Tag Archives: spanking

The Look

The spanking man has a weapon unlike any other. It is not a paddle or a belt- it is a skill, a quality that shows his soul through his eyes. It is known as “The look.”

His look makes a girl sit still for a moment and try to think other thoughts. It makes her tummy drop so low that it seems almost that she wants him to touch her.

But she doesn’t. She doesn’t even want him to look at her.

She wants to hide and then maybe, after some time has passed, she would like him to kiss her.

But I have a look too and this is it.

This is such a perfect drawing of my expression when I am about to be spanked. I get  a bit angry, although I would deny that. I tell myself, and Dexter if he would listen, that I would be perfectly happy to be spanked if only he had a good reason to do it. It is just that today, right now, he is being a bit ridiculous and it is only fair that I tell him so.

I would like to tell you that this attitude changes before I end up over his knee but it doesn’t.

I would also like to tell you that he realises his mistakes and stops before my mood is stripped away from me. But he never does.

 

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Monday Fantasy: Reality

I find writing hard at the moment. My emotions are so strong and bewildering that they carry me along jolting me up and down, I feel so much that I can’t think.

You know lawn sprinklers? I want you to imagine a lawn sprinkler, the way it throws water out, flinging it to cover a vast expanse of green, no unsuspecting blade of grass left dry, and no worm left  sleeping. Now imagine each flick of water is hard as shrapnel as it is flung in all directions- that is my emotions right now. I am observing them this morning, a moment of peace aided by tiredness and the snores of my dogs next to me.

So here is today’s fantasy Monday.

There is a house. It is at the end of a country lane and surrounded by fields. The walls of the house are thick and the windows small but plentiful so that light streams into every room.

In the sitting room is a sofa. The sofa is far enough away from the wall to enable a girl to be made to bend over the back of it with her legs kicking helplessly in the air. The room is large with buttermilk yellow walls. You will notice (if you are especially observant) that one corner has been left bare as though it is waiting for a girl to be placed there.

The kitchen is bright and airy, with views to the woods behind the house. In one half of the kitchen is a huge oak table, heavy and steady as time. It is set for two. There is a bottle of wine already open and one of the half finished wine glasses has a lip stick mark on it. But if you look closely and just narrow your eyes a little you can make out an outline of  girl, she is bent over the table, her hands clenched inwards, pale against the rich brown of the wood, her light bottom striped red with the belt that is discarded to the side of her.

Follow me up the stairs to the study. If you look out of the windows and across the fields you can see the very old manor house of the village, turning back you see a writing desk, dark wood inlaid with green leather. On the desk lies a cane, a simple object but as you watch it you can see a girl’s eyes at first wide and silent and then cast down seeking refuge in the solitude of the floor.

The bathroom next and you can hear her before you can see her. Splashing and singing she sits amid a mountain of bubbles, an oversized soft towel is at her side along with some moisturiser. You know very well that she will wrap herself up and throw herself into the arms of the man that is waiting elsewhere. She will push the bottle of moisturiser into his hands and be outraged at what he does with it.

Finally the bedroom, the bed has a duvet of goose down and is covered in the most 400 thread count  Egyptian cotton, all in cream. The furniture here is light pine, well loved since the girl was a child. In here you cannot see her so clearly, half glimpses is all you have, you see her in the corner with pyjamas pushed half way down her thighs and a sulky pink bottom on display, you see her standing with her neck arching upwards to receive a kiss and kneeling in the same posture to give one. You see her in bed with a thousand whispered prayers, all the same and different, desire with an element of fear and over her, covering her you see the muscular back of the man that understands every nuance.

But you also see something else. You see a woman, throughout this house, a woman on an adventure. She is all at once alone and in the arms of the man. But you do see her alone, returning from a run, carrying shopping, reading and cooking. And you see your computer screen, the words forming there as she writes to you to tell you of everything she is discovering in the peace she has found.

xxxx

And now, over this week and starting on Friday I am going to work as hard as I can to make this fantasy true.

What about you? Any fantasies you can make reality in your life? (Hopefully with less disruption than I am bringing to my life.)

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A Peek Under My Petticoats

The first time I wore lots of petticoats was under my ball gown to my first ever ball. I was eighteen and remember the evening moment by moment. My dress was midnight blue silk, a tight bodice and lots and lots of petticoats. I rustled when I walked. I wore stockings under my petticoats and drank champagne all night. I danced. There were turrets and statues. There was a candlelit ballroom. It was beautiful. But, being the girl that I am, all evening I was aware of the mysteries under my skirt.

All that silk, those many, many petticoats, stockings and the most beautiful knickers I owned; they seemed to be there for a purpose, they were there to be unveiled. I did not understand at the time but I felt the desire. Some one should be rifling through those layers, but could not fathom why. I knew all about sex, I knew it was not that- it was something else, something more important and more complex.

It took a long time to understand those feelings. I am still understanding them. The petticoat is an allegory, a old fashioned piece of underwear, terribly impractical, time consuming and modest. But it is all of these aspects that make it so alluring.

With the petticoat there is the possibility of catching a peek of something that aught not to be seen, that is half the joy of it. It is the opposite of the girl who walks about in a thong – not that there is anything wrong with that but a delicious aspect of what we do together is lost.

The petticoat is a private piece of clothing, but it is modest, it can be beautiful.

It can be so beautiful that people can dream of seeing it. It is the moment when a girl is undressed and dressed all at once. It creates a moment of intimacy that still allows us time to be in that moment, not the practicality of nudity that demands attention. It is a moment, for some of us, for a feeling exposed, altered, shy and expectant.

This is picture is perfect for showing why I do not like women spanking women. The spanker tries but has to resort to the rather coarse and tacky tactic of holding her ponytail. But look at the spanker, see how bored she is. She is suffering that ignoble end, the polite waiting for the spanker to get it over with so they can do something that demands a little more attention. But she does have delightful stockings.

But, if a girl waits long enough, someone turns up to make sense out of those rustling skirts and find the girl that lives in all those pretty mysteries.

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Fantasy Monday: Look At Me

“Look at me!” She did not say it but she may as well have.

All day she showed him her knickers. She spent an undue amount of time picking things up from the floor. She asked him to check an old bruise on her thigh. She flipped up her skirt as she left the room when she brought him a cup of tea.

He smiled. He waited to let the show play itself out.

Until he walked into their bedroom and all he could see was her knickers. He did not wait any longer.

“Come here,” he held out his arms and watched her confused face as she waited for him on the bed. She didn’t want to leave their bed; she had quite a few plans and none of them involved leaving it.

He held her in front of him, tightly so that she watched the muscles on his biceps swell as she tilted her head back for the kiss she knew would arrive. But then she was twisted away, around and about and in directions she lost the gist of.

He held her so still, upside down over his thigh so that she dangled before him, a little pink rag doll waiting for his ministrations.

They waited. She started to wriggle, “Stop it,” she demanded.

“Stop what?”

“I can feel you looking at me, it makes me shy,” her voice was higher than normal as she pressed her legs tight together and tried to reach back to cover her bum.

He reached down and pressed both wrists to her back with one large paw. “I thought you wanted me to look at you.”

She could hear his smug smile through his words. She arched her back and tried to get up- she was not successful.

“Yes, well that was before…”

“Before?”

“Yes, when I thought you were going to be nice and be fun and be … you know, kissy.”

“And now?” he asked as he tipped her forward so that her bottom was raised and her legs started to flail hopelessly.

“Now you must stop iiiiiiit.” Her voice went up high at the end as she felt herself tipped even further, her balance only assured by his tight grip on her wrists.

“Why must I?”

Because … because …” her voice sank, “You’re not doing it right.”

“And by ‘right’ you mean?”

“You are not doing it the way I wanted you to and I don’t like it.” She left her admission in front of him, a sulky gift before she altered and shrank.

He watched her, not looking as she had requested but watched which is what he preferred and as he saw her change he lifted his hand, the first of many times.

He watched her as she accepted, as she struggled and as she altered once more. Bravado dismissed in a moment, replaced with something cleaner, more pure, more authentically her.

Taking her upright, sore bottom on his lap, wet eyes against his neck;gently he moved her away from him, just a little, and met her eyes.

He watched. He looked at her. He smiled.

 

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The Rule Must Be Broken

Finally, I have proof. It is possible to spank a girl without  taking her knickers down. I think it might help if the knickers are pretty.

Here is a pair that are quite simple so I think the Top has left them up because he is very wise and can see the innocence and loveliness of the girl he is spanking. So here is an example of knickers staying up because of the wisdom of the Top.

The knickers are staying up here because the Top is very kind and knows that a modest girl would feel more comfortable with her bottom being covered. It is good that some Tops are kind.

This Top is aware of the skill it takes to spank a girl just enough, knowing you don’t have to watch the bottom for colour shows great skill.

The Top that did this has great humility. He knows he does not have to make a girl do his bidding but rather can make his point in a thorough and yet unobtrusive manner. Humility, an unexpected and yet immensely wonderful attribute in a Top.

This Top has a great sense of panache. He has created a magnificent tableau and recognises how the colours and textures contribute to that. He is simply too stylish to lower this girl’s knickers.

So if a Top takes a girl’s knickers down he must be lacking in some vital element of personality and we all know what a good and loving girl must do, don’t we?

She must point this out and insist that he tells her what attribute he is missing. She could make suggestions;

“Darling, is it that you are stubborn? Do you feel a lack of confidence?” And so on. He will thank her profusely.

You’re welcome.

 

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