Friday, 14 September 2018

Checking In

From time to time Meredith gently chides me for not posting in a while. The thing is, when I started blogging, after testing the waters as a guest on the blogs of two friends, I was already wondering what on Earth I was going to blog about. By then Harry and I had been on the ttwd path for three years. That doesn't mean we had it all down pat, we still haven't, but we had pretty much shaped the way we wanted our version to go. Pouting, flouncing and door slamming had all been consigned to history by that point, along with some other undesirable traits, so there is seldom anything of note to tell. Punishment doesn't figure in our dynamic, though there is discipline in the shape of 'reminders' and resets. There are no rules to be broken.

Or are there? When is, "I don't like you standing on a chair to get to get to the top shelves," the same as a rule? And what about, "Remember to take your phone with you when you leave the house."  How does that translate to, "You're in trouble," if I forget it? I guess the answer is that we have one golden rule, which encompasses anything and everything that Harry feels compromises my safety and he will always spank for that. 

Though I've vastly improved, I still slip up with the phone rule once in a while. Back in the summer, we were going to a fun 'do' at the invitation of one of our clients. At the last minute, Harry was called in to solve a problem at work and we had to travel separately. Our younger daughter was home on her yearly visit and was accompanying us to the event. Harry said he would call me when he was done to find out where to join us and I was to be sure to take my phone. As daughter and I walked into the the venue her phone rang. It was Harry; the problem had been resolved quickly and he was already there. We met up with him and he asked why I hadn't responded to his five calls. I opened my handbag, thinking I must have left the phone on silent after my gym session that morning. Sadly, I had left it on my bedside table. I looked aghast at Harry, remembering the spanking I got the last time I left it at home. You can imagine 'the look' he gave me. With our daughter there he could only say, "Don't say a word," but I was already envisaging another date with the jam spoon.

That was the last time I got into any real trouble and life has been pretty smooth since then. So smooth, in fact, that I recently asked Harry if I could give him some feedback on spanking. As I wrote in a post a while back, fun spankings are lovely but I crave discipline to remain on an even keel. Harry was still giving reminder spankings but, as I explained to him, there was so much rubbing, squeezing and stroking that the purpose of the spanking got lost and there was no after effect to remind me I had been spanked. He took that on board and reminders are now back to more business, less fun. He has also reverted to giving me 'appointments' for reminders. I love the anticipation after receiving his texts:






This morning, Harry was up and dressed ready to run an errand while I was still lounging in bed. I heard him shut the window and looked up to see that he had two paddles in his hand. I'm writing this with a hot bottom. Happy Weekend!




Rosie

Tuesday, 14 August 2018

Rosie's Notebook





I have a notebook in which I write stories, outline my posts before drafting them online and jot down ideas for future posts. That last one is of little use because, by the time I get round to writing it, someone else has usually written on the same subject. Sometimes I write down those moments that make me think, "That's going in my blog!" The trouble with those is that they either don't fit any of the subject matter or the note is so cryptic that I can't remember what the heck it was about. 

The notebook is getting really tatty so I decided to have a cull of all the loose pages and notes that I'm never going to use. Some of the short notes made me smile and, whilst none of them would make a post of its own, they might make amusing reading.

So, for your entertainment, here are some snippets from Rosie's notebook:

๐ŸŒŸI was brought up not to use profane or vulgar language, a constraint of which Harry heartily approves. Sometimes, though, a vulgar expression slips out, such as the time when we were having lunch in the garden and our cat pawed at me to get some of my bacon. He took me by surprise, causing me to drop my fork and use a very rude, though not profane, word. Harry chided me for the slip and I asked how come he can say it and I can't. His response was, "Because I'm the one who wields the paddle." I was taken aback by that because, at that time, spanking was strictly for fun. I had no premonition of how that was to change.

๐ŸŒŸOn the same theme, Harry and I were sitting side by side on the sofa. I was reading and he was looking at funny cat videos on his phone. He showed me a picture of a very cross looking cat. This was recently, a couple of days after PK put up a TBT post on how she got her name and I told him a very short version of the story. I said she was pissed with her friend, who shot back a photo of a pissed looking kitty. Without looking away from his phone, he made a 'cut-off' gesture with his hand and said, "That's two, no more."

๐ŸŒŸStill with the bad language theme, there was a time when I borrowed Harry's car and took a corner too fast. I frightened myself silly and shouted out the F-word, one of only three times I've used it in my life. I was relieved that Harry had no occasion to review the dash-cam footage because it recorded sound as well as sight. Had he heard my language I wouldn't have sat for a week - and that would have been after the spanking for bad driving.

๐ŸŒŸI have no idea what this one was about! The note just said Harry held up a hand, making a spanking gesture, and said, "I'm the one with the slappy hand, I make the rules."

๐ŸŒŸAnother note read 'Annoying - hand - itch'. I remember this event but not what I did to annoy Harry. Whatever it was, I stopped when he held up his spanking hand and scratched the palm with the index finger of the other hand. 

๐ŸŒŸ"I didn't say be dull, I just said behave." I earned that reprimand when were in the kitchen doing the dishes and I had been teasing Harry, a bit too close to the line.

๐ŸŒŸThis is my favourite and I've saved it till last. Harry told me he had an event planned for the evening, called 'Red Globes At Sunset'. He then announced the warnings, as they do on television. "You are advised that there will be spanking and scenes of a sexual nature, but no bad language." It all came to pass exactly as planned.


Life may be stressful at times but it's rarely dull in Harry and Rosie land!


Rosie

Tuesday, 7 August 2018

Three Bags Full


This post was supposed to be a short snapshot of an event last week but, as I was trying to make sense of my reaction, it seemed to take on a life of its own, reminding me of another struggle with submission a few years ago.


Baa Baa Black Sheep have you any wool?
Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full


One morning last week, Harry and I both woke before the 5.45am alarm went off. We lay there, quietly savouring the few more minutes before the clamour of a new day intruded. When the alarm went off I kept my eyes closed but soon became aware that Harry was rearranging the bedding. I turned to see what he was up to - what was the fat bolster doing on the bed? There's only one reason for that and I was soon draped over the thing having my bottom tanned. Afterwards, there was a short question and answer session and the last of my answers was, "Yes." 

"Yes, what?" came Harry's response.

I looked at him, puzzled.

"Yes, Sir." he said.

Nooooo! Over five years in and he's never asked me to call him Sir before. I don't want to! I can't do it! I won't!

He smiled, recognising my inner struggle and letting the demand go. It had been a 'just because' spanking, no discipline involved. Maybe he was just teasing me.


As spanking just for fun morphed into ttwd all by itself we never had 'The Conversation', so there was no discussion on what would or wouldn't work. If there had been, calling Harry 'Sir' would have been right up there with corner time on the 'Not on your Nellie' list. Harry remained oblivious to the concept of corner time until a couple of years later, when I wrote a Fantasy Friday story that featured it. Not long after, he gave me a four o'clock appointment and told me, if he were held up in traffic and wasn't home by the appointed time, I was to wait for him in the corner between the dresser and the wardrobe. Back then, an appointment was specifically for a 'reminder' and I would wait for him in our room, sitting on the bed, bottom already bared. There was no way I was going into that corner, half-naked or otherwise, and I told him so. He said that was up to me but non-compliance would be met with the wooden paddle.

After I was up and about and had drunk enough coffee to start my day, I walked into the corner to see how it felt. I barely managed ten seconds. I tried again at lunchtime but the result was just the same. I wasn't too worried about the wooden paddle. Harry might take me over my limit for my obstinacy but he isn't a tyrant. That wasn't the real issue. I knew he would be disappointed that I'd flouted his wishes. But I couldn't do it, I really couldn't, it was just too humiliating. I was still pretty much a lurker in Blogland then but I had a good friend in Jan, our lovely English Rose, and decided to email her for advice. Unfortunately for me, she was out for the day but, as four o'clock approached and Harry wasn't home, I felt sure she would have told me to do what he wanted. Harry was only five minutes late but it felt like an eternity in that corner. Jan's email, urging me to do as he wanted, pinged into my inbox halfway through the spanking. She thought he was probably testing his power and I'm sure she was right. He's never asked me to do it since.


I don't know what prompted Harry to throw in the 'Sir' response; nor can I make sense of my strong reaction, because I am not the same person I was five years ago. Oh, yes, I'm still the same strong, intelligent, person I always was but I am now a better, happier, version of me. One who revels in her husband's assertiveness and has more respect for him than ever before. One who will say "Sir" should he require it in future.



Rosie




Thursday, 12 July 2018

TBT - Once Upon A Time

There is nothing new to glean from this post but it was well received when I wrote it in December 2016 and I enjoyed writing it.

Things have settled down here, we're slowly getting back to normal, whatever that is. The thing about normal is that life is uneventful, which means I have nothing to blog about. Instead of disappearing again, I thought I'd have some fun and write a story. This is a fictional tale but any resemblance to living people may not be entirely coincidental. 

Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin...

Once upon a time, a little girl was born into a family that had not heard the patter of tiny feet for many years. Her grandmother, the family matriarch, had expressed her preference for a boy but, on holding the infant in her arms for the first time, declared that she wouldn't change her for a boy if his backside were studded with diamonds. The child was christened Rosamund on account of her fair English complexion, with her rose-coloured cheeks and rosebud mouth.

With seven grownups in the household twisted round her tiny fingers, it was almost inevitable that she was a little spoilt. She was treated like a princess by them all but her biggest fan was her doting Grandmama. The old lady wasn't a total pushover, though. She insisted on ladylike behaviour and taught Rosamund her Ps and Qs.

In spite of, or maybe because of, having three younger siblings, she grew into a somewhat solitary child, with her nose often stuck in a book. Though no hand was ever applied to her bottom, the little princess had a fascination with spanking, fuelled by the many instances in the story books of the day. By her early teens, she had begun to fantasise about being spanked, mainly by handsome men on horseback.

She was mistress of the witty put down and, as a consequence, found herself over the knees of two early suitors. She liked how it made her feel but neither of the young men touched her heart. Her Grandmama told her she was a very special girl who would need a very special man. She was biased, of course, but that's the way it is with Grandmamas. She advised the princess to carry on kissing frogs until her prince arrived.





And so it came to pass that a knight in shining armour came forth on his trusty steed, Lambretta, and stole her heart away. Sir Henry's kisses made her swoon, but before long she craved the thrill of a spanking and asked him to oblige. He was appalled. He had been to knight school with his peers and learned that a man's job was to care for and protect his fair lady. Only a coward would strike a woman. Rosamund was nothing if not persistent, chipping away until, in exasperation, Henry forbade her from raising the subject ever again.

Many years passed, during which the pair married and had two beautiful daughters.Their union wasn't all sweetness and light; this may be a fairy tale but they had their ups and downs like everyone else. Rosamund could be a handful when she didn't get her way and Henry's strategy was to keep his head down until her ill humour passed. In the meantime, doors would shudder on their hinges and no-one could pout or flounce better than she.

Their daughters had left to make their own way in the world long before the day that was to turn Rosamund's life upside down. Henry was gazing fondly at his wife, who was slumbering in the afterglow of some mighty fine loving, still clad in the *F--k me* outfit she had worn for his pleasure. She had fulfilled many of his fantasies over the years and it was to his sorrow that the only one she wanted for herself was the one thing he couldn't bring himself to do. Lately though, he had begun to wonder whether it was such a bad thing. A story had been written about many shades of grey, it's fame spreading far and wide, with its scenes of spanking setting feminine hearts all a-flutter. When Henry told Rosamund he was willing to try spanking, solely to add some extra spice in the bedchamber, she wasn't at all sure she wanted to after all these years. She told him she would think on it.

She dressed with great care the first time, choosing undergarments that would present an appealing target once her skirts were up and her knickers were around her thighs. Henry had always admired his wife's bottom, a little on the large side but smooth and firm. The last thing he wanted was to smack it but he had promised. Rosamund jumped when the first spank fell, out of sheer anticipation. Henry made himself deliver another twenty or so smacks, turning her bottom a warm shade of pink, before picking her up and carrying her to their bed.

The next time, to Henry's chagrin, she was left with some light bruising. Perhaps it hadn't been her brightest idea to mention pat-a-cake when he asked how she felt about the first spanking. She cared not a jot about the bruising, her worry was that Henry would not spank her again. What was she to do? There was only one thing for it, she would use her magic tablet to consult the Fount Of All Knowledge. Tapping three times on the glass to summon Google she asked her question. The answer came from a man who spanked his wife, avoiding bruising by warming up gradually with moderate smacks before the real spanking began. A few more taps led Rosamund to the Land of Blog, where she found many women who were spanked by their husbands, not only for pleasure but for discipline too. She passed on the warm up tip to Henry but kept the rest of her discovery to herself; she didn't want to put any ideas into his head.

Her deviousness was in vain for, once Henry accepted that spanking caused no lasting harm, it was only a matter of time before Rosamund was spanked for real. She had been in a foul mood all morning and Henry bore the brunt of her ill humour. When all else failed, he decided to spank her out of it. Rosamund was shocked to be summarily upended over his knee but knew she deserved it and was soon making her apologies. That day wrought a change in our trusty knight. With his soft, contrite, wife in his arms he vowed that, henceforth, he would brook no argument from his feisty princess. Peace and harmony would come to his domain, for now he had the means to rein in her waywardness. For good measure, he would give her frequent reminders of his new expectations, whether she needed them or not.

His lady wife submitted to her husband's strictures for she found them curiously calming and, by some alchemy, his strong leadership brought her and her knight closer together. That's not to say everything ran smoothly from then on; the princess could no more change her character than a leopard could change its spots. There were times when she would try her husband's patience to the limit and her hindquarters would feel the sting of his wrath. He knew he would never tame her entirely, nor would he want to. Life would be dull if his Rose lost her thorns.




Cue Happy Ever After music...


** I have used narrator's licence here. Harry is a benign dictator but were I to use the 
    f-word in real life I wouldn't sit comfortably for quite some time.


Rosie


Thursday, 5 July 2018

TBT - You can put that in your blog!

Originally posted 2nd June 2016

Harry is not very happy with me. Monday was a Bank Holiday and we were looking forward to the extra day off. It started well, a bit of a lie-in followed by a leisurely breakfast, then pottering about until lunch time. After lunch, we planned to do some work in the garden before going on to our favourite afternoon activity...

I've neglected the garden this year but it seems to have got along nicely without me. Most of my plants are in containers and just needed watering and weeding. I had nearly finished a small patio area, when I spotted a weed growing up between the slats of the wooden bench from the border behind. Several feet of it came snaking up through the seat as I pulled on it, though it still remained firmly in the ground. Foolishly, I gave it a good tug and an excruciating pain shot up my back. 



I couldn't move and Harry was nowhere to be seen. He came running when he heard me hollering and, half carrying me, managed to get me into the house and flat on the floor before I passed out. Harry knows the drill, we've been there before, though not for a while. I have a long-standing disc problem that gives me little trouble as long as I take care. Even before we started ttwd, I had a list of rules designed to keep my back pain-free. Not weeding in the borders is one of them.

Once I was settled, Harry went to clear up outside, returning with a face like thunder. He reminded me that, firstly, weeding the borders is his job, not mine. Secondly, what I had been tugging on was a sucker from a tree, not a weed. He said he'd like to spank me there and then but, obviously, I'd have to wait for my punishment. I must have looked shocked because he said, "Yes, I did say punishment, you can put that in your blog."

I'm still waiting but not for much longer. I've been diligent with my remedial exercises and should be fit again in a couple of days. Maybe Harry will remember that punishment doesn't figure in our version of ttwd. Wish me luck.


Follow up 6th June 2016

The 'P' Word

Thanks to all of you who commented on my previous post. I hope you will forgive me for not responding to each of you individually. 


I have had the disc problem for about twenty years and generally manage it very well. I really don't know what came over me when I wrestled with the offending plant; I can only plead temporary insanity. The pain was terrible for a while but a combination of pain killers and gentle exercise took the raw edges off within a few hours. A week later, I still have some residual discomfort but am slowly getting back to normal. Many thanks for your good wishes.

Harry's decision to punish was borne out of concern for my wellbeing, as he waited for me to regain consciousness following my faint - the cause of which was entirely due to my own carelessness. Had he been able to spank me within a day or two, I have no doubt that it would have been a barn-burner. After nearly a week, however, he felt that too much time had gone by for a punishment spanking to be meaningful. Instead, I had a well-reddened bottom from a reset on Sunday morning.

That doesn't mean the predictions of a shift in our dynamic were wrong. The p-word has entered the Joneses' ttwd lexicon and it can only be a matter of time before Rosie's are very red indeed.


So far, I've avoided a barn-burner and aim to keep it that way!

Rosie



Thursday, 28 June 2018

Sir Spankalot

I had a great vacation with a group of wonderful women, with whom I could be my true self for a whole week. You may have read a snapshot of our convention on Meredith's site.  After two of these trips, it has only just occurred to me that before I joined the Beach Belles last year they used to get into all kinds of trouble. Tales of needing bail money and being rescued by hunky firemen come to mind. I hope I'm not cramping their style!

As I was going to be on the other side of the Pond for eight days, Harry decreed that I would be spanked on each of the eight days in the run up to my departure. He decided each one would have a different theme. You can probably tell that it would mostly be on the fun side.

So here it is, Sir Spankalot's fun and games.

Saturday: We'd had a busy Friday, no time to play, so the first of the eight was a 'Happy Weekend' spanking, held over from the previous day. That followed its usual course of a lot of fun and laughter, topped off with a few smacks with an implement as a reminder to keep calm.

Sunday: Ha, this is one of Harry's favourites. I came out of the bathroom fresh from the shower and slathered in body lotion. He was waiting for me, propped up against the headboard with a pile of pillows over his lap. Anyone familiar with being spanked on a wet bottom will know that it takes little effort on the spanker's part to raise a sting.

Monday: Was a surprise. We had just finished washing the dishes when he directed me over the kitchen table and produced the London Tanners' heavy leather paddle. It wasn't on the bare but it had me dancing!

Tuesday: We had a late night and I really didn't want a spanking, but refusing was not an option. Harry read my mood and kept it short and sweet. I was soon on my way to the land of Nod, tucked in under his arm.

Wednesday: He positioned me on the bed on all fours, chest down and bottom up, brandishing the horrid jam spoon. As soon as he ran his hand over my bottom, he realised  that implement would be too harsh on stretched skin, so used his hand instead, before moving on to other activities.

Thursday: Harry called me into the sitting room, where he was lying in wait on the sofa with a cushion over his lap. I had to remove my jeans and knickers but it was a sensual hand spanking that had me purring like a cat.

Friday: OTK in the bedroom. Harry started off with his hand but I soon felt the smooth wooden paddle circling my cheeks prior to a few ouchy spanks. As the circles began again, he said he bet I was glad he made that paddle for me. I told him I have a love/hate relationship with it. I love it because he made it and - Owww! - that's why I hate it.

Saturday: Last day! He had me sit on the side of the bed while he chose his toys. I was alarmed to see he'd pulled out the LT heavy paddle, the love/hate paddle and the horrid jam spoon. He was teasing me. After a nice long hand spanking, he gave me three taps with each of the implements and we were done.

Early the next morning I was heading for the beach.


Rosie

I've had this post in draft for a few days, waiting to get some time to add photos. We're off to the West Country for a long weekend now, so I'm afraid this post will have to go unadorned.