One of the sticking points in admitting to living a DD lifestyle is the potential criticism that needing external authority, complete with rules, expectations, and consequences imposed by a dominant partner or spouse, indicates a lack of maturity and self discipline in the submissive partner. It is not an argument without some merit and as such, many of us who do live this way often struggle with the part of ourselves that seems to fall short of what we should be able to achieve on our own. We question ourselves over this willingness to obey another and suffer punishments at their hands when we falter. Are we weak? Inferior?
In my case, I feel I am fairly good at self discipline and as stated many times here over the years, my need for imposed authority and consequences centers more around annoying personality flaws or inclinations than an inability to be productive or responsible. But I am not perfect, even as I realize that neither is anyone else. The difference for me is that something austere in me craves punishment for certain faults, when others don't. Fortunately life's diversity has provided ample personalities to complement my own: confident, dominant people who see no contradiction in admitting their own faults with no desire to be punished for them, while supporting my desire to be punished for mine and willing to make that happen.
The majority of my punishments are for things I have said, rather than the things I didn't do, though I've had my share of those as well. And this majority nearly always originates in the feelings of those around me with such authority. THEY are the ones to cite an issue, decree a punishment, and carry it out by means of "slip" or their own (paddle-armed) hands. But not always. Sometimes I am more bothered by something I did than they are, and at those times, I will confess my disappointment with myself and request a punishment. Such was the case recently.
On Thursday of last week, my Monster, Ana and her brother, Osito were spending their last day at home before going to Pittsburgh watching a movie with me and my Rosa. As is my custom, I made myself a nice cocktail* to enjoy during the show. In order to not have to get up should I wish a refill, I chose a particularly large martini glass, one fairly larger than the usual and one I rarely use. This was my first mistake.
During the movie, which was over two hours, my gang wanted a bathroom break, and since my glass was empty, I decided to make another. Given their size, this constituted an ample consumption of booze. By the time I finished the second, I was still lucid but certainly feeling a little buzzed. Nothing I couldn't handle though. BUT, then.............don't ask me why....I decided on a third.
Now please understand that three strong boozy cocktails for me are nothing exceptional. When Rosa and I go to Marta's for a movie I often have three. But these are a STANDARD VOLUME 'three'.....AND I often "hydrate" between them. What I was consuming that Thursday were considerably more voluminous, and I drank no water to offset the alcohol. By the time the movie was finished, so was I!
Now when some people overindulge it can get ugly. I pride myself of first never getting to that point, and second, if I do go too far, still maintain lucidity and motor function. Even after that third drink, I was capable of both....but I knew I was more impaired than I ever wish to be and said so. I told Rosa, "I never should have had that third drink. I don't know why I did. I'm fucked up." She agreed.
At one point I got very chatty and then decided to have water. As soon as the water filled my stomach, I rushed to the toilet and returned it. This is very, very rare for me, not unheard of, but rare to the point of something that happens like maybe every ten years. I was SO embarrassed! I pride myself on never getting this way and this was like I was suddenly some overindulgent amateur with no self-control. I didn't sleep well, but tossed and turned and at one point, before going back to bed, left a note for my Honey on the bathroom sink requesting a serious punishment when she got the first opportunity.
The next morning she told me she read the note and would address things later. At her lunch break on Friday, she gave me 100 hard spanks. During the spanking, Rosa scolded me no so much for overindulging, but for being such a chatty pest and keeping her up with my resulting issues. The spanking hurt but somehow the punishment felt incomplete. I asked if she would consider a second round at some point and she said she would after work.
Before that second round, I asked her to really roast my bottom and not go easy. This led her to ask me some questions and we had a short, over the lap, pre-spanking discussion that ended up very productive and beneficial. Rosa asked what exactly I was looking for and I told her that the previous punishment left me feeling like I had gotten off easy and that instead I wanted to feel truly punished. She explained that her earlier spanking was what it was because she was simply not that upset with me. It is not a chronic problem, and as mistakes go, she was more annoyed at how some of it inconvenienced her, but otherwise she felt this misstep bothered ME way more than her. I readily agreed and explained why.
I confessed a certain pride in my own self-control and that this episode was mortifying for someone like myself who disdains that level of immoderation. She understood and asked what I felt would be appropriate to assuage my guilt. I responded that the number was completely up to her, but ultimately I wanted to experience something akin to when SHE is really upset with me, something harsh, punitive, and out of my control, and well beyond anything I would "like". She had no problem with that.
The spanking she then gave me was devastating! Every single swat was a full-force bun-burner. And she gave me 200 of them! The room itself resounded with thunderous claps as paddle met flesh. It took little time before I was whimpering a bit. And then I reached a point where I just wanted it over. My bottom was burning and each new smack lit another fire as I wondered how many more she was going to give me. I don't count smacks and even needed her to tell me afterwards the total I got, and based on that I figured that I probably had had enough by about 130 to 150 or so and would have felt adequately punished had she stopped there. And yet she didn't stop until 200, even making sure to end with harder and harder spanks.
When she let me up I kissed her feet and asked for a photo for the blog. She agreed and I went back into position for the following shots:
My bottom felt unreal, no longer flesh or muscle, but some hot, artificial leather or vinyl covering loose wet sand. As I stood the muscle throbbed in pulses while radiating heat. That night Marta and Wally treated us to dinner out at a local restaurant and I joked with Rosa that it was the first time I went to a place more interested in what type of seats they had rather than the contents of their menu. And as it turned out the chairs were just plain wood with no cushions! By the end of dinner I was grateful to leave and return to Marta's living room and their plush sofa!
At one point, while Wally went upstairs for a bit, Marta commented on my expression and I confessed that I was merely grateful for her cushions in comparison to the chairs in the restaurant. Naturally she asked why and when Rosa and I told her about my current situation and the events leading up to it, she chuckled heartily.
My bottom remained sore for days.
*The cocktail responsible for my rare, but more-than-adequately-handled overindulgence was a "Bells of St. Mary's". In an upcoming post I will share the recipe along with my fondness for Ingrid Bergman and some related nun fantasies.