember where I put my Game Boy.

So I shrugged it all off, plastered a big goofy grin on my face, and made some lame comment about turkey. Several minutes later we were all sitting at the holiday table, and while I moved food around my plate in an attempt to at least look like I was eating, I seethed. At first I seethed...and then I was confused......and then I guess I felt hurt.

And then I tried to understand why I wanted to act like I was OK, even though I wasn't and just wanted to be able to say so.....but couldn't. Instead I pushed it all down, shut it off... and went on auto pilot.

And I still haven't said it bothered me. Or talked about how it made me feel. Not outloud. Not here.

I am writing this post....and I also sent Professor an email. It was an email giving him an abbreviated version of what I just recounted here....and even there I don't think I wrote about how it made me feel. Not really.

And so that brings me back to the non physical cuddle, because you see, besides emailing Professor about what happened, I also asked if he and I could have a little one on one time together next week. It doesn't have to be anything fancy. Maybe we could meet for lunch, and a bit of cane play.

And then maybe while he works, because I know it is the end of the semester and he is very busy, maybe I can just hang out in his office and just....sort of be. And maybe talk. And he can be there to listen.

I dunno. It could be that I have grown up....but I think Game Boy sort of sucks now, you know?

Father Figure

2005-11-25T19:46:00.000-05:00

Poiesia wrote:

"Is this ageplay, age regression? I don't know, really. It smacks of a "littleness" that speaks to vulnerability, my weaker aspects. I need to lean, to be righted, to be -- let's face it -- soundly spanked. I want the load lifted, the world lightened and then calmed and coddled to rights. It is the core of the archetypal paternal dynamic, and I am little. With a breath, I am shyer, quieter, unsure of myself. Little. Yet, I am not a little girl; You are not a Daddy. But the patina, the essence of something unnamed, akin to it, it is here."

The role of a father figure.

It seems to me that no matter how old, successful and/or independent we get, for some of us, there is still a profound human hunger for affirmation from a male authority figure. Part of the human condition is the need to be mentored. We want to be held accountable...be given boundaries, approval... unconditional love.

Even though we don't like the idea and may even try to deny our need, we crave the type of discipline that comes from love. Paternal love. We feel more secure as a society when we have guardrails in place and a fair but firm authority figure to appeal to.

Father figure.

The term has the ability to make one squirm with embarrassment and look at the floor in apparent non-interest. It is a primal yearning, and it is integral to our development, yet the unconscious mind is in a constant battle between denial and acceptance...at times screaming to refute the legitimacy of our longing for a thirst rooted in childhood, and at others, whispering longingly for the limits and emotional connection that only a father can provide.

A father figure is a symbolic representation, the embodiment of all things "fatherly".

In Jungian psychology, the "figure" of the "father" is the figure that embodies all the traits of the ideal/archetypical father: he represents authority, law, social order and masculine protectiveness, and we unconsciously recognize any male figure of authority, including teachers, judges, priests, policemen and soldiers as father figures.

I recently read an interesting article about "father hunger":

"There is a father hunger in society that is unrecognized, unnamed, not seen as that. It is seen in the people who rage toward society, and in the need for authority - for someone else to tell them what to do.

Father hunger is a deep persistent desire for emotional connection with the father experienced by all children. When this normal craving is satisfied, children are likely to grow up feeling confident, secure, strong and "good enough."

Often, however, this yearning is not acknowledged and the need for a bond with father grows, creating an emotionally hungry child. Without a sense of belonging, the emotionally hungry child becomes an immediate gratification junkie who develops into a pseudo-mature adult without a sense of identity."

There is a part of spanking...an often unnamed aspect of spanking that I think addresses the need for a father figure. It is the "undefineable" item on the list of reasons given by spankos when asked why they need to be spanked. It is vague...ethereal...a whisper of a feeling...a phantom need.

It does not fall under the generic label of D/s...or domestic discipline...or even ageplay for that matter. It is something else. As poiesia so eloquently describes it: "With a breath, I am shyer, quieter, unsure of myself. Little. Yet, I am not a little girl; You are not a Daddy. But the patina, the essence of something unnamed, akin to it, it is here."

It is not something I am able to get from the less natural exchange of control in pure D/s. It is something that for me, would be elusive in the confines of marriage where issues of romance, sex and equality muddy the waters of a discipline headspace.

It is not something I can get from erotic spanking or play because pleasure does not take center stage. And it is not something I could get from ageplay, because it isn't roleplay. Not really. Is there such thing as "real"play I wonder?

What is it then?

It is that part of my spanking dynamic that fills my tummy with butterflies or makes me crave real discipline. It is the connection...an emotional intimacy that is brought about by submitting to a caring authority that leaves me feeling righted...and worth while...and little.

I am Professor's naughty little girl, and yet, I am not a child. He is authoritative, strict and demanding. And yet he is caring, consistent and fair. And with him, I am at times, small.

His authoritative presence elicits that smallish part of me. He touches those aspects that are most vulnerable... the parts that feel "at home" when I am upended over his strong lap, my panties around my ankles, my skirt pinned up under the weight of his hand resting on the small of my back.

The parts that respond to his language..."naughty girl"..."young lady"..."get over my knee so that I can spank your bottom". It is my smallish parts that are reset...quieted... fulfilled by a bedtime spanking, pj bottoms pulled down to my knees, my face pressed deep into my pillow as my hairbrush falls over and over again on my bare bottom before being returned to its rightful place on the nightstand.

This aspect of spanking can be so important. So very important.

But why?

It is this type of spanking and the rituals that surround it...standing in the corner, being sent to your room to get ready for punishment, being grounded or other such losses of privileges that hint at a thing much larger and more primal. A yearning for something thought long forgotten and buried in childhood...a yearning that we are told has no place in adulthood.

But for me, I am unable to ignore its place. It speaks to me loudly and it is at my very Spanko core; A thirst for discipline and an emotional connection.

Professor is Spanker. He is Tour Guide and walks with me on my journey to discover my place in the kink. He is Disciplinarian and he is Friend. He is Mentor...and he is more than that. He plays a very basic and much needed role in my life.

He is the quiet, unyielding role model that keeps me grounded and centered. He offers support and guidance, limits and consequences, but most importantly, he offers time and mentoring.

He is someone I look to for direction of how to survive and thrive in this thing called life and he is someone I can lean on and look up to. He will never desert me and he is the ultimate role model. It is this part of the spanking kink...the role he plays in our dynamic that is essential and is what binds me to him.

Spanker, comforter, protector, watchdog, tour guide, defender, friend, companion, teacher, and disciplinarian.

Father figure.

Are You Everybody?

2005-11-20T23:07:00.000-05:00

"Perhaps we should start with what happens when you say " NO" and progress from there...." I read that comment by Dallas and it made me swoon.

A simple statement really. A simple statement made by a Disciplinarian who believes that fair, consistent discipline will bring about improvement in behavior. I dig him ;).

He speaks my language and pushes my particular "need for discipline" buttons. His matter of fact (and very ominous statement) was the catalyst for this post about behavioral expectations during punishment.....and the reason for why I decided to share another audio excerpt.

"It's not fair!"

"I dunno"

"Everyone else does it"

"No!"

Since the very beginning, Professor has been very clear of his expectations concerning proper behavior during a spanking...... He expects his naughty girl to take her punishment stoically....

*Always* stay in position, *never* reach a hand back to try to protect your bottom, maintain eye contact and proper posture, speak only when spoken to, answer all questions quickly and thoughtfully.....

In short, he expects..demands...respectful obedience as well as an attentive and receptive attitude.

My mouth used to get me in trouble a lot. It's better now....I am better about thinking before speaking...and actually, I am much more self disciplined in general. But I have always had a problem with authority.

Actually, it would probably be a wee more accurate to say I have always deliberately clashed with any authority figure I came in contact with....and would try to out think/outwit and outreason them. And more often than not? If I was in trouble, I would was to "get away with it"....whatever "it" was at that particular moment, and if I wasn't in trouble to begin with, by the time I was finished, I would be.

Until Professor that is. He has a pretty low tolerance for bullshit. And excuses. And bratting. Actually, he has no tolerance for bratting. So, he has never tolerated my bullshit. Any of it. The mental games....the defiance....the coyness...my linguistic dance to avoid responsibility...it is simply not allowed.

I have never been outright bratty or flippant. Never.

I have never cussed at Professor, called him names, used a nasty tone, raised my voice, thrown a fit, or been outwardly defiant - (except for the time that he was lecturing me in the mall -in front of a crowd of people no less!- and I was so horrified and embarrassed that at one point I crossed my arms and tried to turn away.....and....well, I have never crossed my arms again with him.... ;)

He just doesn't tolerate defiance. In any form. He has earned my respect....and I have given it to him. I want to be a good girl. I really do. And so the whole bratting thing...even in fun...just doesn't suit me.

Do I challenge him? Sure. Do I walk close to the line? All the time. I am cheeky....witty...I love to push buttons....but I will only go so far. In the end, I will not erode the foundations of respect that we have worked so hard to form. I won't. It is as fundamental to our relationship as the open and honest rule.

Where I tend to get myself in trouble? Impulsively blurting out things I inevitably end up regretting. :)

Exclamations like "But that's not fair!" tumble out of my mouth before I have the chance to stop them, and I am left squirming and staring at my shoes with that slightly sick embarrassed feeling, knowing full well that I have crossed a line and that there will be fallout.

I have said all sorts of stupid things. I have made all sorts of stupid arguments to explain to Professor and myself why I behaved a certain way....why I did what I did....or why I thought what I did was a good idea in the first place ..and this audio clip is illustrative of that fact.

(Click HERE if you can't get the clip to automatically play by clicking on the little player.)

"Everybody said I should do it."

Yup. Those words actually came out of my mouth. Oh yeah.

What am I? Twelve? Good grief.

If you take the time to listen to the clip....when you get to the part when I say that...imagine this: At that moment...listening to Professor's response to my very teenagery statement...all I could think of was that I felt like I was trapped in some surreal "Leave it to Beaver" reality....because those types of cliche "parent/child" exchanges only happen on television....

The audio is another excerpt of my last punishment session. I was not only punished for lying that day....but I faced a separate punishment for the way I handled something.....

In this clip, I am spanked over Professor's knee, and then strapped. And of course there is the whole "Are you everybody?" humiliation...

But you know what? Even though the exchange was humiliating, I am sort of glad it happened. Because once again, Professor was Professor....in classic form. He was right. Am I everybody? No, I am not. I am more than that. He demands more....and expects more.....

And yeah, I have gotten to the point where I expect more from myself as well.

"Anyone can spank... not everyone can use it to improve."

Yeah, Dallas.....I think you are right. ;)

Spankings for Good Girls

2005-11-18T15:30:00.000-05:00

My mojo is in overdrive, and I keep thinking about spanking.

I have been a good girl Professor, I have! and I really want a good girl session......

Please!

You know the kind of spanking session I mean. A spankfest. A Professor/Naughty One spankfest...reserved for good girls.

A long and drawn out session that starts off not really light, but comfortably sound... so that the heat builds... oh so slowly over time.

With lots of implements and positions and lots and lots of stings....and soft caresses...fingertips painting imaginary circles on a heated canvas.

Please.....

So that it builds to a very firm but comfortable heat and my head gets all...dizzy... because now I am off balance....

You make the pain build.....slowly to the point of being squirmy uncomfortable.

It hurts! Please!

And at times... uncomfortable enough, so hard and stingy...the pain... exquisite, that it takes my breath away......

You push my limits and then ease away slowly, a gentle caress...soft...so soft, my body sighs....only to push again...hard!...emotionally and physically.

You test....manipulate...push...caress...softly...so softly...HARD!...it hurts! slowly...push...probe...until my head is thick and swims on my shoulders... until I am held there...completely controlled...by you.

And I drift away...so safe over your knee...numbish and tingly...limp...my body surrenders...accepts.

Please!

So I accept.....

And there is the sound of whacking and your breathing...the sound of the strap cutting through the air and I accept.

There is no talking...just the sound.

I rush down and up... and my head is filled with that fuzzy lightness...and I could be spanked forever and I don't want it to stop...Don't stop!

Please!

I am heady...and disappearing...and I am over your knee...listening to the sound...
I don't want it to stop...please...the rushing in my ears...... my bottom hot....tingly....

Um, yeah.

I think I am spank horny.

You told me to be open and honest...don't hold anything back.

I am a good girl Professor, and I need to be spanked.

Please.

Candied Spanko Swoon

2005-11-18T09:03:00.000-05:00

Angelbrat has a gift for tickling the fancy of my inner kink moppet with some of the images she posts on her blog.

The latest swoon inducing photo? A rather large "candy cane striped" type implement found at Walmart:

This provided immediate fodder for my "get in the Christmas spirit", school girlish, overactive spanko imagination. A crook handled Headmaster's cane decked out for the holidays.......how positively swoony. ;)

Thank you angelbrat.

Chasing the Burn

2005-11-16T21:08:00.000-05:00

I haven't blogged in a while. I haven't had much of a mojo lately. Spanking mojo I mean. I think it is a combination of things. My last session with Professor was very intense both physically and emotionally, and the high it left has hung around for quite a while. There is nothing like a complete reset to quiet one's need for all things spanking.

Also, to be honest, I have been tired. My best pal K, otherwise known as "Evil Trainer Guy", is a personal trainer and has been working with yours truly, otherwise known as "Silly Masochist Girl". I have a fitness goal in mind and stupidly, I asked Evil Trainer Guy to help.

He does those Boot Camp Fitness programs that always seem to take place on the beach at 5 am and involve a lot of sweating.....and crying....and pain. And he is doing one with me.....one on one.....and I have committed to doing it until January 1st. I know. I am insane.

And Evil is a Sadist. I am confident in my assessment...especially after experiencing firsthand, the whole "boot camp fitness" craze. And most certainly after Week 1.......a whole week of the "twice a day running routine"......which for me, has consisted of a lot of eye bulging, side clutching, gasping valiantly for air while stumbling and wheezing my way up my umpteenth hill.......desperately trying to drown out Evil's seemingly endless string of military like commands in his stern but oh so NOT winded voice, with my too loud mp3 player.

Anyway, to make a long story short, I have been in bed by 8pm and that hasn't left much time for even thinking about kink stuff, nevermind writing about it and so I haven't posted much.

On a seemingly unrelated note (although I do have a point here, I promise!), I started my Christmas shopping. I started my Christmas shopping in earnest this week in an attempt to, for the first time, swagger into the Christmas season, head held high and spirit light, confident in the knowledge that, unlike frantic past shopping years, I am ahead of the holiday gift buying game. I have spent too many years standing in lines on December 24th as a direct result of my penchant for procrastination. Not this year though. This year I am shopping early.

This year, I am going to be one of those way over the top, obnoxiously organized holiday people, complete with my finished shopping list, my mailed early Christmas cards, my house appropriately wreathed and bowed all before Dec. 5th.

I may even make time to whip up some sort of appropriately festive food concoction that I can wrap in foil and personally deliver to the neighbors. Yup. Early and organized for the holidays.....and it starts with the two gifts I purchased today. Well, so far so good I think.

Anyway, in my quest for Early and Obnoxiously Organized for the Holidays world domination, I have been looking for hot sauce. Yes, hot sauce. Study Boy is a bit of a chili head and so, as a stocking stuffer, I have been perusing the cyber culinary byways on the hunt for the perfect hot sauce.

While moving from hot sauce site to hot sauce site as directed by Google, strangely enough, I began to feel more and more spanko. Even in my Evil induced state of exhaustion, the jump start to my spanking mojo became so hard to ignore, that I found myself idly surfing spanko sites.

Why the sudden mojo itch? Maybe the following excerpts written by self professed "chili heads" on a hot sauce forum will shed some light:

~nice and tangy, just enough burn to satisfy......

~I love the runny nose, tingling tongue and brow-sweat that creeps up on you......

~.....we continued eating the Atomic wings and you knew you had died and were in endorphin heaven. There were exclamations of Holy Cow!, Holy Sh--! My forehead was starting to glisten and the nape of my neck was sweating. It didn't matter a lot because you couldn't eat just one. Your lips went numb and tingly and there was a lot of lip smacking going on. Someone asked if it was possible to get extra points during the wing eating contest for smacking lips.........

~It does not overpower, but it does add quite a bit of heat that slowly builds up to a very pleasing glow.....

~.........which leads me to the third noticeable point; the heat. While the first thing you notice is the sweetness, it slowly transforms into an increasing heat which make your whole body warmer and your face glow.

~Definitely a solid medium level of heat that sneaks up on you and keeps you warm for a while.

~.....this heat, which never overwhelms, lingers. It does start off slow and low but rather rapidly warms up to a wonderful palatable warmth.....

~....for pros only. No amateurs please. It is one of the hottest and it does not hesitate. No slow buildup here. It is extreme at the outset....

~At first it didn't start off so bad. Then, the heat started to creep. The creep became a trot and then a galloping, raging, unquenchable fire that seemed like it couldn't get any worse, but it did, and I thought it would go on forever......

And my initial reaction when I finished reading?

Uh, yeah....these people are freaks. Chili heads? Chili freaks are more like it.....they analyze the type of burn they get for cripes sake......food masochists is what they are.....chili heads?....they sound more like.......um......wow...they sound like spankos.....they sound like me.......heyyyyyyy.....endorphin rush....chasing the burn........they ARE masochists.....and they are here on this forum basking in the afterglow!

I have read descriptions on various spanking blogs that was very similar. Heck, I wrote a description about a caning that sounds very similar to that last chili excerpt in fact! So I continued reading, with a spanko perspective rather than a hot sauce seeker's perspective and a little further down in the archives, I found an article that had the following quotes:

"There's an addiction," Ryan said. "We're looking for the sweat, the race in heartbeat. You can feel the endorphins. We're like junkies. We get a rush."

To illustrate, Ryan poured some Dave's Ultimate Insanity Sauce into a teaspoon and with a mad glint in his eye, gulped it down. For a moment he looked in shock.

"My mood is elevated," he observed. "My mouth is totally on fire. Now my eyes are watering, and getting red. OK. There's the sweat." He started breathing heavily. "Whooh!" he gasped. Then in a strangled voice, he said, "Oh, that's great. Now, my nose is starting to run."

My reaction?

Wow. Suddenly I don't feel so alone as a spanko in a predominately vanilla world. I have found my cousin...the chili head......the enjoyer of spicy food. Are there more family members out there that I don't know about? If we all got together at a family reunion, what would we talk about? How much does a spanko have in common with someone who likes spicy food? We both seem to be on a chase to feel the burn at least....what's that all about?

Spank horny and intrigued, I did some research, and here are my initial findings:

Chasing the burn with spicy food and spanking:

Spicy foods and spankings result in a person feeling warm and tingly (sometimes numb), with an overall feeling of well being...a craving for more.....and eventually a need for "hotter" or "harder". Why?

Endorphins.

Endorphins are opiods (morphine like) that occur naturally in your brain. When your central nervous system is assaulted with painful stimulus or stressed muscles (like in exercise or really good sex), your brain releases endorphins as a natural analgesic, or pain killer. The more consistent the pain, the more endorphins released.

When you eat spicy food or get spanked regularly, your brain is trained to release a large amount of endorphins to overcome the pain that is delivered to your mouth....or bottom. This is what gives you the "endorphin high" (just like an opiate high....like heroin for example, without the painful comedown). The high is an actual response to the release of the endorphin.

Eating spicy foods, having great sex , or getting spanked......why does your body release a natural analgesic during something pleasurable like sex as well as in painful situations? Endorphins are released to alleviate pain in stressed muscles. Really good sex is definitely a form of exertion, and physical exertion causes stress on your muscles, causing an endorphin release, etc.

Intense pleasure also relates to pain; Either in pain or pleasure, we have all had moments when we feel like it's just too much, and its never going to stop and often times endorphins are released as a coping mechanism. And, while some people release endorphins during orgasm, others do so from non-climactic over-stimulation.

Hmm.....that has shades of the "Is spanking sexual or non-sexual" question.....maybe it can really be just about the "rush" for some of us....

Endorphins.

They reduce pain and anxiety and increase the feeling of well being. They stimulate the immune system, and they help you learn. They reduce appetite for drug and alcohol seeking behavior. Endorphins enhance our immune system, have anti-aging effects, are anti-stress hormones, and help improve your memory.

And just think....you can get all that and more from getting spanked *or* eating Indian food.

Think about that the next time you are sitting in a Mexican or Thai restaurant with a vanilla while they ramble on and on about their spicy food "addiction", their eyes watering and their nose running, and how they just can't seem to get enough of the burn.......and you can nod knowingly, with a big smile and honestly say, "Oh, I understand......cousin."

Quote Collector

2005-11-10T00:22:00.000-05:00

I am a quote collector. Most people collect something....whether it be movies, McDonald's Happy Meal toys, cars, stamps...whatever. I collect quotes. Well, actually I collect bits of ideas, thoughts, introspective observations, etc. I will collect song lyrics, lines from tv shows and movies, blurbs from books, speeches and any other form of communication media I have access to.

Quotes really are all about packing in as much meaning into as few words as possible. And that is what is so cool about them. Because, really, brevity is underrated.

Since I was a child, I have kept a journal. My journal is not just a place for me to write....it is also a clearing house for a large selection of snips and bits I have stumbled across that have resonated with me. I am not so rabid that I actively seek quotes out.....they sort of jump out at me as I see or read them.

Usually it is feeling...a feeling that grabs my attention. And it is the feeling that somehow, the author of whatever quote I have stumbled upon, has stepped right inside my head and summed up in one or two sentences, a feeling or emotion that would take me a short novel to express.

My collection also serves as a insight into myself. The quotes that move me at a particular moment in time reflect my desires, insecurities, state of mind......they can pinpoint a specific part of my life journey.

A few of my favs of the moment:

First they ignore you, then they ridicule you, then they fight you, then you win. - Mahatma Gandhi

Jealousy is mental cancer. -BC Forbes

It is better to be hated for what you are than to be loved for what you are not.
~Andre Gide

Jealousy is indeed a poor medium to secure love, but it is a secure medium to destroy one's self-respect. For jealous people, like dope-fiends, stoop to the lowest level and in the end inspire only disgust and loathing.

Ridicule is the first and last argument of a fool

Mockery is often the result of a poverty of wit.

The most courageous act is still to think for yourself. Aloud. -Coco Chanel

Keep smiling, it makes people wonder what you've been up to.

If you ever catch on fire, try to avoid seeing yourself in the mirror, because I bet that's what REALLY throws you into a panic.

People who stand in the middle of the road get run over.

The optimist sees the doughnut...The pessimist sees the hole in the doughnut...The realist eats the doughnut.

Do not go gentle into that good night . . . go naked. -Sherri Daley

I don't necessarily think God put us here to be sober all the time. -Courtney Love

Cheese is milk, striving for immortality

Don't sweat petty things...or pet sweaty things

Lick: Eat shrimp, rice, salad, pudding, watermelon with your fingers, and then lick them clean. Thoroughly enjoy yourself, especially if it leaves others aghast. Lick the salt off your lover's sweaty body. Better yet, lick it off your own. At least once in you life, let a dog lick your face. (Actually, once may be enough.) Lick ice cream as provocatively as you want to no matter who's watching. Get a big lollipop with swirls of different colors and lick it for old times sake. (Stop the lick before you get sick.) . . . If you can't join 'em, lick 'em! Lick your lips if they're dry or for no reason whatsoever. Lick the bowl clean of every last bit of chocolate icing. Lick anything that comes to mind. Yes, anything. -Unknown

Open and Honest: An Audio Blog Experiment

2005-11-08T22:06:00.000-05:00

**Click HERE for a link to download the clip if you can't get it to load with the little arrow player.

I am trying something a little different....

This is an experiment in "audio blogging"....sort of an added multimedia dimension to my usual spanking session recounts. This is an audio excerpt of my punishment session with Professor last Friday. This particular excerpt is the lecture and resulting spanking over Higher Rules....

Do what's right....even in tough situations
Be open and honest....even when its hard

I had one drink and told one lie.

Okay, so I wasn't swallowed by a giant demon snake. But I was paddled hard, bent over the back of a chair, (with a frat paddle from Professor's university bookstore) and then hand spanked over his knee.

By the way, I am a bit of a stoic spankee, so don't expect a lot of "ow! ow!" or loud squealing and crying on my part. I tend to just whimper and hiss while being spanked....even when I am whacked hard. :)

Of course, this is a fortunate thing I think.....as you will hear, Professor is rather.....verbose....and I always need to pay close attention.

Photo Album: Super Spanko Girl Time Table

2005-11-04T12:54:00.000-05:00

Anticipation.....

~Ugh. Thrill...fear...excitement...dread...anticipation...when? now? noooooo!

Waiting......

~I can't believe I am actually doing this.....nooo....please...I can't do this....noooo!

Panties down......

~Eeep!

Aftermath......

~Professor on the phone with a certain spanko girly pal pleading my case for leniency concerning the "apology mandate". Good try Lucy, good try. ;)

Well punished....

~Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! Actually, it hurts more today then when this pic was taken. That's how it is for me. Super Girl when it comes to surface healing...suffering girl when it comes to deep tissue bruising....

Today, marks fading....soreness stays....

~Almost healed bottom this afternoon. Super spanko girl recovery! Professor says I was born to be spanked. Sometimes I am certainly naughty enough to be spanked. And the other times? Hee. I am a spanko......nuff said ;)

Your Good Girl

2005-11-03T21:14:00.000-05:00

SORE BOTTOM
A sorry little girl.

Very sore.
Thank you.
Well spanked. Properly punished.
I am sorry.
I know.
Lesson learned. Forgiven.
Spanked.

Sore.

Be open and honest at all times
It's that simple, Young Lady.

I am sore. It actually hurts to walk....to sit....to stand, even. Sore.

In the middle of a spanking session, my bottom is invincible. Or at least it seems to be.

A hard spanking gets my endorphins flowing until....finally...I feel no pain. I can only take so much.....before I have to go away....let go....give into the pain. And then it is gone. The pain is gone and I feel....nothing.

It isn't until I am well on my way home...and the "high" has started to dissipate, that I feel sore. Very, very sore. And by the time I get home, I can barely move, let alone get out of the car.

I have a bottom and it hurts. I am aware of it.....conscious of it under my clothes...as it rubs against the fabric of my jeans. Sore...so sore.

My bottom.

Spanked.

Professor,

Today's punishment was hard, it hurt, and it was well deserved.

I feel properly punished and forgiven.

I remember at one point I promised this was the last time that you would have to punish me for not being open and honest...and when I said that...I heard you repeat "the last time" with a sigh.

Yeah.

How many times have we done this? How many times have I said "This is the last time"?

You are right. I am very smart. Sometimes too smart for my own good. And there are times when I don't have to be so smart...when I don't have to over-think. Times when things are simple.

"Be open and honest. Don't make your own decisions as to when to tell me things. Got it? It's that simple. "

Did I listen today and take the lesson to heart? Yes. No more editing. Open and honest, no matter what. A simple rule and I will obey. You have earned the right to have that control and it is the right thing for our relationship. Simple.

I am very sore. And my spirit is light. Thank you.

I really do want to be a good girl, Professor.

*Your* good girl.

~Naughty One

** I wanted to post my recount tonight, but I didn't. I am light. Content. Reset. Reflective. And at this moment, selfishly possessive. I want to reflect.... think.....be. Be someone's little girl. Sore. Well punished. Forgiven. Cared for.

Anticipation

2005-11-02T22:14:00.000-05:00

Anticipation.

Tomorrow.

Anxious anticipation........it is making me wait. It can do nothing but make me wait.....dread.....anticipate.....long for....be preoccupied by......need.......fear......want.....

Apprehension.

Tomorrow.

My imagination has taken flight to the corners of my mind digging up anything and everything it can to keep my thoughts....my attention.....on my bottom.

I have a bottom.

My bottom.

It tingles. I am aware.....Oh there you are! I have a bottom! I do! I do! I am conscious of its very existence as I walk....talk....sit......breath.

Preoccupation.

Tomorrow.

I have a feeling....a feeling in the pit of my stomach...butterflies...lots and lots of swooping, fluttering butterflies. Nervous tension...nausea...anxiety...excitement...that anticipation of something.

I am getting spanked. Hard. Punished. Hard.

Realization.

Tomorrow.

Will I cry? Will I beg? What will it feel like?

Its going to hurt. Shit.....it will hurt!

My heart pounds.....my mind wanders.....playing and replaying what might be.....paddle? belt? How hard? How long?

Can I do this? I don't want to do this!

Foreboding.

Tomorrow.

A spanking! I'm so excited I can hardly breath.....

I have a bottom. I feel it. Under my clothes, against the couch.....the way my jeans feel rubbing against both cheeks as I walk.....

Expectancy.

Tomorrow.

Thrill...fear... dread...excitement...trepidation...

I have an itch.

My clothes are pressed and neatly folded. Waiting. My bag is packed...my bath brush tucked in the outside pocket. Waiting. My car is filled with gas. My alarm is set. Waiting.

My cheeks are flushed...my head buzzes....my heart pounds. Breathe. Slowly.

Preparation.

Tomorrow.

My limbs are light....there is something bubbling below the surface.....I can feel it.....I want it....damn, the inevitability of it all... there's no way out...... because I don't want there to be a way out. Want.

Impatience.

Tomorrow.

I have a bottom.

Spanked.

Tomorrow.

Anticipation.

Not So Secret Spanking Fantasy

2005-11-02T07:56:00.000-05:00

This Secret Spanking Fantasy quiz was created by Bonnie aka My Bottom Smarts and here are my results:

Professor/Student - Young lady, your
behavior has been well below our standards.
Corrective discipline will be necessary.

What is Your Secret Spanking Fantasy?
brought to you by Quizilla

Hmmm....my results aren't very secret ;)

Newest Spanking Purchase

2005-11-01T14:43:00.001-05:00

Okay, so I fed my inner kinkster and bought a new implement. And said implement arrived today. And I am horrified. Actually, I am horrified *and* intrigued.

Well, part of me....the "Are you insane? Preserving the unblemished and very pain-free whiteness of your bottom is a number one priority, you silly little girl! Have you lost your mind??" part of me is downright horrified.

The masochistic part...the "Hmmm...now *that* looks interesting....try it....try it....sure it will hurt...but its a good hurt *wink* *wink*...trust me....c'mon, give it a try" part of me is intrigued. Maybe salivating would be a better word.

Anyway, here it is. The newest member of our "Weapons of Pain Production" family.....

The bathbrush....

My newest purchase....

Compare and Contrast. A bit of perspective here...my hairbrush next to the bathbrush....

Look at the size of that "smacking" surface!

Hmmm...looking at these pictures, I am drooling. And my tummy is flip flopping. And I am bringing it with me for my session with Professor on Thursday. Yes, we have rescheduled and it is now this Thursday. Spanking on Thursday for a Naughty One with a new implement to share....

"Just try it...its a good kind of pain...c'mon...trust me...you'll like it....." ;)

Happy Spanko-ween!

2005-10-29T20:44:00.000-04:00

Happy Spanko-ween ghouls and boiz! Click on the picture to carve your own spank-o-lantern......

Spanking Game Called on Account of Rain

2005-10-28T10:10:00.000-04:00

"Punishment spanking postponed for circumstances beyond my control...."

I got word early this morning. My parade has been rained on. My punishment spanking has been postponed till next week (date to be determined) due to illness. So, I will put the outfit away for a while with the hopes of pulling it out again some time next week.

Sigh.

You know what this means don't you? I will have to redirect my frustrated spanko energies to buying more implements. Maybe I ought to get Professor a trunk to keep them in.

Today though......today, I am going for a run. A several mile run. A several mile run up some very steep hills. A several mile run, up steep hills, being chased by a man wielding a paddle? Only in my dreams I think......

Actually, a plain old run...one that leaves me gasping.....one that involves my lungs threatening to mutiny as I push myself "one more mile" to *really* feel the burn. A girl needs to feed her inner masochist somehow ;)

Naughty Girls Get Spanked

2005-10-26T20:11:00.000-04:00

There is something about being told I am getting a spanking for being naughty.

It makes me feel fidgety...as in the "tugging at my clothes, pulling at my hair, swinging my legs back and forth under the table" kind of fidgety.

Naughty. The word itself brings images of being spanked. Behaving disobediently.....mischievously....

The word is potent and when I hear it, it sends a chill up my spine because there is a strong association between "naughty"and "punishment".

And punishment is knowing I have been naughty....and knowing I am going to get spanked, and knowing its going to hurt...but knowing I kind of want it to happen anyway.

Naughty. Fidgety. Soon to be transformed into a squirmy, embarassed schoolgirl, pulling and tugging at my knee socks.

And so that is how I will dress for Friday....because the transformation has begun.

Spanking Tunnel Vision

2005-10-26T01:21:00.000-04:00

I am getting my punishment spanking on Friday.

I am hyper focused on it, partly because even though it is punishment, I am excited about it (masochism; cleaning of the slate; I am spanko, therefore I get spanked; and the cycle begins again), and partly because I am dreading it (pain; lecture; corner; more pain).

A love/hate thing.

And so, here I am....with spanko tunnel vision, staring down this long hallway of the week ahead, at the white light at the end and I can't quite decide whether I want to run toward it, or hide from it.

The irony?

As I waste time, peering down the hallway, trying to decide what to do, the light is moving towards me, as each "today, naughty one sports an unblemished bottom" day slips by.......

Damn. Its Wednesday already...where did the week go? And will it hurry up and keep going?

Commenting on Comments

2005-10-23T19:01:00.000-04:00

I promised myself I wouldn't do this.

I promised myself that I wouldn't engage in/give validity to or stoop down and jump into the fray concerning comments that contain destructive criticism.

I have been around enough to know that by choosing to volley, by voluntarily jumping into the mud-filled gutter... the purpose of one's writing...the reason for putting one's self out there in the first place.... becomes lost, taking second stage to the inevitable death spiral of accepted social standards of decorum as the general readership becomes hostage to the vicious but usually pointless, caps-lock-on barrage of sniper attacks.

And with that said, I am rolling up my pant legs and jumping in :)

A wise man told me that all of us will be criticized at one time or other. We will be criticized for reaching goals, sharing our faith, taking a stand, not compromising our principles, for doing too much, for not doing enough......for putting ourselves out there.

The criticism will be there. It is important to understand where it is coming from and to determine what to do with it when it comes our way. Professor told me that. Sage advice I think.

I would be a liar if I stated I "enjoyed" criticism. But can I learn from it? Yes.

However, there is a fine line between learning from a critique that has merit, and being a door mat. And so, my own personal internal response to criticism will vary depending upon the source, the issue being criticized, timing, and my overall assessment of the underlying motivation.

The biggest problem with electronic communication vs. a face to face interaction? The misinterpretations that result from hasty posts, the offense taken by ill chosen phrases....the lack of physical cues.

When two people meet face to face, they can read the reaction to their words and try to explain or modify a remark depending on the effect it has had on another.

And then add in the "anonymity" factor. Personally, I have a problem with anonymous comments....good and bad. There is no basis....no "history" or essence of the person behind the post with which to balance the written comment itself.

Simply put, it doesn't give me enough information for me to decide exactly what to do with it.

When it is a good comment, I am left with a half sort of vague-ish good feeling mainly because I would love to have a "persona" to hang it on. Its back to that need for information thing again. Words carry much more weight when you know who delivered them.

When it is a negative comment left by the ever illusive "anonymous"? Its the road rage of the information highway.

Someone in their 4 door, all leather interior "anonymous" alias inevitably feels it is okay to give you the finger after stopping to turn around in your driveway.

I wonder if that driver would act the same way if he were on foot...and had a face to face with the person receiving his gesture. Would he display such a lack of....humanity... if he were looking them in the eye...one human being to another?

Could he stand up to the scrutiny of others watching the exchange? Would he *own* the gesture he made?

Think about it this way:

Imagine I move into the neighborhood and I open my doors to people and invite them in...to share a bit of my life...to share some of *me*. I give you access to parts of my house...I put myself out there a bit.

And for whatever reason, you don't like me...you don't approve of my choice of wallpaper..you think shag carpets went out in the 70's....you abhor linoleum....whatever.

So, you are quick to make a judgment about me and the rest of my house, and you feel you have the right to express yourself because after all, I invited you in.

And one night you creep into my yard and scrawl Naughty One Sucks! in huge pink letters on the side of my garage for everyone to see. And the next day I go out and I see what you have written...and it feels like someone kicked me in the stomach.

And I have to spend the time washing it off.....feeling pretty confused..and I don't even know who you are because you didn't leave your name.

And then two weeks later, you do it again. And then a week or so later, you do it again. And finally, I put up an electrified fence and buy a big ass watch dog thus blocking you and everyone else access.....and now no one can write on my walls anymore.

But you don't just limit your graffiti to my garage. You go around with your can of spray paint and write your messages on other people's walls too.

I can't do anything about that though. I can't even help my neighbors wash their walls off. But I can add my own message....in an attempt to negate yours, so that my neighbors don't feel bad when they wake up and see "You and your house sucks!" scrawled across their front porch.

And pretty soon the whole neighborhood is divided....and people stop talking about the things that made them part of the neighborhood in the first place. Actually, people stop talking altogether.

And then I happen to look down the street...and I see your house. And funny....you haven't marked up your own walls. And I wonder about that. You haven't filled up your walls with messages of hate or nasty remarks....or judgments based on "perceived" understanding.

I wonder if your graffiti would be different if you only had your walls to use as your canvas. Would you be a little less rude for fear that it would drive your visitors away?

You see, your graffiti forms a part of your overall picture. And leaving it....in bits and pieces...all over the neighborhood...so you are dispersed over a large area, disperses that part of your overall picture too.

If someone put all of your graffiti in one location...in one spot...where it could be viewed...collectively...as a whole...what kind of picture would it portray?

What if someone could take all of the comments you have left....and rewrite them in pink spray paint, on your own walls....would your house be filled with vitriol and hatred...or would it be an balanced mixture of thoughtful praise and conscientious observations of the people and the world around you?

Criticism comes from people sharing common concerns or values, but different perspectives. And it allows for growth. How can I grow...become better.... if everyone around me tells me what I want to hear? I can't.

Constructive criticism allows us to make positive changes...it helps make us aware, to express caring, to motivate. Destructive criticism generates negative feelings. It is meant to humiliate and belittle...manipulate or control....blame or create guilt.

Another very wise person recently said that I should never waste time over criticism pointed at me in unsigned or "anonymous" letters. Unsigned comments indicate one of two things: the critic either didn't have enough conviction to put their name to it or the sole intent was to hurt, not help. Wise advice from Study Boy.

Wise advice from Professor and wise advice from Study Boy.

I am lucky that way. I have people around me that are very willing to shore me up... to support me... to tell me enough is enough when I go too far.... and to smack down those people who hurt me .

I have a support system...a select few who know *me*. Not the skater chick....not the leotard wearing, cape sporting super spanko girl who speeds through life listening to very loud....noise. People who really know me. Who know how difficult it has been for me to share aspects of myself. Like poiesia. ;)

This blog? Think of it as part of my house. And I have opened it and myself up to you. But understand that I am only giving you access to part of the first floor. It is only a *tiny* piece of the whole floor plan.

Let's say I am showing you the game room :).... and maybe a bit of the kitchen.

But certainly not enough for you to make an informed judgment about the rest of it or me for that matter. There are plenty of rooms that you haven't seen...and will never see.

Feel free to comment, criticize, construe, pontificate on the wallpaper, the decorating, whatever.... of *this* room. The spanking room.

And occasionally....other members of my household may pop by...they may peek their heads in the room and shout "hallo!"...but what you see, *your* perception....is just that. A perception. Do not pretend to understand them...or my relationship with them based on the brief visits you have had. Because your understanding is based on perceptions garnered from what I have shown you in this room...in the context of my spanking room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Anonymous, I misunderstood you and need to clear something up. You were right about my attention being focused on Professor. Within the context of this blog, all of my attention *is* focused on him and always has been.

You have been invited to share a glimpse of the game room, our spanking room...... and your hosts on this particular tour are, and always will be Professor and I.

I enjoy thoughtful discourse. Constructive criticism. Open dialogue. And of course, positive stuff :)

But terse comments littered with judgmental innuendo? Verbal grenades launched at a friend for responding with righteous indignation over concern for me?

No thank you. I am drawing my line in the sand. Why? Because it is the right thing to do. And because I can.

My house, my rules ;)

~Naughty One

"Call On Me" Spanking Trigger?

2005-10-22T09:51:00.000-04:00

Someone sent me this link via email in response to my post about triggers as well as the comment I made about the "male perspective".

Yes, I would say this is a very good example of using triggers to illicit a reaction. And no, I don't think it is at all subtle :)

Click on the pic to go to Transbuddha.com and watch the video.

The song, "Call On Me"? The look on the guy's face at the beginning of the clip in response to the thrusting pelvis action?

Both are priceless ;)

Masochist? No, But That Works Too....

2005-10-19T21:26:00.000-04:00

The day after my caning I am productive as usual. Overly productive as a matter of fact. It happens like this for me....the night of a good spanking, I am in La La land....coasting....dreamy eyed...still on a high from my day's adventures.

The next day? It is like someone lit a fire under me. Okay, I can't believe I actually wrote that last sentence, but that is what it's like (no pun intended). Actually, is it considered a pun if it really happened?

Anyway, spanking focuses me. It pulls me out of my own head and back to the real world. I tend to obsess. About everything. And I think a lot. And over analyze.

Too much analysis is counter productive, so a good session with the cane is just the thing I need to catapult me out of my head and into the physical world. Simply put, by spanking me, Professor is shutting off the television and kicking my psyche out to play "Go outside and enjoy the day, Naughty One!". Well, something like that.

And so, I am productive. Very, very, very productive.

This morning, which started off innocuously, found me in the kitchen nervously hovering over skater kid (my very independent, much too precocious for his own good, extremely eager to express his rather verbose communication skills and superior knowledge, progeny) who was teetering precariously on the edge of a chair, spatula in hand, intent on sharing his pancake flipping prowess.

Study Boy who has been trying the whole telecommuting thing recently, was hard at work in his office (well, not really...when I brought him a plate of mangled looking pancakes, he was reading The Daily Kos). Life was good for all.

Later on, while cleaning the kitchen after what will now be referred to as "The Great Pancake Incident", I happened to glance out my window and catch sight of a bazillion peppers that needed to be picked. And I stood there for a few moments wondering what I was going to do with them.

My Garden. I am a very obsessive person. Whenever I get an interest in something, it is not like your average interest. I do everything to excess, in fact moderation doesn't exist in my vocabulary. I will immerse myself in a new interest, learning anything and everything about it, allowing it to wash over me until I am completely saturated.

That being said, my vegetable garden is a prime example of my excess. Of excess in general I think. Not only do I have a huge garden with more food producing plants than one family could possibly need, but when I am partial to a member of the veggie family, I am even more excessive. This year it is peppers. Hot peppers actually. I planted rows of hot pepper plants of every variety imaginable. Rows.

Anyway, it was at my kitchen window, with habeneros and hungarian hot wax and cherry peppers for culinary muses, that I had the inspiration to cook Lamb Vindaloo for dinner. We love Indian food. Love it. Hence the over abundance of chilies that are presently inhabiting prime real estate in my garden.

I like having Study Boy around, so I really dig the whole telecommuting thing. He was reticent at first when we talked about him working from home a couple of days a week because he thought that he would be too distracted by the day to day disasters that occurred in our house to be productive. Yeah. That's what he said. Disasters:

Me: ~looking extremely offended~ Disasters? Did you say disasters? I will have you know that most of the time this house runs like a well oiled machine!

Study Boy: *blink* *blink* *blink*

Uh huh. Yeah. So, to encourage more telecommuting from my obviously delusional mate, I have started cooking elaborate meals on the days he works from home. Yes, I bribe him with food. And he loves Lamb Vindaloo. Well, he loves all Indian food because well, Indian food rocks. And for me, the hotter the better.

So early in the afternoon, after being very productive and completing all sort of productive things (the specifics of which slip my mind at the moment), I grabbed my wicker basket and headed outside to pick some peppers.

A wicker basket is totally one of those romanticized gardening image things. In gardening books and magazines, you always see pictures of women wearing plastic clogs, serenely wandering through their gardens, with a pair of pruning shears in one hand, and a wicker basket piled high with veggies in the other.

There is no way I would be caught dead in a pair of pink plastic garden clogs, but I did buy a basket. By the way, a basket piled high with veggies is a bitch to try to carry. I would love to think I resemble serenity while huffing and wheezing, lugging...no dragging....my basket laden with vegetables......my sodden, mud covered converse sneakers making squish squash noises as I walk......

Anyway, after several back breaking hours, I returned to the kitchen with a mountain of peppers and other various vegetables and after grabbing my favorite cookbook off the shelf, I sat down to read......... and rubbed my eye.

Have you ever touched your eye after handling hot chilies?

I am not sure if it was the steady screaming coming from my mouth, as I dashed from room to room frantically clawing at my eye, or the numerous creative expletives that I launched loudly into the air, or the fact that skater kid, who remembers *everything* he hears, was walking around mumbling things like "Goddamn, fucking son of a bitching whore".

But something drew Study Boy away from his desk, and I caught a glimpse of him staring at me from the safety of the doorway of the guest bathroom, with a confused/bemused sort of horrified look on his face as I tore my contact out, threw it in a case full of solution, and then jammed my whole head under the faucet to save what remained of my retina.

Study Boy: Um....is everything okay?

Me: ~my body contorted in an odd angle in order to get my head under the tap at the bathroom sink~ Uh, yeah sure. Why wouldn't it be?

Skate Kid: ~walking by wearing nothing but tuxedo pants and a pair of swim goggles~ What is a fucking mother slut whore anyway?

Study Boy: *blink* *blink* *blink*

Several long minutes later, my eye very swollen and very red, my sopping wet hair stuck to my face, I casually strolled/crept down the hall, grabbing skater kid along the way, and headed to the kitchen to grind spices and give an appropriate answer to the "mother slut" question.

The rest of the afternoon went by pretty smoothly. Well, smoothly if you ignore the few moments just after I went back to the bathroom, opened up my contact case and put my "clean" contact back in my eye, up to the moment just after I re emerged from the bathroom, red eyed and dripping wet, once again. Did you know that saline solution does *not* remove capsicum residue from a contact lens? I didn't.

I made two batches of Lamb Vindaloo for dinner because I like my Indian food to be hot. Obscenely hot. I like it hot enough to make my eyebrows sweat and my nose run, and so I usually like to add a lot of chilies...usually green chilies, but a chili is a chili right? So, I made a medium hot version for everyone else and a very hot version for myself.

As I sat at the dinner table this evening, my cheeks flushed, the rivulets of sweat running down my face to drip on the collar of my third clean and dry t shirt of the day, I spied (with my one undamaged eye) Study Boy watching me eat. My nose was running from the intense spiciness and I kept wiping it with my sleeve.

Me: What?

Study Boy: ~A bemused smile creeps on his face as he watches my nose start to drip again~ You know, you really are......

Me: A masochist? ~I ask sarcastically, finishing his sentence while wiping my sweaty brow with a napkin~

Study Boy: Uh....no. A really good cook. But "masochist" works too.

Me: *blink* *blink* *blink*

Sex, Beer, Politics and S&M

2005-10-19T11:32:00.000-04:00

Sex, Beer, Politics and S&M

Okay, so the title of this blog pretty much rocks, and everyone knows how much I like a creative title. This one drew me in and I am glad it did.

I don't read alot of blogs written by men...I probably should and I do seek them out, but my list is rather short of those I read regularly. Also, I have a tendency to get caught up in the "female perspective" so being able to see things from the other side is a good thing.

From reading his intro, I found out that Jake Bullet, self proclained Cybernautic Detective is a switch which for me, makes for great reading because he understands both sides of the kinky world *and* is a guy. He is also in his twenties and he drinks Miller Draft. Okay, so he likes rot beer, but his clever writing makes up for it ;)

Anyway, he is witty, well spoken and simply put, a good read. (Check out his post "If I Only Had A Doggy Treat" ~The line "I wonder, would she have let me balance a little cookie on her nose and then eaten it on command?? I wonder....." made me giggle.)

Anyway, I like him and think you should check him out if you get a chance.

Stay There and Relish in Your Caning, Naughty One

2005-10-18T21:53:00.000-04:00

Professor,

I wrote this post especially for you.

~Your Naughty One

I am back home from school and back to the normal chaos of daily living. I am reset. And content. And focused. And the world doesn't seem as large as it did this morning.

I have returned from my visit to our secret spanking garden, and amid the scramble of preparing dinner, and participating in the constant flow of conversation...I excuse myself for a moment. I excuse myself from the early evening routine of a bustling household, to steal but a brief moment for myself..... in front of the mirror in the master bedroom to savor. My bottom is bare, my fingertips skip lightly over my sore flesh, tracing the faint lines that serve as a reminder and then.....

.......I am back in your office, curled up in the chair, chattering away about life....spanking... anything and everything, while very aware of the flip flopping sensation that is going on in my tummy as you cradle that crook handled cane in your hands.

Just moments ago, it was safely tucked high up on a shelf amid your books and files and piles of coursework instead of propped up against the desk, or resting lightly against your thigh.

The conversation eventually peters out as that cane becomes an overwhelming distraction and I am unable to think of anything else. Your gaze drifts to the open window in a moment of quiet contemplation, and when you turn back to look at me, my mouth goes dry.

I know my Professor is gone. I recognize the feral look in your eyes....your set jaw...the way your body moves and I know you are transformed.

"I think we have some business to attend to."

The cane is in your hand once again, but you hold it differently this time....with purpose and fear washes over me, trapping me to my seat.

*tap* *tap* *tap*

The cane taps on the cuff of pant leg.....and my head feels stuffed with cotton.

"Up."

Your voice is so soft I can barely hear you and I try to move but I can't.

Time stops and I know all too well that while that cane is in your hand, nothing else will exist. You look at me darkly and your tapping becomes more insistent, the world around us fading rapidly away....blocked out by the walls of our spanking garden.

I stand up...weak.....shaking, propelling myself out of my chair with my arms and I watch in rapt horror as you move the chair to the middle of the office.

I am aware of the staccato beat being played on the inside of my neck.....my pulse...yes...my pulse..... and the growing warmth moving up my torso, my neck....my cheeks....spreading slowly up, up, up until it reaches my hairline.

The silence. The faint droning of the air conditioner and the clicking of the lock on the office door.....

"Bare your bottom."

My stomach drops violently, shaking my insides and my head buzzes when it registers your words. Someone else's trembling fingers reach for the button on my jeans.

I watch as they unbutton and unzip and then material slides over flesh....over my curved bottom.....over the smooth skin of my thighs......stopping to rest at my knees.

I stare at the rumpled pool of fabric....the colors....pink cotton, brown corduroy all jumbled and twisted together...perched on the tops of trembling knee caps.

You are watching me, the cane cradled in your hands and I glance at you before turning away, suddenly embarrassed, to stare at the white board in front of me.

It is covered in writing....your writing?....paragraph after paragraph....every square inch of the whiteness covered in your slanted scrawl. I am unable to read....the words and symbols mean nothing. I can't read that!

I am standing straight, my shoulders back, my hands clutching the top edge of the chair in front of me. My body is frozen....rigid....my muscles taut with anticipation and I frantically try to sense where you are. You are close...very close...your body brushes up against mine and the tip of the cane is now pointing at the middle of the seat cushion.

I bend over the back of the chair, its relenting hardness pressing against my pelvis, forcing my body in half, my hair falling over my face, tickling the tops of my fingers that rest of the scratchy weave like fabric of the cushion.

The skin of my bottom is stretched taut and I struggle to catch glimpses of you under my outstretched arms. I see flashes of movement behind me and my buttocks clench in response as I shift from foot to foot.....waiting.

I am fidgety, pressing my body hard against the edge of the chair, bending and unbending my knees...unable to stop my jerky, agitated movements. You are close once again...I catch a glimpse of light wood and my breath catches in my throat as you rest the cane on my bottom....a solid pressure held up against my most sensitive spot, just below the curve of my cheeks.

The cane is gone and I prepare for the inevitable stroke that will surely follow, my eyes shut, my teeth clenched tight. Nothing. I open my eyes slowly and look for movement behind me.

Nothing.

And then there it is again, the gentle steady pressure of wood against skin and I suck air in again, preparing for the bite. I wait. The cane doesn't move. My body is tensing and relaxing....muscles are clenched and contracted....waiting.

Nothing.

*tap* *tap* *tap*

You tap the tip of the cane on the fleshiest part of my bottom.

*tap* *tap* *tap*

I struggle to swallow an overwhelming urge that threatens to bubble to the surface, choking it down in rapid swallows....Just cane me already! My body strains under the tension....the fear...I am overwrought.....my head spins...

I struggle to keep from squirming and mewing as you keep tapping and resting....tapping and resting. And then I realize to my utter horror that I need to feel that cane....Just cane me already! Please Professor.........Please!

I am craven....afraid.....stuck waiting....at your mercy...my head is a swirling jumble of random thoughts, and worries, and panic, and growing need........and then

CRACKKKK!

There is clarity. My head is clear. Quiet. It is abruptly refocused on the searing bite of whippy rattan against taut skin. I hold my breath, frozen in utter stillness as the ache of the stinging line of fire seems to swell, overwhelming me for one eternally long and torturous moment before fading....slowly....so slowly....leave me gasping and shaking.

My body shivers and I draw air in through my nose sharply....a deep cleansing breath that washes the rest of the pain away.

CRACKKKK!

Three inches of cutting heat explode on my right cheek and then the left as you flick your wrist and send just the tip of the cane down on my bottom. I am gasping and squirming as tiny little lines of burning are left all over my buttocks.

You move away and I lean farther over the back of the chair, allowing my head to dangle loosely from my neck, my mind thick from pain. I sense your movement and my body tenses again, cowering....curling in on itself to escape. And then I feel your hand.

You rest your palm flat on my lower back and I can feel the warmth of you through the fabric of my t shirt. I shift, curving my back ever so slightly, pressing up against your gentle pressure...your touch a comforting reminder of who I belong to.

You bring the cane down hard across my entire bottom and once again I am focused....my head is clear....my entire being held in rapt attention by the exquisite pain that threatens to consume me.

Again the cane falls, and then again and again.....and I am reduced....my world is reduced to the now...the here....to this one moment and everything else ceases to exist. I am reduced....to my most basic self in order to endure. My breathing is shallow and ragged, my bottom transformed into line after line of burning, stinging pain.

One stroke lands hard across the tops of both thighs and I swallow frantically to keep from hurling all over the mauve waffle material below me. This truly is one ugly chair!

You stop for a moment and I struggle to recover. I lean heavily over the chair, my panties and jeans now a tangled mess that clings to my ankles.

I shudder....a ripple of tingling travels through me as your hand reaches down to caress my scorched skin. Your palm moves slowly over my entire bottom, smoothing away the biting sting... soothing.

My body relaxes as you pause briefly just under the curve of my buttocks, your fingers lingering over the welt on my thighs. Tenderly you trace the ache with your fingertips and I become heady with the mix of pain and pleasure.

Your caressing becomes firmer...harder....and soon you are kneading my buttocks, pushing and pulling at my tender buttocks, and I am filled up with the sheer pleasure of it. My body goes limp under your massage, my shoulders droop and I am slipping away....

Until without warning, you flick the top part of the cane against my skin, letting it bite at the cheek you are kneading. My head snaps up and I gasp at the sharp contrast of the new sensation.

And then, just as suddenly, you go back to kneading, rolling my flesh between your fingers and I breathe in slowly, relaxed once again....until flick SNAP! The cane bites at me and my back arches rigidly in response to the searing hurt and I bite my lip hard to keep from whimpering.

Then the kneading begins all over again and soon I am trapped......pain....burning sting of the cane...... soft warmth...the soothing caress of your hand. The cycle continues until pain and pleasure become one and I am unable to distinguish one sensation from another. I am intoxicated...swept away....

And then you are next to me....close to my face. I look at you through locks of my own hair and you are crouched down, your knees bent, the cane resting across your thighs.

"Twelve more."

Waves of nausea wash over me.

"Count them. I want you to count loud enough for me to hear you."

I nod weakly as you stand and slowly move out of my line of sight. This time however, I don't look for you....I don't attempt to sense you. I am unconcerned where you are. Instead I am focused on enduring......my caning is almost over.

I have twelve more strokes to go. Good God! I lock my knees to keep my legs from giving away under me and plant my hands firmly on the seat, my mind focused on enduring.

CRACKKKK!

I gasp and count out "One!", my voice slightly hoarse.

CRACKKK!

"Two!" I am filled up with pain as the cane lands high on my bottom, where the skin is at its thinnest. My whole body trembles....my mind, quiet.

The strokes continue as you place each one carefully, leaving one searing line after another, neatly spaced, intent on giving every inch of my smoldering backside your undivided attention. Once again I am reduced....my brain quieted as I am forced to focus on the simple beauty of pain.....and my total acceptance of it.

When it is over, I am satiated and sore, my bottom a jumble of tingling ache and sting. I stay bent over the chair, waiting for you....waiting for my breathing to slow....my eyes closed. I feel you next to me again...crouched down, knees bent, the cane gone.

"I want you to stay put, understand? Stay there and relish your caning, Naughty One. Relish how it feels."

"Yes, Professor."

You are gone again and I can't see you, but I am too exhausted to care. When moments later, I hear the click clacking of keys, I know you are sitting at your desk working while I remain bent over a chair in the middle of your office, my freshly caned bottom on display.

My whole body is relaxed, my eyes, heavy and soon I am forced to close them....lulled by the sound of the keys clicking on your keyboard and the tingling warmth of my bottom.

Falafel, a cane, school and a reset for Naughty One

2005-10-18T00:52:00.000-04:00

A sound spanking resets me.

A bit of time has passed since my last "face to face" with Professor and I have been keeping myself rather busy I think. In the last couple of weeks, I have nearly gotten devoured by a giant demon snake, I earned myself a punishment spanking by telling a lie, I have spent many long hours in the throes of lunacy and well, as a result, I am feeling a bit worn out and more than a little sheepish. And I am feeling rather remorseful. And regretful. And emotionally spent, and guilty, and worried, and so very sorry, and overwhelmed, and pensive, and insecure and well.......smallish.

And I know I need to be punished, and a punishment spanking has been scheduled for the 28th to address the whole lying thing (As much as I abhor the idea, I know that after it is over, I will be forgiven, the slate will be clean and that thing that is between Professor and I will be gone). But my remorse for my bad behavior and the fear of my upcoming punishment doesn't account for all of my smallishness.

Punishment aside, there is a small issue of my "otherworldly" serpentine experience (munchausen syndrome, betrayal, confusion...oh my!). And because of all of the lunacy, and other general life stuff, my world has become a large and confusing place and I am having a hard time navigating my way through it. I think I need to be reset and have my world righted.

In a post from earlier this week I discussed triggers, and how by tweaking various trigger combinations, Professor controls my head space. (I find this to be a very intriguing part of a spanko dynamic...check out Bliatz's MindClit post) What I didn't mention was that some triggers tend to be more "sexual" than others, and some triggers are emotional triggers and my resulting transformation before or during my spanking will determine what kind of reset I experience.

When I am spank horny and want to play, when I want to be spanked hard, and to be made to really swoon, Professor delights in pushing my buttons. He will stretch my physical and mental limits with elaborate scenes or simple yet elegantly sinister mindfucks, patiently stroking and tweaking my cerebral spanko. I love and savor every delicious moment of that type of play because he knows exactly how to press me....challenge me.....until I am not only physically sore, but also mentally satiated.

When I have been naughty and need to be punished, Professor once again, deftly pushes the appropriate buttons. He will lecture and spank in a way that enables him to illicit a full spectrum of feelings and emotions from me including fear, apprehension, humiliation, pain and remorse. And he will thoroughly and determinedly probe and push, exploiting my fears of certain implements and positions to make me a truly sorry young woman.

He told me once that in punishment, usually tears are not the result of the pain. Instead the tears are the result of remorse which the pain accentuates. I believe that. I really do.

Using the appropriate triggers, Professor, my Disciplinarian and Spanko Tour Guide, is able to gently (or forcefully) guide me into the headspace that will help bring about the type of reset his Naughty One needs. It is pretty amazing if you think about it. And takes a lot of communication and attention to detail. Yes, spanking play and spanking discipline for that matter, with Professor can be downright swoony...and very much needed.

And then there is another type of spanking that is just as needed. There is another aspect of my relationship with Professor that is just as important, and it is the thing that is responsible for making our dynamic so magical; Emotional Investment.

Looking back on the last couple of weeks, it is amazing.....the things I will do to cope....to manage...to offset damage. During times of stress, when I find myself struggling to navigate my way through a "much too big" world, Professor's higher rules.....his consistency, provides me with something to hold onto, even when I am feeling so small.

Tomorrow I am going to school to see Professor because I need to be reset.

After class, we will walk and talk, like we always do. We will go to this take out place not far from the campus for lunch and eat falafel, like we always do. We will talk about normal things....every day things, and then we will go back to his office and lock the door and bring out the cane....like we always do. And as we just sit....and talk.....as we just... "are"....like we always are....I will slowly be transformed.

Those smallish feelings I brought with me when I made the long drive to school....those insecure, worried, overwhelmed, pensive, "are we really okay?" smallish feelings will begin to ebb away....slowly....ever so slowly...as we sit and talk and eat falafel...like we always do. And I will be transformed. I will be transformed into Professor's "basically good but sometimes naughty" school-girlish type Naughty One who enjoys spending time with her Mentor", like I always do.

Tomorrow, Professor will tweak the triggers that ground me....reconnect me....give me back my sense of continuity and remind me of the foundation he has given me. And these triggers are special. They are the part of the thing that makes our dynamic so magical. Friendship. Intimacy. Familiarity. Caring. Ownership.

Tomorrow I am going to school to see Professor. We are going to eat falafel and I am going to get caned because my world isn't okay....and spanking resets things. Especially the kind of spanking I get when I go to school.

I need to be reset like I always do.

Daughters

2005-10-17T02:31:00.000-04:00

John Mayer - Daughters

I know a girl
She puts the color inside of my world
But she’s just like a maze
Where all of the walls all continually change
And I’ve done all I can
To stand on her steps with my heart in my hands
Now I’m starting to see
Maybe it’s got nothing to do with me

Fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too

Oh, you see that skin
It’s the same she’s been standin’ in
Since the day she saw him walking away
Now she’s left
Cleanin’ up the mess he made

So fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too

Boys, you can break
You’ll find out how much they can take
Boys will be strong
And boys soldier on
But boys would be gone without warmth from
A woman’s good, good heart

Oh behalf of every man
Looking out for every girl
You are the god and the weight of her world

So fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too

So mothers, be good to your daughters too
So mothers, be good to your daughters too

*see player for actual song

Bang! Bang! You're Swooning

2005-10-14T12:07:00.000-04:00

Swoon.

What makes a good scene or a good spanking dynamic for that matter? I use the word "dynamic" here because I am not talking about the relationship, I am talking about a spanking scene or session....those moments in time where you are spankee and he/she is spanker. Whether it be role play, or discipline, or just spanking for spankings sake, there are details about the scene or the spanker that make you swoon.

What are the things that make a spankee swoon? Are they the same for everyone? Are there common themes? What is it about your spanker that makes you swoon?

I probably should define the word swoon first because I use it a lot when I talk about my kink, so a definition is probably in order. What do I mean by swoon? Well, the dictionary defines it as falling into some sort of faint, and usually when I see the word, it involves a fair complexioned, overly coiffed waif falling into the arms of the Cary Grant type.

When I use the word, I don't mean literally faint, I mean that overall feeling. That breathless, heart thumping sensation you get when someone is able to rock your world. And it doesn't have to be in the moment either. A particularly painful spanking may not make me consciously swoon in the moment, but the anticipation and the overall feeling of it can be very swoony.

Why do I swoon? What causes that weakening of the knees that I get during a good session?

Bliatz posted something on her blog about an article she read recently, written by Peter Master, referring to what he called the "template dom". The idea behind the "template dom" is that everyone has a template of what they think a good dom is (and I can broaden that term "dom" to include top/spanker/whatever and "sub" to include bottom/spankee) and the closer a dominant comes to that template, the more strongly the submissive responds to them, and the template is based on instinct, past experiences, etc.

The term "template dom" made me want to write about the idea of triggers. In reference to a spanking scene, its "the little things"........the triggers.....that make a scene especially swoony. And just to be clear, a trigger is not to be confused with a need or want. A trigger elicits a response. It isn't something I want....or desire....or fantasize about....it just is. It is a piece to my puzzle.

And that being said, back to the swoony scene:

We have all had them. Scenes that make our knees weak, our tummies tingle, and our bodies tremble on the inside. Those are the scenes that stay with us, the ones that seem so good that they border on the surreal, and weeks later we sit wondering if it was only a dream.

Professor and I share all types of spankings. Some sessions are disciplinary, some are role play, some are just spanking for spankings sake. Within those categories, there are some sessions that stand out in my mind more than others.

Don't get me wrong, I have enjoyed (enjoyed is relative here) all of my spanking sessions, but some scenes have pushed more buttons than others. I wonder if the "template" theory can be applied here as well. I think it can.

It truly is the little things. I enjoy the little things. I love subtlety....the attention to detail. Simply put, I am a great appreciator of the beauty of triggers. What is a trigger? A trigger is something that initiates a process or reaction. And the manipulation of triggers can be used to control a person or a situation.

And it is multiple triggers that satisfy my overall need for spanking. It is my triggers that make it impossible for Study Boy to spank me. Many people have asked me why I don't just have him whack me even if he is vanilla. Why do I have to seek out spanking from another? It is all about triggers. Spanking isn't just about whack whack whack....it isn't just about the physical sensation. As Wintermute once said, there is a language, and one must be able to speak and understand the language. To understand triggers. :)

Think of it in the context of advertising. When the Dodge Caravan came on the scene, the industry initiated a campaign geared toward touching the triggers of the archetypical "soccer mom". Ads were done to specifically appeal to this type of person....some subset of middle-class, white suburban women who were busy shuttling their kids to and from soccer practice. Dodge celebrated the "soccer mom" and as a result, in the late afternoon, the roads are clogged with kid loaded Caravans on their way to, oh yes, soccer practice.

Advertisers are wonderful at finding and manipulating the triggers of their targeted markets. And so that brings me to another point. A trigger must be recognized, or understood....and then manipulated to get the desired reaction or desired level of control.

What are triggers in the context of a good spanking scene? Once again, they are the things responsible for initiating a reaction or feeling. And how well I respond to my Spanker in scene, or to the scene itself, depends on how many triggers he recognizes, understands and is able to touch on at any given moment.

What moves me in a spanking scene? What tends to rock my world? There are alot of little things, but to give you an example:

Dominance in presence (the definition being a separate post of its own) in the form of a good lecture. Being told to change into a short plaid skirt....a school girl type outfit and then directed to stand in the center of a room, hands at my side. The way he stands up, his towering presence a physical reminder of his authority, and then moves his body closer to mine, invading my personal space.

The way he places his hands on his hips....that paternal stance of disapproval, his quiet steely tone, his set jaw.....that dark look. Even the words or "hot" phrases he chooses while lecturing can be triggers: "young lady", "got it?", "naughty girl", "bare bottomed spanking", "good girl", "I won't have my little girl behaving that way".

All of those things are triggers that illicit a particular response from me.

The simple act of baring my bottom hits several triggers, especially when Professor does it for me. It is the general loss of control by having someone lower my panties while I am helpless to do anything about it, and the humiliation of having my bottom bared for a spanking like some naughty little girl. Triggers. It is all about triggers.

And what is the result? What sort of response do my triggers initiate?

My transformation. In a swoony spanking scene (or any swoony interaction with Professor for that matter. It doesn't have to include an actual spanking) I am transformed from an independent, strong willed, opinionated, Type A personality to:

~ a blushing, fidgety, very small, tickle in my tummy, play with my hair while nibbling on my bottom lip, little school girl who is about to be spanked

~a respectful, obedient, malleable submissive eager to please her Dominant

~a sick to my stomach from nervousness but remorseful, deserving and resigned, "soon to be upended and soundly spanked because she needs to be punished", naughty girl

Each response or transformation depends on what triggers are used. And for each spankee, the triggers are different. My triggers are not the same as yours. And even if we do have similar triggers, our responses to them may be different as well. Is there such thing as a "template dom". Yes, I think so. And whether or not your dom/spanker/top can make you respond strongly to him/her is based not only on basic chemistry, but communication. Good communication in order to make the particular pieces to your perspective puzzles clear.

Because really, if you think about it, what is the ultimate trigger? For someone to discover your triggers and understand them enough to use them.

Oh yes. :)

At least it is the ultimate trigger for me. But I am a masochist, so what do I know? :)

~to be continued.......

Spanko Waste Management

2005-10-13T00:13:00.000-04:00

My rebellion is over. It ran its course and tomorrow I am free to return to the chatting world.

The two are mutually exclusive though. My rebellion is over not because my punishment is over. Its over because I touched base with Professor via phone yesterday and so the whole rebellion thing sort of fizzled. It wasn't because he stomped on me for being rebellious however.

I often wonder where fantasy ends and reality begins in a spanking dynamic like the one we share. We are spanking partners and we both have "real lives" outside of our dynamic. but what does that mean exactly? Real lives? Where does real begin and fantasy end?

Someone once used the term "secret garden of spanking". That would imply a walled off fantasy world within which Professor and I are able to share our passion for spanking and then return to the rest of our lives. The fantasy aspect of the dynamic....the ability to focus completely on the kink and nothing else.

It is true that by design, our sessions are played out behind the walls of a spanking secret garden (or hotel room), safely tucked away from the more mundane matters of life. There are no every day life type interruptions like leaky faucets, or broken garbage disposals, or paper boys knocking on the door to collect money.

There are no moments of complaining that he hasn't cleaned the gutters even though I already asked him three times and left a note on the fridge, or conversations about whether or not we should get heated seats in the new car. In our "secret garden", our roles are clearly defined and unencumbered by the banal responsibilities of "real life".

So is what we have just an elaborate fantasy? Where does reality begin and fantasy end?

When I started exploring my kink, I decided early on that I wanted a partner who was more than just a Spanker. I didn't just want a whack whack whack dynamic....I wanted more. I wanted a relationship with someone with whom I could share my love of spanking.

I wanted someone who was not only a fellow spanko, but I also wanted someone who would be Mentor, Disciplinarian, and someone I could look up to. Someone in authority, someone I could idolize, emulate, and trust to take care of my well being....someone who would help me grow into myself. And so in theory, Professor was selected to be my Spanker. My Kink Tour Guide. My Mentor, Teacher, Disciplinarian and my Adult Male Role Model.

In theory. In reality, I have had a hard time letting him be all those things. Even in my own head. When I would talk or write about us, I referred to what we have as a "dynamic".

Look up the word dynamic in the dictionary:

dy-nam-ic: n. An interactive system or process, especially one involving competing or conflicting forces.

It doesn't exactly fill you with warm and fuzzy feelings does it?

There are two conflicting parts to me. The part that desperately wants someone to look up to....that Role Model I spoke of, and the other part; the insecure and fearful part.

I was made, or wired, due to experience I guess, with this built-in "inner voice" that is more than a little skeptical of becoming dependent on or relying on someone in a relationship. And my inner voice is especially wary of relationships where there is the chance I may begin to admire the other person as well as rely on them.

So wary in fact, and persistent, and loud, that if I don't continually stay on top of it.....stay aware of it, then it overwhelms me. And it clouds my interpretation of things and can alter my behavior or reactions.

And with Professor, this wariness or insecurity, manifests itself in the form of fear and stubborn denial. I was unable to reconcile in myself that I could possibly need him, and so I would constantly refer to us as the "dynamic". To minimize the importance of it to me. I would try to compartmentalize as best as I could, to protect myself. And sometimes even now, my inner voice whispers that this is just an elaborate role play, a scene taken from a spanking play bill and we are just acting the parts.

Why?

Insecurity. Fear.

I am either afraid that Professor is going to eventually decide I am too much work and not worth the trouble, or I am afraid this really is just about two people getting their spanking groove on. And that would make me just a silly little girl if I think that all of the mentoring stuff is anything more than part of his act, so I'd better be careful and not be too needy or he may decide the whole thing is too much work, and..... you get the picture.

And yeah, so this is all about my own emotional junk, or what a head shrinker might refer to as "emotional dishonesty due to a fear of abandonment". Blah Blah Blah. Yada Yada Yada.

Psychobabble aside, my junk has made me a "coper". Simply put, when things get tough, I don't deal, I cope by repressing or suppressing or just plain avoiding. It is a skill that has served me well over the years....to a point. It has served me in the sense that it allowed me to survive, but not to thrive.

Its one of those PSY 101 cliche things:

Girl has emotional junk and girl interprets and/or reacts to stimuli while wearing her "junk colored" glasses. Junk colors her view on life...her perceptions, forcing her to revert back to her bag of coping tricks and it is a defense mechanism so deeply ingrained, that Girl is usually unaware of it in the moment (ie. not seeing the forest for the trees....or in my case, not seeing the jungle).

Girl on a good day, recognizes her junk and wishes she could control it. Girl on a bad day, is deep in the unhealthy coping jungle, and not only is she oblivious to the fact that she is even IN the jungle, but she doesn't recognize that the creepy tour guide who got her there in the first place is her arch nemesis, junk. And so, oblivious Girl spends much of her time "reacting" rather than living.

Someone told me once that most people have junk:

In fact, a majority of people have some emotional junk. Think of it as the scars of living. We all get bumps and bruises from living life. It is the same way emotionally.

Well, what about normal people?

Oh, there's no such thing as normal. There is such a thing as healthy though. The thing that distinguishes the healthy from the not so healthy? Healthy people acknowledge their junk and resolve not to let it control them.

Ohhhh...okay, that makes sense. People can have junk and not only survive, but thrive. And the thing that separates the survivors from the thrivers is Good Emotional Waste Management. Yeah.

I think I tend to treat emotional waste management like the way I clean. In my house, I love the appearance of order, and the only way I know how to achieve that is by shoving everything into the closets and underneath the beds. As I said, it is an appearance of order.

So if coping vs. good waste management is like sweeping dirt under the carpet vs. sweeping it into a dustpan and disposing of it properly, I am an emotional "sweep under the carpet" type.

No, I am a "sweep so much emotional junk under the carpet that it forms a very large mound, and then I have to spend an inordinate amount of time standing on the mound holding a large handwritten sign that says ~ Please ignore the large mound under my feet. I am fine. Really.~, type. All I need is a tin can with a few dollar bills in it and I am good to go.

The problem with my master plan of coping? When I say I am fine, I am a big fat liar. I am not fine. I am anything but fine. And, I suffer from the delusional idea that if I say I am fine enough times, not only will I convince every passerby that stops to gawk at me standing on my carpeted mound that I am fine, but I will also convince myself. It never works though. Because no matter how many times I say it, I am not fine.

What do I sweep under the rug? Hurt, sadness, vulnerability, needs, fears, feelings.

And so, there I be, standing on my carpeted mound of emotional junk with my sign, telling people I am okay...that I don't need anything...that I am an emotional island......

I am an emotional island with a large pile of rocks at my feet. And every once in a while, I throw a rock through a window, or at a passerby, in order to relieve some of the strain of trying to contain that mound. And if that doesn't work, I start to throw boulders.

Coping really is "just surviving". And I think Good Management is more than "surviving"....it is "thriving". I have always been a "coper", but I want more. I am not content just to survive..... I want to thrive. I really do.

So what does this have to do with my rebellion?

It has to do with not being okay and sweeping stuff under rugs and throwing rocks. And it has to do with Professor noticing the largish mound under my feet and spying the rocks in my hand and knowing precisely what I was doing with them and why. And so he took the rocks away and in doing so, he showed me something very important. Hugely important.

Where does real begin and fantasy end? With the word, relationship.

When I need his attention, his help, his caring....when I need him to take the time to listen and just be there to tell me it will all be okay, it isn't about being dependent, or being independent for that matter. It is about me needing him because he cares for me and wants to protect me. It has nothing to do with being "too much trouble" or "needy", and everything to do with a girl who needs her Mentor simply because she just does.

When life gets tough....when things happen....I don't have to sweep it under the rug anymore. And I don't have to handle it alone. Because Professor is here. He is here to pluck me out of my jungle....to weather the storm with me. To,in his words, "help me get through it".

Now I just have to let him in.

Fascist Spanko DJ

2005-10-12T11:37:00.000-04:00

I am a music whore. Literally. Professor says I do things to excess and I would have to agree when it comes to music. There are some people in the world who enjoy silence. I enjoy music.

I never go anywhere without my mp3 player, and depending on where I am, there is something playing in the background and it is usually from one of the latest playlists I have created. I am obsessed with downloading music and burning CDs. So obsessed in fact, that I will use any excuse to burn a CD for someone.

I use music to express my moods, tell people how I feel. You want to know whats in my head at any given moment? Check out my playlist on my mp3 player. Or even better, check out the first song listed on the pulldown menu of my video player on my blog. Music can be a way of communicating for me.

And at parties? I control the stereo. I am what you would call a fascist DJ.

Being a fascist DJ, you can imagine how thrilled I was to come across the video player on Angelbrat's blog a month or two ago. It opened up undiscovered territory for me in the blogworld. All of a sudden my blog became a multisensory blogging experience and I was able to change the song based on my moods. Tah Dah!

Okay, so it was only one song which could get a tad redundant if you spent any length of time on my blog because the song looped over and over again, but still, I thought it was rather cool and I had a new toy to play with.

For a while at least. Until Professor called me on the phone:

Him: Your blog sucks!

Me: Er...w..wha....wh..y.....what??? ~confused, sort of high pitched tone as brain kicks into high gear....scramble scramble....what did I write?

Him: That noise. You have some sort of noise that plays when I visit your blog. What is that?

Me: Uh.... most people would refer to that noise as music.

Him: That's debatable Naughty One, and it is beside the point.

Me: Um, okay....so are you calling to tell me you don't like it? ~genuinely confused now~ What point are you referring to?

Him: The point is that it draws unwanted attention. Anyone in the near vicinity can hear it and will actually turn to look to see where the noise is coming from. ~slightly louder, more strained, exasperated tone~ The point is shut it off!

Me: Ahhhhh..... ~smirky sort of smiley tone~ Stealthy spanko surfing, Professor. ~wink, wink nudge, nudge~ Gotcha ;)

To be honest, it hadn't occurred to me that my "multisensory blogging experience" may be a bit....hmm...inconvenient for people at times, especially if they were trying to be stealthy. Or that it may even be annoying to those folks that find my music (sniff.) noise-like. However, that being said, I do like having the music, and so I brought up the issue to Study Boy over dinner.

Me: Professor called The All-American Rejects noise.

Study Boy: Yeah well, maybe he just isn't cultured enough to share your fine taste for all things musical ~he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm~

Me: ~my eyes narrowing, a forkful of mashed potatoes held in midair~ Sarcasm is the protest of the weak you know.

Study Boy: ~a trademark eyeroll~ Okay, Phineas.

Me: Anywayyyyyy.... the thing is, I want music on my blog but he mentioned that it may draw.....attention when someone is say...... sitting in the computer lab and surfing...... ~voice trails off~
Study Boy: You mean the music on your spanking blog may draw unwanted attention to the poor person sitting in the back of the computer lab trying to feed their inner kink moppet?

Me: ~mouthful of mashed potatoes~ unh...yeath.....

Study Boy: ~tone, bored; shoulders, shrugged in an obvious attempt to finish up our conversation and return to his own mashed potatoes~ Why not make it so that you have an option? I am sure you can play around with the html a bit.

Me: YeahhhhH!!! That is a great idea! When can you do that? And can I have more than one video? What about a list, some sort of menu and then I can have a playlist?

Study Boy: groannnnn.....

Anyway, when all was said and done, Study Boy, true to techie geek form had written a nifty little script that allows me to have the option of music complete with playlist and a pull down menu! Very clever of him I think.

Feel free to peruse my new in-blog theatre and check out my playlist. And no, I don't take requests.

~The Fascist Spanko DJ

An Insatiable Spankee's Ultimate Fantasy

2005-10-09T00:52:00.000-04:00

"Come on in."

She looks up as the door opens and he is there, standing in the doorway, his face expressionless, watching her as she wraps her arms around herself, her body withering slightly.

"Jeans off please."

Stepping into the room, he closes the door behind him and locks it, the soft clicking sound causing her to start.

A blush rises to her cheeks and she stares at the faded blue carpet while unzipping her Levis with trembling fingers, exposing a tiny triangular glimpse of her pink satin panties. Slipping her thumbs in the waistband of her jeans, she stops to glance up at him, her eyes searching his face.

His jaw tightens slightly and she hastily slips her jeans over her hips, down to the floor and steps out of them, leaving them in a pool on the floor. She swallows several times, trying to dislodge a large lump in her throat, and her heart thuds loudly against her rib cage.

He nods at her before unbuttoning his sleeve and rolling it neatly to his elbow. Her eyes grow wide with sudden panic and the blood drains from her face as she watches helplessly while he unbuckles his belt. With slow deliberation, he pulls it through his belt loops, the leather hissing at it slides along the fabric of his slacks.

"Come over here, Young Lady."

He gestures to the oversized desk and his voice seems to echo off the walls as he folds his well worn leather belt in half, letting it dangle at his side. She looks from the belt to him and then walks over slowly, her legs threatening to buckle underneath her.

He takes her by the wrist and placing his hand on her back, he pushes her forward over the desk, and grabbing her panties firmly, he tugs them down to her ankles in one fluid motion. She gasps and trembles, her nose pressed against the polished wood, her hair spilling over the desktop.

"You know something miss...."

His voice is steely with determination as he brings the belt down hard several times on her bottom.

CRACCKKK!

"I'd say......"

CRACKKK!

She gasps and leans hard against the desk, pulling herself up on her tiptoes as a painful burn spreads quickly over both cheeks.

"this has become somewhat of a regular occurrence lately..."

CRACCCKKK!

She chokes and gasps as another line of fiery burn is lit just below the others. She presses her forehead hard against the wood and shuts her eyes, her breath already beginning to come out in strangled gasps.

"wouldn't you?"

CRACKKK!

She listens to the sound of the belt cutting through the air before landing on her burning buttocks and she draws herself up, trying to steel herself against the overwhelming burn.

"YesssssSSssSIIIRRRRR!"

Fighting back the tears, she nods her head frantically, her voice muffled by the long hair clinging to her sweat soaked face.

"Yes, I'd say so as well."

He begins to whip her bottom soundly, each lick following in quick succession across the curve of her buttocks pausing only long enough to push her back down flat against the desk when her bucking and writhing became out of control.

"Well, that's ok...."

She reaches out to hold the edge of the desk, as tears spill down her cheeks, falling freely onto the dark wood, her body stiff against the sharp bite of the strap.

"because you see..."

Her knuckles are white and her fingers stiff from death grip she has on the desk to keep from screaming. She is vaguely aware of the soft mewling that is coming from her lips and the sting grows and grows.

"we both know....."

He thrashes the backs of her upper thighs vigorously, causing her breath to catch in her throat, her head swimming dizzily with pain, and soon her mewls become cries until finally, her cries turn into sobs.

"I will always honor a request for a sound spanking...."

"that I will always......"

She is writhing on the desk now, her panties in a tangled knot around her ankles, the rivulets of sweat trickling down her thighs. Her bottom throbs as the sting becomes a raging inferno of burning fire and she sobs incoherently.

"honor your request for a sound spanking."

He suddenly drops the belt on the floor and after placing one hand firmly on her back, he begins to pummel her bottom with his hand in a long, steady flurry of solid spanks.

Her bottom is on fire....she is on fire. She is unable to focus on anything else except for the overwhelming, tummy turning searing pain that threatens to encompass her.

When he finally stops, she is only dimly aware that it is over and she lays on the desk breathing heavily, her face pressed against the back of her arm to muffle her sobs.

He sits on the edge of the desk, pulling her body closer to his, and rubs her back slowly, silently comforting her as she hiccups and sniffles. Tracing the curves of her cheeks with his fingertips, he waits until her breathing slows before speaking.

"Are you still feeling insatiable?"

He smiles softly and rests his palm on her well spanked bottom.

She props herself up on her elbows and wrinkles her nose at him, her face still streaked with tears. Resting her chin in her hands, she looks up at him brightly, a contented sigh escaping her lips.

"Thank you."

She gets up gingerly, pulling her panties back up over her crimson colored bottom. Grabbing her jeans off the floor and scrunching them in a ball under her arm, she tosses them into the corner before getting up on tip toes to kiss him lightly on the cheek.

"You didn't answer my question, Young Lady. Are you still feeling insatiable?"

He slips his belt back back on and straightens out his sleeve before walking out into the hall with her.

"I am always insatiable. Don't you know that by now?"

She gives him a crooked little grin and watches him go, giving him a little wave as he heads out the front door.

Turning her attention to the waiting area, she smiles at the strict looking guy idly thumbing through magazines.

Hmmmm...definitely some swoon potential there.....NEXT!

NEXT!

I am enjoying these personailty tests.....

2005-10-08T08:28:00.000-04:00

Thank you poiesia for this one.

Your Personality Profile

You are dependable, popular, and observant.
Deep and thoughtful, you are prone to moodiness.
In fact, your emotions tend to influence everything you do.

You are unique, creative, and expressive.
You don't mind waving your freak flag every once and a while.
And lucky for you, most people find your weird ways charming!

The World's Shortest Personality Test

Night 2 of The Adventures of A Grounded Naughtyopath

2005-10-08T00:15:00.000-04:00

So today is Day 2 of "The Adventures of a Grounded Naughtyopath". How did I waste large amounts of time today by being as unproductive as I would be if I weren't grounded? Inline skating and an inordinate amount of time spent surfing random spanko blogs of course!

I spent this evening wasting tons of time by working on my links section of my blog. I have added a bunch of new ones that I found while surfing other various spanko blogs and just clicking on links at random. It was great fun, and I read some great stuff. Surfing various blogs and adding them to my links section wasn't the time waster though. Alphabetizing the links by hand would be the time waster I was referring to.

A couple stick in my mind because their titles tickled my fancy in one way or another:

Vanilla Saturday Kinky Sunday I found this link on another site and clicked on it because I figured that any blog with a title like that had to be creative and cool. I really love the title of his blog :)

Just a Little Bit Naughty Once again, I loved the title. It made me smile because I could relate.

A Wench Misplaced in Suburbia Hee Hee. I like it and her and I will visit again.

A Little Bit of Spanking The rest of her title is "ok so a lot abit of it". I like her already :)

I added many more links, so feel free to peruse because they are afterall, alphabetized for convenience.

Moving on to skating:

People who know me personally understand the significance of me skating today. I love to skate and I love to play street hockey and I haven't been able to do either since this past April because of a nasty skating accident (the details of which will stay with me because they only make me look stupid). But finally......finally....I am able to get back up on the horse. I decided to post some very non spanko pics of my skates ~ with me in them, but you don't really get to see me, just the skates. And they were taken while out street skating with friends this afternoon:

A pre skate stretch

If you look very carefully, you can see the *very* attractive 4 inch scar that I now sport. Running from my wrist toward my elbow, in the length wise direction, not only is it a conversation piece (or lack thereof) for every random Walmart cashier who gets that peculiar "Is that a failed suicide attempt" look on her face, but it also is a reminder of the hardware I am packing on the inside of that arm now. Bionic naughty girl.

Waiting my turn

My skates again....with me in them.....mid session break, watching a friend wax a curb.

And there ends another not so productive day in the life of a grounded naughtyopath :) Just five more to go!

Bored and Grounded, So Go Ahead...Explicate Me

2005-10-06T22:15:00.000-04:00

I am grounded. From Friday until next Wednesday:

"I have decided that since you lied so that I would not take chat away, the most fitting punishment to add to the sound spanking that you have coming, is to take away chat. You have tonight (Thursday) to say goodbye and then you are off chat until Wednesday of next week (Fri-Wednesday inclusive). It should make for a productive Columbus Day weekend... You are well aware that you are to adhere to both the letter and intent of my punishments. Thus it goes without saying that your punishment means no excessive email, phone, or IM either. Some email and phone (e.g.with me) is OK......"

My cyber social life has been brought to a screaming halt for the next several days and I am already bored. Its the idea of being restricted really. I hate the idea of it and so I am totally bored.

I suppose I could be doing something productive.....productive???

I have learned to knit recently and could be working on what I refer to as a chenille scarf, and what Study Boy refers to as "Errr....some sort of hamster warmer? Do we have a hamster hon? Are we getting a hamster and I just forgot we were?"

Okay, I am sure there are other productive things I could be doing besides knitting winter clothing for rodents.

But I don't want to. I am pretty productive all day. This is supposed to be my down time. Because chat isn't all that productive either. It is supposed to be fun....like watching a movie, or playing fusball.....sort of a recreational time waster.

Productive while being punished? Hell no! No freaking way

Nope....instead I am determined to substitute one recreational time waster for another:

Welcome to Night One of "The Adventures of a Grounded Naughtyopath". In tonight's episode, our super hero will endure the trials and tribulations of self explication by hitting the information super highway in search of makeshift amateur template quizzes. Quizilla here I go!!

~Okay, so I am a bit truculent about being grounded. I don't know why. I deserve to be punished and I am very aware of that fact.....and yet at the moment, I am determinedly focused on NOT being productive for the duration just because I can. Its my rebellion....its my way of saying, I can't chat and its not fair but I don't have to have a productive Columbus Day weekend either, so there.

How totally juvenile. But I guess I have the next six days (SIX freaking days!) to get over it. Good grief.

Am I the only one who gets like this? Does everyone else take their punishments maturely and gracefully?

It is like this reaction is just par for the course. Through this whole thing I have acted like some errant teenager. I lied to be able to hang out with some friends, then lied to cover up the first lie, and got in trouble. And now here I am whining about it being not fair. But still. SIX freaking days???

Speaking of, any ideas in the "recreational time wasting" category would be most appreciated. I have a lot of time to waste in the next SIX freaking days.

What kind of girl are you? (with pix!) brought to you by Quizilla

You're a sporty tom boy. That's not a bad thing. You're friendly, competitive, athletic, and you love to have fun. You attract a lot of guy friends and make many girls jealous. Don't pay attention to them. A lot of boys might think you are aggressive and might be intimidated. Don't worry, show them the other side of you that makes people so attracted to your fun personality. You also are a perfectionist. You have to be good at everything. But please don't stress yourself out. You're just fine the way you are.

Where Does Your Beauty Lie? ..:: brought to you by Quizilla

Your Beauty lies in Individuality. Different, amazing, and all your own. You like be set apart from all others and most love that you do. You are solitary at times, but for the most part, there is no greater compliment to you than someone telling you that you are different. You're most likely a bit of a fighter and you hate it when anyone attempts to change who you are. You wear what you want, look how you want and don't let anyone tell you what do to. You can be a little immature at times and have trouble dealing with authority and asking others for help. You like to do things yourself and are independent almost to a fault. But, people still find your individuality amazing and the fact that no matter what happens or what anyone else anyone thinks about it, you will not change who you are.

Element: Dark, Fire Animal: White Tiger Color: Bold Colors, Odd Colors Expression: Smirk

Mythological Creature: Phoenix, Dragon Planet: Pluto Hair Color: Unnatural Colors

Quote: "You laugh because I'm different. I laugh because you're all the same."

How Old is Your Inner Child? brought to you by Quizilla

Life's not fair! It's never been fair, but while adults might just accept that, I know something's gotta change. And it's gonna change, just as soon as I become an adult and get some power of my own.

What is your element? brought to you by Quizilla

Your element is Light. Your heart is pure and shining with love. You believe in the goodness of those around you and give almost everyone a smile. You are not the kind to hide your happiness and tend to smile all day long, both in and out. But when sadness hits you, you become very devastated and may be upset for quite some time. What you need in your life is friends, friends who will love you unconditionally, like you love them. But you
have a naive nature and don't always notice when someone is trying to hurt you. Some would say you are oblivious to mean people, which makes you an easy target. However, your true friends will probably be there for you and save you. In school you are either the popular one or the little weird one. It all depends if "the higher people" find your caring side irritating or not. Nevertheless, you have a bubbly personality and are social. Big parties may not be your thing since you want bonding time with your friends, so slumber-parties fit you more. You like the happy things in life and like everyone else to be as happy as you are.

What Type of Soul Do You Have ? brought to you by Quizilla

You're a natural born trouble-maker. You hate authority and do everything you can to get around the law, or in some cases, break it. Naturally stubborn, you hardly ever sway once a decision is made. Your nature is fiery and courageous, and always out-going. You love attention and usually have kinky fetishes you're not afraid to explore. People either love you or hate you.

If you had a 6th sense, what would it be? (pics) brought to you by Quizilla

You can sense lies. Whenever you're involved in a conversation, or even eavesdropping on one, you can sense whenever someone there is lying. This can work as a benefit many times, but it may also hurt you.

What Sign of Affection Are You? brought to you by Quizilla

Footsie! - you like to goof around and laugh with the people you care about.

What type of spanking are you about to receive? brought to you by Quizilla

Schoolroom Spanking

Okay, that's it. You have been warned about acting up in my class. That will be ten strokes with the cane in front of the entire class. Now get up here, pull up your skirt and bend over the desk, Young Lady!

What's Your Kink? brought to you by Quizilla

Masochist

You're what psychologists call a masochist. And what kinksters affectionately call a Pain Slut!! Your battle cry is "Hurt me! Hurt me! Hurt me soooo good!!!" Have fun you Endorphin Junkie, and buy stock in bandaids.

What Kind of Smile are You? brought to you by Quizilla

You're the smirk,a frown-smile hybrid that's a little bit cocky and usually associated with evil or arrogant,but attractive people.You probably just don't give a damn, do you?

What kind of kiss are you? brought to you by Quizilla

You have a surprise kiss! Your partner is always pleasantly pleased to have you jump out of nowhere to surprise them with a fun peck on the cheek or more passionate embrace. Super markets and work places are your favorite places to attack your loved one with all your love.

What genre of rock are you?brought to you by Quizilla

Indie rock! You're my most favorite type of music... Your music channels lots of emotion. On the top it seems simple, but underneath there's always a deep meaning... As your name you're independent from most of music! Stay that way! Good on you! There's so much variation in your style...from deep and thoughtful like The Stills, to happy go lucky like Belle & Sebastian, to dancy and catchy Franz Ferdinand, and back to boogie down Hot
Hot Heat and The Rapture...

Revel in the sensation, junkie

2005-10-05T00:32:00.000-04:00

It occurred to me today that I haven't swooned much lately. And then when I really started thinking, it occurred to me that I haven't liked my kink much lately either. I realized, much to my insatiable spanko type chagrin, that because of all the junk that has been going on....because of all the garbage I have been wrapped up in, I have forgotten how to swoon!

For the last couple of weeks, I haven't been celebrating my journey like I am normally prone to do, or reveling in the little things that I truly love about spanking. I have been in this never ending kink hating wallow of sorts......that has just gone on and on and on.....

Until today that is.

Earlier today I read this wonderful post called "Sensation Junkie" on Annie's Blog and I have been thinking about it all evening. Why? Because the post made me swoon. :)

I don't know if it was because it brought back memories of my blindfold introduction during the last Professor/naughtyone spankfest, or if it was because I was able to identify with her "sensation junkie" label so easily. Maybe it was a combination of both. Or maybe it was because the post itself captured a bit of "spanking essence".....some of the sweeter subtleties...... that I truly relish about the kink. My kink.

And so I swooned:

"I've always been a sensation junkie. As a little bitty kid I reveled in rolling around in the cool clover patch in the back yard on a hot summer day (and hated when my dad mowed the lawn and thus my beloved clover patch). I delighted in the feeling and scent of Saturday night's fresh linens on my bed especially after a hot bubble bath (still do)."

Yeah. Oh yeah. :)

I love the way the sun warms my shoulders while I idle away an afternoon in the garden. I love the way soil feels.....dark, rich, moist, nutrient-rich soil feels and smells. To me, it feels and smells like life.

I love wood floors under bare feet. The bumpity sensation of a stick being dragged along a picket fence and the way it makes my hand tingle on the inside.

I love the crunchy feeling of leaves being kicked at and waded through in October. The satisfaction of a good eye rub. The way a freshly opened can of Verners tickles the little spot just under my nose and right above my upper lip.

Yeah. Oh yeah. :)

So what else does this ordinary spanko girl who is also a sensation junkie like?

I love the way the inside of my stomach suddenly swells and then shrinks when I am first upended over Professor's knee. And the way the fabric of his sleeve feels as it brushes lightly against my bare skin just before he places his hand in the middle of my lower back, to hold me in place. And the weight of his arm.....the pressure of it as it rests there.

I love that profound feeling of absence....the utter absence of touch. The stark lack of sensation on my bare, unspanked bottom for the brief moment in time when Professor's hand hovers in the air. And the way it feels when he sometimes lifts each cheek slightly with his hand as he spanks.

I love the aftersting.....the tingly, pulsating warmish aftersting in contrast to the breath stealing initial burn of a wooden paddle. I love the feeling of his fingertips skimming softly over my hot buttocks. And the thick, sticky, cool feeling of aloe coating flesh.

I love the silky smoothness of the flat side of my hairbrush gliding over my bottom. And the heady solid feeling of implement pressed against skin between strokes.

I love the sensation of my breathing.....the slow, ragged intake of cool air filling my nostrils....the moist warmth as I exhale.....the rising and falling of my chest as I try to breathe through each stroke of the cane.

I love the feeling of leather on flesh....the way his belt gives under the curve of my bottom.....the sting diffused over a broad thick line. And the buzzy lightheadedness that comes right before I give in to the sensation. Right before I float away.

I love the warmish, drowsy feeling that I have when it is finally all over and I am basking in the after glow. And the way the cool air feels as it caresses my well spanked bottom, my skirt still tucked up into my waist band.....

Swoon. :)

Let that be a lesson......

2005-10-03T21:59:00.000-04:00

I told one lie, I had one drink.

Yes, and you were very nearly devoured by a giant demon snake. The words 'let that be a lesson' are a tad redundant at this juncture.

I'm sorry.

So am I.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yeah. Been there, done that. Recently in fact.

Ironically enough, I had almost the exact same conversation with Professor earlier today. Well, the same conversation if you left out the giant demon snake part....I don't recall any mention of a snake in our conversation.

But he did mention punishment. A punishment spanking in fact. So if you take out the snake part and add the punishment spanking part, the quote is a good illustration of the following:

Yes, I am a Buffy fan.

Yes, I am cheesy enough to quote the show.

And yes, the circumstances surrounding my latest punishment predicament are cheesy enough to fill an episode of any hour long drama plucked from the nightly line up of the WB.

My humiliation knows no bounds lately.

I imagine I could have identified with a more..hmmm.... substantive author. Like Confucious....or Plato....or Nietzsche...or some other equally profound author of very profound quotes. But I didn't.

Why?

It could be due to the fact that I feel rather pathetic at the moment and it is a case of "gawd...my life is like a WB drama....how cheesy". Or it could be that I feel so guilt ridden because of what I did, that I immediately identified with the episode as I watched it on the said WB earlier this evening. Or maybe I am just shallow enough that I would identify with Buffy rather than something by Plato.

Personally, I think I am way too angst ridden to be shallow, so I would have to say that its more of a combination of 1 and 2....with a little "scoobies fan"-ness thrown in.

Anyway, I have a point to my rambling so please bear with me, and I will get to it sooner or later. My rambling is a symptom of my overall crappy feeling for what I did....and my nervousness over the punishment I have earned as a result.

And it does all relate to the Buffy quote, because this truly is a case of "let that be a lesson"....

As Professor's "disciplinee/spankee/mentee/and sometimes good girl", I don't have a lot of rules. Well, I don't have a long list of simple rules like, "be in bed by ten", or "no chatting after midnight". That is not how our particular dynamic works.

Instead, I have what Professor calls Higher Rules. Actually, they are more like navigational tools than rules, I think. And I use them to help plot my behavioral course through life. Or at least that is the philosophy behind the Higher Rules concept.

There are times when I need more than Higher Rules though. Times when I hit particularly rough waters and need more than my tools to find my way.....times when I really need Professor. Because when I find myself in rough waters I rely on Professor to be my compass....my moral compass....to keep me from crashing into the rocks.

It was Professor who first taught me about emotional honesty. And unconditional love. And how to overcome my fear of intimacy. Although he doesn't know it, he taught me something about all of those things. And he did it by teaching me about Higher Rules.

For a long time, I have battled this monster....this giant monster......this fear....this giant demonic, devouring fear....of intimacy. Of letting people in. Of letting people know me.

You know, I read somewhere that the simplest way to describe intimacy is by breaking down the word:

in to see me

Allowing someone to share who I am as a person. Allowing someone in.

My fear....my larger-than-life fear of intimacy got so big over time that the only way I was able to keep from being completely devoured by it, was by putting up walls. Lots and lots and lots of very big, thick walls. To keep people out.

Because I was so afraid that once I let them in, they would figure out I was defective. And then they would leave.

And the really screwed up thing? At the same time, although I had this fear, I was always looking for love "in all the wrong places". My walls....my extremely high and very defendable walls were/are no match for your run-of-the-mill resident of Dysfunction Junction.

The irony of it just about slays me.

I try so hard to protect myself from being hurt by putting up these huge walls, these humungous walls! And yet when the first yokel properly bogged down with emotional baggage happens across my radar screen, my draw bridge goes down and I practically dust off the welcome mat.

It is almost like I seek out and/or am sought out by the people who will hurt me....abandon me...or be emotionally unavailable to me. I truly am a masochist, and not in the "cool spanko" sort of way. In this case, I am a masochist in the "not so cool co-dependence" sort of way.

And what do I do when I inevitably get hurt by one of these people?

I get mad. And I look for some sort of outlet to make myself feel better.

In the past, that outlet involved some sort of naughtiness that would get me into trouble, and then after the fact, I would feel ashamed of what I had done, and my self esteem would be effected because I would feel so crappy about myself, and then that would lead to thicker walls, and maybe a bit of barbed wire.......until I threw down the welcome mat for the next asshole that came my way.

Professor and the concept of Higher Rules changed things though. In the most unexpected of ways:

With him, I had to be open and honest. It is one of my Higher Rules. And by being open and honest, (or at least by trying to be~I truly suck at obeying this rule) I had to let Professor in. I had to take down some walls, and I had to find out for myself, that it was okay to let someone in. That it was not only okay to let someone in, but that it was good....very good. And so I did.

I had to take responsibility for my actions. I had to own up for my mistakes and be properly punished for them. And over time, I realized that I felt better in the long run when I owned up for things. And I also realized that Professor cared for me whether I was naughty or well behaved. His caring for me was not dependent on his approval of my behavior.

His concept of Higher Rules also allowed me to behave, or to be a good girl, just because "it was the right thing to do". To other people that might not seem like a big deal, but for me, it means everything.

Professor is the first role model who demands good behavior from me,

not because I am some sort of extension of him,

not because "If you don't behave, what will the neighbors think? I will tell you what. They will wonder what kind of parents raised a child like you, that's what."

and not because "I love you if you do what I want you to do".

Not for any of those reasons.

Professor expects me to be honest and to be responsible for my actions. To do my best and to learn to savor through moderation. To follow through and be true to my commitments. To show mercy and be considerate of others. To be respectful of authority and to obey him. He expects all of these things and more.

Why?

Because they are the right things to do.

Simply put, Professor expects me to do what I know is right. And his simple, consistent principles are freeing. And empowering. And self esteem building. And wall removing.

And now that brings me to the lessons learned part:

Just recently, I made some new "friends" and I chose not to tell Professor about them. I was worried he wouldn't let me hang around with them because they have a few "issues".

Just recently, I began to see that the relationship with these so called friends was toxic, and that they demanded alot from me....more than I could give, and still, I chose not to tell Professor.

Just recently, I chose not to disclose to Professor, because I was afraid he wouldn't let me hang out where they hung out anymore.

Just recently, even when I finally realized I couldn't handle it alone, and when it finally all fell to shit and I fell apart, and when I got hurt and humiliated as a result of the whole big mess, I still didn't tell him. Because I was ashamed.

So, in order to cover up the fact that I didn't disclose in the first place, I had to lie. I had to lie over and Over again.

Every time he asked how I was doing.... Fine!

Every time he asked what was new in my life....Oh you know, same old stuff!

I had to hide what was going on and I was ashamed of my lies.

And because I had kept things from him, I had to distance myself from him. I had to avoid him. Because I had lied to the one person on earth I wasn't supposed to lie to....the one person who I didn't have to lie to. The one person who I didn't want to ever lie to.

Yeah. The whole thing is pretty bad.

Professor has told me that I am supposed to be open and honest with him. Always. And now I why. By keeping things from him, by not following the full disclosure rule, I end up having to lie. And it makes me feel like shit.

And it makes me put up walls to keep him from getting in....to keep him from finding out what I did.....what I am because of fear.

For the first time in a long time, I felt that same fear....that fear I used to feel before. And because I had distanced myself from him.....because I had shut him out and kept myself from him.....he wasn't able to help me when it grew big enough that it threatened to devour me. So I was left to fight it alone.

Just recently, I told one lie.

And I had one drink.

And I nearly got devoured by a giant demon snake.

Sort of.

And I am going to get spanked.

And I deserve it.

I am sorry....truly sorry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Do you remember that unfinished line? That line that says "Let that be a lesson...."? I will fill in the rest. No worries. This one's on me.....truly on me:

"Let that be a lesson, Naughty One. Always be open and honest at all times. Not because you could be devoured by a giant demon snake, but simply because it is the right thing to do."

Swish Thump Crack Spank Sigh

2005-09-30T02:26:00.000-04:00

"I don't think I like that new strap very much."

My body stiffens as I listen for the sound of his shoes scuffing on the thick carpet. I crane my head in the direction of something.....to the left?

"I didn't ask for commentary, Naughty One."

His words come from somewhere behind me.....to my left. I close my mouth abruptly, pressing my palms flat on my head, as a wave of fear washes over me. I tilt my head forward, letting the weight of my arms pull against my fingers, my muscles tired, listening.

I feel his presence next to me before the strap falls, my body in tune with the way the air shifts when he is close. I immediately tense and bend forward a bit, hoping to offer my fleshiest, most padded parts to the strap.

CRACKKKK! CRACKKK!

It connects with my bottom hard and I am gasping. In the standing position the heavy strap seems to find new life in my poor bottom, and I dance haphazardly as I gasp, moving from side to side, wiggling and twitching, trying to get away from the thuddy aching sting.

CRACKKK! CRACKKKK!

I teeter on shaking legs, the strap biting at my flesh as the nauseating ache fills me completely, making my head dull. I start to slip away, the dullness growing, until I am almost unaware of the blazing inferno that continues to spread over my bottom.

CRACKKK! CRACKKK! CRACKKK!

Transfixed by the slapping sound of the rawhide, I stop sucking and gasping at the air. My chest rises and falls, pushing air in and out of my lungs in time with the sound and I am lulled into a bit of a trance....slipping....slipping.....

SHOVE!

Strong hands are suddenly grabbing and pushing, propelling me forward. I stumble and wobble, the strong grip unyielding, my shoes tripping and catching on the carpet. The room is silent except for the soft whimpering sound that comes from my mouth.

thump scrape.....

I hear the sound of the strap landing on the floor and then the scraping of wood on wood and realize with horror that he has picked up another implement....something heavy....and then his hands are turning me, and I am stumbling, struggling to stay upright as he drives forward again.

SHOVE!

I am scared, his painful grip pushing and pulling on me until finally, he shoves me hard with a force that sends me tumbling onto the bed, my panties slipping down to my ankles. I push up onto my elbows with a frantic jerking motion, my head moving from side to side, listening.

I feel the weight of him pressing down on the bed and his voice is in my ear, his hand pressing hard against my body, pushing me flat against the bed.

"Don't move"

His whisper is severe and exacting.

CRACKKKK!

The pain fills me...overwhelms me.

CRACKK! CRACCK!

I gasp and choke.... my body writhing and convulsing, as he steadily pummels my sore bottom with the unknown vile implement. Paddle? Heavy Spoon? What *is* that????

CRACKKK! CRACKKK! CRACKKK!

He spanks forcefully and briskly, quickly igniting a fiery blaze on both cheeks and I am unable to think or breathe. I think only of the pain and when it is going to stop, as I grip the blanket.....praying it will soon stop. My teeth begin to chatter and the ache seems to go on forever.

CRACKK! CRACKK! CRACKK!

The heat grows and grows until I am unable to distinguish whether my cheeks are hot....or cold. I lay there listless on the bed, paralyzed, filled up with the heady pain.

I can't take anymore...I know can't take anymore...

And then when I think I cannot take anymore....cannot possibly survive anymore...he stops, and then he is gone, the mattress springing back up as he stands and then moves away, leaving me stunned and my bottom throbbing.

thwap thud.....

I struggle not to giggle uncontrollably as I hear him drop the vile thing onto the table, knowing that it is finally over. Relief washes over me. He is finished. I am unable to move, and I lay there.... quietly......my head drifting, waiting for the throbbing ache to subside to a heavy warmth.

swish thump.....

I smile softly to myself, my limbs and eyelids heavy....so heavy.....my skirt still up, my panties a tangled mess around my ankles, my bare bottom still smoldering, knowing he has pulled up a chair......to bask in the afterglow.

sighhh.....

Its Only Cyber: A Scarytale

2005-09-27T18:16:00.000-04:00

**This is not a spanko post but I needed to say this and I needed to put it somewhere and then I can get on with my life.

Once upon a time there was an ordinary spanko girl who was a bit of a super hero in her "Gotham City". She wore a cape and was everyone's "everything" and she was not afraid of anything.

She was the "tough kid"...the funny one...the one who would ride a roller coaster till she puked....the one who never cried....the one who could beat all the boys up. The one who hid behind very tall and formidable walls.

But holding those walls up was very tiring.....and being everybody's "everything" was a lot of pressure for one "not so grown up girl". For the longest time she wanted....needed.....craved....the chance to be able to rest.....and let the walls come down.

So with Professor's help, over time, the girl stepped out from behind some of her walls....tentatively....slowly at first. She learned to be more open.....to be more emotionally expressive. She had to.

She learned how to let people in.....because she *had* to let Professor in.....even just a little bit.

And the girl also wanted to meet other spankos. She wanted to know she wasn't alone. She wanted to be able to talk to other spankees.....to be part of a community. She wanted to meet others like herself, and so she did. She set out.....and with her new found vulnerability, reached out.....and met others.

And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop herself from letting people in. Not totally. Some of her walls had been removed, and from that point on, she would always be vulnerable in her kink. It was part of it.

It was just the way things were. Part of her dynamic with Professor....and part of her outlet.

And so the girl met other spankos in a cyber world and she felt part of something. A community. And over time, she began to care for some of the people she met....in that funny little way that you care for someone in something like this.

And the more time she spent with these people, the more comfortable she felt...the more accepted she felt.....and because she was more open and vulnerable, she let some of them in.

She let some of them in, and that was okay..... or at least so the girl thought, because her new found community was "only cyber" after all.

And it turns out that the girl was wrong. It wasn't okay to let people in. Not okay at all. Because you see, not too long ago, this ordinary spanko, tomboyish type of girl was taken advantage of by someone who was not what they appeared to be. Not what they appeared to be at all.

Not long ago the girl was bitten....by a wolf in sheep's clothing....a she-wolf....and it hurt. And even though the wolf was "only cyber".....it still hurt like a real life hurt.

The girl opened herself up to this.....she-wolf... and she was bitten and it left her feeling like she had been punched in the stomach. Hard.

And so where is this girl now?

Well, the girl is stuck. She is stuck....frozen in a hunched over, bent-in-half sort of crouch while frantically sucking at the air, trying to catch her breath.

And she has one of those really stupid glazed-over sort of looks on her face....the kind of look a person might get after they realize they were just sucker punched.

And so here the girl is.....still frozen in her half crouch. Time has passed and yet the girl hasn't moved and she is still gasping for air.

Why?

She can't seem to recover from the punch.

Because she can't get around the fact that she got sucker punched.

Because she can't get around the fact that she was a SUCKER.

Because her arms were wide open when she took that punch.

Because that may be the worst part of it all.

And because cyber isn't "only cyber". Not really.

----------------------------------------------------------------
An open letter.

Dear She-Wolf,

Why?

I have tried to understand you. I have tried to understand what you did. But I am at a loss. And I am hurt. And angry. And stunned.

You lied. And you manipulated. You played with people's emotions....their psyches....for your own twisted sense of need. You caused chaos in the lives of those you touched and you did it in the most insidious of ways.....by playing to people's generosity and good will.

I have been told that you suffer from Munchausen Syndrome and I have read up on it, trying to understand....trying to make sense of it all. And you know what? It turns out that there is a real phenomenon called "Munchausen by Internet".

I guess that faking illnesses and problems online to gain sympathy is more common than I thought. But it doesn't make me feel any less of a sucker.

I have done the reading though. And I have learned as much as any one person should ever know about Munchausen Syndrome:

I have learned that it is a way to get attention. Fakers use it as a way to gain sympathy......a way to control others.

I learned that Fakers suffer from a compulsion and that "regardless of the strength of the overwhelmingly large amount of evidence to the contrary, a person with Munchausen's will vehemently deny any wrong doing..." (click on quote to read more from Dr. Marc Feldman)

I have learned that the internet is a perfect platform for Fakers like you.

I have learned that it is a rush, an addiction of sorts....to surround yourself in drama. An orchestration of your own personal little pity party I guess.

I have learned all about the disorder, and all about the psychology behind it. And I have also learned all about the havoc that it can wreak on the people around you.

I have learned that your victims are often left feeling betrayed when the lies are discovered.

I have learned that victims refer to the damage done by people like you as "emotional rape".

I have learned that your lies can ruin a community.

I have learned that your lies can break the spirit of trust and caring.

I have done a lot of research and learned a great deal about Munchausen. You would think I would be able to make sense of things or at least be able to understand you now. But I don't.

You already took all the empathy and caring from me that you will ever get and it ends now. I am not allowing you access to me anymore.

To be honest, I don't care. I don't care about your disorder, why you are the way you are or what drives you to do what you do. I don't want to understand and I don't feel any empathy toward you. I don't feel much of anything these days except the gasping, wheezing feeling that doesn't seem to want to go away.

You manipulated me. You preyed on my emotions and you used my own vulnerabilities against me. You preyed upon my good nature and my generous heart and you took more than I could give.

You used me. You betrayed me. And as a result, I am suffering.

I have had to put up walls.....pull myself away....in order to heal.

I got suckered by you.

I am humiliated.

I am hiding.

I am less likely to sympathize.

I am more likely to be suspicious.

I am walled away from the people that are important to me in the kink, my community.

I am walled away from the people that I need the most.

I have put up the walls that now keep me from the people I care about.... because of you.

I am changed.... because of you.

I am all these things.....I am changed.....I am walled away....... because of YOU.

And I hate you.

~Little Red Riding Hood

***Click here for more information about Munchausen Syndrome and Munchausen by Internet.

Friday Spanking Session

2005-09-22T00:22:00.000-04:00

I see Professor on Friday for a spanking session.

I need it because I am spank horny (I am always spank horny ;)) and I need some time to reconnect with him because I have been feeling less than grown up.

When I am feeling less than grown up, I have a tendency to put myself away...... put walls up. I take a step back....to put some distance between myself and others.

I need some time to reconnect with him....to have him spank down the newly constructed walls ....for him to force me to trust......an exercise in trust, if you will....

Oh. And I want to be spanked hard. Did I mention that? ;)