Consider me thoroughly teased.
Ok...now can I have my spanking?
How about now?
Now would be good.
September 29, 2010
September 28, 2010
Paying for it
"There are no good girls gone wrong,just bad girls found out."
-Mae West
I'm not used to people catching on. I'm used to getting away with it.
Perhaps it is my innocent appearance -- wide blue eyes, cherubic cheeks framed in blonde curls, my tendency toward blushing -- but I was never suspected of wrongdoing by authority figures.
For an entire month as a senior in high school, I fabricated an excuse to leave English class mid-way through so I could sit in the parking lot and smoke. No note was needed; the strength of my pristine reputation was enough.
I never once had detention. And despite my propensity for turning in late papers, I never received a poor mark in any class.
No, I was not suspected of any wrongdoing until now. My past years of skating under authority's radar, blinking my eyes in feigned innocence, my face wearing the "who me?" expression, are over. He knows exactly who I am.
When he tells me to lower my panties, he needs no reason. But sometimes I guess I do. Perhaps that's why, when I'm over his knee, my mind flashes back to the wealth of past, unaccounted-for offenses. I've not told him this yet. He hasn't added up the penalties and interest.
But I have:
Twenty-five separate spankings for that month in senior year that I skipped class. Forty-seven spankings for being tardy to Accounting. Thirty-eight spankings for stealing rolls of toilet paper from the dorms when I lived in off-campus housing and money was tight. One hundred fifty-six spankings for the entire semester of Philosophy that I missed while still managing an "A". Ka-ching, ka-ching -- the list goes on.
I continue to add to it, earning spankings for being ornery, disobedient and bossy.
It is a 30-year mortgage that I pay off weekly. Neither those who have tolerated my misbehavior nor my disciplinarian are aware of the deposits. But given that the payments are so delicious, perhaps I should have incurred more naughty debt in my youth?
This week's payment is late. I'm looking forward to paying that off with interest. Maybe it's time to let him know about the secret bank account.
September 27, 2010
Warning: spanking may lead to...
I spend a lot of time discussing the virtues of spanking but haven't described the pitfalls. So what kind of hidden dangers are we looking at?
- Blindness;
- A knowing look from the Fed-Ex delivery man;
- Blog-writing;
- The annoying habit of confessing all of your misdeeds, even when not asked;
- A vocabulary riddled with acronyms: DD, D/s, HOH, OTK, BDSM;
- The sudden urge to eat an apple;
- Purchasing belts that are way too big for your waist and that you'd never wear in public;
- Uncontrolled blushing at the oft used phrase "spanking new";
- Sentimental attachment to your furniture and other inexplicable objects. "That couch? Sure it's old and ratty, but I can't *bare* to part with it.";
- Difficulty in explaining why the forearms and hands of a man are the first things you notice;
- A new paint job for all of the corners in your house;
- Friends mistaking you for a grand cook due to your extensive kitchen implement collection;
- The irrepressible and narcissistic need to look at your butt in every mirror you pass;
- The loss of a perfectly good bike to further your spanking endeavors.
"
Don't say you haven't been warned about these very serious, very real side-effects.
Unconventional thank you: Eat your heart out, Emily Post
Thanks to the help of my fellow bloggers, last week was the biggest week at The Pink Report since I started pounding away at the keyboard in March.
I am dreadful at thank you notes. (I write them but they are never sent.) So instead, I will thank each of the generous bloggers who contributed to my banner week with a photo -- a small measure of my gratitude.
Emily Post, eat your heart out.
To Chross for his most recent link to "History of a Spanko", I give this (ass with class):
To Consensual Spanking, for Red's kind words and endorsement of my blog, I bequeath:
To The Spanking Spot, for linking to "Extraordinary Uses for Ordinary Things", I hope he enjoys this (she is crying, after all):
To Woody's Back to School for calling me witty and charming (a man of impeccable taste), I give:
To Poppy of Poppy's Submissions, for posting links to my blog on Spanking Scouts, I give chocolate because she is a very good girl and all good girls deserve a treat:
If I have forgotten anyone, please do message me so I can flood your inbox with personal pictures of...my neighbor. Someone really should tell her to close her curtains.
Joking aside, it is spectacularly fulfilling to be heard and appreciated. And I thank you from the bottomest of my bottom (and my heart, too).
Hugs,
Miss Pink
I am dreadful at thank you notes. (I write them but they are never sent.) So instead, I will thank each of the generous bloggers who contributed to my banner week with a photo -- a small measure of my gratitude.
Emily Post, eat your heart out.
To Chross for his most recent link to "History of a Spanko", I give this (ass with class):
To Consensual Spanking, for Red's kind words and endorsement of my blog, I bequeath:
To The Spanking Spot, for linking to "Extraordinary Uses for Ordinary Things", I hope he enjoys this (she is crying, after all):
To Woody's Back to School for calling me witty and charming (a man of impeccable taste), I give:
To Poppy of Poppy's Submissions, for posting links to my blog on Spanking Scouts, I give chocolate because she is a very good girl and all good girls deserve a treat:
If I have forgotten anyone, please do message me so I can flood your inbox with personal pictures of...my neighbor. Someone really should tell her to close her curtains.
Joking aside, it is spectacularly fulfilling to be heard and appreciated. And I thank you from the bottomest of my bottom (and my heart, too).
Hugs,
Miss Pink
September 26, 2010
September 23, 2010
History of a spanko
When I was younger, I used to spank myself in the shower adjacent to the family room and check the results in the bathroom mirror. It wasn't until I was older that I realized people could probably hear me.
My freshman year of college I confessed to my long-term boyfriend my need to be dominated. I didn't use that word, though. My specific words were, "locked in a room without any clothing and made to do whatever you tell me to".
I didn't mention spanking, but that was at the center of my fantasy and a word I just could not say. I felt ashamed at my desire for him to spank me; I could not afford his mockery.
He did not lock me in a room and use me as I'd offered; he did not spank me.
While lying naked in bed with another boyfriend, I would turn onto my stomach and lift the sheet with my feet, exposing my bare bottom in temptation. When he'd cup the cheeks, my breath would catch and I would yearn for him to do it, to spank me. He never did.
I didn't really mind though; it was a relief to deny what I was for a little longer, although the need was becoming harder to suppress.
When I finally made the confession, at the age of 19, I had been drinking. As drunk as I was, I remember my exact words.
"I want you to spank me. Put me over your knee, pull down my pants and spank me."
It came out in a rush, all on an exhale, so I could not bite back the words.
He spanked me; I wanted more, harder, longer. Now, now, now.
A few years later, I found myself single at a Halloween party hosted by close friends. At the end of the party, I made out with a stranger dressed like Elvis. I whispered in his ear, "I like to be spanked", as his fingers crawled up my inner thigh and curled inside my panties. My Farrah Fawcett costume lent me courage.
He called the next day to arrange dinner and made his own confession: he was married. I never saw him again. He never spanked me.
I married the next man who spanked me. We would spend whole weekends naked and entwined, he with a wooden spoon in his hand. I finally tasted the sweetness of what I'd been craving: spankings -- morning, noon and night.
The marriage didn't last, although I hesitate to call it a "mistake"; I learned a lot about my need for submission, a need he'd never satisfy. As our marriage deteriorated in other respects, I longed for the psychological element of spanking that I'd begun to read about on sites like this.
Single again, I cast my net far and wide in search of men who shared in my fantasy. I accepted phone spankings from Massachusetts, Texas, Maryland, Kansas and Rhode Island, my breathing labored and lustful as I carried out the voices' orders.
It was not enough; my desires to make it real grew. So I made it real -- I met with carefully selected men who spanked me, dominated me, and showed me the world that had been hidden behind fear and guilt.
I began to embrace my desires as normal and made a decision to include this in my life, to demand its presence, to never deny who I am or what I wanted.
There is no shame in what we do.
Even if it means spanking myself with the phone pressed to my ear, even if it means throwing my confessions at thousands of strangers, I will never stop asking in my gritty whisper, "Spank me. Pull down my pants, put me over your knee and spank me."
What was once so hard to admit is now my most favorite thing to say. The biggest difference is that now I say it slowly, with purpose, directly gazing into my lovers' eyes.
My freshman year of college I confessed to my long-term boyfriend my need to be dominated. I didn't use that word, though. My specific words were, "locked in a room without any clothing and made to do whatever you tell me to".
I didn't mention spanking, but that was at the center of my fantasy and a word I just could not say. I felt ashamed at my desire for him to spank me; I could not afford his mockery.
He did not lock me in a room and use me as I'd offered; he did not spank me.
While lying naked in bed with another boyfriend, I would turn onto my stomach and lift the sheet with my feet, exposing my bare bottom in temptation. When he'd cup the cheeks, my breath would catch and I would yearn for him to do it, to spank me. He never did.
I didn't really mind though; it was a relief to deny what I was for a little longer, although the need was becoming harder to suppress.
When I finally made the confession, at the age of 19, I had been drinking. As drunk as I was, I remember my exact words.
"I want you to spank me. Put me over your knee, pull down my pants and spank me."
It came out in a rush, all on an exhale, so I could not bite back the words.
He spanked me; I wanted more, harder, longer. Now, now, now.
A few years later, I found myself single at a Halloween party hosted by close friends. At the end of the party, I made out with a stranger dressed like Elvis. I whispered in his ear, "I like to be spanked", as his fingers crawled up my inner thigh and curled inside my panties. My Farrah Fawcett costume lent me courage.
He called the next day to arrange dinner and made his own confession: he was married. I never saw him again. He never spanked me.
I married the next man who spanked me. We would spend whole weekends naked and entwined, he with a wooden spoon in his hand. I finally tasted the sweetness of what I'd been craving: spankings -- morning, noon and night.
The marriage didn't last, although I hesitate to call it a "mistake"; I learned a lot about my need for submission, a need he'd never satisfy. As our marriage deteriorated in other respects, I longed for the psychological element of spanking that I'd begun to read about on sites like this.
Single again, I cast my net far and wide in search of men who shared in my fantasy. I accepted phone spankings from Massachusetts, Texas, Maryland, Kansas and Rhode Island, my breathing labored and lustful as I carried out the voices' orders.
It was not enough; my desires to make it real grew. So I made it real -- I met with carefully selected men who spanked me, dominated me, and showed me the world that had been hidden behind fear and guilt.
I began to embrace my desires as normal and made a decision to include this in my life, to demand its presence, to never deny who I am or what I wanted.
There is no shame in what we do.
Even if it means spanking myself with the phone pressed to my ear, even if it means throwing my confessions at thousands of strangers, I will never stop asking in my gritty whisper, "Spank me. Pull down my pants, put me over your knee and spank me."
What was once so hard to admit is now my most favorite thing to say. The biggest difference is that now I say it slowly, with purpose, directly gazing into my lovers' eyes.
(Photos 1 & 3 from Girls Boarding School; photo of mullet spank (haha) found on Free Spanking Photos; photo of bridal spanking found on Spanking Blog; self-spank photo from Spank Amber; unknown sources on other photos.)
Spanking sells
More compelling than the usual presentation...
Get on and get off...
What are you doing about climate change?
Get on and get off...
What are you doing about climate change?
September 22, 2010
Compulsive liar
"I do not like this," I say.
His hand dips between my thighs and glides in the moist warmth it finds there. "Yes, you do," he says.
"Don't listen to her. She's a liar," I whisper while pushing against his fingers.
A few moments pass when the only sound in the room is our joined breathing, contemplative and aroused.
"May I get up?" I request. "All of the blood is rushing to my head."
He smacks my bottom, watching it grow a deeper shade of pink. "No, it's not. Your circulation is just fine," he murmurs between spanks.
"She lies, too!" I say, frustrated with this body that betrays me.
His hand dips between my thighs and glides in the moist warmth it finds there. "Yes, you do," he says.
"Don't listen to her. She's a liar," I whisper while pushing against his fingers.
A few moments pass when the only sound in the room is our joined breathing, contemplative and aroused.
"May I get up?" I request. "All of the blood is rushing to my head."
He smacks my bottom, watching it grow a deeper shade of pink. "No, it's not. Your circulation is just fine," he murmurs between spanks.
"She lies, too!" I say, frustrated with this body that betrays me.
September 21, 2010
Memo to my bottom
Subj: Re: Scheduling conflicts with Hand and Cane
Dearest Bottom ,
In regards to your memo of yesterday, I would apologize were it not for the raging success of Sunday's brunch. Perhaps if I illustrate for you all of the positive points, you will view our spontaneous endeavors differently.
The brief but thorough one-on-one discussion with Hand before Cane's arrival was quite illuminating. Not only is he a deep admirer of your enthusiasm and input, he also loves to spend any time with you that he can, regardless of any intrusions by other implements. Perhaps it is the way you blush under his tutelage. Or maybe it is your bounce and jiggle as you and he parry back and forth. Whatever it is, your relationship is well founded and another productive meeting is imminent.
On the matter of Cane, I cannot say that it was a complete surprise -- were you really so shocked at his arrival? We've expected his presence for quite some time and the day of reckoning was inevitable.
Did you not quiver when you finally met? Did you not enjoy Cane's slicing wit combined with his cool admiration of your thoughtful responses? From his report, you bloomed under his slow and steady care, a student eager to learn his teachings. I know that first meetings can be uncomfortable and tainted with the unknown, but I assure you that it was Cane's intention to ease you into the relationship and not overburden you with too much information.
And judging from the report in the mirror later that same evening, the joining of you, Hand and Cane had no long-lasting effects, but rather you, my bottom, had a contented and happy glow that sustained you through to the morning.
I would say that you acted as a successful intermediary and were unnecessarily concerned with the blending of both implements as Hand and Cane got along famously. So well, in fact, that Cane has requested Hand's presence on all future undertakings.
I predict a long and fruitful relationship that may produce some of your best work (a portfolio not to be underestimated). I am quite pleased, as usual, by the outcome and your performance.
It was a job well done, dear bottom, a job that recommends future spontaneous endeavors. If you cannot take the word of Hand, Cane, or myself, please feel free to consult with Pussy as she has valuable input that should not be ignored.
Warmest regards,
Pink
Dearest Bottom ,
In regards to your memo of yesterday, I would apologize were it not for the raging success of Sunday's brunch. Perhaps if I illustrate for you all of the positive points, you will view our spontaneous endeavors differently.
The brief but thorough one-on-one discussion with Hand before Cane's arrival was quite illuminating. Not only is he a deep admirer of your enthusiasm and input, he also loves to spend any time with you that he can, regardless of any intrusions by other implements. Perhaps it is the way you blush under his tutelage. Or maybe it is your bounce and jiggle as you and he parry back and forth. Whatever it is, your relationship is well founded and another productive meeting is imminent.
On the matter of Cane, I cannot say that it was a complete surprise -- were you really so shocked at his arrival? We've expected his presence for quite some time and the day of reckoning was inevitable.
Did you not quiver when you finally met? Did you not enjoy Cane's slicing wit combined with his cool admiration of your thoughtful responses? From his report, you bloomed under his slow and steady care, a student eager to learn his teachings. I know that first meetings can be uncomfortable and tainted with the unknown, but I assure you that it was Cane's intention to ease you into the relationship and not overburden you with too much information.
And judging from the report in the mirror later that same evening, the joining of you, Hand and Cane had no long-lasting effects, but rather you, my bottom, had a contented and happy glow that sustained you through to the morning.
I would say that you acted as a successful intermediary and were unnecessarily concerned with the blending of both implements as Hand and Cane got along famously. So well, in fact, that Cane has requested Hand's presence on all future undertakings.
I predict a long and fruitful relationship that may produce some of your best work (a portfolio not to be underestimated). I am quite pleased, as usual, by the outcome and your performance.
It was a job well done, dear bottom, a job that recommends future spontaneous endeavors. If you cannot take the word of Hand, Cane, or myself, please feel free to consult with Pussy as she has valuable input that should not be ignored.
Warmest regards,
Pink
September 20, 2010
Memo from my bottom
Subj: Scheduling Conflicts with Hand and Cane
Dear Pink,
Due to an unfortunate lack of planning, this bottom was somehow double-booked on Sunday. I had hoped for a nice brunch with the Hand, but since it was not set out clearly on the schedule (ahem), there arrived two implements to greet me instead.
Yes, the Hand was present for this informal gathering; thank you kindly for inviting him. But in short order, there arrived the Cane, hoping to feast on the remaining bounty of Sunday brunch.
Being the gracious hostess that I am, I greeted the Cane with a smile and a polite hand shake (a true sign of sophistication in times that could otherwise be uncomfortable) but quickly regretted my decision to include him as the relaxed conversation grew somewhat terse.
The Cane and the Hand have little in common, you see, and maintaining the conversation between them is fraught with peril, even for a well-versed and engaging bottom such as I.
With regard to your earlier verdict that Sundays shall be kept for "spontaneous pursuits", this bottom wholeheartedly objects. In order to avoid future double-booking, and the inevitable discomfort that follows, I respectfully request that all plans be penciled in on my calendar for approval.
Please contact me if you have any questions about this matter. I can be found in the usual place.
Sincerely,
Your bottom
Dear Pink,
Due to an unfortunate lack of planning, this bottom was somehow double-booked on Sunday. I had hoped for a nice brunch with the Hand, but since it was not set out clearly on the schedule (ahem), there arrived two implements to greet me instead.
Yes, the Hand was present for this informal gathering; thank you kindly for inviting him. But in short order, there arrived the Cane, hoping to feast on the remaining bounty of Sunday brunch.
Being the gracious hostess that I am, I greeted the Cane with a smile and a polite hand shake (a true sign of sophistication in times that could otherwise be uncomfortable) but quickly regretted my decision to include him as the relaxed conversation grew somewhat terse.
The Cane and the Hand have little in common, you see, and maintaining the conversation between them is fraught with peril, even for a well-versed and engaging bottom such as I.
With regard to your earlier verdict that Sundays shall be kept for "spontaneous pursuits", this bottom wholeheartedly objects. In order to avoid future double-booking, and the inevitable discomfort that follows, I respectfully request that all plans be penciled in on my calendar for approval.
Please contact me if you have any questions about this matter. I can be found in the usual place.
Sincerely,
Your bottom
September 18, 2010
Lining up...video clip
I'm not sure exactly why all these guys are lined up for a taste of Mona's paddle, but it sure looks fun. Can I join?
September 17, 2010
Expectant
His smell sits on my pillow, driving my fantasies. Each night and each morning, the musk that is uniquely him reminds me not yet. Not yet but soon.
In six hours the doorbell will ring. I will be almost ready. My hair may be damp from the last-minute shower, or I will be in the midst of fastening my garters, fumbling with expectant nerves.
He will ring the doorbell again, signaling me to move faster, to fly to the door while simultaneously smoothing my hair and peeping in the hallway mirror, for a last minute check of my appearance. I will yank the door open to find him there: smiling at me in assessment, his eyes trailing from my damp hair to my stockinged feet and back to hold my eyes.
And then, stepping into the entryway, he will fold me into his arms for a kiss, a hello. And I will place my nose against his collarbone and inhale him, that scent I can't erase from my thoughts. It is as unique as a fingerprint, warm and sweet and masculine, powerful yet yielding. I inhale him and I am finally home.
He will guide me to the arm of the couch. The hand on my back will command me to lean over, to place my face on the cushion, as his other hand runs up between my legs, pulling them apart to examine me there.
I will sigh my response and wonder if he might just forgo this spanking and tend to our other needs, my own desire evident as his fingers explore. As quickly as that unspoken question is formed, he will answer it with a slow and welcome beat on my partially exposed drum. Yes, this is what I wanted first, too.
I picture all of this but I have no ending. It just loops in my mind. Our hello. Our kiss. Being in his arms and then feeling his hands tenderly, yet assuredly, reclaiming their ownership of my body.
But somehow we will manage to straighten, to adjust our clothing and appear respectable as we continue with our remaining plans. When I sit across from him at dinner, the warmth of my bottom will be answered with a blooming wetness. His smell on my fingertips will be a promise that he has more. Always more.
In six hours the doorbell will ring and he will spank me. In eight hours he will spank me again. In ten hours, we will curl together and sleep.
He will ring the doorbell again, signaling me to move faster, to fly to the door while simultaneously smoothing my hair and peeping in the hallway mirror, for a last minute check of my appearance. I will yank the door open to find him there: smiling at me in assessment, his eyes trailing from my damp hair to my stockinged feet and back to hold my eyes.
And then, stepping into the entryway, he will fold me into his arms for a kiss, a hello. And I will place my nose against his collarbone and inhale him, that scent I can't erase from my thoughts. It is as unique as a fingerprint, warm and sweet and masculine, powerful yet yielding. I inhale him and I am finally home.
He will guide me to the arm of the couch. The hand on my back will command me to lean over, to place my face on the cushion, as his other hand runs up between my legs, pulling them apart to examine me there.
I will sigh my response and wonder if he might just forgo this spanking and tend to our other needs, my own desire evident as his fingers explore. As quickly as that unspoken question is formed, he will answer it with a slow and welcome beat on my partially exposed drum. Yes, this is what I wanted first, too.
I picture all of this but I have no ending. It just loops in my mind. Our hello. Our kiss. Being in his arms and then feeling his hands tenderly, yet assuredly, reclaiming their ownership of my body.
But somehow we will manage to straighten, to adjust our clothing and appear respectable as we continue with our remaining plans. When I sit across from him at dinner, the warmth of my bottom will be answered with a blooming wetness. His smell on my fingertips will be a promise that he has more. Always more.
In six hours the doorbell will ring and he will spank me. In eight hours he will spank me again. In ten hours, we will curl together and sleep.
Inflation
A kinky rag for $2.50 now goes for $4.00? I guess spanking erotica has a high inflation rate.
I guess the devil charges interest.
But why bring the horned man into it at all?
I guess the devil charges interest.
But why bring the horned man into it at all?
September 16, 2010
Time Management
Phew, I need a breather. It's been a busy week and from today on, it only gets busier. I find that organization is the key to getting through the arduous tasks ahead. Have a peek at my calendar:Friday
Saturday
Notice that there is some free time to handle any issues that may arise. In addition to organization, flexibility is also key.
Sunday is currently blank, as that day should be left for spontaneous pursuits. (But I suspect it may be more of the same.)
Who says weekends are for resting?
Sunday is currently blank, as that day should be left for spontaneous pursuits. (But I suspect it may be more of the same.)
Who says weekends are for resting?
September 15, 2010
Flirt
She will tease you. She will pretend that the things you say shock her, and some of them do. She will pretend not to notice that so much of her bottom shows when she wears her favorite panties and walks around doing household stuff, adding extra bends and shimmies because that makes stuff cleaner -- don't you know that?
"My bottom?" She will ask, eyes wide and unbelieving. "You want to spank me on my bottom?"
And, because you know her so well, you know that she wants that, too. Although your move will eventually be made, you choose to keep her in suspense until you've judged the perfect time; her shock is not feigned as you steer her toward the kitchen table, grasp a handful of hair near the scalp and, with your free hand, move her panties out of the way to cup and smack the cheeks she's teased you with.
You take her pleas and replace them with moans. No longer pretending indignance, she will rise on her toes to push against the denim of your hips, chafing her smooth bottom as she moves around and around against you, finally asking for it.
"My bottom?" She will ask, eyes wide and unbelieving. "You want to spank me on my bottom?"
And, because you know her so well, you know that she wants that, too. Although your move will eventually be made, you choose to keep her in suspense until you've judged the perfect time; her shock is not feigned as you steer her toward the kitchen table, grasp a handful of hair near the scalp and, with your free hand, move her panties out of the way to cup and smack the cheeks she's teased you with.
You take her pleas and replace them with moans. No longer pretending indignance, she will rise on her toes to push against the denim of your hips, chafing her smooth bottom as she moves around and around against you, finally asking for it.
Shirts and Skins
From the twisted mind of Command.It had been a lengthy session over my knee and I knew she needed a moment’s pause, so I stopped the spanking to admire the redness of her cheeks. She gave the slightest twitch as my hot hand made contact with her cool middle thigh and rested there. A moment later came a familiar wave as a shudder washed over her naked body.
She exhaled and adjusted herself across my lap, releasing a telltale scent of arousal in the process. I knew she was wet; her gyrations having turned from mock escape to a deliberate rubbing against my pants after the spanking gained intensity. A look of pleasure filled her face, making her appear all the more beautiful to me.
I let her rest a moment, my left hand tracing up and down her spine from her neck to the crest of her rump. Sliding my hand down her arm, I reached over and cupped her breast. Taking her nipple between thumb and forefinger, I gave a pinch with a twist, her notice that the break was over. A smile crossed her lips as she half-slid, half-pushed off of my lap to the floor.
Beneath the chair was my crop next to a bowl containing colored, plastic balls. I scooped up the balls in my left hand, retrieving the crop with my right. She sat at my feet observing my movements, her smile replaced with a knowing look of recognition: it was time to play a game.
“Four balls this time,"
I said when her eyes met mine. “You must return the red one by itself," I continued. She nodded her understanding and watched as I tossed the balls across the floor, mapping their locations as they came to rest. “Ready…GO!” I commanded.Quickly she turned away from me and headed on all fours toward the red ball, having decided to retrieve that one first. I enjoyed the view from my vantage point in the chair, watching her red moon sway back and forth with each move forward. Reaching the red ball, she leaned forward to pluck it up with her lips, crushing her breasts into the yielding carpet and exposing her slickness to my dancing eyes.
She spun around and moved just as quickly back to my side, depositing the red ball back into the bowl and in one continuous motion turned back to fetch more. “Fifteen seconds," I announced. She knew she had to pick the pace up a bit, but was content to be a brat for this first round and continued at the same speed.
Now it was my turn to smile. She knew exactly what she was doing, having determined her outcome before the tossed balls came to rest. And now I knew, too. Taking 2 of the balls at once, she deposited them in the bowl as time expired on the round. She shot me a sheepish grin and then took her time getting the final ball.
As she dropped it in with the rest, she turned into position with her bottom raised high and her head to the floor, face turned towards me with a smirk. “Penalty for taking too much time?" she asked with expectation in her eyes.
I heard her inhale as I raised the crop up over my head and thought about our game going into overtime.
September 14, 2010
Extraordinary uses for ordinary objects
The ever naughty, always raunchy Heels-n-Stockings from Sexual Adventures of a Married Woman organized a fun group post inspired by a book called "Extraordinary Uses for Ordinary Things". Her take on it was definitely more of the "insertables" variety but, I, being a spankophile to the nth degree, chose to focus on the use of ordinary objects during a spanking.Shocking. I know.
So, without further ado, I give you a list of 25 household items that can be used before, during, and after a spanking session:
1. Leather motorcycle glove -- Two implements in one, a hand coated in leather. I prefer the fingerless variety as you can still enjoy the skin-to-skin contact (and fingers remain free to investigate).
2. Bamboo back scratcher -- The knobs of the bamboo handle are a unique sensation.
3. A straight back chair -- Yes, the top can sit on it and pull the errant young lady over his lap, recalling a picture of traditional discipline. But if you're tall, like me, you can also press your hips against the back and fold your body over it, resting your elbows on the seat. Or you may choose to use TWO chairs back-to-back and place your knees on one seat, your torso over the backs, and grip the seat of the other chair while enjoying a hearty administration of hand or strap.
4. Lexan blind rod -- These actually are much more useful on blinds and have no justifiable reason to be used on bottoms. Move on to the next one on the list, dear Tops.
5. A belt, around the knees -- We all know that a belt makes a terribly effective and fun implement -- although some may hesitate to agree. But have you ever been bound with one? When you hear the belt trailing through the loops, you might be expecting to feel its power against your cheeks. What a surprise when, instead, you feel it tightening just above your knees, preventing you from getting out of position. It's an interesting twist on restraints that I highly recommend.
6. Car mat -- This is one of the more evil, evil things I have experienced: corner-time while sitting on the pointy-side of a car mat. I can tell you this though: I have never driven after having a few too many since that experience. (The punishment fit the crime.)
7. Dowel off of a wooden hanger -- Preferably while holding onto a balcony railing, watching people below as you attempt to hold back your reactions. (Be sure to remove any nails or splinters from the rod as it can otherwise cause a startlingly awful and unintended sensation.)
8. A marking rod -- This may be one of the more unusual items on the list. You know those flags you use to mark your driveway in the winter so the snowplows don't plow you in? Remove the flag part and you have a fiber-glass rod that is just the right length for an over-the-bed session.
9. A pizza board -- My good (vanilla) friends have one of these hanging on their kitchen wall. If things get a little hot in the kitchen, how about leaning over the counter for a few spontaneous doses of this item?
10. A sawhorse -- I recommend covering it in some sort of padding before use. I assure you, if the restraints are done properly, a sawhorse leaves one completely vulnerable to whichever of these chosen implements. A good mix of pain and pleasure while over the horse makes it an activity that can be enjoyed for an extended period of time.
11. Panties -- They can be used as handles, restraints around the knees or, if things get too loud, an impromptu gag. I have had the dubious pleasure of having my own wet panties unceremoniously stuffed in my mouth during a particularly vocal session.
12. A DIY strap constructed with leather from a tack shop and a work-light handle -- See here.
13. Clothespins -- It was not my idea to include this on the list. Yes, this is my blog, but a certain person (ahem) wishes to impart his wisdom as well. So I'll say it fast: put one on each nipple. Do NOT exceed 15 minutes. DO control the tension with a rubber band if they are too tight. A positive thing about clothespins? It can distract you from the spanking.
14. Ruler -- They make flexible rubber rulers! They sting! A lot!
15. Wooden spoon -- Yawn. But it's one of those "old reliables" that, no matter how many times it's been used, elicits a rousting reaction.
16. Rolled up towel -- Yes. They do hurt when rolled and snapped at a naked bottom, preferably while said bottom is running and giggling throughout the house.
17. Mentholated cream (NOT Icy Hot or Ben-gay) -- Not for during, you pervs. (Although I have heard of some adventurous souls doing this.) No, this is for AFTER a particularly hard spanking. The cream is soothing and hot all at once and aids in the healing process. I used this after my last hard session and like to think that my bottom regained its lily glow a whole lot quicker because of it.
18. An ordinary house slipper -- When the rubberized sole connects to flesh, the impact is just as effective as some other specifically designed spanking implements. Plus, it's a bit humiliating to be spanked with a slipper -- don't you think?
19. Silicone hot pad -- They're floppy. They're silicone. And with a slight snap of the wrist, they really do make one take note.
20. Fly swatter -- A clean one, please. They make them in leather, too.
21. Kid's paddle game -- Remove the ball and elastic string. See how many swats you can get in before the thin plastic breaks. My record? One swat.
22. Spatula -- Another stand-by that is always at hand. A wooden spatula is a particularly powerful foe that makes my eyes widen each time I see it.
23. Dog leash -- I guess they make braided leather ones, too, but I've only experienced the woven cloth variety, which pack a nice and unexpected zing.
24. Wooden hairbrush -- The all-time favorite ordinary object employed by spankos everywhere. I keep mine in plain view on my dresser so each morning I can imagine its employment on my bottom.
25. Tree branch -- The selection of the perfect branch might just be the best part of using this implement. Once it is free of excessive knobs be prepared to be wowed. Its wide availability is a detriment to bottoms in any locale.
Whew. There goes my career in politics.
Feel free to add any "ordinary item" suggestions before visiting the other kinky folks playing (warning NSFW, of course!):
1. Leather motorcycle glove -- Two implements in one, a hand coated in leather. I prefer the fingerless variety as you can still enjoy the skin-to-skin contact (and fingers remain free to investigate).
2. Bamboo back scratcher -- The knobs of the bamboo handle are a unique sensation.
3. A straight back chair -- Yes, the top can sit on it and pull the errant young lady over his lap, recalling a picture of traditional discipline. But if you're tall, like me, you can also press your hips against the back and fold your body over it, resting your elbows on the seat. Or you may choose to use TWO chairs back-to-back and place your knees on one seat, your torso over the backs, and grip the seat of the other chair while enjoying a hearty administration of hand or strap.
4. Lexan blind rod -- These actually are much more useful on blinds and have no justifiable reason to be used on bottoms. Move on to the next one on the list, dear Tops.
5. A belt, around the knees -- We all know that a belt makes a terribly effective and fun implement -- although some may hesitate to agree. But have you ever been bound with one? When you hear the belt trailing through the loops, you might be expecting to feel its power against your cheeks. What a surprise when, instead, you feel it tightening just above your knees, preventing you from getting out of position. It's an interesting twist on restraints that I highly recommend.
6. Car mat -- This is one of the more evil, evil things I have experienced: corner-time while sitting on the pointy-side of a car mat. I can tell you this though: I have never driven after having a few too many since that experience. (The punishment fit the crime.)
7. Dowel off of a wooden hanger -- Preferably while holding onto a balcony railing, watching people below as you attempt to hold back your reactions. (Be sure to remove any nails or splinters from the rod as it can otherwise cause a startlingly awful and unintended sensation.)
8. A marking rod -- This may be one of the more unusual items on the list. You know those flags you use to mark your driveway in the winter so the snowplows don't plow you in? Remove the flag part and you have a fiber-glass rod that is just the right length for an over-the-bed session.
9. A pizza board -- My good (vanilla) friends have one of these hanging on their kitchen wall. If things get a little hot in the kitchen, how about leaning over the counter for a few spontaneous doses of this item?
10. A sawhorse -- I recommend covering it in some sort of padding before use. I assure you, if the restraints are done properly, a sawhorse leaves one completely vulnerable to whichever of these chosen implements. A good mix of pain and pleasure while over the horse makes it an activity that can be enjoyed for an extended period of time.
11. Panties -- They can be used as handles, restraints around the knees or, if things get too loud, an impromptu gag. I have had the dubious pleasure of having my own wet panties unceremoniously stuffed in my mouth during a particularly vocal session.
12. A DIY strap constructed with leather from a tack shop and a work-light handle -- See here.
13. Clothespins -- It was not my idea to include this on the list. Yes, this is my blog, but a certain person (ahem) wishes to impart his wisdom as well. So I'll say it fast: put one on each nipple. Do NOT exceed 15 minutes. DO control the tension with a rubber band if they are too tight. A positive thing about clothespins? It can distract you from the spanking.
14. Ruler -- They make flexible rubber rulers! They sting! A lot!
15. Wooden spoon -- Yawn. But it's one of those "old reliables" that, no matter how many times it's been used, elicits a rousting reaction.
16. Rolled up towel -- Yes. They do hurt when rolled and snapped at a naked bottom, preferably while said bottom is running and giggling throughout the house.
17. Mentholated cream (NOT Icy Hot or Ben-gay) -- Not for during, you pervs. (Although I have heard of some adventurous souls doing this.) No, this is for AFTER a particularly hard spanking. The cream is soothing and hot all at once and aids in the healing process. I used this after my last hard session and like to think that my bottom regained its lily glow a whole lot quicker because of it.
18. An ordinary house slipper -- When the rubberized sole connects to flesh, the impact is just as effective as some other specifically designed spanking implements. Plus, it's a bit humiliating to be spanked with a slipper -- don't you think?
19. Silicone hot pad -- They're floppy. They're silicone. And with a slight snap of the wrist, they really do make one take note.
20. Fly swatter -- A clean one, please. They make them in leather, too.
21. Kid's paddle game -- Remove the ball and elastic string. See how many swats you can get in before the thin plastic breaks. My record? One swat.
22. Spatula -- Another stand-by that is always at hand. A wooden spatula is a particularly powerful foe that makes my eyes widen each time I see it.
23. Dog leash -- I guess they make braided leather ones, too, but I've only experienced the woven cloth variety, which pack a nice and unexpected zing.
24. Wooden hairbrush -- The all-time favorite ordinary object employed by spankos everywhere. I keep mine in plain view on my dresser so each morning I can imagine its employment on my bottom.
25. Tree branch -- The selection of the perfect branch might just be the best part of using this implement. Once it is free of excessive knobs be prepared to be wowed. Its wide availability is a detriment to bottoms in any locale.
Whew. There goes my career in politics.
Feel free to add any "ordinary item" suggestions before visiting the other kinky folks playing (warning NSFW, of course!):
September 13, 2010
In position
"Arms straight out. Keep them there!" he reminds me, punctuating his last words with a heavy thwap of the paddle.
I reach my arms out and wind my hands in the comforter, improvising a restraint since I can't seem to manage the position on my own.
Once upon a time I could lie still and give only the faintest indication that the spanking was having an impact. That time has passed. For some reason, whether he has become more forceful in his administration or my tolerance has decreased or I am more comfortable with showing my reactions, I now have a hard time staying in place.
This is, of course, met with disdain as all good girls know that holding the position is of the utmost importance.
I want to be a good girl. I really do. But I just can't seem to manage it. Before I'm even aware, my hands are sneaking back, my legs are straightening of their own volition. My body is saying, "no more!", while my mind screams, "behave!"
I tell my hands to obey but they are stubborn. I tell my hips to press against the pillow but they'd prefer to rise and revolt. It would seem I have no control over my own body parts.
I don't think he expects my legs to stay firmly on the floor; he can't expect that I will stay entirely still. But when my body twists away from his hand or paddle or strap, when my hands sneak back to offer protection, that is when I get the verbal, and then physical, reminder to stay in position.
And even though his voice, dressed in stern disdain, denies it, I know that he secretly enjoys this dance I perform for him. It does, after all, give him even more reason to spank me longer, harder, more thoroughly.
As if he needs an excuse.
I reach my arms out and wind my hands in the comforter, improvising a restraint since I can't seem to manage the position on my own.
Once upon a time I could lie still and give only the faintest indication that the spanking was having an impact. That time has passed. For some reason, whether he has become more forceful in his administration or my tolerance has decreased or I am more comfortable with showing my reactions, I now have a hard time staying in place.
This is, of course, met with disdain as all good girls know that holding the position is of the utmost importance.
I want to be a good girl. I really do. But I just can't seem to manage it. Before I'm even aware, my hands are sneaking back, my legs are straightening of their own volition. My body is saying, "no more!", while my mind screams, "behave!"
I tell my hands to obey but they are stubborn. I tell my hips to press against the pillow but they'd prefer to rise and revolt. It would seem I have no control over my own body parts.
I don't think he expects my legs to stay firmly on the floor; he can't expect that I will stay entirely still. But when my body twists away from his hand or paddle or strap, when my hands sneak back to offer protection, that is when I get the verbal, and then physical, reminder to stay in position.
And even though his voice, dressed in stern disdain, denies it, I know that he secretly enjoys this dance I perform for him. It does, after all, give him even more reason to spank me longer, harder, more thoroughly.
As if he needs an excuse.
September 12, 2010
The need to know
Everything I need to know about the cane I've learned from the internet.It is an implement of tradition, an implement of judiciary punishment, an implement that carries the weight of many tears in its long, lean frame.
There are pictures of caned girls that make me shudder and pinch my eyes shut. Their cheeks wear the sobbing purple lines that, under other circumstances, would have me maternally reaching for antiseptic cream and painkillers.
I will not share those photos. You have seen them.
The cane is the implement I fear the most. I dread the cane. I have never been caned.
I will be caned.
Other people write of it with such nonchalance -- it seems to be a regular guest in their lives. I am always astonished at this. My imagination has turned the cane into a boogie monster and I have been trembling at the closet door, wanting to finally confront it, to know what's lurking, but unable to turn the knob.
I will open that door soon because I know there will be a person behind it, standing with the cane, who I trust. With others it has been a hard limit; the fear, inexplicable as it is, has been so great.
Because it requires ceremony and decorum at the first meeting, I do not think I will be caned this week. We are busy and lack the necessary time to make proper introductions.
But someday soon it will happen. I do not want it to happen; I cannot wait for it to happen. I am torn between revulsion and fascination -- I know it will be a different kind of pain but I have no concept of what it will actually feel like.
I have been cropped and switched. I know more about those implements than I once wanted to know -- and I am fine. Perhaps the cane is not so great a demon?
Just in case, from now until it happens, I will not look at another caning picture, except for pretty ones, where the woman is twirling the cane like a baton.
Maybe I should avoid the internet altogether?
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