 |  |  |  |  |
She’s over the knee of a very handsome teacher, if I can be any judge, and he’s got a good firm grip on her pony tail. You ladies with a schoolgirl thing happening should enjoy this one:
Ah, the joys of life as a phone sex operator during the Thanksgiving holidays:
Setting: Thanksgiving Day, 2001, dressed head to toe in sweats with big fuzzy wool socks, with my arm up the behind of a turkey stuffing it. (nice mental isn’t it, hehehe)
Call: One male, Dominant who wants a submissive slave girl.
So the phone rings, here I am stuffing the turkey for dinner, yet I answer the phone. I hear this voice tell me in a demanding voice, I want a slave girl, well heck I’m game. So, off I go to run his charge, when it goes through, schlepping back to the kitchen he asks me, “Where are you?” “Oh, master I purr, I’m on my bed waiting further instruction.”
Reality check, I’m back in the kitchen stuffing the turkey
He tells me, how naughty I’ve been and that I need a spanking, so ok I’m game for this. He asks “do you have a wooden spoon?” “Yes Sir” I reply, reaching over to grab a wooden spoon from the thingy majiggy that holds all my kitchen utensils. Then I hear, “slave I want to hear you spank your rear end NOW”, “Ok, I reply” all he hears is a resounding TWHAP, “again slave” THWAP. A couple more loud thwaps and he hangs up, obviously completing his business.
Yes, if you were following along in the beginning of the story, I whacked the holy heck out of my turkey’s breast, tenderizing it like no ones business, and you bet I slid that turkey into the oven, damn fine turkey if I do say so myself!
Screencaps from the Lupus Spanking site are on the menu today. First we have a little artwork I like to all “Apprehension”:
And next we have the prettiest little bit of begging for mercy you’re ever likely to see:
Of course, it does not work to save her tender bottom.
A few days ago there was a quick dustup in my comments as Spanking Blog visitors briefly began to fight the ancient “spanking is all about sex / oh no it isn’t!” wars. As several commenters pointed out, spankings aren’t always about pleasure. Or, at least, not exclusively so.
Case in point: Here’s Mistress Sky, describing a caning she took in the spirit of religious sacrifice, one she wouldn’t have taken for pleasure, though indeed she seems to have found pleasure enough before and after:
I have an almost pathological dislike of the cane – when used on me. That’s probably why I don’t use it to its full potential in play. I’ll have to pursue that thought at some time!
At the celebration of Samhain and for the transition from Old year to the New one, we had to make a personal sacrifice. Being the creature with a multitude of fetish-likes that I am, I find it hard to come up with something that I will literally suffer, in order to make that sacrifice meaningful. Apart, that is, from taking a caning.
…
To set the scene – the circle is open, the candles are lit, the massage table is in position, the incense is burning and assails the senses.
We are wearing very little – just enough to heighten the experience and add more energy to the Ritual. He puts on the blindfold and the soft darkness is all I see. Instantly, all my other sense are sharper, I’m more aware of noise, touch and sounds.
He leads me to the table, bends me over it and proceeds to warm up his “sacrificial lamb”…
…
The Master of my heart continues with the paddle – teasing me first with the furry-sided one and then the pink, slappy paddle comes into play. I’m feeling intense warmth and pleasure-pain, but, at the same time, in the back of my mind, I know that the cane will soon make its presence felt and I can’t help it. I begin to tremble, in anxious anticipation.
I know there will be pain, bad pain, pain I dislike, but I must bear it – this is the sacrifice I am making.
While these thoughts are chasing across my mind and interrupting the pleasurable sensations, the first stroke lands. I cry out and rear up in shock. I shake my head and moan. He holds me and murmurs to me, but I don’t hear words, I just feel that blow. Knowing that He loves me so much and that He doesn’t want to cause me more pain than pleasure, I get back into position, awaiting the next stroke, determined to continue.
“Ready?” he asks, quietly. I nod and although I shouldn’t, I tense. I can’t help it.
You see, I asked for this caning, it’s important to us that I take it. Each stroke is agony, although the tiny strokes in between the ‘real’ ones could become pleasant – something to explore in the future. My boundaries could be extended…
He stops at the required number – designated by me – and we embrace. He removes the gag and gently wipes the dribble from my cheek. (I forgot to mention the gag. Well we wouldn’t want the neighbours complaining, now, would we?) But the blindfold remains. The resentment is compartmentalised (to be released later – but it’s not
directed at my love, only at the bloody cane) and there is Staff Worship to enjoy. I enjoy the taste and the feel of His staff in my mouth and adoring it is no hard task.
Author Rachel Kramer Bussel wrote a spanking column for The Village Voice last week, and since Spanking Blog got a mention and a link, it seems only fair that I return the favor. The column’s somewhat in the nature of a standard “explaining spanking to the vanillas” article, without a great deal that will seem fresh to readers of this blog. However, it is kink-sympathetic and fairly accurate, which is pretty good for mainstream press treatment.
(Yes, I know; by calling the Village Voice “mainstream press” I’m shocking the generation older than me. But hey, if you chop down trees and smear ink on them, that’s mainstream these days.)
Here we see a girl in trouble, getting a little corner time before her caning. Just enough to make her anxious, while he gets out his canes and checks them over.
What’s this? Six extra for peeking!
From Girls Boarding School.
See Also:
Arguing with Master can be expensive. So expensive that A Subtle Slavegirl wound up counting everything for a little while:
I wasn’t deliberately trying to goad him into changing his mind. I just thought he was being unreasonable.
…
375 strokes of Mr. Strap later. I was thinking about my poor botty and how bruised it was going to be. I didn’t even have to wait until the next day because an hour later the bruises were starting to bloom. And here I was thinking that my bum had stopped bruising…lol.
Thwack x 141 then 5 minutes of recovery time. Thwack x 117 and then 5 minutes of relaxation time for him. Thwack x 117 then 5 more minutes of his relaxation time. My thought process had just dissolved into numbers and as I bobbed up and down on his cock more numbers were streaming through my head, “Up, one, down, two, up, three…”