Day at the Museum

I know this is a spanking blog. Please permit me to deviate and share with you my experiences from a museum exhibit on costumes from some popular movies and television shows. I know, boring shmoring. But wait...is it?

When I saw this:


I immediately thought of this:



When my eyes feasted on this:



I couldn't help but think of this:



And this:



Made me think of this:



Finally, George Clooney's batsuit:



Of course, made me remember this:



I really have no idea how those museum curators can stand working in such sexually charged environs.

Will spank for food

I wonder what kind of spanking she's looking for? Do you think the $2.00 would include bare? Would she just lean over the railing and stick her bottom out to wait for one smack?

I've seen several methods of soliciting money. In Berkeley, some teens were offering to punch each other for a quarter. Downtown here, there's a man who will create a poem for you for only one dollar (pretty good writer, too).

But a spanking? That's innovation.

Celebrity britches: Lily Allen and Mariah Carey

OMG, I love Lily Allen's ass in that blue outfit. Mmmmmm.

I've been really sick the past couple of days. So sick I can barely stand. I apologize for the brevity of my posts; I should be on track again soon.

Click on pictures to enlarge.

Parts of the whole

"You are not only mine to spank, to fuck, to use as I please, but you are also mine to pamper and care for in any way I see fit."

He lifted the sponge from the water and dragged it across her clavicle and down between her breasts before it disappeared below the foam again, only to be felt sliding beneath her navel to stop above her mound.

"If I want to take you over my knee I need no reason. If I want you to suck my cock you need no explanation. If you want to cum you need my permission. Understood?"

The rippling water as she moved her head had to suffice as an answer because at that moment his finger plunged into her, robbing her of coherent speech.

"This is mine," he growled, pushing deeper. His other hand spread her legs and reached under her to grab her bottom, "And this..." His fingers trailed upward to tease her left nipple to a peak. "This, and this," whispering now, he pinched her right nipple.

"All of these parts, they are mine to touch, to tease, to pleasure and punish. Understood?" He asked again, this time withdrawing his hands from her body to allow for a response.

"Yes, Sir, understood. And thank you," she said her lips matching the smile in her eyes.

"Good. Now on to your bath. Would you like more bubbles?"

(Artwork by Boris Vallejo.)

Roller derby vixens

Tell me this isn't hot and I'll check for your pulse.


(From Total Pro Sports.)

Ladies who lunch

The title is a bit of a misnomer since we actually breakfast together, but our meets function as the stereotypical "ladies who lunch" concept: each of us penciling each other in around a hectic schedule. Stereotypical, maybe, in implementation, but not in subject matter. I've made reference to our get-togethers before, and they definitely have a kinky bent, being that each of us are involved, to varying degrees, with TTWD (me to a lesser extent, scene-wise, as I'm not in the "scene" at all).

Still, we have difficulties saying the "S" word outloud, each leaning in and whispering it, feeling the thrill of it on our tongues, the prickle in our bellies. Or maybe that's just me. No, it couldn't be just me.

Now I am giddy with anticipation. It appears that one of my comrades may (fingers-crossed) join my Dom and I for a spanking game. Nothing is settled yet, but a few ideas have been proposed. My favorite is an OTK warm-up and then a light-hearted (but potentially heavy-handed) game of Round Robin with some slight modifications. No crop, please Sir!

This is a big step for me, something I've always fantasized about. If there were such a thing as a spanking star, I'd cast my wish now.

Lap tango

"You forgot to do something when you got here, didn't you?"

Her mind scrambled and settled on the one thing that she knew he must be referring to. When she arrived with her Mary Poppins overnight bag, laptop and Thai food, she had completely forgotten to greet him properly. It is part of their arrangement: a nice hello on her knees, her lips pressed against his hand, an indication of her submission to him for the duration of her stay.

"Yes, Sir, I guess I did. My hands were full and we were hungry! And...I forgot to greet you," she said, not really feeling ashamed but rather grateful that he had an excuse to discipline her. She had been a very good girl this week.

"Uh-huh. And I think you need to be reminded so you don't forget again. Don't you?" He said, his hand in her hair, his lips against her ear and trailing to her neck.

He wrapped his fingers in the tangle of her unruly hair and pulled her over his lap to begin the slow rub on her bottom. Lifting the hem of her sundress, his right hand explored the backs of her thighs and underside of her nether cheeks as she shuttered a sigh against his lap. These brief moments of anticipation, expectation always connected them...as if the days before were mere steps to bring them here, to this exact spot, to this proper placement of her over his lap.

Slowly, almost gently, he began his steady assault on her bottom. Two stinging smacks to her left cheek, two rapid strokes to her right, he built the rhythm to a frenzy until her legs were kicking and her hips were dancing against his knees.

Their tango continued with more heat, with him in the lead and she following, holding on, waiting to see the direction he'd turn.

"Do I need to remind you? Do you know who owns you?" He asked, loud enough so she could hear his words over the echoing claps. She shook her head, unable to speak in any other language besides gasps and small protestations.

And finally, she managed a whispered, "You do. You own me."

"That's my girl," he murmured and quickened his pace causing her legs to lift, her feet nearly touching her bottom in an unconscious attempt to protect her heated cheeks.

Suddenly, without realizing the spanking had ended, she felt his fingers explore her slick depths, teasing her open. She pushed against his finger, attempting to swallow it in her folds.

"Ah...that's my girl," he repeated. "I hope you learned your lesson...naughty girl."


(Inspired by a picture found on Richard Windsor's blog, who was kind enough to send me a cleaner version. Thanks, Richard!)

Oral thanks

Almost the entire month has passed with no mention from me about oral sex.

Forgive me for neglecting "Oral sex month". I swear my oversight is not indicative of my attitude behind closed doors. Well, okay, sometimes I believe 'tis better to receive than to give (as with spanking and money), but I give "thanks" often enough that blowjobs should be on the forefront of my brain.

I'm open about most subjects, but I don't go into the hairy (or not) details of face-fucking, deep-throating, and going down. Let's just say that I do it, alright? I hope that everyone does because the joys of giving and receiving good head cannot be underestimated.

As an appetizer or dessert, as a "thank you for finishing" or a "please keep going", giving head rightfully takes center stage during playtime or even, *sigh*, after discipline.

Some people, both men and women, are absolutely clueless and uncomfortable about what to do when lips and tongue meet cock or clit. So, in the spirit of the month, I'm attaching some links that might be helpful.

Fellatio:

Is "snake charmer" even possible?
Sage advice from robotic voice
Even with the typos, some sound words of wisdom


Cunnilingus:

Ear muffs!
A man who gives good head is a treasure (so says the robot)
AskMen.com answers


Go forth and have a suck-tacular day!

Farewell to E.d.

I should be embarrassed about what I'm going to admit, but I guess I'm past the point of shame with you, readers.

For the past few months I've been having trouble with my DVR. The problems only occur at night when I'm watching my recorded shows in bed. The DVR locks up and I need to reset the whole thing, only to have it happen again minutes later. I've been a pretty dissatisfied customer.

Last week the good folks at AT&T came out to examine their equipment but could find nothing wrong. The bewildered technician stayed for awhile trying to recreate the issue, but eventually shrugged his shoulders and scribbled down his cell phone number, telling me to call him directly if the problem persisted.

That same night, the issue happened again. A few nights later found me yelling at the box and stamping my feet, pondering the tech's cell phone number and thinking about calling him in the morning.

Well, last night, it finally dawned on me.


I was watching my recorded "How I Met Your Mother", and the DVR froze. So, I turned off my Hitachi Magic Wand (yes, this is the embarrassing part) to get out of bed, and it unfroze. I laid back to enjoy the show and the lulling vibrations, and it froze again. A few more clicks of my vibrator, and I started to notice a correlation. Vibrator on, DVR malfunctions. Vibrator off, DVR functions.

After checking another outlet, I realized the power of E.d. (Electric Delight, aka the Hitachi) was too great to enjoy TV and get off at the same time.

So, E.d., here is your notice: you are officially shelved. I am reconciling with B.o.b. (aka Battery Operated Boyfriend) immediately because missing my HIMYM episodes is too great a sacrifice.

It's been fun, but a girl must have priorities.

Our secret handshake

Oh, I like him. But is he into spanking?

Well, wonder no more. Let's start a revolution. For over a year now I've considered the idea of a secret pin that would identify spankos across the world. (I'm beginning to think I'm a girl obsessed with buttons.)

Perhaps this button from Zazzle is a bit obvious, but there could be lots of vanilla explanations for having it in one's possession.

But for the spankos out there, we'd know. Oh yes, our spankdar would be going full throttle.

Of course, there may also be some confused canoeists out there: What did that girl with the great ass mean when she asked if I top or bottom?

Update: Friends have pointed out that buttons are currently available at Birchwood Academy Cafe Press. I like this one in particular but am also in favor of the "Top" and "bottom" options.

Master baiting

I pivoted on my left foot, slowly circling, while he followed around me. In his hand was the small wooden paddle, an implement he knows I hate to love. My bottom, sore from the prior night's earned switching, was already ablaze this morning from the rapid succession of spanking over his knees. First it was the paddle, then his hand, and now again the loathsome paddle, which I managed to hide but was found -- too quickly.

Is this 'defiance'? I wondered, as a gurgle of laughter escaped my lips, both hands covering my tenderized sit spots. And how long can I pivot away before he catches me or before I decide to abandon this game of ours? Surely if he used force, decided to wrestle me to the floor and over his lap, this would end and I'd be, literally, a sore loser. Surely he's enjoying this game of "keep away" as much as I am, despite the challenging look that must be in my eyes.

We remained like that for a few minutes, dancing slow circles in his bedroom, each measuring the other's next move, before I relented and allowed us our prize. Keeping with the spirit of playfulness, he took me, laughingly, over the bed and administered sporadic, yet resounding, spanks to my derriere as I kicked and wriggled.

Ah, the euphoric feeling of playing with someone is an incomparable pleasure. Maybe next time I'll stick my tongue out and see how long it takes him to catch up with me, my red bottom jiggling as I run and hide behind the couch.

Yes, I'd say we've arrived at a new level of fun and games. I hope he's loving it as much as I am. And if not, oh well. I think we all know what he can (and will) do about it.

Celebrity britches: Vida Guerra and Scarlett Johansson

Famous more for her body than her body of work is Vida Guerra. And what a bod it is.

However, even compared to the asstastickness of Guerra, I still think Scarlett takes the award for one of the most feminine figures in Hollywood.

Click on the pictures to enlarge.

Kitchen revelation

I may speculate about a number of things, but the sex lives of my relatives is usually not among them. I mean, not really. I don't want details. I assume they all have sex and I hope they enjoy it, but imagining my great-uncle boning my great-aunt is not a healthy image for me to carry around.

Admittedly, this question has fleetingly occurred to me: spanko, or no? Not that I would tip my hand and actually ask them.

A few years ago, I received a definitive answer regarding one southern aunt.

We were in her kitchen, finishing lunch preparations. She bent to look into the oven, checking the pizza, and asked, "Can you get the paddle out of the drawer, please?"

I stopped tearing the lettuce momentarily, trying to understand what she meant.

"Paddle?" I asked, my tone dropping instinctively.

"Oh...er...umm....spatula. The spatula. Should be on the top," she corrected, a tiny bit flustered.

Now....

I have a dirty mind, granted. But is that not a sure tell? Who says "paddle" instead of "spatula"? And furthermore, who knows that their "paddle" is right on top?

Is my aunt a spanko? I think that's an affirmative. And I find myself watching my p's and q's around her a bit more closely, not for fear of the spatula, but because I don't want to betray my own, closely-guarded secret.

And I wonder, who else among my clan has these desires?

Well, I don't wonder that much.

Spanking Sarah Silverman

And yet another reason to love the sassy Sarah Silverman.

It's from February which probably means eleventy billion bloggers already posted it. So spank me, okay?

BTW: It appears that Sarah's current boyfriend, "Family Guy" writer/producer Alan Sulkin is ONE OF US!

Spanking from "Blondie Hits the Jackpot"

I now have greater appreciation for the Blondie cartoons. Perhaps most of you have seen this, but it was a first for me.

From "Blondie Hits the Jackpot", Ann Carter plays Louise, a spoiled, motherless child who asks Blondie (Penny Singleton) for a good, old-fashioned spanking. I'm pretty sure that this was not the "jackpot" referenced in the title, but it's good pay dirt for us spankos.

Improv

"Hey, babe, what about this?" He asked, holding up a silicone hot pad.

"Yeah, but how will you grip it...? You'd almost have to flick it, and I don't think that would work too well," she responded, envisioning the flat pad in action.

"Hmmm....this?" Indicating a large, red, KitchenAid spatula.

"Oh! That might work...but the angle...not sure," she rummaged around in the drawer of the rented house, intently looking for the perfect implement. Her eyes seized on a broad, thick-handled, wooden spoon that looked almost original to the 1950s cottage. "Ooh, maybe this one though?"

"Only one way to find out...," he grinned, grabbing the spoon from her hand and, in one quick movement, bent her over his uplifted leg and started thwacking away at her bathing suit bottoms.

"Yes! Yes! That'll do!" she yelped, twisting her body while lifting one bare leg.

"I'm not convinced yet", he replied. Resetting his grip on her, he picked up the pace and intensity.

Amid her giggled protestations, she heard it, a snap of the brittle wood followed by an, "Oh, shit! Nope. This won't work!"

"Hmm...let's see that hot pad again, " she winked, rubbing her teased and slightly pinkened bottom. With a quirk of her brow and an upward lift of her lip, she grinned at him. "Definite possibilities..."

Pushing it

When did my transition from "spanko" to "submissive" occur?

My cravings for a simple spanking have turned into a full-blown desire to be dominated. I've never doubted my true spanko-hood; I think you'd be hard-pressed to find a girl more into spanking than I.

But submission? When exactly did that happen?

I began playing with the idea last September with a Dom who proved to be more cyber than real. He whet my appetite, introduced me to a few concepts that were uncomfortable at first -- the use of "Sir" topping the list, followed quickly by the ritual of collaring.

When that ended, I returned to simple spankings for a bit in November, meeting someone local who gradually became a friend I'd meet for 2 am coffees and chats.

I realized I wanted more than some over-the-knee action, more than a scene that began with the lowering of my pants and ended in re-buttoning. I wanted what I had briefly tasted with the CyberDom: submission was the new flavor of choice. So my search on Spankfinder, Spankolife, and Collarme was back with a fervor.

A few more meets with some genuinely great people from Spankfinder, and around the time I started this blog, I found him -- my Dom. He's the one who not only understood what I was searching for, but also had the capabilities, experience, and desire to push me forward. Our brand of D/s is unique to us, incorporating most of the fundamentals found in a typical arrangement, but with additional boundaries and parameters.

He is my Dom, not my Master; I am his submissive, not his slave. I retain my independence and decision-making powers, being quite capable of identifying my own needs; but when we are together, I am decidedly his submissive. He pushes me. When I say that I can't take any more, he gives me more still, just enough to step beyond my comfort zone.

He is the first man to truly discipline me, to set some basic rules for me, and to take the interest in holding me accountable to my goals. When he identifies behavior that is harmful to me or to us, he intervenes with my consent. And in return, I allow him the freedom of expressing his naturally dominant personality. I trust him with the use of my body for his pleasure and, occasionally, for his whims.

We're coming up on our 100 day mark, a date that seemed impossibly far away when we first negotiated our verbal contract (more on that later). And I want to continue. Not only because of what happens behind closed doors, but also because of the level on which we communicate.

I've also been informed that he's going to "step it up a notch", that I can expect to be pushed a bit faster and harder in the coming days. This notion causes some anxiety in me as I sometimes doubt my strength as a submissive, still being rather new to this lifestyle. But ultimately I trust him to know my breaking point, to know just how far to push me over that fluctuating line between "more than enough" and "too much".

If not, I always have my safe word. Perhaps someday I'll actually use it.


(Artwork by Kami Tora.)

In secret

On the sweltering streets below, the cacophony of clock-watchers and number-pushers hurrying to meet schedules and priorities signals the arrival of another day. But here, in the quiet coolness of her room, time passes in a whisper and the date on the calendar holds little importance except to mark his impending arrival.

The hands of her old Technochrome steadily circle the hour when she will finally belong to the man on the other end of the phone, her anticipation of the moment growing greater with each mechanical tick.

Amber eyes study the one-room apartment, measuring the weight of each treasured object, ensuring that everything is in its place. Should have saved something for this morning, she contemplates, regretfully considering her clean space, some little task to distract me.

A blaring horn startles her from inactivity and motivates her toward the tiny bathroom, her hands desiring to seize on something other than the fluttering of the past hour. Glancing at those hands, she examines the ragged edges on her chewed thumbnail, and tsks at the compulsive habit. Ultimately grateful for something to do, she immerses herself in the act of filing her nails.

Minutes pass, and she finds herself staring at the blank wall, remembering their conversation before he boarded the plane.

"And when you think you can't take any more, when your bottom is blazing hot under my hand and you're writhing against my thigh," he paused then, letting her wonder, "I'll still give you more. Because you can and you will take it."

"But what if I can't? Take it?"


"You can. And you will," his confidence in her strength assuaged some of her doubts then. His next words made her drip. "And then I'm going to dip my finger between your legs and check how naughty my girl has been."

"I am very naughty," she sighed, "always naughty for you."

"Yes. You are my dirty girl, aren't you? Dirty only for me, aren't you?"

"Yes...," hesitating on the newness of the next word, she struggled to force it out, "Sir. Only for you."

"There's my good girl," he purred. "And soon, soon baby, I will own you with my hands and tongue and cock. You will be mine. Is that still what you want?"

"Oh, yes. I want that very much," she breathed, "more than you can know."

Closing her eyes now, she imagines the length of him pressing against her tummy as his fingers plunge her slick depths, her own finger simulating his. On a ragged breath, she turns her head and rubs her cheek against her shoulder, catching herself just before release.

Soon.

Soon the sound of palm meeting yielding flesh will drown out the horns and shouts from the city beneath as they discover their rhythm together. Her caged heart will beat for him, her name will escape his lips and cover the windows in condensation, evidence of their pent heat surpassing that of the air outside.

Resting her elbows on the windowsill, she wonders at the agendas below. There is nothing more important than this secret life at this very moment, nothing more crucial than that eventual knock on her door.


(Top photo served as inspiration and was found on Doonstartwo's blog.)

Leather love

You know how I've made mention of my "list"?

Ever-changing and existing solely in my head, experiences have been added and checked off at almost the same rate recently. Idea in -- scene plays out. Please and thank you kindly, Sir.

Flogger? Check. Switch? Check. Semi-public spanking? Check and check.

And then there are those things that never had time to make it to the illustrious list. They're just done, with little discussion or forethought. The latest? Donning a pair of leather chaps on a Sunday morning for some spanking and photographic fun. Who knew it would be so sexy? Who knew how comfortable I'd feel while being made decidedly uncomfortable with his punishing hand?

While the snap and smack of a leather implement is my preference, I've never been much for wearing leather -- decidedly not my fetish. However, there was something about the cool, sueded interior of the chaps against my thighs, the black leather framing my pale, and then later pink, bottom that felt so illicit and delicious. They're the leather equivalent to a garter belt and stockings -- highlighting the target areas while discreetly keeping the others under wraps.

And then there was that moment when he knelt and zipped the left leg, his head bent closely to my knee, his hands circling my calf. Anticipation rose with the zipper, a delicious uncurling deep in my belly, as I perched on the edge of the bed. His eyes met mine as the zipper reached the top. He smoothed his hands over the naked expanse of my revealed thighs and walked his fingers over my dampening thong to gauge my reaction.

So, leather chaps, welcome to my list: I'd like to wear you again.

Celebrity britches: Jessica Biel & Natalie Portman

Bottoms from the top of the heap: Jessica Biel and Natalie Portman.

"Celebrity britches" will be a new Monday thing, because sometimes Mondays deserve to be cop-outs.

Click on pictures to enlarge.

Waxing bun-tastic on my soapbox

You have no idea how hard it is for me to resist quoting Sir Mix-a-Lot. Visions of mall hair, jelly bracelets and booty-shaking in the school hallway, 1992, are making me dizzy with lust for sophomore year.

So, let's go a different route, since I'm feeling musical today:

Oh won't you take me home tonight?
Oh down beside your red firelight,
Oh and you give it all you got
Fat bottomed girls you make the rockin' world go round

Yeah. Queen is infinitely better.

I visit a lot of spanking sites and see hundreds of spanking pictures, videos, and blogs that focus on the often waifish figures of spanking models . I know that everyone has their particular tastes, and that thin is always in, but where's the booty jiggle and the thigh quake on a size 2 woman? (No offense to ultra-thin women everywhere -- you're still the media darlings.)

I want to see some movement, some waves, some wobble with the spanking. I want to see a bottom dance a jig when it's spanked. C'mon now: "hop, hop, back!"

I'm a big fan of loving the skin you're in, whether you're 80 pounds or 200. Work what you got -- be healthy and vibrant.

And, oh god, here it comes, evidence of my legendary self-restraint: Shake it! Shake it! Shake that healthy butt!

Join me in my big-haired, happy nostalgia:

With friends like these...

Mild hand spanking, but wonderful (if unoriginal) premise. On a side note...how could he leave his wife at the barbecue? Really! The nerve.

See? I'd be that friend getting spanked for "mouthing off".

(Video from www.bdsmfinder.com)

Eggs with a side of vibe

One of these days, I'll introduce you to my two friends with whom I occasionally breakfast and discuss kinky happenings, but not today. On the latest get-together, we bopped down to the adult toy store and spent about an hour wading through corsets, thigh-highs, and vibrators.

As we made our way to the cash register, I found myself empty-handed but full of ideas for my next purchases. And then I saw it -- nestled in a little container next to the register was this thumb-sized vibrator attached to a cord. It's called the "Promise finger ring" by Evolved. And it came in pink. But did it have power?

Soon the saleslady was demonstrating the vibe action for us, showing the variable speeds and functions that were controlled by a button on the ring at the end of the cord. Small, quietly powerful and versatile, this bullet would be perfect for a discreet public orgasm. Sold!

Empty-handed no longer, I tucked my purchase inside my purse and waited for the perfect moment to try it out.

That moment happened about a half-an-hour later; willpower has never been my strong suit. And my mind wandered to other uses for it. How would it feel to be spanked while this bullet pulsed away? Could it work its magic for both my partner and I while he was inside me? What if I put it there instead of here?

The answers: blissful, oh yeah, and WOW!


(Check out the pink reviews for more kinky merchandise recommendations. And feel free to email me with any that you love or hate.)

Like a virgin

Tip # 1: when you bring an implement on a date, make sure it's one that you wouldn't mind feeling on your bottom throughout the night.

Don't make the same mistake that I did yesterday.

The evildoer: my bath brush. Why, oh why did I think it was a good idea to pack that little gem in my overnight bag? Sure, just the sight of it turns me on, but that says nothing about how it feels when wielded by a strong man who considers its presence an open invitation to use as he sees fit. "Lightly," I said, "I like to feel it lightly."

See, I'm a leather girl: belts, straps, paddles. I actually detest the feel of wooden implements, although finding the domestic variety around the house gets me tingling. You know, open the drawer and there's the wooden hairbrush, or wooden spoon, or turner winking innocently back at you. But the use of any of the above? Yeowch!!

Last night I was squirming and kicking and pleading like I'd never been spanked before. The unrelenting bath brush, my arm pinned behind my back, my panties in a tangle at my thighs, all painted a pretty picture of a virgin spankee, spanked for the very first time.

Urgency

Within seconds of my arrival, I felt his hand in my hair as he led me on my knees to the couch in his living room. The hurried pace, the urgency for both of us to dominate and submit, had me dripping before he pulled me over his knees.

Without ceremony it began: hard and fast spanks on my denim-clad bottom as I bit my lip and bucked against his leg. He pushed me off his lap and ordered my pants down. Looking directly into his eyes, I hoped my passion for this showed as I unbuttoned my jeans and pushed them over and beneath my bottom.

Another hand in my hair pulled me back over his lap and he began again, wordlessly, over my panties. The heat built and my legs kicked my jeans to my ankles. With a tug, my panties came down and he continued, his hand feeling as strong as wood, his rhythm building to a fast staccato.

As quickly as it began, I found myself pushed from his lap and ordered to remain on all fours in front of him. My head dipped, forehead kissing the carpet, hair covering my flushed face, as the sound of his belt unbuckling wet my thighs.

And then he was behind me, spanking with an intensity that shocked me just before he entered me and rode me fast and hard. With a final push, his weight flattened me while we regained ourselves. His heart beat rapidly against my back as I caught my breath and savored the delicious after-effects of our frenzied reunion.

(Photo found on Doonstartwo's fabulous blog.)

A day on the farm

The picture gives it away. I mean, even if you hadn't read this, I suppose you'd guess that somewhere along the way this story would lead to a switching of my poor, almost-bare behind. Stay with me, reader; I'll get there.

This tale begins where my Friday post left off. I arrived at his house, a bit nervous, and was promptly ordered into position for my deserved paddling. I waited on all fours with my dress hiked above my waist and my bottom in the air. The wait wasn't long due to my predictable tardiness and soon he was next to me, hiking my dress up further and paddling away. He's a multi-tasker -- lecturing while he paddles. An admirer of efficiency, I was impressed by his ability to soundly and memorably make his point.

A few minutes later, amid apologies and tearful pleas, we were finished and all was forgiven. Time to hit the road!

Through rush-hour traffic and hours on the road, my bottom retained its glowing warmth, frequently causing me to shift on the front seat and to imagine the pleasures of the evening ahead when we'd stop mid-way for the night. The details of our overnight stay deserve a post all their own, but suffice it to say that my earlier tardiness was dealt with and forgiven in a most satisfactory fashion (i.e. another round with the paddle over his knee interspersed with tenderness and a strong finish).

Upon arrival to the working farm on Saturday afternoon, we were greeted by warm friends, cold drinks, and vigorous card-playing. (I may not be a redneck but I play a FIERCE game of cards.) Eventually we made our way through the woods that surrounded the farm and, stealing glances over our shoulders, were delighted to see birch trees, their white trunks like lighthouse beacons drawing us near.

Spoiler: here is where the switch enters the picture.

Because he is gracious, and I was wearing inappropriate footwear, he waded through the tall weeds and selected a branch to use for...a walking stick? a dog toy? a souvenir? Well, sort of the latter, but the branch was most definitely a switch-in-the-making. And I could tell that his intent was to use it right then, with the sounds of the party on the other side of the trees.

I had never been switched. I'd never even cut a switch. But, having seen pictures of them, I knew that the leafy protrusions and knobby remains should probably come off. So I set myself to making it as smooth as possible. Translation: not smooth at all.

And then, with an eye for wandering party-goers, I dropped my jeans and bent over. His hand yanked my panties into my crack, forming an embarrassing wedgie, and I was treated to at least three hard swats with this new implement. (Here's where our stories differ. He says "medium" and I say "hard". He says "three" and I say "one bazillion".)

Holy ouch! A switch really stings! I mean it really, really stings. I stood up between each stroke; I couldn't help myself. Shifting my weight from foot to foot, I tried to shake off the burn of the thin, whippy branch. His hand on the small of my back would reposition me while I sucked in air and awaited the next bite. This happened eleventy-billion times, at least.

And then, hand-in-hand we rejoined the party, the memory of our little jaunt fresh on our minds and hidden beneath the seat of my jeans.

Yep. It was hot.

(Artwork by Endart.)