Wow so this week has disappeared really quickly! The final edits have been made to my next book, which is a fairytale fantasy, and yesterday, I went on a road trip to the Yorkshire town of Whitby. It’s got tentative links to Bram Stoker (author of Dracula) but they sort of exploit that and ignore it at the same time. For Vampire Country, I’ve always wanted to go to Transylvania in Romania, where the real Dracula Castle is. One day I’ll drive there and it will be awesome.
I’ve never been 100% sure what one is supposed to do at Whitby, but luckily I went with a friend who takes things as (un-)seriously as I do, and we irreverently speculated about the purposes of some of the bizarre ruins at Whitby Abbey and we got fish and chips at a fish and chip shop (I got the large: portion control happens to other people), and I even tried a deep fried chocolate bar.
When I got home, my dearest had made pizza, and there was barely a pinch of vegetable on the entire pizza (this is one of the millions of reasons that I love him). So I’m going to have to eat nothing but vegetables for the next 10 years to make up for all the stuff I ate yesterday.
When I went to bed, my tummy was still so full it was aching.
This trip nearly didn’t happen, though, and here’s why:
I got probably my second worst spanking of the year this week. On Thursday, I walked out of a shop when we were supposed to be choosing paint for my project car. I kept walking. I’ve had a series of difficult days this week, where I’ve felt very upset due to a few recent events, and Thursday was especially hard. My back ached and I felt like we were wasting the day looking at paint when it was my husband’s only day off for the week and we could be doing a million more interesting things. So I left. Ultimately, that wasted more time than if we’d spent five more minutes staring at tins of Hammerite.
Thing was, I never told him where I was going or what I was doing, I just walked out. I sat down on the first bench I could see but he never found me, and I got cold and bored so I went into a nearby store and spent £14 on chocolate because there were no packs of raspberry or strawberry donuts (sidenote: lemon donuts… don’t taste like lemon curd. They’re awful). If I’m going to be in huge trouble for one thing, I tend to stop caring a bit.
So it turned out he’d tried to call me numerous times and my phone hadn’t notified me because I accidentally set it to “do not disturb” at 5am when it kept buzzing with Facebook messages and waking me up on the one day of the week when we can sleep in. I told him where I was, and he told me not to move. I opened some of the chocolate I’d bought.
So I couldn’t really run away when this random person’s dog attacked me and they started having a go at me like it was my fault for eating chocolate within 10 feet of where someone wanted to walk a dog, so I just yelled at them about how other people have feelings too and (I probably wasn’t very convincing because I was quite upset) that I actually really like dogs when they’re not snapping and growling while jumping up me. Then my husband found me and hauled me away from that argument, and his face had the darkest death glare. I am still surprised that he didn’t spank me outside the supermarket, regardless of the consequences, but then he has a lot more self-control than I do.
He took me around the corner and it transpired that this had all taken over an hour, and he’d walked home with the shopping before coming back to find me. He told me that when we got home, I was in so much trouble. And then he told me I’d better go straight to the garage (where the car was getting two tyres changed) and pick up the car, because I wouldn’t be able to sit in it to drive it later on. He said he’d been very worried when he couldn’t find me. He said a lot of other things as well but I can’t remember all of them. I remember that I started to cry a lot because I felt really bad about what I’d done. I remember that he came with me to the garage, and he tried to carry my heavy bag of chocolate but I wouldn’t let him, and we were in the street with a lot of slow moving traffic, so there wasn’t anything he could really do about that.
We went to the garage and collected the car. When we got home, he let me have a cup of tea before we went upstairs because I’d not drank much all day and I’d been crying a lot. I’m prone to dehydration when that happens.
Then it was time.
He arranged two pillows for me to lie over and I got on the bed. He told me I could either take this punishment or be grounded for the foreseeable future. He said he was still deciding whether to ground me anyway, because what if I did something like that when I was out with someone else? I didn’t want to be grounded because the very next day I was supposed to be taking one of my friends on a road trip, and her husband had been out of town all week so she was on her own, and I didn’t want to let her down. I’d made/canceled plans several times over the past couple of weeks, and I didn’t want to flake on yet another thing. I didn’t say all that though, because this was so not the time for talking about things. I didn’t want him to think I was trying to avoid this, so I decided to save my reasoning for another time.
He tied my hands above my head, probably because last time I was in trouble (Sunday), I put my hand back and caused him to land the spoon very sharply on the bony part of my back. It’s still aching. I’ve developed a bad habit of putting my hand back this year which we’re trying to break because he’s caught my hand a few times, too. He fastened my ankles, too, because a couple of times recently I’ve kicked him during a spanking. I waited for him to bare my bottom, which he did quite quickly. I hate that cold feeling when I know it’s going to be really bad, when I don’t want to complain about how cold I am, but at the same time it makes me long for him to start just to get it over with.
He began with a hand spanking, and he didn’t go as hard as he could have done, but it lasted several minutes, and was still enough to make me wriggle and try to kick. Then he moved in with the smallest cane.
We have broken a couple of canes over the past few months. One because I reached back and snapped it mid-caning (this is where the putting my hand back thing started) and one because he caught me with it so hard. The trouble with that is we’ve gone from having four canes of a graduated size to having only two canes. The really small whippy one and the really large solid one. So now, every time I’m in trouble, I get the really large solid cane, because I broke the one that was one size smaller.
I am a little bit scared of that really large cane. I don’t know why that didn’t occur to me earlier in the day, except that perhaps I didn’t think he was actually going to do anything. I’d already been in trouble over something earlier in the week that he kept telling me he was going to punish me the next day, then the next, then the next, and it never actually happened. I had twenty strokes of the really thin cane, because he does them in sets of five, and then he paused for a moment to check I was ok. I was. That cane isn’t very bad unless it’s used in very rapid succession.
The big cane was next, and thankfully there were only ten of those, because I was in tears by stroke number two, and biting down on my pillow really hard to muffle the sound. That caning was horrible, and it made me wonder how I ever got into spanking in the first place let alone why I needed my husband to use that cane on me, even as I started to feel better about what I’d done. I’ve noticed that the things that go unpunished (or, lightly punished) are the ones that I keep revisiting and feeling bad about for months or years afterwards.
By the fifth or sixth stroke I was yowling like a cat in a bath. It’s a good job our neighbors are illegal pharmacists, otherwise we’d probably have a lot of explaining to do when I make noises like that.
When the tenth one was done, he reassured me again and he gave me a little minute to calm down before the next thing, although he didn’t unfasten me or put me in the corner (I suppose he didn’t want to run the risk that I might run off again; even though I have never run away from the corner, I have tried to run away during a couple of spankings).
The next thing was the wooden spoon. We have a very special wooden spoon that I found in one of those luxury homewares shops. I think fancy people with photogenic kitchens use spoons like that for cooking posh food like Lobster Soup. It’s made from a very dense wood with a tight grain, so it’s got no flex at all. It’s got a very smooth surface and, for the fact it’s only eight inches long, it’s probably my least favorite implement, because it can get into parts of my anatomy that most things don’t reach, like the sensitive skin immediately surrounding my bottom hole. To be honest if I’d known how much trouble that spoon would cause me, I never would have bought it. It didn’t help that we had it for about three years before he ever used it on me, and when he did, my strong negative reaction was enough to make it a staple and I’ve never gotten away from it ever since.
He went for twenty of the spoon.
I cried a lot for the first five or so swats, then I reached that point where I wasn’t crying any more, just feeling. We don’t talk about that much in spanking literature, and maybe it’s just me who does that, but when I get past a certain threshold, I stop crying again and mostly stop moving. It’s not subspace, but it’s definitely a place where I seem to stop being at odds with what is happening and I just let it wash over me.
The last thing was the thin cane again. This time he used it very quickly, and over the top of the cane and spoon marks, it made my bottom feel like it was being stung by a hive of bees. I was still beyond crying though.
After he stopped, we did more intimate things then we talked, and he told me that he wasn’t going to ground me this time, but if I did it again he was going to ground me for six weeks and he was going to throw out all the spanking implements except for the big cane, which he would use once a week the whole time I was grounded.
I am not going to do that again, and driving to Whitby was uncomfortable, but my friend and I were walking around for most of the day which was good. Sitting, two days later, is still uncomfortable.
People think spanking isn’t an effective punishment for those of us who like spanking, and there’s a lot of BDSM people who like to stand around speculating about that without troubling themselves to ask anyone who actually does it. It’s becoming an echo chamber of sorts in the comments sections of some BDSM websites, and I don’t think that some people can mentally separate the group of people who just like pain from the group of people who don’t like pain but need it anyway. It’s that silly assumption that every submissive is also a masochist.
Spanking is a way of reconciling difficulties between two people, it’s a way of keeping communication open when plenty of people in vanilla relationships (and BDSM ones without a punishment dynamic) have no recourse but to argue for days, not speak to each other, start an affair, or “punish” their partners by denying them sex. To be honest, I think emotionally that I couldn’t stand being in a vanilla relationship like that for the long term. I’ve had other relationships in the past and I thought they were dull and disappointing because I can’t stand being in a relationship where people don’t solve their differences. My pet hate is people telling their husband/wife that they’re fine when they’re not.
I feel like I have to put this disclaimer at the bottom of this post, because I don’t want to be in trouble with the Domestic Violence Brigade, who are championing a worthy cause by tackling non-consensual domestic violence, but they sometimes get the wrong idea about people like me:
Everything mentioned in this post was a consensual work of fantasy that either never happened or happened consensually or something along those lines. My husband may or may not be a small island off the straits of Gibraltar. The word “spanking” may or may not mean “fed me chocolate.”