Tuesday, February 17, 2015

RIP Bath Brush

EDIT- I am reposting this after almost 4 years. This is a really lovely post for two reasons. #1. I forgot all the details of this weekend. #2. I am now an old, married woman to the man in this story.

What a weekend. I never wanted it to end. But it did. And now I'm back to the real work of teaching snot nosed children their ABC's.

So here is a story. This story is fiction. This is not what happened during my weekend. I would never be able to write about my weekend in such great detail without being extremely embarrassed, so here is the story of a different girl who also had a fabulous weekend.

The weekend didn't start off the way she was expecting it to. He was running late. Work took longer than he thought. The weather was crappy. He cancelled dinner plans. She was not happy about that. So she pouted. She got in the shower and pouted. Got dressed and pouted. She pouted until he told her to knock it off. Then she was happy because he told her what to do. They timed it perfectly so they would both arrive at the hotel at the same time. It was her job to get drinks for the evening, so with her cute dress and cute hair she went off into the city in hopes of finding a carry out.

With an overnight bag and two six packs of beer she made her way back to the hotel. The wind was outrageous. Thankfully she hadn't been spanked yet, because the dress was blowing up very high. Then it started to rain. And her cute hair was no longer cute. She finally made it back to the hotel. She went to the lobby. He wasn't there. So she sent him a text. No answer. She waited. 5 minutes. 10 minutes. She texted again. No answer. She became frustrated and mad. "What am I going to do with all this damn beer. I can't take it on the train." She said as she stood up and got ready to leave. She sat back down. "10 more minutes and then I'm leaving." Luckily for him, he finally got her texts and she finally got his. The cell phone service in the hotel was useless. So they found each other and they made it to the room and they sat and drank a beer.

He looked at the clock and realized they had been talking non-stop for two hours. "If you feel comfortable and would like to stay, it's time to get started." She felt comfortable. She was ready. He asked her if she brought what he asked her to bring. She did. So with her bath brush in one hand and her hairbrush in the other, she stood in front of him like a naughty little girl. This hotel was a very special hotel. It had the perfect spanking chair. He sat down and took the brush.

 "Do you know why you're getting this spanking?"
 "Yes. Because I lied."
 "I will not put up with lying. I'm going to make that clear right now."

 He made her stand next to him while he was talking to her. She had no where else to look but at him. She wanted to be over his knee staring at the carpet, but she wasn't. He looked at her and didn't say anything. She felt small and nervous.

 "Pull your panties down and get over my knee."
She didn't want to pull her panties down, but he had a bath brush and he didn't look like he was kidding around. So she pulled them down the tiniest bit and looked at him and grinned. He still wasn't amused, so she laid over his lap.

Earlier conversation- 
 "Why don't you use warm up spankings with discipline spankings?" 
 "Do you like being spanked?" 
 "Well a discipline spanking isn't a spanking I want you to like. I want it to hurt from start to finish, so no warm ups." 

True to his word, there was no warm up. There was lecturing. She doesn't remember it. She was too busy squirming and wiggling and begging for him to stop. There was also a lot of giggling from her. "Obviously this isn't hard enough if you are still giggling." He said. That made her giggle more. "No, it hurts. I don't know why I'm laughing." So she wiggled and begged and tried to block and got her hand pinned to her back and whined and wiggled some more. And then it was over. She pulled her panties up and jumped on the bed without any wincing or oww-ing. "I don't think that was hard enough." He said. She just giggled. "I don't know your tolerance. Do you think that was enough to show you that I don't want you to lie to me any more. I don't care how little or stupid you think the lie is, I don't want you doing it. Was that enough?" she hesitated. "I don't know." "I don't think it was. So if I don't spank you more you're going to think I will let you get off easily." "No, I won't. I just think you're too nice. I mean it hurt while you were spanking me, it just doesn't hurt any more." (Author's note- NEVER say, "You're too nice." Never.)

So then he wanted to show her that he wasn't too nice. He pulled her back over his lap and held her hand down and spanked her with that bath brush until it was too cracked to use any more. So then he used the hair brush and that was a joke. It was too light. So he told her to stand up and he went to his bag and got his implements out. He set everything on the edge of the bed, so he could reach them. He grabbed his ping pong paddle. It was just too loud. The walls were paper thin and everything could be heard from the hall way. Then he went to grab something from off the bed and he accidentally dumped her off his lap. She giggled. But not for long. He began using the tawse. She didn't think it was funny any more and she really didn't think he was too nice. He lectured and he spanked and he held her hand in the small of her back. And when she struggled enough it slipped out and she covered her butt, he smacked her hand.

Now this girl had never been spanked by anyone who didn't stop when she said stop. And when she said wait they always waited. But not him. He made it clear he wasn't going to stop until she used her safe word. He was in control until she felt like she couldn't take it any more or if she felt uncomfortable. So she yelled stop and she yelled wait, but he didn't do either of those. All she could do was cry. She cried and cried and cried. And she felt so much better while she was crying.

She said things like, "That's enough." And "Not so hard." And he said things like, "I'll decide when it's enough." And "I think this is just hard enough."  And after what he later thought was about 60 strokes, he stopped. She cried. He hugged her. And then the fun began.

There were canes and straps and belts and paddles in his bag, so they were set for the entire weekend. She finally got to see what a cane feels like, but after two days of spanking, she wasn't marking from the cane. Not on her thighs or her butt, so he suggested the front of her thighs. He said she would be able to see it and it would definitely mark, so they tried it because she really, really likes bruises and marks. It worked. It felt like she got 3rd degree burns, but the marks were amazing.

On the second night she must have been behaving because she got a good girl spanking. Fingers were exploring and hands were spanking and she was truly in heaven.

And then it was Sunday. Time to leave the hotel. Time to go home. Sunday would be horrible or so she thought. She couldn't get out of bed. That would mean they were that much closer to leaving. It took some motivation from the cane and tawse. She finally got up and got ready and they had a fabulous (mostly) vanilla afternoon of walks and parks and people watching and ice cream and little spanks here and there. And then it was Monday and she was counting down to the next time she would see him.

Friday, June 17, 2011

Hey, Remember that one time my room-mate heard me getting spanked??

aaaahhhh the joy of pushing buttons. I love pushing buttons, testing limits, sticking one toe...maybe two over the line and then pulling it back. So I was in a playful mood. "E" was on the bed on his stomach. A plethora of implements were in reach. I couldn't resist. I gave him a swat on each cheek with the evil wooden hairbrush. "Before you do that again, listen to what I'm going to...." SWAT SWAT. Another two swats on each cheek. The next thing I know, I was on my stomach with my hands pinned underneath me and he was going to town on me with the ping pong paddle.

Don't get me wrong, it hurt, but I couldn't stop laughing. I was so amused by the fact he told me to wait to hear what was going to happen to me if I smacked him again and before he could even get the words out, I already smacked him. My laughing just fueled the fire. Later, we realized the paddle was the second implement my butt broke. Back to the story- I'm laughing, he's spanking. The ping pong paddle is loud. He was scolding. Something like, "When I tell you to stop, I mean it." Which of course just made me laugh harder. I was also begging him to stop every once in a while. Long story short, we weren't being quiet because my room-mate was gone for the night. He got frustrated and stopped. He got up and went out to the living room and I followed him, implement in hand, smacking him a few times. We were laughing and messing around and then I stopped dead in my tracks. My room-mate's keys were sitting on the side table by the door. I wanted to cry. She walked in sometime during our very loud play time. I live in a pretty small apartment and my bedroom is right by the front door. Unless she had a pair of my earplugs in, she heard us. After I stopped laughing, the panic kicked in. After a few minutes of contemplating moving out, I sent her a text.

       Me-  "Oh Hi. Thought you were going to be out late, ya whore? For your inconvenience, please enjoy some strawberry shortcake." (I had just made home-made strawberry shortcake.)
      Her- "haha. The storm was too intense, so I came back. You two rascals enjoy yourselves. My TV is turned up very loud and all I can hear in here is the sound of justice and Elliot Stabler." (AKA she was watching Law and Order.)

 She hasn't said anything about it, but I haven't seen her since Sunday, when E was still here. Hopefully, she forgot about it. Highly unlikely, but I'm still hopeful.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

The way to (this) Woman's Heart

Men are simple creatures. We all know that. They know that. Food- the way to a Man's heart. Well, food and other things that involve mouths and hands and .... I'm sure you can figure out where I'm going with this.

Women on the other hand, we're tricky. We're crazy. All of us. I've never met one woman who isn't at least a little bit insane. It's not as easy as food (but truffles help.) Truth be told, I don't even know what I want. How in the hell is he supposed to figure it out. Low and behold, he did. This past week, He found one of the secret passages to my heart.

The Crop and Flowers 

 The crop is pretty much useless on my butt. It is effective on more tender areas; thighs, nipples, boobs, etc. I'm not saying these are places the crop was used on me, I'm just giving some examples of places it might be useful. 

And flowers. Flowers do the trick for me. And it's such a nice surprise when you think the knocking at your door is going to be the apartment manager telling you to pay your rent or get out, but it's really a sweaty delivery guy mispronouncing your name and giving you flowers! 

Caution- The crop is a bit noisy. Make sure you're room-mate isn't home or isn't planning on coming home..... 

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Is that seriously it? Seriously?

I got caned last night. A fun, playful, "why not" caning. I wanted marks. The fun, playful, "why not" caning was not leaving marks. So with my head smashed into a pillow (my roomate was home) and my butt high in the air, I got three strokes of the cane. I cannot begin to describe the pain I felt. Two strokes went over toooo far on my leg. Untouched skin. Holy fuck. The fan blowing air on them hurt. The scented lotion felt like icy hot. The 3rd landed right above the 2nd.  We needed to work on where he stood and where my butt was and me keeping still. Wasn't so bad for the first time. The stinging went away after a few minutes. I had to see it, so he took a picture. When I looked at it I wanted to scream, "THAT'S IT?" It felt like my butt looked like this-

It did not. 



           Really After- 

So now I envy the girls in the videos that take 6 (and sometimes more) cane strokes without passing out because honestly, I don't think I'd make it to stroke 4. 

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Who wants to play a game??

What you need-
    A deck of cards
    2 wooden implements
    2 leather implements
    1 spanker
    1 spankee
    2 Ice packs (one for each cheek)

We played with the bath brush, the hair brush, the strap and the tawse. I didn't get to pick the implements we used, just the ones we didn't....

Shuffle the cards, Spankees. Trust me. The Spankers WILL cheat. You are going to flip 3 cards. The first card determines leather or wood. Red is wood. Black is leather. The next card determines which implement. 1-9 is the less "hurty" of the 2. 10-A is the worst one. The next card determines how many swats. 1-10= that many swats. Any face card = 10. I swear I alternated between the worst wooden implement and the worst leather implement for 6 rounds. 10 swats EVERY TIME. I wish I was lying. 10 with the tawse. 10 with the hair brush. 10 with the tawse. 10 with the hair brush. My readers are smart. I'm sure you understand where I'm going with this. "That doesn't seem like it would be that bad, C." Well, we played this (not) fun game after he spanked me with the wooden spatula from hell for my attitude. I was begging and whining to stop, but we made it through all 52 cards.

After I was as red as an apple and so sore I felt like I had rug burn on my bum, he leaned my over a stool and went to town on me with the bath brush. The reason-

I have what some might call a little bit of a pinching problem.... 

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Disclaimer- This is not a post. This is a rant.

I am so sick of keeping this secret. I feel like it would be easier to wear a shirt that says "In order to function, I need spanking....No really. I like and need to be spanked." At first, friends and family would think I was crazy. And then it would just be a normal thing. I wish it was as easy as telling what flavor of ice cream to order you.... Maybe that was the wrong example. I wish it was as easy as giving someone a drink order at Starbucks... Okay, that's actually not easy for me at all.


 I don't want to have everyone call me C anymore. C is not my real name. Neither is Darling. I just want to say, "here is my name. Use it. " But I can't. My name is unique. I can pretty much guarantee you don't know anyone else with the same name, so if by some slim chance you do know me in vanilla world and you read my blog, there is no way in hell you aren't going to think/know it's me. I don't care. I feel like sending everyone I know an email with the link to my blog. Then I won't have to constantly delete my browsing history or change my passwords. I won't care if someone is looking over my shoulder while I'm writing a post. I'll be able to let my little brother play Angry Birds on my iphone without the fear of a tweet popping up that he can't read.

 I don't want to look on spankfinder to find someone. The only people I've found on spankfinder are men at least 40 years older than me, looking for a sexual relationship. WHERE ON MY PROFILE DID I GIVE THAT IMPRESSION? When I put an age range up, it's like a speed limit. It's a speed limit and I'm a cop. A mean cop. If you go over 37 MPH, I'm giving you a ticket. No getting out of it. Same thing with age. If you are over 37, I am not interested. If you could have aided in my creation, I AM NOT INTERESTED.

 I'm not a switch.I don't want to switch. I think switching is great. Yah for people who know what they want. That is not what I want. I am a bottom. I am not a top. I am good at topping, but I don't like it. I don't want to do it. Please don't ask me. I have a problem saying no, so I'll say yes and then I'll hate it. And then in order to end it, I'll have to be mean and I just don't want to be mean.

I want to be able to walk down the street or into the library or a bar and be able to meet a guy that doesn't think I'm insane for wanting a DD relationship.

Here is what I'm looking for. Maybe we could all pull our resources and make this happen soonish. I've got a wedding to go to the first week of May. I'd like a date.

I want a man. Age 23-37. Attractive. Taller than 5'4. Able to have an intelligent conversation. Doesn't cringe at the thought of children. Has a good personality and a sense of humor. Knows the difference between their, there and they're. Can handle a DD relationship. Lives within a 30 mile radius of C-town, North Carolina. Celebrates holidays. Isn't already married. Has a good scolding voice.

Is that too much to ask for? 

Friday, March 18, 2011

One Could Do Worse Than Be a Swinger Of Birches.

 I haven't been able to write anything in almost a week. How pathetic! So much for that goal of writing every other day. I have ideas. I have the time (because I'm not studying nearly as much as I should be.) I couldn't finish a story because I was getting stage fright. When I started writing, I didn't think anyone was going to look at this blog. Seriously. I never imagined people would be reading it and commenting on it. Now I'm not saying that I have a million readers a day, but I average about 200 a day. That scares me. That's a lot of people reading my stories and thoughts and ideas. But tonight I decided I'm going to take a deep breath and pretend no one is reading it. (This doesn't mean I want you to stop visiting and it really, really doesn't mean I want you to stop commenting.) 

Today, like a good student, I went to a coffee shop to study. I didn't take my computer. Just my books. I was focused. Flying through chapters. and then BAM. I came across the word birch. My brain instantly went from "student C" to "spanko C." All I could think of was a birching. I read a little farther and there was a whole paragraph of what birch (the herb) is used for. You will never guess what it said. 

                  Birch is used as an anti-inflammatory and a pain reliever. Good for joint pain. Applied topically to sores to aid in healing.           

Hmmm. That didn't seem right, so I grabbed my book about spanking implements that I just had laying around. What I read contradicted the first book. 

                 Birch is used as an inflammatory and a pain inducer. Not good for joints. Applied topically to bottoms to produce sores. 

I immediately wrote the editor of the 2nd book and pointed out that he was extremely wrong and birches needed to be removed from his farcical book of implements.

After I was finished thinking about the inappropriate birch, I started thinking about Robert Frost's poem, Birches. I love Robert Frost. Love is not the right word to use to describe my obsession with him. I'm considering changing this blog to "Naughty things I would like to do with/to Robert Frost." It's in his best interest (and mine) that he's dead. I like my permanent record the way it is- restraining order free. Anyway, I think Robert Frost enjoyed spanking. 
                         Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
                     Before them over their heads to dry in the sun. 
Maybe it's just me, but it seems like that is a pretty good position in which to spank a naughty girl. 

One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

When I read the words "swinger of birches" I can't help but picture him, with his hair parted down the side, his kind eyes and his strong nose, swinging a birch rod through the air. I'm the one he's birching. He doesn't do it hard. I'm crying because I've disappointed him.

 After he birches me he gets me beautiful flowers and I wear my white gloves and we cuddle and nap on this adorable blanket. We move to London because he knows I've always wanted an English accent and we live happily ever after. 

The end.