Well I have sparked up an interesting online back and forth with another spanking blogger who has taken an interest in my lack of posts lately.
Before reading this post I urge you to read my gentleman friends blog to see the post my post replies to.
Here is a link for you all 🙂 http://www.rosytales.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/a-reluctant-bloggers-comeuppance.html
As I sit and read this, an almost defiant edge takes my mind. I would not say that I am innocent of neglecting my blog, I in fact know that I do, but the important question is why do I neglect it?
You see talent in me, a fact that makes me blush alone. You see, dear gentleman writer, I am unsure of myself. A lack of faith in myself I suppose. The niggling belief that people aren’t interested in what I write or perhaps that I can’t match up to the wild stories and lives of the other kinksters I know.
Perhaps I do deserve chastisement for my neglect, or perhaps getting closer to the root of the matter, for that lack of belief in myself. Which is the greater sin? Which one of these deserves chastising?
You are right gentleman writer, like so many good, intimate punishments it is good to follow tradition, after all, they would not be tradition if they did not work so well.
Standing in front of you, smoothing my summery skirt and grasping at the hem out of nervousness, or perhaps shyness, it is fair to say I would know that it would only be the precursor to something harsher. I know the game, I quite revel in that game. I think all that stand as the punished do in the end, despite protestation.
However like all bad girls, I know that I have bought this on myself and that it will hurt. Apprehension, the fear of what is to come, that is the psychology behind corporal punishment. Is it sexual? Well that depends on the relationship between the top and the spankee. There will be bare skin on show, which then leads to a certain vulnerability, a certain shame, and a certain nervous excitement, that familiar tingling between my legs, the squirming that the heat of summer just makes more intense.
I am sure, gentleman writer, that you know this, in fact will be watching for it. What I always wonder, is what goes through your mind, a tops mind in this moment. Do you take joy in seeing these feelings flash through a girls face? Does it raise other feelings? A feeling of power or perhaps even arousal?
What would I choose to wear? Something summery yes. In this heat it could be nothing else. Something with the touch of innocence or perhaps the hint of smouldering sexy? With the only thing in my power being the clothes I wear the choice would be careful and deliberate.
As you make me lift my own skirt, to expose myself to you where would you be? Sitting in front of me enjoying the show, enjoying the look of shame and of shyness on my face, or perhaps standing in front of me, lifting my face to yours so our eyes meet when all I want to do is look down at the floor in shame and shyness and then walking around me to enjoy the view, a look of almost predatory power on your face.
Would you see the flash of fear in my eyes, or perhaps understand the look of fear and apprehension on my face, knowing that I was so exposed. What if you don’t like what you see? What if I don’t meet your standards?
The very last inch of control, my choice of underwear, would be girly, and cute to match my summery outfit. Not black lace, or satin but cotton with a cute pattern, flowery, or with little red hearts against pure white, maybe with a bow or two. Quite a fitting metaphor for the paleness of my skin and the impending rosy blush that will follow.
Laying across your lap now, my skirt raised and my head slightly lowered waiting for what is to come I wonder how this spanking will be administered. Methodical, of that I am sure, but will it be tempered by gentle stroking, in a nurturing loving way, or will it be delivered calmly, in a calculated way while I squirm against you with no gentle touch.
Will I become the bratty teen, struggling and protesting, or will I become the stoic heroine, desperately trying to not whimper, and not to struggle? Who knows, it is always one of those things that comes in the moment. Will I feel your excitement? A hint of hardness against my stomach? Do I squirm more, to incite that excitement? It is one of those mysteries that cannot be answered, that can only be played out as it feels right.
It is still almost safe now, on your lap with my skirt raised and my bottom on show for you to see, the curve and the roundness and the growing burn that I can feel along with the wetness between my legs that I desperately hope isn’t noticeable. I know there is more to come but I have passed that first trial, and the first wave of shame as I focus on the sensations and the warmth on my cheeks.
What comes next I know will be more humiliating. I know that you plan to punish, to have me squirm in shame and have me fully exposed and vulnerable. As I stand, I let my skirt fall giving me a momentary feeling of almost being covered again as you lead me to the bed uncertain of what is coming next.
Laying on the bed as you request, laying on my back letting my head fall back against the soft pillows I feel you lifting my skirt, and hooking your finger into the waistband of my panties I tremble very slightly while you look into my eyes. As you look into my eyes, my panties slowly lowered and removed, I go between closing my eyes in shame and to hide my excitement, and looking at you fully aware of the vulnerable position I am in and watching nervously as you look at the most intimate parts of me.
As you raise my legs, lifting them and making me hold them up as I lay there in full display I whimper a little and know that the wetness there between my legs must be on full display. I feel the tension as my muscles pull as I grip my knees.
As you begin to spank me again, the stinging returns and the discomfort of the position lifts a layer of control in my reactions as I whimper as I hold my position and deal with the burning on my now reddening skin. I wonder if at the end I will be on the verge of tears or like the stoic heroine I still hold it in? I will however whimper, and I will go between watching you and looking away in shame and humiliation, the full extent of how vulnerable I am plain to see on my face.
As you stop and help me to my feet I feel my hands reach behind to the redness of my bottom to rub and ease the stinging. As you pull out the paddle I swallow hard knowing that it will hurt, knowing that it sting much more than any hand can. I look at it in fear and swallow, watching you as you arrange the pillows for me to lay over.
Trembling as I lay over the pillows, and as you bend over me to whisper in my ear I whimper quietly. 5 strokes. I can handle five strokes I tell myself. Just 5 more..
I glance back at the paddle in your hand once more, seeing the hard ash it is made of and clutch the duvet as you take your first stroke, breathlessly gasping as I clench and squirm.
As the next 4 strokes land my gasps turn to pain filled moans as you again bend against me whispering in my ear “which cheek do you want the fifth pop on”?
My reply? It shall but remain a mystery, to let your own imagination have something to envision dear gentleman writer.