yikes #1

I was about to deliver a serious paddling. It was for getting low marks in a test, in a university course, where I was helping a submissive girl to improve her marks. It wasn’t just a case of punishing her if her scores weren’t good enough (“you get top marks or you get bottom marks”). I also did a lot of positive things to help her get started, and to focus while she was working.

But she did the rest, and although she just barely passed, I’d told her she had to do better than just pass. She had to stay at 75% or above, and her test result was not that. I was not pleased.

So I told her I was going to paddle her. She’d get one medium hard stroke for every point by which she fell short of 100%. That meant a 28-stroke paddling.

“Yikes,” she said.

This story will be continued.

“Sexless” discipline, denial and abuse

It seems that when you have supposedly non-sexual bdsm, one of two things will happen. One option is that the rules will get broken, and the partners will eventually fuck, or at least start giving each other “relief”. So then it’s a sexual bdsm relationship, explicitly as well as covertly. I’d call that a happy ending, really. 

A similar but less happy kind of boundary-breaking, from the supposedly disciplinary to the sexual, is also involved in many child sexual abuse incidents in schools and orphanages. Children raped by Catholic priests and lay brothers, for example, often were raped in a corporal punishment setting. Corporal punishment often happened away from the rest of the school or orphanage, with plenty of sound insulation. The basement, laundry or boiler room, for example.

That gave the adult privacy alone with the child, with a strong expectation that the child will unquestioningly obey, and that the adult is empowered to adjust or remove the child’s clothes, touch the child’s body and hurt the child. The stories now emerging from the victims of church institutions for children in Australia, Ireland, the United Kingdom, the United States and elsewhere are enraging and heart-breaking. 

Parents should not tolerate corporal punishment in schools, in any country or state in which it currently exists.

This is not sexy. Not at all.

Oh, this is not sexy. Not at all.

The second option is that the partners in this non-sexual discipline session stand up, with the man tucking his erection behind his belt and the woman patting down her hair, and they shake their hot damp hands and they go home.

But once they get home, they release their sexual arousal by masturbating, or they jump-fuck their regular partner.

Personally I’d never agree to a discipline-only relationship. If I discipline a woman I desire (and I’m not going to discipline a woman I don’t desire), then I’ll be looking at her body, touching her body, watching her, smelling her, knowing I’m arousing her, making her move and making her cry out. To do all that and then not follow up by consoling her cunt with a smack and some stroking, and then a hard fucking, would be torture. And I just hate torture.

No sex please, we’re…

I know there are relationships where one person gives another disciplinary powers but no other rights. There’s to be no direct sexual contact. The disciplinarian can touch the person getting punished on the buttocks, but shouldn’t touch his or her genitals. Those relationships are supposedly non-sexual.

arousedBut there’s a reason why people doing bdsm for pleasure focus most discipline on the buttocks and upper thighs. Those areas aren’t just close to the genitals, they’re in direct contact. You can’t bring blood rushing to a man or woman’s buttocks without also bringing blood rushing to their genitals. You can’t warm a woman’s thighs without warming her cunt.

That’s just the physiology of it. The passion and intimacy involved in giving discipline or submitting to it is too intense, too personal, to be non-sexual.

As a side-issue, that’s one of the things I’ve never been able to understand about corporal punishment in schools in countries, like Saudi Arabia and the United States, that still haven’t banned it. What kind of a parent would let a strange adult enact dominance-submission rituals with their children, and then beat these children’s hands or buttocks? Are those parents insane? 

Entitlement again

So I loved typing that sentence: “When I cane her, I cane hard.”

The woman I wrote it about both feared and loved the cane.

well caned 1Most often I caned her as punishment for laziness or carelessness in her schooling or her training. Sometimes I just caned her because she has a great ass and I loved to watch the welts rise on her bottom and thighs, and to enjoy the way she writhed and plunged, grunted and squealed, when the cane landed. 

Being disciplined by me, for her good or my lust, made her feel safe, cared for and satisfied, and desperately cunt-greedy. 

So that phrase is about a world of entitlement. Caning her made her even more beautiful, and made her happy through her tears. I had the right to make that happen. It made her need my cock in her, urgently, wherever I chose to put it. So much heat and power. Such an entitlement.

You can work hard, and for years, to learn the skills, the right kinds of patience and strength, to try to make yourself into a man or woman who has something to offer a submissive. Something more than rope burns and an orgasm, good though those things are.

But good things don’t necessarily happen just because you want to deserve them. When bdsm brings you good things, it’s an extraordinary entitlement. It’s grace. 


“When I cane her, I cane hard,” I wrote.

It’s a faux-casual remark, isn’t it? Like, “Ah, I can never remember where I parked the damn Maserati.” 

Well, Maseratis are stylish cars. But a woman giving me the power to decide if she will be caned, and if so, how hard she will be caned, and the other rights over her that usually flow from that: that’s the most comfortable and elegant luxury item there is.

Obviously, if you have the right to cane, you’ve also acquired the right to use a paddle, a birch, a crop, your hand and so on, though you might agree not to use certain instruments that she particularly hates or fears.

caned and butt-fuckedMore importantly, the intimacy of discipline includes sexual intimacy. A woman on a bed, lying on her front with her ass presented to be caned is also presenting herself to be fucked, and she and her disciplinarian both know it.

Mostly, men and women only want to be disciplined by someone they desire sexually. Sure, discipline-only, no-sex relationships exist, but I think even those are sexual, regardless of what the partners might say. Let’s leave that topic for another post.

When I can say of someone I desire, “When I cane her, I cane hard”, I may try to sound casual about it. But I’m amazed to live in a world in which something so wonderful can be true. 

Die pervert die

I’ve been sick, as I mentioned, lying about in bed reading policiers. Ed McBains, and some British stuff.

The most interesting was A Pinch of Snuff by Reginald Hill. It’s a book about two British cops, Dalziel and Padcoe. They got made into tv cops in the 1990s, I think. I’ve not seen the tv show, but the book’s better than I expected. I could probably read a couple more before I get bored with them.

This one was was set in the 1970s, with bosses calling their women workers girls, and most of those girls working as nurses or banging on typewriters. And feminists being a sexual threat who might just steal a man’s wife away.

With a rope, in the library. And six of the best across his bum. Ha ha, pervert.

With a rope, in the library. Found with six of the best across his bum. Ha ha, pervert.

There was a masochistic villain, who got murdered and no-one minded because he was a filthy pervert. He’d recently had six of the best with a cane, probably paid for, when they found his body. The cops thought it was funny. The writer, Reginald Hill, seemed to think that “masochism” was a good trait to give a villain who turns into a murder victim.  

I didn’t really bother getting indignant about the bigotry. It was just of its time.

We’ll know we’ve made it to respect when there’s a television series about a smart bdsm-loving detective  who solves crimes with her gender-bending role-switching partner.

In the meantime, in crime shows and movies, masochists will be portrayed as unsympathetic victims, while a character who is revealed to be a “sadist” is almost certain to turn out to be the murderer. 

I think the the “Dalziel and Pascoe” tv show is set in the present, but it shouldn’t be. The book was as distant and quaint as Dickens’s London.

In spite of that I quite enjoyed it. If you get indignant about finding the prejudices of the past in books that were written in the past, you won’t be able to read Jane Austen, or Biggles books, or Goethe, or even Henry Fielding.   

As well as reading, I’ve been drinking hydralite drinks to stop myself dehydrating. There’s more, but the rest is too damn pitiful to write about.  

But while I was down with some hideous viral thing, a sentence I’d written kept coming back to me. The sentence was something like this: “When I cane her, I cane hard.”

The drive to the shops

No, Master, it's just a cold. I should be ok tomorrow.

No, Master, it’s just a cold. I should be ok tomorrow.

One of the things a Master has to do, when his slave is sick, is to get her some hot soup and other supplies from the shops and the chemist.

The surprising thing about that, like a lot of things about owning a submissive woman as property, is that it’s quite sexy.

It helps to make the ownership real, a bedrock fact of life. 

Toothpaste on the clitoris

No matter how she tried, she couldn't shake that stuff off.

No matter how she tried, she couldn’t shake the damn stuff off.

I met a male-dom bdsm couple a few years ago. The woman had done something slightly wrong that day, and her Master told her he was going to apply a dab of toothpaste to her clitoris. 

The fact that I was there, having coffee with them, was part of the reason he chose that slightly out-of-the-way punishment. It was certainly the reason why he chose to announce it to her in front of a third party. Humiliation is a sweet sauce.

From the woman’s reaction – she got quite lively after he’d pronounced sentence, and then very quiet and submissive – it was clear that she found it quite a challenging form of punishment.

It was also clear that she loved it. Perhaps she liked it best after the first hour was over.

After about ten minutes, the man told me, it would burn like a mouthful of wasabi. She’d find it nearly impossible to keep still, for the next forty minutes. Which was why he would insist that she stood perfectly still, and punish her hard for any wriggling.

It’s hard to imagine being so busy that I’ve never got around to doing this myself, but that’s what’s happened. I’ve filed the idea away, and never had the time for it. But I’m going to do it next week. I’ll let you all know how it turns out.

Update: I keep my promises, really. Eventually. I’ll tell you about it in my post for 21 September 2014.


The report on my experiment is here.