They Will Hurt

Chris has requested/directed/requested/required a list of ten punishments described by me that are to be posted on my blog. Only two may qualify as "traditional" (for us) spanking scenes^ - the others may incorporate but not be wholly composed of spanking.

By punishments, he means that they must incorporate significant pain to some part of my body - not damaging or dangerous pain but something more than generally precedes a late-night feel-and-fuck, you know? Yes, they may be erotic in situ, but the ultimate purpose is not sexual; rather it is to reinforce and reassure our convictions and understanding of our relational roles of Dominant/Top and submissive/bottom*. In some sense there is an expectation that they will be memorable in some signficant way(s).

Here, then, are descriptions of ten punishments which I expect to experience sometime before the year's end (in addition to any I actually earn through misbehavior or other non-action):

1. Groove strapping: The notion of having my bottom cheeks spread apart and a leather strap applied to the most sensitive areas between them is enough to make me shiver in anxiety. And yet, I've felt it before. Chris has done it to me before - like maybe twice in our entire relationship. Not severely, of course. A realistic method to keep my bottom cheeks apart is a relevant issue to overcome (a relatively recent experiment with medical tape comes to mind). I'm not suggesting this punishment because I think I would like it in any sense of the word. But of course, Chris would like it. All that's required is a little patience, a narrow leather strap, and the objectivity to see when enough is enough - or at least enough objectivity to see when fucking me is more important than strapping me.

2. Inner Thighs: If there is one part of my body (other than my head) that I absolutely dread receiving pain it is the inner faces of my thighs. My pussy? Go ahead, smack it. Backs of my thighs? Hate it but it's been done. Feet? You know, I've survived the absolute worst blisters in places on my feet which are not supposed to blister. But the insides of my thighs, while pinchable, rubbable, lovable, and otherwise kissable, are not intended for accepting pain. Really. But there is no doubt in my mind that one day in the forseeable future I shall find myself sitting back against a pile of pillows, heels together, knees flat to the mattress. And that something scary and leather and whippy will be falling on them while I try to figure out what the hell to do with the rest of my body to prevent it from catapaulting out the patio doors.

3. Hand strapping: In the brief interlude before I left for my parents, Chris took my hands from his shoulders, looked at the palms and said quite seriously, "I should give you a hand strapping." I immediately felt faint with a mixture of fear and lust. Not longing - oh no, I've seen girls with their hands freshly strapped and I do not look forward to the actual process of getting them strapped. But the utter submission required to lay my hands out on my thighs and hold them there while Chris aims a leather strap across the palms makes me tingle from head to toe, especially as I'd have to consciously do it again and again and again, knowing each time how much it had hurt immediately before.

4. Breast Whipping: I offer this up without having any reliable method for doing it. I suppose additional research will be required before an attempt will be made. At present, Chris can smack my breasts quite effectively with his hands, but for this specific purpose I suppose something that would leave marks would be preferred. I picture something light and whippy - a chopstick or small martinet, maybe. I picture it being concentrated in the area that would cause the most lasting pain - the undersides of my breasts. But I have no specific picture that might bring it to fruition. My breasts are heavy. They dangle a bit. Having me lie on my back and aiming an implement at them will not work effectively. Perhaps nipple clamps connected by a chain, held up in his left hand to expose the undersides of my breasts to the implement in his right hand would work. I don't precisely know. (Heh. Comments with specific instructions here would be appreciated!)

5. Anal: There are so many ways to punish the ass-slut in me that I don't even know where to begin. Maybe with the entire toybox? Lots of lube. Long minutes with the thermometer. Finger. Small butt plug. Medium butt plug. Vibrating butt plug. Big, unbearable butt plug. Ginger. Fucking but no orgasms. I shudder at the thought.

6. Orgasm Denial: I assumed when I began writing that these encounters were intended to be single events unto themselves. I suppose that's mostly the case. However, it is unarguable that the way to drive me up a wall and then leave me to writhe helplessly in agony is to keep me from being completely satisfied in bed. Oh, I don't mean that Chris has to completely deny me orgasms. Oh no. The much more effective way is to allow no more than one a day. You see, for me one orgasm is like an appetizer. The main event is still to come. So the first orgasm is a tease and then the next day I just want it more. And more. And more. Eventually I would hate it. Hate it.

7. ^Paddling: Chris loves - well, appreciates - this heavy oak wooden paddle he has. I find it painful, uncomfortable, jarring and at best unpleasant. At worst I wish it to accidentally fall into the fireplace. However, to paddle me with it gives Chris significant pleasure. He has been known to punish me with it by bending me over the footboard and delivering a painful dozen or so. However, I rarely can stay in position, am just annoyed by the discomfort of the position and quite indignant that my pelvis is often jerked painfully and unpleasantly against the footboard, despite generous padding. I cannot think of a single time when I have been able to be properly penitent or submissive with this implement ... I dread the experience as much as the pain. But that doesn't mean we can't improve on these difficulties. Thus, with my body flat on the sofa, panties stuffed in my mouth so that I don't whine about it excessively, his hand holding my wrists behind my back and a solid towel rolled under my hips to keep my bottom up properly, maybe I could struggle through a longer paddling - one where my head is turned in the right direction and my tongue is still.

8. ^Hairbrushing: Ah, the ebony hairbrush. It wouldn't truly be a list of punishments without mention of this dreaded implement. And truly, it is dreaded. Heaven only knows what would be required to ensure my quiet acquiescence to a serious and comprehensive application of this brush. I suppose such a session would deliver bruises if not blisters, but describing something less thorough reeks slightly of cowardice. No doubt restraints, a strong arm and a gag of some sort (see # 5) will probably be required to prevent rampant screaming and physical desperation - that is, I mean, if he does it properly and doesn't take pity on my misery. He has, of course, been known to have pity on my poor anatomy, but I seriously doubt he'd pick this punishment on a day he felt solicitude or compassion. Besides, it wouldn't truly be an experience to remember if he was gentle.

9. Writing Lines: I know Chris has given this punishment to others, but he's never had to resort to it with me. I'm sure I wouldn't enjoy it, particularly if the writing of these proposed severasl hundred lines were preceded by a hard hairbrushing and I was required to sit in an uncomfortable chair to write them immediately afterward. But what should they say? I really have no idea and feel it ought to be left to the amusement of my husband - although knowing him he will wait until he has the perfect opportunity to reinforce his theory that "The magnetic bottle opener should not be used as a magnet, but only as a bottle opener" to implement this punishment. But really, I'd prefer something along the lines of "I'm a submissive ass slut who is much happier when well-spanked and fucked by my husband."

10. Naughty Schoolgirl: This is not a traditional spanking scene for us. We've never done a traditional schoolgirl scene where the girl reports to the principal/headmaster for a punishment. Indeed, I'm a little anxious about how it will turn out. Enacting the part of either a recalcitrant or penitent schoolgirl is likely to be difficult enough, even without the addition of an oak paddle and/or leather strap. That being said, I have the uniform. He has the implements. It's feasible, painful, and difficult. It meets the requirements. And he'd love for me to struggle through it, so struggle through it I shall. However, the wrong for which I am being punished is yet to be determined. Perhaps just continual sassiness unabated by stern warnings from my instructors?

I judge the likelihood of writing and reading more about this list through the coming months to be high.

* I don't really care what you're preferred words for these roles in a power exchange are. We don't even really name them to each other. We're partners, as I'm the one who needs the power exchange and he's the one who desires it.