The · Spanking · Journey

I was born after the Swedish spanking ban, so my knowledge about spankings in the past is limited and a bit abstract. From what I understand, spankings where actually pretty common in the past (not so long ago), even in Sweden, and I’m interested, or rather fascinated about the descriptions of spankings of those times. Perhaps it’s my interest in history, how people actually lived, how they thought, and so on, combined with my spanking fetish? In order to try to get the picture I’ve been surfing the web for stories of that time. Here are two I found at this site (in Swedish). I don’t know if they are true. I think that they seem to be a bit excessive and severe but they could at least based on some truth. On the other hand, since I don’t know anything about those times, what do I know? Can someone, older person who grew up in Sweden perhaps, help me gauge if these stories are reasonably plausible to have truly happened, and if they even could be commom/representative of the times? If anyone have more info about the spankings of the time (in Sweden or elsewhere), feel free to offer it.

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A general note: it seems that Swedish parents spanked a lot 60-40 years ago. Especially in rural, and religious areas. I (Marcus) translated some of them to English (that is, supposedly real stories from older Swedes who experienced disciplinary spanking). The pictures come from my collection which I built up in my computer over the years, so please just don't mind that the implements in the stories are sometimes not what they should be in the pictures!

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Here comes a story about a spanking in the South of Sweden.

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I grew up in Småland (a province south of Stockholm) in the 50's, when spankings still were commonly occurring. I was myself spanked a lot as a child. My mom spanked me, and my two sisters, while my dad mostly spanked my brother. Dad usually used the belt on my brother and on some rare occasions on my sisters and me.

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Usually we were sent up to mom and dad’s bedroom when it was time to get spanked. Once there, you had to wait for mom to arrive. Mom kept us waiting, to give us time to reflect about what was going to happen. After what felt like an eternity she arrived and stepped in the room with a strict look on her face.

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"Gabriella, you know what you’ve done so let’s get this over with. Lift your skirt to your waist and pull the panties down!"

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If it was hand-spanking, mom sat down on the bed while you had to lie down in her lap.
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If it was the wooden bath brush that were to slap your butt, mom piled some pillows on the foot board at the end of the bed. Then your torso would rest on the bed and the pillows raised the hips so that your back was arched and your butt cheeks pointed straight up in the air. The legs were draped along the foot board, and the feet where touching the floor. Mom always forced me to part my legs so that I wouldn’t clench my butt during the punishment. That made it hurt even more, and it also made it harder not to cry when you where unable to clench when the brush smacked you. I believed that I was alone in having to part my legs during spankings, but after surfing some the Internet I realize now that that it wasn’t the case.

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Normally mom used her hand to vigorously spank our butts for a couple a minutes, usually that meant a couple hundred spanks over all of the cheeks and some of the thighs. In my teens, when mom used the bath brush, I never got less then 50 spanks on my butt. If you made a fuss during the spanking, put your legs together, threw your hands back or tried to twist around, you got 10 extra strokes for each “offense”, unless you fussed before the first 25 strokes had been given, in which case mom stared from the beginning, from zero. In the times that I got many extra strokes, I just couldn’t control myself and I “fussed” again and again, and I received extra strokes upon extra strokes. During those instances, my mom called dad to hold me down while she continued to spank and spank.

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I screamed, howled and cried rivers during these sessions, but my mom just continued spanking mechanically until I received all the spanks. It was terrible, my butt was filled with yellow and purple bruises and the skin was deep red. After the punishment I had to kiss mom’s hand, make a curtsy and thank her for the punishment while the tears were flowing down my face. Then it was straight to bed!

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Here is another story from that collection of "confessions", more severe, and this time from the north of Sweden.


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My name is Ulrika and I’m 53 years old. I have read the stories on your page and I though that I could write some about my own upbringing. I was raised with spankings and as Lisa (Ed: another person who contributes to the collection of stories), I don’t think highly about my parents. As in Lisa’s case, I nevertheless am fascinated by spanking and find it to be a turn on.

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I grew up in the northern provinces, in a small village, where everybody, including my parents, where deeply religious. Almost all children where raised by strict parents, and spankings where absolutely nothing uncommon. Sometimes you could notice how your classmates grimaced when the sat down in school. Then you knew that they had been spanked the previous day.

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We went to church every week and the clergyman advised the parents that children needed to be spanked when naughty. When it came to spanking, my parents where no exceptions, today however, I wouldn’t call it spanking, but rather verging on abuse. But spanking was legal at the time so I had nothing to say about it. You just had to accept that you got spanked if you misbehaved. I can’t even remember the first time I got spanked, it was something that followed me through all of my childhood.

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When I was younger both my mom and my dad spanked me. Usually I was placed over the lap. I believe that spankings always were given on the bare butt, except when in public. Then it was only skirt up or pants down. Mom and dad spanked with the hand until my butt was deep red. I was always spanked until I was reduced to blubbering. According to mom, who had a similar upbringing, it was important to the break the will of the child. That meant that spankings where given until, you where so exhausted that you just lay still and took the spanking despite burning and aching butt cheeks.

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When I became a bit older, around 10-12, my parents started to use a wooden hairbrush to spank me with for more serious “crimes”. My grandma used the same hairbrush to spank my mom when she was young. It wasn’t unusual for my grandparents to be around when I get spanked. At one of those instances, I was about 10, when I just climbed out of mom’s lap after a spanking, my grandma said to mom:

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"Isn’t Ulrika a bit to old for hand-spanking? You’re spoiling the girl. When you where in Ulrika’s age you certainly got the hairbrush."

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"Yes, I sure remember that," mom answers.

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"I still have the brush at home, I’ll bring it so you can start spanking Ulrika for real when she
doesn’t behave."

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When I heard this I got scared and my crying increased. And since then I got to feel the smacking of that brush.

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This was much worse then and-spanking, but after a couple of years you got used to the brush as well. When I was about 14, a new spanking implement was introduced. From now on it was that carpet beater for more serious “crimes”. I wasn’t always given the carpet beater; sometimes I was still spanked over that lap with the hairbrush. I never got used to the carpet beater, and it was really awful to get it. I was as scared and nervous the first time I was going to get it as in the last time, which was just some weeks before I turned 21.

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My parents further thought that the humiliation was as important part of the punishment as the actual pain. So when I reached puberty, and started to become a woman, dad was the one giving me the spankings. Imagine how embarrassing it was as a teenager being naked in front of your dad, especially in the position, in which I received the carpet beater.

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I would like to tell you all about the spankings I got when I was 16-17, and older. When I’d done something bad, dad said:

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"Well Ulrika, then you and I will have to have one of our special conversations with each other."

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The “conversation” simply implied me lying in over dad’s lap or on the bed, receiving a big spanking. I was given ether the hairbrush or the carpet beater. I wasn’t told which one I was going to get, instead I was sent up to my room in order to prepare. That meant that I had to remove all my clothing except for my socks and my bra. Then it was the waiting. Sometimes dad waited a full hour before he arrived to spank me. Sitting virtually naked on the bed, waiting was awful, and feeling the fear grows stronger and stronger. Would he come in 5, 20 or 60 minutes? The lump in my throat and the butterflies in my belly almost made me “pee in my pants”. Would I get the hairbrush over the lap, or would I get the dreadful carpet beater? How many strokes? Would I be told the number of strokes before the spanking? Would I have to count them?

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And then, finally, I could hear dad’s steps up the stairs. If he instantly went to my door, I knew it was going to be the hairbrush that would spank me to tears. If it there was a long pause, some very long seconds, and I heard the hallway closet being opened, then I knew that he was going to get the carpet beater.

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Klick, klack, Klick , klack, the steps echoed outside my door and then it became quiet. I tensed in anticipation as I stared at the door handle to my room, would it be pushed down instantly? Klick, some squeaking, the hallway closet opened. I froze in terror when I realized that it was the carpet beater that shortly would be swishing down on my butt. Dad opened the door holding the carpet beater, I instantly stood up, legs shaking.

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"So, my daughter, as you can see your mother and I have decided that you need a dose of the carpet beater."

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"How many will I get dad?"

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"We’ll see, until I think that you had enough and your resistance is gone, buy the way, you don’t have to count them today sweetie."

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That meant that the worst spanking awaited me. Not being told the number of strokes meant that it would be a lot. That I, on top of that, didn’t have to count them meant that the punishment was going to be very severe. Dad knew that it wasn’t any idea for me trying to count the strokes anyway when the strokes were many. I still lost count regardless due to the terrible pain.

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"Okay, Ulrika, get the pillow!"

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"Yes dad."

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In my cabinet I had an especially thick and hard pillow, which I was placed over when given the carpet beater. I got the pillow and placed it in the middle of the bed.

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"Then, lie down over the bed!"

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I climbed up on the bed and draped myself over the pillow so that the lower part of my belly was resting on it. Then it was just to wait for my dad’s instructions, that would put my butt into the most vulnerable position possible.

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"Ulrika, move forward a bit!"

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I slide forward, feeling how my butt being raised further up in the air.

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"Good, assume the spanking position!"

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Ooooh, assuming this familiar position was really awful. I brought my arms forward and gripped the edge of the bed, buried my face in the mattress, arched my lower back, and parted my legs. I stared snivelling some when I parted my legs so that the knees where about 50-60cm (20-24”) from each other. Now I was in the position I been taught to be in when given the carpet beater. My butt was now the highest point of my body and my butt cheeks where ready for the punishment. I was painfully aware how it looked, and what I displayed in front of dad. With the butt pouting up and my cheeks apart, nothing was left to the imagination, my vagina and my anus were both displayed. My “lower lips” were also parted some.

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"Good Ulrika, let’s start. If you put your legs together, twist your hips or let go of the grip of the bed frame, you and I will have to have yet another conversation tomorrow, right?"

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"Yes dad," I answered pitifully.

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If I didn’t cooperate during the punishment, I knew that I could expect an additional spanking the following day. Every time I put my legs together, let go of the bed frame I would receive 6 more spanks the next day, in the exact same position, and with the carpet beater. Dad and I both knew that I was bound to fail to comply if he only hit me long and hard enough. I actually suspect that he sometimes did it on purpose sometimes just to have the pleasure to spank me again the next day too.

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Dad lay the carpet beater on my butt for a while, the he tapped my butt with it for a couple of seconds. Then he rubbed my butt with it. This gave me with strange sensations. The knot in my belly grew bigger, but it also started to tingle between my legs. The feeling of the carpet beater this close to my genitals aroused me. This added to my shame and humiliation as my lips started swelling, and I could feel hoe the clitoris stiffened. Dad must have observed this, but he never said a single word about I during all the years I was spanked in this position. Over the years I got more and more turned on by the spankings. The last times, when I was in my 20’s, I know that I even was wet.

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I felt the carpet beater raise from my butt cheeks and I prepared myself for the first blow. I tried to relax, although it wasn’t exactly easy. I closed my eyes, clenched my jaw and hugged the bed frame tightly. BANG! The first stroke hits my wide-open butt, and that hard. For a tenth of a second nothing was felt, then the sting and burn washes over you. I clenched my jaw even more without making a sound. Swish BANG! The next stroke lands on the same spot, right in the middle of my butt. I’m still quiet. BANG! The stroke hits my left cheek only, and the tip of the carpet beater wraps around, hitting the inside of that cheek very close to the vagina. I grunt some, but I don’t scream. BANG! Ahaaa. Same stroke again, but this time the edge off the carpet beater hit close to my anus. The pain is so terrible that I scream for the first time. BANG! BANG! Aaaahhh Aeiii! Dad gives me two more in rapid succession across both cheeks. A faint “ah” leaves my lips and I can feel how the tears start to burn I my eyes. BANG! This one hits low on my right thigh, and now dad starts hitting as hard as he can. AAAhh! I scream a bit louder this time. BANG! Another one, full force, left thigh, and the edge of the carpet beater hit very close to my genitals. Now I lose it, I scream loudly Aaahh!!!! I sniffle and teardrop rolls down my face. BANG! The stroke hit my left thigh and a scream once more Aaahh!!!. The tears were now rolling steadily down my face, and my sobs increased. BANG! Ow! BANG! Ohh! BANG! Aaaouw ooohhhh! 3 strokes in rapid succession in the middle of the butt across both cheeks again. I start crying and the tears fell faster. BANG! BANG! Both ones hit my right cheek. BANG! Another one on the left cheek, and it hit my anus. AAHHHH, OOhhhhh, aowww, I scream for all that I’m worth, and I start to cry hysterically. I really try, with all my might, to keep my legs apart, but the pain is too bad, and I involuntarily put my legs together. Dad wait a couple of seconds until I’ve regained some of my self control.

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"Ulrika, now we will have to have our “conversation” tomorrow as well. Part your legs again!"

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I part them. Dad raises the carpet beater again, and brings it down with all his might on my lacerated butt. My cries and howls echoes through the house and I fling my head back for every blow. Dad waits patiently for me to resume my spanking-position before the next stroke. I cry non stop for the rest of the punishment. The tears were flooding and stream down my face, and I can feel how the mattress was soaked. After an endless row of strokes on my butt and thighs I loosen the grip of the bed frame two times in order to rub my butt. Dad carefully counted how many times that happened. Finally, after some more strokes, I run out of mental energy, and a collapse into a hiccupping, crying and sobbing pile, faintly shouting as the strokes continues to rain down my deep red, sore and skinned butt. My skin was scratched in some places. After an eternity, it ends. I lie down, immobilized, over the pillow that raises my butt for the carpet beater.

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"Ulrika, you had 38 strokes. Your backside is really battered, but you’ve deserved it. You didn’t comply throughout the punishment so unfortunately we will have to do this tomorrow as well. You’ll get 18 strokes tomorrow evening. Do you have anything to say to me?"

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"Thank you dad for punishing me. Sorry that I didn’t take my punishment so well."

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"That’s good Ulrika. I send mom up so she can rub some ointment on your butt"

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Dad pats my lower back, and kiss my forehead before leaving. Some minutes later my mom arrives. She sits down on the bed beside me, and patting and hugging me.

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"Ohh, my little sweetie. Poor you, so much you’ve been spanked. But I know how it feels. Your grandpa had a real rattan cane that I got to taste on my bare butt."

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I look at her, and I can see that she’s been crying. Mom always felt bad when I was to be spanked with the carpet beater. She washes my butt with a wet sponge, then she massage my butt with some ointment. She also gives me a couple of aspirins and a glass of water.

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"So, try to get some sleep now dear"

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I stand up, on shaking legs, remove the pillow and the bed spread. I crawl down under the sheets and lie down on my belly. I’m still crying. After about half an hour, my crying subsides to a faint sniffling. With the immediate pain gone, it starts to tingle down there once more. I can’t stop thinking back at my spanking, how I lay there, with the butt in the air, feeling the carpet beater dancing on my butt. I arch my back, raise my butt in a similar position to that which I’m spanked in. My right hand travels down to my pussy, I’m wet. I insert the right hand, middle- and index finger into my vagina and start thrusting them in and out. With my left hand I caress my clitoris until I finally cum in a fantastic orgasm.

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They say you can never look at yourself from behind, but that doesn't stop you from loving it...
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I know, I know... I'm totally hogging the scene in this blog whereas Marcus now prefers to stay on the sidelines and to read my (slowly increasing) entries instead. I have to think of some "project" for him to write about someday >;-D In the meantime, you'll keep on hearing from moi...

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First, an observation. One of the other wonders about blogging about one's spanking journey is a kind of "relationship", empathy or understanding you suddenly share with other fellow spanko bloggers. Lately I have been able to relate to almost every spanko blogger entry I've come across. I read their spanking fantasies, their sensation while being spanked, being taken over by this blogging addiction, etc. and I think to myself, "Exactly, sistahs!" :-)

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There was actually a time (in my sheltered youth!) when I thought this whole world of spanking and BSDM was strange one and that only "fake" people and fabricated personalities engaged in such activities. Quite the contrary! In fact, it was stupid of me to have thought this, which shows that it's always wrong to give judgement on people whom you don't really understand. People whose blogs I have read and who have shared their experiences with people like me are in fact some of the most honest, genuine people I have heard from, definitely much more true to themselves than some of the religious marms whom I grew up with. Also, being in a spanking relationship myself at present, I should be one of the first to know that spanking is possible in stable, commited relationships of people who truly love each other. It's not all that strange from any other sort of sex life or love life ... except this one is a tad more exciting and a just bit kinkier, to use some English understatements!

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Being in this world is perhaps one of the best, most liberating, self-discovering events that has happened to me. This leads me to my second point, a revelation:

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Within the two years I have been spanked and have been giving spankings, not only has my own self-image but even the image that I have with my own butt improved. It has changed from indifference, to self-consciousness, to (thankfully), a confidence in my own skin... or rather, my own backside.

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When I started out with spanking, I was actually very conscious of how my butt looked like. I never thought that I would ever be conscious of it in the past, but after a few butt-fetish conversations with Marcus then, I was convinced that I wasn't blessed with oh-so-spankable "double juicys," which at that time, kind of depressed me. Too bad that butt transplants were expensive, risky and just plain silly, I thought. Besides, who would want to sit on a kind of hard cushion 24/7? I found this obsession of wanting to make my butt look bigger kind of strange and against-the-grain. Actually, most European girls probably have a butt-problem of the opposite nature: magazines depict the ideal model's backside to be slim, not shapely. Advertisements thrive on the "need" to reduce one's hip- and thigh fat. If they only knew how I would like to grow hip fat!!! Since the only fat I grow I seem to tuck under my belly, I even had a 6-month stint at the gym, working out my legs and my butt at the quite lazy pace of twice a week. I don't actually know if it worked or if it was just wishful thinking; at any case, I moved to indoor cycling which I also thought would improve my butt tone.

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Yet, even then (I was enjoying myself to much with the cycling perhaps, so that I wasn't thinking primarily of my butt anymore?), I started to become "friends" with my butt. I never made any conscious decision to. Just one day, probably because of a particularly good spanking or a particularly loving butt-pat, I learned to be comfortable with how it looked -- regardless if it still isn't the most oh-so-spankable booty there is. When we started watching spanking videos, I realized even that butts indeed came in all shapes and sizes and mine was nothing to be ashamed of, as all the other parts of me. And like a good pat on the back, it felt good inside to know this. Externally speaking, this poured into other things: I started loving how my profile looked in a skirt, I'm now always on time for bikini-waxing and eventual plucking so I can use my sexy underwear more often (though I must admit I'm a sucker for the comfortable cotton ones). I also regularly moisturize my butt cheeks after the shower. But internally, I in fact learned to appreciate not only myself butt the humongous variety of body types there is in this world. I no longer look at big-butted people bitterly, nor do I envy them now. Instead, I learned to appreciate good-looking butts of all sizes when I see them, and actually manage to smile to myself authentically.

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How about you? Are you comfortable with your butt? Please feel free to add your vote at our Blogger site and to leave a comment if I missed anything out!

Yep, that's me. Or not actually "me" since we were role-playing.

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I love role-playing as part of our spanking games. Not only do I get to live out another "life" but also, when the scenarios turn out to be good, I feel myself truly guilty (or righteous, depending if I'm receiving or giving the spanks) after the whole scene is done. Since I haven't yet written about spankings given to me (I don't miss out on the spanking fun you know!), I thought this past weekend's carpet-beating is a good story to begin, especially since it involved a successful role-play.

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I don't actually know what possessed me to ask for a spanking that day. It's just that some days I really feel like being punished good. It also felt unfair that Marcus had been getting all the beatings. It's not that I regret giving them to him. I just wanted my share of the excitement, apprehension, tension and release which he had been enjoying mostly in our countryside vacation.

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Unlike Marcus though, I'm a sissy when it comes to birches. I could even say I hate birches touching my butt. It feels like electrocution! I would rather get (and do actually) bluish bruises and week-long sore spots on my bottom rather than bend to the birches. So that morning, I asked to be spanked with a carpet beater in the afternoon, and oh was I so apprehensive when lunchtime came!

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As a rule, we don't spank each other directly after lunch. It's not good for digestion, you know. Rather, we wait a few hours after... which meant that after lunch I have a window of some hours to be at rest but on my toes, to let it slowly sink in to me what would soon happen to my butt in a few hours. In these hours I usually think about what scenario would be best to put me in the mood for being spanked. Imagining my different life actually takes my mind off the impending pain and gets me excited for the spanking, in the way I sometimes imagine spankable strangers being spanked on my lap. At the same time though, I am a bit in tension. I am trying to remember how it felt like to be hit by a carpet beater, and since it was quite some time ago I begin to wonder if my choice of implement was the right one.

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After a few hours I was no longer Carolyn and settled for a role as the high school slut. (Heheh ;-) ) This naughty young girl leaves the house with friends dressed in party clothes: a skimpy jeans skirt that leaves nothing much to the imagination, a top with such a low neckline that she reveals a hint of black bra. She's wearing high heeled pumps and as much flashy jewelry that only a tasteless high school girl can get away with. Before leaving, she absentmindedly promises her parents she'll be back before midnight but conveniently forgets this fact. She thinks her parents are way to lenient anyway, especially her mom, and her dad had just always said words of warning without giving her anything worse than a grounding.

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But not this time, when she pushes her limits and gets back home at past 4 in the morning, dropped at the gate by one of her boyfriends. Little did she know that her dad has been waiting for hours in the kitchen, half worried and now absolutely set that he would have to show his naughty girl a lesson.

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"Dad, you're... you're awake," she blurted surprisingly, as she hadn't expected anybody to be awake in the house at this hour. Perhaps she was even planning on calling a boyfriend from her bedroom for some after-party pillow talk. However, this plan didn't seem to be a good idea as soon as her dad opened his mouth.

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"You're right young lady. Do you have any idea what time is it right now?"

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"Ah, yeah sorry, I didn't really have a watch you know. I..."

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"That's no goddamn excuse!" dad said strictly, almost shouting it between his teeth. "Look at you -- look at that slutty attire, you call that clothes? ... Noo, don't interrupt me young woman! Or rather, young brat is what you are!"

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This paralysed her. Interrupting or talking back was probably not a good idea either. She just wished she had just spent the night at her boyfriend's, or otherwise dissolve into the floor right here right now. When she looked down at her feet though, she felt strange being there in the kitchen as she was dressed, in front of her dad and being reprimanded...

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...reprimanded that they have been far too lenient with her, that she had been going home later and later into the night, that she was too young to stay out as late at this, and that she had not even introduced any of her party friends to the parents. Who were they that dropped her off at the gate after parties? Were they even the same person? Were they reliable people? Is she in relationships with any of them? They didn't raise her to be a loose party girl who would spread her legs for any guy. Besides, the phone bills were mounting and her grades were deteriorating. This had better not go on, and dad will make sure it ends right NOW!

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Dad reaches out for the first implement he sees in the cleaning cabinet -- the carpet beater -- and drags her as she resists, screaming, down his lap. He quickly warns her to stay quiet, or else! Then he proceeds to give her some carpet beatings on her skirt. Moans of resistance continued, and dad wasn't too happy.



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"That doesn't hurt yet, young lady," he said lifting her skirt to prove a point that the spankings can hit in more sensitive places aside from jeans. He wasn't too happy either that her little girl was too... sexual. My oh my, she needed some straightening up! She squeals and tries to get away, but dad's hands were fast around her waist. He gives her some lecturing between single slaps, and then proceeds faster, faster, faster until she couldn't stay still anymore, squeals came involuntarily from out of her mouth.

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"That's it! You scream too much. Down on that sofa!", he pointed to the sofa arm for her to lean on. Her bottom was already stinging, and she rubbed them vigorously while looking at daddy with a pleading face. "Down. On the sofa. Now!"

She obeyed.

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"I'm going to give you 16 hard ones. You're NOT to scream or shout OR move position, do you understand?"

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"Yes, sir."

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"I'm going to be strict with you, and if you move, it doesn't count."

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Oh, every one of them hurted! A couple of times, she couldn't help moving, she screamed or wiggled and stood up, but that didn't help. As her father had said, it only earned her more beatings. She had to stand each one if she didn't want to endure even more. She screamed between her teeth instead, contorting her face to the pain, hugging the pillow in the sofa as her only access to comfort at that time.

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She wasn't the one doing the counting, so somewhere during those very hard spanks, she just cried. It still hurt, and she still had some energy to wiggle if she wanted to, but she felt... dirty, repentant and thus rightly punished. She also felt sorry for herself as she hugged her pillow and received the rest of the spanks. Each one was heavy, each one stung and burnt her skin.

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She was still crying when dad had ended, she stayed in position and felt sorry for herself. When her dad said she could finally stand up, her face was in tears, and she instantly threw herself to her father's arm for comfort.

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"I'm sorry daddy!", she managed between sobs. "I'll try ... to be good."

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"That's good baby," he embraced her close and rubbed her back." You should. You should."

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You guessed it! My butt pictures on the next post so please stay tuned!

for now >:-D

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Summer is ending and so is our stay at the countryside, so before leaving for the city again (where there are more people to hear him scream!), Marcus requested for "the spanking of his life".

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I have actually been spanking Marcus (and have been almost regularly spanked by him) for about two years now, since one week of meeting each other. It's another story how he got me into it, and how I have grown to love (and even ask for) our little "games". Each time though, I find myself fitting more and more into the role, willing to endure -- and most of all, inflict -- more and more pain.

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Of course, as a loving spanking couple, the"discipline" is consensual. It's only fun when spanking is not abusive or derogatory, and there is mutual trust between the parties. It's important to know what your partner expects from the spanking, what the limits are, and how far the "punisher" can go.

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But this has been a problem for me, since Marcus is a very demanding guy to please. Each time I think I push him to his limit, his threshold of pain just keeps on increasing, and I have to keep up with my disciplinary methods to give him the good, hard, satisfying spanking which he deserves.

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By his request (he's been doing a long list of follies this week, bad boy!), I have been birching his butt all week long -- with the exception of Sunday, in which we declared a rest day. But what do I get? Each time I am tempted to pity him after a vigorous spanking (and I'm about to release his arms from the bedpost), he requests for more discipline! At one time, this was even "earned" by him by sticking his tongue out at me as I was unleashing his wrists. And oh, what a spanking he got for that! But the next day, I still got this request:

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"Carolyn, since this week is the last opportunity for us to birch in a long while, I want you to give it to me tomorrow with all you've got."

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He demonstrated the birch strokes he wants me to execute on his butt: forceful, whipping, and with a follow-through instead of ending the stroke where it lands. That way, he explained, even his legs will get some of the thrashes.

--
"Ooooh," I said. "Are you sure?"

--
"Yeah, and it's got to be a long spanking. You should really be crazy and disciplinarian and give it to me hard."

--
That's not an unusual request from Marcus. He thinks my spanks are way to sweet, even when I'm trying to be strict! Besides that, his personality is one that really wants to test the limits. Until now, even though some of my spankings have been very hard and strict, I have never managed to make him cry (something he would like to experience from a spanking). Something in him just wants to "conquer" the hard spankings, to resist surrender. Yet at the same time he tells me he wants me to be able to "break him" and make him sob. He has also had this long-time fantasy of me growing taller and much bigger than him, and dragging him to my lap like a little boy. That's the feeling he expects from a good discipline: to make him feel small, vulnerable, weak, and taught a lesson. Oh how I wish I could grow some centimeters taller than him and grow some mommy hips to put my little boy unto!

--
I slept last night contemplating and fantasizing about the day ahead, and how I should go about Marcus' "spanking of his life". I might have slept with a smile. For sure, I definitely felt sexually excited.

--
This morning after breakfast, I ordered Marcus to get his birches ready. I walked with him in the forest, watching him choose the swishy twigs that will soon sore his rump. After he had taken off the leaves and tied them in a nice little bundle, I ordered him to "get up to his room", take his clothes off and wait for me. In the meantime, i dressed in the most ladylike clothes I had packed for this trip -- a short denim skirt and a black v-neck blouse. I let down my hair in a thick mane, and applied a strict eye make-up.

--
The clothes and the make-up made a psychological difference. Like theater actors, dressing and making-my face made me feel more up to the task. "I'll show it to him this time," I thought as I put on mascara and eyeliner for that smoky effect. "This time, he would beg me so much to stop instead of begging for more." I couldn't help smiling as I put on the lipstick and applied some blush, making me instantly look at least 5 years older. Deep inside me, I felt that it was today that Marcus would cry.

--
I made my presence known to him from where he waits inside the bedroom by making my steps up the stairs extra loud. Let him shiver in his boots... or lack of it! Marcus was as I had instructed, naked, facing the wall, and holding the birches behind him.

--
I tied him to the bed. First I tied his hips around a rolled-up mattress so he wouldn't be able to move sideways. Then I also tied him down at his shoulders. Feet were bound together and tied to one of the bed legs. His arms were spread apart, tied at 2 other bed legs. After a wiggle-test, I was assured that he could not get out of this position. I have never tied him this way before, but it looks greatly promising.

--
But I surprised him by giving him something that he hadn't expected. All day long yesterday he was asking for the birch. However, as dressing up I spontaneously also picked up a belt, which I intended to slap down hard on his delicious bottom before I give him what he asks for. If he wants me to take charge of this spanking, I'll show him I can do it by all means! But I wasn't thinking about that exactly just then. I just got absorbed into my role as disciplinarian and started spanking him for real after announcing my impromptu decision.

--


--
This surely had taken him by surprise. I can hear from his screams that he didn't expect this, but at the same time I knew this was the kind of punishing discipline he craved for, and that fueled me more to give it harder and harder. I don't know how long I was belting him, but I tried to give as much force as I can to each one. Soon, he was begging me to stop. I knew from experience though, that he could take so much more than this.

--


--
"You told me yesterday (*whack*) to give you the spanking of your life! (*whack*) You wanted me to give it to you hard (*whack*) and I know that later (*whack*) you'll be begging me for more! (*whack*)"

--
I gagged his mouth with my panties and continued to pound him with the end of the folded belt, maybe about 5 minutes more. I threatened him that any screams outside the pillow will be met with even harder whippings, and I kept true to my word until he learned to control his screams.

--


--
When I decided it was done with the belt, he heaved a sigh of relief, but not for long. I grabbed the birch, and an audible high-pitched scream came out of his mouth. "No, no, no! Please, Carolyn, Stoooop!"

--
I immediately put my hand on his mouth to put an end to his begging. I had to put my foot down. And besides, the feeling of being in charge --even of when he would talk and scream-- was totally exciting. "No, now you're going to get what you asked for.... Remember, you asked me to make a follow-through, like this..."

--
WHISHHH!!!, the birch rod whistled in the air as I showed him how I would soon do it to his ass. I again heard some begging, and a beseeching hand was trying to grab on to my legs.

--
I tried to ignore this and proceeded to business. Marcus' continuous screams filled the room. To give him the follow through he (initially) wanted, I also stood over him on the bed as I slashed the birches between his butt and thighs.

--


--
That was painful for him, but not as accurate as when I'm standing by the bed so I stood beside him again and gave him a long series of hard birching until I thought he couldn't take more. *swish!* ow! *swish!* aj! *swish!* aaaaarrrrgh! *swish!* eeeEEE! To tell you the truth, Marcus' high pitched screams just turns me on somehow. I love it when he responds to my whacks. I swished harder and harder. It was so near, so near until he gets tired. Then, I thought, he will reach the point of losing energy to fight, and eventually just submit and cry. So near, so near...

--
But!

--
At this point, the resisting side of Marcus said the safe word! You can imagine my frustration, I was so in the mood that I found his request as another reason to put on with the spanks. At the same time though, I knew couldn't go so much further if he doesn't want to. I gave him about 10 hard birchings more after he had shouted the safe word, grabbed the belt, gave him 2 more before finally stopping.

--
It took me a while to relax, and then I released him from his bounds. We had a nice comforting-session afterwards, followed by... I'm sure horny spankers could imagine what ;-) But in hindsight, I don't regret that I didn't make Marcus cry this time either. It really felt to me (and he said so too), that I had been able to break him some, to make him feel more vulnerable.

--
You can be sure he didn't taunt me as I was releasing his arms, and well, up to this hour he hadn't yet hinted that he wants an even harder spanking in the near future!

--
/Carolyn

--
This post is to be continued! On the next, I will post pictures of what Marcus' naughty bottom looked like: bright red, and (as I post this entry), an amazing shade of blue!