Category Archive: being told off

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Advent Day 13: The Secrets We Must Keep

By Poppy | 13/12/2011 - 6:09 am | being naughty, being told off 14 Comments

I have come to tell you something very important as long as you are a brat.

If you are a Top then you need to go and have a look elsewhere- may I suggest here?

Brats, gather around and listen carefully.

You know how there are some things that you would rather not admit to? The things that maybe, perhaps you might not ought to have done. I am not saying you did anything, I can only imagine you are entirely innocent, as am I. I am just talking about a possible eventuality.

So he says, “Is there anything you should tell me?” and a brat that had indeed done something a little uncalled for might think of admitting it but at this time of year she must do no such thing.

You see this is the time of year when some people are buying presents and preparing surprises. These must be kept as secrets or people will be sad. Any loving brat will have lots of surprises for those she loves and so she must keep quiet when asked the dreaded question, “Is there anything you should tell me?” lest she spill the beans about all the delights that are in store.

This is not to avoid a spanking. I have included a picture of one here because good girls like us might not understand what I am talking about.

It is to help make happy little Tops on Christmas* morning.

Christmas depends on you keeping schtum.

This is a selfless act.

Have fun.

* Or whatever your festival of choice may be.

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On Obedience (ish)

Caught.

The Very, Very Beautiful Marilyn Monroe

Pretty Little Things

Tagged brats, scolding

Advent Blog Day 3: Anticipation

By Poppy | 03/12/2011 - 2:37 pm | being naughty, being told off, bent over 5 Comments

Mija has come up with a splendid idea. She has suggested that we bloggers join in with an advent event. It involves making a post every day until Christmas day.

I am very excited. I love Christmas and this seems like a marvellous idea. Shall I tell you why?

It is the waiting, the anticipation.

It is like the moment where he turns to me. His eyes cast their net. I take up his field of vision and stop still. It had whiskers they would twitch. I am still.

This is the moment of anticipation. I know, to my delight and trepidation that I am the focus of all his attention. I do not know what will come.

Is he about to put one hand to my cheek and kiss me? A film star kiss, a weak at the knees, blood whooshing through my body kiss that makes me know what my lips are for.

Is he about to ask me a question? Those dreaded questions that set butterflies alight in my stomach and look to the side to find the way out. The question that will not let me lie even though it will lead to a whole other dire consequence.

Is he about to take me firmly to the corner? To place me there, hard voice making me put my nose against the wall and leave me until my mood alters and I am pliable for punishment?

Is it that he is about to use a tone and manner with me that will make me melt, my voice soften and bring me to offer a thousand little kisses to his hard body.

I anticipate until he releases me.

Anticipation is delicious, isn’t it?

Also I have added a mood bar to the bottom of each post- it is so that people can leave a bit of feedback without feeling they have to write things. But if you write things please also tick the box. I am designed to like knowing what people think.

See you again tomorrow.

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Wanting.

Things Starting With C

Baths-They Are Not Difficult

Life Under The Big Top: The Public Swats

Tagged bent over, spanking, submission

Fantasy Monday: Perfect.

By Poppy | 17/10/2011 - 6:05 am | being told off, control, fantasy Monday 22 Comments

This is an impossible position. My arms are strained, I can feel the stretch in my shoulders, and even though I am hanging onto my elbow to try to make it easier, it doesn’t help.

My back hurts. I can feel it shake with this stupid angle he has me in. I don’t know how long I can hold it. I really, really want to rub my bum; it’s burning so badly that I know if I could just rest it against the wall I could cool it. I swear I can still feel that strap. God, it’s agony.

I don’t know how long I can do it. I can’t do this, I can’t. I could say something. I could ask him to let me move. But I can’t. I can’t.

I just don’t understand why he would do this. It was ok (almost) when it was just him, but now it is the two of them. I just can’t bear to think of it. I can hear them, maybe five feet away, standing there talking about their next business project. I know they can see me. I know they can. I just want to melt into this wall.

I will be perfect. He won’t have to say one word to me. Being corrected now would be even worse than anything. They would both look at me. I will be perfect.

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A Note To A Certain Top

Bend Over

Have I Left It Too Late?

Under My Skirt

Tagged corner tme, fantasy monday

Fantasy Monday: All It Takes

By Poppy | 26/09/2011 - 6:10 am | being told off, embarrassment, fantasy Monday 10 Comments

It starts before he touches her.

He calls her to him, his voice sharp and sudden in the quiet house. She walks towards him with hestitent steps, a child again if only he could see her.

She stands as far from him as he will tolerate, head down, and listens. If she could shrink now she would but she would not leave. It is not that she could not make a dash for the door, It is not that she does not dare. It is just that something in his manner takes the will from her.

At some point he stands up and takes her chin in his hand. She raises her head at his demand and is forced to look into his eyes. It is there that she sees it. Her sense of self is lowered, not demeaned or lessened, but lowered into a deeper part of her.

When he puts her over his knee he speaks to her. He uses all of the words that make her ears prick up at parties, all those magic words. “Spank,” “Naughty”, “Little girl” and all the rest that make her sink lower across his knees. He describes her behaviour, how she has let him down, how she has this coming to her and what he sees. He tells her that he can see her there, a silly little girl with her knickers round her ankles waiting across his knee to be punished.

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The S Word

Bottoms

SSSSSSSSSSSSShhhhhhhh. I'm Shy

The Lines

With Her Nose Where Two Walls Meet

By Poppy | 01/09/2011 - 10:49 am | being told off, embarrassment, punishment, Uncategorized 39 Comments

This girl is not in the corner, I know that but this is a little how it feels.

She feels awkward, her foot behind her and her hands show gestures of self comfort. A girl cannot relax in the corner, there is no way to stand that shows a lackadaisical approach to the whole thing. One is permanently accountable, even for how one stands. These gestures of self comfort she shows, that is how I feel inside and what I would do if I could get away with it.

She is aware I think that her bottom can be seen and that in itself feels silly. Bottoms should not be naked like that, not as a grown up, it is ridiculously embarrassing.

And all she can do is think, she can’t even look herself in the eye. I know that feeling well, that is exactly how being in the corner makes me feel.

It is not like that at first, of course. At first it is all about the pain. The first five or ten minutes are spent using all my concentration not to rub or stroke my sore, red, swollen and possibly striped bum. I am acutely aware of how cool the wall is and if only I could just lean to the side I could pour my heat into that steady white prison. But I dare not and I am not sure I deserve it. But I want to, I want to a lot.

I am sorry and I am submissive (unless I have not yet been spanked and that is a whole other story). Towards the end of this time I might have a little cry. I feel silly and I want a hug. I want to sit on his lap (I don’t care about how much it hurts my bottom).
I want him to rescue me. At this point if he were to say my name and hold out one arm I would run over and fold myself up. I am the picture of repentance.

Slowly this fades and my wish for him to rescue me turns into a sulky pout. “Why won’t he come and get me?” I might sigh a little. I will start to listen to him now, working at his desk, waiting for a pause in the sound of his typing to see if he is going to come and save me. He does not.

I decide he is a mean and unkind man. I tell myself I am not sorry at all -I do not think this would stand up to very close questioning if challenged by him. I am giving him the silent treatment. (Irony is not my strong point at this time.)

This petulant mood is dispersed with waves of sorrow. I am sorry for what I have done, I am embarrassed, I am shy, I want to be forgiven.

But then I sulk again.

Given enough time I may well start to see if I can challenge him a little. I might shift a few inches to my right or let my skirt drop over my bum. This rebellion may appear a little lacklustre to you but it is a risky business. I am certain he can’t see me (I only do stuff when I hear him type) but he does sometimes know what I have done somehow. I think being about four feet away from him in the corner of his office may reduce the chance of my being able to get away with things. He sometimes gives a little bark of an order “Don’t fidget” or some such. That makes my tummy lurch and my nose push itself back where it should be.

Sometimes, some very scary times I hear him stand up out of his chair and walk towards me but that is just too terrifying for me to think about right now so I shall tell you about that another more suitable time (like the 31^st of October- it really is that bad.)