Tuesday, 12 August 2014

Home alone

No, I couldn't go. SO was adamant that I was not invited to the friends' camping trip, which meant that I'd be on my own all weekend.
Which made me grumpy. The kids are away on holiday together at the moment, so I had assumed the weekend was for our playtime. And having experienced weeks of spanklessness I was very, very hungry for TTWD.
But I need 'a little chat', I pleaded in a whiny kind of way. Nothing doing. It will have to wait until Tuesday, I was told.
Then the door slammed shut and I heard the sound of our old VDub camper firing up. I was mad, and bratty. I spent the weekend eating too much, drinking too much and looking into corners of the webosphere that I promise not to go to...
But SO wasn't there to see any of it, and doing it all just made me more itchy for some serious sorting out. It didn't help that I did a lot of fantasising around the idea of what campsite punishments might be like; birches, switches, my big bare bot and other campers looking on, you know the sort of thing.
SO got back late, tired and in need of a bath and sleep, and seemingly oblivious to my cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof mental state. I felt even more neglected.
However, it turned out that SO hadn't been as out of touch with my state of mind as I thought. The 'it will have to wait until Tuesday' hadn't been just talk. As I was babbling on about my rule-breaking weekend and my thoughts around campsite correction it dawned on me that my poor behind was about to suffer.
Now I always get to a point where I so much want what we call 'my discipline', but when it's actually about to happen I go really cold on the idea. Who in their right mind would want that pain and humiliation?
My pleading was all of a sudden about letting me off, but to no avail. Reader, I got the hairbrush, and then me (and my red bum) got sent outside to cut a switch. I have to say the way a length of  willow marks my thighs is quite something to see...


  1. All's well that ends well. That part where, when actually faced with the discipline, you sincerely don't want it, crosses a most interesting line.

  2. I really enjoyed reading this little tale. I began by being worried that you were going to end up being all frustrated and dis-satisfied, but it had a happy ending after all. I liked the way you ended up by allowing us to imagine the sight of your pale thighs all striped and stinging from the willow. You are lucky/unlucky to have a willow tree so easily at hand. I have always thought that a willow looks an especially evil and whippy material. Comparable to the birch I am sure. Are you able to give us (from the recipients point of view) a critique of birch verses willow ?

    1. Unlucky, I'd say. Willow is the worst because it is so flexible, it makes it very difficult to control and so you end up getting nips from the end in all sorts of places!