Mija’s Room

Category: bottoming

The 1997 Brat Survival Kit (with 2025 Footnotes)

Posted on By Mija

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Back in the late 1990s, alt.sex.spanking and soc.sexuality.spanking loved making “Back to School ” posts. What follows is my 1997 Brat Kit — faithfully preserved, complete with bubblegum, stickers, and chaos. Only now it comes with a 2025 brat (and professor) scribbling in the margins and leaving footnotes, teasing and blushing about what’s soooo dated and what’s (maybe) still bratting gold.

Update: click here for the 2025 Professor/Academic Kits !

It’s getting to be that time of year again <boo!!! hiss!!!> — thoughts are turning to school and uniforms and teachers and classes <pout/sulk>. Summer is just too darn short (no, not Summer Nicole, I mean the season between spring and fall — like duh!!) and the autumn back-to-school sales are showing up (Pablo recently just happened to notice that everyone is out buying new school uniforms). =:-O

As they get our uniforms in order, sharpen pencils, buy new notebooks and worse yet <gasp! horrors!!> new and improved math books, I feel all constrained and stifled (like my collar is too starchy and tight!!! Help help I’m being oppressed!!!). And so, I think what I need for the start of school is a brand spanking new brat survival kit or two. And maybe you need one too. The basic one should be carried on or near your cute little brat bod at all times. The deluxe one is meant for the well-appointed brat locker.

This list is not exhaustive and could be thought of as the start of a thread BB4B (by brats for brats). I’m sure you all have good ideas of what should go in here. I wanna hear ’em now!!! Hurry, hurry, before school starts!!! Also, I’ve kinda taken the squirt gun/silly string/water balloon stuff as a constant given. <giggling> Let’s try and be original here!

Basic Kit

Beeper. Should go off randomly, especially in study hall and on exam days (a theatrical or musical performance would be another good place for this). This will work best if you’re trying to annoy (not that I would of course) Pablo. Beeping alarm watches set at 15 minute intervals are a good substitute here. Do NOT answer or stop the beeper. The trick is to look around like you’re wondering whose it is too. Advanced brats will want to hide it in the room itself (Heating vents? Ceiling tiles?? The teacher’s briefcase???) <neg>.12025 brat-self: Grandma, what is a beeper? You mean those plastic pagers from ER reruns? Did you carry one in your fanny pack, too?

Gum. Sugary, hot pink (Bazooka is always good or Hubba-Bubba) — the sticky pink stuff is great because it is a kewl color, smells good, tastes sweet and has awesome irritating noise potential (bubble popping, cracking, or just chewing all noisy-like).22025 brat-self: Endorsed. Loud gum still works. Upgrade: neon chewing gum TikTok challenge.

Hershey Kiss. (See larger kit below, under chocolate.)32025 brat-self: Hershey’s still exists, but are you sure you don’t want Trader Joe’s dark chocolate peanut butter cups?

Liquid Paper Bottle. You have to make this. Take a bottle (full, empty, whatever), empty it, then rinse it clean with nail polish remover. You now have an approved-of school supply that can be used to transport a very small item to a knowing fellow brat. I use them to pass notes that are all rolled up around the brush. Almost undetectable!!42025 brat-self: Liquid Paper?! Honey, we just text now. Or send memes. Still, props for spycraft.

Pens. No, I haven’t gone over to the dark (read: top) side here. I mean special pens.

  • Fat fluorescent highlighters for one (great because you could even say you were going to study with them <g>). I like to highlight any spanking-related words myself (note to moderators: Now I’m on topic, right?) <ng>.52025 brat-self: Timeless. Brats highlight “spank” in PDFs now.

  • Permanent markers. Not that I’d use them to draw on a paddle or cane or anything, let alone to write ‘Grow your own dope; plant a top!’ on the bathroom walls (that was Randi, I swear!!) <eg>. But you could!! And you could write on yourself with them too. Almost like a tattoo, the marks take days and days to get off <g>. Marks-A-Lot now makes a ‘brights’ pack that includes a hot pink, bright green, orange and black.62025 brat-self: Writing on bathroom walls replaced by digital graffiti = memes + Slack emojis.

  • Fluorescent roller ball pens. For homework, notes to friends, writing lines, doodling, whatever (these are so kewl!!!!). OK, they aren’t easy to find, but man are they worth it (they are called ‘Gelly Rolls’ by Sakura — I found them at a Carlton Cards). They come in bunches of colors (all obnoxious as heck, but I like the hot pink and fluorescent green best). Pablo has yet to express a preference — he must like them all!! 😛 There is a very bright yellow (Summer?) but it’s even harder to read than the others <grin grin grin>. They are so smooth and easy to write with (I’m thinking about some brat with mucho lines here — surely not me) and stand out beautifully against white. A must have!!!! (IMHO).72025 brat-self: Still rule. Pastel ink supremacy never dies.

Stickers. Whatever kind. Smiley faces (putting a smiley next to a ‘D’ may confuse a dumb top into thinking it’s a ‘B’ — try OVER a ‘D’, get the signature and then peel the sticker back off), frowny faces, whatever (see Tasha or Mija for the limited edition neon orange ‘Power to the Brats’ ones).82025 brat-self: Stickers never die, they just became emojis. Still waiting on a neon orange “Power to the Brats” emoji pack.

Deluxe Locker Kit

Chocolate. In any and all forms. For emergency snacks (remember, there’s no such thing as too much sugar :-P) or quickie bribes (just so the other brats don’t squeal on ya <glancing over at ‘lissa>).92025 brat-self: Upgrade to fair-trade, salted caramel, or THC-infused. Choices matter.

Carbon Paper. If I hafta explain this one you is no brat.102025 brat-self: Please explain anyway, Nana. Was this before or after the dinosaurs?

Dictionary. Yeah right — NOT. (Addition: it was pointed out to me that some work with a penknife would make a dictionary a great place to hide brat objects. I’m not taking a position on this ’cause cutting up any book would put me in the OTK one. Let’s just say that this came as a suggestion from a high office holder in this town. Without naming names it was Jdg Ptrch**.)112025 brat-self: Cute. Now we hide files in the “Taxes 2014” folder on Google Drive. Same vibe.

Musical Card. You know, the ones that play ‘Happy Birthday’ or ‘Jingle Bells’. These would be a mildly bratty thing to send someone; they are rather annoying even the first time through. But an advanced brat will take the button-sized device out of the card, use a piece of tape to permanently secure it on ‘play’ and hide it in the (math) classroom (inside a light fixture or wall socket is a good place!!!). At first no one will hear it, but then there will be a quiet moment. And like a loudly ticking clock, once you hear the tinny music you cannot not hear it. Trust me, your teacher will go NUTS looking for it (practice your innocent and annoyed look NOW). The best thing is, these little musical devices have been known to play for as long as a week. <giggling madly> Oh, and extra kudos to the first brat to find one that plays ‘I’m Too Sexy’ for Petruchio’s class.122025 brat-self: Still genius. Modern equivalent: looped TikTok audio on a Bluetooth speaker hidden in the ceiling.

Nail Polish. I don’t care if you are a het male brat!! <giggle> You don’t just need this stuff, you need this stuff!! The purple, green and chartreuse polishes (let alone the neon yellow called ‘sinful’ I bought Saturday) are another way to make yourself stand out from the crowd and express your individuality. Most schools don’t yet have a policy on nail color. Imagine what good thoughts the headmaster will have of you if you have the school’s orange and green colors expressed on your nails!!! He’s bound to want to personally congratulate you on your individuality.132025 brat-self: Neon nail polish? Timeless. Also: now gender-free. Everyone’s nails get bratty.

Paddle Protectors. Another home-made item. Made from cutting bound magazines in circle shapes. Judge your own size ;). Insert in underwear or knickers prior to visiting the headmaster/mistress’s office. (Important Safety Note: obviously you need to make sure that like the ones in Knax’s stories this is going to be an over the skirt/pants paddling. Otherwise you’ll only get yourself in deeper. And don’t even think I’d be responsible! Mija is never responsible.)142025 brat-self: Sweetie, we have gel inserts now. Or claim “ergonomic accommodation.”

Police Line Tape. You know, that yellow ‘Do Not Cross’ stuff. Steal it from real crime scenes (or maybe your dad is a police officer (???)) and then squirrel it away. If you play your cards right you could close the whole school for a day or two (this might require a chalked outline of a three legged man too)!!!152025 brat-self: In 2025, this prank gets you arrested. Substitute: “Do Not Disturb — Zoom in Progress” tape.

Powerbook. Well, my Mac is bratty, and PC and UNIX people seem to think all Mac owners are brats (though that’s just ’cause we’ve never had to read the dumb manuals :-P). ‘Sides, I waaaaaaannnnnt a Powerbook all my own!!! <stamping foot for emphasis> Um, the one with the active matrix screen and DVD player. Oh, and while I’m dreaming, can I have a pony?162025 brat-self: LOL. “DVD player.” That’s vintage now. Macs still brat-coded, though.

Rayban Wayfarer Sunglasses. For the days you’re just too cool for school.172025 brat-self: Endorsed. No notes. Ray-Bans forever.

Safety Pins. In case you get tired of rolling your skirt. If you use one pin per pleat they are real hard to detect. And if you get sent to the office for the skirt being too short (it will look like it was altered by sewing) you just stop at the restroom and take the pins back out. You can now innocently claim that the teacher is picking on you. 😉182025 brat-self: Still clever. Only now the dress code violation is leggings-as-pants.

Shoe Laces. In neon green, pink or yellow (all three for that ever-so-special day!!). School dress codes rarely specify the color of shoe laces, so this is a legal (at least at present) way to individualize your uniform. A little neon near your toes is bound to lift your mood, lighten your feet, make you dance out of line. It may have the bonus of distracting your classmates and even your teacher!!!!192025 brat-self: Still works. Swap in LED laces and watch your shoes light up faculty meetings.

Closing Note

The 1997 brat kit is a time capsule: beepers, carbon paper, and Powerbooks with DVD drives <g>. Reading it now is a reminder that brat culture has always been about invention, cheek, and refusing to play “TREW SUB” by anyone’s rules.

2025 brat-self to 1997 brat-self: You’re adorable, but carbon paper? Really? Still, the bones of the brat kit hold up — it’s just the tech that changes.

So here’s the invitation: if you were building a brat kit for a period roleplay set in the 1980s or 1990s, what would you pack? Cassette tapes for “accidentally” unspooling in the Walkman? Scratch-and-sniff stickers? Trapper Keeper with a secret stash? A dial-up modem sound effect timed for maximum disruption?

As it says in the original post: This list is not exhaustive and could, no should, be thought of as the start of a thread BB4B (by brats for brats). So add your own artifacts — because brat kits are never finished, and every era deserves its own mischief.

And hey, catch me if you can.

  • 1
    2025 brat-self: Grandma, what is a beeper? You mean those plastic pagers from ER reruns? Did you carry one in your fanny pack, too?
  • 2
    2025 brat-self: Endorsed. Loud gum still works. Upgrade: neon chewing gum TikTok challenge.
  • 3
    2025 brat-self: Hershey’s still exists, but are you sure you don’t want Trader Joe’s dark chocolate peanut butter cups?
  • 4
    2025 brat-self: Liquid Paper?! Honey, we just text now. Or send memes. Still, props for spycraft.
  • 5
    2025 brat-self: Timeless. Brats highlight “spank” in PDFs now.
  • 6
    2025 brat-self: Writing on bathroom walls replaced by digital graffiti = memes + Slack emojis.
  • 7
    2025 brat-self: Still rule. Pastel ink supremacy never dies.
  • 8
    2025 brat-self: Stickers never die, they just became emojis. Still waiting on a neon orange “Power to the Brats” emoji pack.
  • 9
    2025 brat-self: Upgrade to fair-trade, salted caramel, or THC-infused. Choices matter.
  • 10
    2025 brat-self: Please explain anyway, Nana. Was this before or after the dinosaurs?
  • 11
    2025 brat-self: Cute. Now we hide files in the “Taxes 2014” folder on Google Drive. Same vibe.
  • 12
    2025 brat-self: Still genius. Modern equivalent: looped TikTok audio on a Bluetooth speaker hidden in the ceiling.
  • 13
    2025 brat-self: Neon nail polish? Timeless. Also: now gender-free. Everyone’s nails get bratty.
  • 14
    2025 brat-self: Sweetie, we have gel inserts now. Or claim “ergonomic accommodation.”
  • 15
    2025 brat-self: In 2025, this prank gets you arrested. Substitute: “Do Not Disturb — Zoom in Progress” tape.
  • 16
    2025 brat-self: LOL. “DVD player.” That’s vintage now. Macs still brat-coded, though.
  • 17
    2025 brat-self: Endorsed. No notes. Ray-Bans forever.
  • 18
    2025 brat-self: Still clever. Only now the dress code violation is leggings-as-pants.
  • 19
    2025 brat-self: Still works. Swap in LED laces and watch your shoes light up faculty meetings.
bottoming

Oasis 2025 Day Two: The Envelope Please

Posted on By Mija

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[My first and second Oasis 2025 posts are here and here.]

I’m not going to talk about the dog park today. Suffice to say Sutti and I went out, found a patch of green, she played hard, we came back, she ate, drank, and took a nap while I had a two-hour meeting with my department chair. It went well—we discovered we’re on the same page about where the department goes next, which is always a happy thing.

Afterwards I got coffee and started thinking about detention.

My detention with the Headmaster (Stephen Lewis) wasn’t until the very end of his evening schedule—9:02 p.m.—because I’d told him about my afternoon meetings and he’d kindly shifted me. (Thank you!). The later slot meant I wouldn’t see much of the vendor fair, but that was fine. This house already has more than enough implements, thank you very much. I did, however, pick up a wonderful tin of “Bare Bottom Balm” from the lovely Botany Bitch. She’s based in Southern California, but of course we had to meet in Las Vegas.

I did my first of these Headmaster sessions at last year’s Oasis. Paul walked me over, waited outside (yes, you can hear through the door), and then took me back to our room where school punishments blurred into home ones. This year would be different.

The set-up is remarkable. Each session is only six minutes long. There are chairs outside where the next two or three people wait, nerves jangling, muffled sounds of spanking drifting through the door. Quiet, shared humor in the hallway. The shortness of the appointment is part of the realism—you’re just another unfortunate student slotted into the Head’s busy evening.

Last year with Mr. Lewis, it had been straightforward: missing assignments—both of us playing the roles serious and straight, as though the scene were a page from an actual school register. This year I’d tried for an adventure. With Inez on my mind, I added a twist: tardiness (a perennial), missing work (inevitably linked), and—my favorite—“being cleverer than the teachers.” I hit send.

This was set out in Newcastle the day the uniform arrived. I forgot to take one at the hotel.

Hours before my slot I slowly assembled the uniform: ironed my white shirt, changed into navy knee socks and black Docs, tied my tie, buttoned my kilt. But before any of that I’d already donned the very irregular panties beneath my regulation knickers. At least deciding to wear the Scottish uniform solved my “what to wear” problem. (See photo—not taken in Vegas.)

And in case you’re wondering why I so often overpack for spanking weekends: it’s the possibilities. What if someone wants a safari scene? Or this is finally my chance for T-Rex cosplay discipline? Yes, I’ve packed the dark green blazer—but what if the navy one is the one that matters? It goes on like that, to infinity.

For those of us who do school roleplays that last hours, the idea of a meaningful scene in six minutes seems ridiculous. But Mr. Lewis makes it work.

I was called in, handed over my envelope containing my offenses. He inspected it first for tampering. I hadn’t tampered with it—not even with removable washi tape—but I had unthinkingly jammed it into my backpack, where it migrated to the bottom like a guilty secret. Though I’d ironed it along with my skirt, he declared the envelope and slip only barely passed muster. Already I felt like the careless schoolgirl I’d claimed to be.

You would think an envelope would protect a note a tiny bit better.

He questioned me, sharply but not unkindly. Tardiness. Missing work. Being cleverer than the teachers. My heartrate shot up. I was already regretting the pink-panties gambit. First I was taken OTK, knickers up. For a moment I started to relax—the navy knickers are enormous; surely they could keep the much smaller pink pair safely hidden.

I was then led to a table and told to bend over it for six sharp cane strokes. It was a light-ish cane, delivered over my knickers.

As the cane strokes fell, one by one, each with its signature SWISH, I was reminded of my “cleverer than my teachers” offense by being asked if I thought I was smart. “No, sir,” I answered quickly and meekly.

“You are smart,” he corrected me. “But perhaps not smarter than your teachers.”

I found the cheek to agree: “Not all of them.”

Painful, yes—but perhaps because of the double layers, not unbearable. With each stroke I became more certain I was going to get away with it, that my pink panties would remain a private joke I could tell “Mr. Lewis” about after our scene was over.

Alas, not so. After the final stroke, Mr. Lewis stepped closer, smoothed my knickers, and lifted the leg elastic just a fraction. His voice went severe: “I thought as much.”

I knew better than to rise—no one says that and then sends the culprit on her way. He crossed back to the desk, selected the tawse, and told me to prepare for twelve strokes. It would have been six, he noted, had I not been “too clever.”

The first six bit and were bearable—sharp, stinging, the kind of pain I could take with steady breaths. The second six fell lower, harder. Each one drove me up onto my toes, fingers clamped white-knuckled around the table’s edge as I fought the urge to jump up, to throw my hands back and cover my bottom.

At last he told me that was all, and that better behavior would be expected in the future. I thanked him, as properly as I could manage, and received a brief embrace before being sent on my way.

Then, returning to myself, I asked him how it was going. He said it was fine—lovely, actually—except that he was terribly bored with the sound of his own voice. I left the suite laughing.

When I reclaimed Sutti, her temporary keeper reported that my absence—vanishing into a room she couldn’t see, from which came strange and worrying noises—was, as far as my furry friend was concerned, NOT OKAY.

Sutti’s ruling was clear: no more disappearing into mysterious rooms, thank you very much.

Day three’s post will also involve Stephen Lewis, but in a very different context.

Consent and Limits: Context and Consequences

Posted on By Mija

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Inspired by the wonderful podcast Sips and Smacks, Episode 108, this started back in April as a post on accountability, discipline, and punishment. However, as I tried to write it, I realized I need to write a context piece giving my take on consent and limits first. The specifics are, in places, blurry and that’s intentional. I’m not writing about any one event but rather some recent and not-so-recent experiences that inform my notions of consent, how it’s given, and what it means.

It probably goes without saying, but I’m going to say it anyway: this post is written solely from my perspective and experiences. It’s my narrative, my truth. That’s significant because in any narrative about any relationship, each person involved experiences things from their own perspective and within their own specific context. This shapes their narrative, that is, their experience of reality. Without getting too “narrative theory-ish,”  these differences shape each person’s “truth,” meaning that there’s rarely a single version of any experience involving more than one person. 

This post, as has always been the case with any post I make about our relationship and/or play, was read by and discussed with Paul before I posted it. In this case, I explicitly asked him to check it over for anything that was untrue, though he has his own perspectives based on his own experiences and misunderstandings, so before I posted it we could agree we’re operating from the same set of facts.

All of the following are based on how things have been between us for the past 25+ years — how they will be is something we’re still figuring out, literally day-by-day, a process that’s painful and wonderful. I’m writing this, in part, to try and tease out all this so I can understand where we are and imagine where we might go. Since neither of us have figured out or agreed how things will be going forward, I’m keeping this in the present.

There’s a lot to be said for a walled garden.

Paul and I have been partnered in some form or other 1 (1997) online only, long distance, (1998-2002) long distance, with in-person visits, (2002ish-2004) living together , (2004-present) married. basically since I delurked on the newsgroup.2I delurked in February 1997. Paul wrote the first “Pablo and Mija” story in March — he posted the first two in April 1997. Before that I’d never been spanked as an adult by anyone. Paul and I did a long-distance call in August 1997 that was a directed self-spanking as a serious punishment for a troubling real life issue between the two of us. That punishment, done via landline telephones using phone cards (yes, we are that old) in my dorm room was the first (adult) spanking either of us gave or received. Yet, even before this, we’d each playfully punished and disciplined the other with uniforms, essays, and lines. Those elements came naturally to the relationship –almost from our first exchanges.

Reading over Paul’s account of it, written for me and afterwards posted to the newsgroup, the early shades of the myriad ways accountability, and consensual non-consent to discipline and punishment are part of “our scene” are visible in that first punishment. Because of this, my limits and boundaries with Paul have framed my participation in the larger spanking scene. Negotiations and limits with other people exist, and have always existed, but those limits have always been created and lived within those I have with Paul, informing whatever I’ve considered doing with other people. There are, and always have been, a lot of things I do with Paul that I don’t do with anyone else and vice versa.

(more…)

  • 1
    (1997) online only, long distance, (1998-2002) long distance, with in-person visits, (2002ish-2004) living together , (2004-present) married.
  • 2
    I delurked in February 1997. Paul wrote the first “Pablo and Mija” story in March — he posted the first two in April 1997.

March 2025 Update

Posted on By Mija

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Things that have happened this month, so far:

February Raffle:

The drawing notice finally went out – the winner is Natty!

Spanking Startles and Such: 

Reading: Earlier this month I read The Weed that Strings the Hangman’s Bag by Alan Bradley, the second in his Flavia de Luce mystery series. They’re set  1950s (?) England, and about Flavia, an 11-year-old girl who solves murder mysteries.  In the midst of it all, I came across this startling passage where our protagonist mentions getting spanked in the church by the vicar’s wife, who used a sort of hymnal. Young Flavia, a chemistry fiend, had taken a scraping from a stained glass window to do a chemical test on:

Hymns Ancient and Modern (image adapted from Wikipedia)

Of the many phrases that came to mind to describe Cynthia Richardson, “good sport” was not among them; “ogress,” however, was. It was after all Cynthia, with her rodent features, who had once caught me teetering tiptoe on the altar of St. Tancred’s, using one of Father’s straight razors to scrape a sample of blue zafre from a medieval stained-glass window. Zafre was an impure basic arsenate of cobalt, prepared by roasting, which the craftsmen of the Middle Ages had used for painting on glass, and I was simply dying to analyze the stuff in my laboratory to determine how successful its makers had been in the essential step of freeing it of iron. Cynthia had seized me, upended me, and spanked me on the spot, making what I thought to be unfair use of a nearby copy of Hymns Ancient and Modern (Standard Edition).

“What you have done, Flavia, is not worthy of congratulation,” Father said when I reported this outrage to him. “You have ruined a perfectly good Thiers-Issard hollow-ground blade.”

OMG! Promo image of Expelled!

Gaming: Speaking of stained glass, I’m playing Expelled! on my Nintendo Switch. The game is set at a girls’ school in 1922. The player’s character is Verity, a scholarship girl who is being framed for pushing another student out of an ancient stained glass window.

My current status is “Extremely Naughty” so no surprises there.

After I posted about this game on the Sips and Smacks Discord server, someone told me the game company Inkle has an earlier game, Overboard, that also has spanking-friendly content.

Swan Song Update: 

I’m getting spanked a lot—like a lot a lot. I’m also wearing uniforms pretty often, for me, for Paul, or for me and Paul. I haven’t taken many daily uniform pictures, mostly because I’ve tended to forget until I’ve already changed out of it. I’ve also been gardening most days, which is something I obviously don’t do in my uniform. Speaking of gardening, I’ve been wearing overalls a lot. As I mentioned on Twitter and BlueSky, I find them pretty vibe-y and am surprised there aren’t more spanking pictures with people wearing them. Also, garden-related, I got switched by Paul for the first time.

Currently, I walk by this school desk, chair, and a small (!!!) hairbrush paddle (made by Adam and Gillian) every time I pass through the dining room.

On a more practical level, we both agree that if I can, I should keep the house after Paul goes to the UK, though given that our mortgage payment+taxes is about 90% of my current pay, this is going to be tricky. There are no raises in sight, at least not until I can go up for promotion in a few years, because I work for the government (state university). But given how much rent is in the Los Angeles area and the severity of the housing shortage in Southern California, worse than ever since so many people lost their homes during the fire, I couldn’t rent a place for much less. I’m exploring finding a housemate… we’ll see how this goes.

Paul and I are trying to get The Treehouse back up before he goes. There’s a lot of sorting out to do, though. On this blog, I’ve added a “6 of the Best” page to the top menu, pointing to six blog posts I currently like. This page will be updated1In theory anyway. as time goes on and I write more. We’ll see how it goes.

 

House and Puppy Stuff:

The garden is getting cleaned up — my newfound love of gardening has been so much fun. It’s involved me getting switched2Inside thankfully! and fulfilling a fantasy of having overalls taken down for a spanking. The feeling of going from fully dressed to standing in knickers and a tee-shirt, so quickly, is, as we all say now,3I suspect someday use of the word “vibe” will date this post. “vibe-y.”

Having completed two-thirds of her training, Sutti is now officially designated as a “service dog in training.” Her paperwork is currently in progress to get permission for her to come to campus with me. She is such a joy and such a brat—definitely brattier than I’ve ever been, but also far cuter.

Summer Plans:

Academic year 2025-2026 cannot be over soon enough as far as I’m concerned. After classes end, I’m planning to go to TASSP in June and then spend most of July and (perhaps) August in the UK and Ireland. Sutti is traveling with me, assuming we can get her passport sorted. So far, I think we’ll be in London, Edinburgh, Glasgow, Limerick, and various places in the North of England. This should get nailed down a bit more in the next couple of months. A lot depends on whether or not I get sabbatical time for the Fall 2025 term. While I’m slow to play with new people, I’m always happy to meet up for coffee or other beverages, especially if there might be cake. Let me know if you’d like to try and connect.

  • 1
    In theory anyway.
  • 2
    Inside thankfully!
  • 3
    I suspect someday use of the word “vibe” will date this post.

That Escalated Quickly – Real Life (New Story!)

Posted on By Mija

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woman in green Scottish school uniform reading a book
That’s the kilt and school desk. I did not wear either the tie or blazer today.

[Wanna win a new London Tanner paddle? One’s being raffled this month on this very blog. You enter by posting a comment to any post or page on the blog. Each new comment or reply to another comment gets you another entry.]

That Escalated Quickly (2025)

by Mija

M/F

[texting with a friend during a break in writing something super important1The academic job letter is the worst writing genre in the world. It manages to both be extremely boring AND incredibly high-stakes stressful at the same time. ]

Me:
I just had things escalate unexpectedly here.

Not Me:
Oh?

Not Me:
👀

Me: Yup. Here goes…

So, I’m wearing my Scottish uniform—the green one. I’m wearing a green plaid skirt, sweater, white shirt, and green knee socks. Paul had just got home, and after we’d unloaded the groceries, I was taking a break from what’s been a 14-hour workday (so far) by chilling in the living room while Paul worked on fixing the smoke detector. I realized I had about 20 minutes left on my break (more like five now).

I joked, “There’s not much point in having you guess my knicker color today.”

Paul goes, “They should be green.”

I was like, “Right,” and went back to Candy Crush.

Then he said, “Well, show me.”

Normally, he makes me stand up, touch my toes, and then he lifts my skirt to check if my knickers are the “right” color—before giving me/them about a dozen smacks with his hand.

Paul was on the other side of the room, and honestly, I was too lazy to actually stand up (major facepalm). So I quickly turned and pulled my legs up so my feet were over my head with my toes touching the cushion, thinking it’d be a cool “flashing” my knickers moment for him.

I was already amused with myself, so I was caught between giggling and laughing hysterically.

See where I’m going with this? Yeah, I didn’t really nail it.

I only meant to be in that legs-up position a second so he could see that my knickers were the classic bottle-green school ones, but there was one fatal flaw—I couldn’t see a thing because I was laughing so hard, and my chunky thighs were totally in my way.

Then Paul goes, “Don’t move,” and comes over to smack me on my knickers. I was still laughing. It didn’t hurt, his angle was off; plus, since I was in bottle green heavy cotton school knickers, it might have even hurt him more than me.

He said, “Don’t move,” again, and started rummaging through drawers (everything had been scattered on the dining room table over the weekend, but I’d tidied up on Monday before the dog trainer showed up. We do try not to scare the (presumably) vanilla folks.

Paul muttered, “I don’t know where anything is,” and told me to stay put.

I figured he was after our little paddle. Okay, maybe I secretly hoped he was, so I finally said, “I dumped everything in the school desk.”

With my thighs practically covering my face and no glasses on, I couldn’t really see or even hear what was happening. Did I mention I was laughing? I had no clue what he’d grabbed—or that he’d even made it back to the sofa—until that dreaded tawse landed.

[insert picture]

Yeah.

I did move then, but (I think) his left hand was still on my thighs, so instead of escaping I ended up pulling my legs back even further.

I tried not to move but ended up practically (okay, forget the practically) screaming, “Wait, no, no, wait!” as clearly as I could.

After five more screams, it was finally over.

Six of the best.

For now.

There was barely time for a hug and this text before my “back to work” alarm went off.

Now I’m back at my desk trying to work—well, typing this post out first, and then maybe doing some more actual work.

But seriously, that escalated quickly.

 

 

 

 

  • 1
    The academic job letter is the worst writing genre in the world. It manages to both be extremely boring AND incredibly high-stakes stressful at the same time.

Story: What I Wished For (2011) – Real Life

Posted on By Mija

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This post was originally published in 2011 on my old blog, el tercer ojo. I think it may also have been posted to soc.sexuality.spanking. It should have been, but my cross-postings were always pretty erratic. Paul washing my hair, or helping me wash it, has always been one of my favorite things since we first met, making this is an especially sweet memory.

I miss our “nursery cane,” as well as the Travel Cane1The travel cane was much loved because it was light, bendable, easy to fit into a suitcase. Our met the fate of so many, either getting left in a hotel room or forgotten in a suitcase that later got given away. that The Stockroom used to sell and were legend on the newsgroup. If you have any leads on either, let me know in the comments.

Sadly, not the nursery cane…
What I Wished For (M/F) RL 

[Note: this is how I remember the conversations with Paul.  He may have different memories.]

Heading home yesterday on the bus, I posted a Tweet along the lines of

The hottest idea I can think of right now is someone giving me a bath, washing my hair & putting me in pjs & beating me. A bit.

My thought posting this was we might get to play a bit this weekend when my dad goes away. When I got home, I played some Oblivion (more on that another day), Paul solved the dinner problem with a run to Carl’s, and I snuck off to take a nice bath.

I was just undressing when there was a knock at the door. Struggling into my robe, I felt annoyed. Is there no alone time to be had in the apartment? But when I opened the door it wasn’t my dad suggesting ice-cream. It was Paul.

“If you leave the door unlocked I’ll come in in a bit & wash your hair.”

Mmm. Nice.

“…but only if I also cane you before bed.”

I protested quietly. My dad was home.

Paul countered. My dad after all sleeps soundly. And the small cane is silent.

I left the door unlocked.

Paul came in and carefully and throughly washed and conditioned my hair, rinsing it with many pitchers of water.  I sat in the bath, feeling the warm water run over me, feeling all cared for and clean.

“Clean pjs tonight” he said as he left. I almost retorted that I *always* wear clean pjs as he must know from the laundry pile, but instead was quiet, pouting only to myself.  I thought about being caned with my dad in the other room.  It felt risky and naughty and I knew, knew that Paul was serious.

Dressed for bed, I sat through some National Geographic program on the Pope (!!!) until my dad announced he was tired and going to bed.  Paul was awfully quick to agree with him he would be tired after so much driving.  We watched a bit more of the program which seemed expressly designed to annoy Paul.

Finally he reminded me to take my meds (I’d already done so), do any final bedtime things and then go and stand facing the closet. This because I’ve managed to fill the corner I usually stand in with stuff to take to the dry cleaners.

When Paul came in he went to the closet. I heard the rattle of the rattan canes, the quiet swish as he found the right one and then he came over, led me to the bed, took down my pjs and put me across his knee (this is a “nursery cane” made for otk use).  I was warned that my hands would be pinned behind my back if I couldn’t keep them in front of me.

The thing about being caned otk is that while it isn’t as hard as a longer heavier cane, there are a lot more strokes given a lot more quickly.  I gasped (quietly) and drummed my feet at the sting. Paul put up with my wiggling for a bit and then pinned my legs with his.  The sting went from painful to close to unbearable.  Tears clouded my eyes and I longed to wiggle away or make noise or something.

But between the strokes, I could hear my dad snoring so buried my face even deeper as tears leaked from my eyes.

It wasn’t a long caning but seemed to go on and on.

I slept insanely well last night. This morning, of course, no marks at all.

  • 1
    The travel cane was much loved because it was light, bendable, easy to fit into a suitcase. Our met the fate of so many, either getting left in a hotel room or forgotten in a suitcase that later got given away.

Orange Socks and Spanking

Posted on By Mija

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“Oh no! Daddy heard I was wearing orange socks and told me to wait for him in my room….”

What’s the connection between wearing orange socks and spanking? Did you even know there was one?

“Naughty Santa put orange socks in my stocking again this year! I swear the jolly old elf is trying to get me in trouble”

I posted the above picture (me wearing orange knee socks) and told this little bit of spanking history on BlueSky and Twitter today:

A million years ago… no wait, in the late 20th century (that is the 1990s) on the Usenet group alt.sex.spanking, there was a discussion of how to ask for a spanking and/or “punishment” scene1This was long before the term “funishment” came into usage. without actually asking. Someone posted how in their house there was an absolute rule against wearing orange socks. Any wearing of orange socks merited punishments of varying severity.

“What on earth?!? I cannot believe you’re wearing those orange socks again. I thought we dealt with this seriously enough last time but clearly you need another lesson.”

“Orange socks” struck some sort of chord, maybe because it was both simple and silly (who doesn’t like that?) and it quickly became an inside joke and shorthand on the newsgroup. “Orange socks” as a punishment/spanking trigger was especially popular with several posters who were married/partnered with former vanillas as a way to playfully nudge or “ask for it.” For a while there was an”Orange Sock Award,” people would report orange socks sightings, and share places they’d found to buy them.2This was so long ago Amazon only sold books.

“I’m hoping it’s an orange socks kind of night.”

“Orange socks” as an inside spanko joke migrated with the group from alt.sex.spanking to soc.sexuality.spanking and came to mean a punishment that wasn’t about anything important but might still be severe. It was used periodically on the newsgroup until we put the lights out in 2012.

“Wait! That’s not fair! The rule is about wearing orange socks. As in a pair.  I’m only wearing one orange sock. Singular!!”

Now you know. The reason I’ll always give anyone in orange socks a second look.

  • 1
    This was long before the term “funishment” came into usage.
  • 2
    This was so long ago Amazon only sold books.

At Willow Street Station – A Real Life Story in Two Parts

Posted on By Mija

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[I started this post on October 10, 2024]

Last night I posted the following on Twitter:


Background and Details:
On Tuesday, before I picked Paul up at the Willow Street Station, I changed out of the long pink skirt I’d worn when I’d dropped him off into a new1New to me — it was an eBay find. brown corduroy skirt, a tan turtleneck, white knee socks, and tennis shoes. I left on my thick, white knickers. My logic was, arguably, that it was past 7PM and now chilly as a marine layer rolled over Long Beach. The skirt’s corduroy was certainly heavier and warmer than the pink skirt’s light cotton.

For so far as the skirt covered.

This last bit is, perhaps, important as my new skirt is full, pleated, and so short it barely covers to the middle of my thighs. And that would be the middle of my thighs in the front. It is shorter still from behind. Still, I reasoned, it was quite dark, and the train late enough that the platform would be pretty quiet.

I parked close to the station platform just as the train was arriving and got out with our very adorable dog.2I almost wrote “puppy” but she turned one year old last month. They do grow up fast… She’d come along because she’s both the most spoiled creature in the world, AND convinced I am constantly leaving Paul places. She’s always delighted when she’s able to “find” him and thus force me to bring him home. Standing there, holding the leash as people disembarked and the train continued its journey south, I watched for Paul, watched the dog, and had a bit of creeping awareness that the skirt felt a bit shorter than I remembered. Had it ridden up a bit? I carefully tugged down its, um, rear.

The pup saw Paul and bounded toward him, tugging the lead, and forcing me to follow. She greeted him as though he were returned from a months’ long dangerous adventure while side-eyeing me, clearly saying “See? I found him again.” He greeted her, hugged me, took the dog’s lead, and, I think, commented on my skirt.

I opened the front passenger door and started to get in.

“Get back out, please.”

Paul and doggo still stood on the curb, him urging her to jump into the back. My getting in is sometimes a trigger for her, so I got out and stepped onto the curb. As she finally jumped in, I got back in too.

“I said ‘get out of the car, please.'”

A jolt passed through me as I realized (duh!) this wasn’t about the dog.

(more…)

  • 1
    New to me — it was an eBay find.
  • 2
    I almost wrote “puppy” but she turned one year old last month. They do grow up fast…

Readers, Welcome – Also, What Is This Place?

Posted on By Mija

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Hello…hello…Can you hear me?

<tap, tap>

….Is this thing on?

AI-generated art that looks pretty like me… on a good day.

Welcome. 🙂 In honor of Mija’s Room receiving its first, and so far only, comment (thank you, Natty!), here is my welcome to my room. In my imagination, this is my corner of The Treehouse, the virtual real estate in the town of alt.sex.spanking/soc.sexuality.spanking where Pablo and Mija once lived.

I’m not sure if many people are reading here yet — if you are, please leave a comment if you can — this blog and site are still taking shape. For a new site it’s trying to do a   – but is mostly going to be a place where I post about my flavors of the kink, musing about ToGI, and all things that, for me, connect to spanking.

One reason it’s trying to do a lot is I have a lot of writing from 1997-2015 that’s not on the ‘net at present. Before it was taken down, it was in three places:

Part of the front page of Pablo and Mija’s Treehouse before it was taken down.
  • Pablo and Mija’s Treehouse – started in 1999 as a Christmas gift from Paul to me. It housed both Paul’s writings, my writings, and a few that we wrote jointly.  They were mostly written for the newsgroups alt.sex.spanking and soc.sexuality.spanking.
  • el tercer ojo – my first blog, started on TypePad in the early 2000s. It originally was going to be a space where I wrote about kink, politics, education, and all the other areas of interest. It soon became clear that it was mostly going to focus on kink. This blog is a kinda extension of that one, I think.
  • The Punishment Book – started in 2004. It was a blog I started with a group of friends. We wrote (sporadically) about how discipline and punishment fit into our lives and relationships, with a lot of real-life accounts. Other than the newsgroup, it’s been my favorite writing community ever — there was a great group of readers and a lot of fun discussions.  I wrote more about it here and would like to find the time to write even more.

All three had to be taken down, literally overnight. The reasons are complicated and have to do with a vanilla friend who, several years ago, unexpectedly became the focus of some of the nastiest parts of the alt.right. They was doxxed on a right-wing website; their connections were combed over as well. Because we’d shared hotel rooms at conferences and we were known to be close friends, I feared my kink might get added to the already terrible attacks they were already experiencing. I couldn’t think of anything to do other than take everything down and erase as much of Mija from the web as I could — not an easy task since the sort of massive data analysis possible now was science fiction in 1997 when I started writing. It felt like Mija died — that we’d had to kill her off, though in truth, I wasn’t actively writing.

That band has thankfully moved on.  As I’ve come back into the scene, I’ve been surprised to hear from a number of people that The Treehouse was a significant site for them and that they miss it. I find that deeply moving because I miss it too, more than I realized. The Treehouse was the first place “Pablo and Mija” lived together. The domain “thetreehouse.net”  was our first “home.” Plus, I like having control over my stories, knowing that there weren’t ever going to be ads or the like.

So, the structure. Obviously, there are dated posts (this is one of them). Posts are new unless I mention somewhere in the subject line or first paragraph that it was posted earlier somewhere else.

At the top, under the header, or in the hamburger at the far right, you can find the pages that are not posts.

Home: This will take you back to the blog’s first page.

About: Basic facts about me as well as art credit  — this banner is an adaptation of a drawing by KayQy’s “Solitude Lineart” – shared under a Creative Commons license.

Glossary: I sooo like a good glossary. This is where I’m going to try to EXPLAIN IT ALL by describing or defining things I write about that may not be obvious to all readers. It will, of course, be chaotic and inconsistent.

Links: This page has links to sites of friends, sites where I read, and eventually, sites where I’ve bought things. Basically, anything kink-related I enjoy and recommend.

Stories: These are my stories, both fiction and real-life accounts, mostly from Pablo & Mija’s Treehouse and The Punishment Book. Most of my writings have been somewhere in the discipline/punishment genre, with a fair dose of school uniform stuff. Hopefully, these will eventually end up on The Treehouse 2.0.

I’m tempted to commit to some sort of posting frequency, but let’s be honest, that would be a piecrust promise. We’ll need to see how this goes.

Meantime, leave a comment if you can.

Spanking Hazard! – Apple Loud Environment Alert

Posted on By Mija

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Recently, while I was hand-spanked, otk in the middle of our living room, I felt a vibration on my wrist. Since I was a bit preoccupied, I didn’t check at the time. Since I have ADHD plus assumed it was likely work-related, I promptly forgot about it, that is until I opened my phone and saw this:

95 decibels — how loud is that? I had no idea so I looked it up on the interwebs and found that 95 decibels is as loud as a jackhammer or subway train.

That’s pretty loud. Again, this was a hand spanking. Taking the news to the website formerly known as Twitter, I shared my news:

The always lovely @JanTweetly commented that she had questions. When I asked what they were, she replied:

This is said post.

Q: Whose?

A: Mine– receiving.1She was too polite to ask “why.” Even though it was pretty recent, I don’t remember. Maybe just because it’s fun?

Q: What noise exactly set it off?

A: The sound of Paul’s right hand clapping.

Q: Does it [Apple Watch] expect any response from its alarm?

A: No, but it scolded me, saying that “prolonged exposure” might cause hearing loss.

Q: Does Siri make inappropriate comments?

A: All the time, but not at that precise moment.

This sound alert brought me back to a discussion years ago in another time and place. When people were talking about the first word that came to mind when they thought of a spanking, mine was “loud.” It was not anyone else’s selection.

The sound spanking smacks make (especially with a small light paddle) is deafening to me and ratchets my fear level up to eleven. I’ve always assumed it was the association I somehow made with childhood as I was spanked far too often, far too hard, and a lot of times with a wooden ping-pong or other paddle.

This means I can react to a loud spanking as if I’m being killed, but be rather stoic, at least some times, for canings or strappings/tawsings. Since being diagnosed as neurodivergent, I’ve now begun wondering if it’s as much a feature of that. I am pretty reactive to noise generally, finding it near impossible to focus where there’s loud music, conversation, televisions, or slot machines.

I also try super hard not to make noise/cry out myself.

Do you find the sound sound of spanking difficult?

  • 1
    She was too polite to ask “why.” Even though it was pretty recent, I don’t remember. Maybe just because it’s fun?