Monday, May 30, 2005

Migraine Headaches and M/s

I have migraine headaches. Have had them all my life, since I was just a little bitty thing. The earliest ones that I remember started when I was about 5 years old. I'd tell my parents that my neck hurt. They'd put me to bed, and I'd simply lie there in the dark and cry miserably from the awful pain. As I got older, the headaches got worse.

Migraine headaches are hard to explain to someone who has never experienced one. The pain is like a railroad spike driven deep into your temple while someone blares an air horn somewhere nearby and noxious odors fill the room which seems to spin crazily as the lights flash off and on in random strobing patterns that stab into the back of your eyeballs...

As an adult, I tried lots of different things to try and manage the headaches. I never did tolerate the various prescription medications that came along over the years. Almost all of them caused me to vomit violently. So I turned to biofeedback and massage therapy and color visualization and accupressure and Ann Lander's imfamous banana peel cure and anything else that I could find that might offer some relief. I watched my diet and my sleep patterns and I avoided all the myriad environmental triggers that I knew about. It got so that I lived my life around my headaches. Even so, eventually I was having 12 to 15 debilitating headaches a month -- headaches that literally sent me to bed moaning and crying from the pain and nausea that they caused. And then, in the summer of 2003, T heard about a new medication, called topamax, that was beginning to be prescribed for migraines.

Topamax was originally prescribed for certain types of epileptic seizures. During the clinical trials, researchers discovered that about 85% of those who were prescribed the medication for their epilepsy (if they also suffered from migraine headaches) became headache free. The improvement was so significant that topamax was soon being released, on a limited basis for migraine sufferers as well -- a medication that could be taken, on a prophylactic basis to actually prevent the occurence of the headaches rather than treat them AFTER they start. T thought I should ask my doctor about it, and so did Master. I made an appointment.

My very careful doctor insisted that I see a neurologist for the prescribing of this stuff and so I had a very thorough workup (including an MRI), but in September of 2003, I began taking topamax for the prevention of migraine headaches.

Now that's a lot of background, but there's a reason for all of that. Taking topamax is not an easy undertaking. It is a powerful drug. I had to titrate the dosages up 25 milligrams at a time, week-by-week, until I reached a therapeutic dosage (for me) of 100 milligrams. The stuff made me absolutely stupid. I got lost on the way to work. I couldn't think of more than one thing at a time which made the simplest operations awfully challenging. My feet and hands tingled. Things tasted strange and I was often mildly nauseated (a sort of on-going morning sickness style icky feeling), and there was an interesting sort of emotional volatility that tended to run toward violence. Almost all of the side-effects eventually worked themselves out, but many of them took about 8 months to completely subside, and everytime I would increase the dosage, the level of the intensity of the side-effects would ratchet up again. It was a rocky time.

Well, that was almost a year and a half ago and I've been almost migraine free for all that time. There has been an occasional break-through headache, but they are very rare. I hardly think about them anymore. Until the last couple of weeks that is...

In the last two weeks, I've had 3 headaches and one of them was severe... Just awful. I suspect it has to do with hormonal shifts related to peri-menopause, but whatever the cause, I've been pretty miserable. So, we talked and without really thinking about it too much, we decided that maybe I could just up my topamax dose by 25 mg/day. It seemed reasonable. So Friday night I took an extra pill and again on Saturday night.

By Sunday morning, I could hardly think my way through the process of making the pancakes for breakfast. I stood in my kitchen with an egg in my hand trying to remember how to separate an egg, and I began to be really scared. Then there was the business of clearing the table... A dirty plate in one hand and a used paper napkin in the other, and I didn't know what to do with either of them -- had myself in a human "do loop." T saw me, and said, Sue, can I help. That snapped me out of it, but I was starting to get really nerved out. Later in the afternoon, I was beginning to see pink clouds floating near the ceiling. Definitely time for a nap. Master decided we were going to back that dosage thing back down immediately at that point. Oh brother!!! I'd really forgotten how wicked this stuff can be.

This morning was better I guess. But there was the little matter of our "session." Topamax causes emotional volatility. I was mad. The whole idea of getting spanked this morning made me furious. I didn't want to do it. It simply seemed unfair and unreasonable, and I knew that I would do it anyway, that I had no good reason to say "no." And that made me mad too. I tried to talk to myself, in my head and reason myself through the fury. I knew it was the drug. But the rage was red hot. Finally, I told Him I needed the restraints. I told Him I was just angry and too mad to be sure I could control it myself. Both of us remember an incident from the first go round with topamax. I don't ever want to go there again. He strapped me up and I raged and roared as He paddled me soundly and well, then held me while I sobbed my fury into His arms.

The tides are calming tonight I think. But it has been a wild weekend.


Saturday, May 28, 2005

Picking up Lunch and causing Pain for someone else...

It was absolutely glorious here today. A bright, sunny, lovely, spring day.

We had a lazy Saturday morning, and I had a morning spanking before breakfast. Then we spent a good bit of time just cruising around together on the Internet. T had taken off to go spend the day with her mom. About 2:00 we decided to order sandwiches and onion rings from the local Cracker Barrel restaurant
. Getting them carryout meant we could bring them home and enjoy them on the patio with a nice bottle of white wine (no wine at the Cracker Barrel).

I hopped into the shower and got cleaned up and put on a tiny little wisp of a denim skirt and a little bitty light blue t-shirt. That skirt is really just a wide waist-band with a ruffle attached. It really doesn't leave much to the imagination. Between it and my sandals, there was a whole lot of long leg -- and it is springtime... has been a long, cold, dark, dreary winter here. Anyway, off I went, collar, legs and all.

As I was heading up the sidewalk into the restaurant, there was a 30-something couple coming out. The fellow was probably six feet tall and reasonably attractive. His wife was fairly typical of many of the women that one sees here in southern Ohio -- sturdy and German looking. Not unattractive, but round-faced, round-bodied, and stout. Sort of that St. Pauli girl... They came through the door, and he exclaimed, rather loudly, "Oh my God!" She immediately, and without any hesitation, elbowed him sharply in the ribs, and he very quickly added, "the sun!"

If my skirt had not been so short as to make such a maneuver utterly immodest and embarassing, I'd have fallen over and laughed hysterically. I felt bad for his pain, but he (and she, too, for that matter) surely made my day... I wonder if either of them realized that I'm practically old enough to be their mother?

Too rich!!!

Of course, once I was home and the sandwiches were eaten, and the story duly told, we had to have a session with the evil Cracker Barrel paddle (OF COURSE WE HAVE ONE!!!!). But then, we made love and took a lovely nap and well, all's well that ends well.

I wonder if that lady at Cracker Barrel maybe needs a CB paddle to keep her man in line? Do you suppose he'd have less trouble with the "sun" in the future? Hmmmmmm...


Thursday, May 26, 2005

Counting "Get Ups"

When the end of the school year draws near, the children anticipate the coming of the summer vacation... almost as much as their teachers do. Almost. Those of us who have worked, and planned, and chased after them, and struggled to stay ahead of them, and tried our darndest to understand them, and love them through all their many and varied moods and incarnations are, by now, just plain tired. Any teacher worth the name has left it all on the table at this point -- there isn't a whole lot left to give. I know our crew of middle school teachers (middle aged, all) is looking pretty "thin."

Years ago, a few weeks before the end of a school year, when I was outside supervising the gathering of the "hoarde" before school one morning, a bright, lovely, smiley first grade imp came bounding up to me, and declared to me that there were only 12 more get ups left. Since I barely had my eyes open at that early hour, I found myself a bit taken aback by this little bundle of energy, and had no clue what bit of wisdom she might intend to impart to me with her "oh so serious" face. As I talked to her, she explained that she hated getting up and getting dressed and that any day that she managed to get through that, she figured she'd gotten the worst of it out of the way. So, she didn't actually count days left of school, she counted get ups. Once she was up and dressed, that "get up" was handled and she crossed it off. So there were only 12 more "get ups" left. I have, ever since, taken Miss Katy's wisdom to heart. So, as of today, there are only 5 more get ups left this school year.

Believe me, this poor, old tired teacher is counting every single get up!!!

Thank you, Katy, Dear. Wherever you might be...


Tuesday, May 24, 2005


Master could simply demand. He could just make the decision as to when and where and how I will be spanked. Sometimes that is the way it is with us.

Lately, though, I've been under the gun for time and energy, and He has backed way off; sensitive to my needs and my schedule. So, last weekend, after three soccer games, when Sunday afternoon rolled around, and I was muttering under my breath about how much there was still to do, He did not take me by the hand and pull me to Him and decree that I needed a spanking -- even though I did. Desperately. This in spite of the fact that He wanted to do that. He judged that doing that would send me into a tizzy of fussing and worrying about all the chores and "teacher crap" that I would not be able to get to.

But He didn't share any of that thinking with me -- just went off to Himself and busied Himself online as I ironed and laundered and stewed away...

It turned out that it was me who went to Him, at about 2:30 in the afternoon, when I'd finally finished what seemed like a towering heap of ironing, and asked, "do you think you might have time to spank me sometime this afternoon?" in my tiniest, littlest, least demanding voice. I didn't want to push Him, but I needed Him.

To my absolute joy, He was thrilled. He told me that He'd been holding off because He didn't want to disturb me. Awwwwww...

Of course, at that point, the timing was His to determine, and He did make me wait until He was ready. I think there was something on the television that He was watching. So I had to sit and wait patiently until it was time. Then He took me by the hand and led me into our bedroom and put me into restraints. He decided to spank me first over my jeans, and then over my panties, and then finally on my bare butt. The act of asking for a spanking seemed to give Him license to crank the level of things up some. He used two of His favorite wooden paddles that are both fairly intense as well as the rattan cane, and finished with the newest heavy leather paddle.

There is always a point, during an intense session, where I need to get past a sort of rage that bubbles up from deep inside of me. This time was no different. Always, when that point comes, I am grateful for the restraints that allow me to rage and do no harm -- rail and fight without breaking position or running away. It keeps me safe and secure and allows me to ride the full range of emotions to which I am subject in that kind of session. We came to the end and I remember feeling exhausted and sleepy and deeply loved and connected. This time, the pain washed me into His arms...



One of the hardest changes in the last few months, for me at least, has been in terms of my own sexuality. I am 50, and while I'm a well-preserved 50, there are some realities that don't seem to be entirely avoidable. One of those is that there are hormonal shifts going on in my body. I am not yet menopausal, but I can tell that things are beginning to happen that foretell that change.

We practice vaginal fisting. A year ago, we were indulging in that rather high-end sexual activity as often as three or four or even five times a week. For me, it was the ultimate sexual high. I achieved multiple, intense, mind-blowing orgasms during fisting that were unlike anything I'd ever experienced before, and the sense of connection with Master at the peak of that experience was simply amazing. Quite often, when I'd reach the point of simple exhaustion and utter "stupidity," we'd lie together with Him buried to the elbow deep inside me, and rock on a tide that only we could feel. We even managed to fist in the dungeon at Thunder in the Mountains last summer. I don't know how that was perceived by those around us, but it was wild for me...

In the last few months, however, fisting has become increasingly difficult and painful. Not simply a matter of lubrication, this seems to be an issue of elasticity and thinning in the underlying tissue. Truly, I am coming to believe that, in spite of the outward appearances, my body, is aging in very fundamental ways. This one, I really am in mourning over. We still manage it sometimes, but it is much harder and much scarier and not nearly as satisfying or as good.

I've taken to focusing on making sure that our sex is pleasing for Him. Trying to not get wrapped up in my own pleasure or whether or not I get off. That keeps us out of the danger zone for the most part. Except that the tension can build for me until it begins to wear through and He can "see" it on my face and in my muscles and wherever else it shows up for His eyes to pick up the signals that Masters get by radar. That was the case this weekend when He looked at me late on Sunday night and declared, "you NEED an orgasm!" I was wordless in the face of the almost accusation.

Then there was a torrent of questioning: "what can I do that will be good for you?" The truth is that I didn't know. I've come to a place where I've become terribly afraid that there might not be anything that is good for this body that I don't seem to know anymore. It seems to have turned on me and betrayed me in these months. I honestly have no idea how to please myself anymore, let alone how to be pleased by anyone else. Even masturbating, I seldom manage orgasm anymore. So we had a rocky evening. But He was determined, and more than a little unhappy that I'd let things go so far without letting Him in on it all...

Ultimately, we found our way to some pretty intense sexual play that wasn't quite fisting, but almost... And I found my way to some wild orgasms under His guidance -- that left me spent and sweating and sobbing with joy -- restored to a belief that life might still be ok. By the time we'd both worn ourselves out, I might have even been ready to fist...if we hadn't been so utterly exhausted physically. Maybe we can try that another day. I hope...

Anyway, good to know this old bag isn't quite dead yet.


Monday, May 23, 2005

The Way Things are Really...

Well, Sir... meaning no disrespect, but I need to say a few things about your "Opus."

All of what you wrote is, of course, technically accurate. You have amazing skill and knowledge in the use of many implements, and their use. It is true that, if one begins with carefully selected implements, and builds the intensity gradually, moving from thuddy to stingy, slowly over time, with lots of massaging and rubbing and stroking and encouragement in between, that a bottom can come to find the increasing levels of painful stimuli not only tolerable, but even pleasurable and erotic. The body, very naturally, secretes endorphins and a whole host of other chemicals into the bloodstream to help cope with the onslaught, and that flood of chemicals alters the perception of pain, sometimes quite radically. This phenomenon is well understood by experienced practitioners in the BDSM community like yourself, and it is the ticket to paradise for many masochists. The key is timing and the selection of stimuli, as you know, Sir...

Of course, knowing HOW to get someone there is not the same as wanting them to get there, or wanting to DO it that way, is it? The fact is that for all that interesting technical stuff you wrote, Master, about 4-second rules and where to hit, and how to gradually build the intensity, what you like to do is go to town on a bottom with a few favorite, intense implements until you've got tears and shrieks and begging for mercy. Making your bottom feel good is entirely too much in the realm of "service Top" for you, generally speaking. This charming little OPUS of yours is advertising for "newbies," who will be impressed by the breadth of your training and expertise.
Woe unto them...

There! I've unmasked you, Sir -- brat swan rides again.... hehehehehe... (not sure how one "spells" the sound that hysterical laughter makes...)


Sunday, May 22, 2005

The Heretic's Opus

Adult Consensual Erotic and/or Disciplinary Spanking Within the Context of a bDDsm Lifestyle
Copyright [May 22, 2005] by [Raheretic]

I am the Alpha Dominant member of a heterosexual female, male, female, polyamorous, “V”, triad, intentional family. We describe our sensual/erotic orientation as bDDsm connoting the practice of Domestic Discipline within the over arching context of a BDSM relationship. We believe the practice of domestic discipline is a specialized practice of BDSM, and that there are many other BDSM practices as well. While we play and love in many ways, the practice of adult consensual erotic and/or disciplinary spanking is for us a primary expression of erotic excitement, intimate connection, and fun. We also use it to stimulate change in our relationships and or behaviors when that is necessary. Within our family we have all consented that we each are subject to potential discipline as determined appropriate from the other two family members.

How Did An Educated Middle Class Caring Professional Come to Enjoy and Need to Give and Receive Painful Spankings With the Women He Loves/Cares About?

My earliest erotic memories are of masturbating to fantasies of spanking girls/women. I don’t know why. I’ve never known why. I didn’t ask to have this orientation. It’s always been a reality in my life. It’s been the source of great self-hatred. I’ve gone to therapists to be cured of it. They had no cures. I’ve lived through a lifeless, horrid marriage in which I could not express this. I’ve felt that I must be the only person who felt like this, and that I must be a monster for my evil “proclivity.” I spent years pouring over Readers’ Forum sections of magazines like “Playboy,” “Penthouse,” and “Variations” for the occasional letter from a spanking enthusiast, or even better, the rare article about this sexual variation. I thrilled to learn there were others for whom this reality existed, and to see there were, in fact, mental health professionals who felt it was a legitimate sexual variation. Eventually, with the advent of the VCR, I went to adult bookstores and found videotapes depicting spanking motifs. Wow, there must be enough of us to bother to invest significant capital to produce large numbers of videos like this! I was becoming less alone. Along the way, I had some spanking affairs: secret liaisons with women who came to care for me, and who were willing to share this, my main expression of erotic connection, fun, and excitement. Coincidentally, the ending of my first marriage coincided with my first cyber awareness. I had an AOL account. I typed “spanking” into the search engine. My god, there were thousands of entries, essays, stories, pictures, and folks offering to help others understand. I was a recently separated man, going through divorce, and as is so often the case, in a post marital “sport fucking” phase. I developed a profile on adult connection Internet services. I developed a toy bag of spanking implements. I had a lot of success. Over two years I likely spanked two or three dozen different women some once, others as part of on-going dating relationships. Eventually, I learned there was a BDSM group in my community. I met some of the group’s leaders for lunch. I had never talked with more than one person at a time about my erotic orientation to spanking. I was amazed there was a community of us! I attended a Board meeting of the organization. I sat at a long table with a dozen and a half people all of whom shared spanking/BDSM as an orientation. They didn’t have two heads. They didn’t have “pervert” inscribed on their forehead in scarlet letters. They looked like normal people—all ages—all walks of life—all colors.

They had a party in a rented lodge at a state park. I attended with a date. There were spankings and other forms of BDSM activity occurring all over. I’d never seen a man bottom. I watched amazed as a woman tied her nude husband, a tall strapping fellow, to a pillar, and flogged him severely for an hour. I had terrifically mixed feelings about that. I was still feeling that men were somehow “innately” Tops, and had no understanding of how or why a man would submit to that. I was told that this man and woman were both “switches” and that at a previous party it was she who was bound and flogged, and he who had held the whip hand. I was as a kid in a candy store.

During the party I encountered one of the women with whom I’d lunched. She had seen me play, and offered to come to my apartment with her submissive and play. As we did so, she told me that I was practicing BDSM with “far more enthusiasm than skill.” She offered to give me technical training in the how-to’s of BDSM practice. She was viewed by many, within the BDSM community, as a “guru.” She had been in practice for 35 years at that point. I was pleased to have this opportunity so generously made available to me.

Training expanded my horizons. I had paddles and some crude straps. She had a huge and varied collection of professional quality implements. I learned to use a flogger, dressage whip, quirts, and straps of various materials. I learned the different types of sensations these implements could create, as well as, of course, my beloved paddles. I learned by topping her after she would demonstrate techniques on me. This was a mind-blowing experience. I was bottoming. I would never have to imagine what it felt like to be a bottom again. I now knew. I knew how to create pleasure, to create building endorphin release that could make even intense pain stimuli pleasant, or to create extreme pain. I was taught where to hit. If my control was weak and I struck an unsafe area, I was immediately disciplined for it. I never imagined myself bottoming. I wasn’t harmed by it. Not only was it educational, I learned it could be pleasant. I became a switch. I became a BDSM practitioner, not simply a beater of bottoms with paddles.

A few years later, I married a wonderful woman, my submissive, sly (teresa), who is my wife today, and while she lost her masochistic orientation due to a serious and horribly painful illness years later, she remains my committed service submissive. She has become an excellent Top, an orientation she once found as impossible as I found the likelihood I would ever relate as a bottom. We also live with sly’s sister-heart, and my slave and great love Sue (Rahereticsswan), who wears my initials ritually carved into the back of her shoulder as her symbol of my ownership of her. She is a pure masochist and high-end player. We have fun “freaking out” newbies in dungeons at BDSM conferences with the intensity of our play.

I no longer hate myself. My erotic orientation is a gift. I am skilled at relating to those for whom I care in ways that can please those who share my gift. I can create erotic pleasure for them or sadomasochistic intensity. I can help women make changes in their life that they desperately want to accomplish, but have been unable to muster the motivation to achieve. I can bottom, and go into subspace with the best of bottoms. I can help new persons to this life understand their orientation is just that, an orientation, not a curse, and not a reason to hate themselves. I can help them grow in their BDSM practice. I can keep them safe as they explore.

It has been a journey, but it is one that fills my life with joy and love, not self-denigration and longing as once was my lot. My life long question was: “how can I, a compassionate, caring, loving, man, enjoy inflicting painful spankings on people whom I loved?” I now know that those “painful” stimuli are intense sensations conveying erotic and loving connection.

I will go on to discuss some of the technical aspects of bDDsm spanking practice I’ve learned.

Erotic Spanking

Sensual/erotic spanking involves the intentional building of sensations starting with relatively mild “thuddy” not very painful implements which can be applied in successively more intense styles and materials, allowing a bottom to “ladder” up in the secretion of endorphins. The goal is to create such gradual escalation of sensation that one adjusts at each level to not only tolerate the spanking they are receiving, but come to enjoy it. Eventually this will result in reaching a state of endorphin intoxication known as “sub space.” Once there, even intensely stinging and painful stimuli, become bearable and a source of pleasure. Throughout this process intervals of sensually pleasurable stimulation such as massage, or stroking with a knifepoint, or with soft fur, or the tip of an implement, can further enhance the pleasure of this kind of experience. The Top in this kind of experience needs to become sensitive to the non-verbal nuances of his partner. Most people become barely verbal to non-verbal once sub-space is achieved.

The types of implements which could be employed in this sort of spanking are so varied and numerous it would be difficult, in one essay, to explain all the techniques that one might employ in this regard. It is likely one would learn this sort of technique through observation and or actual technical training.

Disciplinary Spanking

I believe the truest and most effective disciplinary spanking is the old fashioned switching. I am referring here to spanking with a whippy tree or bush branch, a “switch,” not to the power exchange in which practitioners change roles from Top to bottom. Performed as described here, a switching can be an effective form of discipline and/or very intensive sadomasochistic play, and can be safe and loving.

The selection of a switch is important both physically and psychologically. A good switch will likely be about 3/8 inch thick on the handle end and will be very green in the interest of it's being as whippy as possible, most likely about two and a half feet to three feet in length and relatively straight and as free of "buds" as possible. I like having submissive partners, whether in play or serious discipline select their own switches. I send them out on a switch hunting expedition with a mandate that they must return with a certain number of switches that will then be used on their bare bottom. I actually have a special pair of pruning nippers that are used only for the cutting of switches. When those are brought out and handed to the submissive, she is aware that her bottom is in very large trouble. I tell submissives that if they return with any switches that are inappropriate or insufficient that those switches will be immediately used on them until they are worn out and that they will then be required to go back out and select two to replace them. By way of preparation, switches should have all twigs, etc., broken or cut off them. These rods having been produced by nature, and not a factory, will not be perfectly uniform and straight. Buds on switches can add a great deal to the severity of the sensation they inflict. Switches are severe anyway without the enhancement of buds. I usually trim larger buds from a switch, preferring to have the pain inflicted by the switch tip and not bumps further up the switch.
Once selected I usually have the submissive scrub the switches with antibacterial soap to assure their cleanliness (I have rarely broken skin with a switch--but an errant switch stroke is capable of doing that--and thus I want them as clean as possible just in case). Then they are placed in a bathtub of warm water to soak. This not only assures cleanliness, it enhances the switch's pliancy and thus the sting it will inflict. I find the bottom’s apprehension about her impending switching is enhanced by her handling and preparing the switch. I often will have her whisk it in the air a few times to listen to its sound, and of course to imagine what it will feel like when it whisks across her bottom.I usually will prescribe a time when the switching will occur. For example, there might be a switch hunting expedition at dawn for a switching which will occur at 2:00 that day. The submissive will be required to check the switches soaking in the bathtub frequently and to keep the water in the tub warm, so that the switches retain maximum pliancy and thus ability to sting.
It is not uncommon for bottoms, thus prepared, to be in tears as their switching time approaches. A switching should begin with a preparatory spanking with a hand or relatively softer leather implement. The spanking should begin with very light loving pats and progress through mild and then moderate spanking. The preparatory spanking is complete when the submissive partner’s bottom is bright pink or mildly red and stingy. This not only sensitizes the bottom to maximize the sensation the switching will inflict, but dilates the blood vessels in the buttocks and reduces bruising.
At times, I have then called off a switching at that point, deciding that the bottom, beside herself with anticipation, and expecting to be severely whipped, has suffered enough psychologically. After placing her in position and making noisy switch strokes in the air or against a couch, etc., I will then tell the bottom that if anything like this happens again that the switching will actually be administered but doubly, and prescribe a bed time spanking as a reminder. There are other instances, when I follow through to carry out a switching.Administering a safe sound switching requires some skill. As with all spanking techniques, where to hit, how to hit, and how often to hit are the major considerations. I underwent professional Dominant training. In training the bottom partner wore thong underwear. The areas that are legitimate to hit are left exposed by thong underwear. Areas that are covered by thong underwear are strictly off limits and can be dangerous tostrike in any form of spanking. Switches are not uniform in length, curvature, etc. So caution must be taken to be able to gauge distance and position of the Dominant partner so that he can be assured of where his strokes will fall. I often in the midst of a switching will play on a nearby pillow for a few strokes to get the feel of that switch before actually whipping it on the bottom. Bottoms usually seem to appreciate my being so deliberate inmeasuring the strokes they are about to receive. The greatest danger in switching, besides errant strokes that could strike in areas like lower back or the spine, where serious nerve damage could be inflicted, is "wrapping." During a switching you never want the middle part of the switch to land in the center of the buttocks allowing the tip to “wrap” around the hip, thigh, upper leg, etc. That greatly intensifies the speed of the switch tip and can cause severe and lasting bruising, and can even break the skin--not to mention inflicting even more excruciating pain than appropriately applied switch strokes will already inflict.Switch strokes are not administered with force but with wrist flicking moderate speed. I usually have each stroke culminate from the switch's having traveled two to three feet in its path to the bottom.
Frequency is important. Really rapid spankings with any form of implement bruise much more. I was trained in “four second rule.” This rule prescribes that in any spanking strokes should never be administered more frequently than one each 4 seconds unless bruising/marking is a goal. With switching I would expand that to at the very minimum every 6 seconds and frequently space blows far more broadly than that. A switch stroke sensation builds over time. The initial contact with the bottom hurts startlingly (the usual comment is, “it took my breath away”). The sensation builds and worsens for severalseconds after the initial blow. Intervals between strokes allow the bottom partner to fully absorb the sensation of each distinct stroke and to minimize the physical damage to the bottom that is inflicted.I always use restraint of some sort with a switching. It is virtually impossible for a bottom, no matter how experienced, to hold still for a switching. It is important for the bottoms safety that strokes be controlled and the movement of the target can result in unintended damage to a loved one receiving caring discipline, or sadomasochistic play. I use a professionally designed kneeling restraint bench, although ottomans and soft canvasstraps used in camping work very well to support someone, and keep them immobilized during a switching. A switch is not an implement for over the knee position spanking, in my opinion.I often will follow a switching with an aftermath spanking similar to the warm up spanking administered prior to the switching. Usually I will tell the bottom, upon the completion of her switching, that she may rest and recuperate remaining in restraint as long as she desires, and that she will be taken over my knee for an aftermath spanking when she decides it is time. She may then rest there until she is ready to politely ask me to remove her restraints and take her over my knee and complete her spanking. Aftermath spankings are not particularly severe in and of themselves, but in theaftermath of a switching, bottoms often perceive them to be serious blisterings.After all the switching experience is complete I apply ice to the buttocks. A simple, and very effective, approach is to keep couple of plastic bags of frozen peas in the freezer. I then place one bag over each buttock until the bags are thawed, and then apply aloe lotion to the buttocks. Emotional aftercare is of course as important as caring for the skin. Holding, caressing, reassuring, forgiving, etc., should be something you both willwant by the end of a switching. While this sort of spanking is often intended to motivate a behavior change, it typically also results in strong emotional connection between the two partners as well.Prospective bottoms often ask if they "could handle" the pain of a switching. I'm sure can you see from this discussion, switching is severe corporal punishment. I "can't handle" the pain of a switching, and I have only met two true masochists who can (they actually enjoyed it). I guess the question is, if what we are discussing is true discipline, should that discipline be something you "can handle," or is being forced to submit to something you find intolerable, a more effective deterrent or chastisement. I have worked with bottoms who wanted disciplinary support to help them control behaviors which they were failing to control (e. g., smoking, overeating, excessive drinking, compulsive spending, etc.) After one, or in some cases, two sound switchings, it becomes clear that anytime they violate their behavioral program, just such another switching will be inflicted without fail, or hesitation, they then changed behaviors that all previous attempts to control had failed to change.

In Conclusion

The role of spanking in my life has evolved from a primordial curse to the main expression of love, intimacy, and connection in my life. I love spending time with others with whom my family and I can be who we are without pretense and stigma. I love traveling with others on their journey to self-awareness in this lifestyle.


“Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you’ve imagined.”
……………..Henry David Thoreau ________________________________________________________________________

Thursday, May 19, 2005


I have a collar.

That simple statement may seem strange given the nature of what our relationship is. I identify as a consensual slave in a BDSM poly family. I find my sexual/erotic/interpersonal power identity in the masochistic and submissive end of the power exchange. Given all of that, the fact that I have a collar seems, perhaps, almost something that might be assumed.

Ours is not a Master/slave dynamic that generally follows the "accepted" norms for such relationships within the community. We just don't do it the way most folks do. Ours is a relationship that is, in many ways, more "free-form," and more shaped to suit the quirks that are "us." So, there is really not any real reason why there has to be a de facto assumption that I would have a collar.

Actually, I didn't have one until the summer before last. Until then, I bore the marks of ownership in my flesh. Far more permanent than any sort of removable "jewelry" or leatherwork, the initials that were cut into my left shoulder blade almost three years ago remain a constant reminder to me and to any who see them, that I belong to The Heretic.

But collars carry significance in the BDSM community. They speak to all who see them... and to all who wear them. The simple fact is that I WANTED a collar. Particularly, I wanted one to wear when we were out in public with others who were "in the life." So, it came to be that the summer before last, at OLF, Master gifted me with a beautiful chain mail collar that T helped Him to pick out for me. I loved it from the moment He put it around my neck. I still love it everytime I put it on. I love how it looks and I love how it feels and I love the weight of it and I love what it means.

Unfortunately, I don't wear it a lot. It is too extreme and too evocative to wear to school. I do need the gig. Can't afford to be unemployed. That big, heavy, chain mail collar is just really not it for the Catholic school marm disguise I don each day.

I want to wear it more. It speaks to me of my belonging to Him. I have wanted it to be put on me. I am coming to realize now that I need to get over that. Having that collar on helps me to remember to whom I belong. So, I need to PUT IT ON. It really is simple, and not doing it for myself and for Him is a foolish bit of stubbornness and pride that is hurting me and inhibiting my slavery. So, I'm trying to remember that.

Haven't been real good at it this week. It has just been wild. Late nights every single night. I've been just toasted when I drag myself home at 8:30 or 9:30 or later, and I've forgotten to do it. Still, I see it there on the mirror each morning and remember that I forgot. That's a step I guess.

I want this.

I will learn.

I know it will help me.


Monday, May 16, 2005

Someone New

Master has connected with a young woman who has potential to become a spanking partner for Him. What else she may become in His life or ours remains unclear at this point. They are chatting. Becoming acquainted.

I am watching them interact. I am watching myself react to their interactions. I am not unaware, and I am not uninvolved, and I am calm.

He assures me that I am loved and treasured and will always be His. Unlike other times when this has come up, this time I do not feel afraid. I am aware of the time that this new person will take up. Time seems like such a precious commodity, and that seems a difficult thing to give to her, but I am sure we will figure that out somehow, should this come to pass. Whatever, she does not feel like a threat or a judgment on my fitness to BE who I am in His life at this moment.

She simply is.

He wants what He wants from her.

I am able to finally trust that He will still want me and love me too.


We Had a Weekend

It may seem trivial to some.
For us it was huge.
A weekend. Time. To rest. To sleep. To relax. To play. To make love. To eat out. To sleep even more.

Friday night we actually got to come home from work on time -- no late night meetings. The first time that has happened in days and days and days. We had planned to grill some steaks and I'd picked up salad at "Olive Garden" which is a treat that Master just loves. With some baked potatoes and some lowfat, sugar free ice cream, it figured to be a nice, easy, laid back enjoyable dinner treat for us all. He and I opened a bottle of wine and had a few crackers and a bit of cheese while we waited for T to get home from work, and then went to lie down for a bit. We were sound asleep when she arrived. She snuggled up with us for a bit, and then wandered off and made herself some toast... We never did grill those steaks. The whole family ended up crashed out and the first thing any of us knew, it was 3:45 in the morning and we were all up and starving hungry.

Time for breakfast. Yes. Up and munching fresh fruit and cereal and coffee and yougurt at 4 AM. Finally, not exhausted but really, really hungry. Master and I were up for a bit and then headed back to bed to make love and fall back to sleep in one another's arms.

Not until almost 11:45 did we all actually get up and get cleaned up and head for our now favorite breakfast haunt for some yummy goodies and serious "cute kid" watching. I think I did manage to get a load of laundry done in the afternoon, and Master and I got some shopping done. T took a nap. Maybe there was a baseball game -- I forget. Mostly we hung out and just enjoyed the time to relax together without a schedule.

We did grill those steaks on Saturday evening. Ate them on the patio. Finished off with some vanilla ice cream and fresh, homemade applesauce. He and I were sound asleep in one another's arms again long before 10:00 rolled around. T gave up on us and took herself out to a movie -- I guess she thinks she is married to a couple of party poopers...

Sunday morning, we woke up and actually played -- the most intense session He and I have had for a very long time. It almost didn't happen because I am in the midst of my menstrual period. Master is always reluctant to play hard with me (or at all for that matter) when I am perhaps already hurting with menstrual cramps. It was me who assured Him that it was OK; that I needed to feel like I belonged to Him. I asked only that we start slowly, with some warm up, please... He obliged me. Once we started, I did beg Him to hold onto me, which He did, wrapping a strong arm around my waist to hold me down and immobilize me for the blows which he rained down on my ass and upper thighs while I grunted and moaned. Two sets. Some number. I have no idea how many. He counts. I don't. I breathe and stay. I think I went to subspace. Something that has not happened in a very, very long time, maybe more than a year. Float away on the pain. Mmmmm...


Still feeling warm and good and well and strong and wrapped up today.


Thursday, May 12, 2005

This one was Tough...

I think that people who do not live in D/s or M/s lifestyle relationships question whether it is even possible to do this full time. I understand the question. It is easy to see how outsiders might question how it is possible to incorporate the “stuff” of our kind of living into the day-to-day realities of life. To all those who are skeptical I can only say, we do it… we live it, stresses, strains, and all.

Of course, when the strains of “real” life appear, they tell in the M/s realm as well… We’ve been living life in the stress zone for a while, and cracks are beginning to appear. Master is tired. I am moody. T is ready to run away from home. We all need a vacation, and that is simply not in the cards. If anything, when we look out into the immediate future, there is more heavy and hard stuff coming down the line. We all know it. We all understand the necessity and inevitability for it all. We are all resigned and set for handling it. Still there are times when brave hearts falter and brave faces crumple, when tempers flare, and conflict arises. Each of us manages that in our own unique way. We are interesting personalities and the dynamics between us are reflective of our various temperaments and relational styles and preferences. T tends to avoid and smooth over conflict. I tend to manage it to a large degree – modulating and negotiating for a while, until I don’t… Master generally goes head on for the heart of the matter – or sometimes the jugular. When He and I clash, it can be titanic…

Between us, one of the most persistent raw spots is the pervasiveness of “media.” Master is, by my lights, a media addict. He wants, no – demands that there must be a television available in every room in the house, and radios as well. Our household computer is also (conveniently) located where one is in easy viewing proximity of the main room television. It is common for Him to turn on the television the moment His eyes open in the morning, and He is perfectly happy to fall asleep with it still blaring away at night. Both He and T seem to sleep undisturbed through whatever is on the tube or the radio (a behavior that I find utterly uncivilized)… On the other hand, He views me as a complete “Luddite” who would, left unchecked, throw all the evil TV’s, radios, and computers in the nearest pond and drown them all… That assessment isn’t too far off the mark. I seldom turn on a television on my own, and most of my radio listening is reserved for time alone in the car. Because of my hearing loss, I find the noise of such devices isolating. I cannot hear normal conversations when there is other noise in the room. So, I prefer it fairly quiet. Then too, I find most television programming just stupid and vapid. If I’m cleaning house, and I’m home alone, I may put something on the stereo and then sing along while I work.

If you’ve ever lived in close, intimate relationship with another person for more than a few weeks or months, you know that it is not the big stuff that gets you. Always, it is the seemingly little things. I believe this is true even in M/s relationships. For us, this TV thing is one of THOSE.

So, here we are living lives that have just been too intense for words. Illnesses, and aging parents, and work related demands that have pushed the envelope way beyond what is reasonable, and finances feeling sort of stretched some, and end of the school year exhaustion setting in, and…

As if that isn’t enough, we live in Cincinnati, Ohio. The Cincinnati Reds play baseball here. Anyone who follows baseball and lives in Cincinnati is subject to some sort of odd combination of slow torture and public humiliation mixed with just a hint of the taunt that maybe it could be different if only… It is worse than being a Cubs fan. Those poor fools know there is no hope. People in Cincinnati seem to have some insane belief that it might just be possible for this misbegotten bunch to pull it out, and there’s the rub. From opening day on, Master becomes possessed of a virulent mental illness. He knows it will make Him miserable, but still He watches Reds baseball on television, or, if the games are not televised, He listens on the radio. A lot of the time they just flat lose right from the start, and He yells and screams at the television through the whole game. It’s a party. But other times, they actually manage to lead going into the last inning. That’s when it gets really ugly, because we have a closing pitcher by the name of Danny Graves. Danny Graves will be the death of my Dear Master. Of this, I am certain. Danny is a nut case on the pitcher’s mound. He can blow a five or six run lead in the blink of an eye, and then complain when the fans boo him. He is the scariest thing in baseball. Why he continues to appear at the end of every game in which the Reds have a lead is a mystery to me, but there is the fact.

Well, anyway, last Sunday night the witch’s brew boiled over. Too much stress for too long, people worn down to a frazzle by all the forces working on them, a basic incompatibility ballooning in importance late at night when sleep-deprivation began to war against a looming early start to another intense work week, frustration and anger as another Danny-Graves-authored humiliation played out on the TV broadcast of another Reds game…

Master was listening to the ending of the game on the radio. Except He wasn’t really listening. He was sleeping and it was late. I’d been sleeping, fitfully, off and on, but the noise was keeping me from really being able to sleep soundly. So when I could tell that he was actually sleeping, I hoped to be able to turn the radio off. I made several moves in that direction, but each time He would wake up and growl at me. I’d settle in and try and wait. The game ended and I thought, “now we will be able to go to sleep,” but still the radio played on. Again He drifted off to sleep and I heard snoring, so I tried again, and again got growled at. By now, I was feeling really frustrated and increasingly angry. I was awake because of the radio – and He was asleep! Finally, I decided that if I wasn’t going to sleep, I might as well read. So I sat up, turned on a light and found a book. That, of course, woke Him up and made Him angry. He asked what I was doing and I told Him I couldn’t sleep and so was reading until it was time to sleep. Unfortunately, my frustration was clear in my voice, and He heard it loud and clear.

The battle was joined. He immediately was furious with me, declaring me unreasonable about television and radio. This in spite of the many, many nights I have stroked His back while He watched TV late at night with His head laid on my stomach until He drifted off to sleep, and I then had to struggle to reach the remote to turn off the TV long after He was dreaming and snoring… None of that made any difference. This time He was too worn, too stressed, too exhausted, too upset to care about the past. He declared that this was the last straw. Stated that He would not sleep with me anymore. Said that I was an insufferable bitch. I tried to back off and apologize, but He would have none of it. His fury was towering…

I knew that He would leave and go next door to T, and that she would be confused and upset by whatever story He would have to tell. Our late night rows often make her crazy. I was shaking and just devastated. It had only been a week or so since He’d threatened to strap me for questioning whether always meant always, and now He was saying He would no longer have me in His bed.

I slipped out from under the covers and went to the front bedroom of the house. It is a small room that we use primarily for storage. I found a small quilt there, wrapped up in it and sat in a corner on the floor. There, I sobbed silently in the darkness, not wanting to anger Him any further. I cried and cried and cried until there were no tears left. Eventually, I crumpled into a heap and fell asleep on the floor. Sometime early in the morning, around 3:30, He came and found me and took me back to bed. I was terribly cold and terribly hurt, but sad and sorrowful, I crawled back into His embrace. He said not a word. Simply pulled me into His arms and cradled me and we slept, fitfully until the alarm went off at 5:00 for school.

It took me until Wednesday to finally calm down enough to talk to Him about how hurt and scared I ‘d been. We talked about it and things are better and smoother now. M/s doesn’t make all the rough and bumpy places go away, and it doesn’t mean that we never disagree or that we never fight. It does mean that we hold onto and respect one another in very particular and specific ways even through the most difficult and heated and angry battles. I never considered ending our relationship and never considered leaving. I knew that as hurt as I was, it was His decision to come and call me back, and that I would stay on that floor until that happened. I knew that I had to give Him my pain and my anger and my fear over the whole episode in order for us to heal. That was my responsibility, and that ultimately it was my job to let it go back into His keeping. I did not have the choice to stay hurt and angry over it. There is much that is difficult in this life, but much to learn as well.

I am trying to learn.


Thursday, May 05, 2005

Not a "typical" day

Today was not our "typical" workday. What was different? Well, first, let's be clear about what constitutes "typical:"

Our "typical" workday begins when the alarm clock goes off at 5 AM. I usually turn it off and set a small timer that I keep at the bedside, allowing us an extra half hour, or so, to snuggle and hug, and very occasionally, to spank and fuck, before I have to REALLY get up and get ready for school. At 5:40 ( no later), I generally drag myself from His arms and head out to feed Cleo the wonder cat, and start the coffee. Then I head for the shower. Master usually switches on the television and listens for the weather (ACKKKK -- TV in the bedroom -- bad Feng Shui, I tell Him, but I lost that one a long time ago), then He gets up and makes us breakfast and packs my lunch. Yes -- Master fixes our breakfast and packs my lunch for school...

We sit down together to eat and watch the morning newscast. I am usually out the door and on my way at 6:30. Half an hour later I arrive at school and IM Him that I'm there and safe. Once He knows that, He heads off to snuggle and hug with T before she gets up and heads off to work.

The last to leave most days is Himself.

School is 8 class periods. Math class and computer class with 6th, 7th and 8th graders. Recess duty, cafeteria duty, hall duty, Student Council meetings, parent conferences, faculty meetings, team meetings, etc. I usually have about 15 minutes to eat lunch. My planning time is at the end of the day. I generally leave to come home somewhere around 4:00. Often, I stop on the way home to pick up something at the grocery for dinner -- fresh vegetables, or fruit, or bread...

Somedays I am the first one home. Sometimes Master and I arrive home at about the same time. T usually gets here at about 6:15. I try to have dinner ready when she gets here, or shortly after. We generally all sit down and eat together. It is our chance to catch up with each other and find out what has gone on all day.

Dishes, kitchen clean-up, set up the coffee for the next morning, round up the cell phones and get them on the chargers, miscellaneous household "stuff..." Sometimes that leaves us a little time to hang out and just relax in the evening, but often by the time we get that all handled, it is time to head for bed and do it all again...

A typical day...

But not today. Today He and I were awake at about 3:35 in the morning. Who knows why. Awake together and not feeling crummy and not feeling exhausted and not feeling too stressed out to care...

We snuggled for awhile until it finally became clear that we were both actually there and together. He declared that He thought I needed to be spanked and fucked. My heart leapt in me. It has been a long time that He has made that sound of decisiveness with regard to intending to "enjoying" me. I have missed it and longed for it and begun to believe it would not come again. But this was not a "typical" day...

That evil new leather paddle was brought forth, and I was duly spanked. I was good. Not naughty like He was over the weekend when T spanked Him with it ;-) I got spanked and then spanked again and then spanked again. Then it was finally done. I was teary but glad to be "back." And then we made love.

And there was even a little bit of time left to snuggle in and nap just a little before that dreaded little timer went off and insisted that I really DID have to get up and go make like a maidenly school marm today...