Arianna's Looking Glass

Moving Day

2011-02-03T14:39:00.003-05:00

Through Arianna's Looking Glass is moving . . . . . .

But don't worry -- I'm not moving far, and you all are invited to drop by the new place anytime you want.

The new address is www.ariannaacquiesces.com.

If you do stop by (and I hope you do), please forgive the mess for the next little while. There is still some construction underway.

The exact decor is also being worked out. Feel free to leave any suggestions.

When it's all finished, it should be a nice place for friends to visit.

Posting will resume despite the ongoing construction.

Meet Me In The Boardroom

2011-01-26T23:50:00.003-05:00

I truly am a fortunate woman to have such an understanding, enlightened man in my life who is willing to listen to my angst over so many things -- not the least of which are the myriad frustrations that come along with being a woman forging a career in an industry predominantly made up of men -- men who are not nearly as enlightened and understanding and forward-thinking as you.

It was so wonderful of you to not protest in the slightest when I interrupted Sunday's NFL conference championship games to engage you in a lengthy discussion regarding the lack of women on the boards of directors of Fortune 500 companies. It was very sweet of you to listen so attentively to my concerns about having hit the proverbial "glass ceiling."

S.K.I.R.T.S in the Boardroom: A Woman's Survival Guide to Success

Honestly, how can it be that women fill less than fifteen percent of the seats on the boards of public companies in the United States in the year 2011?

This number is ridiculously low when considered in context of a recent report by the Catalyst Research Firm, which found on average, that Fortune 500 companies with more women on their boards of directors turned in better financial performances than those with fewer women directors. Goldman Sachs researchers have estimated that by closing the employment gap between women and men, U.S. GDP could rise by 9%, and Europe's by 13%.

Maybe France has the right idea with its recent decision to issue legislation requiring that the composition of the boards of public companies be at least 40% women. But I digress . . . the point of this post is not to try to find answers to these questions, but to commend your willingness to listen to me despite the fact that one of football's oldest and most classic rivalries (Greenbay Packers v. Chicago Bears) was playing itself out in high definition at the same time I was demanding your attention.

It was also very, very sweet of you to come up with an idea as to how you might be able to make me feel better about the whole glass ceiling debacle.

The sentiment behind your most heartfelt invitation to join you in your boardroom was truly magnanimous.

However, sweetheart, I think you have just proven that men perhaps cannot multi-task quite as well as women.

It appears that in your effort to give me your undivided attention in the midst of the NFL play-offs, there was a disconnect between my meaning and your interpretation of the term "boardroom."

I was not distraught over not being invited to join meetings held in rooms where these types of boards are regularly used.

Thus, while appreciative of your thoughtfulness, it is not necessary that we conduct the "board" meeting you planned to hold in your boardroom.

And, yes, I have proofread the memo you dictated and have committed its content to memory as well as having made a notation on my calendar to remind me that the Packers and the Steelers will be playing in the Super Bowl on February 6.

No, I do not anticipate that it will be necessary to interrupt that game to discuss the President's recent State of the Union Address, world peace, or the upcoming spring Prada line.

Hence, you should feel free to go ahead and cancel February's meeting in your "board" room as well.

There will be no need for attitude adjustments or other board action in hour house.

Staying Warm

2011-01-20T00:30:00.000-05:00

Work is taking me away from you today.

I won't be gone long -- less than 48 hours -- but sometimes a single hour seems too long to be away from you and this is one of those times.

I especially hate being without you on dark, cold winter nights.

It is cold outside and even colder where I am going.

No matter how warm my hotel room may be tonight, you will not be there. Without you, I won't be able to shake the January cold.

I will miss not having you to warm me from the January cold the way only you know how.

And when I say warm me from the cold, this is not what I have in mind.

While a hot bubble bath might be nice, this not the kind of warm I have in mind either.

But this, on the other hand, would be a step in the right direction.

At the end of a long work day, I love knowing I am on my way home to you and that you will make me forget all about the stresses of the day.

Tonight, I will miss the warm feeling that comes along with knowing I am on my way home to you.

But when I close my eyes, I will dream of all the ways you will warm me when I return on Friday.

And when you close your eyes tonight, I hope you dream the same warm dreams.

And just to be sure that we are dreaming on the same wavelength, this is not the kind of warmth that sweet dreams are made of . . . .

Two Days Ago We Disagreed

2011-01-13T16:56:00.000-05:00

We express our frustration, anger and hurt in very different ways. You are often loud and aggressive. I may argue back but will quickly retreat inside myself. I become quiet and shut you out. Eventually, you go quiet too, and the silence becomes a chasm between us that neither of us is willing to try to cross.

TTWD has made such painful periods of separation far less frequent. We have a new way of addressing frustration, anger and hurt. You have less reason to be loud because you have my promise of submission, and I have less reason to go quiet because your loud aggression is no longer there to give me an excuse to retreat.

Two days ago, we disagreed. I was painstakingly choosing my words in order not to be interpreted as being disrespectful -- and so I was shocked and hurt when you declared me to be so. I know the importance we both put on tone and deliverance and I tried to be cognizant of that as well, but I can only conclude that I failed because you felt attacked and accused. I know the words I used alone could not reasonably have been interpreted as an attack or accusation, so it had to be the deliverance of those words. We were discussing a topic that both of us are very passionate about, so I imagine that despite my conscious effort to choose the right words, those words were still delivered more sharply than I meant them.

TTWD has given you the strength not to strike out when you feel attacked or accused. You are now stern and reasoned where once you were reactionary. There is "the look" and then the authoritative but quiet warning: "Arianna, I will not be spoken to that way," and with that I am on notice that I have a choice: regroup and change my approach or face the consequences.

But two days ago, we disagreed, and not only was I shocked that you found me disrespectful, but I was more shocked at the words you chose, which felt much more reactionary than reasoned. I immediately retreated -- quite literally -- leaving the room. I showered and left for work with the only other exchange between us being a cool and distant exchange of good-byes. For a day and a half we were divided by the chasm of silence that we had suffered through so regularly before this TTWD.

There are no words for how much the silence hurts. I am almost certain that you feel the same way.

When we are both hurting like this, it is a struggle not to be passive aggressive or sullen and withdrawn.

Somewhere in the darkness of our room on the second night after our disagreement, we found ourselves in reasonable and honest and non-accusatory conversation -- rationally seeking an answer for what we both feel so passionately about -- we didn't find the answer but at least agreed on how we might change our approaches to reach what we agree is a common goal. The conversation was good.

We were both aware that we had not talked at all about how badly our first attempt at the conversation had gone -- I thought it was one of those times that we had tacitly agreed to let it go -- both of us understanding that we could have done better but content that we had found a way to be on the same page with respect to what had initially caused the divide.

So, when you announced right before we went to sleep that I would be spanked the following night for my disrespect, I was surprised and maybe a little hurt.

I felt myself becoming defensive, but struggled to choke down the heated response I wanted to make. Before any words came out of my mouth, I reminded myself of my promise to you:

If we disagree, you will have the final say. You will listen to my view, but if after hearing me, you still believe that you are right and that I should be spanked, then I will acquiesce to your decision.

I made the decision to trust you to keep your promise to listen to me respectfully; I resolved not let my hurt and anger at your actions throw us off course. I calmly explained to you how your reactionary words had hurt me. You apologized but then said you were reacting to me having attacked you. Again, a deep breath, and a quick count to 10 before I pointed out to you that you would never tolerate me arguing that my own disrespect should be excused because it was provoked by your preceding actions. You essentially responded that "this was different."

Every fiber of my being wanted to argue with you . . . . . and I must admit that I was shocked when I did not take you on. I calmly stated that I believed you were holding me to a standard that you were not demanding of yourself and when you disagreed with me, I let that be the last word.

I am committed to us and to our promises. I have given you this gift of submission, and I will work to be strong enough not to take it back when I do not agree with you. That kind of submission is not submission at all.

When you tell me to go and to wait for you upstairs, I will . . .

I will not let pride or anger blind me from the most important truth: you are the love of my life. I am devoted to you and in love with you. Your need and your decision to punish me for my actions stand separate and apart from any judgment to be made about your actions.

Perhaps, in truth, we both behaved badly in the way we initially handled our disagreement. We have agreed that you will spank me for my bad behavior; your own bad behavior does not lead to such a consequence. But who said life was fair?

I don't want fair. I want us at our best. As we have made this journey, I have seen that a spanking revives us both on many levels. It reminds us of my promise of submission and of your promise to protect me and keep me safe; it makes you feel heard and understood; it brings resolution; there is no chasm of silence; there are no walls; there is an intimacy between us that I have never shared with another and know that I will never share with another.

I know you will bend me the way you want me, you will spank me the way you choose, you will take me in ways I did not know was possible.

My bottom will go from lilly-white, to pink, to searing red. Somewhere in that metamorphosis, the spanking will cease to be about the disagreement we had two days ago. It's meaning will be much larger. It will be about who we are, how we connect, what I need from you and what you need to be able to give to me. You will feel the panic, the struggle, the exhaustion and finally the acquiescence.

In that moment, we will both be struck by the significance of my submission. When we first began as us more than a decade ago, I never would have believed that I would be capable of giving so much of me to anyone. It is terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

And in the moments that follow my acquiescence, it is both peaceful and passionate . . . . when you finish, that we disagreed two days ago will no longer matter to either of us.

Belated New Year Resolutions

2011-01-08T22:42:00.001-05:00

Sometimes I'm absent-minded;
Sometimes I'm kind of cross

Sometimes despite my best efforts, I may act as if I'm boss

I know I shouldn't do it if I want to sit,

But then I go and do it anyway, and you make the lesson fit

Sometimes I'm quiet and will retreat, especially when I'm worried

Sometimes I'm just plain stubborn when I think I'm being hurried

Being stubborn you won't tolerate, you've made this very clear

If only I could convince my mouth and brain to listen to my rear

Sometimes I spend too much time glued to my computer

On these days you grab your tools and act as troubleshooter

Sometimes I try to put up walls and refuse to reveal my thought

Although I ache to share with you, I hide, lonely and distraught

On these occasions you rescue me and remind me of our promise

No one leaves; we always share, we don't forget our love is timeless

And now because the title of this post promised new resolution,

I promise to correct these sometimes things, and respect you as my sovereign

If you my dear will promise me relief from your stern hand,

I will try to be very sweet, and follow your command

Yes, resolved I am, but there still may be times when I act spoiled . . . . and perhaps a little moody too

And when you spank me for these sins please promise to remember:

That the one thing I am and will always be is in love with you

Happy New Year

2011-01-01T22:16:00.001-05:00

Thanks to all of you who not only followed this blog in 2010, but commented and encouraged me to write as well. May 2011 bring much health, love and happiness to you and yours.

Amazing I know, but I have not been spanked once this entire year! I wonder how much longer I will be able to say that?

New Year's Eve

2010-12-31T12:00:00.003-05:00

2011 is almost here. How shall we bring in the New Year?

We could get dressed up and go out to celebrate.

The nice thing about dressing up is that eventually you have to come home and get undressed.

Of course we could get dressed up and stay in.

Perhaps catch up on some reading.

Or nap a little while we wait for the clock to strike midnight.

We could make our New Year's resolutions, but then I might feel compelled to break them and assist you in breaking yours . . . .

Such would likely lead to someone over someone else's knee. So perhaps those resolutions are better left for tomorrow.

We could reflect on 2010 -- the renewed promises, the new promises, the intimate moments, the difficult moments, the passion, the laughter, the tears, the love.

We could try to recall each spanking associated with those moments, but I do not think that there are enough minutes left in 2010 for us to properly accomplish that task.

You could do that "toppy" thing you do where you give me that look and then quietly but sternly direct me to do . . . . . well, umm, you know the things that you direct me to do.

Whatever it is that we decide to do, I will be happy so long as we do it together. We shall declare New Year's Eve 2010 to be the celebration of "Us," and ring in 2011 with the wisdom gained from all that we have learned and shared in 2010.

I am blessed to be amongst those few women who can look at her husband and say not only do I love him as much as the day I married him, but I love him more with each passing day. My love for you truly grows greater with each New Year.

I am yours -- all of me: the sweet, the ornery, the moody, the good, the bad, the-sometimes-submissive-with-good-intentions-to-be-the-always-submissive, the girl who needs you and woman who loves you always.

And because I am yours and you are mine, the New Year holds more promise than I could have ever imagined.

I love you.

Twas The Night Before Christmas For Both Angel And Brat

2010-12-24T23:50:00.002-05:00

On the night before Christmas, it’s long been said

That A Top’s good girl should be tucked snug in her bed.

Her Christmas list long since left for Top review,
She dreams of diamonds and shoes by Jimmy Choo.

There being no reason to pull his girl over his lap,
A good girl’s Top too can take a long winter’s nap

‘

Both Top and good girl are nestled in for the night
Well before Santa lands outside, pausing his flight.

At a good girl’s house, Santa goes straight to his task

Because naughty or nice he need not pause to ask.

Quick in his work, the jolly old elf makes not a peep.

Neither Top nor good girl is stirred from sound sleep

He pulls from his sack a good girl’s Christmas treasures

Trusting that she will take care of her Top’s pleasures.

Then quick as a wink, he is back in his sleigh

And signals to Rudolph to light up the way.

How different the tale at the house down the road

Where a Top and his naughty girl make their abode.

The vixen who lives there so full of good cheer

Ignores her bedtime without thought of her rear.

Her eyes – how they sparkle as she sips on champagne.

She teases and taunts with no intent to refrain.

Her Top speaks not a word but goes straight to his work;

He takes her champagne glass without even a jerk.

He then flips her over his knee in a flash

Pulls down her panties, unties her sash.

Her lovely round cheeks now white as the snow

Turn a shade red like roses as he delivers blow after blow.

Out on the lawn there is a loud clatter
But her Top does not stop to see what is the matter.

Focused intently on assaulting her rear
The Top fails to see the eight tiny reindeer.

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound

But committed to his task the Top does not look around.

St. Nick on the other hand sees the brat’s fate

For teasing and taunting and staying up late.

The jolly old fellow cannot help but think to himself

How much more fun a Top's job seems than either Santa or elf.

He pauses long enough to consider a change in careers

and to imagine himself spanking naughty girls' rears

But alas, naughty girls receive nothing from Santa’s sack

And so it was time for St. Nick to go back.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, 

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. 

And as Santa drove out of sight, 

Both angel

and brat

heard him exclaim "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

A Christmas Card To Himself: Christmas Past, Christmas Present, Christmas Yet To Come

2010-12-21T11:25:00.006-05:00

Christmas Past

Ten Christmases past . . . . all special in their own way. Some had more tears than others, some more joy, some more anger, some more contentment. We were more in sync for some than we were for others. For all, we loved each other. In some years that love was a tangled knot; in others it was pure bliss; in all, it was passionate and volatile.

In the days leading up to a few of our Christmases past, we found ourselves spending untold amounts of energy trying to prove we did not need each other; we slept with our backs turned to one another; we pretended to listen, but did not hear with an open and receptive heart.

By the grace of God and perhaps the gift of the Christmas spirit, one of us always had the wisdom to hold out a hand to the other as an olive branch so that we did not spend Christmas Eve or Christmas Day alone despite being present in the same room.

But there have been one or two Christmas seasons when our Christmas "truce" did not survive until the New Year. Our disagreement re-surfaced, proving to have been only temporarily interrupted by Christmas cheer, and when our arguing would finally cease, it was not because we agreed to a resolution but because we were too exhausted and disillusioned to continue. And even if one of us admitted to having been wrong and acknowledged an apology was owed, we were both so battle-weary and emotions so raw that there still could be no resolution. The one offering the apology resented feeling brow-beaten and the one to whom the apology was offered felt it insincere and contrived. Defeated, we held onto the knowledge that we loved each other like it was life preserver and retreated within ourselves to allow time to heal our wounds. Sometimes days of silence and loneliness followed.

As painful as these times were, I would not trade even one of our ten Christmases past – or any of the other 3,640 days that comprise our ten years together; each was a step in the journey that has brought us to where we are now – four days from our eleventh Christmas -- Our Christmas present.

Christmas Present

The present Christmas season is its own wonderland. We are closer than we have ever been. We are the couple that causes others to wonder how we remain so in love after more than a decade together. How would they respond if they knew our secret?

My submission has only been expressly acknowledged between us for one of our ten Christmases past. Glimpses of it were there for the other nine Christmas seasons, but we did not have the tools to unleash it. Political correctness and the definitions of the “modern woman” and the “sensitive male” kept us from embracing what would make the best “us.” To be your equal was paramount, and equality seemed incompatible with submissiveness.

I could not say “I need you to take care of me.” I was not free to be who mother nature made me. I ached to put my hand in yours and to promise to follow you. Instead I put up walls and lived half-truths in the name of independence and equality. I know now that the anger that so often divided us was a mask for the frustration and confusion brought on by pretending to be who we are not.

Those bound by a weaker love may have walked away, but we did not. Our path was not an easy one, and reflecting on that path is no less difficult. I was forced to make peace with hurt I thought I had long forgiven. I hurt you – an admission that comes with tremendous regret and shame. Neither of us could heal without me first exposing myself first in my own mirror and then before you.

You fought demons to brave the hurt and stay by my side. At times our path felt like an endless spiral of hurt and pain.

But somehow light found us in the darkness. We followed the flicker of light to a place where I found the strength to put my hand in yours and you found the grace and forgiveness that allowed you to take my hand in yours.

You heard my soul whisper,

“Please do not let go. I give you my love, my promise to follow, my trust.”

I cede all power to you; it is my gift of submission. To accept that gift required you to place in me the same tremendous trust I placed in you when I offered my submission. Our combined trust protects the love and passion that has always been there but before was too often suffocated by walls and half-truths and power struggles.

With trust, our love and passion have blossomed into the miracle that blesses our present Christmas season.

Last Christmas, our acknowledgment of my submission was so very new. We were like a child first learning to walk. Our steps were tentative at first. We fell at times, but with every day we became more sure-footed. We have learned so much in the journey from that Christmas past to this our Christmas present.

I acquiesce to you when we cannot agree on resolution. You spank me when you decide I am wrong. You tip my face up to yours with a single finger and you command me to look at you. More importantly, you demand that I take an honest look at my own actions and reactions. Your voice is harsh; your hand is often harsher. You order arguments to end, and they do. When they do not end quickly enough or with sufficient respect, you no longer hesitate to pull me over your knee and remind me of my promise.

There is pain -- sometimes physical, always emotional; often there are tears, remorse, sometimes I am humbled by the way you chastise me. You are more patient with me and more demanding of yourself. We both feel more love than we ever thought possible. I feel more feminine, beautiful, desired. You feel heard and respected. The passion between us has grown and no longer takes destructive detours. It is more intense but less volatile.

Christmas Yet To Come

My gift of submission is an imperfect gift, but that does not mean that the Christmases yet to come are not filled with promise. You have learned to read me in ways that eluded you before. Were I to declare,

"I will not be spanked anymore,"

or announce that I had decided the time had come to abandon this thing we do, you would not accept those words at face value. You would look to find what caused me to be unsettled and try to discern what made me afraid. You would pull me back to "us;" you would spank me safe.

You know with acceptance of my submission comes responsibility. You will not let me push you away. You no longer accept half-truths or excuses from me or from yourself. You will not accept my protestations or attempts to breach the trust and agreement that has made you and I the best "us" we have ever been. You will punish me, reward me, chastise and cherish me. You will spank me for disappointing you and spank me even more severely for disappointing myself. You will spank me for no other reason than because you can.

Each time you take my hands and draw me onto your lap, you take us through a ritual that strengthens the promise of our Christmases yet to come.

You pull up my skirt and pull lace panties to my knees. You pause before beginning resting your strong hand on my pale round bottom. With complete confidence and authority you sternly admonish,

"We will do this little girl because you need it."

You do not wait for a response from me; your hand comes down on my flesh without warning. I gasp in surprise and you instinctively tighten your grip around my waist anticipating the struggle to come. If you hear my tears or my pleas for you to stop, you do not show it.

It takes no time for my bottom to grow hot from your relentless and firm left hand. Your intensity increases with my struggling. I am too panicked to be rational and fail to process the obvious: it is only in my submission that I will find relief. And so you spank on until the fight leaves me and I am limp in your arms. You leave your hand on the small of my back, your signal that I am to remain over your lap,

"We will do this because it is what I want and because it reminds you of your promise and reinforces who we are to each other. We will do this because it brings you back to me in the feminine yet strong way you are meant to be mine."

You pull me from the position over your knee and hold me while I cling to you and sob. You whisper how much you love me, caressing my hair from my eyes.

We both know my body has responded to your punishment with intense desire. You place me gently on the bed. Prepared to take me in ways that belong only to you, I hear your gentle whisper,

"Merry Christmas, Angel."

Doesn't This Say It All?

2010-12-13T15:15:00.003-05:00

I have not read this book, but I am certain the thoughts and questions the title causes me to stop and ponder are exactly the thoughts and questions the author intended to provoke.

We live in a society obsessed with "reality" T.V. and celebrity gossip -- a world in which rehab and outrageous behavior is not viewed as shocking or even all that out of the ordinary. In this world, is it possible to be a woman of class, style and charm who holds onto certain old fashion virtues without being labeled a prude? In my opinion, the answer to that question is "absolutely!"

I grew up in an environment where being a "lady" and learning proper etiquette was required -- not because of any emphasis on social-climbing or knowing the "right" people or finding the "right" husband -- but simply because it is the right thing to do. The women who were my earliest role models were not perfect, but they understood and taught me the difference between a "Hepburn" and "Hilton" world -- long before a "Hilton" world had any meaning at all. The most important things these women taught me can be summarized something like this:

A lady is thoughtful of others, polite, kind, and charitable.
A lady exudes hopefulness and gentle strength during adversity; she strives to encourage and edify those around her.
A lady is the opposite of selfishness, and she holds herself to a high moral code.
A lady is discreet, compassionate, and lovely.
A lady does not have to wear the newest designer clothes, but she will always look neat and feminine.
A lady is gracious in her dealings with others even in trying situations.
A lady does not curse like a sailor -- or curse at all for that matter.
A lady is not stuffy in her social rules, but seeks to put others at ease and to establish the comfort of others before herself.
A lady holds true to her vows, cherishes her man, and strives to make sure that he knows he is cherished.
A lady blessed with children does her very best to raise her children to be healthy, mature adults.
A lady knows that life is not about her. It is about putting out positive energy and sowing goodness into the lives of everyone she meets.
A lady need not always be a pristine example of a perfectly lived life; worldly experience adds depth and helps a lady understand compassion. However, a lady learns from experience and does not tout her mistakes or more undignified acts to the world as if they were medals of accomplishment.
A lady does not put her own needs before the needs of people who depend on her. She is a servant/leader with the heart of a queen and the steel of a soldier.
A lady knows the importance of taking care of herself and strives to find ways to make sure she gets enough rest and eats a nutritious diet even when she is busy with life and caring for others.

Of course, if this list had simply been handed to me as rules to live by, it would have been so daunting that I likely would have rejected it out of hand. Rather than give me a list of "dos and don'ts," they taught by way of example. I doubt that I will ever reach a point that I am able to accomplish everything on this list perfectly all the time; nor, will the women who taught me these virtues. But my appreciation for these values means I will always strive to be a Hepburn -- and if that makes me old-fashioned, so be it. The trade-off is worth it because it makes me the kind of woman that catches the eye of the kind of man that is Himself. (***It also makes me the kind of woman who Loves, Loves, Loves Being A Girl, which is perfectly described by Scarlet on Devlin O'Neill's Web Log & Poppy Too -- but I digress).

He wants a woman virtuous enough to aspire to be all that is described above; but humble enough to know that she will never accomplish the list 100% and down to earth enough to never take herself too seriously. He wants a woman strong enough to take care of herself but willing to use that strength to bend to His will and to let Him guide her. He wants a woman who exudes femininity and who knows better than to equate "sexy" with showing everything; "sexy" means leaving a little something to the imagination. He wants a woman He can put on a pedestal for the purpose of showing the world how wonderful she is while declaring to that world that she is His. At the same time, He wants a woman who will kneel before Him and do His biding while His hands are tangled in her hair.

He, like the truest and the best Tops, will not only agree that it is possible for a woman in today's world to possess class, style and charm, but in fact, expects and demands such from the woman that is the object of His attention. And should the object of His attention choose even briefly to abandon "Hepburn" style in favor of "Hilton," He will not hesitate to pull her over His lap and show her the error of her ways. In His rule book the first item on the list of "How To Be A Hepburn In A Hilton World" is to never spare the rod when a girl forgets what it means to be a lady.

Interestingly enough, it appears that even Miss Hepburn found herself in danger of being spanked from time to time -- notably, in her 1963 film Charade (click on the film title), Carey Grant contemplated spanking his lovely costar.

Image via Wikipedia

Happy Thanksgiving

2010-11-25T21:03:00.000-05:00

Happy Thanksgiving!!

I hope that everyone has more success than I do in the kitchen.

Of course, there are many ways to define success . . . . . .

For example, this suggests success to me . . . . although

it may mean that you never sit down for a proper Thanksgiving dinner

This on the other hand does not suggest a successful day in the kitchen . . . .

Ode To A Brat On Halloween

2010-10-22T22:40:00.003-04:00

Witches, Goblins, Spooks and Elves
With Sprites and Gnomes from Elf-land delves
Come to frighten on Halloween
All boys and girls, both tot and teen

But the scaring of a naughty brat
Who teases her Top over this and that
Is not the job of ghosts and ghouls
What a brat fears most is Top rules

When a brat is cheeky, bad or cross
She will not answer to a witch as boss

But shall be pulled over her Top's knee
Bottom bared for all goblins to see.
As lilly-white turns shades of red
The most fearsome spook will turn his head
And hide his eyes from the poor brat's plight
So much scarier than witch or sprite.

A sexy costume will not stop

Spanking by a determined Top

Whether witch or cat or bumble bee
A naughty girl is pulled over knee

She may beguile as red-riding hood
And still find herself in a corner stood

A brat who plays devil tricks
Will be spanked over screams and kicks

Goldilocks and Snow White look sweet
But must still bend over and touch their feet.

No dwarf or bear dare interfere
As her Top warms her enchanted rear.

Whether Minnie Mouse or Cottontail
Pleas for mercy will not prevail.
Given neither trick nor treat
Her bottom now is red with heat

Halloween comes but once a year
Allowing goblins to rule with fear
But pouting like a naughty child
So cross and willful, rude and wild

A soundly spanked brat will not scare
At witch's cackle or devil's glare

But a Top's firm hand will bring retreat
A bratty girl is now docile and sweet

Love Our Lurkers

2010-10-21T17:27:00.000-04:00

Happy Fifth Annual Love our Lurkers Day! Thanks to Bonnie over at Bottom Smarts for creating this very special day . . . a day to encourage all those readers who have been too shy to make their presence known, to go ahead and do so today.

I know commenting can be a scary thing to do. I read without commenting for months and months. And even after I took that plunge and made that first comment, I was still shy and would disappear for a while after each comment I made. In the beginning, every time I hit "send," I was sure that I had written the most awkward comment ever made and that people were surely rolling their eyes as they read it.

I used to wonder if any girl out there felt the way I did. Overtime, I saw what a silly girl I was being. I found such a a very warm and accepting community. So many here have shown me that I am not alone, and I have come to understand so much more about me and TTWD because of the talented authors at special places like Poppy's, Dev's, Sara's, The Pink Report, SugarAnne's and most recently Michael and Season's (just to name a few).

I hope this special day will encourage a few of you to de-lurk. But, if today is not the day you feel safe in de-lurking, that is just fine. Being anonymous is sometimes a good thing, too. Whether you comment or choose to just stop in quietly, thank you for visiting here and taking time to read my thoughts -- that in and of itself is a gift.

It also seems appropriate to thank a special lurker (who leaves an occasional comment) for without Him there would be nothing to write. So, to the man I love, thank you for the life you have created for us. I love you.

Corners Revisited

2010-10-19T10:45:00.029-04:00

Himself says that I find ways to try to "wiggle out of things" when what He really means is that I am being less than truthful.

He and I had a disagreement over "wiggling" just the other day. I was adamant that I was not wiggling and He just as adamant that I was. It was not long before He was angrier over the not admitting to "wiggling" than He was over the originally alleged sin. This disagreement over "wiggling" happened very late on a night before Himself was going away on a trip, so the day of reckoning was delayed. He did not even announce that there would be a day of reckoning, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew there would be. We went to sleep.

He left the next day. We kissed and said good-bye, but we both knew the other one was miserable because our in-sync connected feeling was out-of-sync.

I watched him leave and then sat down and thought about the night before. I wonder if He knows that I am not "wiggling" to be naughty or even because I am trying to get away with anything. I think that sometimes wiggling out of things -- i.e., not being one hundred percent truthful (which includes "wiggling" by omission) -- is because I want so badly to have His approval. I want to be everything He has ever wanted in a woman; I want to be the only woman He wants or thinks about. When I am the rational me, I know that I am these things to Him, even when I wiggle. He shows me how much He loves me in small intimate ways every day. But in those moments after I have been discovered, I sometimes instinctively "wiggle" because I don't want Him to have affirmation that I have disappointed Him. I think, subconsciously, I always fear that this time may be the time He decides it is not worth the effort to bring me back to to where I need to be for us to be "in-sync."

Corners are bad because there is no room to "wiggle" when you are stuck in a corner. A girl is left to stare at blank walls and then the only thing she can concentrate on is what will happen when cornertime is over, or in some cases, on what had happened right before the cornertime began. So, with no wiggle room, a girl must be honest with herself and face her shortcomings.

And that was what I was doing sitting alone on my couch: being honest with myself. It is so much harder than "wiggling."

I heard my blackberry text notice ring. Only Himself texts me; work and friends send e-mails. I quickly left hopped up to see what He had to say: "On Sunday when I get back there will be a day of reckoning; it won't be pleasant but it needs to be done. I love you."

For a moment I was angry, and my fingers flew across the blackberry keyboard: "you don't try to understand me as much as you think you do."

And He made no response. I did not hear from Him until later in the day. We were better. His earlier text had cleared the air, and time away from each other made us both leave the subject alone

But I was still stuck in a corner with a gigantic mirror in front of it. I wonder if He knows anytime I disappoint Him I find myself in a corner -- unable to "wiggle," disappointed in myself for not being better, and forced to really look at me.

He does not have to send me to a real corner because the look on His face or the sound of His voice puts me there mentally. I feel the same emotions that I would feel if I was standing in a real corner: namely, contrite, shame, loved and cherished -- usually in just that order. Sometimes those four feelings come together all at once. Sometimes, petulance and anger are what I feel if put in a corner before a spanking. Under those circumstances, being contrite and facing my own shame come after being spanked. Loved and cherished is then not far behind. I wonder if He understands that reaching contrite and shame requires that I forgive myself and believe that I am worthy to be loved by Him. I think girls like us have a hard time forgiving ourselves. Himself helps me forgive myself and when I do, He forgives me too. We are in-sync.

We live hectic lives. He came home from His trip and I left on mine -- but we were good, even better than good. I dare say even in-sync. But the day of reckoning had not come. I am still away. I know He has not forgotten. I know He will spank me on the evening I return home.

In a way though, the day of reckoning has at least partially come. Even though we are in-sync. My mind has been in that corner for days.

This evening while I was reading some of the blogs (Poppy's, Devlin's, The Pink Report, and tonight, especially, Sara's Reassurance Spanking) in my hotel room, I realized I have been feeling contrite and ashamed and He does not know that. Or maybe He knows it on a certain level as He knows me better than anyone. Most assuredly, however, He has not heard me acknowledge contrition outloud.

I know I cannot hide from Him, so I don't know why I try. BUT, as intimately as He knows what makes me who I am, even He would not expect this from me. (And, she takes a deep breath before she begins):

JB,

I realize and admit that I was "wiggling" and that it was my behavior that led to our disagreement. I am sorry for "wiggling" but I am especially sorry for insisting that I had not. I love you in ways I did not even know it was possible to love. I belong to you -- heart, body, and soul,
Arianna

If Himself is able to pick himself up from the floor after He has read this, He will still spank me tomorrow when I come home. I am not trying to change what He will do. Since He first announced that He would spank me, He has not raised the issue of spanking me in a serious way . . . until tonight when He matter-of-factly stated we "have some unfinished business to take care of."

But, even during those days when we did not discuss my impending fate, I still thought about it. I felt like I was in a corner waiting for Him. Scared of the moment He will spank me. I get nervous over the physical pain -- but I trust Himself to never push me beyond what I can bear. I am more afraid of how spanking makes me feel inside: vulnerable, unable to hide, exposed.

And yet, I crave the connection, the intimacy that comes after He has spanked me. I do not understand how I can want something so desperately and not want it at the same time, but it works for us.

**This was actually part of an earlier "just for fun" post about corners. As I was putting together the whimsical piece, I found myself writing what is here. Both posts share the theme that there is no need for Tops to use cornertime, but because this ended up taking a much more serious tone than the post I intended to write, I decided it should stand alone.

"Nobody Puts Baby In A Corner" -- Words A Top Should Live By

2010-10-18T22:20:00.000-04:00

Who can forget the closing scene in the film Dirty Dancing? Misunderstood bad boy, Johnny Castle storms into the final dinner dance at an upscale family resort in the Catskills to rescue Baby from her parents' disapproving glares. It's at this moment that Johnny pulls the Baby away from the family table and delivers the film's most famous line:

"Nobody puts Baby in a corner."

Johnny and Baby then proceed to perform a stunning dance performance. Johnny, the resort's dance instructor is of course, a skilled dancer but everyone is stunned at the dancing skills of the 17-year old, soon to be college economics major, Baby. At that moment every teenage girl in the movie theatre fell in love with the idea of the rugged, good-looking Johnny giving the plain-Jane heroine her fairy-tale ending.

And now, a question for the Tops out there: "Don't you think that your special girl should soar like Baby?

We girls, being the kind-hearted, fun-loving beings that we are, of course would be happy to let you soar with us. But first, all Tops must take note of the pre-requisite to soaring: Tops must renounce the practice of putting their girls in corners! Yes, follow Johnny Castle's example and make sure your girl stays out of corners instead of ordering her to put her nose in a corner while -- horror of horrors -- baring her bottom.

What good can possibly come out of leaving a girl in corner with nothing but her own thoughts? Do Tops understand how frightening it can be to sit alone staring at the line where two walls meet with nothing to think about but why you are there and what may happen next?

Do Tops Understand that corners are humiliating and make a girl feel about 4 years old?

Do Tops Know that made to stand in a corner with panties down around your thighs or knees reinforces a girl feeling like she is 4 years old?

Being ordered to stand in the corner while a girl's Top carries on as if she was not there at all only reinforces the reinforcement of a girl feeling like she is 4 years old.

And what else can be said about this one other than being put in a corner AFTER being spanked should be removed as an inappropriate topping tool? None of the girls around here are naughty enough to be spanked and THEN put in a corner.

Similarly, spanking a girl while she is in a corner must, must must go.

If for no other reason, Tops should embrace the "Nobody puts Baby in a corner" mentality as a show of support for Jennifer Grey (aka Baby) as she competes in this seasons "Dancing With the Stars" as well as in honor of Patrick Swayze who holds a special place in the hearts of so many of those who began their teenage years in the 1980s. Leave the corners for the ever important job of holding up the walls.

***The movie pictures are located at http://www.usatoday.com/life/movies/news/2007-04-23-dirty-dancing_N.htm

It is believed that this image is subject to fair use in the article Dirty Dancing because:

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When The Get Out Of A Spanking Free Card Does Not Work

2010-10-03T23:53:00.009-04:00

Himself announced that I would be spanked tonight.

"How can that be? By your own admission, I have been good for days and days and days."

"Yes, Ari you have been good for quite some time now, but we both know that is because you have also been well-spanked."

"But you can't spank me to prevent me from being bad."

"Arianna, are you whining now?"

"No, I am pointing out the obvious. Good girls should not be spanked."

"Ah, but now you are most definitely whining, and whiny girls most definitely will be spanked."

I look at His face as He says this and see the sparkle in His eyes. His voice is quiet and stern, but those eyes give Him way. He has no intention of giving me a "sorting her out" kind of spanking. Now that is not to say it won't be a real spanking; all of the spankings Himself gives me are real . . . . but some spankings are more serious and much more unpleasant than others. Those spankings don't end the way I suspect this spanking will end. Rather than tell Him that I am on to Him, I decide to play along. My face conveys the dissatisfied pout that is so familiar to Him:

"Well, if you are so insistent that I should be spanked, why do we have to wait until tonight? Let's just get it over with now."

"Arianna, are you pouting now? Pouty, whiny girls are spanked more severely than girls who are only guilty of whining. And you see, that is why we are waiting until tonight -- I do not believe you can be good all day so rather than have to spank you every time you get out of line today, I think I will just keep a tally and you can satisfy your debt all at once."

I remember that today is the day He plans to run that long training run, and think to myself that this is the real reason He wants to put the spanking off. The air is crisp and very cool and the sun is shining so I offer to go with Him for at least the first twelve miles or so. He seems happy to have the company, but still has spanking on the brain:

"Please do join me Ari. It will be quite satisfying to spank that bottom of yours right after a run. You are quite lovely after a run -- nearly irresistible in your running shorts and pony tail, face flushed from exercise -- does make me want to make those bottom cheeks as pink as the cheeks on your face. And if we find ourselves alone on the running trail, maybe I won't even wait to get home to spank you."

I almost retort with "you wouldn't dare," but again His eyes give Him away. I can tell He considers an outdoor spanking a challenge, and to dare Him would mean He had to do it. I bite my tongue and go to find my running shoes.

The entire run, I think about His promise of a spanking.

And I also think about what we might do after He spanks me or even what He might do INSTEAD of spanking me. It did make the miles fly by quickly.

Isn't There Is Something Incredibly Sexy About A Sleeping Man?

When our run is over, I learn something new: If a girl is looking for a way to get out of a spanking, encourage the spanker to take an 18 mile run beforehand. As I type, Himself is sound asleep and my bottom is feeling quite fine other than some slightly sore muscles from my own run. Yes, it's true even the most avid committed Top can be rendered too exhausted to spank His not so naughty girl. So, to all of the girls over at Devlin O'Neill's Weblog, when those Get Out Of A Spanking Free Cards don't work as they should, you know what to do -- help him lace up those running shoes.

When The Evening Goes Awry

2010-10-01T14:31:00.004-04:00

We spend much too much of our time during the week meeting deadlines and attending to scheduled appointments. One or both of us has a cell phone to our ear or blackberry in our hand during the majority of our wakeful hours. Often the week obligations spillover to the weekend robbing us of what should be our time. So when the stars align in just the right way and we find ourselves with an evening alone, it is a special thing. When we make dinner plans for two at a lovely restaurant where we can enjoy a meal that was not grabbed on the run and have a conversation that consists of more than "when will you be home?" and "what is on your schedule for tomorrow," it is even more special.

Maybe it is silly, but even after all the years that we have been "us," I still get excited when we have a date. I like dressing up in clothes that I otherwise would not wear on the weekend. I like it when you open the car door for me so I can get in. I like that upon reaching our destination, you expect me to wait to get out of the car until you walk around and open the door for me. I like walking hand in hand to our destination.

I do not usually like being the center of attention, but I like that when we walk into a restaurant together, people tend to repeatedly glance our way as we walk to our table and watch as you pull out my chair -- I know they want to ask us what our secret is for being so in love. I like how you ask me what I want before the waiter appears to take our order so when he does arrive, you can then tell him what I will be having -- it is a very subtle Top way of saying, "the lady belongs to me" and it makes me feel safe and loved. I like when you reach under the table cloth and put your hand on my knee and lean into me to whisper your after dinner plans in my ear. I like how it feels to anticipate those plans as we share a decadent desert.

It is dreadful, when something happens to disrupt such a special evening. But sometimes words come out of one's mouth and the magic spell is broken. Being submissive is hard. Especially hard for me is remembering that your raised voice or impatience should not trigger a mirrored response from me. And once I respond in kind, I have stepped out of my submissive role and it is even harder for me to back down. Sadly, this is where we found ourselves during our last special evening out. In retrospect, I know you chose the topic of discussion out of love and concern for me. In the moment, however, it felt very much like we were revisiting an issue we had discussed many times before and that you were not hearing me at all. So, yes, I responded adamantly. I needed you to hear me. I should have backed down when I saw the hurt look that quickly passed over your face. Instead, I dug my heels in deeper.

You became frustrated with the way I chose to express myself and our evening abruptly ended. If the restaurant had had a more formal ladies' lounge, I think you would have marched me past the many onlookers to the lounge, politely waited until any ladies in the lounge area left, and then taken me over your knee right then and there without being the least bit concerned over what the restaurant patrons beyond the lounge door may have heard.

Because that was not an option, you calmly called the waiter over and paid the check. You stood to leave and without saying a word, it was clear I was to follow you. I felt the heat rise in my face as we made our way to the exit. I was certain the very onlookers who had watched the happy-in-love couple walk to their dinner table only an hour before now watched our silent, rigid departure and quickly surmised the fate that awaited me once we were alone.

We walked to the car in silence, three steps between us the entire time. It felt more like we were separated by an entire continent, and for a brief moment I thought to myself that this must be how Cinderella felt when the clock struck midnight. But fairytales have happy endings, and I was not at all sure that this evening would end happily.

You remained quiet as we drove home. I considered trying to talk about what happened, but I did not trust myself to say the right things. Part of me wanted to apologize for the brief loss of composure in the restaurant, but part of me still felt hurt that you did not understand why the subject you wanted to discuss was so difficult for me. And so, I too chose silence.

But silence made me anxious. The anxiety gave way to that feeling I have become accustomed to since we have begun doing this thing we do -- how exactly do I explain it? It is at least a little bit of a dreading feeling knowing that something unpleasant likely will happen soon; it is also a kind of pins and needles feeling that makes me squirm in my chair and then there are the butterflies in the stomach -- all of which comes with a turmoil of conflicting emotions. My angel subconscious sits on my shoulder begging me to apologize or at least try to take a deep breath and admit that I perhaps can see your point of view even if I can't embrace it; but my devil subconscious is on the opposite shoulder assuring me that I am the victim, that I am misunderstood and that I am a grown woman who most assuredly too old to be spanked.

In that moment, a million things ran through my mind at once: will you send me straight upstairs? Will you make me talk about why I reacted the way I did? We are dressed for a lovely evening out -- will you stand me in the corner to contemplate the why and how our evening went awry while I am still dressed up in my pretty grown-up clothes?

Will you spank me while my dress is still on as a way to remind me of the lovely evening that has been spoiled? Or will you tell me to go upstairs, hang the dress in the closet,put on my pajamas and then be ready on our bed with your implement of choice already retrieved and waiting as well for you to enter our room? This thought is almost too humiliating for me to bear. But it would not be as terrible as being told to wait in the corner with my bottom completely bared. A corner provides no place to hide when you enter our room. There are no pillows to block out the sound of your voice or to mask my embarrassment. From a corner, I will have to move to wherever you direct me -- yes, to carry out those instructions already in my nakedness is far worse than having to wait exposed on our bed.

As I sit in the passenger seat next to you, imprisoned by our silence and tortured by my own thoughts, I have an urge to hide and be small where no one can find me. I don't want to be spanked for disappointing or hurting you. I want to always be the woman that you love and desire and have dreamed about always having. And I want to be that put-together, in control, sophisticated, have all the answers career woman I saw on the cover of Forbes magazine -- and of course, she would never let anyone spank her.

As we pull into our drive way, the feeling of dread is replaced suddenly by true panic -- What if you do nothing? What if you watch me walk in our home and then lock the door behind me and head upstairs to bed without so much as mumbling good night? What if I am left alone in our living room?

What if you have no intention of taking me over your knee or positioning my body just so over the foot of our bed? What if you have not even contemplated unlocking your special chest to pull out a paddle? Will you go upstairs and remove your belt and automatically hang it in your closet?

Is it possible that all you will want to do is go to sleep and not have to deal with me at all. Have I pushed you to the edge so that you do not believe a sound hair-brushing can bring me back to where we both want me to be?

Have you concluded that a stern telling off and a proper sorting out is more effort than it's worth? I am shocked to feel hot tears running down my face. Why am I crying at the thought of you NOT spanking me?

I find myself physically aching to hear the stern way you say "Arianna" when you intend to spank me. I want to assure you that if you tell me right now to go to our room and wait on the bed, I will go without hesitation, but I cannot force the words to come out of my mouth.

Suddenly, I feel your eyes on me, and I realize that the car has stopped. I wonder how long we have been sitting silently under the dim carport lights. I force myself to lift my head and look at you. I want you to look into my eyes and hear the things I cannot say. I want you to see that I am sorry. I want you to know that I understand you were trying to take care of me.

"Please, please, please . . . ." I think to myself. "Let Him know that I realize I should be spanked."

"Why won't words come out of my mouth?"

"Can you read my mind anyway?"

"Do you realize that I will not fight being taken over your lap?"

"I won't plead with you not to use your belt."

I look for any sign that these thoughts have somehow telepathically made it from my mind to yours. I notice your jaw is clenched, but I don't know if that is good or bad. Is it that way because you are simply steeling yourself for the fact that you know you must spank the woman you love? Or is this you being determined to walk away from my nonsense for the evening . . . . you preparing to let me find my way out of the labyrinth I have created all by myself?

It feels like we sit looking at each other for an eternity before I finally hear you make a sound. It is a long and heavy sigh. I bite my lip so I do not respond. If I open my mouth, I am not sure whether I will cry or whether that devil who sat on my shoulder a little while before will betray all that I truly want and prevent me from conveying all the submissive thoughts that came before leaving me sharped-tongued and ready to argue with you about why I was right and you were wrong.

I silently pray that you will not interpret my inability to speak as insolence. I don't even realize that I am literally holding by breath waiting for you to breathe life into me. I feel a firm hand under my chin. I meet your gaze again and briefly allow myself to hope that the beleaguered sigh from moments ago was you releasing your anger.

Three firm but quiet words, "Arianna, let's go."

I instantly know what awaits me now. My bottom will soon ache from your strong hand coming down on it again and again. And just when I allow myself to believe you are finished, I suspect that you will show me otherwise.

Maybe with your belt, or with the cane or paddle that I despise and fear so much. I know I will taste the salt from my tears and likely reach back to try to stop the assault on my poor bottom.

I also know that you have not given up on me. I know you have made the decision that I am worth the trouble and that once again you will come and get me and bring me back to us. I know that when it is all over, you will still be my safe hiding place.

I know that through all the pain and wishing that the spanking would stop, my body will remind me how much I desire you in a very physical way. It once seemed wrong that I could feel that warmth of desire grow deep between my legs while you were spanking me for not being all that I should be, but as we have grown into this thing that we do, I have come to accept that it is a part of how this works for us. And I know that before the night is over, I will lie safe and content and loved wrapped tightly in your arms.

All Work And No Play . . . . . .

2010-09-23T21:34:00.001-04:00

I have been away on a business trip. It was only a two day trip but it felt more like two weeks. I am tired. It is taking nearly 5 1/2 hours to get home -- it should have taken less than 3. I have had to smile and be nice and pleasant while listening to people who do not appreciate that it is actually possible for a person to talk too much. Sometimes, less really is more. I have been very, very good.

I hate being away from Himself. He hates for me to travel too. The best part of my day is falling asleep snuggled into Him with His arms around me. That means when I have to travel, the best part of my day simply does not happen. We text throughout the day, but the nights are lonely. I am always happy when the familiar text tone on my blackberry goes off in the very early morning. Even before I reach for the blackberry to read the message, I know it is Him sending me good morning thoughts. This is how our conversation went this morning:

Himself: Hi

Ari: Hi. I love you. I am rushing like mad to finish presentation so I can get out the door and go for a run before work. I can't wait to come home.

Himself: Okay -- I won't keep you. I love you and can't wait to see you.

Ari: Love you madly -- off to run now.

Himself: Have a good workout. Can't wait to see you. Don't be too tired when you come home . . . . .

Ari: You're so subtle.

Himself: Like a sledge hammer (or in your case a coiled belt).

WHAAAAATTT??? I ask you is that anyway to welcome back the love of your life who has been unbelievably good -- so good that she teetered on the edge of being boring? Where is the massage, the wine, the long hot bath and lots of kisses? There must be a Top Reform school to correct this kind of thought process . . . . .

On Deadlines And Being Fashionably Late

2010-09-10T14:21:00.004-04:00

"Deadlines are suggestions; much like stop signs."
--Quel

Quel made the quoted comment above earlier this week on Devlin O'Neill's Weblog. It made me laugh when I read it but it also made me realize that I must not be alone when it comes to having a Top who can be somewhat obsessive over deadlines and schedules. Aren't schedules, like rules, simply made to be broken? Having come to the conclusion that many of us very good girls have Tops wedded to schedules and deadlines and such, I have written an advocacy piece just in case some very good girl out there finds herself in the position of having missed a Top-imposed deadline and needing to explain why that is not the end of the world.

We all have to prioritize and there are never enough hours in a day so shouldn't a Top be understanding when some things simply have to be put off to make room for equally -- if not more important things? I think Linde was very astute with her September 7th Top Tip of the Day (which is also found at the D.O.W. link above) and all the Tops out there should really take Linde's tip to heart:

"Don’t be so inflexible when there is a holiday that messes up [the] regular schedule and throws things off. Would it hurt to just skip Wednesday and go directly to Thursday[?] Skip breakfast that you always eat at a certain time and maybe just relax and enjoy the world around you[?] Don’t fall into such a routine that you HAVE to do certain things on certain days and at certain times.

. . . . . Is there anything that can’t wait until next week?"

So, let's just say hypothetically, that a very good girl with a VERY busy schedule has a habit of putting off telephone calls to make certain fairly routine medical appointments. It's not that she intends NOT to do it; she simply cannot be bothered with making the calls until she finishes work deadlines, gets in her daily run, makes travel plans for several fall weekends (which include time away with Himself); responds to several emails from a friend who is in crisis mode, fulfills certain other family obligations (which Himself knows from personal experience are incredibly time-consuming and energy-draining), gets her pedicure and makes her hair appointment so she looks nice for Himself, and spends much needed time on her blog and the blogs of like-minded people.

Let's also say, hypothetically of course, that the very good girl was given until Friday to make those calls and when she woke up on Friday morning, the weather was beautiful and sunny and on a whim she decided to stay home from work, turning a 3-day weekend into a 4-day weekend. Let's also say her Friday morning plans include pulling a certain Himself back into bed with her for a long lazy morning after he returns from his very scheduled, never missed 5:30 a.m. bike ride. Well, obviously the morning activities make it impossible to make telephone calls. And after such a luxurious morning, you really cannot ruin the mood by making telephone calls to various doctors' offices. Again, the benefits to the Top here are obvious, and the need for flexibility equally obvious. The world is a happier, cheerier, more sun-shining place after long impromptu mornings in bed -- such an outcome should not be jeopardized in order to do something dreadful and mundane that clearly can be done later, i.e., make telephone calls to doctors' offices.

Under these hypothetical circumstances, would you not agree that it is absolutely understandable as to why the telephone calls were not made? And given that it is reasonable and understandable for the very good girl not to have made those calls, it follows that she most certainly should not be spanked for letting the deadline slip. After all, many of the things that took priority over the hypothetically un-made telephone calls were just as much for His benefit as for the benefit of the very good girl. For example, Himself enjoys looking at the very good girl's bum, which would not be nearly so appealing to him without the benefit of the all-important daily run (I come to this conclusion based on very good authority; please see Poppy's recent post to fully understand the benefits of running).

No girl good enough to dedicate herself to running
should find herself in this position

In assessing this hypothetical, how can one come to any conclusion other than this very good girl should not be spanked for missing a teeny, tiny unimportant deadline arbitrarily set by the man she loves. A spanking under these conditions would be so unfair. I am --- umm, I mean the hypothetical very good girl -- is calling all fellow brats to unite on this subject.

Tops should also try to understand the extremely important concept of being "fashionably late." For those Tops who struggle with the meaning of this phrase, let me define it:

"The refined art of being just late enough to give the impression that you are a busy, popular person that was held up with other business."

Fashionably Late Should Never Be "Rewarded" This Way

Ok, ok . . . so perhaps it's a wee bit of a stretch to apply this concept to unmade telephone calls, but I -- uh, I mean the very good girl in our hypothetical -- would hate for any of her doctors, whom seem to always keep her waiting in their waiting-rooms long after the scheduled appointment, not understand that she is just as busy a professional as they are. And what better way to make it clear how busy and in demand she is than to be a few days or, ummm, weeks late in scheduling a routine follow-up appointment?

All the Tops out there should take heed of this concept of fashionably late. Being fashionably late often makes the girl lucky enough to be yours, the center of attention (this is because she is arriving at an event after everyone else and thus, does not get lost in a large crowd of timely attendees just entering an event). By making such an entrance, she will likely be noticed by the other testosterone driven types (aka the male species) who will no doubt realize what an amazing, popular, busy, beautiful, intriguing woman she is. Consequently, you become the top of the Tops and the envy of your peers because you are able to attract and hold onto such a woman.

It is the Top who benefits when all eyes are on his "fashionably late,"
but very, very good girl. His esteem among men is much enhanced.

How in the world could a Top spank a girl who works so hard at being late in order to bring such benefit to him? He should feel guilty about even thinking of demanding that she bend over after she has been so very good in putting his needs first.

Ladies, just in case there are Tops out there who cannot grasp the need for flexibility and understanding, we can always turn to self-help mechanisms for very good girls who also happen to be procrastinators.

How Do I Explain What He Means To Me?

2010-09-07T16:27:00.002-04:00

"He loved her,

he loved her,

and until he'd loved her

she had never minded being alone."

quoted from Summer Crossing by Truman Capote

When Tops Fail To Carry Out Their Responsibilities: Two Movies That Really Needed Spanking Scenes

2010-09-03T15:00:00.053-04:00

If Oscars were awarded for Best Top and Best Brat in a major motion picture, and you had asked me a few days ago who the winner of those categories should have been in 1939, I most assuredly would have answered that the Best Top award would have gone to Clark Gable as the rogue Rhett Butler in Gone With the Wind and the Best Brat Award to his co-star, Vivien Leigh as the cunning southern belle Scarlett O'Hara.

However, a recent homework assignment from Professor O'Neill over at Devlin O'Neill's Weblog has caused me to rethink that answer. While I remain steadfast in my opinion that the honor of Best Brat would and should have gone to Vivien Leigh as Scarlett; upon further reflection, I may have to withdraw my vote for Clark Gable as Best Top. Let me explain.

Clark Gable, the actor, absolutely makes a dreamy image of a Top, but alas, when Gable's Gone With The Wind character Rhett Butler is closely scrutinized, an honest viewer must concede that Mr. Butler utterly failed to live up to a Top's responsibilities.

Scarlett was in every way a Brat. She was spoiled, sometimes manipulative and oftentimes impetuous, hot-headed and impulsive. But she was also beautiful and intelligent, and proved herself amazingly strong and brave when all those around her faltered under the stresses of war, hunger and poverty. Like so many of the witty intelligent women who contribute to Devlin O’Neill’s Weblog, she was simply looking for the Top who could take her in hand – a man who could both appreciate her beauty and intelligence without letting her run all over him. Rhett Butler ALMOST fit that bill.

In the early scenes of the movie, Rhett showed signs of being exactly the Top Scarlett needed. You may recall the scene from Gone With Wind where Rhett visits Scarlett shortly after she has been left a widow by the death of Charles Hamilton early in the Civil War. Showing no concern for the unseemliness of a very recent widow accepting a kiss from a cad like Rhett, Scarlett eagerly awaits Rhett's lips with her head upturned and eyes closed. Rhett however, makes sure he keeps Scarlett on her toes and shows her who is in charge by denying her that kiss:

Open your eyes and look at me. No, I don't think I will kiss you - although you need kissing badly. That's what's wrong with you. You should be kissed, and often, and by someone who knows how."

While that was indeed a very “Toppy” thing to say and do, it was simply not enough to convince Scarlett she had found the man who understood her enough to love her and take care of her in the way a woman like Scarlett craves. How differently things could have been if Rhett had been willing to go a bit further. Imagine if the dialogue had been changed just slightly:

"You need spanking badly. That's what's wrong with you. You should be spanked, and often, and by someone who knows how. And no one, my dear, knows better how to spank a woman, than I."

And as he delivered that last sentence, in one easy practiced movement, Rhett would have grabbed Scarlett's wrist and pulled her over his lap face down. Bustled skirts and petticoats would have been flipped up and pantalettes yanked down. In very short order, Katie Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton's ivory bottom would have matched the color of her middle name.

More importantly, a spanking would have made Scarlett understand that Rhett could match her passion and intelligence, and at the same time temper her brattiness and keep her safe. Katie Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton would never have become Katie Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton Kennedy.

Because Rhett deprived Scarlett the sorting out she sorely needed, she continued life in her very take charge and take no prisoners kind of way, which meant she took care of herself the best way she knew how. She was no stranger to deception and embraced an end justifies the means philosophy. Consequently, the not-so-grieving widow Hamilton married her sister's beau, Frank Kennedy, in order to have access to his wealth so that she could pay the taxes on and save her family's beloved estate, Tara. This tragic marital union could have been avoided had Rhett been more of a Top during his visit with the widow Hamilton.

Now, it is certainly true that Scarlett-the-brat rebuked and refused Rhett time and time again. A true Top, however, would have recognized that such behavior was Scarlett's way of daring him to prove he could take her in hand. Scarlett was challenging Rhett to establish that he was worthy of a woman as multi-faceted and intriguing as she.

A Top secure in himself and secure in the love he feels for his troublesome yet oh, so bewitching brat would not hesitate to meet that challenge by warming her bottom quite properly, and all the tightly tied corsets in the world would not stop him.

In fact, pretty vintage corsets would likely encourage most true Tops to take their task of reddening their girl's poor bum even more seriously.

At one point in the film, after being left frustrated, lonely and angry by yet another of Scarlett's rebukes, Rhett almost satisfied Scarlett's challenge. He suddenly and fiercely kisses Scarlett, and then carries the mightily protesting Scarlett up a long flight of stairs to their bedroom, two steps at a time, declaring:

"It's not that easy, Scarlett. You've turned me out while you chased Ashley Wilkes, while you dreamed of Ashley Wilkes. This is one night you're not turning me out."

The film then cuts to the next morning with a close-up of Scarlett's content, almost purring face. Her expression conveys how pleasurable she found the previous night's sexual experience when Rhett overcame her resistance.

Her reaction here proved that Scarlett was looking for a man secure enough in his own being that he could not be driven away by her rebukes, which were nothing but facades she employed to mask her own insecurities.

If only Rhett had seized this opportunity to spank Scarlett soundly before passionately making love to her the film's ending could have been so much sweeter. A timely spanking would have allowed Scarlett to be sure that Rhett was the man who not only loved and respected her, but also was also able to save her from herself.

This of course, would have deprived pop culture of the oft-quoted:

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn,"

AND a world of procrastinators would not now have use of the equally famous quote that followed Rhett’s dramatic departing words:

"After all . . . tomorrow is another day."
BUT, Chross would have some wonderful spanking scenes to add to his blog.

Almost 50 years after the release of Gone With the Wind, an actor and actress with chemistry comparable to that shared by Leigh and Gable graced the silver screen.

Antonio Banderas and Catherine Zeta Jones, starring in the 1998 release of The Mask of Zorro as Alejandro Murreita and Elena Montero, most definitely could have been contenders for Best Top and Best Spoiled Brat.

However, there was one small problem: Alejandro followed in Rhett's footsteps by failing to deliver a spanking that would have been so fitting.

Elena, like Scarlett, was beautiful, headstrong, brazen at times, and opinionated. Because she is all of these things and not just beautiful window dressing, Elena fascinates Alejandro (Zorro). However, like Scarlett, Elena initially pretends to have no interest in Alejandro.

Our hero has a chance to put our heroine in her place when the two engage in a beautifully choreographed sword-fight that ends with Alejandro slicing off Elena's nightgown with his trademark Z-slash. This show of dominance should have been completed with a sound bare bottom thrashing right then and there, but like Rhett, Alejandro does not deliver.

from http://toonxtc.com/hollywood-toons-038/zorro.jpg

Consequently, when the sequel to The Mask of Zorro came out in 2005 (The Legend of Zorro) we find our hero being nagged by his beautiful, headstrong wife. In a particularly un-Top like moment, Zorro actually asks Elena's permission to go and fight -- it is no wonder that the sequel was panned by the critics!!

It is one thing for a naughty brat to know her Top loves her for more than a spank-able bottom. A Top should appreciate his little girl's ability to be independent and her intelligence. He should respect her and discuss her opinion when he is making major life choices . . . He should be reasonable and humble enough to change his view when her concerns are valid . . . .

BUT those things are altogether different from a Top asking for his little girl's PERMISSION to do his job. If Zorro had spanked the beautiful Elena in the first movie, perhaps he would have better defined their roles and the sequel to The Mask of Zorro would have been a bigger box-office hit.

** Postscript: It appears that spanking author, Philip Kemp, has had access to the missing spanking scene from "Gone With the Wind" -- perhaps I judged Mr. Butler to hastily. I will have to review Mr. Kemp's chapter and consider whether any retractions are in order.

If anyone else would like to read along with me, you can find Mr. Kemp's collection of short stories, "Blushing at Both Ends" in electronic format at the Amazon Kindle Store. You do not have to have a Kindle to read it. There are free Kindle application downloads for computers, blackberries, ipods, iphones, etc. The link for the downloads should be at the bottom of this blog. The Kindle applications are good ways to read Devlin O'Neill's newly released Kindle Version of "A Maid for All Seasons" and the collection of short stories in which Poppy's story has been published.

Thanks for the heads-up, Phil.

What To Do With A Good Girl On Friday Night

2010-08-27T15:25:00.005-04:00

It is Friday and I have been such a good girl all week that I fear I might fall in the category of being dull. There has been no pouting or feet-stomping or even a raised voice that I can recall.

Not once did I return from a long day at the office to find you waiting to take me over your lap before I could even change out of my business suit. I do not recall you having to raise an eyebrow or use that stern-hushed tone that immediately signals "tread lightly, Arianna."

Are you a little bit bored too? What will you do with a good girl on Friday night?

I have been good -- but being good can take its toll. The stress from the week is likely hiding just beneath the surface, so won't you work your magic to make it disappear before the good girl's evil twin -- or possibly worse, her painfully boring but proper cousin arrives to rob us of our weekend.

I have turned off the computer, stacked the papers neatly on my desk and will rehang this corporate suit. My mind is no longer clouded with legal analysis or risk mitigation calculations. The professional me has retired for the weekend and I have come to entice you to play. You see signs that your good little girl has experienced a temporary work-week metamorphosis. I stand at the top of the stairs -- corporate suit removed, but heels still on and beckon you with my eyes. I challenge you to follow me without ever saying a word.

You do. We both are aware of how differently this moment feels than those nights when you bend me over demanding my submissiveness before I have slipped out of my heels and bossy corporate demeanor.

You read me like no one else is capable of reading me. You know what I need tonight is a different kind of need. It is a selfish need to have the weariness that fills my bones after a tedious work week replaced by the steady driving rhythm that is you.

The only tension in my body that can survive is the tension that you orchestrate with your undulating rhythm. It is a tension that builds in my body as I hungrily arch to reach for more of you. My body stretches further than I would have believed possible. My good girl modesty is temporarily overcome by sensual greed as I raise my hips to beg for more of you. I hear my throat release a cry I do not recognize as mine as my body is overcome by spasms that wash over me like the most powerful ocean waves crashing against the cliffs.

We both know that when I wake, I will hide my face in the pillows, my cheeks flushed from feeling shy and embarrassed over the immodesty I exhibited the night before. This time I will wait for you to come to me. And you will.

Before we leave the bedroom on Saturday morning to start our day, you will restore order by taking me over your knee. You will make sure the color of my bottom matches the flush in my face. You will help me settle back into us.

Spank Me Safe

2010-08-20T09:20:00.011-04:00

Last night you spanked me. And as you spanked, you talked. You were not angry -- but, you were firm, very matter of fact. The words themselves suggested you were making a request of me, but the authoritative tone made clear that you were delivering an instruction that was not to be ignored:

"Arianna, I want you to be more open. I want you to feel safe telling me your deepest desires and all of your secrets. I want you to trust me more tomorrow than you did today and even more the day after tomorrow."

I know this may not make sense, but your words hurt more than the hour long spanking you delivered. Why? Because I wanted you to believe that I was already at that place where I trusted you completely without hesitation or reservation. I wanted to believe that I was already there. But you know me too well. You can read parts of me that go unnoticed by the world: the slightest tension in my shoulders or the furrowed brow that only appears for a split second.

"Arianna, I want you to be able to tell my why you consent to being spanked over my knee. I want you to say it out loud."

I said nothing and you continued to spank me until my bottom was an angry red.

When you were done, you took me from behind, pushing deep and hard and fast. With every thrust against my hot skin, you reminded me of the spanking delivered moments ago.

After, I tried to sleep while you held me tight but your words kept playing over and over in my head. . .

Why spanking? What do I need from you? Why do I submit to you?

It is not the pain -- I know it is for some women, but that is not it for me. Of course it has to hurt or it would not be a spanking, but it is not the pain I crave. To the contrary, the pain makes me anxious. When you order me over your knee or tell me to wait for you upstairs, there is a calm feeling of fear that engulfs me. It is the emotion the pain provokes that I seek. I know you spank me hard because you want to show me that you are in control -- that is very different than if you spanked me hard for the sole purpose of inflicting pain.

When you spank me, it makes me vulnerable and at the same time, it makes me certain that you are in charge and that you will take care of me in this moment and all the moments that follow if I will let you.

That feeling of knowing you are in control lets me relax and know that I am under control too. If you can control me, then you can also control the demons that haunt me. And if you can do that, then I am safe.

There is a part of me that is still a child -- at least I think there is. I cannot be certain because I was never a child the way most children are. Responsibility and care-taking was thrust upon me before my age hit double digits -- and I was a good girl and did what was asked, what was expected. But sometimes being a good girl means being grown-up before you are ready. It means you skip believing in fairytales; you don't have time to test limits or love anything with reckless abandon.

Does it make sense that the child me who never had a chance to really be a child now craves someone to trust, someone to take care of me? Why does the child inside me need someone to tell her what the boundaries are and someone to prove to her that they exist? The world sees a grown-up woman with educational degrees and a career and huge responsibility -- the world would never understand why this grown-up woman needs enforced boundaries or why she needs to be spanked.

But you know me and you see the transgressions the world does not see. You know that what the world sees is often half-truths and you know that my biggest transgressions are against myself. You point them out to me lovingly but firmly:

"Arianna, you don't eat right. You don't get enough sleep. You continuously put off scheduling the doctor appointments I've told you to make. Arianna, why do you try to hide the beautiful body I love?"

Some might say that calling these things "transgressions" is pure hyperbole. But these things you point out are the manifestation of my own insecurity; my subconscious fear that I am not good enough to be loved. Are transgressions such as these the cause or the product of my inner need for discipline? I don't know the answer to that question. Maybe, I will never know.

What do I need from you? In a single word: Love. But it is a very particular kind of love. A love that no one in my life other than you has ever been able to give me. It is a Love that has strong hands and solid boundaries. It is a love that is consistent and caring.

You spank me and I feel emotionally safe.

Why spanking . . . . . .?

Maybe childhood simplicity explains it best:

Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind."Pooh!" he whispered."Yes, Piglet?""Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw. "I just wanted to be sure of you."

When you spank me, I know I can be sure of you.

***Thanks Poppy and Lisa for making me remember how much I love the Hundred Acre Wood.

We Are But Older Children, Dear, Who Fret To Find Our Bedtime Near

2010-08-11T20:39:00.013-04:00

"Come, hearken then, ere voice of dread,

With bitter tidings laden,

Shall summon to unwelcome bed

A melancholy maiden!

We are but older children, dear,

Who fret to find our bedtime near."

--Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There, Prologue, Lewis Carroll

I know, I know, another Alice in Wonderland allusion . . . . But before you ask yourself, "will she ever grow tired of referencing Alice" remember that this blog's title does forewarn the reader that such references may be made! Besides, you must admit that "melancholy maidens" fretting over bedtime being near is an appropriate topic here. If one spends enough time reading like-minded blogs, it does not take long to discover that many well-cared for and well-spanked girls are resistant to having a bedtime enforced. You do not have to take my word for it, just take a look at Love Charlie's Alright, Before I Say Anything, About Spanking's Bedtime Means "Bed"time, Poppy St. Vincent's Bedtimes and an Attempt to be Good and Devlin O'Neill's Sleepover.

And the experts on the subject have reached a consensus on at least one thing: resistance to bedtime inevitably leads to a girl going to bed with a very warm, red bottom.

But before discussing those bedtime spankings, I must ask why is it that a grown woman needs a bedtime at all? Should she not be the arbiter of when her body is ready for her head to grace her pillow and her eyes to flutter shut?

I think there must be something a Top finds irresistible about a girl in PJs. After all, what spank-able girl does not look incredibly cute and adorable in her PJs. Hmmmm, I wonder, are bedtimes little more than a ruse -- a Top's subterfuge? Could it be that a Top imposes a bedtime hoping that His girl will disregard it, thus providing Him with a reason to spank her?

Himself does not require me to follow a routine bedtime -- I'm sure he believes I should follow a routine bedtime, but He knows that if He genuinely intended to enforce a bedtime, He would likely find Himself delivering a punishment spanking at least 6 nights a week -- if not 7. I have always tried to squeeze every possible minute out of a day -- it is simply who I am. He sees that and accepts it. He also knows that more often than not, my chosen career demands late night hours.

BUT not having a bedtime can be detrimental to a girl's bottom too. Being disagreeable and grouchy due to lack of sleep is neither tolerated nor excused regardless of the reason for the lack of sleep -- so if I am going to elect not to sleep, I must also find a way to have a pleasant disposition when lack of sleep begins to take its toll, or face the consequence . . . . which almost always means finding myself looking at the floor while my poor bottom is assaulted by a firm hand or belt or paddle ... or heaven forbid, all three!!

So although I may not get spanked for ignoring a bedtime, it seems I do routinely get bedtime spankings.

Himself will use a bedtime spanking to address missteps that occur throughout the day. Sometimes He tells me at the moment of the infraction that I will be soundly spanked before I go to sleep that night, leaving me to fret and stew throughout the day about what bedtime will bring. When that is the case, I often purposefully choose to leave the flannel PJs tucked away in the chest of drawers when bedtime rolls around and instead, I pull out something that is perhaps a little more distracting shall we say. While flannel PJs and PJs with trap doors may say "spank me," silk and lace often send another message . . . .

Should any girl wearing these pretty pink outfits really be spanked? No, no and a thousand times no. A girl dressed in such pretty lingerie should be held and kissed and massaged and a million other wonderful things none of which involve a spanking.

Sometimes, this tactic actually works -- at least for 24 hours or so . . . . Himself is indeed distracted by the pretty lingerie and we fall asleep basking in the glow of something other than a warm red bottom.

BUT nine times out of ten, He will remember the next day that He had previously promised me a spanking that was not delivered. He will then decree that said spanking should be extra long in light of my naughty attempt to cause Him to forget the punishment I "so justly deserve" (His words; not mine. I deserve kisses and flowers and kisses and long luxurious bubble baths and kisses and . . . ).

I respond with my best doe-eyed innocent look: "WHAT??? Haven't you ever heard of a statute of limitations? I believe I have been denied due process. I want to talk to my lawyer."

It's usually at this point that He reminds me that He is my lawyer and that in His opinion (the only opinion that counts on the subject) the punishment indeed fits the crime.

Then there are times when I prepare for bed oblivious to the fact that He has kept a running tally in His head of any naughty or bratty behavior. I walk out of the dressing room, prepared to snuggle into Him only to find Him waiting -- sometimes in the large, overstuffed armchair with implements neatly lined up on the nearby table.

Other times, I find Him waiting on the edge of the bed, and He has stacked the bed pillows neatly behind Him, implements displayed in the middle of the bed. There is no question that He expects me to drape myself over the alter He has built so that my bottom is pushed up high, completely and unabashedly exposed.

When I do find Him waiting like this, I stop as I step over the threshold of the dressing room door, my mind racing, trying to quickly prepare an explanation for the behavior I know we are about to discuss -- behavior that somewhere in the back of my mind, I always knew He would bring to my attention, despite the fact that until this point, He has remained silent allowing me to hold on to the slim possibility that I may have just this once "gotten away with it." If I pause too long, I hear three firm words -- a total of six syllables -- one command: "Arianna, come here."

At that moment, I feel as if I've swallowed a dozen butterflies and they are all fluttering in my stomach desperate to escape. My legs feel like lead, I am not certain who or what propels me to walk the length of the room to where He sits waiting.

Sometimes, He is particularly merciful and almost immediately leads me over His lap or over the stacked pillows and proceeds to discuss the unacceptable behavior that has brought us to this moment as He begins to warm my bottom with a hand-spanking over my PJs.

Other times, He makes me stand in front of Him and asks the dreaded question, which is more of a command than a question: "Arianna, tell me why it is you are about to be spanked." Is there anything more humbling than to be forced to verbally acknowledge what you have done to earn a spanking? From past experience, I can tell you that responding with "I don't know" is as unacceptable as saying "Because you are a mean 'ole bully."

In answering this question, a girl is also expected to speak clearly, using a respectful tone and perfect diction. "No mumbling, Arianna -- describe your transgression to me as clearly and as loudly as you spoke when you were so quick-tongued and rude earlier today -- but for your own sake, without the venom and the sarcasm you managed to muster previously."

My head spins . . . the dozen butterflies now feel like six dozen. To answer with "I don't know what you are talking about," will only result in Him responding, "Then I suppose, I will have to spank you until you remember, and then once you remember, we can begin again in earnest to address your naughtiness." At this point a girl (namely me) is in the proverbial "Catch-22." How does a girl respond to that?? No matter what she does, she has earned herself two spankings: one to make her remember plus the one previously earned -- or should she admit that she actually does know why she is going to be spanked, then He will give her one spanking for feigning that she could not remember and then follow that spanking with the one originally earned.

There is no cute, coy way to avoid what is about to happen, pretty lingerie won't help, pouting won't help . . . .

Shhhhhh. I would never tell Him this but a bedtime spanking can save me from what a day in the big, sometimes not-so-kind world can do to me. Fourteen hour work days filled with meetings and conference calls and inane bureaucracy can rob me of the ability to be submissive at the end of the day, mask my femininity, make me speak tersely, or go inside myself, shutdown so I don't communicate at all.

He somehow knows this and He comes to find me and saves me from myself, from the suffocating hold my career can take on me, from the frightening responsibility that comes with being a grown-up. It is the end of the day, I am beyond tired, tomorrow looms but He demands I forget the recent past and the impending future and live in this moment; the moment in which He touches me in ways I have never trusted another to touch me. He spanks me through my protests, sometimes through my tears and when He does, I am made free. In that moment, the stress goes and I am only His. He is the only one who has a hold on me. He loves me. I can laugh again, relax again. He takes care of me even though I walked through the door from work grouchy and cross.

When the spanking ends, I can see He has masterfully guided me out of my darker self. On a certain level, I always knew He would and how He would go about doing it, but if He had asked me if I needed a spanking, I would have vehemently denied it.

A girl (again, namely me) sleeps very soundly after being thoroughly spanked -- perhaps this is the result of having a guilty conscious spanked away or the result of knowing that He will pull me back to Him before I can step over the edge.

So, although I may fret to find my bedtime near, when morning comes, I feel pretty and submissive, grounded, at peace and above all else . . . . . I feel loved.

I Wonder If I've Been Changed In The Night?

2010-08-05T19:12:00.003-04:00

"I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?' Ah, that's the great puzzle!"

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Chapter Two, -- Lewis Carroll

TTWD is relatively new for Himself and me. And I must admit there are times that I feel much like Alice in the second chapter of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.

Just who is this person who has consented to be pulled over her lover's knee and spanked like a school girl? Who is this person who can now readily admit and say out-loud to Him that I need Him to take care of me. Not in a material way but in the most intimate and emotional way.

Our path to this place was not an easy one. There were rocks (some of which felt like immovable boulders) and storms (some of which were worse than the most horrid hurricane). And even now, TTWD is not an ending place. We continue to navigate our way together -- now almost always hand in hand or with me a step behind Him. There are still places in our path where we stumble; even fall at times. Only now we have a tool for moving the boulders and braving the storms. Should I step ahead of Him or try to run away, He pulls me back -- sometimes gently bringing me into His arms; other times over His knee.

He has always wanted me to find a way to be more open. I have resisted -- not out of disrespect for Him (although He does not always see it that way) -- it is learned behavior, a form of self-protection that is not easy to unlearn. TTWD helps. He spanks me and I cannot explain it, but in those very vulnerable moments, walls come down. I want to cling to Him and be wrapped in His strong arms, and I find myself wanting Him to know everything that has ever made me need to shield myself with silence and withdrawal. I cannot always find the words but the difference now is I want to be better than what I was before TTWD. I want my actions to always convey how much I love Him; and shutting Him out does not do that.

He loves me. I know that. He loves me in a way that so many people in this world crave to be loved. I know I am a very, fortunate woman to have found this love. But He is human. Sometimes when emotions run high and we are forced to deal with frustration, anger, disappointment, He too goes quiet. But more often than not He is loud and aggressive; He allows His anger to control what He says. He can forget that words sometimes hurt more than the most awful of spankings.

BUT anger does not overcome Him as often as it once did. He has a new found sense of self-discipline and holds Himself to very high standards. I am accountable to Him in this relationship and He is accountable to Himself and to the well-being of "Us." I think it is a gigantic responsibility; a daunting one. I love Him and respect Him in ways I never thought possible because He is willing to take on that responsibility.

We visited my family this past weekend. They knew something was different; they saw how we look at each other now; they commented on how content and settled I seem.

They also noticed how I did not make plans without checking with Himself first; how we gently touch each other when we walk past one another, and other tiny submissive acts on my part -- My mother and my sister were a little perplexed. They are used to the more stoic, more practical me. They reminded me how important it is not to give up the ability to care of yourself and to be independent. I answered with only: "Have you ever seen me happier?" They knew with that, I held the trump card and nothing more was said.

I have changed; perhaps not overnight as Alice did, but changed nonetheless. I am happy; I am loved, I will keep striving to be a better me and to love Him better; and yes, from time to time, I am spanked.