Waiting for a Spanking!

I wasn't going to write this post just yet.  I was going to do a Saturday Snippets, as I hadn't done one for so long.  But then I realised that we are going away for the weekend to some friends, so I brought this post forward.  There seem to be several opinions on this topic, and it would be good to hear a mixture of viewpoints.

I want to know how you WAIT for a spanking?!

I'm sure most of you know about our Spanky Thursdays.  They've been going for some time now, and are a mixture of everything.  Whatever we want them to be.  Maintenance, role affirmation, stress-busters, good girl spankings, re-connections, punishments - you name it.  Thursdays are the only days we seem to be on our own without interruption, and even then people call, and the telephones ring, and unexpected circumstances crop up.

On the odd occasion we have managed an extra session at some point during the week - and once or twice Starman has given me a passing swat or six completely out of the blue for no particular reason other than he felt like it.  But having realised I am not going to run away if he spanks me, and having realised he quite likes to use a particular implement and redden my butt, and that he is getting good at it, he seems to often slide into 'self-satisfied and dormant mode', and that doesn't quite reach the spot - for me anyway.

I am headstrong, demanding and needy these days - twenty four seven.

If I am expected to try to become submissive (Ha!) then I expect my HOH to keep me in check, to honour my demands, and to fulfil my needs. (Ha!)

After all these years I know the life just isn't like that.  And if it is for you, then you are a very lucky person.  Because for most of us, life gets in the way.  

It's like this.  You are happily eating Coco Moonbeams.  You've eaten them for the last twenty years.  All your friends eat them too.  Then the company stops making them!  You use the same washing detergent, Breeze, that you have used for twenty five years, then the company stops making it, or makes it so horribly biological that it causes your skin to fall off.  You find a lipstick that you love, in just the right shade, and at just the right price.  And it has a pretty container.  Then the company decides in its wisdom that you should be bored with that by now.  So it stops making it and makes one in a revolting shade of bright orange instead!  

Get the picture?

So for the last four weeks our happy spanky Thursdays have been rudely interrupted by the arrival of workmen in the Starsong household doing all those little jobs required before you sell a place.  (Don't panic dear friends, we are only going to move about eight feet in a westerly direction - I kid you not!)

All these disruptions have unnerved Starman and irritated me.  The lovely spanking pattern he had gotten used to, and fallen into, either now gets rushed and packed into about twenty minutes (if he fails to wake up early), or worse still, abandoned altogether.

We talked three weeks ago about this, and he made the unanimous decision to move things to a Wednesday instead.  Then the first one of those he was away, then the second one we had to go to London, then this week he was away again.  Hallelujah!

So all we end up with is an Ami who increasingly feels and acts like a bottle of warm champagne that has been shaken and shaken until the cork starts to edge its way from the bottle of its own volition, and the only thing holding the darn thing in is the thin little wire you're meant to untwist first.

Let me take you back a couple of weeks.  

Remember my Apocalypse?

I knew there would be another part to that one.  I felt it in my bones.  I could sense it coming the way the bushmen of the Kalahari sense a gathering sandstorm.  It was gathering there on the horizon!

After that good old hefty spanking my butt and I were completely angelic.  We both felt like we were walking on sunshine.  Had you been around here you would have wondered where the old Ami had gone.  I was such a good girl!  (Snort!)

But as the appointment at the London hospital drew closer we both began to stress.  Not for a particular reason other than a sense of intrepidation, an uncertainty and fear of the unknown journey ahead of us despite being organised and knowing where we were going.

All through this I managed to keep calm despite seeing Starman's anxiety begin to climb the Richter Scale.  I was a determined woman, and I planned on being like the boy in the Ancient Mariner who stood on the "burning deck when all about had fled".  

Even when Starman got to the car park and thought he had left the train tickets at home, then found them in his breast pocket; even when he tried to remove my tow hitch with a spanner in the car park because he thought someone might steal it during the day and then he discovered that it was virtually rusted on anyway; even when he thought we might be late although I assured him we were going to be two hours early - I did my best to remain unflappable.

So we arrived in London.  The station wasn't too busy as it was late morning and most of the commuters were hard at work in their offices.

We visited the public conveniences to freshen up, then Starman looked at his watch.  My stomach started to rumble.  I mentioned that it might be a good idea to have something to eat as he had his appointment at 1.30 which would make things a little difficult.

He said we could get a sandwich.  I'm not keen on sandwiches.  I can't take too much wheat/gluten in a day, and I'd had my usual morning slice of wholemeal half and half.  I really had my sights set on a salad.  Starman glared at me.  He reminded me that we were going to stay in town and have a  meal before catching the train home, in order to miss the busy commuting trains leaving the city in late afternoon.  I reminded him that too much wheat gave me stomachache.  I began to get cross.  I marched off towards a whole bunch of little restaurants/eateries/wine bars/cateterias that surround the station.  Starman told me in no uncertain terms that he wasn't paying their silly inflated prices, and that if I didn't want a sandwich I would have to go without.

My hackles went up.  I told him that that was fine, and that I would just have a bowl of soup.  I didn't even want a roll with it.

  

So he did his impression of an Arab sheik, ie striding ahead with his wife ten steps behind, until he reached a small place he knew would sell soup.  He stood outside huffing and waiting for me.  Grrrrrrrr!  The soup was in a plastic cup and you had to drink it standing up.  I had two hours to kill, and I didn't intend to drink my soup out of a plastic cup standing up!  I began to go into giant slayer mode.  I marched out of the soup shop and back into the station. I rounded the corner and forged my way up the stairs to an Italian self service restaurant (one of a very large chain) and asked what the soup of the day was.

Minestrone.  (That figures - it was an Italian restaurant after all.)

I'm not that keen on minestrone, but I told them that was fine and paid for it and a coffee for Starman who was giving me daggers and muttering under his breath about disobedient and insubordinate wives.  (There's really a lot more snapping on my behalf and growling on Starman's behalf, than I have written here, but it would probably take another three pages to go into detail!)

I slid into a booth right at the back of the restaurant and Starman sat down opposite me.  They brought my soup, which had been frozen and reheated in a microwave, and set it down in front of me.  It both looked and smelled awful. I took a sip, burned my mouth, choked, and burst into tears.

Starman was, justifiably, furious with my behaviour, and did nothing to comfort me.  All he did was glare at me and tell me I was acting like a child.  All that did was stoke the flames.  I cried even more, slashing at my tears and sniffing loudly as I didn't have a handkerchief.  

I pushed my soup away from me and stood up.  I told Starman that I would go to the Ladies and repair my makeup, and that perhaps it would be better if we stopped hanging around and went to the hospital and waited there.  He finished his coffee and we met up at the door. 

We caught the tube in silence, both too stressed to speak to each other.

Luckily it only took ten minutes, and we found the hospital without any difficulty.  It was large, modern (lots of glass and stainless steel), had a huge reception area with comfy couches and potted plants that jostled with high-tech screens that told you when your appointment was due, and other screens you passed a bar-code over to admit you through various glass doors.

We began to relax, and we talked to each other once more.  There was a Costa Coffee outlet in one corner and I had a large one.  We both said afterwards that we hadn't realised until that point just how very stressed we both were.

Eventually it was time for Starman's appointment, and we were directed downstairs to a smaller clinic to wait in a line of chairs to meet the Consultant.  A lady and gentleman were sitting waiting ahead of us.  They were husband and wife.  I sat down next to him with Starman on my left.  We said hello and began with the usual small talk.  He was there for the very same reason as Starman and had been attending for just over a year.  He was very upbeat and was able to reassure Starman about the various treatments and the studies being carried out.  Then we sat in silence for about three minutes. 

The gentleman turned to me.  He laughed.  Then he looked at me and said, "It's like sitting in a line waiting to be spanked by the headmaster isn't it?"

Beside me Starman choked.  I couldn't look at him, I was too busy trying not to fall off my chair.

"Oh, er yes," I managed.  "We got the ruler across our knuckles.  The cane across our palms if we were really bad."

"In my school" the gentleman told us, "we got either the strap or the cane.  I remember it well.  Didn't hurt us at all to get those.  Well, only our arses perhaps."  He laughed again.

I tried to laugh with him but all I could hear was Starman muttering something under his breath.  I only heard the words "arse all right".  I was still trying to wake up from the alternate universe I seemed to have found myself in.

So, I'll condense things a bit here.  

We went in to see the consultant who was brilliant, kind, informative and supportive.  He told Starman his cancer was small and gave no reason for immediate concern.  He discussed that he would be placed on not one, but two, cancer trials, and that within five months it should all be dealt with, and then given over to regular monitoring.

The relief was palpable.

We were in and out within an hour.  And back on the tube.  It was only three o'clock and we decided to return to the station and catch the 4 o'clock train home, and eat when we got back.  

We had time to do a little shopping en route, and we were on the train in good time and before the rush.  We dropped into a Chinese and bought a takeaway before we reached our car, and happily, the tow hitch was still in place, as we both knew it would be.

The next morning was Thursday.  

We had been so exhausted that we had gone straight to sleep that night and we didn't wake up very early.  In fact we panicked because we heard both the builder and the carpenter arrive and we were still in bed.  Starman had to do a quick balancing act putting on jeans and shoes in a hurry to go downstairs to tell them what needed doing.  

But just before when he got to the door of the bedroom he turned around and came back to my side of the bed.

"I haven't forgotten you know" he told me.

"I just want you to know that if you ever, EVER behave that way again, regardless of it being in the middle of a large London station, I will find somewhere to go, even if it is a gents toilet, and I WILL SPANK YOUR ARSE SO HARD YOU WON'T SIT DOWN FOR A WEEK!  But as Murphy's Law has kicked in yet once again, you are going to have to wait for it."

"Shall we have eggs for breakfast dear?" he smiled at me and hurried off and downstairs.

So I waited.  And I waited. 

One or two friends I confided in kept enquiring about the state of my backside.  I was able to tell them it was fine.

And I waited.

The worst thing about waiting is that one or two things happen.  

You think he has forgotten about you.  You think he doesn't care enough about you to administer justice and forgive you.  You alternate between worrying and burying your head in the sand like an ostrich.  You start to get resentful.  You start to get angry.  You wonder whether to give up with the whole sheebang.  You start to feel regret and that you have let him down.  You start to feel miserable and scared, and you just want to get over his knee and get on with things.

Waiting sucks!

Starman was away yet again this week and didn't return until Wednesday night.  

My wait was over this morning.

We talked a great deal, but mostly he talked about work, about what jobs needed doing by the builder and carpenter today, the weather and the possibility of rain.  In fact I thought he was never going to talk about THE SPANKING at all.

But then he did.

All I can say is that his anger was gone.  Luckily for my butt.  I should hate to be spanked by a man who was angry!  It was as bad as I knew it should be.  I was in total agreement with the severity of it.  I needed it for lots of reasons.  I had waited two weeks for it.  It needed to be severe.

It was long and hard.  We had broken the HH on its last outing, so Starman picked three implements and used his hand as well.  He leant against the headboard in his usual position and guided me across his lap.  It took a few minutes to get me comfortable.  He told me he wouldn't be rushing things.

He started with his hand.  He went from 0 to 60 in about three seconds!

As far as a warm-up was concerned, it was more of a "hot-up"!  I started to count them in my head, and then gave up with a rapid intake of breath as he slowed and played his "bongo" game on my butt!  I was desperate to laugh, but believe me, I didn't dare.  He was just cutting down on time and effort by using both hands at once!  

"Hmmm" he said.  "Not much of a reaction here.  Time to change up a gear."

I felt the leather paddle come down across both cheeks.  I like it best of all of our 'toys'.  It's a beginner's paddle, and can be great fun.  But this time he was somehow flicking it in such a way that I began to wiggle about.  He hauled me back into place and started up again.  I could feel my bottom getting warmer and warmer.  He rubbed me a few times, but then he kept going back and doing another ten or so.  This went on for a while.

I tried to manoeuvre so that it wouldn't keep aiming for the middle each time.  Starman noticed.

"Okay" he said.  "Let's try your favourite little friend."

I flinched as the little wooden spatula made its presence known.  Horrid, whippy little thing!  So innocent looking, so lightweight!  And how I hate it!

Starman didn't say a great deal as he spanked.  He had been justifiably hurt and annoyed by my tantrum, and he was fed up with the continually repeated cycle.  However, he did concede that we had both been pretty well stressed to overload, but to my mind anyway, he was now enjoying "the moment" rather more than I would have wished.  

I was beginning to kick as my bottom heated to furnace proportions, and I determinedly kept my hands under my pillow and buried my face as I began to yelp with each stinging spank.

"It's getting nice and rosy" I was informed.  "But we're not finished yet by a long chalk."

 
He switched up yet again.  I felt a heavy, scolding splat across my right cheek.  Then before I was able to react, I felt a second splat across my left cheek.  Then another two, and another two.  I kicked my legs, shot forwards, and sobbed that I was sorry.

"I thought you would be if I used this" he told me.

He was christening our new short-handled bath brush!  From now on it will be known as the Bloody Bathbrush, or BB for short!  It is made from solid, polished beech, and is half an inch thick and fourteen inches long, and as I said earlier, totally inflexible.

He held me gently but firmly down, put his right leg over mine, and went to work on my derriere with determination.  I, meanwhile, was very glad to have the pillow to bury my face in.  I do not know how wives go over the knee and dangle to the floor with nothing to hold on to.  I had to air that pillow afterwards for a full twenty four hours out in the sunshine!

I was no longer listening, talking or counting.  That moment had passed after the third spank!  I was just trying my best to cope.

"It really really hurts," I can remember shouting.  

"Good" he replied.

Embarrassingly I admit to you that I sobbed and sobbed.  I can remember thinking at the time, that I was immensely relieved to be given the opportunity let go of all my pent up feelings.  It was just that each and every stroke was horrible.  You are all absolutely right - punishment is NOTHING like play because of the mental anguish attached to it.

Starman slowed and switched back to the leather paddle for a second round.  I didn't even feel it.  He stopped after about ten swats and changed to the spatula once again.  I didn't feel that either.  He noticed and slowed.  

"Nothing is as bad as that bath brush" I informed him gasping.  "It's evil!"

"You have two of the reddest patches on your cheeks I have ever seen!  They are perfectly round!"

(Well, goody!!  It's just what I always wanted!)

And he started up again with the BB.  I was on the point of going limp.  But the pain was too bad to keep completely still and I can remember tensing my cheeks, which was a real mistake because my bottom isn't very plump and one or two swats were a bit of the 'thuddy' type and I was crying so hard by this time that he slowed and stopped.  I felt him gently brush my cheeks with the soft bristles of the BB, and he told me that was enough.

I couldn't move.  I just cried and cried into my pillow.  I couldn't stop.  He rubbed my back and got a bit anxious.  

"Are you alright?  Was it too much?"

"No" I croaked.  "I'm fine.  I deserved every swat.  I needed it."

I lay still with my head turned towards him on the very damp pillow.  My bottom burned.

"It's really red, and it's hotter than it's ever been.  Where's the cream?  I'll rub it for you."

I scrovelled up on my knees, wincing as my heel touched my butt, and passed him some soothing skin lotion.

My face and hair were wet through and I knew my eyes would be as red as my bottom.  

I collapsed face down over him again enjoying the 'aftercare'.  

All I can tell you is that it was as good as ever.  We didn't hurry - we took our time.  For me, a burning bottom, apres a spanking, is the best feeling in the world!  

"We need to do this more often.  Some people are spanked every day!"

"Well you're not going to be.  And anyway, it would lose its effect.  I know you.  Spankings should be like life, a little unpredictable."  He shook his head and made for the shower.  

"Well, just don't keep me waiting two weeks ever again," I entreated.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror and slowly turned around inspecting my anatomy.  

Oh dear.  No swimming for me again for the next five or six days.  And just in case you're wondering - no, this is not my BTM, but it looks just like mine did!

I rooted around and got out the arnica to use after my shower.  I had a feeling I would need it.  I also knew I would sit down gingerly the first couple of times.  But then, strangely, the burn goes and the redness starts to fade.  I'm never sore for very long.  Usually.

This time I did feel somewhat stiff, and there was a certain ache deep in my buttocks.  But I'm fine.  I really am.  I'm not saying I would be able to cope with this intensity every day.  I'd have no bottom left!  But I am not harmed in any way.  As awful as it was at the time, I am the better for the spanking.  I'm okay and he's okay!  It got rid of a lot of stress for him too!

  

I brought this idea of discipline to Starman, and he has now begun to deliver. Perhaps he won't always be consistent.  It's still relatively early days.  And he's only human after all!  And so am I, so I am positive there will be lots more deluxe spankings on the horizon!

I just hope he won't make me wait as long in the future!

But for now, I am wearing my wings again!

These Memes Keep Coming....

I borrowed this from Sunny and I'm just wondering how many more there are out there?

Have you ever....

1  Shot a gun?  Yes, we have a shotgun.
2  Watched someone die?  Sadly, yes.
3  Served on a jury?  Luckily no.
4  Flown on a plane?  Yes, all sorts of the things!
5  Swam in the ocean?  Atlantic, Pacific and Indian.
6  Cried yourself to sleep?  Unfortunately, yes.
7  Been camping in a trailer/RV?  Yes, we call them     caravans over here, and they are not my thing!
8  Rode on an elephant?  Yes, I sat on her neck and it was VERY high up.  We wandered decorously through the jungle and her name was 'Lucy'.  The smell of elephant clung to my sandals for three years afterwards!
9  Rode on a camel?  The last time was the scariest because the boy who was meant to be leading let go and made the wretched thing gallop and I was much more wobbly than Lawrence of Arabia, and it made me feel quite seasick. 
10  Been lost?  Once or twice - and Starman wasn't exactly a happy man.
11  Eaten just cookies or cake for dinner?  In my student days most definitely.  The worst dinner I had was tomato ketchup sandwiches.
12  Been on TV?  No
13  Been on the radio?  No
14  Been in a car accident?  Yes, once or twice....
15  Donated blood?  No
16  Got a speeding ticket within the last 12 months?  No, Starman would kill me - at least my bottom would be the colour of this font.  
17  Gotten a piercing (not ears)?  Tempted - but  no.
18  Gotten a tattoo?  Starman, once again, would kill me, and I would sooooo love a tiny daisy on my left ankle in gold.
19  Flew in a hot air balloon?  No, but it's on the bucket list.
20  Flew in a helicopter?  Again, it's something I would love to do one day.
21  Gone parasailing?  I'd love to but I'm scared.
22  Been on a jet ski, snowmobile or dune buggy?  Had a hair-raising ride on a dune buggy once - hung on for grim death with some mad Arab at the wheel!

A Question of Tolerance!

This is on the side of my message pad that sits on my desk!  It got me thinking.  Then I remembered a topic that our dear Roz (at Roz in His Hands) talked about a while back.  It all had to do with TOLERANCE.  So I wanted to explore it further.

When we first think about tolerance our minds immediately go to pain thresholds, and how some people are more sensitive to pain than others.  Just look at childbirth as an example.  In my case I am terrified of going to the dentist.  This dates back from the horrendously painful removal of an impacted wisdom tooth when I was twenty one, that broke my jaw and resulted in months of remedial care.  When something happens in your life associated with pain, it can have a lasting impact on your reaction to other painful episodes.

But first, I'd like to look at tolerance in a wider sense.

What I want to know is "Just how tolerant are we towards each other?"

If you take the time to think about it, it can be very scary.  (I'm just going to refer to "he" as it takes too long to type he/she all the time.)

What is there about your other half that irritates and annoys you?  Does he leave the lid off the toothpaste and pubic hairs all over the shower tray?  Does he snore or (giving away a secret here) lie on his back making 'popping noises' as he breathes?  Does he leave dirty dishes on the work surface immediately above the dishwasher and never so much as put even a mug inside?  Does he leave every pair of shoes he wears under the coffee table and never thinks about returning them to his wardrobe/closet?  Does he leave his laundry all over his half of the bedroom/dressing room and expect you to pick it all up and convey it downstairs to be washed?  Does he expect you to be on time (to the minute) when going out somewhere, only to go back about forty times for his glasses/mobile phone/tickets/map/money-off vouchers, etc etc?  

See what I mean?  These are just a few of the little trials and tribulations I have had to contend with over the last 35 years.  I am used to them.  I rarely complain.  (Well, okay I do sometimes!)  But on the whole, I love him for better and for worse, right?!  

But now you have embarked on a new dynamic.  After years of nagging/arguing/disagreeing/throwing your weight around, you have returned him to his rightful place in the family - at the top of the pecking order.  Not only have you agreed to show your man some respect at long last, but you are going to have to be more tolerant of his behaviour.

BUT, is he tolerant of all the little things you do to irritate him?  And is he going to continue to be tolerant?

HA!!!

This is where it can all go tits up!

He has long been waiting for an opportunity to safely address your shortcomings.  And, oh boy, is he going to enjoy himself or what?!!!

Suddenly the fact that my mobile, more often than not, gets left on the kitchen counter next to the Tasimo machine, is a major crime!  Heaven only help me if I ever got a puncture and didn't have the blessed thing with me!  Starman and number one son only bought it for me in the first place because I got a puncture on a motorway that runs not far from where we live, and I walked to get help, with huge juggernauts speeding past me!  It took a year for the dust to settle on that one, believe me!

Suddenly if I leave lights on in rooms we are not using, or if I leave my computer on all night or during the daytime when at work, these have become major crimes that have to be addressed!  Never mind if he has inadvertently left a space heater on all night out in his office - that is not in question.  But a low wattage light bulb, left on when it should have been turned off, is an irritation that he is no longer willing to be tolerant towards, and must be addressed to ensure the irritating pattern is broken!

See where I'm going with this?  

His lack of tolerance can be tied directly in with what then becomes 'my lack of tolerance'!

At present, having discovered the power-shift in our household is at last having an effect, I find myself having to bite my bottom lip in order not to make disparaging remarks that will ultimately lead to my tolerance levels being severely tested.  It may be an exciting time for a new HOH, but it is a very trying time for his wife's bottom!

Until we have made it through the first year, I shall continue to regard us as "Newbies".  After all, a year ago I had never heard of 'spanking' in a relationship (I kid you not!), so it is an enormous journey of self-discovery; one that my poor, sweet, gentle and caring husband has been dragged coerced into taking with me.  Not only that, but I now expect him to lead the way!  Some of you have been doing this with differing amounts of success for years.  Thank goodness.  Because without you many of us would be drifting far from shore by now!

But this means that for some of us, like me for example, tolerance is a challenge.  You could even say a force to be reckoned with.

We started TTWD with purely erotic spankings.  I have to be honest - they are still our favourite type.  They are always as a precursor to sex and we rarely get further than ten minutes or so, because our need for each other takes over in a big way.  Sometimes Starman just uses his hand for these.  I just adore good girl spankings particularly because of the intimacy between us, and the fact that they make us feel like giggly teenagers making out in the back seat of the car!

  

Our weekly maintenance/reaffirmation spankings depend on what has been going on during the week, and what may be on the horizon in the week ahead.  Sometimes they are short, and sometimes can go for up to half an hour.  But usually they are a time for us to talk - mostly Starman talks and I listen, but he is beginning to expect me to reply to some of his questions, and will 'repeat' spank if I don't.  He is still not too good at warm-ups and says it's because it stings his hand.  (Grrrr, what about my bottom?!)  So he usually uses our leather paddle to warm me up.  I've noticed that the swings are getting more forceful, but I am increasingly able to handle them.

The spankings I get for stress relief can be short if we only have a few minutes to squeeze one in, but they are wonderful because they 'really hit the spot'!  They are usually intense and can bring me to tears almost immediately.  I don't get a warm up unless we have plenty of time.  This is mostly when the HH comes into play.  You can see the size - it's like a small paddle!  I hate it but it rarely leaves a mark unless Starman hammers at the same spot again and again (which he can be known to do!).  Heaven knows why in my innocence I went out and bought the largest hairbrush in the shop! After all, what did I think it was going to be used for?!

If I have caused Starman to put his biggest, tallest HOH hat on, I have learned to expect a much harder spanking.  Occasionally I'll have to wait several days for this to take place, which isn't too good.  The anticipation either stresses me out, or I send it to the back of my mind and ignore it.  Our little wooden spatula is nothing to look at, but fills my soul with ice just thinking about it.  It is vile, bruises, and due to the way he now snaps his wrist, can leave not only a lasting impression, but makes the spanked area itch like the blazes all day long. You can laugh, but I wouldn't wish it on anyone's bum! 

Similarly he now employs a thick wooden (polished walnut) salad server that hurts a hundred times more than any wooden spoon in our kitchen, especially when administered to the sit-spots!  

We have a variety of wooden spoons of the ordinary, mixing variety.  They are stingy, but after the salad server, don't pack the same punch!

We also have a bright purple silicon spoon I also avoid like the plague, and a bright pink silicon spatula.  Fortunately the connection between my imitation of an eel, and the items pictured below, haven't yet registered on Starman's "I think we'll try this one again today..." list.

We've only tried a belt once.  Starman isn't happy about using one.  I found out, relatively recently, that he was hit with one as a child, and he has never forgiven or forgotten.  After the 'wood' it didn't feel particularly threatening, but then, Starman couldn't, or wouldn't, try to get the hang of it.  He ended up telling me to put it back into the drawer from whence it came.  Every suggestion to try it since then has met with fierce opposition, and TTWD is consensual after all.

And don't even mention a plastic coat-hanger to me!  It may be silent, but it is deadly, and so far it is the only item that has me shooting to my feet and rubbing furiously!  I am in awe of anyone who can cope with feeling the fiery semi-triangle this lays across their bum!  And I am definitely NOT quiet, so it rather defeats the object!

Finally, this little sweetie is great fun to play with!  On the other hand, it IS a whippy little switch, and it can sting as much as you want it to!

Starman ALWAYS requests me to choose an implement.  I tried bringing him a 'lesser' weapon once, and the spanking ended up much harder and longer, so now I hold one up and wait for his agreement before bringing it to him.  We mostly use a different implement for each and every spanking, so that I don't get used to the same one and become able to detach myself from the pain of it.  He sometimes uses two or three implements in a session for the same reason.

Looking at the implements some of you incorporate into your dynamic, the length of time you get spanked for, the different positions you employ, I am more than impressed.  Whilst much of our kitchen has emigrated into the bedroom, Starman usually picks out the same implements time and time again.

We have a carpet beater just like the one in the picture - happily it stays hanging on the kitchen wall where it belongs when it's not beating rugs!

Positions

We have not been very adventurous as yet.  Starman's preferred position is to sit propped up by the headboard and I have to lie over his lap.  He holds me in place with his left hand.  It's a great position for studying the floorboards on the other side of the bed, and I can use the duvet to muffle my squawks.  I need to be careful about kicking because he has, on occasion, spanked my foot, which is very painful.  I try not to kick, but it depends on the force, the speed and where the spanks land.  He has had to put his right leg over both of mine to keep me in position and stop me crawling forwards and off on to the floor.

Over the knee, my upper body on the bed, grimly holding on to a pillow or duvet - only used for discipline.  I suspect the next step on from this will be right over his knees with my palms on the floor, but we haven't built up to this yet, and I'm certainly not going to encourage it - but it has been mentioned.

On my hands and knees on the bed, resting on my arms/elbows - a highly sexual position, only used so far for GG spankings, with incredible results!  I'm saying no more!  It stretches the skin over the buttocks and makes me feel incredibly vulnerable.  Everything hurts used in this position, and Starman has a tendency to swing more!

We tried, just once, over the footboard of our bed, but I thought my ribs were going to break.  If I leaned further over, it hurt my stomach too much.  So not successful.

Tolerance and Emotion

I honestly believe I can take far more of everything during a GG/erotic spanking.  Longer, harder - just more!  Starman will rub my bottom quite often between spanks.  He will talk and joke.  I can happily enjoy these spankings for up to half an hour as he builds in intensity very gradually, alternating between flurries and hard spanks that have several seconds between them.  The fine line between pleasure and pain simply disappears.  I find myself pushing up to meet the spanks, openly inviting more.  Every fibre of my body becomes super sensitive.  These spankings are truly amazing and addictive.

I mostly look forward to my maintenance/reaffirmation spankings, except that I never know how much, if any, discipline is going to be tacked on to the end. They are spankings for a reason, and are sometimes hard to endure.  A week ago, for the first time ever, I yelled at Starman to stop.  I just couldn't bear another spank.  He didn't.  I received another ten or so before he told me I could get up.  I don't always cry during these spankings, but I have to admit to my eyes being wet more often than not.  I've noticed that my tolerance levels vary according to what he wants to discuss as well as the implement(s) used.

Here's another thing.  I am not allowed to get up until I am given permission to do so.  This wasn't the case when we first started.  But now, regardless of what type of spanking I am getting, I have to wait.  If I am crying hard, this is a good thing, because it gives me time to calm down.  I've only ever felt angry and resentful of my spanking once, and I just had to lie and fester.  In fact he started over again to drive the point home.  

If we are having an erotic spanking session I still have to lie there, but usually this is for other reasons!  The time this is hardest, is after a discipline spanking, because I need to be cuddled and reassured as soon as possible.

So far I have received only a few 'stand alone' discipline spankings.  Once, over his knee, I nearly kicked his teeth out, and thereafter had my legs immobilised for safety reasons.  There is never a warm up, and I am reduced to sobs almost immediately.  I hate the fact that I have returned to my old ways, that I have upset and disappointed Starman in some way.  Initially when we started spanking he hated to see me cry.  Now it is a part of the healing process.  

The pain and the emotions are inseparable in this type of spanking. Every nerve ending is on high alert.  Starman's intention is to achieve a result, and my tolerance seems very low.  I never thought I'd say it, but I feel, deeply inside, like a little girl who is being taken to task!  It's not a nice feeling.

I would like to thank Roz very much for agreeing to do this dual post with me.  so could I ask you to go there?  She is writing hers not only from a more experienced perspective, but naturally she and Rick have a different approach, and incorporate rather more into their dynamic.  

I did try to insert her blog link here - but as usual a window opened, asked me to choose from several options, and I was too nervous to press anything!  Such is life!  Remember, Roz is at Roz in His Hands.  Keep checking for her post.  She is going to post tomorrow, but with the time differences we are asking everyone to just keep their eyes peeled!