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Any fans of Madonna out there? Well, I know there’s at least one, because he sent me this small view of her ass, which he characterizes (I think rightly) as very spankable:
Apparently the photo is by Paul Gautier and dates from when she was being fitted with costumes for the Blonde Ambition tour.
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Hermione found a good sale on ping pong paddles at Canadian Tire:
I was intrigued by the different colour and texture of the rubber on each side, and wondered if I would feel a difference.
…
Later, Ron enjoyed the lovely loud sound it made when it connected with my bottom. But neither of us could discern any real difference between the black and the red side.
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I have seen all of the whipping drawings in this set before, but never until now did I have any info on provenance. According to Heart and Soul, they are by Eitenne Le Rallic, and first appeared in the 1938 spanking novel La Volupte du Fouet by Armand du Loup, writing as R. Fanny.
She’s had a bad week. And he’s been keeping a little list of every snarl, foot-stomping, and petty bitchiness. Tonight’s the night she pays for all — and then she’s being sent to bed without any supper.
From Her First Punishment. Thanks!
I haven’t heard these names before, but I definitely recognize the distinction Pandora is talking about here:
Our friend Zille recently referred to “California style” caning in her blog, by contrast with the English style. I’d found the distinction fascinating, and mentioned it to Tom. If the English style is a small number of very hard strokes, with pauses in between, then the Californian style is a rhythmic sequence of rapid strokes, starting tantalisingly light but building to a burning intensity.
We’ve played like this before, but never in a deliberate, extended way. Those initial bouncing taps are more or less the recommended way of introducing a new player to the pleasure of the cane, and I leaned back into them, hungry for more impact. The regular rhythm made it easy to relax, knowing what was coming next. As the sensation accumulated, my breathing slowed. My reactions seemed to ebb and flow; beginning with soft moans, slipping into sharper yelps and hisses as the impact increased, then relaxing again as I adjusted to the new intensity and my body accepted it. I slipped into a meditative state, the sensations shifting between pain and pleasure and back again.
This trance state is, in some ways, the holy grail of play for me: the calm space where new and harder impact only makes me sigh quietly, absorbing the energy, delighting in it.
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Risky business, but fun when it works. Here’s Tiny Miranda, turning the tables:
On the Tuesday, after we had had dinner, we sat, lazily, in front of the telly, watching whatever was on it. I decided that this was so boring so I wanted to cheer us up a bit. I got the hairbrush and simply told the red haired woman that it was time for a spanking. As she looked at me, I knew she wasn’t sure exactly what I meant, but that when I sat down in the sofa and tapped my knees she knew.
She is the spanker and she is the one calling the shots in our home, so there was a moment when it could have backfired. She might have told me she didn’t fancy it and given me a spanking instead. I was, actually, a little nervous when she smiled a strange smile and crawled over and put herself in my lap.
‘You are forgetting something,’ I said, strengthened by my success.
‘What could that be?’
‘Don’t get smart, now, you know what I mean.’
‘Do I?’
‘Spankings are always delivered on the…’
‘…Bare.’
‘Right! So, what does it mean, my dear red haired friend?’
‘You are actually telling me to take my trousers down?’
‘Not only your trousers.’
‘I guess it’s only logical.’
Logic is important to Felicia. She sighed and unbuttoned her jeans and then she pulled them down along with her knickers.
Then I spanked her. I have done it before, but I am not a good spanker. I started out a little meekly, scared of hurting her(!). It is true, I did, but that only lasted a moment. Then I thought that a spanking actually hurts, and that the very reason for spanking someone is to make it hurt.
It was much more fun after that. You may think I am a mean person, now, and maybe I am, but it was, kind of, fun. I didn’t hurt her a lot, just enjoyed smacking her fair bottom with the hairbrush that so often has descended on my own unprotected skin.
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