Tag Archives: spanking

Cherry Red Bum

So it may be that last night in a fit of pique I tweeted the above tweet which the delightful Dave of Cherry Red Report made into this wonderful cartoon.

Don’t you love it?

Dexter did when he saw it. But that might be because I was sitting next to him when he discovered it. I was sitting tenderly on what he tells me was a very red bum.

Apparently getting up in the middle of the night to tweet how mad you are with your boyfriend* is a spankable offence.

*Even if you are mad with him for not spanking you.

I did not know this.

He was very kind and while I was standing in the corner with my bum cooling off, he told me that I could tweet about how hard I just got spanked and how it felt to be standing in the corner afterwards.

I thanked him but declined.

So, to Scarlet who just commented, “Do you ever wonder if maybe you have bitten off a wee bit more than you can …–. No, never mind. I thought not.”

I would like to say. “Nope. One day I will get the better of him.”

Has anyone any ice?

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Thoughts For Tonight

The moon is swollen with light tonight. As I drove home I saw the whole countryside spread out around me, the snow catching the solemn dark light. Seeing in the moonlight makes everything seem new, a backwards view, a negative; it is all the same but different, not what it used to be.

Last night Dexter put me to bed. He was miles away and on the phone. I tried to fight him, just a habit really. I needed to sleep.  He told me to sleep and I slept.

I am adjusting to this new life and parts of it surprise me in its simplicity. This Friday I will drive to see him. We will return to my house later in the week. I can see him. Our time is not limited, there is no rush.

I have so many things I want to experience with him. There are so many things I want to know, to feel, to be submerged in. He spanks me now with a kind of ease I am not used to. We walked on Saturday, in the dales in the freezing snow and when I complained about the cold he spanked my bum. It hurt dreadfully, the cold making the pain more acute. But soon it spread a warmth all through me and when I realised that this is now part of what I am and what I always can be the warmth spread right to the heart of me.

I was reading this weekend, The Sunday Times and one of the articles was advice from people who are dying. Sounds depressing  I know but I found it beautiful and inspiring. There were several elements but the two that struck me were, “Be the person you want to be, live the life you want to live. Don’t make choices based on what you think others want you to be.”

The second was “Don’t wait to be happy.”

These pieces of wisdom struck me hard and made me sigh with relief. This is why we are here, this is all we have. We don’t have a choice but to risk everything because we can’t risk anything less.

And happiness is not those monumental moments of perfection, those seldom attained tableaus of success. Happiness is finding the joy in small things. Recently I have fallen asleep in the strong arms of a man that I adore. I have made risotto with homemade chicken stock. I have unpacked my books and put them on my own shelves. I have heard snow crunch under my feet. I have giggled and struggled as  I have been upturned over Dexter’s  thighs and I have kicked a the first spanks struck home.  I have been fixed with his hard eyes and told not to answer him back. I am finding dots and dashes of happiness everywhere and learning to live by them.

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Why It Is Different When You Live With A Spanker

 

 Well, I don’t really live with one, just in a pretend way. A week at my house when he can, a week at his sometimes when I am free, we have our own space which is a good thing. I am learning a lot.

This is what I am learning.

1)      Brats and Tops are both very stubborn. Brats are brats because have definite ideas about things. I am very much like this. I know everything and how it should be done. I am also aware that if things do not happen like I think they should that the world may very well come to an end. Dexter is a Top and for no good reason is very stubborn indeed. He is not like me in my fight to defend the world from descending into chaos- he just insists on getting his way because he is wrong. I tell him so. It really hurts my bum.

2)      You can’t turn real life Tops off or over or down. Tops a long way away get quiet when you need them to. They hush up and remove themselves until they are needed once more, like a butler or automatic windscreen wipers. But the one that is there most of the time will not hush up when I say so, even though I use my best assertive tone. He sees the things I do not wish him to see. Dexter is very good at this. It makes my bum red and sore.

3)      There is something imperceptibly different about this way of doing things. I am more vulnerable, less able to be brittle and the kind of faux independent that comes from the special quiet combination of rage and fear that an unfulfilled girl such as myself gets.  That was a very wordy sentence, wasn’t it? This is the key, this is what I wanted to tell you about. Even after a few days I am realising that this relationship with Dexter is going to alter me more than I ever imagined. I am not going to talk to you of love but rather just of the submission and spanking element of us.

 

I fight him more, harder and with no polite backing down, no capitulation because I feel sorry for him or am likely to be embarrassed by his failure to make me mind him. I never give in, this matters too much.

 When I lose it is harder. I find myself almost moved to tears. He is so casual, so strong that once or twice recently when he has threatened me with a spanking i have backed down, not because I don’t want the ignoble end of losing but because I don’t want to be spanked. I don’t quite understand what he is doing to me.

 I get spanked a lot and I like it. I don’t like it. I argue and I rage but I wake up in his arms even if I went to sleep mad with him.

 Writing this I know what is different. I have stopped trying to manipulate. I have stopped having a world of thought between what I say and what i mean. I have stopped setting traps for him. I don’t know how all this will turn out but I think I am looking forward to finding out.

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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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