Gifts that keep on giving

"I've sent something to you in the mail" Galway mentioned a few weeks ago.

"Oh?" I said.  "What a nice dear sweet friend you are!" 

 Sigh.

Based on the package I received, I feel it necessary to have all of my "friends" take the following quiz.  

1.  When shopping for presents to send to my lovely abode.  Do you send:

A. Pez Dispenser

B. Nightgown

C. Canoe paddle

2.  When you are ridiculed by a pouty post spanked Monica, Do you:

A. Plead for forgiveness. The Canoe paddle was simply wall art!

B. Offer sympathy and condolences and send flowers and candy post haste

C. Let out a malicious laugh and proclaim that I deserve every swat received and then some. 

3. When asked which person in your party is responsible so I can have their head on a platter, Do you:

A. Take full responsibility and swear it will never happen again

B.  Plead the 5th amendment, even if  you're not a US Citizen

C. Drop your spouse in the grease for the purchase. 

3.  I'm insisting the damnable thing be sent back to where it came from.  Do you:

A.  Agree with my decision

B.  Propose that you come to personally remove the offending object yourself.

C.  Continue laughing all the while throwing guilt ridden statements such as "You don't like it? That hurts my feelings!" 

If you answered  A's or B's : CONGRATS! You've passed the Friendship Quiz!  For your assumed loyalty and dedication to all things Monica,  I will reward you with a batch of cookies and other assorted baked goods randomly throughout our friendship.

If you answered any C's: You would be in good company with a couple of Canadians I know.

Story Starter: Dustin

**This one I might actually come back and finish for a change.  Enjoy!**

"What a delightful sight I've created", Dustin thought silently, enjoying his meal.  Her freshly reddened flesh contrasted sharply against the whiteness of the wall. His own brand of artwork only a Dom could appreciate.  He smiled knowing his wife probably thought otherwise at the moment.  It was after all, her burning backside being admired in the corner of their living room. 

 Even from the distance of the dining table he could  tell by her body language they were far from reaching a level of proper of remorse and submission.  But no matter, he would get her there soon enough.

He casually took a few more bites and watched as she adjusted her interlocked fingers on her head and sighed loudly.  He knew her well enough to know it was her own little way of objecting her current placement.

"You've just earned yourself three more minutes.  I suggest you stop the dramatics. I guarantee you do not want me to head over there and stop them for you."

His warning was effective. She settled, although he could see from this angle a pout form across her lips.  Under any other circumstances he would think this particular feminine expression cute and very kissable, but not today, not yet anyway.

Dustin spent a few more minutes finishing his dinner, occasionally glancing in her direction to make sure she was still heeding his instructions.  He moved his plate into the sink and busied himself straightening up the kitchen, admittedly stalling.  She needed just awhile longer to recover from the warm up.

Eventually Dustin returned to the couch in the living room where the session had started and made himself comfortable.  Once he was settled, he spoke, keeping his voice calm and collected.

"I think it's time we continue.  Go grab the paddle and come to me." he ordered.

He watched her drop her arms to her sides and hesitate.  What exactly was keeping her?  Pride?  Obstinance? He was willing to bet both traits were playing a role in this. 

The post where I plead forgiveness

Oh who am I kidding?  We all know I'm rusty in the pleading department. 

Need some buttering up? Some old school bribing with baked goods?  I'm your woman. Pleading...not so much.

So, it's been a little while since I've posted.  But I have an excuse! (And have I mentioned recently just how well rested you look? What's your secret? *insert eye batts here**)

I'm pregnant!

Yes, finally!  It's been quite a few hectic months, with all the changes and things we've been up to.  I finally feel (and I believe Aaron would agree) that we're getting back to new swing of things. 

When it came to DD, things physically came to a halt at the beginning.  There were a few reasons.  I had a slight complication at the beginning that made us both nervous to do anything more than just a swat here and there.  I was also so nauseated and tired that even when he made an attempt to "reboot" my attitude, I'd pull out the pregnancy card and protest.  Unfair, I know.  I promise you the pregnancy card has been revoked. 

  There were a few weeks where I was really anxious that we were going to lose that unique connection only ones in our community understand.

After a few reassuring ultrasounds and a lot of discussion, we adjusted our DD tactic for the time being.  Both of us agreed that DD is so very important to us, and dropping it was not an option.   Our "sessions", both in discipline and play have become lighter.  He's exchanged some of his favorite implements for things less "thuddy" and as I've grown, we've just become a bit more creative in my positioning. 

So...that's my excuse.  I do feel a little odd talking about it all here and probably won't much, as my "Mother Hen" instincts have reached a new level.  

In between my obsessive nesting, I've been working on some posts.  Stay tuned!!

Mornings

I have never been a morning person.

Sadly, I have always been surrounded by people that were.  Growing up, my mother would walk into my room, flip on the light and start singing.  Sometimes she would go as far as to crawl into bed warbling like a little canary and shove her poor helpless baby bird out of it's nice warm nest of tranquility.

In college, my house mate would hop out of bed at the first sign of daylight and go jogging. I KNOW!  Somehow she convinced herself that jogging at 6 every morning was fun.    

Masochist.

Now there's Aaron.  Overtime, he's developed this internal alarm clock and actually wakes up on his own at the ungodly hour of 5 a.m.. 5:30 if he's "allowed" himself to sleep in.   Every. Single. Morning.   Weekends? 5 a.m.  Holidays? 5 a.m.  Vacation? 5 a.m.  To make things worse, the man skips around the house, actually HAPPY, as I lay in bed in a desperate attempt to get just one final minute of glorious beauty sleep. 

I think when we were first married, it was cute to him that we were so different in our morning routine.  Blinded by love, he would chuckle as he watched his bride shuffle around, half dazed and grumbling about the injustice of being up so early.  I tried to convince him numerous times to change our business hours (we work together) to a decent time, 1 o'clock sounded perfectly reasonable.  No dice.

Slowly the newlywedness of it all wore off.  He started "Operation Get Monica out of bed" with gentle nudges and other various acts of affection.  They worked, until I started analyzing them and using his actions to my benefit.

"Ok, he just stroked my hair which probably means it's ten after.  I have about 3 more minutes before he comes in here again with a few rubs on my back...then I'll really get up, I mean it.  ZZzzz"

People, I had a system, a strategy..  I knew the system like the back of my hand.  Until he changed the game on me.

Imagine, if you will,  half-slumbering Monica nestled and warm in her little bed. Aaron is in his normal morning routine. He's already come to my bedside once with a good morning kiss.  He walks to the bed and gently peels back the covers.  In those few moments I think " This is new. Is he going to crawl into bed with me? What a nice husband he is!"  I wiggle to my side to give him room.

SWAT

"Get up."

SWAT

"Get up." he repeats.

It takes a few seconds for my brain to compute exactly what he's doing.  The man has pulled a fast one on me!  The rain of swats continue as I try to untangle myself from the comforter.  I'm slow and clumsy, so he's able to get in quite a few good shots.  

 

"Ok! Ok! I'm up!"  I slither down the side of the bed and plant my feet on the ground.

I hear his chuckle.  The same damn chuckle that he used when I protested years ago, when he thought things were cute.  If I had my glasses on I'm certain I would have seen a smirk.  

The man keeps me on my toes.  Just when I think I have him figured out he turns the tables on me. 

An Open Letter to Ann

Dear Ann-

We've been friends for a long time.  So long, that I consider you to be family.  Since you've earned that title in my eyes, I think it's only fair that I treat you like I would any other family member.  Give you some of my unsolicited advice.  What I'm about to say may be shocking at first, but trust me on this one.

You my dear, are in desperate need of a spanking.

I know it when I see it, a poor girl swirling with unkempt emotions,  and I've seen it in your actions lately.  You're moody and frustrated with anyone and everyone around you.  You're quick to throw up your hands in frustration.  I would like to say that this has been a sudden change, but let's be honest, you're kind of this way all of the time.  

Allow me to give you a few examples:

Remember the wine glass incident?  Aaron and I were sitting in your kitchen, idly discussing the latest news, when you dropped your wine glass.  Shards of glass and wine went everywhere.   You began screaming like a banshee for your husband, who came in from the other room as fast as he could possibly manage.  He took all of 3 seconds to assess the damage (you weren't exactly helpful screaming like you were injured) and asked how it happened.  You're response: "Who CARES how it happened! Just grab the %$#! mop and clean it up!"

My mouth dropped open.  You took that as a sign that I was in shock that your husband would DARE ask you such a question, as you continued to berate him as he went and got the mop.  My mind was not focused on his question.  It was, my dear friend, visualizing what Aaron would have done in his shoes if I had responded in the same manner.  I'm sure if Aaron had had enough glasses of wine, he would have gladly offered to give you a demonstration. 

We've also witnessed a few uncomfortable moments in restaurants.  One in particular, you were extremely rude to the waiter, to this day I have no clue what the guy did to deserve your harsh treatment.  Your husband tried to calm you down, but you just wouldn't let it go.  It's moments like this that make me wonder if a quick warning whispered in your ear wouldn't do you a world of good.  Maybe your husband needed to express more than his embarrassment at your actions.  

Now, I'm sure you're going to say that those were just examples of your "Take-No-Prisoner-Women-Have-Been-Liberated-for-Years" type attitude.  You've convinced yourself that those situations make you look strong and independent.  I'm here to assure you those examples really just make you look foolish.  ( I had another descriptive in mind, but I'll save that for people I don't like).

Your husband looks exhausted.  If you can't bend over and bare it for your own sake, do it for that sweet husband of yours.  I'm under the impression it does wonders for the HOH (Head of Household, we'll get to that in another letter).  It's not so hard to get started.  Just walk up to him, preferably contrite (although that may come post spanking) and ask for him to deal with you properly.  No need to worry about implements this time.  

Who knows, you may find that you like the results.  (Enjoyment and play is a whole other grey area can of worms, let's just focus on the discipline aspect shall we?) 

I promise, after a few good sessions under your belt (err, his rather) you'll feel like a new woman!

Love,

Monica

I'm alive!

I'm here, still chugging along in life and will write something semi-substantial over the next few days when things slow down in my little world.  I have a few posts started, but none completed.  Total blogger slacker :)

Until then Happy March!

Denied!

It was one of those Saturday mornings where we had absolutely zero obligations.  Family wasn't beckoning for a visit, friends were doing their own thing and work was calm for the moment.    Observing this rare treat, I  thought it would be a great idea to find something to fill our day. 

"Let's go to the movies, there are a few good ones out!"  I suggested. 

"No." He replied, immersed in his newspaper. 

I sighed.

"Ok, how about breakfast somewhere?  Or we could go to Home Depot to pick out paint?"

"No, let me finish the paper here."

I sighed again, this time a bit more dramatically than the first and flopped down on the couch. 

I pushed my luck with a few more sighs. He's either built up immunity to my performances, or chooses to ignore them.  Either way, he continued reading.

Finally, he caught himself with the world's events and addressed his impatient wife.

"Get dressed, we'll go shopping."

My mood changed quickly. Shopping? Really? Woot!  

"Excellent idea!  We can go to the mall--"  

"No, Monica, we need light bulbs."

Light bulbs? Really?  I was going to get out of my pajamas for light bulbs?  

Not exactly what I had in mind.

"Oh, what about a comforter?  We need a new comforter." I insisted.

"No, Monica."

I began proposing items that I felt were in my need category, each met with the same response.

No. No. No.

"I sure has heck hoped you've reached your 'No' quota for the day, honey."  I sighed once more, headed back to the bedroom to do as he asked. 

"No, I haven't." he replied with that "I'm the boss" smirk he has.   "However, be advised, my quota for 'Yes' is even less, dear."

Family Ties....

About two weeks ago, Aaron and I had to make an exciting trip to the ER. 

To make a long story short, my gallbladder decided it wanted nothing to do with me now that I'm 30.  I was admitted into the hospital to have it removed. 

After the cholecystectomy  (fun word, huh?) , my entire family felt like they needed to see for themselves that I was, indeed, still in the land of the living.   

I don't remember much of the conversation we had.  I do however remember my brother coming up to my bedside, reaching for my hand  to do what all good brothers would do. Make fun out of his poor gallbladder-less sister of course.

"Monica, they are doing this all wrong, shouldn't they have you handcuffed to the bed?"

Before you think that DD runs in the family (it doesn't), I need to explain that my brother works in a prison.  He is use to transporting criminals to the hospital, where they are apparently restrained to keep from running away.

Dear readers, put yourself in my shoes (err, hospital socks).  How do you think someone in this lifestyle under my condition and known for their chronic foot-in-mouth disease would have answered?

"Handcuffs?  No, no...I would enjoy that too much."

I place all the blame on the drugs. The nurse must have given me some sort of truth serum.  

My recollection of exactly how my family reacted is a little fuzzy.  I would like to think, for dramatic's sake, that my mother clutched her pearls and  crossed herself a few dozen times.  My Dad must have fainted, and my siblings probably started some sort of disowning ritual.  It's the only ONLY way I can justify what my husband said next.

"Don't worry, Monica and I are the most vanilla couple you've ever seen.  Honest."

My family left soon after. 

Not long after they departed, I began to wonder if I had just IMAGINED the whole ordeal.  I went to Aaron for the truth.

"Honey, did I just admit to my parents that I like being restrained to the bed?"

"Yes, Yes you did, get some sleep dear."

I closed my eyes, but continued to put the pieces of conversation together in my dulled memory.

" Umm, did you use the term vanilla to describe our sex life in front of my entire family?"

"Yes, Yes I did."

"Aaron," I continued hazily. " I could be wrong, but I think the only people that use the term "vanilla" are indeed, non-vanillas.  Do you think you convinced them?"

"I don't think so Monica, as soon as I said it your mother responded with a 'Yeah Right!' "

Should I be more concerned that my mother thinks she has us pegged, or that fact that my mother knows what the term vanilla means?

Maybe it runs in the family after all.

My Fortune Awaits....in bed!

A few weeks ago, Aaron and I had lunch at our local Chinese buffet.  The highlight of the meal, aside from the fried rice, has always been the fortune cookie. 

Most of you are aware of these. The messages are generic, tidbits of nothing, often casted aside and forgotten about as soon as it's time to leave.

To entertain the immature child raging inside of us, we take turns reciting our fortunes, while the other listens intently and waits for the moment to add the phrase "in bed" to the end. Turning an innocent fortune of prosperity and good health into something deliciously x-rated.

We are easily amused. 

Aaron went first.  We snickered at the results of the now wanton wordings as he tossed the slip of paper on the table.

It was my turn, I cracked open the mini morsel and fished out the slip of paper.  Would it promise me wealth?  A vacation?  A puppy? 

 

I don't know about you, but having a fortune cookie tell you that maybe, just maybe, you could have put on a bit of makeup today isn't exactly what I would call a warm and fuzzy moment.

Particularly mixed with guilt over dousing your entire buffet plate with sweet and sour sauce.

I pouted silently, munching on the somewhat stale prophetic parcel and sank back into my chair

Could this bit of Chinese confection actually have a point?

I admittedly connect my femininity and submissiveness. It may sound a bit silly to some, but I think they seem to flow well together.  Putting on a figure flattering dress or skirt and a few baubles helps boosts my self esteem, makes me feel prettier and sets me on a good start for the rest of the day.  

 

Tuning into my girly side has gotten much easier with practice.  I'm not below begging, and have done so to many of my girlfriends, both non and DD alike, to show me their magic tricks in the art of make up and couture. For a girl who has been known to just buy what is on the mannequin at the department store for fear of buying something that doesn't match, I've managed to do pretty well for myself.  

Now is not the time however, to mention my first attempt at using eyeliner.  Let's just say 30 minutes and one eye swollen shut later, Aaron had to forcefully remove the pencil from my determined grasp.


My eyes still haven't forgiven me.

It would be shallow of me to say that femininity is based solely on one's appearance.  It's just the part I chose to dive into head first.  I've been sort of...coasting in some of the non-physical aspects.   My tongue and temper are still sharper and shorter than ever, often (correctly) portraying me as blunt and demanding. Maybe it's time to focus on bringing out my inner daintiness. 

Make no mistake, I'm not looking to change myself from a spirited submissive into a doormat. I've got too much soul and mischief for that.  Maybe a few steps in the "softer" direction would benefit both my goal of being more feminine and improve my overall everyday submissiveness. 

Should I be worried about taking life advice from a cookie?





P.S.  In case you were wondering, there is an article I found about writing the fortunes in fortune cookies.  Serious business!  Check it out!

And now you know.

And knowing is half the battle.