I know how important wearing uniforms is to my bottoming. All I need to do is change into my gymslip or plaid skirt and I feel like someone who is subject to authority. But I hadn’t really considered it from the other side. Yesterday was a new experience.
Yesterday (well, MLK Monday — this took me longer to write than I expected) Paul and I were supposed to both spend the day dressed as school boys. We’d washed and ironed shirts and seen to it that uniforms were carefully laid out the night before. I woke up before Paul and took my shower, realizing as I toweled off that my plans for the day would have to change. My skin was acting up, specifically eczema on my neck and chest. There was no way I could tolerate wearing a stiff shirt and collar for the entire day. I couldn’t even imagine putting one on. Slowly I put on a tee-shirt and jeans and waited for Paul to wake up so I could tell him he’d be an only school boy, at least for the first half of the day.
When I told Paul about my skin he was understanding. As I’d hoped, it didn’t deter him from putting on his uniform, the first time I’d seen him wear any version of it since our wedding night some six years ago. As I saw him changing into it, an idea formed in my head. Perhaps, just for one day, I could watch over his school boy self. Just for one day, I could be in charge. This prompted several quick actions. First, I very quickly wrote up a list of rules that seemed appropriate for a uniformed boy I was watching over.
Uniform Day Rules
- Sit only on furniture made for sitting, not on your bed or the floor. If you wish to go to bed or have a nap, change out of your uniform, hang it up and put on either play or night clothes.
- While wearing your uniform, you are to only visit places on the internet appropriate for a school boy. You may do research on the news, but no adult websites. Ever.
- Food is to be consumed at the table. Nowhere else. Drinks are to be water and juice. Coke is a treat and should be asked for as such.
- All modifications of your uniform, including unbuttoning your collar require permission.
- Remember that you are a school boy and should try be neat and tidy and keep a good attitude at all times.
As you can see, I kept them simple, never doubting that assuming he agreed (and I was pretty sure he would) Paul would follow them or at least try to. Second I decided that I shouldn’t be dressed casually, that I should dress as a proper teacher since he was such a proper school boy.
What did I wear? My grown-up panties and bra, a silk blouse (which Paul in a very un-school-boy-like moment, mentioned was a tiny bit see through for a teacher — opps!), grey bias cut wool skirt and black pumps with sensible heels. As I put on my business-y jewelry, I felt suddenly focused and in control.
I think Paul was a little surprised to see me dressed up and even more surprised by my rules list. But he gamely agreed. Did he know yet how suddenly sure of myself I felt? I doubt it. I barely knew myself. He was so focused on the computer and its toner that he didn’t notice me move my straight-backed wooden desk chair to the center of the living room. He argued that I couldn’t put him across my lap. But I was sure I could. Yes, I’m a good 8 inches shorter than Paul, but I’m strong and don’t like to be told what I can and can’t do. Reader, I was able to hold him and give his him some hand spanks over his short pants. However, what I hadn’t considered was the shorts were made of some industrial material meant to stand up to small (or even big) boys. It was like spanking sandpaper. I got to twenty-five and my palm protested. The point had been made however; I could take him over my knee.
Next time, I told myself, the shorts would not be a problem.
Paul sat at the kitchen table quietly, wearing his uniform and doing work that needed to be done. I had checked in with him and discovered he had work to do so discarded my plans to have him write me lines or having him do a handwriting lesson. After a couple hours, I checked in with him, only to be told he had another hour of work. Perfect, I thought. I can spank him when he’s done.
I told him when he was finished, I wanted him to stand in the corner. I worried about not sounding forceful enough; I tend to phrase orders as requests and wondered if this made me sound uncertain. But then I thought, if I change this then I won’t be topping as myself, I’ll be doing this as if I were another person. So I didn’t change construction, instead relying on the carefully phrased rule that Paul was to “keep a good attitude” to ensure he’d obey me.
As it turned out, this wasn’t an issue. Paul stood in the corner without arguing. I arranged him, having him hold his hands behind his back. I set a timer for 10 minutes, partly out of fear I’d relent on the amount of time I planned to have him there, partly so I wouldn’t forget and leave him in the corner too long. Watching him stand there so very still and good was very calming for me. I spent the time imagining holding Paul across my lap, spanking his white underpants, his bare bottom. By the time the timer rang (or rather quacked, it was my iPhone) I had gone and fetched the small cane, hanging it artistically on my desk.
Paul came over to where I was sitting. I unfastened and took down his school shorts, guiding the fabric so they fell to his knees and no further. I then led him across my knees. As I wrapped my left arm around him and sort of settled him into the right spot, I felt a rush of control and a sense of rightness descend. There was so much that felt good about it: Paul’s weight across my thighs, the whiteness of his shorts, even being able to see his grey socks and black shoes, just off the floor.
The handspanking, both on his underpants and bare bottom, weren’t severe or especially long. That wasn’t the point. I know Paul can / would take anything I was capable of giving, but this wasn’t about CP, not exactly. It was about the ritual, the physical act of me holding him. I didn’t feel like I was proving anything, but in the process I think I did prove something to myself and to Paul. After the spanking, when he’d pulled his underpants and shorts back up, I gave him 6 sharp cane strokes and 12 with the large slipper. Then we sat together on the sofa, quietly talking.
After dinner, I changed into my school boy uniform (complete with boy’s underpants!) and went across his knee for a hard hand spanking. I thought it might be hard to change headspace after a day spent in control, but as ever, with the change into my uniform came the feeling of being small and subject to discipline. My headspace became that of a boy being punished by an older, stronger one. I was quite brave, even when the sting started to overwhelm me. The danger of that is that Paul sometimes thinks he isn’t getting through to me, but he seemed to understand.
After, I changed into pjs and we ate chocolates and watched Sarah Jane together. All was right in the world.
I don’t see myself as topping more than once every few years — it’s not a primary drive for me. But I was surprised (and happily so) at how much what Paul wore and what I wore made me feel in control of the scene, more so than I’ve ever felt before. It’s definitely something I’ll be musing about for a while.
Additional: Paul wrote up his thoughts on this same topic / experiment here.