Student Discipline

Sore bum

2010-01-17T21:29:00.004Z

It's been a while since I had a proper caning - by which I mean delivered because I actually deserved it. For that matter, it's been a while since I was in trouble.

I can now confirm that yes, I still hate having to stay still and quiet for a caning (thin walls...). And I still hate being in trouble. But? I still love knowing that M will hold me to account when I deserve it. And I still love the stinging, burning, throbbing, tingling lines across my bum, afterwards.

Serenity made a post recently about there being an important distinction between enjoying the knowledge that you do something, without actually enjoying doing it. It definitely applies here.

Merry Christmas

2009-12-27T18:12:00.004Z

One of my unofficial Christmas presents this year has been a re-activation, if you will, of M taking a more active role in keeping me on the straight and narrow. I've had some rules over the last few months (maintaining a bedtime routine, needing separate permissions for masturbating and orgasming, being naked when we're at home without guests) but calling me to account for them hasn't gone as we planned as it turns out that I will just let it slide, and slide, and slide. I also decided to give myself a star chart for December around some household chores, more to get some sense of how often they're done, but it's acted a bit as a motivator as well.

So since the 24th I've had to finish my bedtime routine and then bend over the end of the bed and wait for him. He's now the one who decides how many stars I deserve, and he also decides whether to get an implement out or not.

Given that we've only been doing this for three days so far, it's not very promising that I've already been spanked twice, although fortunately only mildly. The first time was on the first night, a few relatively light swats with his belt I think mostly to get my attention and to reinforce that he can spank me even if I haven't been naughty. But last night I got some swats from our heavier, scarier paddle for forgetting to do my physio exercises (um, forgetting for a week, actually). Nowhere near as devastating as it can be, just hard enough make my body jerk in response and my breath huff out and my hands to grip the bedclothes harder and my brain to ask why I was so stupid as to not do the exercises.

One thing's for sure, it's a definite incentive to make sure I do them today. I do not want to give him reason to use it any harder!

(I'm writing this whilst taking a break from writing out 100 lines for him, by the way. Not punishment lines, 'just' reinforcement lines. Unfortunately my hand's still as sore as though they were punishment lines :-( And the kicker is I already did them last week but I'd remembered what he'd dictated the line to be just slightly differently from what he'd actually said and now I have to re-do them!)

However

2008-06-10T22:48:00.002+01:00

Despite all the angst and self-pity in my last post, the reason I'm 'back' at all today is that I've been feeling more like my old self over the last couple of weeks (which doesn't entirely make sense, given that finals are next week!) - I've had something of a libido and asked M for a spanking, and have been thinking about another one, today. I've been thinking about that deep, subby headspace again, where my whole focus is on serving him, making his life easy and pleasant. Thoughts of being denied my own pleasure, having privileges taken away, once again arouse me. Case in point, I texted M 45 minutes ago asking if I could masturbate tonight (and that's telling in itself, as it isn't actually a rule at the moment), and I've yet to hear back; so now I'm considering whether to do it or not, and if I do, whether I 'ought' to stop short of any orgasms. Thoughts of being in trouble aren't sexy (so it's good that I wouldn't be, not for this!), but thoughts of him deciding I've been taking too many liberties and putting me on restriction again - that's getting me going.

Excuse me.

Guilt

2008-06-10T14:42:00.002+01:00

I've been completely unmotivated to write anything here because, well, there hasn't really been much going on IRL. Of course when I start to unpick that assertion it falls apart a bit - there hasn't been much overt kink, although there have been a few instances, but the underlying d/s is still there, even though I'm still having trouble with it.

Back in April, exactly one year after he told me I wasn't allowed to touch my cunt with my bare fingers any more, after a year of using gloves or not being allowed to touch at all, we lay in bed together and he guided my bare fingers down to my cunt and let me touch. I came, repeatedly, and I cried, because it was so intense, because I loved him so much, because I was so grateful to be allowed to touch.

I'm hoping he'll let me again, but of course if he think I expect it, there's zero chance it'll happen.

There's been hardly any spanking, though. I haven't been wanting it, and we've both been busy and stressed and things. Except for a couple of weekends ago when we were snuggled up on the sofa and I started speculating, aloud, about various naughty things I could do. M was mostly just listening to me with an indulgent smile on his face, but when the Brat voice came out, and when I then suggested getting into his bed without permission, he got the message that I was asking for a spanking.

He spanked one side only. He spanked it hot and rosy and yummy and ignored my pouting and sulking at the beginning and I think enjoyed my sighing and moaning and pressing back against his hand later on. Then he let me up and said he'd do the other side later.

Sadly a couple of weeks later, this hasn't happened - sometimes life's a real pain!

The problem is, I seem to be regaining my libido and therefore my desire for spankings (although don't look now, because of course one of the biggest problems with overcoming mental blocks is pushing too hard!), BUT I've got finals next week, haven't seen M since last Thursday and won't for a while - well, we're going to the cinema on Friday night but I need to come home afterwards. And I've a terrible guilty conscience. About breaking my rules, about not studying enough, and soon after waking up this morning had a vivid memory of touching my cunt - a lot, exploring the folds, enjoying the feel of warm wet heat... and I've no idea if it's a dream or if I actually did it.

I'm scared of everything at the moment - understandable given that my finals are next week, but the stress of that means I've been bad about other things and I don't want to tell M because I don't want to be in trouble, but if I'm not in trouble then it could only mean everything was over.

It feels cowardly to basically tell him by letting him read it here, but I haven't the guts for anything else.

Oops

2008-04-14T14:12:00.003+01:00

Yesterday, I said "fuck" in front of the baby.

This was made more serious by the fact that she isn't really a baby any more - I'm just lucky that she didn't immediately pick up on it and repeat it back to us.

I was driving and another car nearly drove into us in its attempt to cut us up. But even so. I said "fuck" in front of the baby.

Guess what's happening to me tonight?

Fantasy, reality

2008-04-04T22:49:00.005+01:00

I wrote this well over a year ago. It was not posted at the time because it wasn't finished, but it seems I then completely forgot about it.

I wrote something for M.

He set up the cage before we went to sleep, and in the morning I found out why.

As he got up in the morning he stripped the blankets off the bed and ordered me into the cage. Fortunately he was generous to give me a pillow and blankets in there.

I dozed off while waiting.

More than an hour later he returned, rummaged around in the cupboard and brought out the cane. Carefully and deliberately placed it on the 'roof' of the cage, picked up a few things and left for the school run.

I lay there, staring up at the cane and feeling the suspense mount.

An eternity later he returned, picked up the cane, opened the cage door and ordered me back to the bed. On my front, wrists and ankles to the corners. Told me to keep them there, and stay in position.

Then I got caned. Brutally hard right from the first stroke, making me strangle a whimper in my throat and clutch at the sheets for long, long seconds as the pain flared. He was watching the clock so I knew I had half a minute to come to terms with the pain before the next stroke fell. Just as vicious and feeling like it was practically on top. Hips writhing, my hands moved an inch and the cane tapped warningly on the stripes. His warning not to break position was nearly drowned by my yelp.

In all I got six with long, long thirty second stretches in between. Simultaneously far too long and nowhere near long enough. By the end I was dry sobbing.

I heard the cane being put back down in top of the cage and then was ordered to kneel up. I didn't move fast enough, his fist in my hair hurried me along until my nose was buried in his pubic hair and my mouth was full of his cock. He started thrusting, the handful of hair still holding me steady, harder and faster until he was satisfied. Then I was pulled off and ordered back into the cage.

Nursing my smarting bum, unable to ignore my throbbing cunt, I closed my eyes and awaited his next pleasure.

I didn't tell M I was writing it - he was in the living room and asked me to join him. All he knew was that I had this drive to write so I was sitting at the computer, but he didn't know what or why. But he read it the next morning while I was still in bed, and then went out to run some errands. When he came back I was downstairs having breakfast, but was guided back upstairs again for our usual morning cuddle. We cuddled for a while, and then he got up and started setting up the cage.

I have this funny contradiction. I write things and post them to a different blog, just to share them with M, so that he can read them. Sometimes they're things that I wish we'd do together, sometimes they're impossible fantasies, sometimes they're just thoughts similar to what I might write here. But I always get ridiculously self-conscious and embarassed if he actually shows any hint of having actually read these posts. Yes, the posts that I put up just for him. So when he started setting the cage up, I burrowed deeper under the duvet and hid.

I'd tried tucking all the edges of the duvet under my body to make it harder to excavate me, but in the end he didn't have too much trouble. M grasped my ear and 'guided' me upright (ow!), then snapped his fingers and pointed at the cage. I whimpered, eyeing the cold metal floor, and reluctantly crawled in. Fortunately he threw a blanket and pillow after me, which I was very grateful for. I'm pretty sure he got a kick out of looking down at me through the bars of the top of the cage, while I gazed back at him with sad puppy eyes. My gaze got even more mournful when he gently placed the metal ruler on top of the cage.

He snapped the padlock on the latch and left the room.

After a while I realised that I really liked being in the cage. It emphasised my feelings of being owned, of being a pet. All I could do was lie there (or sit there) and wait. That was pretty much the only decision I could make, whether to sit or lie down, and how to arrange my blanket. I could feel myself getting wet as I thought about it, and curled up feeling very subby indeed.

I heard the bath running and after a while M came back in and unlocked the cage. I didn't get to come out, though - instead he came in, pretty much lying on top of me, pressing me into the floor, taking some of the weight on his arms. It's a small cage and I'd been lying curled up on my side. In order to accomodate him on top of me I had to spread my knees to the side so that he was pressed up against my crotch. My head was pushed towards the back of the cage but there wasn't really enough room so as his mouth came down on mine and claimed me, my head was jammed into the corner of the cage sides, with my neck crooked at a funny angle. His kisses were hard and demanding, not really kisses at all, more like he was just covering my mouth with his as another way of claiming me. His tongue pressed in deeply and it felt like he was taking charge even of the space inside my mouth. It was only for a few moments but I was breathless when he let me up again.

Another snap of the fingers had me obediently crawling back out of the cage and kneeling at his feet. Then I was marched into the bathroom and there was no moment to pause before being ordered "into the bath, on your hands and knees."

He washed me like that, soaping the flannel and rubbing it firmly across my shoulders and shoulderblades, down the small of my back and over my hips. A soaped finger slid between my buttocks and then pressed deep inside my anus while the left hand kept scrubbing me with the flannel and my mortified whimpers were calmly ignored. Of course they were - you don't let your pet dictate what gets washed and what doesn't.

After he decided my back and backside were good and clean, I was ordered to sit back and he started working on the rest of me. My arms were carefully raised and washed, one at a time, my armpits given a good scrub. He washed under my breasts where the sweat gathers and used firm sweeps of the cloth over my belly so that I didn't get ticklish.

Being a pet, and knowing that he wanted to reinforce this to me, I wasn't really surprised when he wrapped the flannel around one finger and used it to clean my belly button. I absolutely hate this - it's just horrible in a way that I can't describe, worse than getting soap in my ears. I think I generally just don't like things probing my orifices (hah!). But even though I knew he was going to do it and that I'd hate it, I still couldn't stop him - something in me wouldn't let me, because I was his pet, and these kinds of decisions weren't mine to make.

It was still horrible though, and I couldn't stop myself from bringing my legs up and my arms down to try and protect myself.

M told me to sit forward and, knowing what he wanted, I dropped my head forward as well. He shaved a small patch of hair at the nape of my neck. He's been doing this for quite a while, but not recently - for some reason we just haven't had baths together for the last few weesks, which is quite unusual for us. It meant that the hair was pretty long - now it's three days since I was shaved and that little patch is at the velvety stage that I love. After, he washed my hair.

M had filled the basin with water for the shaving and then for rinsing my hair, but unfortunately this wasn't as warm as the bath water (which, truth to tell, wasn't really as warm as I would've liked it, either) and then one jug full was cold.

I don't do well with cold. In fact, I burst into tears.

On one level, I knew that what I should do was tell M that the water was too cold. I should have mentioned it when I first got into the bath (when it wasn't really cold, just a bit cooler than I liked), but I couldn't. The words just couldn't come out of my mouth. I was his pet and for some reason this meant that I should be dumb like other kinds of pets are. I couldn't actually say anything, and in fact it wasn't until I was thinking about it later in the day that it occurred to me that I could actually have mentioned it to him.

3 months

2008-04-04T21:36:00.005+01:00

When I'm stressed out and feeling like I can't cope, one of the first things to go is my libido and any interest in kink. The last three months have been quite difficult.

Term's been really stressful and there have been a few other things as well that I've had a hard time coping with, so much so that I went to the doctor and got some anti-depressants. That screwed my libido up even more and led to some really scary realisations. Such as, my whole d/s minset is apparently built upon my libido. My libido went and with it went my sense of my place in life, my place in my relationship with M. All of a sudden I didn't understand why I had rules or why I had agreed to follow them. I even found myself wondering who the hell M was, to have the free access to my body that we'd both agreed that he did. It was my body.

That brought me up short. I've spent the last several years spontaneously, naturally (as in, without too much conscious effort or intention) growing closer and closer towards the place where all of me, everything that I am, is M's. Owned by him, taken care of by him, under his stewardship if you will. I'm not his slave because we both feel that the term 'pet' is more accurate. A pet is a responsibility that you take on because you want to and you enjoy looking after them. You own them, you make decisions for them, you train them, play with them, and so on. I like being M's pet and some of the moments of the most profound peace and contentment in my life have been found in his arms or at his feet, knowing, deeply and truly, that I'm his. How could I suddenly be so very, very removed from that? How could I be wishing that our touches remained sexually neutral, and not intimate? How could I resent his rules and feel that there was something wrong with having them?

Just to be very clear, this was not the same as that general sort of grumbling where you think the rule's a pain but you know it's good for you so you suck it up and follow it. I've done that occasionally and in fact there have been (rare) instances where M's received texts or emails from me saying that I was too grumpy to follow such-and-such a rule (usually my junk food limits or my sensible bedtime) and that I was just going to go ahead and break it. Unsurprisingly I get into trouble for this, although not necessarily for breaking the rule itself. More because these times are when I'm very unhappy and needing extra TLC and if I'd instead contacted M to say that this rule wasn't working for me at the moment, or that I needed a break, he'd usually be willing to bend them a bit, and often also tell me to do something else as well which would help me feel better. So I'd be more in trouble for shutting him out and compounding my problems, rather than just for breaking my rules.

But what I felt for several weeks in February and March was a lot more fundamental than that. I knew that I was M's pet, I knew that I'd asked for it, that I regularly asked for affirmation of my status, and that I loved my status. Except all of a sudden, practically overnight, I didn't love it any more. It felt uncomfortable and... wrong. And then of course I was engulfed in guilt and confusion. I felt like I'd betrayed M, betrayed our relationship. Was the whole thing a lie? Was I just feeling this rejection (on my part) now because things were tough and I was chafing against my rules? How on earth could I explain any of this to him if I didn't understand it myself?

We spent a couple of months with me guiltily hoping that he wouldn't want to have sex, or really be interested in anything more than cuddling in bed. Resenting him punishing me even when I knew I fully deserved it, and even though he was actually pretty lenient, and feeling guilty about that too. And just generally feeling pretty confused, upset, scared and like one of my foundations had suddenly turned to sand and been washed away by the tide. It affected other areas too - I haven't read any of the blogs on my links list for weeks, read/watched any porn, nor masturbated. I even had instructions to masturbate, towards the beginning of this period, and I just couldn't. Which was also pretty upsetting.

To cut a long story short, we worked through it. Mostly it involved M being incredibly patient while I over-reacted. Interestingly, even in the worst moments when I felt that what we'd had was gone forever and I could never get it back, I still did not touch my cunt with my bare fingers. This is my most fundamental and important rule, in fact it's been nearly a year now since I had free access to myself. Interesting. Although the English language means the term 'myself' is appropriate, it really belongs to M.

In just the same way that the sense of belonging, of being owned, disappeared practically overnight, so it re-appeared again practically overnight. I don't even really understand what happened - all I know is that one evening M decided to play with me and all of a sudden I found it exciting again. Desirable and desirous. My libido had apparently returned with a vengence, and the next day suddenly there were a lot of words in my head that I needed to write down for him. But that's another entry.

School

2008-01-21T21:52:00.000Z

There hasn't been much talk here recently about school, so I suppose I should say something. It's going okay - I'm enjoying the subjects a lot more this term as they're all my choices with no more compulsory ones. I've got some of my grades back for the mini tests I took before Christmas. None of them count towards our degrees, they're just to help us check how much we have understood the compulsory material. In statistics I got 6/11 - rather annoyed about this as you may recall that I got 8/10 in the mini test five weeks before. Interestingly at the start of this term they put the results online with explanations next to each one you got wrong, and I saw I'd got the first six right and the last five wrong. I think my brain gave out...

I also got my mark back for another course (I can't tell you what without worrying that I'd compromise my anonymity, it's a relatively unusual degree and a relatively unusual course and there weren't that many of us taking it), but all I know is that I got a B - I don't know how many of the 25 questions I got right or which ones I got wrong - I'm a bit annoyed about this, actually, although the grade itself is okay.

I've another test waiting for me to remember to collect it from the office, and have yet to hear about another test or the essay I wrote.

For those of you who might be interested, M and I agreed that anything under 50% or a C grade would necessitate a discussion - not necessarily a punishment because it would depend on the circumstances, but I would need to explain what had happened and what steps I would be taking to improve.

To be honest I haven't really been spanked all that much recently. I got a strapping last Tuesday for losing my temper and acting on it - I felt completely horrible, I do have a temper and it does get the better of me, but not usually to the point where I do something foolish. I felt so ashamed already, and then M said, in his 'disappointed' tone of voice that it wasn't really the kind of behaviour he wanted people to see from his girl, and I just wanted to curl up and die.

But apart from that, and a token spanking on Saturday night (one minute late to bed last week plus forgot to wash my face before going to bed one night), I can't actually remember the last time I was spanked. But I hasten to add that this is because my mind is so taken up with my new classes and so forth that everything else is slipping, and not because it was actually that long ago!

Fantasy

2008-01-19T09:29:00.000Z

Sometimes I fantasise about Master emphasising his ownership of me more overtly. I'm not talking about an ownership ceremony or something; one does not throw a party after taking a stray pet in off the streets. No, it is much more matter-of-fact than that. I already have rules setting boundaries on my daily life; they remind me that I am not free, but they do not affect my interactions with others. But what if Master invited some friends round, and told me to take their coats and offer them drinks when they arrived? My behaviour would be very similar to that of many hosts and hostesses. The guests might arrive in rapid succession so I might still be in the middle of making teas and coffees for the first set when I must leave off to collect the coats and drink requests from the second set. I would of course try very hard to get them all right but this can be difficult when all the orders are similar and yet still different - milk or no milk, sugar or no sugar, decaf or regular.

I would of course offer sincere apologies to the guest who received something other than what they had asked for, and immediately make them a fresh drink, but in my fantasy this would not be sufficient. My behaviour, my successes and failures, no matter how large or small, reflect on my Master. I imagine being sent to the corner, left empty especially for occasions such as this. Standing with my hands on my head and back to the room, I flush with embarrassment and shame at my lapse - and yet am grateful that he cares enough to correct me immediately, and that he can do so without disrupting our guests' visit. We know that most of our friends are kinky, but not everyone wants their plans for a visit interrupted by the unpleasantness of witnessing an errant pet being chastised - this way Master can preserve our guests' comfort levels while emphasising to me that I need to take better care. Standing in the corner while everything else went on as normal, temporarily excluded due to my own lack of care and attention, I would feel very chastened.

I am only released in order to fetch the snacks I had prepared earlier, and am careful to offer them with due care and attention. Master might snap his fingers and point to the coffee table, then to a spot by his feet. Like an obedient pet, I would put the tray on the table and move to kneel at his feet. I imagine Master's fingers carding through my hair while he continues his conversation with two friends. I know my eyes would drift shut as I felt the bliss of our reconnection, know that I was forgiven and loved, that he was pleased with me.

Later I might be released from such restrictive service - not for my benefit, you understand, but for our guests who are my friends as well and so might be disappointed not to be able to chat with me at all. Master would be careful to ensure that our dynamic fit as smoothly as possible into the on-going social interactions, but I may still have to utter a hasty "excuse me please" to a friend and respond to his summons at least once in the course of an afternoon and evening.

Mostly, my fantasy stops here. This isn't about hot sex or hot punishment scenes, although I do fantasise about those as well. This fantasy is about my status as Master's pet being casually, incidentally mixed into our more 'normal' social interactions; not disrupting the flow of things, not taking centre stage, just being one of the myriad dynamics that ebb and flow when a group of people interact with each other.

Of course, the fantasy doesn't always stop there. The greatest display of Master's ownership of me, and of my obedience to him, might occur if these smaller, more incidental interactions led to questions. Why do you get to boss her about? A friend might ask. How is it that she jumps to fulfil your slightest whim? How far does your control go? How much power do you have over her?

There are many ways we might answer these, but the easiest might be a demonstration. If so, there are many things that Master might choose to do, all of which make me shiver with a heady mix of embarrassment, lust and adoration.

What if Master decided to show them the marks from my last whipping? Being partially exposed for that would possibly be worse than being entirely naked. And I would strive to keep my equilibrium while having to participate in the conversations - why I'd been punished, what I'd got, how many, how hard. What if the conversation led to other aspects of his control - such as over my cunt, my orgasms, my pleasure? I can imagine his fingers calmly spreading my labia apart, increasing my exposure, demonstrating my arousal - while I stood quietly with my hands clasped behind me, legs spread wide and hips thrust forward to offer him the best access. It is, after all, what an obedient pet would do, and my embarrassment would be immaterial, beyond his enjoyment of it.

What if they asked to touch me? I can not imagine whether he'd say yes or no. At this point no bare hand has touched my bare cunt for over nine months, except his. If he refused, kept me for himself, it would emphasise his ownership of me, that I am his possession - but so would giving them access, because either way the decision is about my body but out of my control.

This, then, is the essence of my fantasy, and is also my reality - decisions about my body, about whether my actions are acceptable or not, about the course of my life, are made by my Master. Gradually, as we continue this, I am increasingly *wanting* the things he has decided, whatever they may be. This suggests that my mind, while not under his direct control, is also receptive to his will and eager to submit to it, to bend, to be moulded into an attitude that pleases him. As is my heart, which yearns for him more and more every time we are apart.

My submission continues. His ownership continues. I surrender to his authority, and revel in my captivity.

Owned.

2008-01-14T07:45:00.000Z

Last night I got very frusted about some things that are going on in my life at the moment, and then M held me while I cried. I didn't actually feel that much better though and wound up having a bit of an Attitude while talking with M. Part of it was that I wanted control over something, and sometimes my strategies for this aren't as good as they could be so it feels like the only way I can do this is to be rude and to break my rules. The other part of it was just that I was feeling sulky and sort of wanted the rest of the universe to know about it (yes, very mature, I know).

During this M was talking to me about my rules for the following week. He's lifted the no swearing rule (thank fuck for that!) but moved my bedtime back because I keep being so tired, and if it's a late bedtime I don't go to bed earlier on my own. So now I have to be in bed by eleven and my light has to be off by half past. Ugh!

Because I was sulky and attention-seeking, I scowled and said "well, what if I don't want any rules at all." M was very patient and held me, and within a couple of minutes I was crying again. I did actually know the whole time that I was going to have rules no matter what I said. And deep down this was a very comforting thought. I did toy with the idea of systematically breaking them all week - M would certainly have recognised this as one of the choices I get to make. Except I know that I have to accept the consequences of my choices, and that he would have then systematically punished me for each one that I broke and for each time I broke it, in turn. Not. Worth. It. But it was somehow angrily satisfying to think about how I could have been deliberately disobedient and wayward all week.

Much later in the evening I admitted to M that, although I'd been thinking of breaking all my rules, I'd suddenly realised half way through my musings that I would not be able to break my rule about touching my cunt. Or more specifically, not touching my cunt with my bare fingers. It's one of the most powerful reminders, for me, that I don't belong to myself, I belong to M, and he's the one who decides who, where, when and how I am touched. And that to emphasise this, my bare cunt is off limits to me (but not to other partners).

So, although I'd been tempted to break all my other rules, about bed times and junk food and so forth, I'd balked at the idea of breaking the rule that symbolises my status as his pet. Aside from the fact that I know exactly what the punishment would be and there's no way I ever want to incur it, I also still had enough sense to want to preserve what we have. But also, it just struck me as something akin to blasphemous. As being completely beyond the pale. Because I am his, and don't actually want to display that level of disrespect.

I'm really pleased about that.

Orgasms

2008-01-07T23:31:00.000Z

Almost as soon as I'd shut down my computer last night, I wanted to make another post. This time about orgasms.

Not long after we got together, I started talking to M about my desire for him to have control over my orgasms. It's very exciting to think that he would be the one to decide when, where and how I might be permitted to come.

In 2006 we started experimenting with this, and in April 2007 M told me that I was not permitted to touch my cunt directly with my bare fingers. That it was his, that he would decide who got to touch it and when and how, and that it was off limits to me. If I wanted to masturbate I would use gloves. Unlike previous rules M decided that this rule would not be for a finite period, but would be for the foreseeable future, and we would see how well I managed with it. Well, it's still going - I've become pretty adept at masturbating with a glove on and within three months had managed to work my way back up to the multiple orgasms I used to enjoy.

In the latter half of last year I started talking again about M controlling my orgasms - not just how I might have them, but when they might be permitted and how many. I'm pretty greedy and can happily keep going for hours. But if my body belongs to M (and it does) and my pleasure is supposed to be at his discretion (and it is) then what was I doing still having orgasms whenever I wanted and as many as I wanted?

There were a few weeks then where M would instruct me to masturbate, for example, on three separate nights but that I was only allowed two orgasms (whether I had them on the same night or different ones was up to me). Or another time I had to masturbate on three different nights, and I was required to have exactly one orgasm each time.

We discovered a rather fun side effect of this, which is that it leaves me just unsatisfied enough, just needy enough, to make me more responsive to M. To send him horny text messages all week and then shamelessly beg for his attentions when we next meet.

So, M's instituted a rule for January. I am only allowed one orgasm per 24 hour period. And within that, this week, I am required to masturbate every night.

Last night I managed to be 4 minutes late for bed (too busy getting the previous post edited...) and then by the time I'd actually got settled and turned out the light I realised it was only 3 minutes to midnight. I would either have to come before those 3 minutes were up, or I'd be having a Monday orgasm instead of a Sunday orgasm. I decided to save the orgasm for tonight and was a good girl, masturbating to the edge of orgasm and then stopping. I am very glad that I've taken to wearing pyjamas in bed though, as the extra layer to prevent 'accidents' is needed more than ever...

Disobedient

2008-01-06T22:37:00.000Z

I mentioned last week that over Christmas I had a bout of feeling cut loose, disconnected, not grounded, because my rules didn't apply when I was with M. We're now tentatively feeling our way towards putting some in place. In the mean time we've managed to work our way back to feeling connected with each other and grounded in our roles and responsibilities.

A large part of this reconnecting and re-grounding (for me at least) happened last night. When M, feeling that I was once more sufficiently reconnected and grounded to appreciate the importance, brought up my behaviour on New Year's Eve and New Year's day.

On New Year's Eve I woke up feeling anxious and disconnected (yes, I know I'm using this word a lot but it's the right one). It's a long-standing rule that M has access to any part of me whenever and wherever he wants. Normally I very much enjoy this rule and certainly feeling his hand slip inside my pyjama trousers while we're waking up in the morning is hardly a new experience. But on this morning I was about as far from a submissive headspace as it's possible to get. Part of me was still remembering my rules and knew I had to put my hands behind me and open my legs, to give him unrestricted access. The rest of me was resentfully wondering who the hell he thought he was to touch me like that. I managed to work myself up into such a state that within a few minutes I had to tell him that I felt violated.

We stopped and cuddled and talked. I cried. M spent a lot of time reassuring me. Towards the end of the conversation I rather hesitantly asked if I could have some rules for the day, as I felt they would help me to feel more connected and also reassure me that I was his as I'd begun to feel like I wasn't.

Among my rules, we agreed that while visiting a friend's house for the New Year's Eve party I was not allowed on furniture without permission. This included chairs, the arms of sofas, and so forth. I was permitted to sit on the floor, on stairs or on other people. I specifically asked for this rule, as it has previously made me feel extremely owned and submissive to his authority.

As we were getting dressed M also decided that I was to wear something around my neck all day. It would have to be something acceptable in general public as we would be out for most of the day, so he tied one of his ties around my neck. I was already dressed and the shirt I was wearing did not have a collar. Then I realised that none of the shirts I had with me were appropriate to wear with ties. I grew very unhappy with this and also within minutes felt like it was suffocating me although it wasn't at all tight. Looking back on it now I realise that the feeling was essentially a negative response to the loss of freedom that the tie symbollised. It didn't stay symbollic for long, though - I looked up at M from my position on the floor, gathering together the things I needed for the day, and said "I'm not wearing this any more." And took it off and threw it on the floor.

We have a rule that if M puts something on me or in me, it stays there until he decides it comes off/out again.

I also did not replace it with anything, not even a necklace, despite M having just told me I was to have something around my neck all day, and so spent the rest of the day (until 4am the next morning, in fact) with a naked neck.

When I was yanking the tie off I suppose part of me did realise that what I was doing was naughty, but I didn't stop to consider this at all. In fact it wasn't until M sat me down yesterday and walked me through what happened, that I realised the full import of what I'd done.

Later that afternoon we were at the party at our friend's house, and M came through to find me sitting on a sofa and chatting with another friend. Several conversations later I wandered out to find him again, having just remembered that I was not supposed to sit on the furniture. I don't remember exactly what I said, but it was along the lines of "I've been sitting on the furniture, I've only just realised and I don't know how many times I've broken the rule." It didn't seem particularly important to me, it never occurred to me that I might get into trouble over it. I continued to use the furniture normally for the rest of the night. I completely failed to spot M's small comments and looks of disappointment.

Looking back on it now I find it difficult to believe how far I'd drifted away from my usual attentive, submissive thought patterns. At one point I commented to M that I'd kept using the furniture even after I'd remembered that I wasn't supposed to, because it genuinely hadn't seemed like a big deal and I really didn't think he cared (as opposed to trying to get a reaction from him, in which case I'd usually tell him that I was thinking of doing something naughty in order to get a reaction, rather than actually doing it. Normally I'm a pretty good girl...).

So yesterday, off and on through the day, M and I talked about this. And in the evening when my housemates had gone out, he punished me.

A couple of months ago we went to a fetish fair and picked up a small rubber paddle with a tire tread pattern down one side. It was small and heavy and when he'd tried it on my hand in the market, I'd thought I'd quite like it. Unfortunately I'd learnt the opposite almost as soon as we'd got home and after that first experiment had declared it "awful" and "horrible" and hidden it behind all the other toys. Well, because this was a serious punishment for a serious transgression, M used it. Between its effects and my suddenly overwhelming guilt at being such a Bad Girl (I don't normally think of it as Bad, in my head 'Bad' translates to 'irredeemable' and 'not to be bothered with'. We tend to talk about me being naughty), I couldn't stop crying. At one point I was nearly hysterical, despite M not actually using very much force - I've certainly had much harder play spankings - and he had to pause and make me have a drink to get me to calm down. After the paddle M had used the cane but only lightly, stinging little cuts that I hate. I was frantically wriggling to avoid them, and crying as hard as ever. And then it got worse.

I'd confessed to him earlier that for me anal play is very much about power exchange and, if it's my anus, about his control over me (I can't believe I'm writing about this). And that on the rare occasions when he's pressed a butt plug into me, it's very effectively focussed my attention on the fact that he's in charge, and I'm not. So I was still crying my eyes out when he ordered me over some pillows on the bed, and started applying lubricant to my anus. And then used the force of my sobs to help press the plug all the way in, before coming back up the bed and taking me into his arms.

Eventually the hysterical crying stopped and we talked for a bit, but I still felt so much guilt that I was convinced I couldn't live with myself (somewhat melodramatic, I know). Eventually I wound up asking M for some more strokes of the cane - but fiercer, harder ones that bite in and where the pain keeps building for several seconds after the stroke lands. He agreed but the plug had to stay in for them and I think I took another five or six. I was reduced to tears again at the first stroke, but at least I felt that I was "properly" paying for my sins.

The worst thing was that between my renewed crying and the involuntary clenching of my bottom from the pain of the cane, I started panicking that the plug was going to fall out. But I'm not allowed to break position or put a hand back while I'm being punished. I got half way out of position before I remembered and then the disapproval in his voice as he told me to get back into position (he rarely has to) set me off wailing even more, even as I tried to explain about the plug. He held it in with one hand while using the cane in the other to whack the tops of my thighs. Which was awful. But the most awful moment, worse than the pain, worse than the shame of having been so disobedient, the most embarrassing and humiliating moment of the whole thing was when he took the plug out again afterwards.

M spent a lot of time after that reassuring me that I was forgiven, that I was loved, that I was still his and he wasn't giving up on me. The little girl even came out for a bit (although she couldn't suck her thumb, as she couldn't breathe through her nose!) and cried about how sorry she was that she'd been so naughty. I don't know why it's different, as that's what the 'big me' had been crying about already, but it is different and it does help when she can come out and be reassured and loved as well.

-----------------------------

I took three more strokes before we went to bed that night - I asked M for them, counting and thanking him for each one and saying "I will be a good girl this week". They hurt, and I loved them, and I didn't even want to rub aftewards. M had great fun making me roll over to lie on my back and listening to the noises I made as my sore bottom made contact with the sheets. There were no marks this morning but every time I scooted forward on my seat for the first few hours, I'd let out an involuntary little yelp and M would laugh.

And if I'm to fulfil that promise, to be M's good girl this week, I have to get my skates on and get to bed.

Frustrated*

2008-01-03T22:51:00.000Z

* in a good way. I suppose.

Of course, if you were away from your boyfriend for two nights and were told you were allowed only one orgasm on one of those two nights - the night after you'd had the orgasm, you'd surely be too sensible to spend most of the evening reading porn on the internet?

Sparkle linked to some wonderful stories that people have written and posted on the internet, and now I want to touch myself. Want to come. Which I'm not allowed to do, because I did last night. So I want to take things that do not belong to me, that I willingly gave away into the control of another person.

I didn't text M to ask him to bend my rules, I just wanted to let him know how I was feeling. Partly because it sort of makes it easier if I share it with him, and partly because he likes the thought of me horny and aching for him.

So I was not surprised that the text I got in reply was not exactly soothing, although I suppose one could argue that it is at least a bit sympathetic (although it doesn't feel that way):
Why not pop the dildo pants on and remember what a lucky girl you'll feel like when I hook my fingers into your cunt tomorrow night.

Night, all.

(Also, I'm beginning to regret my naming of the blog. It seems to be turning into a more general sort of blog exploring my submission to, and with, M. I may have to think about re-naming it.)

More on Rules

2008-01-02T18:48:00.001Z

Happy New Year, everyone! I hope you all got or gave New Year's spankings as appropriate. M was kind enough to promise that mine would not consist of 2,008 strokes. Thank you.

I'm still thinking a lot about rules. I wrote about this just before Christmas but that was about my regular rules which tend to be more relevant when I'm not with M (apart from the rule about not touching my cunt, which is about as absolute as a rule can be). But spending a lot of this holiday with M has highlighted that my rules really only apply when I'm apart from him. I don't have rules for when we're together.

Of course I like this most of the time because it means that seeing M is a bit like a holiday, but we've just found that it doesn't work so well if I'm visiting for several weeks straight. It seems that I wind up feeling not at all submissive, or in any way obedient towards him, and really was starting to feel there was nothing grounding me. It wasn't that I was deliberately disobedient, but my usual practices of deferring to him, or expressing any disagreements politely, and so on, were mostly gone. This culminated with my ordering M to have something done by Friday. Now, it is something that he needs to do with increasing urgency, and it is something he's been putting off for a while. But normally I would have suggested that it might be nice if he had it done by Friday, or maybe we could do it together over the weekend. Rather than getting bossy with him.

So M and I talked about the increasing control he is having over my life (I am, for example, quite happy to ask his permission before seeing friends, and he's happy when I do, so that it's now almost turning into an unwritten rule) and how we both like this but it works less well if there are then suddenly no rules - which seems to be what happens when I stay over for an extended period of time.

Of course, now we come to something of a problem. We don't want to make up rules for the sake of it, they need to have meaning. All the rules I have at the moment are ones that evolved over time and mean enough to us that I know exactly why it's important that I follow them, and that M wants them followed and will take exception if I don't follow them. It's more difficult to translate this to when M and I are together because we're rarely alone and there are children to consider so I can't, for example, ask permission before doing things without causing raised eyebrows and awkward questions.

I'm to spend some time thinking about this before Friday, but if anyone has any suggestions I would be glad to hear them.

Progress tests

2007-12-24T07:42:00.000Z

I've mentioned before that my course makes progress tests available so that students can check whether they've understood the material or not. These tests are optional and do not count towards the final grade. In fact, the course organisers will not even see the individual results, only aggregated ones.

Of course, for me, these tests are not optional, M expects me to take all of them and let him know how I've done.

During the last week of term I had five progress tests to do and an essay to hand in. Of course I was obsessing about the essay, what with it being the first one I'd written in four years, and also one of the progress tests had to be taken during a seminar session so I had to revise for that one first. The other ones were available online and you just took them when you liked before they wer taken down agin.

Most of the test were due in by mid-day on the last day of term, Friday, but one of them was going to be kept up until the following Tuesday. Then I was talking to some fellow students about another one, that was worrying me because I was aware I didn't understand the material as well as I might, and one girl said that it was going to be up until Monday so I'd have extra time to study.

Foolish me, I didn't check for myself.

With relief I focused on the other tests and left the two mentioned above until after all the earlier deadlines had been met.

You can see where this is going, can't you.

On Sunday I took the progress test that was going to be up until Tuesday. On Monday morning M double-checked with me how much work I had to do and I said I just had one more test to do before lunchtime and then I was done.

Then I went online and found that it wasn't there.

Then I checked my email and discovered it had actually been taken down on Friday.

Then M paddled me.

It's taken me a while to blog about it because I still feel ashamed about how I behaved during the punishment. Yes, he was wielding the paddle with some force, and no warm-up, and the paddle is evil, thick wood with holes drilled through. But I think really my inability to stay in place was tied up with the guilt and shame I was feeling for dropping the ball so badly. I wriggled and squirmed and howled and generally carried on like he was killing me. And then I managed to wriggle out of position and just could not talk myself back into it. Which of course just made me feel worse, like I was compounding my crime by being deliberately disobedient - except that I didn't want to be.

M's forgiven me for missing the test, and didn't really seem to mind me trying my darnedest to get away from the resulting punishment (I suppose on one level it means he was spanking me "hard enough"!), but I can't shake the guilt. I'm also still exploring some thoughts brought up by these events, as it's the first time, I think, that I've taken absolutely no pleasure at all from any aspect of a punishment. Normally even if I'm hating a punishment part of me is grateful to be receiving it because I know I deserve it and then the slate will be wiped clean. This time the only thought I had was to get away, get away (I'm beginning to sound like he beat the living daylights out of me, he really didn't I don't think I received more than ten or twelve strokes).

I don't know how to resolve how I'm feeling about this.

Rules

2007-12-24T06:32:00.000Z

I haven't been able to sleep tonight and have instead spent quite a lot of time thinking about my rules.

I have what feels like quite a lot of rules. M and I have sort of played around with them for a while now (the first rules he ever gave me were for specific situations, such as when we were in fetish clubs together, several years ago) but when my course started in September and he decided that he wanted to be more directly involved in my life and studies than a partner might normally, one of the ways he did so was to set me rules.

The rules that rarely change are as follows:
1. I am to be respectful, helpful and friendly towards staff and students on my course, always. This makes me realise that I don't actually have a rule saying I have to be respectful and so forth towards my friends, or shop assistants, or even M himself, but I suspect this might be something of an unspoken rule.

2. Between Monday and Friday I am permitted a maximum of six 'junk' foods or drinks each - chocolate, fast food, etc. The main reason for this is that I could do with paying more attention to my food choices, particularly when I get hungry in the middle of the school day. I don't use them all as that would mean twelve junk somethings in five days! But having the rule has made me think a lot more about fruit, yoghurt or seeds and nuts as snacks, and in fact not snacking at all but having a proper meal. Which has helped with my energy levels.

3. Between 9am and 8pm on school days the only 'personal' internet time I'm allowed is 45 minutes in my lunch break. Now that it's the holidays but I stil have assignments and revision to do, I'm permitted two hours at a time but then have to do at least 30 minutes of work before I can go online again. I do think this is quite generous, unfortunately there were still some days this week when I did no work at all... Oops...

4. M makes minor adjustments to my bedtime most weeks, I think mostly to keep me on my toes... this last week it's been half-past midnight, as my term's finished. It was always before midnight during term. I'm afraid this is probably the rule that I break the most often.

5. I am to be on time for all lectures, seminars, meetings, etc. I am to text him immediately if I am late. Skipping a session, or not going into school, is absolutely forbidden without his express permission. I've had a few near misses with this rule, where technically I was late to a lecture or something but the lecturer hadn't actually started yet and so M late me off. I have been late to a few though, including a memorable one where I missed 15 minutes of an hour long lecture. Ow.

6. I am to inform M of all school assignments, when they're due in and how long I think they will take. They are all to be completed early (no more all-nighters for me!) and a copy emailed to him before I hand them in. I find this incredibly difficult and embarrassing, I don't quite know why. But it also helps because the thought of him reading it definitely gives me a big extra incentive to work hard. Which is also embarrassing - surely I should be working hard enough just for myself?

7. New rule added for reasons that will become apparent in my next entry to this blog: I am to write in my diary when all assignments/assessments are given/made available, and when they're due (You can see what happened there, can't you? *blush*).

8. I am not permitted to touch my cunt with my bare fingers, ever, ever, ever. In fact this rule's now been in place for more than eight months and I'm very proud of the fact that I've never deliberately broken it. I do occasionally break it by accident, over the last few months I was averaging once a fortnight but this is now my fourth week without slipping. I'm torn between feeling proud I've managed for so long, and reminding myself that it's inevitable I'll break it again at some point...

Transient Rules that are Currently In Effect:
1. This week I was instructed to masturbate, with a butt plug in for at least 15 minutes, and then have one orgasm, on three separate occasions. I love this rule because it was a potent reminder that he has control over this part of me, of my life, without just forbidding orgasms - which would be a lot less fun as I often don't see him all week. I spent a lot of the 15 minutes thinking about how it didn't matter whether I wanted an orgasm or not (or more than one, which is usually the case - just one is sort of like an appetiser), I'd been instructed to and that was the end of it. Which was a seriously hot thought. I'm hoping we'll keep variations of this rule for a while.

2. I am not allowed to swear. I'm not really sure how seriously M takes this one, it sort of feels a bit like he imposed it for the week because so many of my usual rules are about my school day, and therefore don't currently apply. Except I've sworn three and a half times since Tuesday, so I suppose I'll find out soon how seriously he takes it...

3. Mince pies do not count as junk food :-)

So, yes, it feels like quite a lot of rules. However they're all helpful rules that, when kept, help me to feel good about myself, to do better work or be more organised, or to remember that I'm supposed to be his good girl.

The more permanent rules listed at the top have been in place since September, with a bit of tweaking at the beginning, and feel like they've been pretty well integrated into my life now. I like having them, when M and I meet on Friday evening I love being able to say that, for example, I've only had four junk foods and one junk drink during the week, or that I've been on time for all my classes.

I'm now wondering whether M would be willing to expand the rules to cover some other aspects of my life that I have difficulty with. There are two main ones that I'm thinking of, one being how much money I spend during the week and the other on getting errands and chores done around my school work (for example it took me more than a month to tell the bank my new address after I moved house, even though all it needs is a phone call and I looked up the number on the internet in the first week). Somehow the thought of letting him have authority over these parts of my life is more daunting than what we're currently doing.

Fiction

2007-12-22T11:41:00.000Z

[I have a non-fiction account to write up as well, but needed to get this out of my head.]

She was sobbing by the time he finished and continued to do so for some time afterwards. Until the sofa cushion was more than just damp. The lesson had been effective though and she carefully stayed in position, despite the pain which continued to burn and throb and sting all at the same time. But finally the pain began to subside, her tears ended and she lay quietly, her dark red, sore and swollen bottom uppermost over the arm of the sofa. Her head and elbows pressed into the tear-wet seat, and bright red thighs lead to knees spread wide, to ensure complete exposure of what was normally kept hidden and private.

She heard him moving behind her again and then something cold and hard pressed into the cleft of her bottom. “Do you know what this is?” he asked. And suddenly she found some more tears to cry out.

She hadn't meant to be naughty, but of course that was no excuse. And as it was the third time in as many days, he decided it was time to take steps. She'd told him first thing the next morning, of course, thumbs moving surely across the phone's keypad: I'm very sorry Sir, but last night I stayed up past my bedtime again – I just got carried away with my game. I'm very sorry. Telling him was never the problem – at this stage it never seemed quite real.

The reply had been swift and to the point: Naughty girl! Wear a buttoned shirt and long skirt. Panties will stay at the tops of your thighs until after punishment. Be more careful to keep your rules. And then the butterflies in her stomach told her that it was definitely real.

It was ten hours before she arrived, all spent in self-conscious embarrassment of her half-undressed state. Two separate hours of commuting with her panties bunched under her bottom, rubbing against her skin as she walked and disturbing the smooth line of her skirt, worrying that the strangers she was squashed up against could feel the extra folds of fabric and would somehow know. Careful not to catch anyone's eye, hoping they would think her flush was just due to the heat. Eight hours at work, feeling the rumpled cotton as a sort of dissonance at odd moments in every situation; sitting, standing, in the meeting with her boss, in the queue at the canteen. A constant reminder that she had a punshment waiting. A very helpful reminder not to break any more rules.

There had been another text at the end of the day, carefully enhancing her trepidation: When you arrive take off your shoes and coat, bend over the arm of the sofa with your back to the door. Think about what you did that was naughty.

As disobedience at this stage would have been very foolish, she was careful to follow the instructions to the letter. The minutes spent in contemplation were not especially helpful, however – she had broken her rule because Lego Star Wars was her current obsession and playing it was more fun than going to sleep. And, well, maybe because she wanted his attention – he hadn't punished her for a long time now. At least two weeks. She hadn't deserved it. Best not to tell him that...

Her whole body tensed as he entered the room. Wordlessly, meticulously, he rolled her skirt up past her hips and tucked it into the waistband, leaving a bare, vulnerable, naughty bottom neatly framed between it and the already-lowered panties. All at once she realised she'd become somewhat accustomed to the position of her underwear during the day. The skin on her bottom prickled at the new exposure.

Their conversation was short. Did she know what time her bedtime was? Had there been some emergency that had prevented her from going to bed on time, for three days in a row, which she had somehow neglected to share with him? Did she acknowledge his authority over her? And his right to punish her for failing to keep the rules they'd agreed, with no good excuse? (Yes, Sir, no, Sir, yes, Sir... gulp... yes, Sir...) He did not ask why she had broken the rule.

His hands, firm and impersonal, guided her hips into position, then pressed against her knees, feet, elbows and head in turn, ensuring maximum accessibility for the paddle and maximum awful, humiliating exposure – because naughty girls don't have the privilege of privacy. Then he laid out her punishment. Since she had difficulty following his rules and doing what was necessary rather than what she wanted, this would be an exercise in exactly that. The new rule was to keep her body exactly where he had put it – closing her knees, or lifting her head, feet or elbows would incur two penalty strokes. She cringed as the cool wood rested against her cool bottom, feeling the outline of the holes drilled across its surface, hating the anticipation, dreading its end.

The first stroke was awful. All resolutions of bravery, of taking her punishment properly, were slammed out of her by the force of the paddle as she shot to her feet clutching her bottom. It hurt! She did not look at him – she knew it would be futile. How she wished she could beg and plead!
To tell him that it was too much, that it was impossible to take. But she knew, too well, what the response would be. This was, after all, a punishment for her lack of self-control. Better to gather herself for a moment, take a deep breath and get back into position, tears already gathering behind her eyes.

The penalty strokes were applied to the backs of her thighs, and four strokes were required for her to receive the requisite two in the proper position. Finally, at the end of the first five strokes, he counted.

“One.”

He counted to eighteen, six for each night she'd broken her rule, but by the end she'd taken closer to thirty as the pain repeatedly overwhelmed her defences. His lecturing had made everything even worse, dwelling on her lack of control, how her naughty behaviour reflected poorly on him, how disappointed he was by her failure to follow even simple rules. She had started crying as the first penalty strokes were applied, and her efforts were redoubled by each fresh application of solid wood against agonised flesh. The fight to keep her head down, rather than lift it to scream as instinct demanded, was unbelievably hard, and her hands scrabbled futilely over the sofa seat in an equally difficult battle not to cover her poor bottom. But the need to keep her legs stretched wide, muscles tense and skin taut for the paddle's bite, to say nothing of the shame of her exposure, was the worst. Her legs wanted to close instinctively each time the pain crested, and frequently did despite her best intentions. The backs of her thighs were steadily painted to a bright red under the penalty strokes, and staying still for them was even harder.

A long time later, she finally ran out of tears.

“Do you know what this is?” He pressed the cold, hard tip between her bottom cheeks and waited. On the second attempt she got the words out.

“A butt plug, Sir.”

“That's right.” His free hand gently traced the buises left by the paddle's holes. “And where does it go?”

Tears ran up her forehead and into her hair. “My bottom, Sir.”

“To remind you to be my good girl,” he confirmed. “Stay in position please, but open your bottom for me.”

More tears fell and she sobbed a bit but her hands were already moving, gingerly brushing over still-hot skin and then grasping firmly, wincing. Parting. Stretching wide.

Of course he waited a moment first, to give her time to fully appreciate her position and the hot flush of shame sweeping over her body. Then his finger, carrying a spot of lubricant, touched directly onto her anus. She tensed and her grip tightened against the bruises, still afraid of the punishment she'd received last time for relaxing her stretch during this process. She would never give him reason to buy ginger root again.

His finger rubbed against the opening, probed, probed, probed, twisted, left and returned with more lube. Pressed further in. Resistance was strongly disapproved of and she concentrated on keeping her muscles relaxed and accepting, even as the finger was replaced by the cold, hard snub of the plug, pushing against her, pressing in deep, then deeper... Her tears fell faster.

The plug was deeply seated inside her without mishap and his voice warmed with approval. “Good girl.”

She continued to hold herself apart, knees wide and head down, and replied with more tears.

“I know you don't like this,” he said, and then the heel of his hand pressed against her secret flesh, hot and swollen like her bottom and thighs, but unlike them also slick with wetness. She cried louder and her legs twitched, longing to close. But that lesson had only just ended, she didn't want a revision session so soon. “Even though part of you does...” His hand pressed in with slow, firm circles, sparking nerve endings, making her quiver. “But it does seem to work wonders, you're always more obedient, attentive, after some time with the plug.”

His touch disappeared as he stepped away. “Put your hands in front of you again,” and she gratefully released her hold and relaxed, hands free to wipe tears and dishevelled hair from her face.

He covered her with a throw, usually soft but now abrasive against her tender skin, and gently stroked her hair. “Get some rest.”

She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, feeling the itch of the blanket and the fullness in her bottom, sharply aware of the ache in her sex – and of the futility, with nothing to rub against. Or permission to rub.

She exhaled with a sigh, muscles going slack. It was okay. Everything was okay.

He always took care of his possessions.

Following instructions

2007-11-23T13:00:00.001Z

M and I are going away this weekend, and he has instructed me to bring the cane with me.

I shall now pause and look about hopefully for some expressions of sympathy.

It's not that I've been naughty and deserve a thrashing, I have and I do. It's that I'm going to have to carry the cane on public transport.

"But what if a security guard decides to ask me what it is?" I texted frantically.

"Then show it to them. And then they'll blush and show you on your way," was the not-at-all-reassuring reply I received.

Firstly I would just die of embarrassment, and secondly what if they don't?!

I hope I'm going to get some points for obedience and trust and so forth, here - I'm hating this enough to seriously consider deliberately defying him.

Statistics

2007-11-11T14:59:00.000Z

Statistics was the one thing about this course that I was nervous about before I started. I'm not good at maths and I'm even less good at the theory behind the maths, but I knew I would have to thoroughly understand statistics in order to do a good job on this course. It was almost enough to make me decide not to apply.

To help the students assess their progress, we were provided with an online multiple choice test. It doesn't count for anything and the staff won't know our marks, it's purely to help us see how well we've understood the material.

I just took it and got 8/10.

2007-11-08T22:41:00.000Z

I know, I know, I haven't posted anything for ages. But that's what happens when you start an MSc, you get really busy.

There hasn't been much discpline related to the MSc either, when I was worrying about my work ethic before I started the course, I forgot that my peerless skills of procrastination are matched by my perfectionism. Heh :-) Also, M's been pretty happy to leave me to it, trusting me to know what needs doing and then to do it, rather than checking up on every little thing. I'm glad, because that level of control would get frustrating pretty quickly, but on the other hand it does mean I haven't been putting in as many hours of study as I should. In fact last week a combination of procrastination and illness meant I very nearly didn't manage to get even the essential readings done before my seminars... It's now reading week though and while again I haven't spent 7 hours a day in the library, I do feel I've done some fairly solid pieces of work.

There has been discipline though, unrelated to school. I've a junk food restriction and a bed time, and other things to help structure my week. Like restricted internet use during the working day. That one really hurts. Some days I'm better than others - there was a bad patch a couple of weeks ago where by the end of the week M had to call me to account for breaking three of my rules. And because I'm supposed to know better than to break them willy-nilly, he also thrashed me for breaking them. Ow...

This week's been difficult on several levels, and I have a feeling I'll be asking this weekend for some hard, scorching stripes from the tawse. I don't know why I respond so well to this kind of catharsis, I'm just glad that we recognise that I do.

End of week two

2007-10-13T12:07:00.000+01:00

Monday was somewhat traumatic, with new lecture theatres to find, scattered across London and needing nearly half an hour to get from one to the other, with only half hour breaks between sessions. And I missed my lunch break because I'd signed up for an extra maths session and the combination of distance plus the extra session meant not only did I miss lunch but I was late for the lecture afterwards, as I had to rush back to my locker for my file and then find yet another new lecture theatre which again turned out to be a fast 20 minutes walk away.

In total, then, I was 45 minutes for lectures/seminars through the week. M foregave the Monday ones because of the stress, and we've ascertained that it won't happen again as I now know where all the various buildings are. So that's forgiven - this week.

I was also very, very late with bedtimes over the week - in fact when M made me add up all the time I'd been out of bed after midnight for no good reason, it came to 3 hours and 40 minutes.

Which means that at some point this weekend I'll be receiving 24 strokes of the cane.

Help.

M pointed out that the numbers don't actually add up - 6 strokes for each hour late plus another 6 strokes for the last 40 minutes. But apparently I should be grateful not to receive 8 per hour plus 6, which would've been 30. So I'm not saying anything!

I've got loads of work to do for Monday as well, normally I do it all on Friday but I wasn't very well yesterday and only did two bits. Which means I'm going to have to do it all today and tomorrow. Sigh.

First week

2007-10-06T11:28:00.000+01:00

Well, I made it through the first week. Technically it's the second week but the first-first week was orientation and this week was actual lectures and seminars, so it feels like I've just finished the first week.

I'm wiped.

On Thursday night I clung to M and bawled my eyes out - I don't handle change very well... except that I do, I very carefully examine what's changing or needing to change, and how and why and when and what all the implications of this will be, wher the potential pit-falls are, what I need to look out for. And then I go ahead and do it. So you could say that I'm very good at handling change, if it weren't for how incredibly stressful I find it.

M has been supportive, reassuring, stern and not-stern as I've needed, and I'm really very grateful to him. In fact I'd even forgotten that I don't handle change very well - but he didn't, and was very willing to talk things through with me.

One of the problems with higher education, we both agreed, is the level of self-discipline required, which most people don't have. When you're in school your teachers will notice if you don't do your work, or do unexpectedly badly in a test, and will talk to you about it. So will your parents. And when you're in the world of work, the work that you do ties in with the work other people do, so again if you don't do it, or do it badly, people will notice and talk to you about it. It' only in higher education that they don't care, where it's your responsibility to get your work in on time and to a good standard, no one will chase you if you don't and it doesn't affect anyone else if you wind up with a poor grade as a result.

M has repeatedly reiterated that this is not the case for me. I am immensely grateful for this, because I find it easier to do well if I know I'm going to be held to account - I suspect that most people are, we don't want to let people down or give people reason to have a bad opinion of us - whether this is your parents, teachers, colleagues or friends. I'm also immensely grateful because I'm finding it rather thrilling - I've something of a schoolgirl kink, and this is pushing all my buttons :-)

I've drawn up a timetable of my classes, and started a list of the work required for each. These are online so that M can check them.

During the working week, if I'm not in a class I'm expected to be doing private study, usually either in the library or a computer lab. And just to help me along with that, when I'm at the computer, the only non-work-related site I'm allowed to access is my personal email.

I'll be having a weekly review with M, and if I havent managed to finish that week's work by the weekend, I'll have to spend some of our precious weekend time studying. I do know that this is probably inevitable - it's a hard course and there's a lot of work, and I'm not allowed to skimp on it just so I can say it's done. But knowing that will give me extra incentive to work later during the week, so that I don't lose out on time with him.

At Christmas, we've been told, we'll be able to do some progress tests. This is because we won't be examined on the stuff we're learning this week, until June. The progress test let us know in advance if there are any problems. The lecturers kept telling us that they're not compulsory but that they're recommended for those reasons. I already knew what M would say and sure enough when I told him, he confirmed. These are not optional for me, I will be taking them, and I will be aiming for good grades.

And if I ever skip a class, or am late to class, or haven't prepared for a class, without discussing it with M first and/or having a very good (i.e. life or death) reason? I've been reassured ther will be Consequences.

It's such a relief to know that M's with me on this, that he's not only willing to monitor me and encourage me or make me work or punish me, etc - he wants to. For which I'm incredibly grateful.

Something else I'm always in trouble for

2007-09-26T21:57:00.000+01:00

Very soon after starting this punishment, I thought with envy of the lines Iris had to write recently, simply because hers was so much shorter. This is now what happens when I break my rule through carelessness - 50 lines each time. At the moment I'm just about able to write them faster than I'm earning them, and it's definitely a strong incentive to be more careful. Half way through this lot today I wanted to text M and whine about how long the line was, but my finely-honed sense of self-preservation saved me.

Sorry about the awful picture quality, I've lost my proper camera.

Not-Quite-So-Impending Doom

2007-09-23T18:24:00.000+01:00

School hasn't even started yet, and already I'm in trouble.

Okay, this isn't actually school-related trouble, but I'm feeling sufficiently gloomy about it that I want to write about it somewhere.

Quite simply, I broke one of my rules. And I knew it was a rule when I broke it, and I still broke it. So I'm in trouble.

M expressed some disappointment when I told him about it - then he thought about it for a while and clarified that I had, indeed, known that it was a rule and had gone ahead and broken it anyway, and all of a sudden I'm not looking at a simple spanking. Instead, I'm looking at a spanking until he's sure I'm not going to wilfully break rules again, and then I'll get the spanking I was due for breaking the rule.

This would be bad enough, I think you'll appreciate that I feel guilty and sorry and am generally regretting my thoughtlessness (or rather, insufficient consideration of the consequences) - but I'm having to wait for the punishment as well. Real Life is intruding, as it so often does, and I don't know when it's going to happen.

The waiting is almost as bad as the punishment is probably going to be. I can't say "as bad", or "worse", because M has made references such as "taking [my] punishment out of [my] hide" (gulp). But it's pretty awful.

Unexpected

2007-09-19T19:44:00.000+01:00

I had a chat with M this morning about my course. I mentioned how Abel motivated Haron's studies and from my previous post how praise and acknowledging good work were going to be important to me. From this we moved to talking about how he was going to monitor my work - I'll get my timetable next week and we'll then sit down together and work out 'study' and 'play' hours.

We also talked about grades - when I did my BSc, every piece of work you did could be classified as a fail, 3rd, 2:2, 2:1 or 1st. This time, apparently, ther is only 'pass' and 'distinction'. And I've been warned by previous students that 'pass' is pretty easy to get, but 'dstinction nearly impossible.

M said that he expected me to work steadily and have any pieces of work completed a suitable amount of time before the deadline (e.g. a week before for 'big' essays, projects, etc.) - and that he'd read them to comment on sentence structure, grammer, etc.

It felt like having cold water poured over me. He wants to what? No one ever reads my work - apart from the people who mark it, of course, but that's different because they read loads and are used to them being rubbish. I'm immediately convinced that everything I write is going to be awful, and patently not good enough.

I know it's not true - I got decent grades the first time around and could have done better if I'd done better and, for example, written essays earlier than the night before they were due. But this is going mean he's monitoring my work a lot more closely than I'd expected. Help.

We also talked about what happens between being given an assignment and handing it in - I get very anxious at the thought of too much structure/rigidity about how I'm supposed to study, fortunately M agreed with my suggestion that I be expected to do "something" towards an assignment every week, and have it done a week (for example) before it's due, as enough structure to give us something to work with but without stifling me.

Maybe this will work after all. If I can get over the thought of him reading what I write.

Discipline

2007-09-11T23:54:00.001+01:00

One of the problems of going back into full-time education is that I'm remembering just how good I was at procrastination and work-avoidance the last time around. It's scary to think about, as the stakes are higher this time.

Hopefuly the presence of a loving disciplinarian in my life may help. Being accountable to someone else, knowing that someone else is cheering me on and willing me to do well, but is also ready to step in and set me back on the right path if I fall off the wagon (to mix my metaphors), is a great comfort.

We shall see.