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Sweet scent of sex and the smell of fear
a muffled cry no one can hear
Rolling waves of desire beckoning
for the flesh to be tortured without reckoning

With each stroke more of her demons are slain
and her salty tears cool a steaming brain
Flooding a heart that beats hard and fast
filled with the hope that love and passion will last


-Claudia Varrin, "She." Erotic Surrender

Motivate me

Why do bad students have all the fun?

This just in

Thank you, Ghostbuster.

Open doors

A wise man recently told me, "if you look too long at the closed door behind you, you won't notice the open door in front of you." I'm not sure how original a sentiment that is (sorry D, you can pay me back later for that), but it certainly applies to most facets in life.

I've had some doors open for me that I ignored. And this is my promise: if the door is open, and I can smell freshly baked cookies, I'm GOING IN.

(Perhaps there's no such thing as coincidence, but D messaged me right before I published this post. He had just pulled cookies out of the oven.)

Turn the beat around

Two implement posts in as many days? Whatever could be on my mind on this sunny Friday?

This wooden turner, while seemingly innocuous and no more threatening than a wooden spoon, is a shocker. You want to grab my attention? Pull this wicked thing out of the kitchen drawer and tap it against your palm.

I promise to do whatever you ask.

Eventually.

Nice hair

4th grade. Valentine's Day. Mr. Roach had us staple together 4 x 6 pages, one page for each kid in class to write something sentimental.

I, ever the romantic, took this to mean that Robbie might finally have a means of declaring his undying devotion and love for me.

After having everyone else write something sweet & sappy in my book, I finally approached Robbie, shyly.

"Could you please write something in my pages?" I asked hesitantly.

I remember he grabbed my book and quickly scribbled something without seeming to think about what he would write. Hope bloomed. This was it! Finally!

Back at my seat I hurriedly flipped to the last page and my breath caught. Tears formed in my eyes. In his messy scrawl, he had written, "You have nice hair." Nice hair? Nice hair?!

Surely he meant to say more but felt pressed for time! Surely he would have written a more committed declaration had Brian not been looking over his shoulder!

Nice hair?

Well, I held onto the belief that he carried a hidden flame for me until we were well into middle school. And then that hope was extinguished when I caught him french kissing Rachel G. (the whore!) after school.

Now, with an adult eye for nuance & a more mature understanding of the back-handed compliment, I understand that Robbie never held any flame for me at all. After all, the only compliment he could give me was one on my frizzy, blonde 'do.

I realize this now more than ever since I recently paid the same compliment to someone who sent me a picture of himself, garbed in 1970s attire, complete with coke-bottle glasses and a big mop of hair.

"You have really nice hair!" I mustered, not knowing where to begin.

And that, my friends, is full circle.

Let's Go to Prison

Not so long ago I was tasked with the pleasure of shopping online for a new & effective spanking implement. I have always leaned towards leather: the warmth; the symbolism; the ability to be used softly, aggressively, eliciting various reactions; all combine to the utter versatility that a good spanking implement should possess.

And this leather strap, the Canadian Prison Strop from spankinc.com, was a stand-out. Its ominous yet simplistic design evoked a strong urge to feel it against my backside. It was just beautiful. And I had to have it.

My Dom at the time completely agreed and he began the ordering process. From what I remember, the strap took a while for completion but it was made to C's specifications. And the maker was phenomenal to work with.

And it was wonderful. This strap comes with my highest recommendations. The thud! The lick! The sting! The slap! And the glorious sound as it made contact with my yielding bottom! (Not to mention the beautiful marks it left behind for days.)

Unfortunately, the strap remains with C now that our relationship ended (which is an entirely different blog post). I may not long for C's embrace, but I will feel your kiss again, Canadian Prison Strop!

Visit www.spankinc.com to shop for this strap and others.

No Wire Hangers!

"I am not interested in being spanked with a wire hanger," types me.

"Well that's why I said only two or three times," persists the clueless onliner.

"No, I mean not at all. I don't want a wire hanger ever."

"I know. That's why I said only two or three times."

Blocked.

Friday Night

It is finally Friday evening after a long, stressful week for both of us. We have gone out to dinner, where I am more sarcastic than usual. This is the kind of sarcasm that borders on disrespect. I can feel myself reeling out of control and cannot seem to regain the proper tone with you. And you, while initially patient & maintaining a relatively good humor about it, have had enough. You have already given me a few very discreet "looks" to remind me and a whispered promise, but those have served to just annoy me...my mood is now defiant and growing.

On the way home, you address the situation calmly. You begin by asking me if there is something that is bothering me...and I just apologize quietly and explain that it has been a difficult week and that I am tired and stressed. You understand this: you've had a tough week, too. But you remind me that speaking disrespectfully to you at any time, especially after a warning, will not be tolerated and that I had crossed many lines tonight. You tell me that I need to go to the bedroom when we get home and think about my behavior, your expectations, and the consequences of my actions. You are going to spank me and you order me to get your paddle.

Maybe I'll plead with you...maybe I'll try to distract you with a murmured, "I'm sorry," and a kiss...or maybe I'll just hurry off to the bedroom as you've instructed. Regardless, your intentions are clear and unmoved: my ass is going to pay the price for my mouth.

I hurry to the bedroom & get the wooden paddle and the leather paddle, not knowing which you meant. I remove my shoes and wait for you, anxiously sitting on the edge of the bed thinking about my actions and your reactions. I fuss with my skirt and can't seem to get comfortable as I shift repeatedly on the bed. I can feel my stomach knotting and my pussy growing wet.

My thoughts are at once scattered and focused: what will he say? how much have I disappointed him? how much will this hurt? how much trouble am I really in?

Every moment spent waiting for you is filled with conflicted yearning: I want & need you to take me over your knee but doubt my strength to submit properly to you. I know I am safe, but there is still fear that I may further disappoint you.

After what seems like an hour, but is more likely 10 minutes, you come in and softly close the door behind you. You gaze at me tenderly as you slowly roll up your sleeves and approach. You push my hair from my forehead and press your lips there and then take a seat beside me on the bed. You softly express your disappointment in my behavior, and make me confess to my offenses: disrespect & defiance.

When we have understood each other, and I am regretful of my actions, you tell me to remove my skirt and get in position over your knee. I stand, holding your gaze, as my nervous fingers unzip and drop the skirt. A shiver runs up my legs as they are exposed to the air and your eyes. I lower myself over your strong thighs and wriggle into position.

I feel your cock respond to the soft press of my hip and tummy; a warmth spreads from my pussy to my toes and I feel a surge of wetness as your hand cups my bottom. You position me carefully, asking me to spread my legs a bit...I blush, knowing that I am vulnerable and exposed to you (even though I am still wearing my panties).

And you continue to scold as you rub my bottom and adjust my panties. I murmur "yes Sir" and "I'm sorry" appropriately after your pauses.

And then you begin my punishment. Slowly and gradually, your hand gains force and speed. I am fine at first, with no squirming and only soft reactions, but as you speed up I find it more difficult to remain stoic.

As my bottom heats up, so does my pussy. I cannot help it, my natural instinct is to rub against your thigh,to moan, to push closer to your hand...to meet you halfway and increase the force of your spanks.

You pause, and scold, and rub....and I feel your fingers hook into my panties. My hips rise from your thighs to allow you to pull them down to my knees. You push my legs back into position and your finger explores my slickness....you softly murmur in my ear, "you naughty girl...you are enjoying this!" after discovering my wet & throbbing pussy. I hold my breath as your thumb circles and flicks my clit...I am torn between wanting you to continue disciplining me or to fuck me.

You drag your finger deliberately through the line of my slit as your thumb moves to caress my asshole. Your other hand has slipped under the neckline of my shirt and your fingers have moved to my nipple, rolling and lightly pinching it. I am moaning and pushing against your hand at my bottom.

I am moving against you, desiring to be filled by you....but you abruptly change tactics and move your hand back to my bottom. Your spanks begin again, with more force and heat. I cry out with the change and manage to hold position by grasping the bedspread.

After a few minutes, I feel you stop to survey....nope, not quite warmed up enough. Not quite wet enough either....and you continue.

Another few minutes, and I am sufficiently warm and wet, actively crying out with every spank and nearly driven to orgasm over your lap from your spanking alone.

You pause to tease me again, your finger darting in and out with ease now and you pinch my throbbing clit just before you reach for the paddle. Lowering your lips to my ear, you continue to scold me in a soft whisper. I feel the leather of the paddle sting and slap...and I love it. It hurts and stings, I can barely maintain my position and am holding on to your leg, the bedspread, whatever I can grasp...and I love it.

You stop again...and caress. I am wild with pain & desire and your firm finger on my clit, all it needs is an exertion of pressure, and it makes me explode. I feel the waves and contractions roll over me as I grind harder on your thigh and against your finger. Afterwards, I am limp but very aware of the length of your cock against my hip....

Procrastination, excuses, and tardiness must be dealt with, young lady!

My journey began on May 18, 2009. Why then, you may ask, has it taken me nearly a full year to start this blog? Well, procrastination and excuses mostly, Sir.

Actually, it has been to avoid exactly this: an awkward introduction. I've always hated those...the uncomfortable pauses, the uncertainty.

So, I compare this first post to the first time I unbutton my jeans, push them down, and await further instruction from a new spanking partner. I just need to get it over with, take a deep breath, and start peeling away the layers.

And hopefully the discomfort of exposure won't register after a little warm-up.