Category Archives: el libro de castigo

Boneheaded OR Where is The Punishment Book?

Some of you may be wondering what's happened to The Punishment Book and why all the old links are directing to a porn site.  There's an answer.  I made a dumb mistake and lost the domain. 

How did I do this, you ask?

Last year I decided to move my domains from GoDaddy to another host registration because, well, there are a lot of reasons to leave GoDaddy.  Among the domains I moved was The Punishment Book (which I've had since 2005 — a long time in the world of blogs).  However, it seems somehow I only moved one of the PB domains (we had the .org and .net both) and the one I moved isn't the .org one, which was the one that was mapped.  

Following so far?

Since I generally register the blogs for two years when I do them, I wasn't even thinking about it expiring this year.  But expire it did, in January, as I found out today.  In addition, the PB has been sadly neglected of late.  But Dykegirl emailed the PB authors yesterday to ask what had happened to the site.  I went and discovered the crappy porn redirect I mentioned above.  When I went to check on the domain, I discovered it had a new owner. 

A number of emails and phone calls later and what's become clear is that in January, the day the domain expired, someone else bought it.  They then kept the old domain mapping active until far after the 45 day grace period during which time I could have reclaimed the domain.  Sure they'll sell it back to me for a price — too high a price for a site that doesn't exist to make any sort of money — or s/he gets our old traffic.  I hope they choke on it.

Right now I'm working to move the content, which fortunately hasn't been lost, to the domain  The site will be there by the end of the week  is up now.  Some great people out there have already volunteered to help by changing the links on their sites and I'll be busy doing my part to make the change known.

To everyone whose ever written a single comment on or about the PB and most of all to the other PB authors, both current and former, I'm sorry this happened. I'll make up for it the only way I know how, by writing more and encouraging others to write.     

Caned Again (Again)

[This blog post has been written twice. The first draft got eaten by TypePad (boo!). I thought maybe this was a sign that this story wasn’t meant to be shared, but Zille and Paul convinced me that if I didn’t share the story here, pictures of my bottom and its cane marks could end up on Twitter. Since the last thing I want to do is show my bottom to the world for being caned for not going to the gym enough, and thus prove why I need to go to the gym more often, I’m busy re-typing this on the bus.]

As those of you who read at the Punishment Book and / or Spanking Blog know, I’ve asked Paul to help me make better use of my gym membership by giving me 49 strokes of the cane, that’s one for every dollar my membership costs, any week I don’t make it to the gym at least three times. Paul gets to pick everything about the caning except the number of strokes. He can choose the cane he wants, what I wear and what position I’m caned in. This week I only went to the gym once. My reckoning was last night (Sunday).

Now I wasn’t entirely sure I would really get caned for missing the gym this week. I had some very good excuses. First, my gym isn’t air conditioned and last week it was very hot several days. So I didn’t go to the gym for fear of getting over-heated. Then my mother showed up with all her loveliness and drama. I spent one whole day running errands with her. So I didn’t go to the gym that day either. Saturday was taken up with a family party. I couldn’t go to the gym Saturday. And Sunday I had to go out to brunch with a friend of my parents. And then I had to come home and get my writing sample ready. I couldn’t go to the gym on Sunday. Suddenly all the days were gone and a week had past with only one gym trip. But of course Paul would understand.

He understood and even agreed I had very good reasons for not having gone to the gym. But that didn’t matter. I hadn’t gone and I’d asked him to punish me, to cane me, if I didn’t go. I think if he had made the rule, he might have let me off this week. Maybe not. But because I asked for this and didn’t say “except for weeks when it’s really hot or I’m really busy” he followed through. And that’s right. My gym opens at 5:30 AM and is open until 11:00 PM. We make time for things that are important and getting good use out of my gym membership and spending some time on my body is important. Truth be told, for all that my excuses are good, I could have gone.

Paul let me know yesterday afternoon that I was going to be caned. I struggled a bit with the knowledge. I was in the midst of wrestling with the text of my writing sample and couldn’t quite make room in my head for the idea of being caned. So I buried myself in my work and didn’t think about it. Even as evening progressed (with me still working away) I was in denial. You see, not only is my dad with us this week, my mom is here as well. They sleep in the bedroom next to ours. And unlike my dad, my mom is a light sleeper.

When I came out of the bathroom after doing all those evening things, the nursery cane was at the end of the bed. He was going to go through with it.

I thought about calling safeword on the caning. I mean, my mom.

But the thing is, part of me didn’t want to. I want to be held accountable. I asked for this. So I cowardly tried to slide into bed with the vague hope that if I fell asleep fast (all that writing and editing had made me tired) Paul wouldn’t cane me. After all, he’s always trying to get me to sleep. He sternly told me not to get into bed.

So I took a deep breath and stood next to the bed, after closing the door, and, rather sadly, pushing my bed stool up against it. I hoped that like last week, this week he’d be using the cane over the knee (thats’ what the nursery cane, which is short and thin, is made for). Sure enough, he sat down on the bed and had me pull down my pjs. I took them down and climbed over his lap. He spent a good amount of time adjusting my position, turning the top of my body closer to the head of the bed and my bottom further down his leg. What he was doing wasn’t clear to me until the first stroke landed.

He was giving himself more room to swing so the tip of the cane would land harder.

The first stroke landed like a cut. The thing is, the nursery cane is very very thin and really really stings. That was true last week, but from the start it was clear this caning was a lot harder than the one the week before before. But, my brain cried, as I considered screaming, my parents are in the next room. So I pulled my hands forward (my arms had been folded behind my back) and started counting off the strokes on my right fingers, one at a time, while on my left I kept track in groups of twelve.

The thing about the thin cane is that it really stings. When Paul used it on me it felt more like a switch than a cane. By the time he reached twelve I could feel the tip marks crossing. The sting was terrible and I fought with myself to lie still. Paul will probably say I wasn’t still, but I’m sure I mostly was. As I counted each one off it seemed an impossible number was left. When he reached twenty-four I started to panic and tears welled up in my eyes. I tried to keep my breathing slow and even because I knew if I started crying I might make noise. And making noise, being heard by my parents seemed much worse than even the hurt the cane was doing.

Strange as it may seem, at thirty-six I felt a sense of relief because it meant there were only twelve left. However much they might hurt, I could get through twelve more. Paul sped up and the strokes landed harder still and faster, making me gasp into the sheets. My feet fluttered as I tried hard not to kick. After quite a build-up of pain, it ended in a rush — an almost “is that all there is?” moment. Then the burn started to soak in.

Paul kept me over his lap as he rubbed some LUSH dream cream into my bottom. It stings, but in a soothing sort of way. It hurt enough that I teared a bit as we snuggled close but I expected all signs to be gone by morning. This is so not the case. Almost 24 hours later and I’m still sitting tenderly, the right side of my bottom is still hot to the touch. Yes, this is me pouting a bit.

But not too much. I did, after all, ask for this. And I’m sure this week I will make it to the gym at least three times. Why am I sure? First because I want to. Second because my bottom really hurts. And third, my parents will not be here next weekend. Paul has let it be known that should he have to cane me next week, I won’t be getting off with the nursery cane.

I’m going to be such a good girl. No, really.

Vote For Zille! 2010 Best New Spankee of the Year

The lovely blogger and model Zille Defeu (one of the charming and witty PB co-authors) has been nominated on the as the best new spankee of the year.

Though I’m not sure “new” quite describes someone with the range and experience of Zille, I’m thrilled for the chance to recognize her film work and encourage you to click here and vote for Zille.  I mean, look at this picture.  Doesn’t she clearly deserve it? (To win I mean.  What on earth were you thinking?)



Right after I hit send I thought I’d add this.  In addition to her own blog writing and modeling, Zille has done a lot in the spanking scene this year.  I don’t follow her every move (much as that might be great fun) but I’ve seen her organize the CF-CP spanking party up in San Francisco (and epic fun night) and know she’s worked as a volunteer judge for this year’s SSC contest.  She’s also attended Shadow Lane as well as UK hosted parties.  She and her partner were a great help at helping run errands for the Northern Spanking suite party at Shadow Lane.

What’s my point?  Vote for Zille not because she’s got a pretty face.  Vote for her because, in best sense of the term, she’s a good all-rounder and gives back to our scene and community.  What more can anyone ask of anyone, spankee or not?

Bonnie’s Question: Choosing Spanking

[I didn't get a chance to answer this Sunday, but it was such an interesting question I thought I'd reply here and maybe crosspost to the PB.]

This week at her brunch, Bonnie asked: 

Have you or your partner been given a choice between receiving a spanking or something else and chose the spanking? If so, how does the act of consciously choosing to be spanked alter the spankee's mindset?

In discipline or punishment terms, I always choose the not-spanking option.  It's not often that Paul gives me a choice — a large part of what works in our dynamic is that I'm not in control, that I don't get to decide.  But when I've had the option of writing lines or something non-physical I think I've always chosen it.  This is because for me the idea that I could be spanked is the powerful one, more powerful even than the act of being spanked.  

I suppose in reality most of the time I'm being punished I've chosen to be spanked in the sense that I could always opt out.  Probably.  I've never tried to though.  The times I've asked to be spanked / punished for something are few and far between.  Those have been very submissive moments and during the punishments I've found it easier to accept the pain and not struggle against it. 

Play is different.  I do ask for spankings sometimes in play / everyday life.  Those times, when I get them which is almost always, I feel a lovely contentment and gratitude for my partner.  Best of all?  When he pounces on me and spanks me just because he wants to — those times I feel attractive and well loved. 

Marks OR Thrashing the Scribe

[I was in the middle of drafting this real life account when the news came about Alex’s death.  One week later I’ve decided to finish writing it.  Aside from everything else, it’s a story he likely would have liked.]

Paul and I haven’t been playing as much as we usually would and his Sunday thrashings of me have (largely) been on hold for most of the past month.  The reasons are mostly that my dad’s been living with us again.  This is not because of any problems in my parents’ marriage, but rather problems they’re having selling their house in Portland. I’ve had mixed feelings about this — on the one hand I miss it, of course, because I think about such things all the time. However, at the moment of truth I tend to feel great relief at any reprieve.  It’s probably evidence of how regularly thrashings (as well as “That Thing”) had been happening that generally I’ve felt like a kid who’s skipped out of detentions.

Last Tuesday had all the marks of just such an “almost” thrashing. The night before what I was to wear for the day was planned (nothing too exciting — but a collared shirt, tie, grey games skirt, knickers and knee socks). The plan was that I’d do some schoolwork and then, when he felt like it, we would go over my returned calligraphy homework and then he would thrash me for the mistakes my teacher marked.  It was to be “fun” in the sense it wasn’t a punishment for anything serious (Paul doesn’t actually care much whether or not my calligraphy is improving), but on the other hand, reflected on my lettering practice having been cut down by real life events.

That was the plan.  Then there was real life.

We stayed in bed a bit later than I’d intended. But then, promised some coffee and a croissant,  dressed in my uniform, except for the kneesocks (I wore tights so I could go out more easily in public), and we headed out for coffee — well coffee for me, chocolate tart for Paul. The revised plan was we’d get back, I’d change out of tights and into knee socks and Paul would think about thrashing me.  I was excited about it — lettering has always seemed such a perfect premise for punishment.  It’s impossible for anyone, even someone like my teacher who’s been a professional scribe for 30 years, to do 100% perfect calligraphy.  I’ve been doing gothic textura for a total of 7 weeks.

But after we got back, just as I was starting to change into my uniform, the phone started ringing. After we had dealt with several calls, our building’s handyman came to the door and said he’d come to inspect the bathroom.  Apparently there was a leak somewhere and it needed to be fixed immediately  Plumbers were then in and out for about two and a half hours. By the time they’d left (and then come back for things forgotten and left again) it was mid-afternoon.  My father would be coming home in a couple hours.

I guessed this was another thrashing deferred and felt both disappointed and relieved.  That is, until Paul went to get his canes and told me to change into knee sock and to fetch my homework. My heart started thudding.

Less than five minutes later I stood nervously in front of Paul as he questioned me about each mark.  When he reminded me there were to be six strokes of the cane for each mark, there suddenly seemed a great many.  The first twelve strokes would be delivered over my knickers.  Then those would come down.  For each mistake (for I’d made the same mistakes multiple times), the first twelve strokes would be with the lighter cane, the rest with the heavier one.  I shivered involuntarily; both canes hurt.  The lighter one is whippy and stings fiercely, while the heavy cane also stings but is heavy enough to leave bruises like those caused by a hairbrush or paddle.

caning-blockAs an aside: Although we’ve been together for a long time, Paul has only just started using canes on me regularly.  Until he bought the complete set from Canes4Pain, canes had always been an implement for which he didn’t have much enthusiasm.  While I love a traditional school scene, I wasn’t sorry about that, he’s strong and more than capable of creating a lot of pain with his hand or a hairbrush or tawse.  All that has changed — whether because of the quality of the canes (high) or a great deal of practice in the last 6 months, Paul has become both more skilled with canes and far more likely to use them.  Me? They fill me with dread.

So I was drifting toward this thrashing, part of me not believing it was really really going to happen even as I was being tied down.  In my head, I somehow thought that because this thrashing was for “play” it somehow wouldn’t hurt as much.  But then he started talking about my work, the mistakes I’d made (the first one had to do with me not slanting the lower stroke on the letter “a”) and, finally, delivered the first stroke with the whippy cane.  Even over my knickers it had me gasping with shock and pain.  My first reaction was panic, total panic as I realized I had dozens more of these to go and, all too soon, my heavy school knickers would be coming down.

I began to babble that this was impossible, that I couldn’t, that it hurt too much.  Paul’s response was his usual, that there was nothing for me to do and delivered another stroke.  I pulled my tied hands up to cover my face and cried a bit against my arm.

“Hands down.”


“Keep your hands in front of you.  If you pull them up again, I’m going to smack the back of your legs.”

Aside number two: Paul ties me mostly to make it easier on me, though I’m sure my not being able to put my hands back makes things easier for him as well. Because as an adult I’ve almost always been spanked / thrashed in spaces where we might be overheard, I don’t tend to yell out very much.  My pain reaction is all about trying to move away.  When I’m tied I tend to yank my hands up and cry out into them.  I worry a lot about being overheard, both because of fear of the cops showing up and embarrassment that our neighbors (some of whom know WIIWD) might, well, hear me crying over being thrashed.  Paul, as far as I’ve been able to determined, doesn’t worry about either situation, damn him.

My hands went back down.  The first 18 strokes hurt a huge amount (and we were still on the repeated “a” mistake), while at the same time I was constantly aware that my knickers wouldn’t be up much longer.  At the same time, I was internalizing the mistake and feeling bad that I’d repeated it so many times.  I started to sob.

t thinking, my hands pulled up so I could cry into my arm.  Instantly, or so it seemed, hard, stinging smacks started raining down on the backs of my thighs.  The thing about a traditional caning is that however much it hurts, the careful spacing generally means I can absorb the pain and stay somewhat in control.  Fast smacks on my legs though leave me with nothing to do but howl and try and escape.  Escape being impossible I heard myself apologizing and promising to be good.

And I was.

For the rest of the thrashing, my hands stayed down (partly on account of me having a death grip on the coffee table’s wrought iron bar).  Midway through, as we switched from one one marked practice sheet to the next, I got to take a break.  Rather than helping though, which is what I thought would happen, it just raised my anxiety and let the pain from the thrashing soak in.

Finally we’d gotten through the last mistake, by which time I had found a little bit of courage.  But the last few strokes with the heavy cane were amazingly hard.  I could tell Paul was quite proud of them, something I didn’t understand until I escaped to the bathroom to wash my face and examine my marks.

He’d managed to land the marks so the tramlines went almost equally across both of my bottom cheeks.

As I sat, doing my nightly practice on a very sore bottom, I couldn’t help but wonder at how my fantasies and real life have managed to meet so perfectly.

the third eye is on The Punishment Book

too-much-curveToday my blog entry “Submitting to Correction” is on the Punishment Book.  It’s a bit of an introspective ramble on how I take criticism and correction differently in different circumstances, specifically lettering class as opposed to my writing.

Excerpt:   The degree to which I’ve taken the criticism on board and am pleased and excited by it surprises me.  This is not the way I generally react to correction (especially in relation to my academic work).  My usual reaction is either defensiveness and / or anxiety, with both being most common.  The hardest thing anyone can do is try and help me by critiquing my academic writing as I will defend my text to the death as though each word was somehow a child.  Even being aware of this reaction only helps a bit.  With my advisor I feel utterly chastened when she points out the holes in my arguments and I have to struggle to hide the hurt.  With Paul, who is brave enough to do it, I feel misunderstood, angry and defensive.  This is why writing workshops, with their group criticism sessions, have always been a special sort of agony.

Read and discuss (over there)?

iPhone: Kinky Apps

I’ve made a more serious post about how Paul and I use technology in our discipline / punishment scenes over on the Punishment Book including our more recent use of the iPhone in conjunction with Apple’s MobileMe. This blog entry is about the more fun and kinky iPhone apps I’ve discovered since Paul gave me one for my birthday this past July –I mention this in case there’s any doubt that Paul keeps me very indulged and spoiled. The screening process Apple uses hasn’t screened them out, at least not so far as I can tell.

ispankThe most obvious of the kink apps is iSpank. No really and for true, it’s there in the iTunes store, in both a free and $.99 version (you get more implements for the money). It’s fun — some of the sound effects are better than others. While the paddle is only okay, the belt or strap always makes me start a little even when I’m holding it. One danger of the app, however, is what I think of as the Wii problem — it encourages the spanker to swing their iPhone around. So make sure you have a tight hold. You then get rated on the strength of your swing. I rarely get more than 5/10, though Paul thinks I don’t need swing so much, that it’s all in the wrist.

But the kinkiest one I’ve found is called either iGrounded or UrGrounded. Its makers market it as a “parenting tool” claiming, “Kids need boundaries. This app helps parents set and enforce consequences.
-urgrounded games-makes grounding easier for parents and kids.” Nothing too kinky there (well, except the idea that punishment’s a game) — but then it goes on to say


WE ARE A GENERATION OF WIMPY PARENTS…and we are creating a generation of kids that are lazy,rude, entitled and who show a lack of respect for RULES.

When kids break the rules,they need immediate logical consequences.



Parents, YOU enter and edit the consequences in both games.

Guide to:

  1. LYING
  9. POOR GRADES and more…

Parents, YOU enter and edit the consequences.

Keep track of who’s grounded in your home.
E -mail your child (and yourself) with the consequence as a friendly reminder.

Excuse me? Let’s just look at that last sentence. Are we talking about Girl’s Boarding School here?  I mean, I don’t have kids, but do most parents really need to have emailed reminders sent to themselves to remember which child has been grounded and for what?  How many teens are living in this “family” anyway?  The offenses also look like something out of video (or story) plot — parent scolding and punishing teen for breaking curfew, or better yet, catching them “sexting.”  Lovely stuff.  The app has scolding prompts to remind parents why lying is bad (seriously).

Keeping with this theme, I do find it odd that “not checking in” appears between “stealing” and “alcohol/drugs.”

Which brings me to the Wheel of Consequences.  As downloaded, the wheel, which spins with a flick of the finger does not have corporal punishments.  Insteadm, they start out with punishments like forced runs, losing game consoles, cleaning the cat box, losing pet (!!!) or having to stay home or in ones room (bliss!), but can be easily edited to fit a more CP turn.    The thing is, I can imagine this “spin and be punished” game being used at a Shadow Lane Party a lot more easily than I can by a parents as a means of deciding how to punish a teenager for a drug offense.

One last gem. The maker claims this app is “Recommended by Pediatricians”  — I’m  imagining a conversation a bit like this:

DOCTOR: Good Lord Sir / Madam!  Your child is clearly an out of control brat  who is both lazy and rude!  You are a wimpy parent!

PARENT: I know doctor, he/she has no respect for the rules. Maybe it’s because I can’t figure out what the logical consequences of their misbehavior should be. For that matter, I can’t even keep track of whether or not my son/daughter is grounded. Whatever can I do?

DOCTOR: I’ve no idea.  Your situation seems hopeless. Unless… I say, you wouldn’t happen to have an iPhone by any chance?

There’s nothing I can see that’s serious about this app, but it might be a great help for spanking story writers or roleplay enthusiasts.  And what could be more fun than that?