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SwitchWithMe

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Everything posted by SwitchWithMe

  1. Friends… I am having user interface problems. I can not make a new forum post, a response, a status update, or a personal messenger (email) message. It is simple. A text box does not show up. Nothing happens. Chat is fine. I have logged in, cleared cookies, used different devices. It has been going on for months now. Every so often it works. 1 in 30 or so. Like this post. Don’t know what is different. It is too rare to do much. Thanks
  2. I have had situations like that. I can make my choices as a spanker given what needs, interests, and limits are expressed. Given really no discussion of spanking— hmm. I dunno.
  3. Well, “no limits” means nothing unless there is some discussion. Those are actually my words. Hers are just: “hit me as hard and as long as you like”. That’s the extent of any discussion of spanking. Other subjects we can talk all night. Not a lot to go on. It’s like she clams up.
  4. I have met a woman who is a long time spankee. We seem to click quite well. When it comes to spanking as well as other interests. An unlikely romantic interest, though there is some energy there. She's far too young for me. She has a good deal of experience with spanking as a spankee. I know that because I used to enjoy a local(ish) group of spanking friends, and she was orbital to that. So she's kin and klan in some sense. And that is where this unravels... I am fond of really talking and sharing about spanking. Even with people I don't play with. I like to understand what motivates people. Why they want to be spanked (or to spank!). What deep needs are being met, where they come from. If it is sexual, what the triggers are. There is alot to explore, especially if there are boundaries to explore and push-- a spanking bucket list. But- None of that with this new friend. All she says is that I can beat her as hard and as long as I want. No limits. No ma'am. Don't like it. Srsly. That's it? I have no idea how to play with anyone with no dialog beyond that. Safety, limits, expectations.
  5. It's interesting to me. I find no problem having reasonable conversations with spankees. One or both of us have stated our interests and backgrounds. We connect to chat. Perhaps meet. Sometimes just chatting is fun and we have that. As a switch I have had a hard time having conversations with spankers. They just tell me how it is. Really what I've written as an introduction is immaterial. I get it. It's an attempt to show dominance. I don't think any of the specifics of what is communicated is as important as making it understood that this is a process, a larger conversation, something of a collaboration.
  6. My favorite as both EE and ER is a belt or strap. I have this view of fairness. I can really only in good faith spank somebody if I've been disciplined (extensively) with an implement. That leaves just a few. It is also the most flexible. I can spank somebody playfully and lightly or take their breath away.
  7. I may not know what is meant by “humiliation” I guess. Are we talking the natural embarrassment and humiliation that might come from spanking? Or something else? I was chatting to a woman who shared that she was made to eat dog food while naked on all fours in front of mixed company. As part of a humiliation punishment. Like that?
  8. This is one of those places where I fail as a spankee. I have a difficult time humiliating people. Really because people close to me have been humiliated as part of systemic abuse. I guess it depends on what one calls humiliation I guess. I’m calibrated to it being very heavy and damaging as a possibility.
  9. Found this woman I used to know who was using drugs and on the streets.

    She’s in detox now. Set up with services.

  10. I have given up looking at this in terms of personal needs, desires, cravings, etc., to be met. For me it only makes sense in terms of relationship. Does this relationship evoke spanking? Is spanking something that would deepen and strengthen connection? Would spanking help bring bring clarity and intimacy in that relationship? Would it be a sexual catalyst? Would it help integrate past experiences, fantasies, taboos, etc., into the space of the relationship? Would spanking help release negativity, stress, distance, space in a relationship? It’s possible for spanking to be something contrived between people. Something endured for another. It can create bitterness, resentment. It can create distance. Is can just become another fulcrum for control, undermining, hurting. There are really a lot of ways it can be used. And that “relationship” can be an intimate partner or a friend. The spanking is really as interesting and exciting as the relationship that contains it. Be it a romantic or sexual connection, or a platonic friendship.
  11. In the Walmart parking lot I was solicited for sex. It ended up being a woman I used to know in a different life. She was clearly struggling from the effects of addiction. Long game.

    It’s quite a kick in the gizzard. I tutored her kids in that different life. It is hard for me to see anyone like this. Particularly hard when I can still see the beauty of who she was through these struggles.

    My head is sort of swimming. Yesterday I had been so angry that an SN friend had sabotaged and derailed some spanking connections. He had claimed he was in relationships and scenes with them when he was not. I had cut them off and ghosted them not knowing his lie.

    I feel like such a piece of shit. Lost in these petty interests. Battles over nothing. Boo hoo. My spanking friend doesn’t like me since I ghosted her. Yo. Here is this beautiful human being sucking dicks for a few bucks to just not get sick from her addiction. This is pain, loss. This is as real as it gets.

    I feel destroyed. Helpless. But helpless as in empty of any help to give.

     

  12. I am beyond angry.

    All these claims of different people being your subs is just a lie?

  13. The late winter sun left Maggie bathed in warm light as she sat on the parson’s bench. That as her only job, to sit right there. It set early and low through the bare maples and birches. For a moment Maggie just closed her eyes and took in the heat as the space was actually quite cold. Arctic in the severity of the moment, the predicament she found herself in. But also the afternoon itself. A front came through the night before. It was cold, still, and crisp. Inside the house and out. Severe, Maggie repeated to herself. Again and again as she looked about. There was nothing to occupy her as she sat waiting on the parson’s bench. There was an old dresser. Distressed, in need of stripping and refinishing, empty except for a thick wide belt in the top drawer. Still doubled up form its last use— certainly on Maggie. She bit her upper lip thinking about it. The belt was curled up in the darkness of the drawer, as if holding itself in defense of the cold. Waiting. A bed with a great brass headboard. Covered with a whiter comforter and pillows. Something welcoming and soothing about it as Maggie sat and shivered. Sterile but certainly warm. Severe, Maggie mumbled. She ran her hands through her shock of copper curls. Yes, she would get warmed up right there on that bed in a little while. As soon as I got home. Nothing soothing in that realization. Maggies mind began to spin as the inevitability of what was going to happen— her punishment— began to sink in. And the parson’s bench. Cold maple. Cold and hard under Maggie’s bottom. This is where she would wait. Until returned. Right on this one side of the bench. From there she could see the drive to the house through the west facing window. All the way to the country road where I would turn off to meet her. To end her waiting, to bring Maggies anticipated discipline to fruition. To a painful reality. On this parson’s bench, something severe just in the name, Maggie would aware of her bottom and thighs on the cold hard wood— and they were not even bared yet. It was a long wait, and Maggie would fidget as she waited. She knew she could have wandered off, even driven off. Enjoyed the afternoon. I would never know. But she didn’t. She was always a facilitator of her own discipline. A collaborator. She would sit right there. That’s what Maggie would do. Sit and wait. And fidget and writhe. Maggie always went through a cycle of thinking where she doubted what she was doing. She acknowledged her strength, her accomplishment— why was she allowing this to happen? She could walk away. Spare herself. Maggie even knew we would still be friends, best friends. But she didn’t want this part of our connection to break. So she submitted. Even to discipline that would be quite severe at times. This was the first wave, frustration and resentment that yielded to acceptance. Then Maggie would think of spankings past, and face what she was accepting. What she was bringing to herself. She thought of the belt in the dresser. Memories of its bite, how it took the breath out of her. Of the place it left her in the end, beyond crying and sobbing. A space of complete resignation. Submission. The acceptance that there was no way to the end of this spanking— a whipping really— than going through it. Unless she used their agreed “eject” word— buffalo. But she wouldn’t. Deep in her a part that just couldn’t. The sun moved far enough across the horizon, and beneath it, that the sun was no longer flooding the room with light. This was Maggie’s cue to get ready for the whipping. She stood up and grabbed her hair with both hands, giving a hybrid of growl and whine. And she quickly shuffled to the bed, shuffled as if being dragged. By me. She took the comforter off the bed and folded it in quarters. Setting is across the middle of the bed, Maggie stacked three pillows upon them. This was a deep trigger. She knew what it was like to be laying across them. What that meant, what came next. For the first time Maggie choked up and panicked. ”Getting ready” meant her too. Her body. At least from the waist down. Maggie kicked off her shoes and set them in front of the parson’s bench. Unsnapping and unzipping her jeans, she quickly brought them to her calves. Balancing on one foot, then the other, she got them off. Her panties caught a ride and were already just above her knees. They would fall on their own, and stepping out of them, Maggie would kick them to the pile of clothes she just removed. Need to strip, Maggie muttered out loud to herself. And that she did. Bare, Maggie sat on the parson’s bench and waited. It was cold on her bottom, the backs of her thighs. A great dread feel over her for a moment, but she called the tears back. Just big wet doe eyes for a moment. Somehow, probably because she got so little sleep the last few nights, Maggie nodded off. One of those micro naps. Right as she sat erect on the cold wood, her posture unchanged. She dreamed of wearing nothing but a chemise as she skipped rocks in the lake. Again and again until the night came on her. Frightened of the time, she turned to run hone and found a figure in path. In the darkness she saw the man cutting a switch and whipping it in the air… … she woke having not noticed my arrival. I stood in front of her with my arms crossed in the dusk with my back against the wall next to the dresser. As she got her head clear, she settled her eyes on me. In recognition sitting straight and still. Maggie was supposed to be over the pillows with her head at the foot of the bed when I entered the door. That was the spanking ritual we choreographed. And that wasn’t where she was. She was nodding making little snorts as she did as she slept. Something deep in Maggie saw the humor. She laughed, I guess I earned this. Too bad I just didn’t go to bed and have a warm nap! Maggie sprung up and opened the top dresser drawer. I watched her root around and grab the belt— part of the spanking ritual, to fetch the implement. She took it and set it at the foot of the bed. Casting me an inexplicable look, she walked to the head of the bed and climbed on it. Maggie kneeled in front of the pillows for a moment and lifting her shirt up over her navel, went over them. Her butt up in the air, head down. She felt the cold air on her sex, inner thighs. In the crack of her ass. Reaching with her legs, Maggie hooked her feet in between the brass rails of the bed’s frame. A survival skill. It would keep her from squirming. I picked the belt up at the foot of the bed. Maggie’s gaze followed my hand. It wasn’t the belt. She had picked a much heavier belt that I had put in that drawer but which we never used. For some reason this was Maggie’s choice. This was the experience she was trying to orchestrate for herself. In some deep part of me I felt a type of grief. That this crossed a line from play to something quite severe. Before I raised my arm for the first lick I reminded her, This was your choice. No taking it back. After five or six solid licks, I would hold back and cut it short as tears flowed from the very beginning. Something in Maggie broke open before the first lick. A river.
  14. Being a spanker or spankee is really pretty straight forward. You get spankings or give spankings. While some might switch once in a blue moon, it is largely black and white. I have always identified as being a switch, but after all these years it’s dawned on me that people have very different ideas as to what that means. In a different post, somebody made the assumption that as I switch I would always want to spank and be spanked at the same time. I guess an implication of that would be wanting to connect with another switch, of if in a spanking friendship with a spankee— needing to find a spanker on the side. And vice versa. I’m curious... is this how most switches feel about things? I’ve never ever sought out other switches. Sure, the idea theoretically sounds interesting. My nickname “SwitchWithMe” somewhat reflects that. I can see something like a Spencer Plan thing being interesting. Or some amazing spanking friendship. But I’ve never sought out other switches. I probably never will. As much as I can say to myself I’ve sought out spanking friends of this or that flavor, spanker or spankee, I’ve really just made friendships with people into spanking and seen where it has gone. That is sort of how life works for me. Even in business and love. Spanking too. So for me, being a “switch” is really being open to anything spanking-wise. Not a need to always be both a spanker and spankee at all times. Where that goes really depends on my mood, but also the people involved. The spanking friends. I am seeing that might be a very non-standard and weird way of being a switch. I’d change my nick, but SwitchWithMe is also a play on words as I think switches are interesting. The whole ritual of it. Cutting one, stripping it down, etc. I guess, based on my track record, I’ve mostly been a spanker my whole life. I could just call myself a spanker and occasionally flip. But being a “switch” just really reflects openness and curiosity.
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