It has been a whole year since I've written... rather, it has been a year since I've updated the blog. So much has happened during this last trip around the sun, and yet I have not found much to share. My relationship with the Englishman has grown more intimate, the smallest details seemingly too precious to share. It has been a year and a half since we met and we suffer from the manic energy of teenagers but are able to retreat to the peaceful comfort of two familiar souls growing old together, one day at a time. The greatest moments of growth seem to come after tense moments in our short history where our minds have caught up to the emotional frenzy...usually remedied by me retreating and him finding us once again. Our situation does not make for a convenient relationship, but one of choice. And today, I choose him.
I cannot commit the same way to this blog, but for now I will throw out a life preserver and rescue it from certain doom. I remember reading somewhere that a blog is officially dead when it hasn't been updated in a year...so for now I buy myself some time as I let this sleeping blog lie.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Switch Hitter
Vanilla outings have become just as instrumental in the development of our relationship as our time spent behind closed doors. When first seeking a spanker, I underestimated how important this factor would be, admittedly objectifying the spanker to nothing more than a warm lap with a mechanical arm. Last week we met for coffee and despite the cold air that normally has me hibernating (45 degrees, for the record… I am truly a warm-blooded animal), we decided to be adventurous and set out for a short hike.
We made our way to the trailhead. It seemed inviting, a well-travelled dirt path set in a ravine, homes with large price tags sitting on top of the ridges on either side. Even before making it onto the trail I tripped on a heavy branch, aka the large log. I Charleston’d out my misstep, able to salvage some pride, but not my coffee. After a short trot back to the car to get cleaned up, we finally got started on our walk. We strolled arm in arm admiring the winter hues that painted the trees, breathing in the crisp air. We kept our eyes open for a suitable spot to sit down but the trail was well exposed. We found a small cluster of trees that suited us. One had a long bend in its trunk making it a natural bench. Unfortunately it was just off in height as I was only able to sit on his lap for too short of a time before it was clearly not doing it for either one of us. I casually commented, “Too bad we didn’t think ahead to bring a cane… perhaps I should pick out a switch.” I never thought he would go for it, as he tends to be so shy and reserved about that sort of thing. Instead, his eyes gave me just enough hope for me to return his look with my eyes wide with excitement, matched by the large smile on my face. I jumped off his lap and returned to the trail.
We continued our hike with a new agenda: finding the perfect switch. He picked one up that seemed ambitious, covered in small stumps from broken off branches. Without a pocketknife or sandpaper handy, we kept it as a back up… the length and stiffness seemed otherwise perfect. The trail was empty so we had the freedom to roam and openly discuss the pros and cons to each potential switch: this one was nice, but too flimsy, this one would be perfect, but much too short, etc. I finally found one that seemed perfect… whippy and soft, as if it was made of a stiff piece of leather. We walked some more, waiting for another grove of trees to appear, but instead openness trended. We turned around and headed back to what we now refer to as “Spanker’s Grove”.
We quietly returned behind the curtain of trees, the only thing audible were the branches snapping beneath our shoes. I see him focus on a single point in the distance at nothing in particular. “Nobody’s around, you can relax. We haven’t seen a soul all day,” I assured him. My comment earned me a quick swat on the bottom along with his response, “Well I can’t hear a thing when you’re talking! Now lower your jeans.” I do as I’m told, and the cool breeze against my bare bottom does much to excite me. He takes a moment to examine my bottom and says, “Awww… poor baby… still bruised from when she was punished last week.” I pout. He continues, “And now, she’s going get a switching.” He stands exactly as if he were holding a cane, either unaware or unfazed by the low branches that threaten to poke his eyes. I’m completely aware that I am about to feel a new sensation, never having been struck by a switch before. I take a deep breath before the first stroke lands on my bottom. The stings are gentle and sharp at the same time. The velvety finish of the stick seems to offer some comfort against its sting. He starts with six. He checks in and I give a small nod. Without notice, twelve more hit me with rapid fire. I want more and give the stiffer branch a welcoming nod. He picks it up and strikes me with a single swat. I immediately stand up and rub my bottom, convinced it has left splinters in its wake. Its barbs were, not subtle to the touch. I was about to give my frowny face when I am interrupted by the noise of dogs barking and their owners calling after them. I now understand how an ER nurse can be presented with a man caught in his own zipper, as I have never been in such a rush to pull myself together. I turned around to tell him to hurry, but any English chivalry was lost as he was long gone. I laughed as I met him back on the trail, his explanation for leaving me for the wolves being that he would have explained that he was my lookout as I peed in the woods. We could not stop giggling in amusement, our adventure perfect in its own right.
We spent the rest of the afternoon walking on that perfect trail, basking in the sunlight and the glow of deep affection. Some vanilla outings feed our friendships, others our soul. In many ways this particular get together shined upon the many facets of our relationship… a little love, a little kink, a little adventure…exposing a beautiful spectrum of emotions. I appreciate it is a true gem… a priceless rarity.
We made our way to the trailhead. It seemed inviting, a well-travelled dirt path set in a ravine, homes with large price tags sitting on top of the ridges on either side. Even before making it onto the trail I tripped on a heavy branch, aka the large log. I Charleston’d out my misstep, able to salvage some pride, but not my coffee. After a short trot back to the car to get cleaned up, we finally got started on our walk. We strolled arm in arm admiring the winter hues that painted the trees, breathing in the crisp air. We kept our eyes open for a suitable spot to sit down but the trail was well exposed. We found a small cluster of trees that suited us. One had a long bend in its trunk making it a natural bench. Unfortunately it was just off in height as I was only able to sit on his lap for too short of a time before it was clearly not doing it for either one of us. I casually commented, “Too bad we didn’t think ahead to bring a cane… perhaps I should pick out a switch.” I never thought he would go for it, as he tends to be so shy and reserved about that sort of thing. Instead, his eyes gave me just enough hope for me to return his look with my eyes wide with excitement, matched by the large smile on my face. I jumped off his lap and returned to the trail.
We continued our hike with a new agenda: finding the perfect switch. He picked one up that seemed ambitious, covered in small stumps from broken off branches. Without a pocketknife or sandpaper handy, we kept it as a back up… the length and stiffness seemed otherwise perfect. The trail was empty so we had the freedom to roam and openly discuss the pros and cons to each potential switch: this one was nice, but too flimsy, this one would be perfect, but much too short, etc. I finally found one that seemed perfect… whippy and soft, as if it was made of a stiff piece of leather. We walked some more, waiting for another grove of trees to appear, but instead openness trended. We turned around and headed back to what we now refer to as “Spanker’s Grove”.
We quietly returned behind the curtain of trees, the only thing audible were the branches snapping beneath our shoes. I see him focus on a single point in the distance at nothing in particular. “Nobody’s around, you can relax. We haven’t seen a soul all day,” I assured him. My comment earned me a quick swat on the bottom along with his response, “Well I can’t hear a thing when you’re talking! Now lower your jeans.” I do as I’m told, and the cool breeze against my bare bottom does much to excite me. He takes a moment to examine my bottom and says, “Awww… poor baby… still bruised from when she was punished last week.” I pout. He continues, “And now, she’s going get a switching.” He stands exactly as if he were holding a cane, either unaware or unfazed by the low branches that threaten to poke his eyes. I’m completely aware that I am about to feel a new sensation, never having been struck by a switch before. I take a deep breath before the first stroke lands on my bottom. The stings are gentle and sharp at the same time. The velvety finish of the stick seems to offer some comfort against its sting. He starts with six. He checks in and I give a small nod. Without notice, twelve more hit me with rapid fire. I want more and give the stiffer branch a welcoming nod. He picks it up and strikes me with a single swat. I immediately stand up and rub my bottom, convinced it has left splinters in its wake. Its barbs were, not subtle to the touch. I was about to give my frowny face when I am interrupted by the noise of dogs barking and their owners calling after them. I now understand how an ER nurse can be presented with a man caught in his own zipper, as I have never been in such a rush to pull myself together. I turned around to tell him to hurry, but any English chivalry was lost as he was long gone. I laughed as I met him back on the trail, his explanation for leaving me for the wolves being that he would have explained that he was my lookout as I peed in the woods. We could not stop giggling in amusement, our adventure perfect in its own right.
We spent the rest of the afternoon walking on that perfect trail, basking in the sunlight and the glow of deep affection. Some vanilla outings feed our friendships, others our soul. In many ways this particular get together shined upon the many facets of our relationship… a little love, a little kink, a little adventure…exposing a beautiful spectrum of emotions. I appreciate it is a true gem… a priceless rarity.
Monday, December 31, 2012
2012 - A Year Exposed
Just over eight months ago, I started this journey looking for a spanking. I craved the physical sensation and was not disappointed when my bottom blushed, flushed with color...direct evidence of the gluttony of pleasure I had indulged in. But it has gone far beyond a friendly swat or two. The boundaries of my comfort have been pushed, making a path for an unexpected lesson in love and trust.
There is a certain amount of vulnerability I expose myself to when I lie across a man’s lap. Physically, my bottom is bare, free of the threads that guard my innocence. On an emotional level, I’ve gone through my own journey…originally wanting nothing more than anonymous spanks, giving access to my bottom but not my heart.
The Englishman made a single request when we first met, and that was simply to be honest with myself and with him. It seems like a simple request, but life is much easier to navigate when armed and shielded, walking away from battles with minimal damages. But instead, in a moment of bravery, I remove the mask that keeps the face of my emotions hidden, sharing with another the deepest and darkest parts of myself…parts so deep they have never seen the light of day.
In retrospect it is easy to see that any disagreements the Englishman and I have had were simply adjustment periods. After an especially intense day of play, or a talk that left me sharing quiet whispers of myself, I would be especially needy…making vanilla outings a struggle. A few weeks ago I found myself close to tears when he had to leave my company early. Unable to be consoled, I ran away trying to outrun those tears. I felt horribly for ruining what little time we had together. We talked and it was clear that none of this would be solved over a chat…instead we scheduled an emergency session.
I was given 12 strokes of the cane, 4 sets of 3. They felt like tickles compared to the pain I felt inside me. He stood me up and held me, but he could feel things were not right. He asked me what was wrong, and I stood there, my body leaning into his and wanting to be held tight. I had no answers, but he knew what I needed and asked me, “Do you feel like you’ve been punished enough?” The Eskimo kisses against his chest told him I hadn’t been. He took a deep breath in and kissed the top of my head and said, “Who am I to deny my girl the punishment she deserves?” He leaned me back against the spanking horse and this time I received 20 strokes with no break. Tears streamed silently down my cheeks, the quiet whimpers escaping the corners of my mouth. He held me, and I was done.
The punishment was not for his sake; it was not to earn his forgiveness. I needed to forgive myself, to find the strength within me. Sharing myself with someone else, without an ounce of armor, left me feeling vulnerable. I was weak, embracing the insecurities that threatened to smother the beautiful light that burns so fiercely between us. Instead, the punishment I received only served to fuel the fire. There was no better way to end the year, as I know just how precious I am held in his heart, and he in mine.
There is a certain amount of vulnerability I expose myself to when I lie across a man’s lap. Physically, my bottom is bare, free of the threads that guard my innocence. On an emotional level, I’ve gone through my own journey…originally wanting nothing more than anonymous spanks, giving access to my bottom but not my heart.
The Englishman made a single request when we first met, and that was simply to be honest with myself and with him. It seems like a simple request, but life is much easier to navigate when armed and shielded, walking away from battles with minimal damages. But instead, in a moment of bravery, I remove the mask that keeps the face of my emotions hidden, sharing with another the deepest and darkest parts of myself…parts so deep they have never seen the light of day.
In retrospect it is easy to see that any disagreements the Englishman and I have had were simply adjustment periods. After an especially intense day of play, or a talk that left me sharing quiet whispers of myself, I would be especially needy…making vanilla outings a struggle. A few weeks ago I found myself close to tears when he had to leave my company early. Unable to be consoled, I ran away trying to outrun those tears. I felt horribly for ruining what little time we had together. We talked and it was clear that none of this would be solved over a chat…instead we scheduled an emergency session.
I was given 12 strokes of the cane, 4 sets of 3. They felt like tickles compared to the pain I felt inside me. He stood me up and held me, but he could feel things were not right. He asked me what was wrong, and I stood there, my body leaning into his and wanting to be held tight. I had no answers, but he knew what I needed and asked me, “Do you feel like you’ve been punished enough?” The Eskimo kisses against his chest told him I hadn’t been. He took a deep breath in and kissed the top of my head and said, “Who am I to deny my girl the punishment she deserves?” He leaned me back against the spanking horse and this time I received 20 strokes with no break. Tears streamed silently down my cheeks, the quiet whimpers escaping the corners of my mouth. He held me, and I was done.
The punishment was not for his sake; it was not to earn his forgiveness. I needed to forgive myself, to find the strength within me. Sharing myself with someone else, without an ounce of armor, left me feeling vulnerable. I was weak, embracing the insecurities that threatened to smother the beautiful light that burns so fiercely between us. Instead, the punishment I received only served to fuel the fire. There was no better way to end the year, as I know just how precious I am held in his heart, and he in mine.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Ho-Ho-Hocus Pocus
Many weeks I find myself following the Englishman’s lead in a dance. Sometimes his cues are subtle, like the gentle tug of my panties, letting me know to lift my hips. Other times they are more direct, like when his cane rides up my knees asking my legs to straighten up. There are days when lessons are taught, one where no amount of begging is heard, tears ignored. Last week I witnessed a grand performance- me an admiring spectator, fascinated by a Sir performing his magic.
The morning started with a note: “My instructions today are simple ... wear a dress or skirt ... make sure you have some lotion for your bottom - you will need it.” Act One: hypnotism. I immediately set my coffee down and rifled through my closet. It has been so cold, and yet I was challenged to wear something with built in air conditioning. He has been spoiled by the temperate weather and has found great pleasure in sliding his hand up my thigh underneath the hem of my skirt, granting him easy access to the bottom he loves to hold. Helplessly, I fulfill his request, weak to the power of his suggestion.
…
He is on the edge of the couch while I am on my knees and over his. Naked, I crane my neck behind his body, looking into the large mirror that frames the scene. I am the bisected woman- act two, a classic. My bottom is being spanked red, swimming in absolute pleasure on its own, my mind participating only in observation. Trying to force logic, my eyes admire the sight of my bottom being spanked, feeling loved. But there seems to be a disconnect as there is absolutely no communication between the two halves of my body. I watch in awe as I bear witness to two parts of the same person experiencing completely different sensations, his body refracting my image. But any logic held is lost as the audience falls silent in the third act, the grand finale, as his fingers perform a disappearing act.
And yes, there was an encore. Happy Holidays, indeed.
The morning started with a note: “My instructions today are simple ... wear a dress or skirt ... make sure you have some lotion for your bottom - you will need it.” Act One: hypnotism. I immediately set my coffee down and rifled through my closet. It has been so cold, and yet I was challenged to wear something with built in air conditioning. He has been spoiled by the temperate weather and has found great pleasure in sliding his hand up my thigh underneath the hem of my skirt, granting him easy access to the bottom he loves to hold. Helplessly, I fulfill his request, weak to the power of his suggestion.
…
He is on the edge of the couch while I am on my knees and over his. Naked, I crane my neck behind his body, looking into the large mirror that frames the scene. I am the bisected woman- act two, a classic. My bottom is being spanked red, swimming in absolute pleasure on its own, my mind participating only in observation. Trying to force logic, my eyes admire the sight of my bottom being spanked, feeling loved. But there seems to be a disconnect as there is absolutely no communication between the two halves of my body. I watch in awe as I bear witness to two parts of the same person experiencing completely different sensations, his body refracting my image. But any logic held is lost as the audience falls silent in the third act, the grand finale, as his fingers perform a disappearing act.
And yes, there was an encore. Happy Holidays, indeed.
Sunday, December 9, 2012
I'm Late, I'm Late for a Very Important Date
I take it very personally when people are late for appointments. I understand that to be a personality flaw on my part, but only in the sense of how personally I take it. The Englishman has been chronically tardy for our meetings, and it has only been in the last month or so that he has been punctual… at least, more punctual. It seems as if it is the single flaw in our Persian rug…perfect together in every way except for this one exception. So it was with great anxiety that the last two meetings it was ME that was tardy… and while I had very good excuses to why I was late each time, it wouldn’t be enough to save me from a spanking.
I texted him letting him know that I would be 10-15 minutes late. I hurried to get there, aware that it was already a low-maintenance appearance day as my morning was much busier than usual. I felt horrible knowing how much of an effort he has been putting out to meet me on time, and now it was me that was egregiously late. When I arrived he was comfortably waiting for me. I apologized as I entered the room, and he greeted me with a smile. Whew. He wasn’t annoyed with me. I would have had a fierce pout on by now. We hugged each other tightly as we never seem to get enough contact during the week. It wasn’t long before he whispered with a low voice into my ear, “I was going to text you back what would be waiting for you”. I told him he should have and then asked him what was waiting for me. He pulled out a slim, wooden paddle. I suspiciously eyed the implement. He is not fond of paddles and finds them to be wholly an “American fetish”, as he finds no connection to them at all. I wondered to myself if he chose the implement because he would know that I would know he was not enjoying it. Or was he simply trying to put aside an implement we don’t use often for special reasons? “You’re going to get a cold paddling,” he said. But that was a lie. As we stood face to face I felt his hands slide down to my hips. He held them firmly in his hands and pivoted me ninety degrees. His left hand moved slowly from my right hip and up to my chest, holding me still as he spanked me while I stood still. My hands took a firm grip onto his strong forearms, holding myself steady against his weight with each swat. Can we not do this forever? I never want to leave that space.
Forever comes to an end. He instructs me to bend over the table as he begins to paddle me. I love the sensation…like a firm hand, thuddy and lovely. My lack of discomfort does not please him and I am instructed to lower my jeans (I mentioned the lack of effort…I consider them to be casual, but he is fond of them, anyways). I am embarrassed as I fumble with the buttons and am unsuccessful at pulling my jeans down without bringing my panties along for the ride. I am not taking my time on purpose, and yet his patience runs thin. He sits on the edge of the table and pulls me across his knee with such force I hardly have a chance to take a breath before I realize the paddle is coming at my bottom faster and harder than when my pants covered my bottom. I squirm under the force, tears beginning to form until they gain enough momentum to spill over. Aware of how sorry I am, he stands me up and pulls me close to him. I cry into his shoulder before he whispers, “And that is now the late paddle… next time you text your Sir you will be 10 minutes late, you know what will be waiting for you.” And that was no lie.
One week later and I found myself late, once again. I’m only three minutes late, and try my best to distract him with a seductive embrace. I thought for sure I was out of the woods as I watched his hungry hands grasp my bottom over my winter dress. As he pulls up the hem of my dress to finger the raised edges of my panties, I graze his neck with my lips making my way to his ear. It is only then, over his shoulder, I catch a glimpse of the paddle waiting for me on the table.
I texted him letting him know that I would be 10-15 minutes late. I hurried to get there, aware that it was already a low-maintenance appearance day as my morning was much busier than usual. I felt horrible knowing how much of an effort he has been putting out to meet me on time, and now it was me that was egregiously late. When I arrived he was comfortably waiting for me. I apologized as I entered the room, and he greeted me with a smile. Whew. He wasn’t annoyed with me. I would have had a fierce pout on by now. We hugged each other tightly as we never seem to get enough contact during the week. It wasn’t long before he whispered with a low voice into my ear, “I was going to text you back what would be waiting for you”. I told him he should have and then asked him what was waiting for me. He pulled out a slim, wooden paddle. I suspiciously eyed the implement. He is not fond of paddles and finds them to be wholly an “American fetish”, as he finds no connection to them at all. I wondered to myself if he chose the implement because he would know that I would know he was not enjoying it. Or was he simply trying to put aside an implement we don’t use often for special reasons? “You’re going to get a cold paddling,” he said. But that was a lie. As we stood face to face I felt his hands slide down to my hips. He held them firmly in his hands and pivoted me ninety degrees. His left hand moved slowly from my right hip and up to my chest, holding me still as he spanked me while I stood still. My hands took a firm grip onto his strong forearms, holding myself steady against his weight with each swat. Can we not do this forever? I never want to leave that space.
Forever comes to an end. He instructs me to bend over the table as he begins to paddle me. I love the sensation…like a firm hand, thuddy and lovely. My lack of discomfort does not please him and I am instructed to lower my jeans (I mentioned the lack of effort…I consider them to be casual, but he is fond of them, anyways). I am embarrassed as I fumble with the buttons and am unsuccessful at pulling my jeans down without bringing my panties along for the ride. I am not taking my time on purpose, and yet his patience runs thin. He sits on the edge of the table and pulls me across his knee with such force I hardly have a chance to take a breath before I realize the paddle is coming at my bottom faster and harder than when my pants covered my bottom. I squirm under the force, tears beginning to form until they gain enough momentum to spill over. Aware of how sorry I am, he stands me up and pulls me close to him. I cry into his shoulder before he whispers, “And that is now the late paddle… next time you text your Sir you will be 10 minutes late, you know what will be waiting for you.” And that was no lie.
One week later and I found myself late, once again. I’m only three minutes late, and try my best to distract him with a seductive embrace. I thought for sure I was out of the woods as I watched his hungry hands grasp my bottom over my winter dress. As he pulls up the hem of my dress to finger the raised edges of my panties, I graze his neck with my lips making my way to his ear. It is only then, over his shoulder, I catch a glimpse of the paddle waiting for me on the table.
Monday, November 26, 2012
A Lieb of Faith
Joey of Joey and Friends has nominated me for a Liebster Award... needless to say, I'm honored for the nomination and will do my best to not disappoint.
THE QUESTIONS:
What spanking position do you prefer?
My favorite is over the knee... it just feels like home. I'm pretty sure I can smell chocolate chip cookies baking when I'm there.
Is there any spanking implement that is a hard limit for you?
No... I think so much of the power behind any implement is held by the person using it. While I did not have a happy encounter with a plastic spatula in the past, I'm certain it would be a different experience when someone else is wielding it. So, no... no hard limits on implements...only people.
What food do you hate?
I do not do well with slimy textures...no thank you to eggplant. Also, I do not find pleasure in the taste of anything too sweet. I like complexity in my food and I find the taste of white sugar to overwhelm my tastebuds...and not in a good way.
What activity makes you feel naughty?
Naughty? Hmm... I'm generally a good girl, so breaking of any rules certainly makes me feel naughty.
Describe the clothes worn by your fantasy spanker?
A well-tailored suit... accessorized with glasses. (Shout out to one Mr. Stephen Lewis at ShadowLane...had a moment of regret when I saw him walk in as 'headmaster')
Describe the clothes you put on for your fantasy spanking?
A slinky, backless evening gown... perfect to be whipped in before it is slipped off my shoulders for a spanking.
Where would you go for vacation if you won the lottery?
I would love to tour all of Europe...eating and drinking my way through various countries, museum hopping, sightseeing, meeting new friends, getting to know different landscapes...
What famous person would you like to meet for dinner?
Rivers Cuomo, lead singer of the band Weezer.
What is your favorite holiday?
My birthday, which I understand isn't an official holiday, but should be. If not my birthday, I would say Halloween.
What celebrity do you think deserves to be spanked?
Lindsey Lohan... too pretty with too much money, too much time and too much talent... all wasted. A good spanking would do that girl some good.
What is your pet peeve?
Nothing wants me to knock the gum out of someone's mouth with a swift punch to their face than the sound of their gum smacking.
What is one thing that you wish Tops would do during a spanking?
To be themselves...only by honoring themselves can they honor me.
I'm pretty sure I'm one of the last bloggers to have been nominated... but I will nominate a few blogs on my roll who I don't think have participated so far: Erica, SecretSpanko, Emen, Craig and Pink. That's only five, so I would like to invite my six readers to answer, as well as any other bloggers out there that would like to participate. Feel free to answer any or all...I love getting to know everyone... it's the best part of blogging!
1. What inspired your first step into the spanking world?
2. What scene defines your ultimate fantasy?
3. Do you enjoy spanking/being spanked anywhere other than a/your bottom?
4. How do you feel about tears and spanking?
5. Does anything intimidate you? Spanking related or not?
6. What gets your blood flowing? Spanking related or not?
7. Name three things off your bucket list.
8. What is your favorite film? Favorite book?
9. What will be written on your epitaph?
10. Marsha, Jan and Cindy... which one do you fuck, marry and kill?
11. What would be your Groundhog's Day... a day to be lived over and over again?
Thanks again, Joey! It was fun!
THE QUESTIONS:
What spanking position do you prefer?
My favorite is over the knee... it just feels like home. I'm pretty sure I can smell chocolate chip cookies baking when I'm there.
Is there any spanking implement that is a hard limit for you?
No... I think so much of the power behind any implement is held by the person using it. While I did not have a happy encounter with a plastic spatula in the past, I'm certain it would be a different experience when someone else is wielding it. So, no... no hard limits on implements...only people.
What food do you hate?
I do not do well with slimy textures...no thank you to eggplant. Also, I do not find pleasure in the taste of anything too sweet. I like complexity in my food and I find the taste of white sugar to overwhelm my tastebuds...and not in a good way.
What activity makes you feel naughty?
Naughty? Hmm... I'm generally a good girl, so breaking of any rules certainly makes me feel naughty.
Describe the clothes worn by your fantasy spanker?
A well-tailored suit... accessorized with glasses. (Shout out to one Mr. Stephen Lewis at ShadowLane...had a moment of regret when I saw him walk in as 'headmaster')
Describe the clothes you put on for your fantasy spanking?
A slinky, backless evening gown... perfect to be whipped in before it is slipped off my shoulders for a spanking.
Where would you go for vacation if you won the lottery?
I would love to tour all of Europe...eating and drinking my way through various countries, museum hopping, sightseeing, meeting new friends, getting to know different landscapes...
What famous person would you like to meet for dinner?
Rivers Cuomo, lead singer of the band Weezer.
What is your favorite holiday?
My birthday, which I understand isn't an official holiday, but should be. If not my birthday, I would say Halloween.
What celebrity do you think deserves to be spanked?
Lindsey Lohan... too pretty with too much money, too much time and too much talent... all wasted. A good spanking would do that girl some good.
What is your pet peeve?
Nothing wants me to knock the gum out of someone's mouth with a swift punch to their face than the sound of their gum smacking.
What is one thing that you wish Tops would do during a spanking?
To be themselves...only by honoring themselves can they honor me.
I'm pretty sure I'm one of the last bloggers to have been nominated... but I will nominate a few blogs on my roll who I don't think have participated so far: Erica, SecretSpanko, Emen, Craig and Pink. That's only five, so I would like to invite my six readers to answer, as well as any other bloggers out there that would like to participate. Feel free to answer any or all...I love getting to know everyone... it's the best part of blogging!
1. What inspired your first step into the spanking world?
2. What scene defines your ultimate fantasy?
3. Do you enjoy spanking/being spanked anywhere other than a/your bottom?
4. How do you feel about tears and spanking?
5. Does anything intimidate you? Spanking related or not?
6. What gets your blood flowing? Spanking related or not?
7. Name three things off your bucket list.
8. What is your favorite film? Favorite book?
9. What will be written on your epitaph?
10. Marsha, Jan and Cindy... which one do you fuck, marry and kill?
11. What would be your Groundhog's Day... a day to be lived over and over again?
Thanks again, Joey! It was fun!
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)
The leaves that were once a lush green now have turned a beautiful golden hue. As those leaves fall to the ground, so does a blanket of cool air, leaving a closet full of summer dresses to hibernate until a warmer season. I knew fall would come, and yet I feel unprepared… desperately avoiding a uniform of jeans so early into the cold months. A compromise is reached in this couture crisis: leggings under a minidress…though it wouldn’t be the first time the tights made an appearance. The very first time I was spanked by the Englishman I wore a thin linen dress with leggings underneath. I remember excusing myself to strip them off in private before he offered to take them off for me. That immediately brought forth a rush of blood to my cheeks… it seemed so forward. Looking back on it seven months later, the exchange seems so very innocent.
Though it had only been a few days since we last saw each other, there was an immediate need to hold one another. The initial embrace was long and hard, never wanting to let go. He spins me around, his hold on me tighter than ever. He tugs at the fabric that sits in a perfect bow at my hip, slowly unwrapping the gift he has suddenly been presented with. The black leggings highlight my bottom, emphasizing its dramatic curves, as the rest of myself is literally pale in comparison. A quick swat to my bottom inspires him to bring the cane out early. He bends me over and leans behind me, meeting my bottom with a firm handshake. I inhale sharply, wanting to ride this sudden wave of such pleasure. He smooths out the nonexistent wrinkles in the fabric, running his hand across my bottom one last time as he prepares the cane. He cuts the air with it…twice, the redundancy presumably due to the cold air. The thin fabric offers no protection as I feel the intensity of each stroke… convinced the threads, like me, will surrender to the cane’s will. I feel his hunger as he roughly tugs my leggings and panties down at the same time. I begin to stand up to assist him, but he is quick to correct me, using his free hand to keep me bent over while using the other, cane in hand, to finish what he started. My lowered leggings now bind my thighs, my bottom bared, his backswing fierce, my mind…quiet. The only thing I can hear is the song of the moving branch as it persuades my eyes to close. The lullaby’s rhythm is graceful, like the last leaf of autumn floating to the ground. And just as slowly, I fall into sweet dreams.
Though it had only been a few days since we last saw each other, there was an immediate need to hold one another. The initial embrace was long and hard, never wanting to let go. He spins me around, his hold on me tighter than ever. He tugs at the fabric that sits in a perfect bow at my hip, slowly unwrapping the gift he has suddenly been presented with. The black leggings highlight my bottom, emphasizing its dramatic curves, as the rest of myself is literally pale in comparison. A quick swat to my bottom inspires him to bring the cane out early. He bends me over and leans behind me, meeting my bottom with a firm handshake. I inhale sharply, wanting to ride this sudden wave of such pleasure. He smooths out the nonexistent wrinkles in the fabric, running his hand across my bottom one last time as he prepares the cane. He cuts the air with it…twice, the redundancy presumably due to the cold air. The thin fabric offers no protection as I feel the intensity of each stroke… convinced the threads, like me, will surrender to the cane’s will. I feel his hunger as he roughly tugs my leggings and panties down at the same time. I begin to stand up to assist him, but he is quick to correct me, using his free hand to keep me bent over while using the other, cane in hand, to finish what he started. My lowered leggings now bind my thighs, my bottom bared, his backswing fierce, my mind…quiet. The only thing I can hear is the song of the moving branch as it persuades my eyes to close. The lullaby’s rhythm is graceful, like the last leaf of autumn floating to the ground. And just as slowly, I fall into sweet dreams.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)