Category Archives: fetish

Who Is Mija? Playing on ello.


This was originally blogged as my first new content post for ello

Where is Mija? Who is mijita?

Can I even introduce her anymore?

It’s funny how I can be seduced by something new and shiny. I’m exploring ello and suddenly want to write about spanking and kink again. This is new. Or maybe renewed.

Life has been good lately, filled with work that I love, and I do mean love. The research, the writing, even the grading. Everything about teaching what I teach to whom I teach is a joy. But it’s also very grown up, very responsible. For years my spanking kink has been an escape back into childhood (for good and ill and all the baggage that carries). For years I was a school girl getting thrashed for not being responsible. For not writing her dissertation. But now it’s written.

Now I am responsible. Really. The people who know my college professor self wouldn’t recognize the girl thrashed for ignoring her research. I’m not sure I even recognize her anymore. I love my research, horde the hours I get to lavish on it. Love preparing my courses, am working devilishly hard to land an elusive tenure track job so I can keep doing this thing I love so much.

It all feels terrifyingly fragile. Like if I let go at all I’ll wake up and this thing I want to badly will have slipped through my fingers. Time feels so precious. Yet kink, my kink anyway, needs time, needs space. Physical and brain.

Add to that the medications that keep me sane also dampen (ha! like salt peter) my desires, making my fantasies quieter and tamer than they’ve ever been and, well, basically I’ve been de-kinked. A prospect that in my early 20s would have made me happy. Now it feels like part of me, an important part of me that I love, is numb.

And yet today, September 28, 2014, doing the things I do on new social media like defining spanking, and posting an old story, I find I’m thinking more and more about my kink. Wanting to say something, wanting to find room for Mija. I even got my old usenet name, “mijita” which thrills me a surprising amount.

Not really sure what I want to say.

But ello.

Dreams of Spanking: Advent Blog Day 23

Today is an exciting day in the spanking scene and I just have to post something here to celebrate. The witty and wonderful Pandora Blake has officially launched her new website, Dreams of Spanking, complete with stills and video from some of my very favorite performers.

There’s a lot about the site that I like, especially Pandora’s vision and the trouble she’s taken over settings and costumes.  The quality reflects the love and care she’s given them.

But even more than that, I like the whole concept of the site. Beginning with the site name, Dreams of Spanking affirms that whether topping or bottoming, this isn’t something that’s being done to her, but rather that she’s an active participant in an activity that’s a huge part of her sexuality and fantasy life. There’s a specificity it all that defies this pornography being able men looking at women (so it doesn’t matter what the men look like) and instead is about a female gaze as well.

This pleases me a lot, as does the attention that’s given in the stills I’ve seen to the performers’ faces.  Yes, this is about kink and their bodies, but it’s also about kink and their minds and their relationships with and desires for each other.

Wonderful.  Congratulations on realizing your dreams Pandora.  And thank you for an amazing Christmas gift.


Seeing What I Want to See: Advent Blog Day 20

Two weeks ago, give or take,  Kaelah posted a question about Spanking Porn: On Compartmentalization, musing about the differences between her own and Ludwig's experience with spanking videos with elements they don't like and wondering if it has to do with the differences between their INTJ and INFJ personalities. (For more on what these types are, see my post on Myers Briggs types

I'm good at overlooking things that I don't want to see.  Or maybe it's that I see what I think should be there rather than what is.  Paul has pointed out that this makes me a terrible editor. I read what should be there or what I want to be there rather than what is. While I don't watch very much spanking porn as I'm not a very visual person, it definitely holds true in spanking stories.  In fact, one of the biggest surprises I ever had was when I re-read The Reckoning, which was my pre-internet favorite spanking book, some ten years after my earlier readings of it.  I remembered it as not having sex or much reference to it in it, something which added to its attraction for me.  But when I re-read it, I found all the stories ended with the M/F pair heading toward sex.  

That's not to say stories shouldn't end with sex, of course, but the fact that I had read past it to such a degree I didn't remember it being there at all still surprises me as I'd probably read some of the stories in this book thirty times or more.  My own Myers Briggs type is INFP, lending support to Kaelah's hypothesis that NFs are more able to naturally compartmentalize or look past the things they don't like in a film or story than NTs.  That said, the sample size we're discussing here is obviously quite small. How is it for you? Do you look past the things that aren't right for your kink or does their presence damage the fantasy?

Advent bloggers:

padme & Anakin - Journey to the Darkside

Marie - Life, Lemons & Spanking

EmmaEnchanted - This Kinky Life

Quai  -  Spanking Discussion

Poppy St. Vincent - Poppy's Submissions

Sharon - The Evolution of a Pin-Up Model

Tiger - Innermost Me 

Indy - Not So Submissive


Crossing the Streams: Advent Blog Day 16

I suppose we all have different faces or streams in our lives. For me there’s Annie (the person I am with my family and closest friends), Mija (my kink self) and an academic identity that’s separate from either of those (we’ll call her A.).  My streams aren’t that separate — Mija and Annie especially mingle across lines.  Most of my close friends know I’m into BDSM of some sort.  People in the kink, including those of you who read here, know a good deal about my life outside the spanking scene. But A. has stayed pretty separate from Mija (except to the degree that some of Mija’s friends in the kink are also academics of various sorts and therefore are likely to related to me as A. as well as knowing me as Annie and Mija).

Part of the seperation is purely practical.  I don’t want to worry overmuch that some poor student of mine is going to be looking for my academic writing on Latina feminism and stumble into The Treehouse.  It’s not that I’m ashamed of Mija, but my sexual life isn’t a place I want my students and I suspect they prefer it that way as well.  On the other hand, my research, so far anyway, hasn’t addressed issues of female masochism in literature, though I’ve read something of others work in that field.  But my academic interests are more in the area of queerness, race and class. I’m not sure why that is.  Part of is, I know, that talking about issues related to BDSM in an academic setting make me feel insecure in the sense of feeling exposed. It’s something that may change as I evolve as a scholar (I hope it does) but that’s where I’m at right now.  Yet another dimension to it is that on some level I don’t want to theorize everything in my personal life.  It’s nice to have a space in my life where academics don’t intrude.

At one time I imagined that doing a feminist analysis of what I do, especially what I do with Paul, would damage my kink on some level and I consciously tried to avoid doing it.  Which of course resulted in my doing exactly that and finding that my kink wouldn’t be possible (for me) without feminism.  So it’s not that the streams can’t cross.  I just generally don’t cross them.

Except when I do.  Today I was having coffee with someone from my department who works on gender studies, queerness and fandoms and found myself honestly talking with her about where my technical skills come from, where Paul and I met and then being honest about my interests in BDSM, including mentioning that my primary kink is spanking.  She identifies as a lesbian, and has some experience with the BDSM scene, but it’s not her thing.  Our conversation turned to issues of polyamory and how it does and doesn’t work with insecurity and introversion.  It was a conversation I could have had with any number of kink friends, but the first time I’ve been able to talk with someone from my “vanilla” life and not feel like they’re tourists.  It was nice, felt totally natural and I have no regrets about outing myself.  In fact, outing feels like too violent a word for our conversation.  As I said, it was natural. Not telling the truth would have closed off an emotional and intellectual area between us. It was only afterwards I found myself surprised by how much I’d disclosed.

My streams still don’t cross.  Except when they do.

For a much more touching post on how the streams can meet and cross, see EJ’s post.  She wrote it last week and I just read it tonight after I wrote this, but nonetheless felt it somehow inspired these thoughts.  Or rather that they come from a similar source.

This Is Not a Scene Report – Advent Blog Day 10

This is not a scene report. But I just got spanked (well, it’s probably been an hour — there was lots of after care).  And have bruises on my thighs.

It was a hard spanking.  Hard because there was spanking and the backs of my thighs.  Hard because the ebony hairbrush and my bottom were intimately involved. But mostly hard because I didn’t want to be spanked.

I made that quite clear. When Paul’s desire to spank me was mooted by him on our walk home from breakfast, I told him I didn’t want to be spanked. When we got home and he said he wanted me in my uniform by the time he got home from Staples (we needed CDs for the Christmas album) I repeated that I didn’t want to be spanked. When he pointed out there were lots of good reasons to spank me, I narrowed my eyes.  Because I really didn’t feel like it.  I had been too stressed out from applying for academic jobs, from losing my purse, from dealing with the after effects of losing my purse (I could go on about that but you’ve probably read way more about my absent purse then you ever wanted to hear).

Paul’s response?  That’s too bad.

I understood.  He wasn’t saying “That’s too bad — I wish we could play.” He was saying “I’m going to spank you anyway.  I’ll be in control of the scene. You have no responsibility except for being there.”

And because of that, it worked. Because I didn’t have to consent (beyond the consenting to non-consent that I did years ago and have never wanted to revoke), the spanking was just what I needed and made me feel a peace I haven’t felt in a long time.

After care conversation (held snuggling in bed): 

Me: Why do I always feel so loving and close to you after you beat me?

Paul: Because you’re a weird freak.

Me: Oh yeah.


Advent bloggers so far (go see them!):

padme & Anakin – Journey to the Darkside

Marie – Life, Lemons & Spanking

EmmaEnchanted – This Kinky Life

Quai  –  Spanking Discussion

Poppy St. Vincent – Poppy’s Submissions

Sharon – The Evolution of a Pin-Up Model

Tiger – Innermost Me

Indy – Not So Submissive


Brown or Black? Advent Blog Day 5


I’ve spent the recent part of the evening considering the rather daunting task migrating this blog and the Punishment Book from our current location on TypePad to WordPress hosting on the LaughingSquid servers before fees are due this summer. Both blogs have been on TypePad since they started in 2004 and 2005 and both have hundreds of posts and images so this wouldn’t be a small thing to do, but might make sense for a number of reasons.  It might be a good reason for me to learn some CSS, among other things.

But that’s not what I’m blogging about tonight.  This blog topic was inspired by fellow Advent Blogger padme’s hot post on belt spankings which, if you haven’t read, you should go and read right now.

Belts have power for me too, also for reasons that are partly connected to childhood, partly due to it being an item worn on the body for a useful purpose. The sound of a belt clicking and being taken off is enough to set my heart pounding, whatever the reason.

But when I look at belts, the ones I fetishize are brown leather, the sort one would use to hold up jeans much moreso than the slim leather ones used on a suit. I know from Twitter that Em feels exactly the opposite, she’s all about the suits.  What about you? Brown or black?  Or does it matter?

Just a Hand Spanking

Last night I was handspanked. Not for any reason but because it seemed like a good idea. Paul had promised it early in the day but bedtime had come, complete with clean sheets on the bed, and I slid between them not feeling disappointed.  It had been a good day.

Paul came in and urged me out of bed. As it always seems when it comes time for a spanking, it suddenly seemed all quiet in the neighborhood. I mentioned that it was kind of late. Paul said there was no one to hear (meaning my dad and mom). I mentioned our upstairs neighbors — God knows we hear what they’re doing on their bed often enough — I cringed but wasn’t surprised when Paul replied that he didn’t care whether they heard or not.

Fine. So he doesn’t care what the people upstairs think. I tried to relax and put them out of my mind figuring it would be easier if I didn’t care either. This was a nice spanking in that I was arranged comfortably on the bed, my head resting on my arms. I had visions of a blissful spanking where I was brave and sexy and all that.  That’s not the way it goes for me though, part of me has to struggle to escape, has to feel subdued somehow. I wish that weren’t the case, but there it is.  Before he started, Paul pinned my legs with one of his and wrapped his left arm tight around me. I focused on breathing, reminding myself this would just be a handspanking.

Just a handspanking but Paul has a heavy hand. Even though my panties the first few smacks stung. The thing about a hand spanking, especially one through ones panties is it feels pretty whimpy to complain about it. So I tried not to whimper and was just getting to the point where it all seemed bearable when I felt his hands tugging my panties down. I’ve made the argument in the past that I should get to keep them up because it hurts just as much through them, but honestly that’s not the case.  That thin layer of cotton protection acts as a sting baffle.  When it’s removed the smacks feel sharper and burn more.

I struggled a bit and then something in my brain relaxed. I could feel my body stretch out, welcoming the spanks, trying to match my curves to his hand. It still hurt, but only in a good way. I felt powerful as a bottom/submissive/spankee/whatever and was sure there was nothing that Paul could do to me that I couldn’t accept, no pain I couldn’t embrace. These feelings are rare for me no matter what’s being used, but it was the first time it had happened from a handspanking.

Part of me wanted it to go on and on.

But it was late. I wasn’t feeling crazy so didn’t ask for the hairbrush or anything more painful, instead relishing my bottom’s gentle throbbing soreness. The lotion afterwards felt lovely — everything felt lovely.

And then… and then… and then it was over. Nothing dramatic. Just a hand spanking.

Sound & Spanking

Over on Hermione’s site she’s standing in for Bonnie and has asked the weekly brunch question.  This week the question is:

What effect, if any, does the sound of an implement have on you during a spanking? Do you react differently depending on how much or how little noise an implement makes? What is your preference? Do you ever choose an implement based on the sound it makes?

Sound is very important to me in spanking scene. Some implements, which objectively don’t hurt much at all, like a ping-pong paddle, have associations because of the noise they make. I associate the loud clap of a ping-pong paddle with being spanked in childhood. I tend to think the paddle hurts a lot more than it objectively does.

This holds true for other implements as well. If something really hurts, I perceive it to be noisy — even something like a cane which I know is all but silent. I’m not quite sure where this comes from, but it means I’m constantly being told by Paul that we’re making less noise than we are.  Either that or he’s trying to make me feel better.


Another week has passed and unlike the previous two, I have gone to the gym three times this week. Despite having showered I’m still drenched in smugness. 

Firsts Friday: Implements

Ah, a girl and her toys.

Once upon a time I couldn’t see kinky toys for sale without wanting to buy something. Of course I didn’t have much money and had less discrimination so I bought a lot of not-very-good toys, but still. I still remember the rush of naughty excitement when I bought my first spanking toy.

I bought it at the now-sadly-defunct Magick and Fetish Shop at Sunset Junction in Hollywood. The owner had belts, floggers and all sorts of interesting things (including a combination incense burner and punishment stick) but I gravitated toward the hairbrush.  It was a simple wooden brush with black bristles. A true hairbrush, probably designed for a man.  I should have had it tested on me first because it also had a series of three or four deep grooves carved into the back.  These acted like holes on a paddle and made the brush very painful.  While it was my first toy and I was thrilled to buy it, I was less thrilled when it got used on me.  In fact I hated it and not in any sort of good way.  Fortunately someone else had it tried on them and loved it so I happily gave it to her — with both hands, no-take-backs.

At this past Shadow Lane I bought a small and very pretty paddle for me to use when I spank people. It even came with its own flowered bag.  It’s not to be used on me, but rather to be used by me.  So far I’ve only used it on Indy (who vouched for it being effective despite its small size).  I’ll take a picture of it and post it here someday. Meanwhile you’ll just have to trust me when I say it’s a beautiful thing.

Can you remember the first implement you bought? Were you a better shopper than me? Do you still have it


Indy played along.

Spanked in Uniform

My mom left this morning at 6:45 AM.  I’m going to miss her, but it will be nice to have a little time to myself some days.  Anyway, I mention the time because I was still awake.  You see, last night I decided to have a drink with my mom after I got back from my writing workshop.  It had been a long and stressful day and one scotch on the rocks turned into a double plus two large tequilas.  I drank them over a period of several hours but I don’t drink much or often (long story) and it doesn’t take much to make me drunk.

I didn’t behave badly — I’m mostly the same but slightly more affectionate when I drink — but for whatever reason I couldn’t sleep. I know what time my mother left for the airport because I was still awake to say goodbye.  Paul was off today so after my parents had gone he urged / forced me back into bed and I finally got a few hours of sleep.  I woke up groggy and grouchy.  I told myself I was going to spend the day in  my pajamas drinking coffee (except my parents had finished off the cream) and maybe doing a bit of calligraphy.

Paul had another plan.  He wanted me to put on a formal uniform (green shirt, black gymslip, tie, green kickers and knee socks). I wanted nothing of the sort and made that clear several times, something which was dubbed “whining.” He went off to the market to get me some more cream (okay that was nice) and made it clear I was to be in my uniform when he got back.  I sulked a bit in bed and then got up to change into the uniform.

As I expected, it was uncomfortable and didn’t improve my mood.

Paul got home, fussed with my collar and tie a bit and then pronounced me acceptable. Then he determined despite the fact I had reblogged my caning he was going to take a picture of my marks and tweet it. It’s a measure of how hungover I was that I let him.

That done, he took me into the living room, pulled out a chair and had me lift my gymslip so he could lower my knickers. Embarrassment flooded my fuzzy head, but soon my head was down and I was across Paul’s lap getting spanked on my already sore (see comment about cane marks) bottom.  He only used his hand, but it felt like it lasted a long time and definitely hurt.

Afterwards I worked on my calligraphy a bit — I’m starting a new series of classes tomorrow night on the italic alphabet — but after an hour felt very tired so asked if I could take a nap.  I could and did, still in my uniform.

The day did make me feel looked after but frankly I think Paul enjoyed it more than I did.  It also reminded me why I don’t drink much or often.