Ms. Betty's World

Happy LOL day!

2011-11-10T05:42:00.001-07:00

Yes, I am still out there.

And according to my analytics, you are, too.

So please take a moment and comment.

I'd like to get to know some of you!

~Ms. Betty

When behaving badly works in your favor

2011-11-06T00:23:00.002-06:00

Regular readers of this blog* know that I work for a thrift store.

This week our corporate office handed down the directive that we are supposed to create a fancy, magazine-worthy holiday table setting and submit pictures to be used to promote the stores.

Oh and if we create the best one we win a prize.

Ok, fine, no problem. Only the boss is a bit high strung, impulsive and indecisive and after myself and another girl working on this for hours on end this past week we still don't even have a table cloth.

This morning I finally lost my patience with the whole thing, handed the boss the stack of 5 more rejected plates (she's rejected 17 different china patterns-- every single set of matching dishes in the store) and told her "you know what, you need to find someone else to help you with this. I'm going to do my job."

Then I walked away and left her standing there.

Later I heard from the other girl that the boss was deeply offended by my doing that.

I don't care.

At this point it just is not worth the stress or aggravation to keep wasting my time with a project that I cannot possibly succeed with.

And I don't feel it is unreasonable to expect my manager to be a mature adult and have reasonable expectations, like understanding that we can't conjure things out of thin air and that what's on the shelf is all we've got to work with.

Besides, it's my bloody camera and I'm under no obligation to volunteer my personal property for use so if she wants pictures she can damn well act like an adult and behave in a civilized manner.

All of which I think she's realized because there was an immediate and dramatic change in her behavior.

And I didn't even have to use a paddle.

~Ms. Betty

*(Do I still have any of those? I know I am not the most frequent poster!)

You cannot server to masters, but can you love two teachers?

2011-10-17T10:17:00.002-06:00

Ok so things have been a bit odd in Ms. Betty's world lately.

There's spanking and kinky stuff going on, though not much.

Over the past year I have spent a lot of solitary hours exploring my spiritual path and potential avenues that were not open to me before.

(it's amazing what happens when one finally has the peace and quiet to read the things one has always wished to read.)

Recently someone asked if all the quiet of being alone bothered me. It doesn't. I welcome the silence and the time it gives me to think deep thoughts.

I am busier than ever in some ways, but internally I have a new calm that is making the chaos of outer life much easier to manage. I am in the eye of the storm, no longer being tossed around in it's winds... well most of the time, anyway.

I no longer need to justify, rationalize, explain. I simply let things be as they are and accept them as the come.

So when I woke up this morning with a name that seemed familiar ringing in my ears I did not ignore the sign as I once would have. Instead I googled the name. Recognition clicked. Still, I did not think she was actually the person I sought. So I clicked through some links and found another name. And there I found what I think I was supposed to find.

And now comes the dilemma. I have a teacher I have chosen to work with, a woman I admire and respect whom I feel a bond to. She has my trust.

And yet I find myself drawn also to work with this new teacher.

I see a benefit to me, if I can validate what I already know by getting the same information from another source in another way then it is easier to have confidence in my new knowledge.

But if their ways are very different, if they conflict, can I reconcile both?

Am I somehow being disloyal or disrespectful to my first teacher by working with a second as well?

Rationally I know there is no reason not to seek more knowledge, I realize my own teacher worked with many teachers over the years.... But it still feels like I am telling my first teacher "sorry, you weren't good enough" and that's not at all the case. She's been spectacular.

Still hers is only one perspective on a giant subject... I'd like to see what the view is like from the other side of the mountain. I think she'll understand that.

Thoughts on Teddy Bears

2011-09-08T04:01:00.002-06:00

I don't get into politics.

As certain sore-bottomed bunnies now, political talk, especially worked up, mouth-foaming, ranting political argument is a good way to get me very, very annoyed.

But as I was putting puzzles away yesterday a thought struck me that I can't quite shake.

Once upon a time they tried to mock Theodore Roosevelt for standing up for a moral principle.

And in the process inadvertently created one of the world's most universally recognized and beloved symbols of warmth and comfort in human history.

Kind of makes you wonder, doesn't it?

Where did my life go?

2011-08-28T09:12:00.002-06:00

One does have to wonder...

Oh, I know where part of it is. He's out wandering the streets of Denver after everyone else got as fed up with the manipulating and mooching as I did. It's hard to think of someone I once loved, someone I married being out there in those circumstances, but long ago I realized I could not fix him. He had to fix himself. He has chosen not to, and this is the result. I can feel compassion but I cannot help him. He has to choose to pull himself up. Maybe he will. I hope he does. But I am powerless to force him.

And then there is all that work. I am still doing two things, thrift store by day, phone sex diva by nite. (Well my calls aren't really sex, they are very similar to the real time sessions you read about here-- or used to read about here. That is, after all, what this post is about.) The phone job isn't just about taking calls. You tweet, you blog, you email, you flirt. (And sometimes you get to be someone who isn't you at all! I am greatly enjoying that!)

But it does keep one busy.

It's been a year now since my marriage ended. 18 months since the decision to end it was made.

At that time my life was a whirlwind of activity and play partners. But now it's almost at a stand still.

Sure, I still have pc but mostly he behaves. Bunny is busy with family and work in Tennessee, and there's a great guy in Montana who knows exactly the right thing to say at exactly the right time, but he doesn't get here very often. And the things I do with him are very different from the type of activity I usually record here. They're darker, more brutal, and there's no spanking.

Yes, you read that right.

In fact I am not spanking anyone at all. Oh, I could be, I know that all it would take would be a snap of my fingers and there would be a line of eager boys at the door. I just haven't wanted to go find them.

No, the fact is I've rather enjoyed being solitary. I like the quiet. I like being able to do the things I want to do when I want to do them. I like being able to read without background noise or interruption.

I'm exploring new areas of my spiritual path that work better when I have time alone to mediate and experiment.

So really I don't much feel the need to have anyone right now. Lance finds his way down here about every six weeks. Right now that's enough.

Except, I realized the other day that I miss spanking. So I suppose fairly soon here I will once again have to venture out in the world and find someone to paddle.

But not just yet. Right now I am still enjoying my bubble of isolation.

The Zen of Flyswatting

2011-08-22T14:20:00.002-06:00

Certain bunnies among you and others know that I can do just about anything with a flyswatter.

Except swat flies. lol.

Or it was that way, until I changed my entire approach to the task.

Most people attack swatting a fly like the Mighty Casey going up to bat. We all think the harder, the faster, the stronger we swing the better the results.

But, in the words of an old song, "it ain't necessarily so!"

It doesn't take all that much force to smash a fly. They are, after all, tiny things.

But they are fast. In fact, flies are genetically coded to react to reflex to certain types of movement, and they can react much faster to those movement than we can react to theirs.

But only certain movements.

So if you very slowly place a flyswatter on edge somewhere near a fly they ignore it. Then just slowly press the blade down.

smoosh!

They never know what happened.

It's a good lesson to remember. You don't always have to be your strongest or fastest to get results.

Oh and btw, the same can often apply to giving an effective spanking!

Smile for the Camera

2011-06-29T22:42:00.005-06:00

Yes, I really did do it.

Or rather "Madame Teresa", the role play character invented for a recent CBT scene, allowed herself to be filmed in the act.

Details found here . (with pictures!)

Please Remember

2011-05-30T00:01:00.000-06:00

Quite a night, and a thank you to our best of the best

2010-11-07T01:32:00.002-06:00

So it's just about 1:30 Sunday morning as I type this.

About 90 minutes ago there were some very loud bangs/booms from another apartment in my building that were very familiar - and unmistakable-- to anyone who has ever spent any time on or near a firing range.

About 10 minutes later there were four more.

A short time later I was dragged out of bed by a frantic pounding at my door. I opened it a crack to find a officer in uniform who leaned in and whispered that there was an emergency. He asked me to please gather my things and leave the building.

"Always make sure your clothes are where you can find them in the dark."-- Some of Robert Heinlein's best advice, given through his character Lazarus Long. It served me well tonight. I was not wearing anything at all when I answered the door, but I knew exactly where to find my robe, my shoes, and my coat. It took me only seconds to be ready.

While I gathered my things the officer stood sentry outside my door, putting himself between me and the BIG-BAD-WHATEVER. I watched him for a moment as I opened the door. His posture made it clear that whatever was out there wasn't getting past him as long as I was in my apartment. As I stepped out his position changed. He put himself between me and the open space at the front of my apartment building and stayed there as he guided me around the back and then to other officers who in turn guided me to our exercise room across the parking lot.

I was the first in, but others soon followed. They cleared the building unit by unit. It didn't take long for word to trickle down as to what was happening. There was a man in one of the apartments with a shotgun. There were three other adults in the apartment with him and two children-- one of them an infant.

We all huddled into the exercise room and the tense wait began. The scene unfolded like any police drama you've seen in the movies. The building was surrounded; warnings were issued over the loud speaker. At one point another shot was fired. We all held our breath, waiting for a storm of return fire. It didn't come.

Suddenly there was a flurry of movement. A few minutes later we were told we could return to our apartments.

As we walked home we all had to go past where they had the guy kneeling and handcuffed on the pavement. Nothing was hidden, nothing was covered up. He was healthy and uninjured and though the were questioning him their voices were calm and they spoke professionally. Upstairs another officer was gathering blankets for the children.

Everything tonight worked with the professional precision of a well oiled machine. Every detail was seen to, every base covered. No one was hurt. No one died.

Our police take a lot of criticism, and truthfully sometimes it's deserved. Not tonight. Tonight every one of the men out there was an example of the shining best of what the police can and should be. I'm proud of every single one of them.

And I told them so.

Ms. Betty

Her Way

2010-10-24T12:35:00.004-06:00

So I signed up for a dating site.

Yep. Me. A vanilla dating site.

I plead boredom, or the effects of the fever I've been battling on and off for the past week, or lack of sleep due to illness.

Really I'm not ready for anything yet and I don't think I'll do much with it, or at least not yet, but I was curious so I checked it out.

The site is called Her Way. Apparently it isn't your typical dating site. Their premise is unique. On Her Way the women call the shots. Men can't initiate contact. They can't even browse the profiles. Women's profiles are hidden, but the men's are available to browse. The women pick and choose, deciding who they want to meet.

It's sort of like a cyber version of a Sadie Hawkins dance.

I couldn't believe it. It sounds like something out of a Femdom fiction story. But it's real, and it appealed very strongly to the Domme in me. I can't help wondering if submissive men will be drawn to such a site as well.

We'll have to wait and see.

Ms. Betty

Love Our Lurkers!

2010-10-21T04:38:00.001-06:00

Wow, here we are at LOL day again already!

Once again, thank you all so much for the time you spend here reading and commenting.

It's been a rough year this year, and I'm particularly thankful to those of you who stuck by me as I ended one life and started a new one; and waited patiently for me to get back to blogging.

I know there are more of you out there who stuck by me, because my page numbers stayed up even through my months of silence. I just don't know your names, so please say hi. That's what today is for.

Thanks again,

Ms. Betty

Did I hear that right??!!

2010-10-12T17:54:00.005-06:00

A moment ago I was listening to Harry Belafonte singing "Mama, Look at Bubu". I'd never heard the song before. I was in the middle of writing an email so I wasn't paying attention too closely. Then suddenly I thought I heard:

"Bring de belt, you're much too impudent"

Wait, what? The song moved onto the chorus as I sat there doubting what I had heard.

So I looked it up and sure enough:

Mama Look At Bubu
Artist: Harry Belafonte (peak Billboard position # 11 in 1957)
Words and Music by Lord Melody
above title as appeared on the 45a/k/a "Mama, Look-A Boo Boo"

...
I couldn't even digest me supper
Due to thee children's behavior
John ("Yes, pa")-"come here a moment"
"Bring de belt, you're much too impudent"
John says it's James who started first
James tells thee story in reverse
I drag my belt from off me waist
You should hear dem screamin' round de place
...
Read more: http://www.metrolyrics.com/mama-look-at-bubu-lyrics-harry-belafonte.html#ixzz12Byf7KHL

Now, like most, I do not condone spanking children, but it was quite the startle. We don't often find spanking mentioned in songs.

Ms. Betty

The Nature of Change

2010-10-04T18:14:00.002-06:00

PC's birthday is later this month, so I suppose it's no surprise that we found ourselves in a reflective mood earlier today.

This month's chastity game revolves around an experiment to see if we can make him eroticize spanking. It's not serious conditioning, just a lark, but it's still fun to see the results.

For the next two weeks he can only masturbate to F/M themed spanking material. Then he will be in chastity for a week. At the end of that week we will hold his birthday session. During this session he will have to ask me for a bare bottom spanking... in front of company.

As is his way, he finds the idea both deeply arousing and slightly horrifying. Among his other worries, he's not sure how well his bottom will hold up to a spanking since it's been so long since he's had an intense bottom warming.

It's been almost a year since he faced a serious disciplinary spanking. It's hard to believe that this is the same man who, when we first started 5 years ago, could barely go a week or two without needing a serious attitude adjustment.

The swearing, the temper tantrums, the poor manners, they've all faded away over time to leave an actual adult in their place.

Those of us who practice disciplinary spanking know it works. We know how it works and we know why it works, but mostly the knowledge is theoretical; seeing the results first hand is a bit different. It's deeply satisfying to watch the attitude change and the man in your care grow and mature.

Suddenly one day he is standing there, strong and confident, yet humble; assertive and independent, yet obedient; all of the best things he ever was mixed with all the hard lessons learned over your knee.

This is when you realize it's worth it. This is when you know that all the fight and struggle, the stress, the sleepless nights, have all paid off. He's the man you always knew he could be.

You have to be proud of that.

Ms. Betty

Drilling for Oil

2010-09-23T08:31:00.000-06:00

"It's like drilling for oil."

That's what I think to myself as I poke at the tip of his cock with the sharp point of a needle. You have to hit exactly the right spot at exactly the right depth to get what you want.

Poke here, you just get a little red spot. Poke there, nothing at all. Poke there and you get a gusher, not quite what you want, either. But what about there, just there, little bit over...just a little deeper. A-ha! Got it!

What am I doing?

_____________________________________________________________________

Read the rest at Lady Koregan's Femdom Fantasy

When I said....

2010-09-19T17:19:00.002-06:00

Put the toys on the hooks.

That is NOT what I meant.

Why Go Pro?

2010-09-15T19:50:00.002-06:00

Why does a Lady do it? What makes her put up that first ad and open her home and self to strangers? What inspires her to create pain and pleasure for fun and profit?

Likely the answers to those questions are as varied as the Ladies who could answer them.

Some do it for greed. They think it looks like an easy way to make a living.

All you have to do is dress up in leather and look mean, right?

I feel a bit of pity for women who become Pro-Dommes for this reason. I also try to forgive them. They know not what they do. For their sakes, and their clients', I hope they learn quickly just what they've gotten themselves into. A riding crop is not a magic wand. Picking one up and putting on cheap lingerie does not make one a Domme.

Some do it from necessity. They have the knowledge and the skills and when life hands them a blow they roll with it, landing on their feet and starting new. It may not be exactly what they planned, but it works for them.

Some do it for the erotic thrill. It can feel very sexy to know a man wants you enough to pay for your company.

Why did I do it?
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Read the rest at Lady Koregan's Femdom Fantasy

I'm Alive!

2010-09-05T09:12:00.003-06:00

Hey strangers!

Yes, Ms. Betty is still alive, and well, and in Denver.

I've said before that the trouble with blogging is that when you have time to blog you usually don't have much going on to blog about, and when you do have interesting things going on you don't have time to blog about them.

It still rings true.

But my God, has it really been 5 months since I posted in this space?

Apparently so.

So what's been happening in Ms. Betty's world?

The cats and I moved into a new apartment for a brand new start about a month ago. So far all of us seem to be enjoying the lack of stress and negativity. Maggie is more affectionate and sociable and less the half-wild kitten she used to be. Trouble is more outgoing as well. The don't skulk in the corners or under the bed anymore.

I haven't filed for divorce yet, but the break was clean and though the ex and I talk occasionally I think we are both happier in our separate lives.

I won't go into details about the split or the reasons for it, but it very much was/is the better thing.

I'm not yet out there looking for love, I'm rather enjoying the time to myself, but I am keeping company with wonderful new friends and old and at least as yet am not feeling any twinges of loneliness.

Hudson and I parted company, for reasons pointless and silly, but pc and the bunny are still with me, loyal and loving as ever.

I am still spanking and playing in many other kinky ways, both personally and professionally. Lady Koregan (my Prodomme name) now has her own blog, though granted there aren't any entries yet. I've also set up to take phone sessions as well as real time sessions, which I am enjoying very much.

My day job is still going about the same. I still love it, even when it makes me crazy. We've entered that time of year I affectionately refer to as "seasonal hell" so it's going to be busy, worse this year as I don't have the great team that got me through last year but in an odd way I am looking forward to it. Nothing like a good challenge to get the blood stirring and wake up the synapses.

We set up the Halloween section last week. There was a nip in the air as I went out to meet my cab Saturday morning. When I looked up I noticed Orion low in the sky, just above the horizon. Fall is on the way.

My one tiny twinge of regret is that here we are at Labor Day weekend and I haven't picked up a paintbrush all summer. In fact I haven't touched a painting since I finished a rather large (24"x30") black and white rendition of the Paris skyline back in March.

I've had a spark or two of inspiration, but nothing's gotten out of the preliminary sketching phase. But that is alright, some years a field must lie fallow. Hopefully it will make for a better creative "crop" next year.

And it's not as if I can't paint in the winter, it's just my preference not to as it means working with artificial light rather than natural and forced air heat makes the paint on the canvas dry to fast. Blending is difficult to impossible and as such paintings do not come out with as much depth or sophistication.

And I do have other things to show for my summer. Building a new life is also a creative endeavor, I cannot discount that.

I have also been putting some time and effort into refreshing my kinky skills in areas I haven't had the chance to use much lately. Knots don't tie themselves, after all. I have a wonderful new set up where everything in the living room doubles as play equipment. I want to be sure I can use it well.

There are two new areas of kink I have begun exploring as well, but that's another post.

Before I close this post, I'd like to take a moment and thank Mitch and Auntie Rhi for checking on me and dragging me back into the world of the living. Good friends are this life's greatest blessings.

Ms. Betty

Circles

2010-04-25T09:28:00.003-06:00

Apparently my last post was a little vague.

I am sorry about that. I was in a hurry and just a bit annoyed. Now that I have a little more time, I will elaborate.

Pagans are not a particularly formal bunch. At times there can be high ceremony in a ritual but just as often it can be a casual and relaxed, though still serious, affair.

Many faiths have places specifically dedicated to worship:
Christians have churches, the Jewish have their synagogues*, Muslims have mosques, and many others have temples or shrines.

Most Pagans do not. Like the actors of MidSummer Night's Dream, all we need is a is a small piece of ground to practice our art.

Our temple is carried within us and when it is needed we draw it out with wand, sword, knife, or merely our wills.

We do this by casting a circle. Methods of doing this vary widely but the basic process is the same, mark out the perimeter of the circle, either physically with chalk, paint, rope, etc or just in our minds and then call the elements in each direction to watch over it.

(If you are interested in specific details there are a great many sources out there any basic internet search should turn them up.)

My practice is mostly solitary. I rarely have guests in my circle, but very recently I did. And this is where I ran into trouble.

You see the "experts" recommend that a circle for a solitary practitioner be 5 feet in diameter. They recommend a diameter of 9 feet for a "coven" (three or more). Everything written about Pagan ritual seems to be either directed at one person working alone or at a group. Very little seems to be oriented towards people working in pairs. I find this omission a bit odd considering the nature of the dynamics, but that's just me.

Part of the goal for the day was healing work. Healing, for me at least, works better when the recipient is lying down. My guest for the day was a bit over six feet tall. It was then that I realized that someone six feet tall was not going to fit lying down in a five foot diameter circle.

For reasons I hope are obvious, once a circle is cast everything is supposed to stay inside it, feet sticking out over the edge really won't do.

And 9 feet? Well first of all my living room isn't big enough for a circle that size, and even if it was, circles that size are often a bit too big for just two.

So it got me wondering what size circle is best for two people?

7 feet worked just right. and gave me just enough room for the candles at the outer edge. :)

But then I got thinking of all the ways the work and worship inside a circle take form. Many people probably end up laying down at some point.

But, as I said, most adults are taller than 5 feet so they would not fit lying down inside a personal circle of the "standard" size.

Made me wonder if we need to think these things through a bit more carefully...

Ms. Bety

*Special greetings and good wishes for those who attend the local synagogues here that were recently targeted for protests by a hate group. You all handled it admirably.

Dear Universe,

2010-04-19T08:10:00.003-06:00

I am afraid I must respectfully, and regretfully, point out that a six foot man does not fit in a five foot circle.

I do not fit in a five foot circle.

In fact, a larger percentage of modern adults do not fit lying down in a five foot circle.

Please advise.

Sincerely,

Your reluctant Emissary

Silence

2010-04-08T20:36:00.003-06:00

I sat in a silent house for a little while tonight. No music. No television. Not even the cats stirring. I just sat on the couch, listening to my own heartbeat.

I'm trying to get used to the quiet, you see. My marriage is ending and my husband will be moving out at the end of the month. So soon it will just be me.

And suddenly I feel very small.

So I sat in the quiet awhile and let myself feel all the things stirring inside me, the sadness, the anger, the doubt. It didn't have to be quiet. I could have called one of many friends, tormented a boy, turned on a movie or music, or a dozen other things, but I wanted the quiet. Needed it. I needed to know if I could be ok just by myself. Nothing between me and the void.

And you know what, I can. It's not so bad, the quiet. It doesn't scare me, or devastate me. In fact, it feels pretty good.

And so do I.

Ms. Betty

Hudson

2010-03-28T16:18:00.004-06:00

He came to me as a client. Articulate, but hesitant, almost shy in his approach. He had some idea about what he wanted but seemed filled with as many questions as I had answers.

His early emails had a blue patterned background. He stood out in many good ways.

The first session came and went all too fast. He did indeed like flogging, and spanking, and cbt, and just about any and everything that hurt.

I smiled to myself as I watched him writhing under my attentions. I couldn't resist taunting him just a little. I leaned down, pressed my lips to his ear and whispered, "you're just a little slut, aren't you?"

Magic words. A naming, sure as a finger pointed at a mythical creature to cage it. The power of a name is said to work only once but that once is enough, the spell is cast and the beast is tamed.

Funny that I should chose that word. It is one I had never uttered before. But sure as bunny's first time calling me Mistress, it clicked into place, perfect at the time and perfect ever after. Our secret whispered in the dark.

This boy would be special. I knew it the moment I saw him. He was eager for knowledge and happily soaked up everything I taught him.

Our emails went on forever, back and forth over every little detail. We meshed in so many ways. Each morning found me eagerly climbing out of bed to see what he had written next.

From the very beginning he considered himself mine and acted accordingly. It was soon clear to me that this boy would need more- deserved more- than a professional relationship.

I took my time about it. Through our emails and a few more sessions I began to feel him out, get an idea for who he was as a person.

Then came February and his request to see me on a feast day. I very much wanted to but the date complicated things a bit. So I opened up, told him secrets and details I would not usually share with anyone, let alone a paying client. But I did, and he understood and embraced, cherished really, the things I told him.

We had the session. I played it a bit darker and deeper than we had gone before. There on his knees in my living room on a night made for magic he cried for me. As I held him afterward I thought again about what a special boy I had and knew this had to become more than a business transaction. But something told me not just yet. So again I waited.

I saw him again as a client late in the month. He tried to leave without his shoes. As he straightened his tie in my mirror I found my heart flutter and tilt. I knew it was going to be the last time I could ask him to pay me. He would, I knew, but that wasn't want I wanted. Not from him. Not anymore.

Then work threw me a surprise. I had too many vacation hours and had to take some of them. This was it. It was time.

I broke it to him gently. The sweet boy was actually surprised, but very happy. He wanted nothing more than to belong to someone and now he was going to.

I made him go through the formal negotiation process. That was another first for me. In the past it's always just sort of happened. This time I did it very deliberately, explaining in detail what I wanted and what he could expect. He agreed.

And so I named him. Hudson, for a gargoyle; a mythical creature who spends his days as stone but comes to life at night. For my Hudson I am his night and he comes alive under me as his stone skin shatters as falls away.

Tomorrow he gets his first discipline spanking, and a belt that will serve as his collar.

Welcome to the family, boy of mine.

Resurection!

2010-03-22T10:37:00.002-06:00

Yea!

It took some doing, but thanks to that brilliant computer whiz I married my computer is once again up and running.

I a week off of work (gasp, me?) to restore my data from my back ups. I also did some spring cleaning, finished a painting...and took on a new boy.

I still have pc, and my bunny, but I am quite pleased with the new addition to our little D/s family.

Hopefully, I will be introducing you all to him soon.

But for now we have some beautiful spring weather, I have a day off and I can't decide if I'm off to do some sketching or some shopping but either way I'm going out to enjoy this before the rain and snow blow back in tomorrow.

Ms. Betty

Death of a Desktop

2010-01-24T09:32:00.002-07:00

My old and faithful computer, Teena, finally gave up the ghost this past week.

In the 7 years I'd had her I rarely had trouble so I can hardly complain. She served well and worked hard.

We've decided to recycle her, putting new parts in the old case to bring her back to life. She'll be a new computer with a new name but the same spirit.

In the meantime, I'm using a little netbook for day to day email and surfing... and, God help me! using windows 7.

It's a sporty little machine, lots of zip and nice and light. Convenient, too. I never knew how decadent it felt to email someone from bed, but the keyboard is awfully small and uncomfortable for long spells of typing.

With any luck it will be just a few weeks before my new machine is up and running and regular blogging (well ok as close to regular as I get) will resume. I have a nice backlog of stories to share.

Ms. Betty

One Perfect Day

2010-01-06T05:33:00.003-07:00

I asked him to wear a button down shirt for me. I've always found something very sexy about them, whether they're formal dress shirts or the light causal type a shirt that buttons is one of my biggest turn ons.

I've always enjoyed pulling a boy's pants down for a spanking, even if it's the light and fun type. Undressing a boy for a session is the same, only more potent. He's all the more helpless and vulnerable. I like a boy wearing a button up shirt when I'm going to undress him because I like to keep eye contact while taking his clothes off. It makes for a powerfully intimate moment.

So I stripped him, slowly. I helped myself to his body liberally as his clothes came off, a stroke here, an pinch there, nails raking over his skin in unexpected places. I let him touch me lightly in return, over my clothes. Mostly he seemed to like stroking my hair and tracing his lips down the side of my neck. I could feel every bit of the heat of his desire, but he held it all back, using the lightest feather touches and treating me with an awe that bordered on reverent.

I started with spanking him over my knee, first with my hand then a ping pong paddle. It was a playful spanking so the spanks weren't very hard, just enough to leave him warm and a little pink. I added lots of rubbing and squeezing in between to keep the sensual feeling going. After the ping pong paddle I tried out the new brush I bought at the store. It's kind of a triangle shape with a narrow handle. Very ouchie, but there was too much delight in his voice when he said "ow" for me to think he was in real distress.

After he was nice and warmed up I had him get on his hands and knees on the floor. I got the plug out of the fridge and introduced him to the feel of ginger for the first time. I stood back watching him as it started to take effect. His reactions are always very muted but I could tell he was feeling something. The longer it was in the more he began to pant and wiggle. Every 45 seconds or so I'd pull the ginger out half way, turn it and shove it back in. Each time I did his reactions got immediately more intense.

Ice followed the ginger. I'd made several of those evil cylinders as well as some more traditional cubes. First I slipped one of the cylinders into him to cool the burn of the ginger, then I went to work on his skin with the cubes, spreading ice cold water over every inch of his skin. Starting at the back of his ears and working all the way down to his toes I traced the contours of his body with the ice. When each cube melted I slipped another cylinder inside him before using another cube on his skin. I spent an entire cube just running it in circles over his nipples. He really enjoyed that. Then naturally the erection that gave him needed tending to so I spent another cube on his shaft and balls.

I dried him off and we moved on to the flogging portion of the day. I did use my ceiling rig but instead of using the bar I just tied his wrists together. Before picking up the whips I spent some time toying with him, running my hands over his back and bottom, playing with his nipples some more, biting the side of his neck. He was purring by the time I was done.

I started with my white elk flogger, setting a slow rhythmic beat. Next came the suede cat and then the purple silicone flogger. With each whip the blows landed a little harder and faster. Every so often I stopped to rub, stroke and scratch in between the blows, sometimes kissing or biting the sides of his neck. We moved on to more intense whips, but stayed in the slow rhythm, with the lashes come just hard and fast enough to spread a warm glow.He really sank into it, moaning a bit and moving his body to be more open to the blows.

In the middle of an intense seen I get a type of tunnel vision where the only things I'm really aware of are the boy and my own body moving in time to the music in the background. We spent a long time in that space with everything else kind of grey on the edges. The funny thing is he seemed to be absorbing the music as well as the blows of the whip. That usually doesn't happen, but it was nice that it did. I do pick those playlists very carefully.

I finished up the flogging with a few hard but slow paced lashes from a belt and then the Victorian Governess strap. Those got to him, waking him just enough to come back to himself but not breaking the mood completely.

In honor of that favorite line of mine about how to win a game of cat and mouse (don't be the mouse) I scratched a mouse into his right shoulder with a bamboo skewer. I like leaving a bit of a brand on him and he takes a certain pride in wearing them. I told him next time I may well use something a little more lasting (though not permanent). He seemed to like that idea.

I untied him and began touching him again, pinching his nipples, stroking his back and bottom, kissing his neck and shoulders. He responded in kind, running his hands in my hair and nibbling on my own neck. Though he was firmer with his touch he still treated me with the same gentle caution, like I was a treasure he didn't want to break.

He was naked but I was still wearing the tight low cut blouse and short denim skirt I'd chosen for the session. I pushed him down onto the couch and straddled his lap. It was about time I marked my territory a bit more visibly, so I sunk my teeth into a fold of skin on his neck and sucked hard, pulling a nice nearly perfectly round purple mark to the surface.

There was more gentle biting and then I began slowly opening my blouse buttons. He helpfully took over and then his hands went right for the front clasp of my bra. He touched first, slowly and carefully before taking one into his mouth. He took his time, sucking, licking, blowing on each nipple in turn. He was very methodical about it, but not cold, more like a sculptor fully intent on shaping the clay in front of him, inspired but with the passion tightly focused. He acted as if there was nothing else to do in this world but spend all day touching me. I rocked on his lap, gasping and moaning quietly in his ear. Each noise from me pushed him to go a bit further, working harder to please me.

Unfortunately we started running out of time, but he didn't want to stop. Eventually though I got up and he started for his clothes, only to come back and kiss me, then began to touch and suckle again. I had to get a bit strict with him to finally get him dressed (by which point he was just a little late for an appointment) and even then it was very hard too cool off enough to keep our hands off each other.

Eventually I got him out the door and tried to catch my breath.

And that's all there was.

Ms. Betty

Fun with Google

2010-01-04T13:56:00.003-07:00

According to the ancient and wise sacred teachings, among all the horrors of hell none is more terrible than the shade of pink on the walls.

This has led to a descriptive term used by artists, decorators and Discordians: "hell-wall pink."

"Hell-wall pink" refers to that special shade of pink somewhere between Pepto Bismol and that exactly wrong sea color that mars otherwise perfect planets.

I had planned to produce a sample swatch. However, as well all know the internet is the domain of the Goddess of Chaos, so if you type "hell-wall pink" into your search engine this is what you get.

I'm not in any way a gamer myself, but it seems everyone I know is.

And I married one, so while I can see the humor in most of these clocks, one is the hands down winner as far as I'm concerned:

Ms. Betty

He chose the tiger...

2009-12-28T15:57:00.013-07:00

Yes, Virginia, Ms. Betty survived Christmas! However, I still have a week of extra hours to go before we officially wind down the holiday season at work.

So, a bit reluctantly, I decided pc and I needed to wrap up this month's chastity game a bit early.

But I didn't want to just yank the plug. It's been some long, hard, playless weeks for the both of us and I thought it was time for something fun.

It started with a game, a little bet based on an old story called "The Lady or the Tiger". In the story a man accused of a crime is put in an arena in the center of the city. At the end of the arena stand two doors. Behind one is a beautiful woman. Behind the other is a tiger. His trial is choosing between the doors, proving his guilt or innocence by whether he is wed or eaten.

Inspired by the story, I chose three pictures and had pc choose between them (without seeing them, of course):

(A)

(B)

(C)

If he chose A, he'd get a spanking but then be free of chastity for the rest of December.

If he chose B, he'd get a spanking and stay chaste for the rest of the month.

If he chose C, he'd be free of chastity with no spanking.

He chose B, so I packed up and headed down to his office, bag of wicked silent implements in hand and an added evil surprise boiling in the back of my brain.

You see we had another little bet between us and I thought it was time we settled it.

He stood in front of me, face full of dread, while I undid his buckle and lowered his pants. Then I made him stand facing me as I slowly unbuttoned my blouse. You see, he claimed that when about to be spanked he'd be far too nervous to even notice my state of undress, let alone be able to enjoy it. Unfortunately, the Pinocchio nose sticking out between his legs proved this a lie.

He bent over the chair in the center of the room. I crossed behind him, rattail in hand, and began whipping him slowly, striping his bottom from waist to thighs. The erection slowly melted away, shrinking a bit with each burning lash as he whimpered and wiggled.

Finally soft enough, he was at last in a proper state to continue. I sat down on the chair and put him across my knee. I spent several long moments painting the pale skin between his stripes bright red with my paintbrush whip. The whip stings a bit, but it's not particularly harsh.

Next came 20 quick licks with the heart of fire, just enough to let him know this was a "real" spanking even if I did deliver it topless. They came quick, in a random pattern that kept him guessing about where the next would land.

pc stood slowly, looking down ruefully at the implement while I rubbed a coat of lotion onto his bottom. He told me once again just how much he hated "that thing". But, I had something waiting he was going to hate even more.

I owed him a paddle swat from a mistake he'd made during the game. He asked to take it today, and after discussing it we concluded that one loud out of context sound wouldn't be too much of a tip off to others in the building so I agreed.

Unfortunately, my large school paddles didn't fit in the bag, so I had to bring the small pocket paddle I bought while little bunny was here visiting. This meant a swat on each cheek in quick succession rather than one across both at once, but it was the best we could do.

pc bent over and held his breath. I delivered the swats rapid fire, both done and paddle out of sight again before the pain of the first one really hit. He gasped and dropped down to the table top, panting and staring wide eyed from the shock of them.

But it was over. He had survived and now he just has this last dry week to make it through.

Count Your Blessings

2009-12-25T15:48:00.004-07:00

So I'm actually home and relaxing. I work tomorrow, but for now I'm curled up enjoying the snow and some good music while we wait for the traditional Dr. Who special.

We don't really do Christmas, so I'm using the time to catch up on some things: a bit of laundry, helping with the dishes, oh and a bit of online shopping.

I've been meaning to get to that for some time now, and seeing as for me the week after Christmas is like to be as busy as the week before, I finally buckled down and got to it. I picked out some new bras and a leather fly swatter, then turned my attention to art supplies, selecting some palette knives and a nice large fan brush along with the usual staples.

But although we've now turned back into the light half of the year, we still have several weeks of short, cold days ahead where the weather may not be conducive to painting. In addition, the cold makes my hands stiff, so I like textile crafts or other things that keep my fingers moving to improve their flexibility during the winter.

So I browsed a bit, looking for other things I might channel my creative energy into while we wait for spring. Nothing much caught my eye though...until I saw the basket weaving section, that is.

Unfortunately, the reed and cane available from the art store is all very thin and fine. So you can all relax, Ms. Betty won't be going into the cane making business any time soon.

Although, I've always wanted to try my hand a mini versions of carpet beaters. The thin cane would work for that.

And pomlazkas. I've wanted one of those since I saw one used in a rather non traditional way in a rather hot video a few years ago. Although not the traditional willow, I'm thinking the reed would make for a rather nice braided rod.

I have to say though, as much respect as I have for the ancient traditions of other cultures, Easter whippings never have made much sense to me. Such rituals usually have a practical or perceived practical reason underlying their practice. But for heaven's sake what possible practical need is served by whipping some poor girl through the streets? Yes, from a kinky perspective it's delightfully fun and may "increase fertility" simply by turning on the participants, but on a spiritual level the symbolism is just a bit out of key from the usual deep tune of such practices.

From an anthropological perspective, one would expect something like the belief that the whippings purged the body. As spring is a time for new beginnings, it would make sense for it to be a time of cleansing and purification; making one new again to receive fresh seed (or perhaps to clean oneself in preparation for receiving the gifts of Christ's sacrifice.) But when cultures do practice such beliefs all are usually whipped, not just the women. Unless we want to go down the misogynistic path of claiming only the women need to be purified because they caused the sin that lead to the need for said sacrifice. (We don't. I'll bite.)

No, what we need is an alternative. Perhaps a rabbit. In many places in the world rabbits coming out of their burrows is one of the earliest signs of spring. In fact the association was so strong some believed it was actually the rabbits who brought the spring.

Now that would be a spring ritual: the bunny whipped through the countryside from Norway to Sicily, the rods used to spur him to run ever faster, spreading the fresh green spring behind him as he scampered across the land.

Hm. If I ordered that reed now I could have it in about a week. I'd have time to experiment a bit and then would probably have a finished product right around mid March. Right in time for the equinox. And somebody's annual visit.

Here, bunny, bunny, bunny!

Happy Holidays

2009-12-20T17:09:00.002-07:00

I have a one day weekend this week, thanks to Christmas coming in a few days. (Side note: Never tell someone in the retail business you hope things quiet down soon anytime between November 15th and January 1st. Checking in to see if it's "settled down any" is also unwise. If you want to wish us well, tell us you hope we have a nice quiet day after new year's. If you want to be really helpful find us a nice dark closet and go deal with the woman trying to convince the manager the $30 collectible teddy bear we just caught her stealing was only priced at $2.99 while we take 5 minutes to hyperventilate.)

Anyway, it's going to be a bit of a hectic week ahead, so let me share my good wishes now. Whatever holiday you are celebrating this winter, may it be joyful and warm.

If you don't hear from me before New Year's day don't be surprised. If you don't hear from me for another week or two after don't send a rescue party. Just send chocolate.

Happy Holidays.

Ms. Betty

About Switching

2009-12-14T09:54:00.009-07:00

Well, I had an idea my honest blogging meme might stir up some interest. I don't know why I was surprised that what caught the most interest was the mention of my switching days. I shouldn't have been but I was.

So, as Hermione (and many others) requested I'll share a bit about it.

First, let me set the scene. Pictures do sometimes say it better than words can and I think our friend Homer here sums it up pretty well:

So how did I get myself into this mess? The internet, of course. I had been spanking on my own for years, but like many others when I found the internet I was delighted to find whole groups of people out there who shared the interest. I threw myself into the online communities with abandon, trading stories and ideas and soaking up all the things I never knew.

One idea I came across over and over again was that every Top ought to bottom a few times just to know what it's like. Supposedly it made you a better more empathic spanker, more able to get into the head of your spankee. I had my doubts. Well more like screaming objections, but I could see some logic to it.

Then Gerald Gardner bit me. Like many Pagans my first introduction to formal ritual came through Gardinian Wicca. As I contemplated the idea of trying the other end of things a line from one of the initiation rituals came back to me...even the High Priestess must suffer the lash. (Or something like that, Gardinian turned out to not be a good fit so I only read it the once.) Anyway with Gardner whispering in one ear and several smooth, charming men claiming that "of course" they'd taken their turn whispering in the other I finally gave in and made a few dates to try bottoming.

I'm afraid I can't share too many details. I'm not trying to hold out on anyone, it's just that I found the whole thing so unmoving and unremarkable that I don't really remember any of them.

Some things stand out: the guy who sent me snuff films, the jerk who after 2 im conversations decided I was to call him "Master" and ask his permission before making love to my husband, (yeah, right!) and the sweet, shy, European gentleman who took one look at me and just couldn't bring himself to lay a hand on me.

But most of the time I just found myself annoyed, frustrated and bored. I didn't understand it. I opened myself up as much as I could, tried several kinds of spanking, different implements and different partners (most of whom were decent and sincere), but aside from a little physical discomfort I never felt a thing. None of them seemed to truly understand me. Not one got into my head or touched me in any meaningful way. No matter what we tried we could not create the glowing bliss I'd so often read of or saw in those I put over my own knee.

There was one fairly nice session. I played a school girl complete with little denim jumper, white blouse, pigtails and black shoes with bows. The hand spanking didn't do much for me, but he was good company and I enjoyed playing the part. After the spanking he tucked me in for a nap. When I woke up he served me milk and chocolate chip cookies.

It was all very lovely...except for the bruises.

Pushed by my lack of response, I think he spanked harder than he meant to. Sitting in his kitchen I could feel the soreness was different from usual. I asked if he had a mirror so I could take a look at my bottom. He didn't have one, but he looked for me and said I seemed fine.

Less than a quarter hour later I was back home and changing when my husband walked into the bedroom and hit the roof. He let out a string of expletives, grabbed my arm and pulled me into the bathroom. There in the mirror I could see the large deep black and blue marks spreading across my pale cheeks.

I was thoroughly annoyed, with both the bruises and the deceit. (Really, I was home 10 minutes after he checked my bottom. I was deeply skeptical I went from "no sign" to full blooming bruises in that short a time. I know my body, my bruises don't get that bad that fast) but my husband was apoplectic. He was having a hard enough time letting someone hit me. Leaving marks was a capitol offense.

Eventually he calmed down but we didn't talk much the rest of the evening. The next day we had a long conversation about it. He told me he was starting to become concerned for my safety. Then he did something he'd promised he wouldn't do. He asked me to stop. He did tell me or demand or make ultimatums. He didn't even ask me to give up the spanking life all together. He just asked me not to bottom anymore.

It's hard to explain just what a huge thing that was. From the beginning we've had a very clear understanding about each others' "hobbies". It's not quite don't ask, don't tell (we often share details and sometimes partners) but it is an agreement not to interfere in each others choices. Yet here he was asking me to change a choice I'd made. And I agreed. It was becoming clear that bottoming wasn't a good fit and I was sick of wasting time and effort spinning my wheels.

So I put a end to my bottoming days and went back to the other side of the hairbrush where I belonged.

Ms. Betty

Honest Blogging-- My First Meme

2009-12-06T11:15:00.004-07:00

I am going out of my skull with boredom over here.

It's snowing just enough to make going out seem ill advised, it's too cold and damp to paint, and I've finished my book.

And seeing as it was a long and somewhat difficult week at the store, I'm a bit too drained to contemplate evil...despite the new bag full of yummy, silky cords here on my desk.

So to pass the time I thought I'd try one of Hermione's memes. Here are the results for Ms. Betty's take on honest blogging:

I cannot drink alcohol. Even the smell of it makes me ill.

I was still 2 months shy of 16 when I gave my first spanking.

I have never regretted giving my heart to anyone...No matter how things turned out.

I have been known to throw things at the television during a hockey game.

I am not blind, but I do have a visual impairment that keeps me from driving.

I am only 1/8 Irish, but it is said that eighth is from the neck up because I have the hair, the freckles...and the temper!

I recently became a fan of someone who got their start on American Idol, and I find the fact slightly embarrassing.

I did try switching several years ago. Talk about your epic FAILs!

I chose my current job because I want to support the cause we raise money for.

In the past few months an entire relationship came and went in my life and I was too busy to blog about it.

There, I think that's ten. Hope they were interesting.

Ms. Betty

From the Desk of Sarah Teasdale

2009-12-02T16:35:00.002-07:00

The temperature here right now is hovering at 20 degrees. Our high for today was around 3o. The low for tonight may be as low as 5 degrees by some reports. Tomorrow the temperature is not supposed to get out of the teens all day.

Listen to the radio at work this afternoon, I heard the rather vapid little afternoon deejay lament the bitter cold. My temper spiked a bit. Now to be honest, I usually find the radio station piped through the store a bit irritating but her whining today actually had me grinding my teeth. I could not help thinking that much like me and many others when she finished her day she would be going home to a warm house and a hot meal. When the temperature drops to the single digits tonight she will be in her warm comfortable bed with her furnace roaring.

Unfortunately, not everyone will be so lucky. Thinking of those who will suffer through this night with no roof and no warm bed I could not help thinking that by comparison the little airhead on the radio had very little reason to complain.

I took a moment to be thankful I would be one of the lucky ones. As I did an old poem by Sarah Teasdale came to mind. As she said it much better than I could, I will let her express my thoughts for those suffering the cold with little or no shelter:

Ms. Betty

Heart of Fire

2009-11-30T09:51:00.006-07:00

As requested by a commenter, I've dug up a picture of the heart of fire and it's two sister implements that I made from the same plastic jump rope.

I post this with the standard disclaimer about the lousy pictures I take:

Some of you who remember me from my 360 days may recall that when I started visiting pc at his office I had to tackle the challenge of finding quiet implements I could use there. The "ladies" as I call them were born of that need.

I'd bought the jump rope nearly a year before, thinking I'd find some fun thing to make from it but never getting around to it. Then about the time I was trying to come up with silent implements I saw a toy made from the same type of knot on an adult store website. Reluctant to buy such a thing sight unseen I decided to make my own instead, so I got out the jump rope and viola... The knot is a carrick knot, sometimes called a Josephine. As such I named the two implements Lady Josephine (the one in the middle) and her big sister, Lady Catherine (with the blue handle.)

After finishing them I had a short length of the jump rope left over. It wasn't quite long enough for another knot, but too long for a single loop. (Too much wrapping.) Since I thought the first two looked a bit like carpet beaters I took my inspiration there and modeled the third implement on the heart shaped carpet beaters I had sometimes seen. I did not name it, though, until the first time I applied it to pc's poor bottom and discovered the curious welts it left behind.

Ms. Betty

Kept After

2009-11-22T18:34:00.003-07:00

pc made a little mistake recently. Not a horrible crime, but an error in judgment that, after a bit of reflection, even he agreed needed tending to.

Unfortunately, the course of these things never does run smooth. Bad weather, a nasty cold on my part and very jammed schedules on both ends made finding time to get him spanked near impossible. Then just when we had a date tentatively set came the unwelcome news that I would be working my usual day off.

Two years ago this would have been a disaster, an insurmountable obstacle that would lead to one of our famous implosions. But this isn't two years ago (thankfully) and though it took a bit of juggling we got it worked out fairly easily. pc agreed to stay late one evening and I agreed to meet him in his office after work.

I never have been able to resist teasing him though, especially when he's in a bit of trouble. This was no exception. Before long I was taunting him about being kept after like a misbehaving schoolboy. Then a wicked thought struck me. As long as he was staying after like a schoolboy he ought to get the proper schoolboy treatment.

You see, pc has always been fascinated by the idea of being kept in detention. We've talked about it for years with the understanding that should the right opportunity come along we'd make use of it. It wasn't any good to do it just to do it, though. It would have to be part of a very real punishment. As he's not in trouble very often these days the right opportunity took awhile to come along, but it looked like it had.

He was nervous, but a bit excited about the idea. He had to agree it was all too perfect. The premise was simple, he was to spend the half hour before our meeting sitting on his discipline chair with his pants down writing lines as he waited for me.

I ended up being a little early, but he kept working on the lines, frantically scribbling as he watched the clock, both hoping for the tedium to end and dreading what would come when it did. At last he finished the last repetition. He pushed the sheets of paper tentatively across the desk and began shaking out the cramps in his hands as I checked them.

When we'd set up the detention pc had made the unfortunate discovery that his office blinds did not provide any privacy after dark so we moved to the small hallway outside his inner office. He set the chair in the middle of the hall and I sat down. In a quiet whisper I repeated once again why he was about to end up with a very sore bottom. He whispered back remorseful apologies, pleading with his eyes for me to be merciful.

I put a dog toy in his mouth to muffle his cries and pulled his pants back down. He moaned a little as I pulled him in place over my lap. I asked if he was ready, watching the back of his head as he nodded.

The spanking started with a small black leather whip. Deadly silent like everything I use in his office, the tails flicked quickly across his skin, leaving bright red lines in their wake. He kicked his feet a bit, gasping and moaning through the rubber baseball glove in his mouth.

We didn't have much time, and while the whip made for a good warm up I had to move on to something with a little more sting. I picked up the heart of fire and began spanking again, a bit harder and faster than I had with the whip. The "heart" is made from two thick loops of spiraling plastic that overlap, leaving burning heart shaped welts where it lands. Of all my silent implements of discipline it may be the one pc hates the most. He bucked and writhed on my lap, yelping despite biting down on the toy. Tears came quickly, his back shaking with the sobs. I continued with the heart, covering his bottom with fiery hearts until his skin was solid red.

I put the heart down and began rubbing pc's hot, sore bottom. His sobbing continued for some time as I gently stroked and muttered comfort. At last his breathing returned to normal and he quietly got to his feet.

I continued to squeeze and stroke, rubbing away the sting as he reached to hug me...

Ms. Betty

Caught Cheating

2009-11-15T12:46:00.003-07:00

And by my husband no less...

You see the painting I'm currently working on is a monochrome, meaning using just one color. Monochromes can be made with any hue, but this one, like most, is black and white.

Only like all art there is a bit of wiggle room in the definition.

So hubby was very surprised the other day to see me squeeze a drop or two of cadmium red into a batch of black I was mixing.

"Color?" he asked a bit disdainfully.

"Yes," I said with a cool look as I went back to stirring the paint.

"Well, but..."he paused a moment. "Are you really supposed to do that?" Mind you this is coming from a man who has never held a paintbrush in his life. I suddenly found myself slightly annoyed.

"As far as I know, nothing in the history of art forbids it."

His mouth worked back and forth in that way it does when he thinks I've suddenly been short with him for no reason.

"O-kay," he said, still sounding a bit skeptical. I held my breath, counted to three and opted to teach rather than yell.

"The color won't show, it just changes the shades of the greys slightly to give them a little more variation. Technically, it's still a monochrome."

"Oh, I didn't know you could do that."

No comment. I've found it sometimes takes another artist to understand the thoughts of an artist.

I was still annoyed, though. After all it's my painting and even if I was breaking some sacrosanct rule of art, it was mine to break. One of the key lessons of art is learning how not to let left brained ideas of what "should be" get in the way of what can be. If you do that you straight jacket yourself and many beautiful ideas never get borne.

Thinking about it a few days later, I've suddenly realized the same lesson can be applied to life in general and more specifically to kink.

Early on, pc had some definite ideas about how our interaction "should" be. I had a few of my own, but as I'd just found myself in whole new territory (going from spanking in my primary relationships to spanking someone outside a romantic context) I was a little more open to various possibilities. Many times when life's obstacles seemed overwhelming and insurmountable he found it just wasn't possible to live up to his ideas of what a submissive "should be". Usually when this was the case he'd decide if he could only do it half way (or sometimes not even half) he'd rather not do it at all and walked away.

Eventually things calmed down and he's always come around, but the times in between have be rougher than necessary on the both of us. (If anyone is wondering, yes, this is part of how he got his name.)

These days much as changed. Some of these changes were natural with the course of time: he's matured some and I've relaxed some. Other changes we deliberately made happen, such as a new location for both of us that made getting together easier. (Done for practical reasons on both ends but it did make our goings on more feasible.)

Mainly though, we learned to remember that nothing in this life is truly permanent and how to ride out those occasional storms until life calmed down again.

It's an important fact to remember.

Ms. Betty

The Artistic Curse...

2009-11-13T05:54:00.002-07:00

It is a well known fact that art projects tend to take on a life of their own...

But why do they always have to do it five minutes before I have to walk out the door?

Ms. Betty

Distracted

2009-11-11T05:46:00.004-07:00

So after all that talk the other day about much I'm enjoying working on my new painting I'm not doing that much actual work on it. I seem to have had my attention completely diverted.

By what?

By this:ropes r
maymay posted it on Male Submission Art the other day and ever since I saw it I can't seem to get it out of my mind.

Though not for the reasons you might think, despite the very nice bottom in the picture. ;) I keep staring at it wondering just how they tied those knots. It was the Top's first attempt at bondage, apparently so it's more a one off than a pattern to follow. I love it, though, especially those ropes running between the legs. For someone anally sensitive ropes rubbing up against their crack can be very stimulating. (they are also very handy for holding plugs and such in place.)

Over all it's a very unique tie. And I want to figure out how to duplicate it, or at least something like it (you are reading the blog of the Lady who repositioned the skyline of Paris because she didn't like the shape, after all) with my own flavor.

Hm...I'm going to need a guinea pig.

Ms. Betty

Slinging Paint

2009-11-09T10:36:00.002-07:00

I've been neglecting this blog again. It seems that when we bloggers have interesting things happening we're usually too busy to write about them and when we do have time to write there is usually very little going on worth writing about.

These days most of my interesting goings on are taking place in the professional sphere. I could write about them but somehow it doesn't quite feel right. These men come to me for discretion. I don't think they'd appreciate ending up as blog fodder.

And then there's the big reason I haven't been writing. As the title of this post suggests, I've been busy painting. Risky as the weather is usually isn't very art friendly this time of year but we're having a nice string of clear skies and warm temperatures and I know better than not to work when inspiration strikes.

The canvas I'm working on is very large and this is the most technically challenging painting I've started to date. So far it's gone fairly well so I'm happy with it, but it's leaving me little time to write especially as writing and painting at the same time can be difficult.

Some of you may not know this, but images and spacial relations are processed in a very different part of the brain from language and going back and forth between them is a bit like running down a long hallway from one end of a house to the other. It takes awhile and doing it too much can get tiring very quickly.

I'm also discovering that sometimes it can be hard to shift from a painting headspace to a kinky headspace. Interesting, as I'm always thinking kinky but when the phone rang the other day it took me several long moments to switch gears enough to remember who I was talking to and what we were talking about. That is very odd for me.

I suppose it's because like painting, kinkiness is a creative activity, at least for me. When I'm channeling creative energy one place it's hard to redirect it someplace else.

So for now I'll stick with the paint. I'll try to let my loyal readers know I'm still alive once in awhile, though.

Ms. Betty

Loch Ness Monster Found Dead

2009-10-16T03:04:00.000-06:00

LOCH NESS, SCOTLAND-- Residents of the small village here were shocked early this morning when the massive dinosaur-like body of the long thought to be mythical creature was discovered beached on the shore of the famed loch.

"Och, it's juoost tearabble," croaked Stan McDan of the Tavindish clan. "the perr beastie. We woulda been more kerfil, ya know, had we realized."

While the cause of death is still under investigation, preliminary reports indicate the famed monster may have choked on a golf ball hit into the loch.

"For such a large animal it had a very slender neck," said a veterinary tech on the investigative team, unidentified because they were not authorized to comment. "It's possible Nessie thought it was a mushroom and tried to swallow it."

In a traditional gesture of mourning, black arm bands are being worn by the locals. A memorial service is planned.

It is unknown if the Loch Ness Monster is survived by any relatives.

____________________________________________________________________

The above is, of course, a spoof. It is based on this article from CNN.

The moral of the story: think through your actions, you never know who you may harm by acting carelessly.

Ms. Betty

Who am I and what have I done with myself?

2009-10-14T04:14:00.000-06:00

Ever feel that way?

Recently I've found some very uncharacteristic thoughts floating through my head, and I'm not sure what to do with them.

I'm not much domestically inclined, yet here I am considering taking little iced, rattle-shaped, gingerbread cookies to a baby shower next weekend. I don't even like baby showers. I really don't like the idea of wasting half a day off gossiping with coworkers I see all week and a boss I really don't like. But good god I'm going, and I'm taking cookies. Homemade cookies. Decorated homemade cookies.

Something is very wrong here.

Usually I spend my days off planning wicked and evil things. This week I spent them rummaging through the pantry trying to figure out what I might be able to bake with what's on hand.

I bought a dresser recently. A pretty little white one with flowers on it. From the Kathy Ireland Princess collection.

I'm thinking it might be fun to take up quilting again. Or oh my God! crocheting.

I'm toying with redecorating the bedroom. Or decorating the bedroom. You can't redecorate something you never properly decorated in the first place. (properly decorated, do you hear me?)

What's the matter with me? Am I going soft, or just losing my mind? I don't know. It feels nice, right in a way, but it's also very strange, and just a little scary.

Either it's the weather (we're supposed to have a very nasty winter) or someone's done me the favor of completely changing how I see the world.

I'm hoping it's the weather.

(just kidding)

Ms. Betty

Make New Friends...

2009-10-13T05:19:00.002-06:00

But keep the old, one is silver and the other is gold.

I know many of you read this blog. The numbers tell me that, but numbers are very cold things. Somewhere in the Wrinkle In Time trilogy a character explains that he does not know how many stars are in the night sky, but he knows all of their names. Like he, I'd rather know the names.

So please, take a moment and introduce yourself if you haven't before. I'd very much like to meet you.

Ms. Betty

Under a Newborn Sky

2009-10-11T18:49:00.004-06:00

Like many people, especial women, I feel a special bond with the moon. Though they do not match exactly, I find her endless cycles a perfect metaphor for my own changing moods.

The conventional wisdom is that a new venture is best started under a full moon. The logic here is that you are bestowing the work with all the properties of ripeness and fertility the full moon represents. True, the new creation may not yet be ripe or full but by birthing it under a full moon you insure it will be.

Recently I've come to question that. If something is born under a full moon, then it does it's growing under a waning moon, a time traditionally associated with withering and contraction. Is that really what you want a new adventure absorbing?

Under a new moon, now that's different. Then your new creation grows as the moon grows, filling it with the light of that growth.

And the first new moon of a new year? What magic does that give the birth of a new beginning?

It's going to be fun finding out.

Ms. Betty

Tis the Season...

2009-10-05T07:59:00.002-06:00

No, not that season...yet. (Thank God! I have umpteen million boxes of second hand Christmas merchandise to sort through come the 1st of November.)

But pc has a birthday this month and birthdays are a very nice time for wrapping packages.

So I put him in chastity for the month.

Happy Birthday, love.

Life's Little Lessons

2009-09-20T19:27:00.002-06:00

Sometimes a sound butt kicking says "I love you" as much as a hug does.

Isn't it strange how when someone is new and important to us that we tend to forget that?

Ms. Betty

Ms Betty's Big News

2009-09-14T10:53:00.004-06:00

I was hoping to wait to make this post until I got my "real" website going, but I'm not getting enough time to work on my design and it's just not fair to keep holding out of my online friends. It just wasn't fair.

So why did I do it?

I'm not sure how it came about but I suddenly realized just how few people in this world really get to live their passions. I wanted to be one of them. Even the most dedicated of us kinksters occasional finds that vanilla things take over their lives completely, squeezing out the kinky side. It was happening far more often than I would like and I didn't want that to continue. Turning my passion into a business gives me a reason to put more time and energy into the kinky side of my life. It helps wall off vanilla take over. And I am having the chance to expand in so many new directions.

As the "article" said I don't intend to abandon my day job, but I'm enjoying being a part time professional. If anyone's interested you can find me under Lady Koregan at backpage.com

Kinking Labor Day

2009-09-07T09:19:00.002-06:00

So it's Labor Day here in the US, a day specifically designed to give hard working people everywhere an extra day to relax (though remembering the struggles of the Labor Movement is a good idea, too.) The boys are scattered to the winds, enjoying their days.

Monday is my regular day off so no three day weekend for me, but I was off early enough Saturday afternoon to enjoy two wonderful days with my visiting in laws and still have today for myself. I'm thinking about a haircut and a manicure, but my robe is still feeling way too comfy to make venturing out seem like a good idea just yet.

In the meantime I'm sitting back with my coffee and conjuring evil plots. My new boy will come home from his camping trip to find I've arranged for a mystery package to be delivered to him, which he will then bring to our next meeting.

Little bunny is working today, but he is also looking over his shoulder. I told him last night a spanking would be coming his way today. He doesn't know when, he doesn't know how hard or how long, but he knows it's coming. (eep!)

pc is off doing what he does to have fun (being that these things usually involve individual sports of the risky nature I tend not to ask.) But when he gets into the office tomorrow a note will be waiting to inform him his English teacher spotted him cutting class and that he'll be dealt with accordingly. Hope the barbecue was worth it. ;)

Happy Labor Day

Ms. Betty

You have my attention

2009-08-31T08:03:00.002-06:00

I'm sulking my way through a cold on my day off and watching an old rerun of the Golden Girls. Enter a rather handsome, masculine baseball player Blanche is "coaching". As he's leaving Blanche pulls a black lace bra and garter belt out of her purse and tells him to wear them to batting practice. She explains that she wants him to get in touch with his sensuality.

I found the scene very interesting and particularly relevant as recently I've been helping a friend explore cross dressing. I had a lot of fun with it. I'm not big on jewelry or make up, but I love lingerie and I found shopping for it for someone else just as exciting as picking out my own. The play session was wonderfully sensual and playful. I even took him out "dressed" to a local bar.

It's all very new, and delightful so I'm not sure I'm ready to share many in depth insights yet, but it is definitely something I want to explore further.

And it was very nice to see such a thing handled in a calm and matter of fact matter, especially on a sit com from the 80s, well before mainstream US culture opened up to kink.

Unfortunately the episode ends predictably for a sitcom, but even with the laugh track I think the show and the actor deserve some kudos for writing, performing and airing the speech where the baseball player, in full dress and heels, declares Blanche has changed his life because since he discovered himself his batting average is through the roof and the truly likes himself.

Ms. Betty

You have got to get one of these!

2009-08-22T08:31:00.005-06:00

Yes, I'm finally back. I've been busier than I ever thought possible lately. The usual work stuff, plus some big news I hope to be announcing in a few days. (Stay tuned!)

But the most exciting news is that a very good friend came to see me this week. Sweet, considerate dear that he is, he usually brings a present. This is all the more sweet considering what I'm likely to do to his bottom with said present.

This time I picked out the present. I happened to come across a story about a fetish party held in a local bar and sponsored by a local adult store. Considering the selection and quality of fetish items available at most adult stores I was half horrified and half skeptical. Still, being cursed with an open mind I had to just see if maybe I was missing something, so I checked out the site.

Nope, I was right. It was all the usual tacky, poorly made stuff. And then I saw this .

Now that looked fun. I know the company. I bought one of their rubber whips on a friend's recommendation a few years ago and I've been very happy with it. This little guy looked like something I could have fun with. I was also curious about it from an artistic perspective. Would it really handle like a paintbrush? Could I really use body paints to create an image on someone or was that tongue in cheek? I had to know.

I called the store. They had one left. Apparently it was a popular little item. The girl sounded very excited about it when I called. She promised to hold it for me and I waited patiently for my friend to arrive so we could pick it up.

Getting it in my hand was delightful. Don't get me wrong, it's about the same quality as what you find in most "adult novelty" stores, but still fairly sturdy, and I really liked it. I have very small hands, and it can be difficult to find tools that fit comfortably. The handle of this one felt like it was made for me. The perfect weight, the perfect curve, and yes it did move very much like a paintbrush. (insert mischievous giggle and wicked grin here.)

It's a fairly short whip, which makes using it like a flogger very difficult, but I found it works very well for otk...and yes it does paint a bottom quite red. It's a moderate toy that can get very intense very quickly. The ends of those falls are cut straight so you have a bunch of little hard edges biting the bottom. Very stinging. Sitting on a hornet's nest kind of stingy.

But it really is fun to use.

I haven't painted with it yet, but I am quite curious to see what it will do...

Ms. Betty

Quiet

2009-08-16T09:53:00.001-06:00

Thrift Store Finds

2009-07-27T14:07:00.007-06:00

So my husband and I finally purchased a decent camera a few weeks ago. Not that I'm any better of a picture taker, but at least the better quality camera helps some.

I would like to get better at taking pictures, however, and since I brought home a whole new handful of toys from the thrift store over the weekend, what better subject matter to practice on?

I think these first two are a pair of mini boat oars. I liked that they are tied together.

They aren't very heavy or very thick, but they produce a nice little sting and are easy to use for fast light spanking.

This next is a mini cheese board, for slicing and serving cheese. It's a bit more substantial, being thicker and made from a good dense hardwood. The round shape and small size make it the perfect tool for paddling the sit spots. This one packs a bit of "ouch".

But my favorite find of the weekend was the geisha paddle.

The wood is very light and not too thick, just over a quarter of an inch, but it packs a sting, even over clothing. And it's just so beautiful. The geisha is very detailed. The reverse side is painted:

Very likely by hand, I think. In fact the whole paddle looks hand made, and possibly homemade. One of my favorite things about picking up thrift store finds is that you get things that are so unique and one of a kind.

I have a fascination with geishas. I've always thought they were beautiful and graceful. I read through two copies of Memoirs of a Geisha until they fell apart. I'm skeptical of how factual the book may be, but despite their circumstances it seemed the women could wield quite a bit of power and did so with charm and grace. In particular I loved the scene in the book when Sayuri makes a young man drop a tray full of lunch boxes using only her gaze. There is something thrilling about having that kind of power.

This paddle had to come home with me.

In the weeks to come I hope to get some pictures of items I've brought home in the past, but for now I think this will do.

One more good reason to support your local thrift store.

Ms. Betty

You have to wonder...

2009-07-19T07:22:00.002-06:00

Abel's been a bad influence on me. His creative rewritings of his surroundings have me seeing spankings everywhere.

For example...I take a taxi to work on Saturday mornings, as I have to arrive at the store by 6 AM. Last week I called at 5:20. By 5:55 the cab had still not arrived. When he finally did arrive at 6:10 he apologized and asked how long I had been waiting. When I told him he stopped the car in the middle of the road and turned around to look at me, disbelief wide in his eyes. He told me he had been sitting in a parking lot about five blocks from me and could have picked me up within minutes. The problem? Apparently the dispatcher had not given him the call until after 6.

I was livid. I use this same cab company every week. I call at the same time every week. I ask them to pick me up in the same place every week. I tell them I need to be at work by 6 AM every week. What on earth had the girl been thinking to sit on the call that long when she new a cab driver was available moments away? She'd also had a very nasty attitude with me and with the driver on the radio. I wasn't having this.

When I arrived home that afternoon I went straight to the phone and called the cab company. The manager was at lunch but I was assured I would hear back soon. Sure enough, not half an hour had passed before the phone rang.

The man on the other end of the phone was horrified. He spoke with a heavy eastern European accent, but his English was perfect and his voice firm and confident. I was immediately impressed. Having been in this business for many years he understands just how important it is for calls to go out immediately. He also understands just what harm it could do if his company made someone late for work. He apologized again and again, and even offered to speak to my boss if I was in trouble at work. (fortunately I was not.) He then told me the young lady who had been on duty would be in shortly and that the matter "will definitely be addressed." Perhaps it was the accent, but there was a certain tone of doom in the statement that suddenly made me very sorry for the poor girl.

Satisfied, I went about the business of living and forgot all about it, until yesterday when I called for a cab again. The same young lady answered the phone. From her first words I noticed a difference. Her voice was softer and quieter, and there was a certain meekness to her tone that made me wonder. I noticed it on the radio in the cab as well. She was very quiet and differential, calling the cab drivers "Sir" and being very precise in her words.

She spoke like a young lady with a brand new attitude, and now I can't help but wonder. Just how did that polite but firm European gentleman address his dispatcher's misbehavior?

I can't help thinking that perhaps a cane was involved...

Ms. Betty

Run that by me again....

2009-07-12T09:58:00.003-06:00

The worm, which may or may not exist, is an endangered species, so you want to dig up it's burrows, pour vinegar on it and possibly electrocute it?

Don't you have to wonder about people sometimes?

Searchers shovel Northwest dirt seeking giant worm

AP

By NICHOLAS K. GERANIOS, Associated Press Writer Nicholas K. Geranios, Associated Press Writer – Sat Jul 11, 3:16 pm ET

MOSCOW, Idaho – The giant Palouse earthworm has taken on mythic qualities in this vast agricultural region that stretches from eastern Washington into the Idaho panhandle — its very name evoking the fictional sandworms from "Dune" or those vicious creatures from the movie "Tremors."

The worm is said to secrete a lily-like smell when handled, spit at predators, and live in burrows 15 feet deep. There have been only a handful of sightings.

But scientists hope to change that this summer with researchers scouring the Palouse region in hopes of finding more of the giant earthworms. Conservationists also want the Obama administration to protect the worm as an endangered species, even though little research has been done on it.

The worm may be elusive, but there's no doubt it exists, said Jodi Johnson-Maynard, a University of Idaho professor who is leading the search for the worm. To prove it, she pulled out a glass tube containing the preserved remains of a fat, milky-white worm. One of Johnson-Maynard's graduate students found this specimen in 2005, and it is the only confirmed example of the species.

The worm in the tube is about 6 inches long, well short of the 3 feet that early observers of the worms in the late 1890s described. Documented collections of the species, known locally as GPE, have occurred only in 1978, 1988, 1990 and 2005.

The farmers who work the rich soil of the Palouse — 2 million acres of rolling wheat fields near the Idaho-Washington border south of Spokane — also have had little experience with the worm.

Gary Budd, who manages a grain elevator in Uniontown, said no farmer he knows has talked about seeing the worm. He compared the creature to Elvis.

"He gets spotted once in awhile too," Budd joked.

Johnson-Maynard and her team of worm hunters are working this summer at a university research farm and using three different methods to try and find a living worm.

One involves just digging a hole and sifting the soil through a strainer, looking for any worms that can be studied.

The second involves old-fashioned chemical warfare, pouring a liquid solution of vinegar and mustard onto the ground, irritating worms until they come to the surface.

The third method is new to this search, using electricity to shock worms to the surface.

"The electro shocker is pretty cool," said Joanna Blaszczak, a student at Cornell who is spending her summer working to find the worm alongside Shan Xu, a graduate student from Chengdu, China, and support scientist Karl Umiker.

The shocker can deliver up to 480 volts. That makes it dangerous to touch, and it could potentially fry a specimen.

On a recent day, Umiker drove eight 3-foot-long metal rods into the ground in a small circle and connected them to batteries. Then he flipped the switches. The only sound for several minutes was the hum of a cooling fan.

"I'm kind of bummed we haven't seen anything yet," Umiker said.

Eventually, a small rust-colored worm dug its way to the surface. It was not a GPE, but it was collected for study anyway.

The search for the giant worm is reminiscent of efforts in Louisiana, Florida and the swamps of eastern Arkansas to find the elusive ivory-billed woodpecker. The large, black-and-white bird was believed to be extinct until a reported sighting five years ago stirred national experts and federal funding to launch a full-blown campaign to verify its existence. Search efforts later dwindled after biologists and volunteers were unable to find the evidence they were looking for.

The GPE was described as common in the Palouse in the 1890s, according to an 1897 article in The American Naturalist by Frank Smith. Smith's work was based on four samples sent to him by R.W. Doane of Washington State University in nearby Pullman.

Massive agricultural development soon consumed nearly all of the unique Palouse Prairie — a seemingly endless ocean of steep, silty dunes — and appeared to deal a fatal blow to the worm.

They were considered extinct when Idaho graduate student Yaniria Sanchez-de Leon in 2005 stuck a shovel into the ground to collect a soil sample and found the worm that now is in the tube in Johnson-Maynard's office.

Conservation groups quickly petitioned the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service to protect the worm as an endangered species, citing as proof the lack of sightings. But the agency said there simply was not enough scientific information to merit a listing.

Conservationists recently filed a second request, saying they had more information. They are also hoping the Obama administration will be more friendly than the Bush administration. The GPE would be the only worm protected as an endangered species.

Doug Zimmer of the Fish and Wildlife Service in Seattle said the agency isn't ready to comment on the petition.

"It's always good to see new information and good science on any species," Zimmer said.

Farmers are keeping a wary eye on the process.

"The concern is whether a listing is going to end up curtailing farming activities," said Dan Wood of the Washington State Farm Bureau. "I don't know if people plan to stop all farming for the possibility of a worm being somewhere."

Most earthworms found in the Northwest originated in Europe, arriving on plants or in soil shipped to the New World. The giant Palouse earthworm is one of the few native species, and has become quite popular with the public.

While it's tough to come by a live GPE, visitors seem happy to take a picture with a dead one. Johnson-Maynard said she has received calls from tourists who want to come to her office and be photographed with the specimen.

"A lot of people are curious about it," she said.

I can walk!!!

2009-07-09T19:23:00.002-06:00

I had my first physical therapy session today.

Early into it the therapist made a very interesting discovery. My hip joint was every so slightly out of alignment. Not really dislocated, just turned out a little bit too far. One quick, yet painful, adjustment later I am up and about like I never had to use a cane.

I still have work to do. Need to build the muscle back up, but I am 900% better.

Thanks for the support everyone!

One for the road

2009-07-05T17:50:00.003-06:00

K was talking about belts recently and it reminded me of a story I'd meant to share about little bunny's visit out here a few months ago.

It was early in the morning, still dark out with a cold wind blowing as we left the hotel room. Everything was deserted. The road to the hotel wrapped around the edge of an empty field. No traffic whizzing by at 5 A.M. Even the prairie dogs were still in bed.

Little bunny and I headed towards the lights of the 7-11 a block away, in search of a quick breakfast before I caught the bus to work. We were talking quietly about not much in particular when a wicked thought struck me. My standard work "uniform" is jeans, a t-shirt and a nice thick men's leather belt I bought when I decided ladies' belts were just to frilly to be practical. I fingered the square silver buckle as we walked, waiting for the opportunity.

Suddenly I stopped walking, then started again moving more slowly. I stepped behind little bunny and slid the belt out of my belt loops. The crack echoed loudly in the silence, but there was nobody to hear. Terry jumped and yelped, then grinned at me. I cracked the belt on his bottom again and he moaned a bit. He lifted up the back of his coat to give me a clear shot at his jeans. We walked on, our steps punctuated by the snap of the leather on his bottom. He yelped and jumped after each blow, but still grinned when he looked back at me.

We turned a corner and found a car suddenly coming our way. I slipped the belt into my coat pocket. A moment later the driver turned and I went back to whipping bunny across the street. We walked along the side of a closed restaurant and then through it's parking lot, the belt still keeping time.

We stopped just short of the 7-11 door. I pulled the belt back on while Terry rubbed his bottom. I gave him a quick hug before turning towards the door. There would be more later, but first we needed coffee...

Ms. Betty

Update on the New Cane

2009-07-04T10:36:00.003-06:00

For those of you who many have missed my last post, I am referring to the aluminum cane I was given by the doctor to help walk after what I thought was a simple bruise got a bit more complicated.

What started as a bruise, graduated to possible hematoma, and got demoted back to deep tissue contusion (meaning I did not bruise the skin, but the muscles beneath) is now a deep tissue contusion with evidence of muscle strain.

Which means?

I saw the doctor again this past Thursday. I'm doing okay for short distances, but longer distances are still very painful. I still tend to fall for no reason as the leg weakens and I still don't have my full range of motion. I am still using the cane.

So now we've added physical therapy to the mix.

However, I am not too worried. The doctor said quite clearly that this is not a serious injury, just a rather inconvenient one. Very reassuring.

Two more weeks and I'll be myself again.

But let this be a lesson to all of you out there...I was injured by a keyboard drawer that someone else left sticking out into a walkway. You would not think such a minor thing could get so serious, but apparently it can. In fact it's not even a rare injury.

So take the time to slid them in when you're done. Your thighs (and others) will thank you.

Ms. Betty

A Cane of a Different Color

2009-06-26T09:39:00.002-06:00

I got a new cane yesterday. Unfortunately, it's not the kinky kind.

A coworker left her keyboard drawer out. I walked into it. Two days later what I thought was just a bruise is now a deep tissue injury. It's left me unable to put weight on my leg for the next few days, so I have a nice shiny aluminum cane to help me hobble around for a week or so.

(for those of you keeping track, yes I always have been a bit accident prone, and that mixed with careless coworkers makes for lots of oopes and ows for Ms. Betty)

Still I could not help but smile when the nurse asked me if I'd ever used a cane before. ;)

Ms. Betty

Saving For a Rainy Day-- the Forfeit

2009-06-22T17:04:00.005-06:00

I went down to pc's office about 9 AM Monday morning. After a long, dry weekend he was more than ready for release by the time I arrived. Even with the curve locked tight I could tell how swollen and frustrated he was. I let him out of the cage and our game began.

He crouched on all fours near the wall of his foyer, completely nude except for his kneepads. On my command he lowered his shoulders and raised his hips, giving me access to his rectum. One by one I took three ice cubes from the cup beside me and slipped them in. He wiggled and gasped as the ice chilled him from the inside out. His heavy pants of breath filled the small room. He gasped, chanting "oh god" quietly over and over again.

When the ice melted and his temperature returned to normal, pc took his first "steps" towards the far wall of his inner office, the finish line of our game. For our purposes, a "step" counted as lifting a hand or leg and then putting it back down on the ground. Each counted separately, so if he moved a hand and knee at the same time he used two steps rather than one.

I stood back and watched as he crawled. It was a magnificent sight, the tan toned muscles stretching and rippling as he made use of as much of his large range of motion as possible. He was allowed twenty steps. In that time he managed to cover the distance across his foyer, down the hall and almost across the threshold into the inner office. I was a bit surprised (I sometimes forget just how huge a man pc is, this little game brought the reality of it home to me in a very primal way.) However, I was not disappointed. In fact I was pleased to see him think through his moves so cautiously to use them to his best advantage. It made for a much more interesting game.

But now his progress was stopped and he needed to endure the next phase of his torment to earn the right to advance again. I plucked the ginger plugs I'd carved that morning from my bag and knelt behind him. The ice had left his hole wet, allowing the plug to slip in easily. I held it in place and waited for it to take effect.

It didn't take long. Very soon he was wriggling back and forth and moaning a bit more loudly. The longer I held it in the more he rocked his bottom up and down and lamented the burn. His voice became very strained as he cried out. At last I pulled out the ginger. He sighed in relief.

pc began to crawl again, this time with the sunlight from his window tracing the sleek lines of his body; the rays highlighting the swells and hollows, seeming to carve them out of the air. By the time his twenty steps were through he'd reached the far wall.

However, the game wasn't quite over. He still burned from the ginger. I pushed more ice into his hole to cool the fire. At first there was relief, and then agony as the melted ice washed the juice of the ginger deeper inside him to singe fresh nerve endings.

After a few long moments he managed to regain his composure. I allowed him to get to his feet and gave him a very apologetic look. I told pc there was just one more tiny matter to take care of. Unfortunately it was something I could not let him out off. pc looked at the floor, obviously disappointed and a little worried, certain he was in trouble for some unknown misbehavior.

I smiled and reminded him I had a birthday coming up in just a couple of days. Unfortunately, I didn't have another in person stand in available so he'd just have to do. Stand in for what? For a birthday spanking, silly. If a birthday's coming up someone's got to get spanked, and it's not going to be me. He smiled back, delighted at the prospect. For pc spankings have always been disciplinary. He has never found anything remotely enjoyable about having his bottom reddened. The one exception to that is birthday spankings. They are the only time he really gets to feel the more sensual/pleasurable side of spanking so no matter whose birthday it is he is always willing to offer up his bottom for birthday licks.

I even let him pick the implement. He chose my purple silicone flogger. I bent him over the table and began sweeping the falls lightly over his bottom. I told him to count the "good" ones, just the ones that stung. I gave him a hard lash to demonstrate. He moaned before counting one. I went back to brushing the falls lightly over him. I took my time with it, continuing on that way, brushing back and forth gently for awhile before laying on one or two "zingers". By the time we finished he had a nice rosy glow. He teased me a bit about my lack of age, earning himself a quick hand swat in warning. His eyes widened as he straightened up.

I pulled one of the plush leather chairs out from his conference table and sat down. I gave him another smile, this one a bit more wicked than the last. I asked for the morning's paper. After a few moments he found it and brought it over. pc laid a few sheets down on the floor and knelt at their edge.

On my command he began stroking himself furiously. His fingers were a mere blur as they flew eagerly along his shaft. It did not take him long to climax. He remained kneeling at the edge of the paper, panting and thanking me for the release. I answered with a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

He got to his feet and dressed before walking me to the door. As we said our good-byes he hugged me tight and wished me a happy birthday. I thanked him before warning him to be careful as bad behavior would bring me right back down there for much less pleasant reasons. He understood. The door closed behind me as pc went back to his day.

Saving For a Rainy Day-- Friday

2009-06-18T20:34:00.004-06:00

Friday I upped the stakes of our little game a bit. If it rained Friday, the game would end at the end of the day. If not, pc would have to remain in chastity throughout the weekend and endure a forfeit on Monday morning in order to be released.

The chance of rain was only 30%. It made for a very long day...

This is the email I left for pc before going to work:

Morning, love.

Looking at the forecast for today. They've upped things to a 30% chance of rain for today.

However, if we do get rain it's likely to be another one of those severe storms like we had Tuesday and yesterday.

So it's going to be one or the other, either completely dry or more hail, possible tornadoes and deadly lightening.

Must be odd to have to hope for weather that has the potential to destroy homes and take lives in order to be able to get your release.

What a man won't stoop to to be able to come...

The rest are his comments through out the day, beginning with his reply:

7:08AM yes, I saw the forecast too. It is very ironic that I hope for storms, just so I can get my shaft released from its prison and get to cum. It is very selfess, I guess.

11:28 AM boy, sure is clear and dry today.. kind of fitting, I am locked and dry too. I sure want to get and cum a lot when I am locked up, probably because I can't touch and get any pleasure from my shaft when it is locked in that tube. I still get some erections, probably because my shaft is trying to break out, but they always end in some pain and frustration.. pushing against the end of the cage, with no further to go. I am thankful the points are not in since the erections would then be even more painful. I do have sympathy for any boys that are locked up all the time. And, even more sympathy for boys locked up with points in - I wonder if they get to the point whree they just don't get hard with points in.

12:40 PM boy, today is dragging. The cage is a constant reminder of me being in chastity. I do wonder if I would ever get used to wearing this all the time. Probably after a while, but it would be a long while. Not a cloud in the sky right now.. and if doesn't rain, I will be in chastity all weekend. I will sure need a forfeit on Monday.

4:03 PM Doesn't look like I will get lucky today. Will be nice to get out of the cage, though.. wearing it all day long is challenging. Looks like I will need a forfeit on Monday. Probably morning is best for that.. maybe around 9 or so if that works for you. I am glad I managed to complete the game without earning any punishment. However, I am sure the forfeit will be challenging.

I arrived home about 4:30. The exchange continued from there:

4:37 PM Still at the office, finishing some things up and about to take off the cage for today and clean it. My balls and shaft are tired from being locked up all day.

4:40 PM But you did make it. Congratulations, love.

Sorry the weather didn't break your way. I expect it may be a long weekend on top of a long day for you.

But tell me, is being locked up still exciting for you?

4:44 PM yes, very exciting. But, also very challenging.

4:46 PM Which is probably part of what makes it exciting.

Hm. It's clouding up over here....Pity it's coming so late.

4:51 PM yeah, same here. but cage is off now, so I assume the game is over today.

4:52 PM If it rains you may go ahead, you are still in your office.

4:53 PM Have to leave...it still hasn't rained here.

So pc's fate was sealed, a dry weekend and a forfeit ahead of him Monday. Ironically, it began to rain all through the metro area within the next hour. Too late, unfortunately.

Saving For a Rainy Day-- Thursday

2009-06-17T19:54:00.002-06:00

Thursday morning dawned overcast. The promise of rain hung heavy in the air, but pc found that wasn't necessarily a blessing.

11:10 AM Being locked all day does take some getting used to. I do have to adjust myself quite a bit as I sit. I did use a bit larger ring today, which I think helps more for extended wear - doesn't squeeze my balls quite as much. Before my meeting, I did try to wiggle out of that to just see if I could (knowing I was taking it off for the meeting). AT first, I thought I might be able to wiggle out, but my balls are too large. It started squeezing my balls as I tried to pull out, but there was no way I was getting my balls through that tight spot. In fact, I kind of got stuck in a painful situation, with my balls part way through, but clearly not going allthe way. Good thing I had the key.. as I quickly unlocked and took it off. A very good lesson that a boy should never try to escape ... he might get stuck in a very uncomfortable position. And, if the boy ever did manage to get out, there would be no way to get it back on. Anyway, glad I learned that lesson.

11:22 AM I also have a new apprecation for women and going to the bathroom. Having to sit to pee with this cage on makes me realize what women go though. I don't think I will ever leave a toilet seat up again after I use it.

11:35 AM looks like it might be clouding up. Looking foward to some rain and getting out and getting to cum. Also, somewhat worried, though, if it starts and stops raining several times. I can cum quickly the first time, but sometimes it takes a bit more to cum the second time. In my youth, I could even cum 3 or 4 times masturbating.. Not sure I could cum 3 or 4 times, but i guess I will find out if it starts and stops that many times. This is quite the game.

12:52 PM boy, just started pouring here... quickly got the cage off and masturbated and came in about 2 minutues. Came a lot too. Cage is now back on and it is still raining. I have a feeling I will be doing this again when it stops and then starts.

1:45 PM started raining again a bit ago.. I quickly took the cage off and began stroking furiously. I finally came after about 4 minutes of stroking and it was still raining. Didn't know if I was going to make that. I sure hope it doesn't rain again today. My shaft is starting to get a bit sore.

4:15 PM I think I am lucky it didn't rain again this afternoon. Not sure I could have cum a third time.

Saving For a Rainy Day-- Wednesday

2009-06-16T16:49:00.002-06:00

As I mentioned in my last post, for three days pc was at the mercy of the weather to determine whether or not he would be let out of his new chastity cage.

Throughout each day he kept me posted on his thoughts and feelings as he waited for the rain. With his permission, I will be sharing some of his comments with you.

Wednesday--

7:30AM Just got in and put the cage on. When the click of the lock happened and the sky is pretty clear, I realized it may be a while before I am out. I also saw the forecast for the next two days and I have a feeling I will be in the cage all day long. I can just imagine the helplessness of a man that gets locked up and doesn't know when his keyholder will let him out. Or, a man that cums without permission and is then locked up for punishment for a month. Boy, I bet it is a quite a desperation moment.

10:47AM It sure is sunny right now. I hadn't thought about this, but I guess I willb e going to the bathroom the rest of today sitting down...Sure hoping for clouds and rain.

1:30 PM boy, long day. 1;30 and still sunny. My shaft is aching trapped in its cage and would love to get out. I do get periodic erections, but that just is frustrating, straining against the cage and then my balls start to ache, with the increased size and pressure from that. Boy, being caged like this sure makes a boy know who is in charge. right in the middle of another erection and the cage just keeps it trapped. I guess on the positive side, I don't have to have the pionts in.. then the erections wuld be very, very painful. And, the thing about this curve is that it lets me get somewhat hard, but that is it.. once I fill the tube completely, it stops right there and aches until the erection subsides.

1:47PM Also, when I do get an erection going in my cage, my balls turn blueish, probably from the increased pressure of the cage on them. Maybe that is where the blue ball term came from. Once the erection subsides, the color comes right back.

2:20 PM at least it is now starting to get cloudy. I am hoping for getting out of this cage and having a release. I can now see how men would be become very submissive and service oriented locked up like this. I would be doing anything I could to please a keyholder. I can't imagine being locked for an extended period.. after a while, I bet I would get lots of erections all the time... and it would always end in aching and pain until it subsided?

2:29 PM it is gettting darker, but still no rain. Staying off the phone right now, hoping it starts raining. I am convinced men would be much more obedient if they were locked up like me. Being locked up all day like this makes me realize how much I touch myself during a day. Unfortuntaly, with the cage on, I can't get any meaningful touch on my aching organ. Darn, getting hard again.

3:30PM finally, the rain came and I quickly came during the rain. Cage is back on.. and the rain is still falling. Kind of strange putting the cage back on after cumming - I imagine a boy who is caged the whole time is kind of bummed when that cage goes right back on after he cums.

4:17 PM rained stopped and sun is out.. bizarre weather. I will curse the sun tommorrow I am sure

Saving For a Rainy Day

2009-06-14T17:06:00.010-06:00

As long as I've known him, pc has had a fascination with rainy days. They bring out a certain restlessness and deep yearnings only a stinging bottom can quell.

Unfortunately, our schedules rarely meet up just right to take advantage of those stormy days. A pity, really, but one of life's little quirks.

So here we are again as spring gives way to summer and Colorado once again enters what some call "monsoon season", that time of year when heat and heavy humidity smolder all day until giving way to pounding thunderstorms sometime in the late afternoon or evening.

The rain doesn't materialize every day, but when it does the relief is overwhelming. The storm breaks loose and it feels like taking a deep sigh after holding your breath for hours. The wait for the rain seems endless. You pace back and forth all day trying to think of anything but how hot, damp, and sticky you feel. Your clothes stick, your skin crawls and you'll do anything-- Anything for relief. Then the wave of the storm crashes over you and the weight of the air melts away. Nothing has ever felt so good or so right.

Of course those of you who have experienced the dread and joy of a chastity cage know that other things can feel that way. Historically, there has been a strong mythological link between rain and male fertility, so it seems only right to combine the two for kinky purposes.

Recently I got pc one of those cages and I've been slowly conditioning him to it. He's worn it a little while every day, longer each time as he grows more used to it.

Last week, we were talking about the weather when a very wicked thought occurred to me. I drew up a set of rules, and we began the game: The weather forecast predicted a significant chance of rain every day for the week, so we made a little bet. Each morning he put on his cage, taking it off only when it rained. There was no in between. For three whole days the rain controlled his personal "fertility". If it rained, so did he, any time it rained, every time it rained. If it stayed dry, he stayed dry.

It made for a very interesting week...

Comments on recent news events

2009-06-07T10:20:00.003-06:00

I don't condone celebrity gossip, I do not approve of tabloids, and as rule I refuse to speculate on the private lives of famous people; however, I do not think any of us in the kinky world can really ignore the story that broke this week about the way a famous actor may have died, nor the warning and wake up call it sends.

What I would love to do is rant about how the worst of human nature and those who cater to it twist things and exploit others to the point that even the best and brightest among us may be reduced to a laughing stock. This man, this brilliant man and gifted actor, loved and respected a man with friends and family is gone. Thanks to gossip mongers the feelings of those loved ones he as left behind have been trampled on and the man's legacy will not be his talent or his gifts, but instead a string of sneers, snickers, and tasteless jokes.

Well not here. The man deserves better, and if nothing else let us let the way he died remind us all once again of why we developed some of the safety rules we have in the kinky world and why wise players follow them.

For reasons I cannot fathom, an attitude of scorn has developed towards the whole subject of scene safety. I once read a post on a discussion board where I young lady said she would not play with someone who took safety precautions because if they needed to be prepared for accidents they obviously didn't know what they were doing. Apparently, she believed that only incompetent players have accidents. Oh dear.

But the attitude is remarkably and disturbingly common. Safety warnings, advice, and cautions are mocked and those who raise concerns are treated as controlling, melodramatic, or just plain moronic. While not exclusively, most of the time the pattern seems to be members of the younger generation sneering at the counsel of the older more experienced generation of players. I see this attitude not just in the kinky community but in society at large. I read a non kinky article awhile back talking about the lack of elders in society. Well it's not that we don't have them, it is just that everyone is too busy making their own noise to be able to hear them.

I suppose this is a normal part of being young, but it worries me to see so many people needlessly stumbling in the dark. Once upon a time, when there was no internet and meetings of organized groups were not easily found it was understandable for us all to struggle alone, going by trial and error, but these days with so much information available at the tips of our fingers, there is just no excuse. Be as arrogant as you like, but believing you can fly won't stop you from falling through that open manhole up the street. It'll just keep you from finding a way to climb out.

I understand the hesitancy to reach out, the uncertainty, the reasons why you may believe you can't approach others with your needs. Most of us feel that. There is taboo, there is shame, there is fear of ridicule, of hurting those close to us, of the real damage that can be done to reputations and careers, but you are better off in the hands of a safe and discrete person than you are risking your life. Would you rather risk having a secret exposed or having your loved ones' last memory of you be the way you died?

That being said, here, once again, are Ms. Betty's rules for playing safe. Not safe as in unexciting, uninspiring or vanilla pretending to be kinky, but safe as in preventing accidents and or trips to the emergency room.

1) Never practice bondage alone. Yes, you have a sure fire way out, the odds of something happening are small, and you have the phone in reach just in case, but everyone who has ever died after having tied themselves up thought that, too. And no they weren't just stupid or inexperienced. Improbable is not the same as impossible. What are you going to do if your smoke alarm goes off while you're waiting for that chunk of ice to melt? how about when you drop that knife and it bouces waaaaaay over there? Or the phone? Gee the power just went out and the line is down, or your battery's dead. Now what? Or what happens when you start to choke and suddenly can't breathe? Are you going to have time to call for help?

2) Never leave someone unmonitored while they are tied up. There are different levels of monitoring. (See Jay Wiseman for details.) Not all monitoring requires that you stay in the same room, however you should use the amount of monitoring appropriate for the bondage. The minium is to never be out of shouting distance and to check on them regularly, at least every few minutes. That's minutes, not hours.

3) Use gags with caution. Do not leave someone alone while they are gagged for a prolonged period of time. How long is safe? Never, or never long enough for them to lose oxygen supply to the brain if they choke before you get back. Some doctors say one or two minutes, others say you may have up to five. I'd go with less than 30 seconds, and only if you absolutely must.
Have a second way to signal trouble if someone can't speak. Personally I don't use gags at all. I've found a fun alternative of giving someone a dog toy to hold in his mouth instead. It has the same effect, he can bite down on it to help cope with the pain of a flogging and best of all he can spit it out in an emergency, or since it takes concious control to hold it if he drops it I know immediately that something is wrong.

4) Never mix drugs or alcohol with play. Even be cautious of perscription or over the counter medications. This goes tripple for a mediation you may not have taken before. I took an over the counter allergy remedy for the first time a few weeks back. It left me very hyper and very dizzy. (not a fun combination) I was very aware of my surroundings, but it was very hard to figure out what to do with the information. Even in a light scene, both parties need to be able to be aware if something is wrong. Drugs and alcohol dull that awareness or making it harder to react if you do realize something is wrong.

5) Do not wrap rope or other constrictive material around someone's neck. Yes some people pratice strangulation as part of their play. Some people jump out of airplanes, too. That's not to say it's wrong, but someone who deliberately chooses to take that risk (I would hope) is well informed and knows exactly what they are doing. So unless you are deliberately planning to deprive someone of air, do not tie things around their neck. (Mind you I said tie, using a buckled collar is different. If you've ever put a collar on a pet you know how to do that safely, use the same rules for putting a collar on a person.) Do not, however, anchor them by their collar and then leave the room.

6) Do your homework. Know what you are doing and how you are doing it before the session begins. Know how to do it right, what can go wrong and what to do if it does. Information is everywhere, go out and get it.

7) Test your equipment. Test it before the first time you use it and before each time you use it. Rope frays, locks wear out, keys become worn. If it's not working properly, repair or replace it.

8) Have a safeword. This is probably the most maligned safety caution out there. It could be a blog by itself, but later. I'm sick of the feeble and idiotic arugments against using one. They have all the merit and intelliegence of arguments against using seatbelts. My take on it is fairly simple. Having a safeword is like having a fire exitinguisher. It's better to have it and never need it than to need it and not have it.

This is far from a complete list, but it's the basics. Use your head. Think things through. Accept that things can go wrong and it's best to know what to do if they do. Have a plan and stick to it. You do have to know. You do have to be ready. Make sure you are.

Ms. Betty

"Hers"

2009-05-31T10:03:00.003-06:00

The moment I saw it I knew I had to have it. Long and black with a slightly padded faux leather back, the shoe brush called to me from the moment I spotted it among the pile of that day's flotsam on my sorting table. I picked it up, the handle fit my hand perfectly. I swung it back and forth, it wasn't particularly heavy, but it wasn't too light, either. The wedge shaped head stung just a bit against my palm as I struck it lightly. I ran a finger over the long red nylon bristles, they were hair soft, bristles made to treat leather with gentle care. I imagined they'd feel almost luxurious brushed over tender skin. I turned it over to get a good look at the back. That's when I noticed the word HERS printed along the back in large gold letters.

And it was.

Ms. Betty

PS, Don't worry folks, I don't keep all the fun pervertibles for myself. In fact if anyone happens to be in the area and in need of one, there are about a dozen nice large beach ball paddles in our summer section...Best moment of the season for me so far? Cooking up an convincing innocent reason for pricing them individually rather than in pairs and answering the question "what good are they without the balls?" with a straight face.

You know you're kinky...

2009-05-27T06:06:00.000-06:00

When you're watching someone pick out composite decking on the home improvement channel and all you can do is wonder what you could do with a paddle made out of the stuff.

Ms. Betty

For those interested in historical fantasy

2009-05-24T09:22:00.002-06:00

Are you paying attention, Haron? I'd hate for you to miss another one. You'd end up in trouble for sure. ;)

Then again perhaps this is one you've come across before...

So it's a holiday weekend in the U.S. I'm off work and nursing a black and blue toe from a run in with a coffee mug (ouch) which is leaving me completely idle as I'm supposed to stay off said toe. So I thought it might be a good time to look up a few of those things I've always meant to and never had the time.

The usual, find out what a wombat looks like, remind myself of the name of that actor in that movie I can never remember, search for someone qualified to replace the lock on antique cuffs that came with no key...just general trivia.

One of the things on the list was to find out more about the historical figure of Zenobia. I have been curious about her since Heinlein made a reference to her towards the end of Stranger In a Strange Land. So I popped her name into Google and found a rather standard article on Wikipedia. Zenobia was quite the warrior, apparently, expanding her territory into an empire and conquering Egypt. However, her reign was cut short by her defeat at the hands of the Roman general Aurelian, who captured her, and (here's the kinky part) lead her through the streets of Rome bound in golden chains...

After that she became philosopher apprarently, which I'm guessing may have meant that the great queen ended up a school girl again. Perhaps under the personal tutelege of her captor, the general?

My, doesn't the mind just reel with the possibilities?

Life, Art, and Wonko the Sane

2009-05-04T13:37:00.002-06:00

Wonko the Sane is a character in the 4th book of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series, So Long and Thanks for All the Fish. He is a marine biologist who is waiting for the end of the world. Wonko is his childhood nickname. He still goes by it because he says a scientist must be like a child, if he sees something he must say he sees it, whether it is what he expects to see or not.

I often tell myself an artist (I use the term loosely) must do the same, especially when something isn't turning out as planned, we must see what is there, not what we expected to be there. As I'm experimenting with a new medium, there is alot of things not quite turning out as planned lately. I got out to paint the trees across the street and what comes off the brush looks nothing like the subject tree...but it's still a tree.

Or rather it's an impression of a tree. It's not a perfect reproduction of the tree across the street, but it is the shape and color of a tree. Yet if I were only looking for what I was expecting to be there I might never realize it. It may not meet my exact expectations, but the spirit of the idea is still there.

Seems to me that may be a good lesson to apply to daily life, too. I had some very specific plans for June. They didn't quite work out, so I had a plan B. Well, plan B isn't quite working either, but with a few simple modifications plan B.2 is off and running. This plan isn't the original "picture" I planned on creating, but it's the same idea and the same spirit, same goals accomplished...it just doesn't look the way I originally expected.

And sometimes that's okay.

Riding the Dragon

2009-04-30T05:19:00.002-06:00

I have a necklace I made for myself a few years ago. The center stone is an oval shaped amethyst just over an inch long, with a Chinese dragon etched on it.

I don't wear it very often. I made it at a time when I had a lot of personal struggles going on, it helped me then and now I only wear it when I need a little extra strength for the fight ahead. There is nothing mystical about the stone; it holds no extraordinary powers, but when I put it on I'm making a promise to myself to stand up and say no, to not tolerate the intolerable, and to fight back if I must.

And sometimes you must.

In recent weeks a bad situation with a co-worker has gotten worse and worse to the point that it was hurting everyone around us. So yesterday morning when I got up I put on the dragon. I went to work. When this person started again I stood up and said something.

She got fired.

I feel badly about that. Really badly. I may sting someone's bottom or back, but I live every waking moment of my life trying to do as little harm to people as possible. Somehow costing someone their livelihood doesn't quite fit with that in my mind.

As usual, I called my little bunny for a little moral support. "What have I done" I asked. "You took an intolerable situation and changed it" he answered. Very true. Things could not not go on the way they were. I would have liked a more positive resolution, but there is only so much that can be done with someone who is completely out of control.

And I kept my promise to myself. The dragon has returned to it's cave in the bottom of my jewelry box, and as a good friend at work said "better days are ahead."

Here's to them.

When worlds colide

2009-04-19T15:29:00.003-06:00

You know that feeling Harry Potter has in The Order of the Phoenix when Aunt Petunia is talking about dementors and Mrs. Figg turns out to be a close friend of Dumbledore's?

I think I know how he felt.

I read exactly two vanilla blogs. Only two. Imagine my surprise when I came home just now to find one of them posting an article on historic floggings.

Now I'd expect Abel and Haron, or The Spanking Blog, or maybe even good old Mitch at All Things Spanking to come across such a gem, but my chess blog? Somehow I didn't see that coming.

Anyway, for any of you interested in such things, you can find the story here.

First Taste of the Cane

2009-03-30T08:42:00.004-06:00

Terry was scared. He'd seen canes before. He'd read posts about them, seen pictures and movies, and from what he knew canes seemed very, very mean. But I like canes. I like them very much, so I told him he'd be experiencing on this time and that he was going to learn to like it.

"Eep." was all he said.

I spent the weeks leading up to his visit talking endlessly about the more sensual uses of canes, their versatility, their range of sensations, all kinds of things. Terry was still not sure about this, but he is a very obedient little bunny. And he knew there would be stripes involved. Bunny likes stripes.

Finally the night arrived. As I walked across the room he stared at the cane like a mouse staring at a cat. Terry lay on the bed with his pants down, tense with anticipation and a little fear. When I put the cane down next to the bed he buried his face in the covers. He whimpered. I paused a moment to rub his back and his hair. He relaxed slowly under my touch.

He'd already had a very long, thorough warm up -more sensual than stingy- that left him warm and glowing but not really suffering. Now with is muscles loose again he was ready for the cane.

He turned to look at me. I smiled wickedly and began undoing the buttons of my blouse. He drew in a long sharp breath, his eyes glued to my fingers. Very slowly I peeled out of my clothes to reveal the lingerie set he talked of, dreamed about, drooled over. I stood still a moment to let him take in the view. Then I picked up the cane.

I started with a few gentle taps on one cheek, then the other. I pulled the cane back and gave him one gentle but firm stroke across both cheeks. He twitched a bit and moaned. I went back to the taps, a little harder this time. I continued that way, a few taps followed by a single stroke, gradually building up the intensity.

Somewhere along the way all sense of time became lost, so I don't know when we finally got around to full strength strokes, but we got there eventually. I gave him two sharp taps to warn him the blow was coming, pulled back and swung.

The cane landed with a harsh crack. Terry bucked and screamed, then dropped back down on the bed. I waited several seconds while he caught his breath, then went back to the gentle taps around his bottom.

We built up again slowly with the taps and strokes getting a little harder each time. Then two more sharp taps and the second full stroke. He took it not much differently from the first one. He voice sounded a bit more strained and a half sob escaped his throat, but he stayed where he was.

One last stroke to go. I'd told him he had to take three the first time. I don't know if he was counting, but I was. I didn't make him wait as long for the third one, but I still dropped back to the taps and brought the intensity up gradually. I gave him the warning taps. He flinched. I backed off and went back to the gentler massaging taps, building him up again. Again I gave the warning taps. This time he stayed relaxed. I brought down the final stroke.

Terry broke into tears. I put the cane aside and sat beside him on the bed. I gathered him gently in my arms, stroked his hair and kissed his forehead. I talked in a low, tender voice, telling him is was a brave little bunny, a good boy, and that it was all over. When he'd calmed a little, I reached down and rubbed his hot sore bottom.

I treated his bottom with ice and lotion, then we curled up to rest a bit before the next round of fun.

Ms. Betty

The trouble with online ordering

2009-03-27T07:20:00.002-06:00

Most of the time ordering products online works fine. In fact I've had nothing but positive experiences with every site I've ever ordered from...

Until now.

Come June I have some very special plans. These plans require some very special equipment. I ordered said equipment and sat back, happily waiting. I put the order in the back of my mind during Terry's visit, expecting it to be here later this week.

I checked the tracking information this morning, expecting the recent weather may have caused some delays. Imagine my surprise when I discovered the package had in fact been delivered...to Minnesota.

I am NOT a happy redhead. Seeing as they get a rather late start on the pacific coast, and I get an early one even for my own time zone, no one was in the office of the product company when I called. Instead I had to resort to email. I've copied the email below to share with you all. I hope you find the same humor in it I did.

Hello,

I just checked my Fedex tracking information for order number XXYZ.

I was very surprised to learn that according to the Fedex site, the package with tracking number ABCDEFGHI was given to and delivered by the post office in Cloquet, MN.

The trouble with this is that I do not live in Cloquet. I do not even live in Minnesota. I live in Denver, Colorado, a little over 1,000 miles away from Cloquet Minnesota. That is quite a drive for a postman.

I was even more surprised to discover that my package actually passed through Denver, about a mile from me before taking it's odd turn north.

Can someone please explain what exactly has happened here?

I can be reached by email, which is probably best, or by phone.

Thank you.

Home again

2009-03-26T05:27:00.002-06:00

Hello everyone,

I'm back at home after our wonderful week and Terry is nestled back into his den in Tennessee. There are a lot of wonderful things to blog about and share and I hope to get to a few of them soon, but first I have to slog my way through the late snow we're finally getting to get to work, so I'll just hit some highlights.

1) The Denver Mint does not allow visitors to carry hairbrushes on the tour. Now really, what is a lady supposed to do without her primary weapon?

2) There are Elves in the Science Museum.

3) Despite the horrified protests of my co-workers, there really is nothing wrong with spending an unexpected day off browsing used book stores...especially when Denver's one and only fetish shop is conveniently located right next to them. Er...I didn't mention that part, though.

4) The wonderful thing about living in a large city is that you really can do the most audacious things right in the middle of downtown in broad daylight and none of the hundreds of people passing gives you a first glance, let alone a second.

5) Terry braved his first taste of the cane. Ouch! He also finally got to sample the quirt I posted about last year.

6) I acquired two new paddles with Terry's enthusiastic help, which stayed enthusiastic right up until I started using them.

7) On an average day you can spot 10-15 pictures of bunnies out around Denver.

Details to come.

Ms. Betty

It's a bird, it's a plane, it's a bunny

2009-03-19T16:52:00.002-06:00

For those of you keeping track, my little bunny arrived in Denver safe and sound last night.

So now if you'll all please excuse us, we're going to take some much needed private time away.

8 by 10 glossy pictures with circles and arrows coming soon.

The Secret Life of Thrift Stores---About donating

2009-03-01T10:26:00.005-07:00

My recent comment on Hermione's blog made me think it might be time to offer all of you an inside look at the workings of your local second hand stores. After all nothing terrible goes on back there and it may help all of you, and us make life a little easier.

While it's true that different thrift stores may have small variations in procedure this is pretty much how it works all over. There is alot to cover on the subject. I could be here typing all night if I try to explain it all, so today I'll just talk about the things you should know before making a donation.

Choosing a charity:

There are probably hundreds of different charities out there asking for your "gently used" clothes and household goods. They all support good causes, so how do you decide who gets your closet cast offs? Some people choose to support stores where they shop or causes they have strong attachments to, but for the rest of the world, it can be hard to tell one charity from another.

Fortunately, you can do two very simple things to help sort through the gaggle of organizations at work in your area.

1) Find out where your donations go:

Not every charity has it's own store. Some charities sell their donations to commercial second hand stores who then turn around and sell those donations at a profit. Sometimes these commercial stores pay as little as 10 cents per pound. At that rate a charity has to sell half a ton of cloth to raise as little as $100 dollars. In the meantime, the commercial stores turn around and sell the same clothes for roughly 3 to 4 dollars per item, if not more. The difference goes not to the charities or their beneficiaries, but to line the pockets of corporate investors.

This is not the fault of the charities who do this. They are being taken advantage of by the corporations. Unfortunately, the only way to stop the practice may be to donate your goods only to organizations who do not resell your donations to corporate companies. If you still want to support the cause in question donate cash or services directly, or if you're feeling truly ambitious, sell your items yourself and donate the proceeds. That way the charity still benefits and corporate raiders are cut out of the loop.

2) Find out where the money goes:

Charities are all different, but all have overhead costs. Sometimes there is the cost of maintaining store fronts as well as administration, sometimes not. And some charities pool resources nationally to help all over the country, such as those that come in to aid in disaster relief. However, a general rule is that the more money that stays right there in your community the better it is all around. Look for charities where the highest percentage of money spent is on programs and services that directly benefit the people the charity is supposed to support. Also look at how successful those programs are. Are they really having a positive impact on the community or are they spinning their wheels?

One thing to note here is that some charities spent a significant portion of their proceeds on lobbying efforts. While sometimes this may seem out of place or inappropriate other times it is a vital part of the charity's efforts. For example, a charity that aids victims of domestic violence may spent large portions of their budget educating the public on the signs and causes of such violence, making people aware that help is available and encouraging victims to come forward. Doing this saves lives. The charity may also spend money lobbying on the local and federal levels to pass laws strengthening protections for victims and increasing penalties for perpetrators. This also saves lives. If you find a charity you wish to support spends large amounts of money on lobbying efforts, don't automatically reject supporting them, but do find out just what their lobbying efforts entail.

What and how to donate:

Just what does "gently used" mean anyway? It means that in order for a store or charity to be able to use your donations the items must be in new or like new condition. We cannot sell clothes with rips, tears, holes, or stains, even if they are "minor" or "tiny". The fact is people just won't buy them. We do not have people on staff that can repair them. This is not to say that unsellable clothes are thrown away, the get recycled into industrial rags, but really to raise the funds we need to keep us and our programs going we need clothes you could almost put on and wear out the door. In general, if an item is in poor enough condition that you wouldn't wear it out in public, it's in too poor a condition to donate.

The same guidelines apply to housewares. A little dust is fine, we give things a quick wipe down before they go out anyway, but even if it can be "fixed" we can't sell it. We can't sell chipped or cracked dishes, rusted out pans or broken knick-knacks. We can't sell that coffee cup you glued the handle back onto, either. Little chips on the back or bottom of items we can sometimes get around, but if grandma's favorite vase has a giant crack down the front of it, it's just not going to work.

Please do wash your clothes and housewares before donating them. No, we don't have people in the back or at the warehouse that launder or scrub your items. We sort and price about 2,500 items of clothing a day. Can you imagine the space, water, power and labor it would take to launder each piece before selling it? Unfortunately it's just not possible. If your knick knacks have years of grease and grime on them please wash those, too. In housewares we have to price 80-100 pieces an hour to keep stocked. That leaves us about one and a half seconds to spend on each item. If we'd have to scrub off ten years of kitchen grease off something to make it presentable it's going to end up in the recycling. Even with volunteers, we just dont have the time or the manpower to do otherwise.

However, it is perfectly okay to donate out of season items. With the help of some very awesome volunteers, we do have a system for packing and storing out of season items, so go ahead and send us your Christmas decorations in July, picnic baskets or poolwear in January or Easter baskets in September. It actually takes all year to accumulate enough items for us to sell for the holidays so we don't complain. Please make sure they're in good condition, though. Pack fragile items carefully and label them, i.e. "Christmas ornaments", "Halloween decorations", etc.

It's okay to send us weird stuff, too. In fact sometimes the weirder the better. That is what people look for in thrift stores. We want the unique, the different, the "hey, what the heck is that?". We'll happily take the lava lamp, the sumo wrestler figurine your great aunt brought you back from her trip to Japan or the kitchen gadget that looks like an alien surgical instrument. However, if something is a rare, hard to find, odd, or difficult to identify item, sometimes a label telling us what it is can be very helpful.

Thank you,

Ms. Betty

Please come to Denver...

2009-02-20T17:29:00.002-07:00

Isn't spring a wonderful time to travel?

Lazy Monday

2009-02-16T08:38:00.002-07:00

I was thinking of a nice long blog post today, but I'm not quite in the mood for rambling or typing.

I'm feeling a bit lazy and indulgent...in fact if our answering machine hadn't shorted out last night I doubt I'd get dressed today.

Of course there is a point to this, while it is true that life must be faced and lived, business must get done, errands run, etc, there is something to be said for taking time every now and then to turn everything off and focus on the simple pleasures of living.

So this morning I am doing just that. I'm sitting here in a new satin nightgown and matching robe and sampling the chocolates my husband gave me Saturday for breakfast while I sip a nice rich cup of hazelnut coffee.

And contemplating just what I'm going to do with the 50 yards (yes, as in half the length of a football field) of beautiful, soft, sensual marine rope I got on sale over the weekend.

I'm sure I'll think of something...

Whipped Husband

2009-02-09T13:26:00.003-07:00

So I was just killing a bit of time and playing with some online trivia on mental floss when I came across a posting about popular yet mistranslated oriental symbols people commonly get as tattoos.

The third one down is titled "whipped husband". Now that immediately caught my interest. It turns out that while many people think the symbol means simply "husband" it actually means a husband who has taken his wife's name. Interesting. And while probably not what most vanilla folks would want if they understood the meaning, it occurs to me that there could be some very kinky applications of the symbol.

I don't really approve of tattoos, but for those of you who do have a liking for them it occurs to me that the symbol could be used to secretly declare your decision to have a female head of household, or metaphorically declare your submission to your wife or partner's discipline.

If you prefer to leave your skin unmarred, the symbol could be discretely displayed as a wall hanging or plaque in the bedroom or possibly even your living room. I would guess that if most people asked you could make up your own meaning for it, "oh it means peace" or "harmony" or "marital bliss"...all of which tend to be the results of well practiced DD.

Happy inking.

Ms. Betty

And the answer is...

2009-02-02T17:01:00.002-07:00

Brined, of course.

Though to be honest we didn't notice much of a difference.

Ms. Betty

To brine or not to brine...

2009-02-01T18:19:00.002-07:00

That is the question.

A gentleman I am deeply fond of has an appointment with my canes tomorrow morning. Since he moved away from the local area a few years ago I have only seen him a couple of times a year when he comes out to visit friends and family. Sadly, due to circumstances beyond him this may well be the last year he makes the trip out west. I always try to make his visits special, but considering the circumstances I intend to make this the most memorable session he has had with me yet.

This requires a bit of extra of deviousness and creativity, as during the course of our long friendship he has constantly pushed me to reach new heights as a Top. This time is no exception. We have tried may things over our years together, but as we tend to keep it traditional that somewhat limits the range of possibilities.

So what could we do that we had not done before?

I decided to soak my canes tonight in anticipation for tomorrow. They have not been used in awhile and I thought they could use the moisture. As I laid them in the bath it dawned on me...I have never used a brined cane.

For those of you unfamiliar, brining a cane simply means adding salt to the soaking water. While some argue this is healthier for the cane, the main effect is that the salt soaked up by the reed makes the strokes of the cane sting and burn much more fiercely. Or so they say, as I said, I haven't tried it.

So should I? It is not something we have discussed. I have his blanket consent to work my will, but is this my will? (In my world, my will is always tempered by what is best for the "boy" in question.)

What is a lady to do? Salt or no salt?

Tune in tomorrow to find out.

Ms. Betty

A slippery spanking-- The Punishment

2009-01-28T05:02:00.001-07:00

The day of reckoning arrived before either of us expected. Luckily-- or unluckily-- I had an opening almost right away and we decided it was better to get things over with sooner than later.

He arrived promptly at the designated time and we spent a few minutes reviewing the possible consequences of causing a public scene at the airport, everything from causing himself and others embarrassment to the potential career damage that could result from being arrested and charged over the incident. (These days law enforcement tends to take such things rather seriously. Just about everyone has seen news stories about the types of charges filed against unruly people who have "interfered" with the orderly operation of airports and flight crews.)

His eyes grew wider and wider as the lecture continued. With each new point the realization of just how serious his misbehavior had been sunk in more deeply. By them time I had finished he was embarrassed, a bit scared, and thanking his lucky stars that the worst he was getting was a spanking...even if it was going to be a very long, very bad one.

I settled myself in the center of the couch and called him over to me. He crossed the room on obviously shaking legs. He stood before me holding his breath as I undid his belt buckle and pulled down his jeans. He whimpered when my fingers hooked into the elastic band of his shorts. This is the moment he hates: the point of no return. He knows the moment his underwear comes down the waiting is over. There is no more hope of escape. He is being spanked and there is no stopping it. Sure enough, I slid his underpants down his legs and he stood before me exposed and vulnerable, dreading what was to come next.

Oh so gently I guided him down onto my lap and arranged us both into a comfortable position, one that just happened to leave his bottom nice and high across my knees to make an easy target. Still gently, I rubbed his bottom and back, talking in quiet, soothing tones. Spankings go much easier for both of us when I can coax him into relaxing before we start.

We had one last little detail to attend to before getting started. Inspired by something I read on Recidivist's blog, I'd brought out my little digital kitchen timer. As he lay there across my lap, I had PC set it for ten minutes and place it where he could easily watch the seconds tick down during his punishment.

When he was ready he pushed the start button and his spanking began. I tend to start with my hand when giving a spanking, regardless of the reason the boy in question is over my knee. However, for a discipline spanking I do shape my hand a bit differently. I make the blows a bit, or a lot, more forceful and bring them down more quickly. It did not take long to turn his bottom a bright rosy pink. He gasped and yelped as the stinging swats covered his cheeks and the backs of his thighs. He had not had a punishment spanking in some time, and this one was clearly having a big impact on both his bottom and his mind.

After the first two minutes I switched to the implement I'd picked out to finish the OTK spanking. Also inspired by recent reading, I'd gone out to find a pair of plimsolls, or gym slippers for the occasion. The bright red canvas shoes felt heavy for their size. The thick rubber soles had a rough textured bottom that added a burning sting to the thud of each swat. The blows seemed to jolt PC all the way down to his core. Each caused him to arch up as he cried out louder than I'd ever heard.

In fact, the pain of the slipper was so intense that he actually twisted his bottom away from me at one point, something that he hasn't done since the very first time I spanked him years ago. I was not having any of that. I pulled him back towards me, gave him an extra hard slap with the slipper and warned him that if he did such a thing again I'd be getting out the school paddle. "Yes, Ma'am," he yelped as he settled docilely back into position. There was still a bit of kicking and wiggling, but he kept his bottom accessible to me for the rest of his slippering.

After what seemed a very long time the timer finally beeped. I put the shoe down and sat back. PC drooped across my lap, still crying. I gave him some time to regroup, stroking his hair and rubbing his now deep red bottom. He muttered soft apologies for his behavior in between his sobs.

When he had himself back together he got up and we began the second phase of his punishment. I had decided that since his behavior caused so much embarrassment to himself and others it was only fitting that his punishment for it did, too. To that end, I required him to strip completely for the strapping portion of the afternoon. He carefully removed his clothing, folding it all neatly and placing it in a neat stack in the space provided. As he held up his jeans he looked at his belt and then at me.

"Do you want this now?" he asked. I nodded. Very slowly, he pulled his belt free of the belt loops and handed it to me, looking very reluctant about it. His eyes followed the belt as I set it aside and picked up a length of rope. My plan for his strapping required a bit of bondage, partially for just a little extra embarrassment and partially for his safety. I expected he would not be able to help doing just a little bit of thrashing and I did not want any mis-strokes causing him injury. A few quick knots and soon I had his delicate bits packaged safely out of the way. He bent low over my desk chair and I picked up the belt.

Then I waited. Silently I counted off beats of the music while he waited, growing more and more anxious as the seconds passed. Just as he tried to turn to see what was taking so long I raised the belt and brought it down across his bottom. He cried out as his body jerked against the chair, scooting it forward. I pulled the chair back a little further, put him back in position and waited again. Not as long this time, just long enough to make him start to sweat.

CRACK! the belt came down from the other side. Again he jerked, apologizing as the chair moved again. I took a moment to rub his back and soothe him. He settled down and I lined up the belt again.

I gave him a few more spaced out with several seconds in between them, then began to pick up speed. The longer I spanked the harder the blows got. He sobbed deeply as the leather bit into his already sore bottom again and again. There were more pleas and a few promises to behave, but he wasn't quite there yet. The whipping continued until he collapsed across the chair, limp and completely spent.

When time ran out I left him laying across the chair as I worked lotion and a coat of arnica into his skin. I got down close to examine the welts on his bottom. They were bright red and very tender. He moaned as he felt the pressure of my fingers on them.

I guided him back to the couch and laid him back across my lap. With gentle hands, I carefully rubbed some of the heat out of his well whipped bottom. After a few minutes his tears slowed, then stopped.

He still shook a bit as he dressed. He hissed sharply as the fabric of his shorts pressed against the burning welts on his bottom. There was another gasp as the rough fabric of his jeans rubbed against his equally sore thighs. A grimace crossed his face as he sat to put on his shoes and socks. At last he stood up, rubbed his bottom gingerly and thanked me for my attentions. A quick hug and he was on his way, his fresh reminder to behave still burning hotly under his clothes as he drove away.

Ms. Betty

A slippery spanking-- The Crime

2009-01-26T11:11:00.005-07:00

Sigh,

Despite his nickname, my problem child really is a good boy.

Or he his most of the time, anyway. Unfortunately, he tends to mimic a certain Wadsworth poem: when he's good he's very, very good, but when he's bad he's horrid!

And over the holidays he was well...absolutely horrid.

He didn't mean to be. Life is stressful for most people over the holiday season and he just let the stress get the better of him. He lost his head for a few minutes, just a few, but that was all it took, and whether he intended to or not he managed to cause a mess.

In that few short minutes he managed to embarrass himself and his guest, harass someone in distress and cause a public scene that required police intervention. A scene I might add he was originally proud of causing...right up until he came down to earth and realized just what he'd done.

And he did it all at one of the nation's busier airports.

Now technically he didn't have to tell me about any of this. Technically, we no longer have a disciplinary arrangement. Technically, he never had to answer to anyone for this ugly little public spectacle. Only he did. Entirely on his own (though admittedly influenced by years of coaching) he decided what he had done was wrong and approached me to ask to pay for it.

And he knew exactly what he was asking. He knew this would be no slap on the wrist...or bottom. He fully expected I would do my worst, or close to it, and resolved to accept whatever consequences I deemed were appropriate before he told me.

I didn't quite do my worst. I took some of the circumstances into account, however I still felt that given the nature of the offense I needed to make a serious impression. After careful deliberation, I sentenced him to a 10 minute OTK spanking and a 5 minute strapping. He moaned, he groaned, he whimpered a little, then he swallowed hard and accepted his punishment without argument.

To Be Continued...

A whole new era

2009-01-20T17:42:00.003-07:00

Yes, we still have a long way to go in some respects, but today still marked a momentous occasion in the history of both the world and the United States.

I thought this clip seemed appropriate for it:

light bulb moment

2009-01-11T12:25:00.003-07:00

So the other day I skimmed through what I thought was going to be an article on the art of storytelling only to discover it was actually about past life regressions.

Despite rolling my eyes, I continued to skim lightly. I have this needle in a haystack theory that even the most oddball or off the wall theories can sometimes hold little specks of truth.

Sure enough I found one...and it wasn't so small.

Towards the end of the article the author addressed the big questions skeptics ask about such therapy, and I quite liked her answers. They led me to a new understanding of the benefits of the exercise.

The question is usually is what these people remember true? The answer apparently is yes when put that way, but we need to re-frame the question. Yes, it is all true, but what we need to ask is: is what they see true in the way history is true or true in the sense that myths are true? Is it fact or metaphor? In other words, did these things actually happen or is it a string of symbols put together by their subconscious in order to help them understand their current troubles?

The answers are apparently we don't know and that it doesn't really matter. Regardless of how they are true they are true, or at least true enough to help people gain some knowledge and improve their lives.

That may also explain why there are so many Cleopatras and so few humble shop keepers. Cleopatra has become a standard symbol in the collective unconscious, a ready made symbol easily understood. If past life regression is a type of dream, it makes sense that standard dream symbols may appear. While only one person could have possibly actually been the famous Egyptian queen at another time in history, many people may be able to feel what she may have felt, so in this odd dream they become Cleopatra. She is a vehicle to help them understand their own pain and loneliness.

It's all very interesting to contemplate, but frankly I think I'd still think twice before going around telling everyone I was Alexander the Great's chief eunuch or anything like that...

Ms. Betty

The Secret of Prometheus

2009-01-11T11:04:00.005-07:00

A friend-- A very good friend-- lost his father this week. The man had lived a good long life and died naturally, but as my friend told me, losing someone is always hard, even if the death ends prolonged suffering. We still must grieve, and each of us grieves in our own way.

As with most of life's important lessons, I learned what I understand of grieving from the ancient Greeks, specifically from the story of Prometheus.

The story goes that Prometheus took pity on humanity shivering alone in the dark. He stole fire from Mount Olympus and brought it down to Earth to shed light and warmth. As punishment he was chained to a boulder and each day a giant eagle rips out his liver.

But that's not quite all there is to it. Like all myths, if we look at it from a slightly different angle a whole new picture emerges. Like a masterpiece hidden under another painting, we must seek the true treasure of the myth in the layers underneath it's surface.

Here we begin the search by focusing on the punishment of Prometheus. Every day he suffers the pain of literally being ripped apart, but within this horror is a not so small miracle. Every day he suffers mortal wounds...but every night he heals. No matter how many times that eagle swoops down out of the sky, afterward the bleeding will stop, the wounds will seal themselves and the stolen tissue will grow back.

It is the same with grieving. The loss of a parent leaves us feeling as if we have been ripped apart. We are scattered and bloody, lost in the broken pieces that were once our lives. But like Prometheus, our wounds will heal. It make take time and it may leave scars, but the rifts will close and we will become ourselves again.

There is peace to be found on the other side of pain. This is the light that Prometheus brings.

Carrying a small ember of that scared flame can allow us to keep our hearts open and love without fear, knowing that no pain is too great, no outcome too horrible to be survived. Prometheus teaches us that we can face the worst the fates have to offer because we know with time we will heal. We will grow back. We will once again become whole.

The antidotes for cold, dark, and fear are warmth, light, and love, all held within that tiny flame. Let it glow, let it shine, and let yourself shine.

Death and grief are still terrible to face, but even the hardest, darkest path is more passable with a light bit of light.

Ms. Betty

A Doozy of a Dream

2008-11-16T10:37:00.003-07:00

Life at a thrift store, like anywhere else, can be a bit stressful. There are days when I come home a bit wound up, frazzled, tired, or jumpy, but Chuck says he doesn't worry unless work starts creeping into my dreams.

Well boy did it! And in one of those dreams that makes him joke about putting a psychiatrist on speed dial.

As some of you know, I sort and price housewares, which means pulling open boxes and bags of dishes, vases, stuff like that, all day long. In my dream they put several large black trashbags on the table in front of me. Inside there were tangles of floggers, paddles, iron spreader bars and corsets snarled around each other. Over in the furniture section, the truck drivers were rolling in a St. Andrew's cross.

Now I'll admit the scenario is far fetched, but not as much as you might think. A few weeks ago I did find-- and purchase-- an item that is obviously a purpose made paddle, and a little while before that there was a quirt/whip that came through. Fortunately it was coiled up with a little toy saddle, some gaudy ribbon and a leather tag saying "Mexico" so no one else really noticed what it was. A few years back I bought a large oak paddle in another thrift shop in the area, too, so occasionally such things do come through.

I doubt we'll get anything that blatant. At least I think I hope not. But it does make me wonder just what I would do if such a thing did happen...

Temptation

2008-11-15T18:47:00.002-07:00

Does anyone else see the "ouchless" hairbrushes at the store and suddenly get the most evil urge to see if you can prove them wrong? >:)

"Bend and Snap"

2008-11-09T20:44:00.001-07:00

Somehow, this is not what comes to mind when I hear that phrase.

The Dream

2008-10-31T00:01:00.001-06:00

I wake again in the middle of the night with my heart racing and my skin drenched is sweat. Despite the frigid wind blowing in from the open window I peel off my flannel gown and pace the room. Goosebumps raise on my flesh and the breeze cools the fever burning through me. I run both hands through my long dark hair and try to shake the echo of the dream.

The dream comes every October, as the the days grow short and the nights grow cold. Every year, every night as the moon grows dark the dream plays out the same.

I stand in the circle of light while some dark animal prowls around the edges. I hear it's growl, feel it's hot musky breath as it paces just beyond the border. It wants me to step out of the light, to come offer myself to the dark. I freeze with my eyes closed, praying it will go away. It doesn't go away. It lingers there, just out of reach of the light; a beastly shadow waiting to claim me if I make one wrong step.

I have seen the beast in other places, in a frame of film, a flicker of movement in the corner of my eye, sometimes in the eyes of a potential lover. He is not a beast then, but a man. In this form he seduces me. He calls to places deep within my soul that cannot help but answer. I can feel his hands on my waist, taste his skin on my lips, hear his hot raged breath against my ear as he whispers his promises.

Every year he dons another mask, looks out at me from behind a different pair of eyes. He hides in every dark place, calling me, pleading with me. Patiently he waits as the autumn days slip by, waiting for the thirty-first, waiting for midnight, waiting for me to fly across the night into his arms.

He lays himself bare as an offering. He stretches up his neck and begs for me to take him, to sink teeth into flesh and claim him as my own. He whimpers as his flesh trembles in need of my touch. Take me! his eyes scream, and he knows I know that though I take him, in return he takes me and we lose ourselves in each other.

These are the visions he plants in my mind when he takes the form of a man, when he reaches for me in this world, flesh and blood and stone; in this world where I am queen and he cannot harm me.

But the dream of the forest is his world. There he is the beast. There he longs to take me as his own. There he waits for me to step over the edge of the light and fall as if off a cliff into the sea of darkness...

Happy Halloween

The race is on

2008-10-22T06:03:00.000-06:00

So I finally got re-registered to vote the other day. I hadn't been registered for some years due to some very personal reasons, but thankfully they no longer apply so I will be adding my voice to the general insanity next month.

With all apologies to our dear candidates, it wasn't our historical presidential race that got me out there, but a series of initiatives I've found troubling and worries over our local district attorney's race that finally prompted me to use part of my precious lunch hour to wait in line to fill out the paperwork.

As some of you know, I work for a thrift shop run by a non profit charity and we had people out front from the political arm of our cause that day to get people registered in hopes of gaining support for a much needed measure to aid the disabled, so I felt comfortable enough registering through them. Although the fact that I would be wary of registering through just anybody is probably a blog in itself. It's definitely related to the theme of the day.

As I stood in line I could not help noticing that as each person leaned over to sign his or her card the lady taking the registrations asked who they were leaning towards in the presidential race. All down the line the reaction was exactly the same; the look of surprise at the question, the furtive glances around and the shaky mutter that they were still undecided. Really? Every single person in line? I started to wonder.

When my turn came she asked me as well. I looked her in the eye and said honestly "Ma'am, with all due respect to our candidates, I"m more worried about who's going to be our next district attorney," and walked away.

Later though, as I stopped to think about it I realized just how intimidating it felt to be standing there and to have the person whom I was trusting with my right to vote ask me to publicly declare my allegiance to one candidate or another. It felt wrong some how, as if the secrecy of the ballot box was being compromised. Yes it was just a poll, but I did not feel safe giving an answer. And from the reactions of those in line ahead of me I was not the only one.

The odd thing was I could not even explain what prompted me to feel that uncomfortable, I just did. I still don't know, but I definitely did not like the feeling.

Ms. Betty

where I've been and what's happening now

2008-10-20T09:32:00.004-06:00

Hello everyone,

I realize it's been some time since anyone has really heard from me. Life does tend to get away from us at times and I'm no exception. I thought it was time I updated everyone on assorted happenings.

Some of you may remember that I took a part time job at a local thrift shop because it supports a cause that has long been important to me. Well, part time did not stay part time long. We have unfortunately had several waves of turn over and part time quickly became full time and sometimes a bit more as I ran around plugging as many holes as I could.

For several weeks my schedule was very erratic and I could not say exactly when I would have a few hours off. Needless to say this left little time for much of anything, including spanking naughty boys.

Well just about the time that settled down we lost folks in production and they moved me off the register into the back of the shop. Those of you who shop in thrift stores may have wondered from time to time just how all that stuff gets from your donation pick ups to being out on the sales floor, so I thought I'd explain a little of what goes on back there.

Donations come in in great big crates well over 6 feet tall called "melons" because they are the same boxes melons and other produce arrives in at your local grocery store. Melons are carted to a big long table that runs almost the entire length of the building. One person cuts open the box and then begins sorting what is in there. Books, shoes, belts, etc get packed into big yellow carts to be given to their various departments. Clothes get passed down the line, sorted by type (men's, women's, kid's) and household goods get put in big baskets and put on the table for me.

I am a pricer. What the pricers do mostly is decide what to charge for the items that come across our tables, but there is more to it than that. We sort the trash from treasure, clean up what needs to be cleaned up, sort it by what type of item it is, bag things that may get spilled, tape up boxes and sort every day goods from season specific items. For example, right now we are putting Christmas related items out on the floor, but stuff for easter or valintine's day is being packed in boxes to go to the warehouse where we will store it until we need it.

We also recycle as much as possible. Metal and hard plastics that are in unusable conditions get bagged up for special pick up to keep them out of the landfill and soft toys that are torn or dirty are shipped out to be cleaned, repaired and given away in 3rd world countries. The same happens with our shoes. A part of each day goes to sorting and packaging these things for shipping.

So that's what's going on behind the magic curtain where you can't see it.

As I said, I price housewares; which happens to be a deparatment that takes up 1/3 of the store. I have a partner for my deparment thankfully, and we have a lady who helps us stock the floor, but it's still a big job. Children's toys, pictures, office supplies, wicker baskets, silk flowers, dishes, kitchen untensils, pots and pans...all of it's ours, not to mention vases, clocks and assorted knick knacks.

We price 1,200 items a day in our department, 5 days a week, that's 6,000 new items each week and with 4 weeks of stock out on the floor at a time that's 24,000 items in our department at any given time.

And we are responsible for every single piece. It is up to each pricer to choose her stock, lay out the floor plan for her department and organize each item. As I said, I have help, but I didn't at first and even with extra hands and good minds to work with it's been a big job.

When I took over it was all a mess. The manager put me there because it was the only deparment in the store losing money. She asked me to turn it around and mostly I have. We're still struggling a bit but we are making great strides.

So that's most of what I've been up to.

It's finally settling down and now my schedule is regular as clockwork so I'm hoping to be back to the kinky side of living soon.

In the meantime the job has turned out to come with a very unexpected perk. As my department includes the office and kitchen goods as well as all the assorted bric-a-brac, it means that about 90% of any and all pervertables that come in go through me. So if you are looking for something to get kinky with at a local Denver thrift store and find pickings a bit slim, you do have my apologies. I even got a real working whip the other day.

Yes it means I'm mostly out to my co-workers, but that's quite alright. Most of them are thorougly kinky as well. I'm in very good company.

Ms. Betty

Kinky Candy

2008-09-15T14:18:00.003-06:00

Blame my husband. He's the one who brought me home a Big Hunk bar. For some reason it sent my mind straight into kink overdrive.

Though I don't think anyone can blame me...well not the kind of people who read this blog, anyway.

Let's start with the little yellow triangle in the corner that says what can look at first glance like "smack attack", especially when the wrapper is wrinkled. And then immediately under that is says "see backside", not see back, backside...and we all know that word doesn't get much use outside of spanking talk.

Then when you turn the label over it says to take the big hunk firmly in one hand and smack it against a hard surface. Now what am I supposed to say about that? Especially if with a little kinky editing your mind reads "take big hunk firmly in one hand and smack with a hard surface"...like a hairbrush, or a paddle.

Then there are those the awkward moments a candy like this makes possible in conversation. "Hang on a minute, I need to smack my Big Hunk."

Is it any wonder I was reduced to a fit of giggling?

And don't even get my started on the Birch Beer he brought me to go with the candy...

A Grey Day

2008-09-09T11:11:00.002-06:00

The seasons are changing up here in the Rockies. Today the high should be near 80 and the sky is one big field of blue, but yesterday it was a very different story.

When I left the house in the morning a cold damp mist covered the ground, leaving a film of water over every surface. The was a solid wall of grey, no clouds, just one big haze. The temperature started around 50 and never got higher than about 58. My hands ached from the cold as I walked to the bus stop. It didn't really rain, but there was so much water in the air that occasionally some drops fell on the windshield of the bus as we drove along.

All day I kept looking out at the weather, but I wasn't seeing the parking lot or the sky; I was seeing the Cumberland Plateau rising up in the distance. In my mind, I was walking down a small town street in a misty rain. I was thinking of a little bookshop and a pair of green shamrock earrings. I thought of sitting down with a bowl of potato and mushroom soup and mexican corn bread and wiping snow crab soup out of the beard of the man sitting across the table. And of course, of knowing just how tender the bottom he was sitting on was.

As you regular readers may have been able to tell by the lack of posts here, my life has been incredibly busy lately, and I haven't had as much time for some things as I would like, but some things are still incredibly dear to me, like a magical week in March, and the person I shared it with. Even if his bottom is getting a bit neglected.

I love you very much, little bunny.

Mistress

Ms. Betty's Blood Pressure

2008-09-05T11:17:00.004-06:00

Just went through the roof.

Did anyone else see today's Ask Margo ???

(second letter)

Gee, you like to call one guy daddy and another your pet and you, at a young and energetic age tend to think about sex a lot. Yeah, honey, you need a doctor...something has to be wrong.

Thanks for nothing, Margo.

Ms. Betty

Where I've Been...

2008-08-27T11:03:00.004-06:00

Hello folks,

I realize it's been a bit quiet here. Everything is alright, I've just been terribly busy.

Work, of course, and the ruined carpet drama, new furniture that had to be bought and ongoing contacts with the police, medical tests for my husband and now a lost wallet.

And something else, too.

I've been painting the last week or so. I don't really paint often, but sometimes something comes along that can only be expressed by putting a brush to canvas. Something in the dynamic between two of our managers at the shop reminded me of an old Celtic myth and the more I tried to explain it the more I realized I could see it, but I could not say it. It needed to be communicated from that place in the mind that functions without words; the part of the brain that originally gave birth to art.

For those of you who may never have come across this information; our brains are divided into two halves. In the simplest terms, the left half of our brain controls logical thought and language while the right half interprets images and symbols and some researchers believe it may process most of our emotion. (Mind you I am talking about the physical make up of the brain here, not Freud's theory of the different levels of consciousness.) Some also believe creativity is mostly the product of the right hemisphere, however some creative endeavors, such as writing a short story or a blog do take co-operation between both halves.

Personally, I find that when I have a painting in progress it's very hard to channel creative energy away from that and into the written word, so when I paint I don't write much and when I'm writing heavily I rarely paint. I find the two mediums enhance each other, giving me a break from each in turn and giving me time to renew myself so neither gets stale, but they really don't co-exist well.

People often ask why I don't share the other half of my life/creativity, the painting, here on the blog, after all it says right at the top that I intend for this page to incorporate all of me. It's a fair point. The trouble is I am completely useless when it comes to digital photography. I can take 30 pictures of the same thing and not have one of them come out usable. Well, we can all only be good at a limited number of things, right?

But if I ever manage any level of competence with a digital camera I may just see about sharing some of my artwork here. (Sorry folks, it's not usually kinky...)

Ms. Betty

Paddling becomes Olympic Sport

2008-08-22T07:26:00.000-06:00

You gotta love the news :

Some women paddlers gave a nod of approval this week to suggestions from a senior governing body official to wear skirts during matches to make their game more stylish in an attempt to pull in the crowds.

Gee, I thought spanking already had a pretty big audience. ;)

Quiet

2008-08-20T12:49:00.002-06:00

Gee...it's quiet over here.

Too quiet.

Little bunnies everywhere look around apprehensively and furtively cover their bottoms with their little hands...

"Penalties" for nursing students...

2008-08-08T08:58:00.003-06:00

I was looking for pictures of nurses when I came across the following excerpt on the site Nursing History Digitalization Project

Students in the hospital nursing programs were required to live in residence while enrolled in the nursing school, as well as follow a strict set of rules and regulations which applied to all facets of the student’s life. These rules applied to everything from their behaviour to their dress and if the rules were not followed the students were disciplined. Most dismissals from the program due to a lack of discipline often occurred early on in the student's training. Due to the surplus pool of labour that existed, students who quit or were expelled could easily be replaced. Senior students however, were a valuable skilled labour force and were not quite as easy to replace. Therefore as long as the student was willing to accept a penalty and appeared to repent they would not be expelled from the program.

Hm...now what might those penalties have been?

100 years ago today...

2008-08-07T12:52:00.003-06:00

I loved her the first time I ever saw her.

Picture the scene:

There in the dark auditorium on my first day of Art History class the slide projector clicks and suddenly the giant screen at the front of the room is filled with the image of a vibrant orange figure, every lovely curve shown in explicit detail.

My heart reacted long before my mind. She was beautiful, graceful even in all of her plump awkwardness.; heavy breasts hanging low, hips wide, belly bulging, mostly likely with late pregnancy.

The instructor explained that they called her "Venus", but he did not agree with that name as she was carved long before the civilizations of Greece rose. He called her "fertility icon", dutifully I put that down in my notes. The name didn't fit for me, though. To me she looked like a mother, the mother of the world, and that's what I called her.

In Art History her only significance was the honor of being the oldest female figure found. The instructor spent less than 5 minutes on her. And then clicked on.

It would still be more than a year before I learned more about her; eighteen months before I discovered what she meant in archaeological circles, that she was the icon of a newly forming movement, a whole new school being born among anthropologists. It would be through her that I would come to know and understand the true power a woman can wield, but that day in late August all I knew was my imagination had been completely captured by a four inch statue I could not get out of my head.

And to day is her birthday. Well of sorts. 100 years ago today she was unearthed near the village of Willendorf, Austria. On August 7, 1908, she once again came into light after thousands of years buried in the earth.

And she's still every bit as beautiful.

Ms. Betty

Puzzle Fun!

2008-08-01T07:00:00.000-06:00

Wow, Friday already! This week has gone by in a blur.

Sit back and relax, everybody. Take a break and have some fun.

Happy Friday!

Puzzle courtesy of Jigzone.com

I want my living room back!!!

2008-07-31T08:41:00.002-06:00

It's been a week since the water heater burst upstairs.

The carpet pads are still wet. It's starting to smell, and we still can't put anything back in our one and only storage closet.

The good news is I spoke with our apartment manager yesterday, and we should have new carpet today.

If not...I'm going after somebody with a whip.

Ms. Betty

A Man's Belt

2008-07-30T08:09:00.001-06:00

lI've talked to many people over the years about my love of men's belts, but I'm not sure if I've mentioned it here before.

In the shortest terms, I agree, as many spankos do, that a belt is the ultimate symbol of masculinity. The smell of the leather, the weight, the jingle of the buckle; all of these things say "man" in a way nothing else quite does.

To me, there is nothing quite so powerful as making a man surrender that symbol to me. I make a ritual of making him take it off, hand it over, bare his bottom and place himself in position for punishment. Sometimes I will take it off and take it from him, just as sometimes I will bare a man's bottom myself. (It makes them feel so helpless to be undressed that way), but my favorite is to go through the ritual of surrender.

Using a man's own belt to spank him with is actually an idea I picked up from an old sit-com. (No, I'm not kidding.) I used to watch old re-runs of What's Happening, and every time Rog was in trouble, mom told him to hand over that belt.

Then when I started spanking it was just plan practical. I wore (and still wear) lots of skirts, so I didn't really wear belts. The guys did, though. I soon realized that if he always wore a belt and I always carried my hairbrush at any given time I had 2 implements plus my hand ready for on the spot spankings.

I do have a belt of my own, a long, thick heavy strip of brown leather hanging on a special hook in the closet. When I certain problem child came along he didn't wear belts and during the year it took to con him into getting one , er get him to understand the subtle delights of wearing a constant reminder of his status around his waist, I had to have something that would do the job. Sometimes only a belt will teach the lesson that needs to be taught.

I never wear it, though. I do own belts that I wear, but women's belts never seem to be suitable for spanking. They are either too light, or entirely too decorated. Most aren't even leather.

The other day the buckle on my black belt broke. I was getting ready for work so I didn't have time to go buy another one. I ended up borrowing one of my husband's for the day. It was black, thick and wide with that basketweave pattern on police belts and holsters. I've coveted this belt for years and would love to have it in my toy collection, but it's his and he's keeping it. I liked wearing it, though. Strike that, I loved wearing it. There was something very nice, and very em, stimulating about having a man's belt on. I kept fingering the tail of leather that stuck out past the buckle and wondering what it would be like to be watching the expression on a man's face as I whipped it off and told him to bend over...

It's funny, because I never thought I'd like wearing a man's belt, but I really do. So now I'm thinking, since I need a new belt anyway, and I really hate women's belts, I may see about buying a mens' belt instead.

Bottoms up, boys.

Ms. Betty

Do I Really Need Yet Another Hairbrush?

2008-07-29T08:01:00.000-06:00

I ask myself that every time I wander down the hair care aisle. I stand there, weighing plastic and wood, looking at shapes, feeling weights and surface textures. It seems to me these days that most hairbrushes are pretty much junk, so I almost always pass. Every now and then, though, something great or different surfaces and I know it's a must for my ever growing collection.

This time it was the Edge brush by Goody. I found it at Wal-Mart. It's a wooden brush, about a 1/4 inch thick with a rat-tail handle. What's so unqiue about it is that the brush is only about 1/2 an inch wide. Imagine a toothbrush with a head about 4 inches long and you'll have the idea. It's not has heavy as some of the worst brushes out there, but it is a bit heavy for it's size. It produces a sharp, biting sting and might actually make some welts on a tender bottom. It isn't really an all over bottom blisterer, but I'm thinking it is going to be quite effective in the crease between someone's bottom cheeks and thighs, along the sides of the crack, and in other sensitive places.

Not bad for $2.

Ms. Betty