Chaos Theory

I am always as good as my word. If I say I'll do something, come hell or high water, I'll do it. Unless I forget...

Dan, on the other hand, never forgets to do anything he says he will do, although many of those things seem to carry a caveat attached to them which contains the word unless. See how complex my life is?

Dan has most definitely stepped up as far as warnings are concerned. Some days I feel I am being warned every five minutes. But apart from the occasional swat to my rear, especially when he doesn't think I am paying attention to him when we are in bed and he is discussing something portentous, there have been no more serious spanking episodes.

However, we drove to a local supermarket the other day to get a few odds and bits. Dan has this annoying habit of parking in the furthest point away from the entrance doors, which necessitates walking miles! 

He says it's because the spaces are larger there. It aggravates me no end. So as we drive slowly around the car park I point out several ideal places he could park. Dan hates this good advice. He simply doesn't share my logic. In the end he snarls at me, making me jump.

"Ami, what have I told you about fussing and commenting when I am driving?" He raises an eyebrow. It nearly disappears into his hairline. He pulls crookedly into a space. I clamp my teeth together, narrow my eyes and out come some words I am trying hard not to say.

"You're parked diagonally. Was it intentional?"

"Ami, remember Saturday night?" Golly, he is fierce. I am not one to tempt fate. I look down and mutter "Sorry."

When we get out, Dan walks around the car and sighs. He gets back in and re-parks perfectly. I don't even dare look at him let alone make a comment.

I was given some excellent advice after my epic spanking, which was in future to let Dan know when I was feeling obstreperous, and to hand him a selection of implements, and let him make the decision which one to use.

I told Dan this a few mornings ago, when I felt ready and able to trust him with my bottom once again. LOL! He thought it was a great idea.

"Are you feeling in need, then?" He asked me, smirking.

"It's just that I am determined not to get into a situation,like the other Saturday, ever again. I always used to tell you when I needed spanking, but I thought maybe it was too controlling of me; however, I now think anything is preferable to not being able to sit comfortably for several days."

I present Dan with a reasonable selection - the olive wood spatula, the olive wood salad spoon (you can tell where we go on holiday), the leather paddle and the cellulite brush. I figure four is enough to choose from.

Dan asks me to put a pillow behind his back so he can relax whilst spanking me. He likes to be comfortable. I lie gingerly over his lap and he adjusts me so my sit spots are right in front of him. (Aren't I the considerate wife?!)

He starts with his hand. I love his hand. I don't even mind that he spanks ten times twice as hard as he used to, and that his hand often feels like a piece of four by two. I bounce around a bit and the odd "Ow" comes out, but on the whole I am settling into my warm-up.

The 'ows' are becoming a little more frequent, and the warm-up seems to be taking rather longer than I remember. However, the heat is building and I can feel the knot behind my neck beginning to relax.

"Swipe!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"Yeeeeoooouch!"

I crane my neck around feeling rather like a Christmas turkey. 

Swipe, swipe, swipe, swipe, swipe, swipe!

Splat, splat, splat, splat, splat, splat!

Swat, swat, swat, swat, swat, swat!

Clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk! (Well how else do you describe a cellulite brush?)

"Dan!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"Yes, dear?"

"You're using them all!"

"Am I, dear? I thought you had kindly presented me with a choice of implements."

Swipe, splat, swat, clunk!

"But I thought you were just going to choose one!"

Clunk, clunk, jab, jab, jab, jab!

"Shriek! Shriek Shriek! You don't use the bristly side! Ow,it hurts!!! I'll have holes all over my bottom!!! What on earth are you doing?

"I quite like the effect this side produces."

"Dan!!!!!!!!!!!!" I struggle to get up. Dan holds me down. But at least he turns the brush around.

Clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk.

"Remember the car park, Ami? You are very lucky you stopped making those comments when you did."

I am not feeling very lucky.

Swipe, swipe, swipe, swipe, swipe, swipe.

This has turned into a very long spanking. 

"I think I like this little nipper the best. It's so light and easy to use. Everyone should have one of these with recalcitrant wife written all over it."

Tears begin to fall, but so do my stress levels. How can something so painful feel so right?

(Wow, look at this guy's muscles! If Dan had muscles like these I would be very good indeed!)


I hear Dan say something about "I think that's enough, isn't it?"

I can't reply, but he rubs my back and then helps me into a kneeling position.

"I didn't enjoy the other Saturday, but I'll do it again if you behave like that. Do you understand?"

"Yes" I croak. He asks me to show my submissiveness in a rather different way. One hand is in my hair guiding me, the other hand caresses my hot bottom.

Eventually I climb on top of him and we kiss for a while before our day begins - which leads to other things.... 

.... and yes, I admit it, at times we interact just like the couple in the film!

Thoughts on Vulnerability

"I must not think of thee; and, tired yet strong,
I shun the thought that lurks in all delight -
The thought of thee - and in the blue heaven's height,
And in the sweetest passage of a song.
Oh, just beyond the fairest thoughts that throng
This breast, the thought of thee awaits, hidden yet bright;
But it must never, never come in sight;
I must stop short of thee the whole day long.
But when sleep comes to close each difficult day,
And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,
Must doff my will as raiment laid away -
With the first dream that comes with the first sleep
I run, I run, I am gathered to thy heart."

(Renouncement - Alice Meynell)

If you look up the word 'vulnerable' in the dictionary, you are likely to get something like this: 

     Capable of being wounded, liable to injury or hurt,      exposed to attack

As one who gets spanked - you are probably nodding your heads and agreeing with this in part - spanking definitely hurts, you are definitely exposed to attack, and in theory you could get injured or wounded.

However, if injury or wounding was the objective, it wouldn't be spanking, it would be abuse. End of story.

Vulnerability is hard to put into words. We each have our own interpretation of it. We each have our own experiences of being vulnerable. From the very first moment you fall in love with a complete stranger, you place yourself in a vulnerable position. As you live and grow together, that vulnerability takes many forms.

I can't speak for, or advise others. It's been difficult enough for me to come to terms with my own feelings, and to process my thoughts. 

I've come to the conclusion, in part at least, that to admit to feeling vulnerable isn't about admitting to weakness, but to admitting to strength. Perhaps it's the major component of love itself. 

If you find this post confusing, then I apologise. I am still recovering the after effects of metamorphosing from my chrysalis. 

My wings have not yet dried out. 

Vulnerability is scary. We should never take vulnerability for granted, or treat it lightly. Our female ancestors shed blood to cast off vulnerability. They won voting rights for us, they fought so we were able to become nurses, then doctors, lawyers, scientists, engineers - the list is endless.  Make no mistake about it, those women who laid the pathway to equality of the sexes were some of the strongest women history has ever known. They not only laid those pathways, but they held up the flaming torches, so that those of us coming after them, could see their way.

It's not surprising then, that we should have difficulty admitting there are times when we feel vulnerable. Times when we need a good cry, and a good hug and that we just want to pour out our worries and concerns to the one we love the most.

I suppose I was fortunate in that I was brought up in a household where "showing your emotions" was part of our normal day to day existence. Life was lived to the full with the accompaniment of much laughing, crying, anger and serenity. If I misbehaved I was walloped; jokes were for sharing; tempers were lost - my dad and I were the fiery ones; my mother influenced us all with her serenity; we were touchy-feely and hugs were a regular occurrence between all of us. 

Right up until I left home I would climb into bed with my parents in the mornings and we would drink tea/coffee and chat about the day and share any worries or concerns. It was something Dan and I continued with our own family, and even now, on the odd occasion our daughter and the boys stay over for the night without her husband, she, and the boys, will pile into our bed for tea and a chat, first thing in the morning. 

Mind you, the boys do tend to bounce around, upset tea everywhere, and the little one often ends up tipping off the bed and on to the floor where he crawls around like a miniature rocket.

When Dan and I first got together I soon realised that his upbringing had been very different from mine. Much quieter and more conservative. No outward show of emotions. Undemonstrative with comparatively little spontaneous touching or hugging. I can remember how initially he used to say to me that I seemed to want to be all over him all the time. He didn't exactly dislike it, he just wasn't used to it.

So I, after a rocky courtship,learned to keep my emotions towards him, in. Tightly corked. I learned to curb my temper and rarely give way to emotional crying fits. 

He did some learning as well. He gradually loosened up and was able not only to respond more to my emotions, but was able to show me his softer side.

Over the years of our marriage we were able to grow together and we began to admit our vulnerabilities to each other. I think Dan did better than me at this. He suddenly seemed to realise that it's okay for a man to cry, and that it's okay to want to be hugged and comforted. During some of the darker times in our marriage it's the tears, hugs and melting into each other that have carried us through.

We were doing all right. We'd ironed out most of the little (and not so little) creases in our lives, and then I introduced spanking into the mix. 

I can honestly say that since that day, we have probably had more emotional moments than in all the previous years. Right from the beginning it seemed to unlock that door that I had stored my vulnerabilities behind, and ever since, they have poured out like mercury from a broken thermometer. 

My to be avoided at all costs spanking a week ago finally brought all those vulnerable responses right out into the open. 

The spanking did us both the world of good. Dan walked on air the entire day afterwards - and I walked carefully. 

Seriously, it has taken me a long time to process my thoughts. For a while I didn't know how I felt about it, or how I was meant to feel about it.

 I don't know about you, but every spanking in this household seems so 'different'. No two are ever quite the same. Some spankings start as one type and turn out as another type. Some seem to get 'heated' very quickly, and others never seem to 'take off' as we both get distracted very quickly.

We've finally talked about what took place. A well-rounded and two sided discussion.

It was good to hear Dan's point of view when he didn't have a paddle in his hand. It was good to try to explain what I needed from him and how important it was to me. I even managed to explain how important it is to be able to have a good cry and a good hug afterwards. He has gone along with this, but says he never really understood the significance of it till now.

He did tell me to let him know in future if I am feeling needy (although he has said that I am not allowed to feel needy every day as he hasn't got the stamina he used to have LOL) and to bring him an implement and that he will do his best to put the situation right. But he then went into pontificating lecturing mode and told me he would be stepping up his warnings in future and I had better take notice of them. (At this point my eyes began to close

until sharp splat landed on the back of my right thigh.) 

We've also discussed the fact that we have so many outside of our control stresses at the moment and that we don't get much alone time till the evenings when we are both so knackered we can't do a thing except snore. I have been assured that when things get back to normal - things will get back to normal. I don't think I will count my chickens, but then, who knows?

So we continue to orbit around each other like twin suns. I am smaller, and a little lot more fiery. When I start to move too far out of orbit Dan needs to pull me back in. Whilst I need his calming discipline, he needs my sparks, my heat, my flames.

However fast I may run, I  know he will gather me to his heart.

Falling Down the Cracks

When I wrote my last post, little did I expect to be writing another one so soon. As it is quite long enough, I will write about my post-spanking thoughts and feelings in my next post. Right now, I am still having to process what has taken place.

All I can say is that this weekend has seen quite a dramatic turning point for us, although whether consistency will be maintained, is another thing entirely. Suffice to say, that in our version of the TTWD/DD dynamic, the DD part decided it would tap me on the shoulder and issue a reminder that it had lain dormant for far too long, but I should never forget that it was still there in the background.

Saturday was such a horrible day that I am totally amazed that I am still here. I came within a cat's whisker of becoming just a trail of glittering stardust in the night skies above blogland. 

Remember Willie sitting at the bottom of her well looking up at all the mossy stones and dripping water? 

On Saturday morning I fell off the edge of our road and down into a seemingly bottomless chasm. 

Not a bit of moss or dripping water in sight. Just endlessly vertical rock face leading upwards, with scarcely a glint of light signifying the sky above; no handholds or footholds. Nothing.

It should have been such a good day.

I had planned it all out in my head that I would do my best to explain to Dan that I felt like a swarm of bees was under my skin trying to gain entry to the world, and that I needed him to address the situation. 

But as usual in the Starsong household, Murphy's Law rules.

I woke up early and went downstairs to do the tea/coffee run. I returned to bed smiling and happy. It went rapidly downhill from that point.

Dan sat sipping his tea and made up his mind to talk about our forthcoming move, and what we needed to do in order to make our house ready to go on the market. He wondered where on earth we were going to put 32 years of 'stuff' from our present abode, due to down-housing, and how we were going to tackle all the finances. This conversation was on its eighth or ninth re-run.

By the time he finished both his tea and his conversation, I had zoned out completely; and by the time he suddenly lunged at my bosoms expecting my usual enthusiastic response, the spark had completely disappeared. Instead of reigniting the flame, I felt annoyed and irritated. What I wanted was instant recognition of my neediness, not delicate butterfly kisses. After all, I reasoned, they could come later. 

I sulked big time, and from then on it went to hell in a handcart. 

I won't bore you with the details, but it was the usual "What's suddenly got into you?" followed by "Nothing." snarled back, followed by one of the most heated rows we have had in many a year. 

It became a full blown shouting match, which erupted into a full blown "Why can't you just spank me spontaneously like the other husbands do?" argument and then Dan lost it and said "All these bloody ideas you get from the internet!" So I yelled back that "Okay, if you want to go back to how we were, so be it. I'll take down my blog and we'll return to our uninspired little existence and I expect we will muddle through. After all, we always did. But I just want you to know that when you are like this, it makes me feel that what I want is always dangling up there just out of reach, and it hurts me so much to know that you can't even manage to help lift me up so I can reach it."

We yelled at each other back and forth for a while longer - all the usual topics being aired. It was ugly and horrid. Me crying and Dan raging. Hateful.

Eventually he slammed out of the bedroom and I cried in the shower for the next half an hour. We avoided each other downstairs, him eating cereal and me feeling as if I would choke if I tried to eat anything, and then he went off outside to continue with some hedge-cutting. I stayed inside and put on my earphones and ironed whilst listening to my I-pod. 

My very closest friend arrived ten minutes later and although she must've wondered why my eyes were so red and watery, she said not a word, and Dan came in for a cup of coffee and life calmed down somewhat.

In the afternoon we went out to a hardware store/garden centre to buy some new paintbrushes, a terracotta pot and some new garden tools, and we stopped on the way home at his sister's for a cup of tea. In fact, we ended up having a Chinese takeaway and so we didn't get home until 9pm, and we admitted afterwards that we had really enjoyed our impromptu visit.

If you want a long and successful marriage, you try to get over rows and arguments as soon as you can, apologising and trying to find middle ground. You own up to your shortcomings and you move on.

This was different. I felt thoroughly miserable because I felt I had handled it all so badly. Had I just produced a wooden spoon or a paddle right at the outset, perhaps the whole situation could've been diffused. Hindsight is a wonderful thing in any relationship, let alone in a TTWD/DD relationship. Bloody 'bitch-troll'!

We sat and watched a programme on Catch-up TV, and I went off to bed around 10pm. I am always an early bird going to bed. I like to lie and read my Kindle for a while, and Dan tends to arrive between 11 and 11.30pm - occasionally finding me already asleep. This time it was around 11.45 apparently. 

Rousing from a deep slumber, I gradually became aware that next to me was a bourgeoning HOH determined to have his say and determined that I would hear him. 

I vaguely remember hearing the words "spank your bloody arse" and "what the hell is this?" 

as he dragged up my nightie up around my waist and threw back the duvet, and then I was being rolled on to my front and his hand was landing so hard it almost made my bones rattle.

It wasn't at all amusing at the time. But looking back, I can now see that it did have its funny side.

It was pitch black in our bedroom apart from a little moonlight streaming in through a chink in the curtains, and Dan had, as always, removed his contact lenses for the night. Therefore he couldn't see a thing, and was spanking by intuition, not sight. As I sleep on his right, and he is right-handed, he was using his left hand. But it felt like a plank of wood.

By the third stroke I was crying, and by the tenth I was being bounced on the bed by the force of the strokes like a rubber ball on a trampoline. I began to think he was never going to stop. 

Then he did, and I wished he hadn't. I felt him leap up from the bed and cross the room to our chest of drawers. I could hear him opening and closing the drawers and he finally yelled "Which bloody drawer are they in, second or third?"

I choked. My crying came to a rapid halt and I drew a quick, shaky breath, quite unable to answer, and seriously wondered whether or not I had time to make a run for it. 

Craning my head round in the bit of moonlight afforded by the gap, all I could see was my underwear - froths of silk, lace, cotton and frills - exploding like a volcano all over the bedroom. 

Then there was a muttered "Right" and he was back on the bed and sitting on my ankles.

What followed was my admission to a very exclusive club. I believe the invitation stated "Barnwarmer" and it is a party that I hope never to revisit ever again in my life.  Those of you who already belong to this club will not need a description, and those who don't yet belong are not going to get a description as it is something too painful, both mentally and physically to describe.

Suffice to say I howled and howled. I was trapped and couldn't move an inch, so I just buried my face in my pillow and sobbed. I could not have responded verbally to what Dan was saying; and indeed, I could only hear the occasional word, as panic was setting in and I was wondering, at one point, whether I would survive or not.

Due to the fact that he still couldn't really see what he was spanking, Dan spanked a little on the 'high' side, and at one point I wailed "Too high, too high" to him, and he mercifully gave me a quick three-spank flourish on my right buttock, and stopped.

I continued to cry for a very long time while Dan stroked my bottom gently and allowed me to recover. It wasn't long before his strokes turned to other things, although I hissed when my backside made contact with the bed linen. The security and comfort I felt in his arms was indescribable and gentle, considering what had just taken place between us. 

Strangely, it was Dan who fell asleep first, an arm around my middle, holding me close, and who, having rid himself of all his stresses, had the best night's sleep. 

This is the first time I have ever been woken to be spanked. Dan always spanks me in the mornings, or during the day. Never at night. For me, it was too much to process all at once. I did finally drop off only to wake a couple of hours later with my head buzzing. I got up in the end and went downstairs and made myself toast and had a glass of milk - standing up.

Dan made our drinks on Sunday morning, and we then had another loving interlude before breakfasting leisurely and showering. 

But I was truly shocked when I caught sight of my backside in my full-length mirror. I look as if I have been mauled by a bear, with its claws out. 

Large purple and red paddle shapes cover both my buttocks, most of the bruising to the right, where he could reach better. 

I am walking very stiffly and sitting, even on a cushion, or on the sofa, is difficult and makes me bite my lip. I just can't get comfortable, and I now understand the meaning of the the saying "I'll make sure you don't sit comfortably for a week." It looks most unattractive and I just know my poor bottom is going to take ages to recover. Thank goodness for Arnica.

But I deserved it. I took the "Disrespect" rule and trampled all over it. Perhaps I thought it didn't apply to me any more. Luckily Dan though differently. Once again I underestimated my husband. 

All day long I have been as high as a kite. Strangely, I feel a bit like a newly wed, and I've noticed how caring and attentive Dan has been, bantering and smiling at me. I've noticed that he has given me several small 'requests' today, and ensured I wasn't able to wriggle out of them by staying close and attentive. I'm not sure how I feel about that yet.

As I said at the beginning, I have no idea whatsoever whether Dan intends to be consistent. I shouldn't think so, although I plan no repeat performances - ever! I have learned the hard way, that prevention is most definitely better than cure! However, I am looking at him with very different eyes, and I fully intend to be better with communicating my feelings and my needs, in future. 

Perhaps, best of all, I didn't have to worry about the lack of hand and footholds in order to climb up out of that chasm. 

I simply floated out.

What do you do, when the road disappears?

I've been pondering this post for some time.

Some years ago we were travelling in France with some friends. It was autumn, and the nights were drawing in with darkness coming early.  We had travelled down to Mont St Michel and were returning by a different route to that which we had taken on our trip down. The towns were smaller, and so were the roads. 

We were very tired, having travelled for most of the day, and had decided to stay in a certain town overnight. We rang ahead and booked a room in a local hotel. The only local hotel. 

The journey took longer than expected, and we were later than we had anticipated, so therefore it was completely dark and we were driving along a road with very few signs. We hoped we were headed in the right direction.

All of a sudden, the road ran out. It simply wasn't there any more. Instead, there were a couple of signs - not too big - telling us that 20 metres in front was the River Seine and that we would need to catch the ferry to get to the other side.

It was very scary. There was no barrier, and not even much in the way of lighting. All we could see, virtually immediately in front of the car, was a the gleam of fast flowing water.

I suppose we waited for around twenty minutes, and then suddenly lights seemed to be coming towards us from across the river. A ferry (just like this one) materialised out of the darkness and very shortly we were being shepherded aboard. I think we were the only vehicle. The crossing took around ten minutes and soon we were on our way once again, giggling nervously about our experience.

The small town we sought was only a ten minute drive and we were soon checking in to a hotel looking like something out of the 1950s - plain, austere and lacking in character. Nevertheless our rooms were clean if somewhat simple. 

However, we were then informed that they didn't 'do' evening meals, and that we would have to make our own arrangements. 

So we literally toured the town. It didn't take long. There wasn't much to be seen, especially in the darkness. Our tummies were rumbling and we were thinking that we were going to have to go without. There wasn't even a bar anywhere, let alone a restaurant. 

Then rounding a corner, we espied a huge brightly lit neon sign. It was in the shape of a huge hand with a pointing finger. It was pointing towards a dark and dismal little cafe with plastic flowers in the window. We looked at each other and decided that it was going to have to be that or nothing.

We opened the door.

What a surprise! It was brightly lit, cheerful, full of character, and the menu was extraordinary.

I really cannot remember what we all ate individually, but I remember Dan and our male friend having difficulty in translating and understanding what a certain dish was. Literally translated it said "Creature from the forest". Luckily, as they both decided to try their luck and order it, it turned out to be hare, and it was apparently superb.

I know we each had three or four courses, and it wasn't expensive either. The patron was very friendly and we laughed and joked, and ended up with liqueurs on the house.

Looking back, it was one of the best evenings we have ever had in France. Very memorable.

So, what I want to ask is 'What happens when we run out of road? 

How do we cope with a cessation of spanking activities, and how do we face up to the challenge of returning to them?

I won't deny that it's been a bugger of a summer for us in the Starsong household.

Dan attended his post-op checkup and I am happy to report that he is doing really well; his PSA is right down, and he looks so much better than he did. They intend to monitor him regularly, but the new treatment has been everything we hoped it would be.

We attended a wonderful wedding in the middle of July - our son's best friend got married. The weather was hotter than hot, we were spending lots of time in the garden and out and about. 

I went into hospital soon after, to have a small but significant operation (down there) which I had been putting off for the last thirty years or so. It was excruciating and I was one miserable bunny for the first couple of weeks until I healed. 

However, and this is a big however, just over a week after my operation Dan developed viral pneumonia. So instead of resting and being able to move around at a snail's pace, I had to go into "carer, sympathy provider, and full-time attendant" mode.

In all our married life I have never known my husband take to his bed for four whole days, and several half days thereafter. It was the middle of August before the second lot of antibiotics started to have a positive effect - and then, naturally, I got it too. For a time our house echoed with the pair of us coughing in stereo!

Sadly, Dan is not very good at the nurturing role. He can't cook for a start. Laundry, with modern computerised machines, has him in a meltdown, and even trying to organise the dishwasher requires supreme effort. 

Eventually I had to get up and stagger around. It wasn't funny. I got a heck of a telling off from our daughter who stated that her father is only like this because I have spent a lifetime running around after him.

Personally I have never seen it from that perspective. He has his jobs around the house (chopping wood, sorting out the septic tank, mowing lawns, keeping the cars fuelled up and regularly serviced, seeing that all the finances are trouble-free) and I have mine (cleaning, cooking, laundry, shopping and everything else associated with running a household). For thirty seven years it has worked like a charm.

But throw into the mix a new dynamic, a new way of "sharing the load", of addressing problems and hiccups that every marriage encounters, and you begin to wonder whether in fact you were right to bring about such changes, and whether in fact they are doing any good.

When I had my operation, I was told that it was likely to be six weeks before I felt anything like my old self, and so Dan gave me a light spanking (for luck) the night before, careful to leave no marks, and we discussed the fact that I would probably not feel like any 'touching' at all 'down there' for the foreseeable future. LOL!

There was just one small window of opportunity, (Ha!) when Dan began to feel better and over his pneumonia and before I began to feel ill with mine. 

I was becoming increasingly snappy, irritable and keen for a fight.

Dan announced calmly at breakfast one morning that he felt I was due for a spanking and that we would be going back upstairs immediately after breakfast.

I was so amazed that he had noticed my lack of co-operation, and that I had not had to remind him of what to do under such circumstances, that I was momentarily rendered speechless. Which, for those who know me well, will seem like an impossibility. 

Later, upstairs and over his knee, he explained that he was going to go very carefully and easy on me, (he used the leather paddle - that is what he thinks of as 'going easy' - wish you could see my eyes narrow!)

and whilst he intended to use the paddle to warm me up as well as spank, he would go gently and for a bit longer than he normally does when he is whaling away. Hmmm.

True to his word he was very careful (of my bottom) but the backs of my poor thighs, and my sit spots, were deemed to be safe to attack. He sizzled me till I thought I would spontaneously combust from the heat, but all I could see when I checked in the mirror afterwards was a pulsating scarlet. No marks or bruises. In fact although I gritted my teeth, it was not so bad I felt I had to shed any tears. Whew!

But the very next day I began to feel unwell, and then my temperature shot through the roof, and so it was my turn for four days in bed.

I think I can safely say we are over it at last. His coughing has now stopped, and mine is getting further and further between bouts. We still both feel as weak as kittens, and need a short sit down in the afternoons, (well an hour or so, in my case) but things are once more on the up.

So, having run out of road, and safely negotiated the ferry across the river, we are now in the town and looking for a decent restaurant, or in our case, we need, desperately, to get back to what has, for us, become a normal part of our lives - Dan spanking my bottom!

And it's hard.

When you stop something, it is hard to go back. You feel nervous. Shy.

Do you just plunge in, or do you put a toe in the water and estimate how cold it is and whether you need to proceed with caution? 

Dan has gone into "tick over" mode, and I am rapidly reverting to "bring it on" mode.

He is trying his best to be solicitous to my needs, without mentioning the spanking 'word', and I am seething, champing at the bit, and feeling out of sorts with the world.

Every time I read a post about someone else's delicious spanking, I froth at the mouth!

Yet I have become too much of a coward to say anything to him. I just can't bring myself to ask.

Because I know exactly what will happen. That bloody "little nipper" will come out and I am not sure I will be able to cope with it. Almost sooner the bath brush. At least that is solid and thuddy. But that thin olive wood spatula literally burns. I hate it with all my might. When the last one split down the middle, I was delighted. I thought "Ha! That's the end of that!" But then he bought this new one in Rhodes and believe me, they know how to make spatulas over there. There is no way this one is going to break in a hurry. My bottom is wincing just thinking about it.

But do I need to be spanked?

Should I lie? 

I need to be spanked for so many reasons. 

Not just because I am beginning to act in a disrespectful manner, but because I need to feel he cares enough to pick up an implement and lambast me with it. I need to know he cares enough to want to renew the connection. I need to know he cares enough to put aside his concerns for my physical welfare, and attend to my mental welfare. I need to know that he has the courage of "my convictions". 

But I am still scared. 

As much as I love to be spanked, I hate the pain of it as it is happening. Especially that moment when you feel frantic because you think they are never going to stop. They have you anchored down with a leg over your legs, and they have a hand on your back keeping you in place so that you are unable to 'swim' forwards.

How is it that I enjoy 'sexy' spankings so much that I nearly orgasm at the thought, yet I am so afraid of the 'real' ones? 

How can a break of a few weeks feel like the road has disappeared in front, and I am hanging on by my fingernails and not even wanting to turn my head to see if there could be a wonderful restaurant mascarading as a 'down at heel joint' under that brightly lit neon sign, just a little way further on?

I am scared that even if I take a chance and walk in the door of that restaurant, I won't like the menu, and that the dish I choose will give me heartburn.