Secretary

The movie Secretary came out when I was in high school (sorry to make anyone feel old by that statement). At that time, already an avid spanko, I was a devoted lurker of the online spanking community. (Another apology guys, those "18 and over" warnings are there to make you feel good, not to actually deter anyone under 18). So it was that the first reviews I ever saw on the movie came from fellow spankos. It seemed everyone generally liked the movie, albeit with some complaints (specifically that the female protagonist is fresh out of a mental institution at the beginning of the movie--she's institutionally crazy so she must be submissive!)

I decided in high school that I had to see for myself what this movie was all about, so I watched it...alone. I don't remember much of it. I was too young to really get it, because, although I was into spanking I was turned off by BDSM, so I did not grasp the subtle nuances of power exchange and D/s between the characters. I walked away from the movie wishing there had been more spanking scenes, hahaha.

A few days ago, my husband and I watched it for the first time together. He'd never seen it before and I hadn't seen it since high school. Holy cow, what a different experience. Let's just say I've grown up now, and I understood all the subtle nuances of the intense battle between sexual and emotional desire and societal norms/obligations.

Let's back up, though. I jumped on the 50 Shades of Grey bandwagon two years ago and read the book series all the way through in about a week. I admittedly panted through most of the spanking and sex scenes, but generally thought that the books were terribly written with a plot ripped off from Twilight (also terribly written), and characters that were about as "relatable" as a pile of cow manure.

Well, re-watching Secretary not only confirmed those suspicions that 50 Shades is absolute shit, but I also realized about, oh, 5 minutes in, that the author also jacked over half of the beautiful, subtle, and powerful niceties of this movie, starting with the name of James Spader's character, E. Edward Grey (come on, that can't be a coincidence!) It was as if E.L. James saw Secretary, read Twilight, and thought "Hey, there's an idea...except I'll make the characters even better by making one an abusive, emo, billionaire control freak who gives up pretty much all of his sexual fantasies and life goals for an unbelievably naive, virgin, vanilla college girl who thinks her man's abusive and obsessive behavior is totally "going to change for her" because they're in love, of course."

Sarcasm aside, I understand the draw of 50 Shades of Grey, I really do. There's a reason it's so god damn popular. But after watching Secretary, I thought, now here is the closest our world has ever come to being realistically depicted in Hollywood, and here we are bitching that the protagonist isn't quite as feminist/strong/normal as we would have liked. Come on, people! I think it's time we make a vow that, on February 14th, when 50 Shades of Grey hits movie theaters, we spankos/DDers/Dsers/TTWDers cozy up at home with our significant others and rent Secretary.

Whether you re-enact the scenes afterward is totally up to you.

For more information on why Secretary "should be viewed immediately" and 50 Shades of Grey never, see this article on Buzzfeed (yes, Buzzfeed!)

Interrogation: Part II

This is the second part of a two-part post. If you want to read the first part, click here.

"Take off your shirt and your underwear," he said, firmly (my pants were already off at this point). I readily complied. "Go pick out two implements."

I opened our closet door and dug through the bag of implements. I couldn't see anything because we didn't have a light on in the room, so I chose to pull a "Mary Poppins," stick my hand in, and pull out whatever came up. Later, I would very much regret this decision.

I handed over the two implements.

"Now go stand in the corner, young lady; hands at your side," he said.

"What?! I wanted more spanking, not corner time! It's really dark over there," I whined.

"Go stand in the corner NOW," he replied.

Yikes, OK. I scrambled over to the corner. It was incredibly dark, and the door to the dank bathroom that we never use was open next to me, and it was creeping me out. I reached over and pulled the door shut, so I'd have more of an enclosed "corner" in which to stand.

"Did I say to close the bathroom door?" my husband walked over to me.

"No sir," I replied. He slapped my bare bottom several times and opened the bathroom door again. He left me there, and, when he was sure I was staying put, left the room. I was curious.  I wondered what he could possibly be doing in the middle of our time together...

The answer arrived in the form of a bright white light. He was wearing a headlamp for hiking that sits on a band around his head. The lamp has three settings: red, low beam, and high beam. The high beam lit up the room, focused directly on me in my corner. I'm sure he could see me rather well. I, on the other hand, could not see anything except for blinding white light. I squinted my eyes shut.

He told me to step forward and face him.

"What did you learn this evening?" he asked. It was hard to think while I was being temporarily blinded. I um'd and hmm'd a few times and came up with this:

"I need to be constructive about channeling my feelings, and, when I want your help, I need to ask you for help instead of asking if you want to do something," I said. (Pretty good, right!?)

"What else did you learn?" he asked.

"Ummmm...," I said.

"Get back in the corner," he said. I settled back into my corner, his piercing white light still fixed on me. I lasted 5 seconds at the wall before I burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of it. He looked like a coal miner, and this was like an interrogation session! To my knowledge, we hadn't discussed anything beyond what I had just told him. I knew he would not respond well to my laughter, but I truly could not keep it in.

He came over with implement number one: a light, plastic spatula that is quite sting-y. He slapped my bottom cheeks with the spatula for a few minutes, causing me to yelp and jump all over the place. I was not laughing by the end of it.

"Turn around and face me," he said, after several more minutes. "Now, tell me what you've learned."

"I've learned to ask you the right way when I need your help with something, I've learned to take your instructions seriously, and I've learned to respect you," I said. (Man, I nailed it! I thought).

"Yes...and? What else?" he said.

What?! He couldn't be serious. I was at a total loss. I racked my mind for anything else we had talked about or even didn't talk about, and came up with nothing. I stared into the bright white light questioningly.

"Back in the corner," he said.

Now, what happened next, I'm convinced was completely involuntary, as I couldn't look anywhere but down at the floor or up at the sky for being blinded if I looked straight ahead. Apparently I rolled my eyes and gave a little laugh before turning back around to face the corner...

OK, I probably rolled my eyes, and it probably was semi-voluntary, as I did not know what in God's name he wanted me to say.

Oh boy, this really did not go over well. I hadn't realized I'd done it, so when he charged over to me with implement number 2--a thick, thuddy wooden spoon that does not in any way contour to my bottom--I thought it was because I had failed to say something I should have learned that evening. He smacked my bottom over and over with that damn wooden spoon. I was cringing and yelping even more so than before.

"Do you want to know why I'm doing this?" he asked. I replied that I did. "Because you rolled your eyes at me, young lady."

Oh.

He sent me over to the bed where he laid me over the edge in preparation of roasting my bottom.

"Don't you EVER roll your eyes at me during a punishment, do you understand me? The next time you do that, you'll be in the corner all night--I'm not joking. That is a blatant sign of disrespect and contempt, and I will not have it from you when you're submitting to me," he smacked my bottom hard with that awful, thuddy spoon, and it hurt like hell. It was beyond the pain of any of our other implements. It went deep, and I was shaking, kicking my feet, gasping for breath, and grabbing the comforter for dear life. I thought for sure that I would pass out if he kept this up. Not to mention, I was sorely regretting my choice of implement.

He can read me too well, though, and he knows how far to push and when to let up. He switched to the sting-y spatula for a while that felt like near relief after the harsh wood. He ordered me to take a deep breath and to go get my body lotion from the bathroom. I complied, thinking we were done and he was going to soothe my bottom with some lotion.

Nope. He wanted to "prepare" my bottom for round 2 of the wooden spoon :(

He didn't want to chap my skin with the dry wood, so he massaged some lotion in and began anew with the assault on my now soft and supple bottom. He pushed me to my limits again and didn't stop until my bottom was on fire and I was one sorry young lady who would never roll her eyes during a punishment again.

When it was over, he set his headlamp on the dresser where it spotlit the bed. He gently laid me down on my stomach, and, for several minutes, I watched the wall behind the bed, mesmerized, as the magnified silhouette of his fingers stroked the curvaceous silhouette of my bottom. I could see my shadow bottom jiggle as his shadow hand lightly tapped it a few times.

Then we made love where I, once again, felt as if I were not myself, but a part of him--like we were one entity.

When we were cuddling together afterward, I asked him what on earth he expected me to say when he was grilling me on what I'd learned.

"Oh, nothing in particular," he said. "I was just playing mind games with you--classic interrogation technique, you know? You ask the same question over and over--make them think they're leaving something out." He laughed.

I have a mean husband.

Interrogation: Part I

Boy, did I get it good last night. More on that in Part II of this story, but, for now, let me describe the events that led to it.

A whole host of things happened throughout the evening to irritate me: it was my day off work, so I spent hours cleaning the kitchen and making a nice pork roast and cobbler dessert. I asked my husband if he wanted to clean up after dinner (we'll get to the wording of this request later). He hummed, hawed, and sighed about it, so I got up in a huff.

"Fine, I'll do it. Don't worry about it," I said, as I made my way into the kitchen. At that moment, I took the spoon out of a boiling hot BBQ sauce on the stove and it splattered all over my jeans, shirt, and feet :(

Later (after I changed, unloaded the dishwasher, and my husband cleaned up ;), we were sitting in the living room, and we somehow got into a debate on global warming, which irritated me to no end (I honestly don't know how we get into these topics).

The debate wound down into cantankerous silence, and he asked if I wanted to go for a walk, which I did. We stepped out into the late summer night and walked together around the neighborhood. I was somewhat distant, and, at one point, he asked if I wanted to walk separately. I said no, and a few minutes later, he turned me to him, grabbed my hair, and kissed me for several minutes right in the middle of the street. We walked for a few more minutes, when he did it a second time.

"Again?" I asked.

"What do you mean "again," he said. "I can stop and kiss you whenever I want."

I didn't argue with that, because it was really turning me on, kissing there in the middle of the street.

But by the time we got home, the "mood" had gone, and we were back to sitting in silence in the living room. I was unhappy, and he could tell.

"Come on," he led me to the bedroom, where we had a "discussion" over his lap. I was feeling particularly defiant and didn't bother to call him "sir." I laid out all my feelings and frustrations over his knee, and we talked about how I should word my requests from now on when I want his help. Apparently "Do you want to clean the kitchen" is not a good way to ask for help...

"You know what it comes down to, young lady. You're a woman. And you know I would do anything for my woman. If you word something in such a way that makes it seem like I'm helping you out, you're a lot more likely to get a positive response from me," he said. "If you ask me if I want to do a household chore, then no, I'm never going to want to do a household chore."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said, and then we thought of examples of how I could word requests in the future.

At this point, our "discussion" was just that--a discussion, and I was not getting the spanking and the submission I craved. He told me to roll off his lap, but I was not done.

"I want more," I said. "Will you please give me more?"

To be continued...

Home Again, Home Again

I'm back from vacation!

I had such a wonderful time, although I was not with my husband--he was on a business trip while I visited my parents for two weeks.

We reunited a couple of days ago--it seems like we've been apart a lot lately. I've had a couple of mini spankings to "remind" me of who was in charge, even when we were apart.

There really weren't any opportunities to submit over the past couple weeks. When I'm home and my husband goes away, he can give me things to do like corner time, essays, lines, etc... When I'm with my parents, however, that becomes a lot more difficult.

So, the past couple of weeks have been more of a relaxed form of DD. We are easing back into it the best we can!

I have a lot of catching up to do in Blogland--hopefully I'll have more to write about soon, but I look forward to reading about what everyone's been up to the past two weeks!

A Dream

I started to make dinner, and, upon going to the fridge to get the chicken out, discovered that I had left both bags out on the counter all night and day.  I was so frustrated, I stuffed the bags of chicken violently into the trash can. 

I decided to make pizza instead. But as I was rolling out the dough and ladling on the sauce, my husband came into the kitchen and said,

"I was going to make pizza tonight."

He then pushed me aside and took over my pizza-making! I was so angry that he thought he could walk in and take over, that I threw the whole pizza onto the floor--sauce down.

Next thing I knew, I was going over my husband's lap for a bare bottom punishment spanking that I did not think I deserved...

Boy, my dreams are getting realistic. Although, in real life, I could never throw a whole pizza on the floor--I couldn't waste good pizza like that!

I told my husband about the dream this morning, and he asked if I was worried or concerned that he was taking over things in my life. After all, dreams often reveal our real subconscious feelings. I couldn't think of anything, though. He has taken over some aspects--like holding me accountable--but I am truly grateful for that, not upset :)

In other news, I'm leaving for vacation in two days!!!  Well...it's technically not vacation, since I am visiting my parents. However, my parents live in a gorgeous log cabin on a wildlife-filled pond in the middle of the woods. They are also 15 minutes from the beach. It is the most calming, relaxing, therapeutic place I know, and anyone who visits feels the stress melt away...

Below are some actual photos of where I'm going:

My parents' house

The backyard

THIS is right across the street from where I grew up