The Punishment Book

Listening & Leading (or sometimes, topping from the bottom is okay)

We were together on the bed not so long ago, doing what we do very well. Canoodling, I called it once, and Chris laughed at the word but agreed. Sometimes it is foreplay, and sometimes not. It is touching, often naked touching. Sometimes there is spanking.

It'd been about a week, because of one thing and another, and I'd sorely missed his time and attention. In addition to my own woes, I was under a work deadline (finished 2:30 this morning, yay!, waiting for feedback now). And I have a bit of a cold coupled with a nasty cough. Chris has just started another semester of graduate school and the subjects addressed in these courses promise to be of a pertinent and absorbing nature for him. He has a new toy and is busy getting iTunes behaving properly instead of me.

And, he'd been to the gym that evening.

You know, in and of itself, that's not a problem. Except his particular fitness facility is filled with college co-eds, most of whom have been worshiping at their own altars since puberty and are exceedingly conscious of how they look. Everywhere. I've seen them.

So he comes home and tweets this sentence while grilling dinner: "Saw a great pair of shorts at the gym today. Well, wasn't so much the shorts as what was in the shorts. Or rather partially in the shorts."

For some reason, it hit me the wrong way, you know? Now, I'm not a jealous person, normally, although I've had my moments, and my jealousy tends to focus on things rather than people (i.e. that video game, that volunteer opportunity that takes 40 hrs of your week outside of work, that iTouch you're playing with when I'm in the room trying to have a conversation with you, etc). And, as Chris pointed out later, I'm generally just as likely to point out that cute bum before he even notices it. Generally.

So we're canooding, and he's got me all tucked up against him.

Intending to confide, I told him that I'd been jealous about the girl whose bottom was half-displayed by her shorts, presumably intentionally.

He was honestly surprised, and why shouldn't he be? I'd normally not care a whit. But "I haven't felt very sexy lately," I reminded him, proceeding to cough up a lung into my pillow.

Chris gathered me up in his arms and muttered against my ear. "I should hairbrush you for that."

And here's why this blog entry is on Punishment Book... because if he had hairbrushed me, it wouldn't have been a nice little loving spanking with a hairbrush. No, it would have hurt. It would have felt like punishment, and he would have intended it to be painful. I don't think the momentary reaction of jealousy would have been included in why he wanted to hairbrush me then and there, but the feeling that caused the jealousy - the feeling and sense that I was undesirable - would have been what he was punishing.

He doesn't like it when I express self-doubt. I believe there is a standing rule around here that if I ever say "I'm a terrible mother" again, I'm headed straight over his lap with the ebony hairbrush, no ifs ands or buts. I know this and how he feels about my expressions of internal angst and self-loathing.

And yet, I need to be able to confide in him and tell him my fears and my hopes and my needs. If I can't confide in him and trust him to make it better, then who else is there to turn to? (Nobody, not like that, and my heart would break or ice over, and I would withdraw emotionally and probably sexually.) And if I can't confide in him and trust him with my whole heart and not just the stronger pieces of it, then are we really as strong as we believe us to be?

But, if he can't punish me for fear of breaking that trust, am I manipulating things to get my own way? And is, as he pointed out in very pertinent ways much later, my backside really his to do with as he pleases if he can't hairbrush me without risking a silly breakdown? Should I be repressing all of those feelings so that he can hurt me at will and way? Should he hurt me at will and way even if he risks those silly breakdowns, just to prove the point that he can and that he's unhappy with me?

In the end, this is yet another reason why our relationship is not a simple Top/bottom arrangement, and why Chris must be (and is) a listening leader. It's a symbiosis ... and that's probably best. He didn't spank me, but listened to the tremors in my voice when I pointed out that hairbrushing me would discourage me from, in the future, telling him when I was upset. I did suggest he arrange for a hairbrushing on a different night. I even suggested (for more selfish reasons!) that he combine it with bondage. And the moment passed without tears or recriminations or the hard spanking he wanted to give me.

This morning, I'm still confused as to why I was jealous.

But...

Thank you, Chris, for not forcing the hairbrush. And thank you, for listening when I said to please not. I don't think it would have worked out quite the way you intended - then and there in that moment, I think it would have escalated it instead of purged it as you intended - but I know you could have. And you know I wouldn't have stopped you, if you'd insisted. So thank you.

Maintenance Fail...

I can't remember the last time I was actually punished for something. Honestly.

It's not that I'm perfect, but that I'm not spanked for being imperfect. We're all imperfect. So fouling up Chris's lunch or forgetting to get the car washed or not doing the laundry do not garner punishments. Chris gets serious if it affects the family's health, the family's safety or putting shredded paper in the canister without bagging it first. Otherwise, he's just as likely to indulge me as not.

I'm perfectly happy with that.

The thing is, discipline - punishment - has been part of my quirky head for as long as I've had it. A variety of fantasies have provided me with dream fodder for decades now, and I'm not ashamed to say that in the days that preceded a real, live disciplinary agreement, the whole notion of being punished was a lot more rosy than reality. In my dreams, I'd misbehave a lot more and get spanked a lot. In reality, I misbehave very little and get spanked a lot.

So for a few months now, I've been pondering ... and I think I have to conclude that mock punishments and maintenance ('just because') spankings are no longer enough of a substitute for discipline. And, I have to say, I'm not entirely happy about that. It doesn't seem quite right that I should be jonesing for punishment, simply to satisfy some sulky petulant corner of my brain. It doesn't seem fair to me or to Chris, and as really pushing his buttons means needlessly endangering someone or something, it really isn't fair to our home and family.

Add in 4-6 days of enforced neglect from regular reinforcing intimacy and I have been ripe for challenging Chris in the last two evenings.

So last night I took our daughter's 50-cent disk shooter off the bureau, where I'd left it after confiscating it from her, and shot it just past his head. It hit the wall behind him, but he did stop talking mid-sentence, grabbed me, and dragged me over his knee for 5 minutes of hard spanking. I remember dimly hearing the words "You're asking for it, aren't you?" I don't really remember answering.

Tonight, after he studiously and deliberately ignored my three hints that he might want to do the dishes, I took an ice cube from the freezer and put it in the back of his shirt. I'm sure I had a good reason - maybe to get him to pay attention, as he kept ignoring me. Or maybe to get him to pay attention to me? In any event, when he very clearly told me to remove it from the back of his shirt and said he'd had enough, I did remove it.

And then pushed it down his pants so it slipped between his ass cheeks.

Of course I got spanked for it, later. When the princess was asleep and the house quiet, there was a paddle and a strap. Perhaps the playfulness of it all has gotten to me too, because I didn't have to fight off any guilt. Pain, yes. Guilt, no. Not even much repentance, honestly.

I've never really been a brat. I doubt I've bratted like this since well before the princess was born. Even Chris asked me what had gotten into me. I'm worried that I'm trying yet a new way to get what I want from him on a nearly constant basis - his dedicated, focused, energized attention.

I suppose this is one of the problems of taking a fetish and turning it into a working, living relationship. There's no question that discipline helped me master the concept of locking the doors to our house, or taking care in the sun. I'm more careful about what I do with a cell phone in the car, too. There's also little question that I pursued a disciplinary arrangement with Chris because I thought it would help me prioritize his needs and desires more, and I think that it still mostly has that effect. But I can't and won't deny that I also found the whole concept of a disciplinary relationship sizzling hot. It pushes nearly every power-exchange fantasy in my head and feeds my sexuality with instantaneous arousal.

I'm afraid that spanking me 'just because' isn't a preventing sort of spanking anymore. But if it doesn't work, what will stop me from pushing again and again and again?

Frantic Fondling

A few minutes of research indicates that I have been seriously absent here. Seriously. I've written 2 entries since this very day last year. Why, you ask? Because I'm a well-behaved (if wanton) girl. Usually.

Not today, though.

In the interest of complete transparency, I have been spanked frequently in the last year. And you might say that I've been in trouble once or twice. Generally, though, I think I've been fairly level-headed and emotionally stable this last year. All in all, there have been noticeably fewer days when I've been in a tantrum with Chris, fewer days when I'm so overwhelmed that I vacillate between distraction and depression, and many fewer days when the little things add up so dramatically that I break down in tears by bedtime.

I Like to Ask

Over the past several weeks, Chris has tried gamely to convince me to ask for a hairbrushing.

This, right now, I cannot do. I tried, really I did. I knew it would please him to take a piece of ebony or mahogany to my bottom until I was beyond whining. I knew it would please him in a convoluted way to end a punishment that has gone on much longer than either of us anticipated when he imposed it…

Maybe I should back up.

Navigating The Parent Trap

If it sounds like a rambling rant and looks like a rambling rant, it probably IS a rambling rant.

Now that you've been warned...

Chris and I are learning how our kink life and our family life fit together again. In April, he took a new job 350 miles from home, and went off to carve a new niche for us. A new home. Meanwhile, the princess and I stayed behind for awhile. It was crunch time for me professionally. The princess was in school and happy there. We had to get our house ready to put on the real estate market (yes, great timing, huh?). For 3 1/2 months we were together as a family only intermittently, and several of those times were in the midst of family gatherines, while traveling, and in less than optimal or normal circumstances.

In mid-July we packed up my car, the dog, Chris's truck, two car seats, ten boxes of toys and various other essentials and headed off. Our house is still for sale (surprise, surprise) so Chris had rented a condo for us that was big enough, but with no extra space. We had, like all couples just starting out or just starting over, a lot of catching up to do - and a lot of adjusting to do. All four of us - but especially Chris and I - have had to re-assess how and why we do what we do.

It’s been fantastic – but not necessarily easy.

Broil It

I did something really stupid last night. It was inexcusable, particularly in our house. That being said, I had a terrible headache (i.e. edging to a migraine) which to this moment in time hasn't gone away completely.

What did I do? Put a slab of London broil on the boiler, put it in the oven, set the oven to low, and went and sat down on the couch with the princess. She climbed up on my lap and we got all cuddly and watched Scooby-Doo.

And I fell asleep.

I woke up to the smoke detector blaring at full volume.

Knock On Wood

Some months my hormones rage. I tend to rage with them. It’s not every month, nor reliably on the 26th day or two days before I start bleeding. It just happens sometimes and at different intensities.

Last month, at about day five of my menstrual cycle I thought to myself, “Oh wow! Hey, I didn’t have PMS.” I mentioned it to Chris and he agreed that it really had been a smooth month.

We should have knocked on wood.

Talk Trumps Telepathy

Last Thursday, we went to the beach.  By 'we', I mean Mija, Iris, the princess and I.  (I'm including Mija and Iris because they've already identified themselves as my companions in comments to Chris's discussion of this incident.)  I had lots of fun, but we were outside for 3 1/2 hours in the middle of the day.

And when it was over, my back was burnt.  Pretty badly.  Chris even posted a picture of it.

To be honest, I didn't dream it would be a spankable offense.  I mentioned it to Chris later when he met us for dinner, and was almost immediately informed otherwise.

Unintended Punishments

Chris thought I was being mouthy earlier.  Personally, I think he received rather more of an education that I actually intended at ShadowLane, but that's a rather different entry than the one I'm composing just now.  In any event, he pulled out the new 'nanny paddle' he bought from The London Tanners, settled the princess on the bed watching Scooby-Doo, and suggested we retire to the family room (50 feet away with a closed door between us) for a few minutes to deal with the problem, so as to not have to worry about it later when we wanted to play.

Locks, Keys and Chaos

I left the front door unlocked twice last week.

Chris has a habit of asking, on his way out the door, if I’ll lock it behind him so he doesn’t have to pause and do it himself. Now, to be fair, he usually has his hands full or is in a ‘9-1-1’ rush, and he always asks and doesn’t tell, but I generally feel obliged to say yes.

Sometimes, however, ‘right now’ isn’t convenient. I’m in the bathroom with the baby, getting dressed, feel lazy, have something on a hot stove, am in the middle of Civ IV, trying to change a diaper, etc. So I’ll answer with perfectly good intentions, “I will in a few minutes.” And generally I do.

Transcript of a Spanking

Saturday

22:00: I’m faithfully working. Focused. Accomplishing tasks. Have just started a complex report to be made to my overseers and peers. I have the presence of mind to ask Chris to, well, remind me to retrieve the laundry from the dryer before going to bed.

22:30: Chris asks me, perfectly unruffled, when I will be ready for bed. Distracted by my project, I give the misguided answer of “in a few minutes.” Still tranquil, Chris reminds me that I need to unload the dryer. I immediately fall back into my impressive balance sheet and let the rest of the world drift away.

Why Would I Do It?

I'm cross-posting here an excerpt from an entry in my personal blog because it explains, in part, how I became interested in exploring the punishment.  I originally thought about expanding this into a longer treatise on why and how very, very different sensual/play spankings are from punishment for me, but I don't see that happening anytime soon. 

We got together with friends in the spanking scene [last] Saturday night. At one point, the discussion turned to why we all liked it - to how we got to where we are. Perhaps I've never said and perhaps I should later expand these thoughts into a more comprehensive essay, but I do crave structure and discipline and known consequences for misdeeds (all aside from my admittedly sluttish, erotic attraction to sensual spanking as a form of pleasure).

Here's why:

After Spanking

An acquaintance commented recently that while I have frequently described real-life scenes (play or punishment) and have shared them over the years in newsgroups, disguised as fictional writing, with friends and even in chatrooms with other spankos, I don't generally report or share in written form what happens in the hours after the scene. As my playtime with C is usually overtly sexual, it stands to reason that my scene descriptions would be so, too.

Not necessarily so.

Certainly my scene descriptions often allude to an underlying sexual agenda even if I don't address it directly. I don't (couldn't) deny the arousing aspects of play, or that I find certain types of kink extremely ... err ... exciting. I also can't deny that spanking, in and of itself, is both stimulating and painful.

I have several reasons for creating a proverbial 'line in the sand' while relating scenes for public consumption, whether for play or punishment.

Encounters over the Camera

The members of Punishment Book received an e-mail a few days ago from a woman who wanted to know if we were "serious".  Not only are we serious (to varying degrees) but we're really not that uncommon.  The number of women writing blogs about domestic discipline, BDSM, or other variations of "serious" alternative lifestyles is phenomenal.  I use 'serious' here not to indicate a sober, distinctly unamusing relationship, but in the more colloquial, American way.  Yes, we are way serious.  This is real to us, although our perspectives on it are all quite different.

I live for months without a punishment spanking; more specifically, months can pass without C punishing me with a spanking for some sort of misbehavior that is not part of a kinky playtime.  Playtime, being much different and quite erotic, often includes spankings - and other punishments - for naughtiness both imagined or deliberately invoked. Playtime temporarily alleviates a desire - a very real and very strong desire - to know that C has limits that even I cannot cross.  (Trust me, C gives me a very wide berth to do and say and spend and be what I want.)  By that, I mean, there are rules about playtime and I push or break them frequently enough - and I know it is safe for me to do so and that C's love and desire for me is in no way at risk by such, uh, incidents.

Unfortunately, that sense of safety is not automatically transferred to our working days.  The truth is, I am insecure enough  and enough of a perfectionist that I am become very unhappy when life does not work out the way I intend.  Accidents upset me.  Irritating C - at least when I do not mean to - is enough to make me cry.  Being impatient with the baby's irrationality (a feature of infants, even) causes intense guilt.

So a few weeks ago I dropped the digital camera. 

When A Pair Isn't Two Of A Kind

A lot of stuff has been going on around here recently.  Not that this is an excuse or anything, but it's hard for me to think clearly about discipline, punishment, spanking, kink, or anything sexual when my parents inhabit my office and other living space and work occupies nearly every waking minute that the baby doesn’t.

Anyway, awhile ago, Lil asked the question:  "Have any of you ever needed discipline (even a play spanking) from your Dom, then discovered that he is not remotely interested in giving you one, or even having anything at all to do with spanking?"

The question brought up an entire gamut of emotions and memories for me.  And to be honest, a (general) topic I've considered writing about before is the dissonance between partners' kinks and/or libidos.  It's a topic in which I have a personal interest.

I suppose most of the time that most married couples don't have equal libidos.  That is, one half of the couple is probably more interested in sex than the other half.  Or, at least, at any given opportunity, one partner is generally more interested in sex than the other because of fatigue, stress, timing, atmosphere, or even the evening television schedule.  So I suspect it is normal that partners' kink abilities don't exactly align either.

The Devil On My Shoulder

I might be alone on this.  My fellow authors might understandably be flabbergasted (and mortified) by this topic. 

However, this blog is written by women, right?  No, I do not intend this as a debate on whether we should be called or call ourselves ladies, girls, hotties, wives, bottoms, subs, spankees, women, chicks, or any other myriad of labels assigned to our gender.  It's just that I believe that all of the authors of this site are of the female persuasion.  Not that our gentlemen (and not so gentlemanly) friends and observers don't enjoy the blog - but there are a few topics that truly are generally confined by culture and modesty to discussion among women, and I need to write about one of them. 

[Hint:  If you can imagine anything related to the female body as the least bit squicky, perhaps you ought to skip to the next article.]

I Really Do Appreciate It, I Think

This incident begins about two weeks ago - the day our daughter discovered that the shredder bin was full of a million tiny pieces of paper.

Now, she'd found the shredder before, and delighted in dropping things into the bin.  I've found lost sets of keys, lost highlighters and pens, lost baby toys, even lost rubber duckies.

About two weeks ago, however, she discovered that she could reach down into the shredder and pull out all of the delightful mess inside. 

I hate messes. 

Diminishing Returns?

I really MUST get some work done this evening.  For my own peace of mind, I know, but that peace of mind has been chiseled away over the last three or four days.

Still, C and I have been having an ongoing discussion about something that I think is relevant to Punishment Book - we've been discussing the power of rituals.

Sparkle's Nutshell

My husband – C – will read this eventually, I’m sure of it.

He’ll admit he’s not a disciplinarian and doesn’t pretend to be one. In fact, he’s not particularly interested in methodic discipline, domestic or not. He likes spanking me because I squirm and wiggle and redden in a way that he finds particularly delightful when I’m over his lap. He doesn’t like spanking me when I frustrate and irritate him or disappoint him – he doesn’t ever spank me when he’s angry or hurt. And frankly, it’s easy to distract him when we’re making up (in a good way).