This week’s been a tough one. 

I had a traumatic spanking experience, which I just didn’t see coming. 

And when I say traumatic, I don’t mean ‘boohoo, that was harsh. I am so sore.’ I mean total freaking meltdown, in shock, have no idea what to do with myself for a few days. It was freaking awful. It’s even difficult to write coherently about it. 

Now, I’m a girl who likes her spankings hard. I’m not a pansy, and if it doesn’t hurt, I don’t like it. I’ve never cried from a spanking, and despite assurances to the contrary, I’m pretty sure I never will. 

But just because I’m stubborn, that doesn’t mean I’m not sensitive. I need comfort afterwards as much as, if not more than, the next girl. 

So, after the spanking, before I realised the extend of the injury, I was not okay. I needed at least a hug. I really needed some quality ‘it’s okay’ time, but I would have settled for a hug. When asked if I was okay, I said I would be, which was not an incorrect assessment. I needed to process things, and then, I was sure, I would be just fine. 

During the post-spanking corner time, I thought I felt some blood dripping down my leg. At first, I didn’t think too much of it. But when I put my hand on my calf and it came away bloody, I was slightly alarmed. I didn’t have my glasses on, so I couldn’t really see. 

When I used the wash cloth to clean up, at first I was worried about the amount of blood, but I have pretty thin skin, and sometimes, a tiny cut bleeds like a motherfucker, so dismissed it. 

After he left, and I got a good look at it (and I was still bleeding), that is when the meltdown started. It was bad enough that the spanking was so goddamned cold. But the amount of blood, and the size of the wound, made it pretty obvious that he saw that I was bleeding and kept going. 

Who the fuck in their right mind does such a thing? 

Before the ‘you’ve got to be careful’ warnings come in, I WAS careful. This wasn’t my first meeting with the unnamed spanker. It was like the fourth. There wasn’t a lack of communication. I’m pretty upfront about the fact that a tiny bit of blood is okay, because I really do have thin skin, but blood is a warning sign that more blood is on the way, and clearly, we don’t want to fuck with that. 

I thought it was common sense, anyway. Is it really neccesary to cause a wound much bigger than a half dollar, in which the skin is just gone? Hello, infection! Duh!

****

I’m not really sure how coherent any of that was, or why I even bothered to post, but I needed a place to rant, and where better than my own blog?

I’m not done with spanking. I love it, but I do feel a need to be a little more closed off. Obviously, I’m not seeing this guy ever again, and one of the others I was seeing, with no warning at all, decided I wasn’t worth talking to anymore. I say this not because I’m bitter, but mention I am down to one spanker, who I really trust, and I’m so happy about it. My life is now simpler and safer. 

And probably more boring. I’m not sure what use I’ll have for this blog, or even if I want to have any use for it. 

It just seems wiser to be quieter.

I’m a pretty undisciplined girl. My life is pretty put together, but it could be so much better, if I just put in the effort. 

So, here’s to trying.

After my rather painful strapping (I had no idea that strap could actually hurt!) and a fun little birthday paddling, the Thorough One and I spent a good deal of time just talking. (Note to my other spankers who happen to read here: I’m much too shy to actually bring it up in one on one conversations, but a little aftercare goes along way. I’m just sayin.)

One of the things we spent some time talking about was nutrition. Now, I have a reasonably healthy body image. I’m not going to be winning any hotness awards, and I do have insecurities, but for the most part, I don’t let my weight inform my sexual decisions. 

I don’t look it, but I’m 5′8 and 200 lbs. That puts me at Grade 2 Obesity. I could have been knocked over with a feather when I discovered this. Grade 3 is morbidly obese. God in Heaven, this is not okay. I’ve been wanting to get healthy, but I’ve had no motivation. 

Now, I have my motivation. It’s a bit ridiculous that I’ve let my self fall this far, and it stops now. 

I joined SparkPeople, at the suggestion of a friend, and it’s a pretty nifty little site. I’ve been tracking my workouts (which currently consist of walking about 3 miles in an hour) and my food intake, and it tells me how many calories I’ve burned and consumed.

Right now the struggle is eating enough, as counterintuitive as it sounds. The problem is I used to eat a ton of junk and not much else. So, now, with the junk gone, I’m not left with much. I only managed to consume 73o calories yesterday, which is not healthy, but I genuinely thought I had consumed more.

Today, I did much better. I managed to consume 1204, which is pretty much bare minimum. SparkPeople puts my low side of the threshold at 1600. Clearly, there is work to be done.

And luckily, I have the Disciplinarian to help give me a little outside motivation. I’ve been very clear with him that I really do need a firm hand. I need to have a healthy fear of punishment, and as it stands, I really don’t. 

I’ve been promised that I soon will. Here’s to hoping.

I know I’ve done this quiz before, but it’s interesting to see how preferences change over time. 

You Scored as Submissive(((Note: This quiz is not totally comprehensive because of the length such a quiz would be. I kept it sex-based because I felt that psychological profiles and motivations were too complicated and vary too greatly among people that practice BDSM.))) It feels good to serve. A lack of control in the bedroom can be fun and relaxing. Being with a dominant person wouldn’t be a bad idea.   Submissive 89% Degradation Lover 86% Experimental 82% Masochist 75% Bondage 75% Switch 50% Sadist 43% Exhibitionist / Voyeur 32% Dominant 7% Vanilla 4%

So, I’m finally feeling better. Yay for effective meds!

Just in time for some spankings. 

Not only am I a year older, but I’ve also been a very naughty girl. 

The IRS might not spank me for being late with my taxes, but my spankers will!

That’s right, I said spankers. I personally find it very unfair-like to be spanked for the same crime twice, but the Disciplinarian has spoken, and apparently objecting is equivalent to talking back, so I’m going to keep my big mouth shut. (Well, as shut as I can bear!)

I’m trying the discipline route again, because I think it can do some real good and give me the structure I’m needing. I think it’ll work better this time, seeing as he and I are not only on same continent, but also live in the same state. 

I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was a little worried for the future state of my ass.

There might be some spanking going on this weekend, but for the past few weeks, it’s been just leaning back and trying in a real way to just get a handle on this life thing.

See, I have these imperfections gifted to my brain by my wonderfully drug addicted mother at the time of my gestation and birth. Usually, medication does its job, and all is well. 

But sometimes the medication doesn’t do its job and it starts sending the wrong messages and the nuerons fire incorrectly, or other such nonsense, and I have to have a little restart period. 

But the restart period is over and I’m ready to get back in action. 

So, who’s giving me the birthday spanking I so richly deserve?

If you haven’t noticed, I haven’t been feeling very spanky lately. Never mind writing–I haven’t even been reading blogs. 

Between work kicking my ass, and general medication issues (me not taking it!), I’ve been something of a recluse. 

Today at work, I did something mildly wrong, that doesn’t really matter, but I’m lazy and keep doing it instead of doing it the right way. My boss was standing right beside me, so I said, “Hey, look over there!” and proceeded to do the mildly wrong thing. 

She says, ‘I ought to spank you everytime you do that.’ (my memory only permits paraphrasing. :-p)

I looked at her with the same smirk I give everytime I challenge authority and said, “Not a deterent.”

Her response was better than mine. 

“Yeah. I was gonna say…”

Did I mention I love my boss?

… on this here blog that was akin to those I give the spankers, it would be the Sassy Bratty Naughty Girl. 

Quite the mouthful, huh?

Many hints have been given that it’s about time I update this here blog, and in the interest of not falling three spankings behind, I will say that enough has been written about the first spanking with the Impressionist.

Sure, sure, you didn’t get a full account, but I find the blow by blow retellings to be a bit distasteful to write. (But oh-so-fun to read, so, please, keep writing. )

The spanking with the Domestic One, after all the waiting, actually was kind of short, because yours truly just couldn’t take it. 

It’s a little ironic that after posting about my abnormal pain treshold, it left me out in the cold. I’m not sure exactly what was going on, but every little sensation seemed magnified by at least 100, and even the hand spanking left me squirming. 

It was really interesting to see what it felt like for a spanking to really hurt. 

Let’s hope my body decides to stop being a baby before tomorrow. 

Speaking of tomorrow, the Impressionist doesn’t know it yet, but we’ll be playing a fun little game. 

I call it Crystal Hides the Wooden Spoon of Stinging Death and Doesn’t Tell the Impressionist Where it is.

I think he’ll really enjoy it, don’t you?

So, while the contest didn’t get a lot of entries, it did produce a winner. The New Guy is now known in the annals of this blog as the Impressionist. I’m breaking with the “The  ____ One” trend, because it’s stifling in the same way the ‘is’ was on the Facebook status thingy. 

Anyone wanna place a bet that I’ll get a keyword search for some idiot who misspells anal? Ah, the joys of being me. 

Anyway, that means that Jay gets to choose an implement for me to be spanked with in her honor, and because I’m still all endorphiny high, she may designate a number of swats. 

My ass is not worried.

It’s a great moniker, too, because he really makes an impression with that paddle, which is impressive on a bottom as stubborn as mine. I know that places like FetLife are plagued by the submissive version of dick measuring, featuring girls bragging about how much they can take, and that will not be the point of me discussing the degree to which I enjoy being spanked.

I’ll be honest, because that just really is how I should be, but when the Professor commented on my pain threshhold, I thought it was because he was a wimp. What he thought was a 10, I rated at about a 4. Clearly, we needed some calibration, and I’m hoping we get in tune one of these days. 

When the Impressionist and I were setting expectations for our first spanking, we made sure that we would keep the communication open, even during the spanking, as I had mentioned that I like to be spanked pretty hard, and it’s tough to really gauge such a relative concept as “pretty hard,” especially the first time around. 

I personally believe I should get a gold star for this, as during a spanking, I tend to not be very vocal. The Thorough One once told me that gags were for when you wanted someone to speak less during a spanking, and that he wanted me to speak more. I tend to just really focus on anticipating each swat, and I almost shut down vocally. (Until that freaking spoon of stinging death comes out, and then I squeal like a little girl.)

Anyway, when The Impressionist commented about how hard he had spanked me, I started to wonder if maybe there was something different about the level of pain I enjoy, and for honesty’s sake, I worry that it makes me weird, and might be a turn off for a spanker.

Whilst chatting with the Thorough One today, I remarked that he hadn’t seemed taken aback by how hard I liked it, so I thought it was just normal; I thought that spankings were just inherently that hard. His answer was that he’s not a wuss, and while he was taken aback, he never let on. 

Now that I’m a little farther along on my spanking  journey, I find it pretty amazing that he was just able to tell the “right” way to spank me. I certainly lacked the vocabulary to let him know.

And I’m thrilled to death that the Impressionist has also managed to spank me just right. It fills the little paddle-shaped hole in my heart (or ass–whichever). 

And don’t get me wrong, I get something out of my other spanking partners, too. I really enjoy the role playing and scolding the Professor is so skilled in, and I think we’ve spilled enough pixels about it that I’ll leave a spanking session sore one of these days.

What the Domestic One and I do is probably classified as more BDSM than spanking, so I don’t worry about the “level” of spamking so much, which I throw out there just as a way to say that I appreciate what we do, and did not mean to besmirch it by not including its impact on the paddle-shaped hole in my ass. 

Look at that. I managed to talk about yesterday’s spanking again without actually discussing it. 

I guess everyone needs a talent.

I used to be something of a stat junkie, but life and lack of spanking got in the way of all the obsessive checking and worrying. However, as I was reading Dante’s blog, I noticed that I had been added to his blogroll, which told me that the last time I posted was 2 weeks ago.

Oops. I’ve been busy. So spank me!

Wait, wait. Don’t. 

You may ask yourself why a little pain junkie nympho like me wouldn’t want a spanking. It defies logic. 

Except that I’m entirely too sore for a spanking, as I had the best spanking I’ve had in a while this morning before work. 

Now, does the idea of submitting to a spanking the next day, as sore as I am, turn me on? Completely.

Am I stupid enough to set up a second spanking? Maybe. ::snicker:: 

I’ve got a spankdate set up with the Domestic One on Sunday, and truth be told, I’m a little concerned. The spanking was mostly with the evil wooden paddle of holey death (which, incidentally, I completely adore), and I know tomorrow will dawn to a much sorer bottom. 

I haven’t written my post-spanking post yet, because I don’t have a pseudonymn for the spanker yet. I’m usually really good with the monikers, but I haven’t the slightest idea this time around. 

Any ideas? Something that would suit a spanker who paddles like few others? I’m telling you, it takes a lot for me to leave a spanking satisfied, but he did it on the first go round. Mighty impressive. 

Please leave your suggestions in the comments. If your name is chosen, I’ll allow you to sentence me to a spanking with the implement of your choice (as long as I have it!), and maybe if I am feeling brave, I’ll let you choose the number of swats, so long as I can find a spanker willing to indulge my little game. 

I think I might know somebody.

Thought it needed to get out, I can’t very well leave that last post at the top of the page. It’s far too melodramatic for a level headed girl like the girl I aspire to be. 

I have had a lot of aspirations in the past, and given my impulsive nature, those aspirations change quite frequently. But I’m getting on in years now. Adolesence is soon to be completely behind me. It’s hard to believe that in a few months’ time, I will be 27 years old. 

When I was younger, I felt the weight of being much more mature than my age, but now, I feel the weight of being further behind than I thought I would be at this point in my life. By now, I thought I’d have a family and a kid, and at least a master’s degree.

When I was in college, I thought I’d move to Cambridge and live in a little apartment until grad school was over. And then, when the Real Job came along and I had a husband and some kidlets, I thought maybe we’d live in Belmont, close to the temple, and live out our perfect little Mormon Life. 

I thought by then, I’d have worked out all the doubts and the hurdles to faith, and I’d feel this closeness to God that only a righteous husband and quiver full of kids could provide me. 

And then, reality hit. 

I had the nervous breakdown, which was really inevitable, given my lack of medical attention. I went into hiding and tried to find myself. And I thought that I had. I thought I knew what I wanted to do and who I wanted to be. 

So, I got back into school, kicked some academic ass, and was almost done. One year left. But instead of focusing on finishing school, I took a promotion and got engaged. 

I kept the promotion, ditched the fiance, took another promotion, and then dropped out of school again. 

And for a bit, even without school, I was insufferably happy. I had a full social calendar, even without a fulltime relationship. I was doing well professionally, though frustrated by circumstance. I found spanking, and this whole new world opened up to me.

God, I loved it. I loved (and do love) everything about it. I love the vulnerability. I love the sensation. The anticipation. The pain. The surrender. 

I’ve come along way from never having been spanked. I’ve tried a lot of things that I really like, and I’ve learned along the way some things that don’t work for me. And it’s okay that they don’t work for me. 

Rules, for example. I don’t think they work for me. At least not the highly specific lists of thou shalts and thou shalt nots. I thought they did, but they don’t. They don’t help me reach my goals. They just make me feel frustrated at lack of progress. 

I still think I like DD, and the idea of punishment spankings hit all the right buttons, but  I think I need more of a loosely outlined set of goals than a stifling, detailed list. 

And it’s okay that I was wrong. It’s more important that I become who I want to be than who I thought I had to be. 

I might not end up with that white picket fence in Belmont, but that’s okay, because that’s not who I am anymore. 

But can I still have the paddle, please?