Discipline, rules and consequences.

As regular readers of the blog will know, discipline and punishment is one of my main kinks. It's a dynamic that I have with HH, and only with him. It's not something that lends itself to multiple relationships and it requires a deep level of trust and understanding.

In the past few months when I haven been playing much the discipline has still been important. I ask HH for help with things: generally eating and sleeping properly and staying safe. I've written about such punishments on here previously and, generally, serious punishment doesn't happen very frequently.

A few weeks ago I sent him some new rules I wanted help with; ambitious ones. So ambitious that I soon gave up even adhering to them. On one level I knew I was getting into trouble and that made me happy (temporarily), and on another I excused myself as they were too stringent in the first place.

Combined with my return from the non-kinky wilderness I threw caution to the wind: I wanted to play and play hard. Somewhere in my head the line between roleplay and discipline muddled itself. So I made sure he knew I wasn't even trying with the rules. I wanted to be punished. I wanted to have no reason not to go through with it.

HH pulled me up on both of these things: wanting to be in trouble and setting rules I couldn't or wouldn't adhere to.

My 'don't care attitude' lasted about a week and then an email from him brought me down to earth. He reminded me the rules were meant to be about keeping me safe and healthy - not an excuse to enjoy being in trouble. Therefore he was going to punish me in such a way that neither of us would enjoy it, to make sure it didn't happen again.

In advance, we talked about how our weekend would work and I asked to be punished immediately so we could enjoy the rest of it. I also suggested being punished from the train, something we'd never managed to do before when I came to visit.

On the day I had to write him a list of all the rules I had broken and email it to him; it was a very long list. My initial attitude had been that if I was already in trouble what did it matter how many rules I broke? Writing the list it started to dawn on me that it would matter. His response confirmed it.

I was sick and nervous for the rest of the journey, and not in a good way; there was no anticipatory thrill, not relishing being in trouble.

When I arrived at the station he wasn't at the platform to greet me. Although I knew that he'd be waiting in the car it still hurt. Having to get into the car, with no hello, no hug, and driving home in silence was awful. Reality was dawning and it wasn't a comfortable one.

Once home he sent me upstairs to wait for him. The tears were already pricking so when he came up stairs and made me look him in the eye, as he lectured me, they started falling immediately. He didn't mince his words. Told me the rules were not for fun, not convenient reasons to find excuses to play. That he respected them, respected me; more than I did. Told me how he was genuinely disappointed to have to punish me knowing I hadn't even tried, that there was nothing to be proud of me for. That he wasn't used to having nothing to be proud of in my behaviour.

Looking into the eyes of someone you respect as much I respect HH and hearing that broke my heart. I was ready to accept all the pain he could create for me so I could absolve myself. At that point I needed for the guilt to be thrashed out of me.

But that wasn't to be. I wasn't allowed to escape that easily. He had warned me he would punish me in ways I truly wouldn't like and so he did. And some of it hurt, but mostly it just made me face up to parts of me I don't like and be bitterly ashamed of myself.

Once the initial lecture was delivered he took my jeans and panties down and put me over his knee. Calling me by my real name, he explained this wasn't EJ having her naughty bottom spanked, it was me, he spanked me with his hand. It wasn't even very hard, leaving me to think about how the real me, the career girl, oldest sister, control freak, perfectionist was across someone's knee getting a spanking. The stuff of fantasies once upon a time; the stark reality made me cry pitifully.

Afterwards he put me in the corner: nose to the wall for 6 minutes, timed with an egg timer. It doesn't sound like a long time but believe me it was an eternity. Having to stand still, time to think, feeling your panties and jeans pooled at your ankles, dreading what was to come next.

And next was being back over his knee again, another lecture directed to Me. The eggtimer again, this time for a steady hairbrushing. If 6 minutes had felt like an eternity, this 3 minutes felt like eternal hell. And as much as I tried to be brave and to not kick and wriggle I couldn't manage it. Another piece of me died.

The next part is so hard to think about, let alone write about. I swore afterwards I wouldn't blog it but it was a big part of the punishment and HH was adamant I couldn't hide during it. Hiding from my blog seems wrong.



He put me over his knee, my bottom high up in the air and gave me an enema. As he did it he described every step in detail, repeatedly using my name. There was no place to hide: his voice in my head, the uncomfortable sensation inside, the water trickling out; I was mortified.

When he was finished administering he hair brushed me, still over his knee, as I struggled to maintain control. And when he was finally done I pleaded to use the bathroom, natural urges overcoming my embarrassment.

But that was denied, I had to serve more corner time first. When he finally gave permission he told me he would allow me to close the door, but if he ever had to seriously punish me again he would stay in the bathroom with me. This small crumb of comfort broke any resistance I had left and I cried emptily.

I was completely broken and ready for the punishment to be over. He had made his point. But no, I hadn't been punished for everything yet. It was a long list, he reminded me.

Making me wear a pair of white panties and a white vest, he sat me at the school desk to write 100 times: "Agreeing rules and then disobeying them is silly and childish".  For every line that wasn't perfect he would give me one stroke of the cane.

The shame burned on so many levels. Not permitted a uniform to escape into a role, wearing white after the enema and not being allowed to leave the desk until my task was complete, not to mention the lines.

For people who don't know me very well this was another horrific task. I do not have neat hand writing and I'm too impatient usually for my writing to be even legible. It was one of the worst tasks he could have given me, but he knew that. Somewhere I applauded his ingenuity but mostly I hated how well he knew me and how that could be used to terrifyingly to my disadvantage.

Something inside me snapped. I was humiliated to the core, afraid of what was to come next and set up to fail with writing lines. I needed to fight back, but quietly. So I tried my hardest with the lines. I wrote each one slowly and carefully, concentrating on every letter. It took me well over an hour to write them all. My hand ached and I was cold, but they were perfect and I didn't get one cane stroke. It was a tiny victory.

Unfortunately we still weren't done. Printing out my email of transgressions he set it in front of me and asked me to write a list of the punishments so far and then read it to him, so I had to say it aloud. He  explained so far he had punished me for all but two of the rules I'd broken: there were two more punishments to come.

Taking me downstairs he told me to get the slipper. I didn't have the energy to beg or resist, just cried silently as I fetched it and got into position. He placed me over the bed, with my bottom and thighs tight and struck with his full weight behind it. It was excruciatingly painful and resulted in the normal howls of misery.

But it was familiar at least, and I could cope with it. Afterwards I was out of it, completely drained by the evening and promising never to do anything to earn such a punishment again. HH confirmed what I suspected: he hadn't enjoyed it either. He promised that over the weekend we would revisit the rules and come up with new ones that were less ambitious, with no excuses for not obeying them. He reminded me part of the lesson I was learning was not to be disrespectful of the discipline dynamic and to not set unrealistic expectations, putting to much pressure on myself.

The cuddles and reassurance afterwards were much needed. And although I had the exercise punishment to come, I knew I had mostly paid my dues and things would be OK.

That said by the time we did the forced exercise routine on Sunday I was shattered and bitterly resented having to go through more punishment. So what should have been a straightforward work out started and ending with a hard tawsing on my bottom and thighs and included an over the knee spanking in the middle, with me crying tears of misery throughout.

A friend texted during the weekend saying she'd never understand why I do the punishment stuff but just wanted to check I was OK. The truth is I don't understand why I do it either. It's just something I need; deep down really need. I don't want to receive a punishment like this ever again but it appeals to my kink knowing that the boundary is there, that HH will enforce it, if I need it.

It's all about discipline, rules, consequences and ME.