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.

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..... 

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. 

Before- 

After- 

           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. 

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.... 

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 JUST WISH IT WAS EASIER.

 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? 

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. 

Series Saturday Part 2

Series Saturday Part 1
My eyes closed and I rested my head up against the corner. I felt like I was on a Tilt o Whirl. J walked in the house and he slammed the door. I jumped and quickly opened my eyes. Steadying myself against the walls, I was no longer amused with the predicament I got myself into. "Okay, maybe I went a little overboard with the wine." I said. My stomach was churning. I felt like I was going to be sick. It could've been my nerves, but I'm pretty sure it was the 4 glasses of wine I drank with dinner.

I could hear J fiddling around downstairs for a few minutes. After 3 failed attempts to turn the alarm on, he yelled up the stairs, "What's the god forsaken code again?" That made me smile. It seemed he also had too much to drink. Maybe he wouldn't notice my lack of balance and flushed cheeks. "3-4-3-4." I yelled down.  He entered the correct code and the system turned on. "I tried that, three times." He mumbled. As he climbed the stairs two at a time, my stomach felt worse. This time it was nerves. I could feel his gaze on me when he walked in, but he didn't say anything. Drawers opened and closed with force. He was looking for something. Was he in the "implement" drawer or was he just getting his pajamas? He went to the bathroom and shut the door. It seemed like he was in there forever.

 I closed my eyes for a what seemed like a moment, but when I opened them again, the light was off. "J?" I called. "Yes, Dear?" He answered. I didn't need to look at him to know he was smiling. I could hear it in his voice. "How long are you going to leave me in the corner?" "How long is it going to take for you to sober up?" He asked. "That might take a while." I sighed and he laughed. "Yes, I suppose it will take a while. Why don't you come over here and I'll see if I can speed up that process." I turned slowly and cautiously toward the bed. "How are you going to do that?" I asked. "Hmmm. I have a few ideas. We have that new strap just begging to be used. The paddle always leaves quite an impression." I was almost to the bed, but I didn't know if he was serious or not, so I hesitated going any further. He grabbed me and pulled me in bed next to him. "But I think I'll just cuddle you, because you look so darn cute in those pajamas."

I cuddled up next to him, but couldn't seem to get close enough. When I finally found the right spot, he squeezed me tight and rubbed his face up against mine. His face was stubbly and he smelled of whiskey and toothpaste. I smiled to myself. "I don't think it would be possible for me to love this man any more than I already do." I thought. "I missed you so much tonight. That was mean to leave me here alone while you went out with Marie and Doug." "How did you know I was out with Marie and Doug?" "Who else would you be drinking whiskey with until midnight? Did they wonder where I was?" "No, they didn't wonder because I told them. I said you were a naughty little brat this evening and you were spending the rest of the night with your nose in the corner, thinking about the extremely hard spanking you were going to get once I got home." I giggled into his chest. "I know you would never do that." "Of course they wondered. I told them you weren't feeling like yourself and you needed a night at home to unwind." He said as he rubbed my back. His hand got lower and lower until it reached my bottom. It rested there for a moment and then SMACK. "And did you unwind, young lady?" "Yes, Sir." I said as I blushed and tucked myself under his chin. He gently grabbed my face and forced me to look at him. "Are you sure? The hair brush is sitting right here if you need a reminder on how to not act like a spoiled brat." "No, I don't need a reminder. I was just tired. I'm sorry." "In that case, I guess I need to start enforcing your bedtime again. But not tonight. Tonight we have more important things to tend to. Bedtimes will have wait." He said as he slipped my shirt off and smashed his lips against mine.

I woke up the next morning and I could barely open my eyes. "Oh my god. I think I'm dying." I moaned. "You aren't dying, Drama Queen. Maybe you should think about this next time you decide to drink an entire bottle of wine." J said as he kissed my forehead and rolled out of bed. "No, don't go. Come back." I whined. "If I lay with you, who will make you breakfast and bring you aspirin?" He asked as he slipped his boxers on. "The butler? Or did you send him home again?" I asked, sarcastically. "Yes, I let poor Jeeves have the weekend off. But I won't be gone long." "Why are you doing this? Aren't you still mad about my tantrum?" "No, I'm not mad. I never was mad. You are just the most frustrating brat in the world. I'm doing this because I feel bad. Who do you think opened that wine last night and left it on the counter for you to find?" He smirked. "You are in soooo much trouble when you get back up here, Mister." I said as I shook my head. "Ooooo. You're scary when you're hung over." He said as he turned toward the door.

 "I'll come help you. Where are those cute little pajamas you loved so much last night? Are they still wearable or did you shred them when you ripped them off me?" I asked as I went to get out of bed. He put his hand up to stop me. "They are right here. But you are staying in bed. I'll be back in 20 minutes." "But what am I supposed to do while you're gone? I'll miss you too much." I said with a pout. He walked over to the bed and gave me a kiss. "Roll over." He whispered in my ear. As I rolled over onto my stomach, he threw the sheet down to the foot of the bed. He picked up the hairbrush and gave me ten hard smacks. "Owwwwwwwww." I groaned. He set the brush down, rubbed my bottom and then covered me up with the sheet. "Why did you do that?" I asked as I rubbed my burning butt. "Because I wanted to. Now you will have something to do while I'm gone. When you're done rubbing the sting out of your cheeks, I'll be back up here with breakfast."

Series Saturday Part 1

I walk in the door and throw my coat and purse on the floor. I feel like throwing myself on the floor and crying. Honestly, if J wasn't sitting on the couch, reading the paper, I would. "Hi." He says, his voice void of any expression. He looks at me and then down at my coat and purse. I ignore his stare. "Hi." I say as I kick my shoes off. He watches, with eye brows raised, as they slide down the hallway, the hardwood floor scratching them. "Are those the new shoes you just had to have?" "Mmhmm. I had a bad day." I whisper as I try to curl up on his lap. He smells so good. It's not cologne. It's what I call his "man smell." He crosses his leg and holds the paper firmly in front of him, making it impossible for me to get on his lap. "I said I had a bad day." I whine. "Mmhmm." He says. He's mocking me and I'm not amused. 

His eyes stay locked on the words in front of him. "So move your arms and legs and let me cuddle with you." "Go pick up your things from the floor. I sent the butler home early." We don't have a butler. "I will as soon as I sit here and relax for a minute." I say softly as I smack the news paper. It rips down the middle. "Dammit, C. I said pick up your things and put them where they belong." He yells....and I mean yells as he grabs my arm and lands 10 crisp smacks to my bottom. He always spanks me. He never yells. "No. I'm going to relax first." I say as I lay flat on the couch and close my eyes, hiding my tears. I won't rub the sting out of my bottom. He will not have that satisfaction. And I like the sting. It will remind me how impertinent he is being. He stomps out to the kitchen and slams pots around. I had an exhausting day. As soon as I close my eyes, I'm sleeping.

 I wake up to the alarm clock going off. It startles me and I run to the bedroom to turn it off. Next to the alarm clock is a note.

             -C 

  I put the left over casserole in the oven. It should still be warm. Eat. I mean it, young lady. You are already in enough trouble as it is. You don't want to push me more. After you've eaten and cleaned up the kitchen go take a shower, get your pajamas on and then pick up your things from the foyer. Wait for me in the corner in the bedroom. I went out to dinner with some friends. I'll be home before bedtime. 

           -J 

Hot tears run down my face. "Out to dinner with friends and you expect me to eat this casserole that wasn't even good yesterday? After the day I had, don't you think I'd like to go out to dinner with you and drink wine and eat bread and talk and laugh? But no, I'm sitting here eating nasty casserole and getting myself ready for bed like an 8 year old. I won't do it." All of this was said out loud, to no one. I went on and on cursing him and pouting until something caught my eye; the hairbrush was sitting on the bed. "Surely he will not use that on me just because I ripped his news paper." I say, trying to reassure myself. "Maybe I will have some casserole after all. 

After a few pieces of casserole and a few more glasses of wine, I float down the hallway to take my shower and get ready for bed. 20 minutes later I'm standing in the corner, involuntarily swaying back and forth. I am no longer nervous and don't care that the hairbrush is on the bed, begging to be used. I am feeling indestructible....and drunk. I hear his car pull into the garage. "Oh god." I say with a giggle. 

....