Some women create drama to get spankings. Some courageous women just ask. And at least one woman I read about years ago wears orange socks to signal her need for some lap time.
If this policy were in place in your own spanking relationship, imagine opening your top drawer and seeing the neatly stacked orange socks, waiting to be worn. Reach out a hesitant hand and touch the soft cotton. Contemplate it. Close your eyes and picture answering the door, dressed in normal attire except for the conspicuous orange toes peeking out from beneath your jeans.
Imagine his reaction, his pleasure at your bravery. Would he notice right away and make comment? Or would he make you wait, heightening your anticipation for the moment when he would finally grant your silent request? Would he make you stand in the corner while staring at your traitorous, wiggling feet, with you questioning the wisdom to choose those socks on this day?
Imagine kicking your bare legs, your orange feet dancing like exclamation points, while over his lap. He'd, of course, make you wear those socks for the rest of the evening, pulling you into position whenever the mood struck and pointing to your socks as explanation.
"You asked for it," his shrugging shoulders would say. And with a theatrical sigh he'd freshen up your bottom during commercial breaks, half-times and any pause in the conversation.
I rarely need to ask for a spanking, as D is always "armed and ready". However, if we instituted a similar rule, it'd apply to black socks, a color I wear most often.
I wouldn't want to be the crazy, kooky lady who, on a daily basis, wears the inexplicable orange socks with her suits and dresses -- now would I?
If this policy were in place in your own spanking relationship, imagine opening your top drawer and seeing the neatly stacked orange socks, waiting to be worn. Reach out a hesitant hand and touch the soft cotton. Contemplate it. Close your eyes and picture answering the door, dressed in normal attire except for the conspicuous orange toes peeking out from beneath your jeans.
Imagine his reaction, his pleasure at your bravery. Would he notice right away and make comment? Or would he make you wait, heightening your anticipation for the moment when he would finally grant your silent request? Would he make you stand in the corner while staring at your traitorous, wiggling feet, with you questioning the wisdom to choose those socks on this day? Imagine kicking your bare legs, your orange feet dancing like exclamation points, while over his lap. He'd, of course, make you wear those socks for the rest of the evening, pulling you into position whenever the mood struck and pointing to your socks as explanation.
"You asked for it," his shrugging shoulders would say. And with a theatrical sigh he'd freshen up your bottom during commercial breaks, half-times and any pause in the conversation.
I rarely need to ask for a spanking, as D is always "armed and ready". However, if we instituted a similar rule, it'd apply to black socks, a color I wear most often.
I wouldn't want to be the crazy, kooky lady who, on a daily basis, wears the inexplicable orange socks with her suits and dresses -- now would I?
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