Month: January 2015

Miranda’s Birthday

BIRTHDAY SPANKING photo 0769.jpg

Miranda has a birthday tomorrow. Here’s the little ditty I wrote for her card. She will, of course, receive a very tasty birthday spanking to start the day off right. More on that another time

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So what? You’ve had a birthday

It’s nothing to despair

You’re not too bad for 41

At least you’ve got your hair

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You’re looking pretty sexy

You keep yourself so trim

Even though you never exercise

And hate it at the gym

 *

I think I know your secret

Of staying fit and young

It’s love that is the magic drug

And ours is super-strong

 *

So if you want to keep your looks

And hold old age at bay

We should get down and dirty

Most every single day

 *

And to keep your bum so taut and smooth

Good blood flow is desired

There’s only one solution here

A nightly spanking is required

*

Not too hard, of course, but just enough

To pinken up your cheeks

And once a week, a firmer dose

As I practice my technique

*

Then to keep your skin so supple

And your facial muscles tight

You must exercise your tongue and mouth

For 20 minutes each night

*

If you stretch your lips and work your tongue

Then a face lift you’ll not need

Face cream is overrated too

Just rub in my special seed

*

I’ll take an active part in this

So magnanimous, It’s true,

But I’ll make this sacrifice my dear

Coz I really do love you!

Seeking Absolution

imageChristi sat in her pew at the back of the church, gazing at the new pastor as he went about his ministrations. He had arrived just a few weeks ago – his first posting from Ecclesiastical College. Some of the girls said he had been a wild boy in his days before taking the cloth. They said they’d heard all sorts of stories of his antics in the city as a free spirit, and then there was some mysterious incident that had him seeking God and a life of penitence. He certainly looked like he could take care of himself. He stood over 6 feet and was a solid mountain of muscle – maybe a quarterback in his day?

She mused on what might have made him enter the church. A fallen soul, seeking forgiveness perhaps?. Did he get into a fight and kill a man? Maybe he got a girl pregnant and didn’t do right by her – maybe she killed herself. Could he be gay, perhaps, and not able to accept it? Fucking shame if he was gay, with that muscular body and dark, brooding looks. Whatever the reason, she was grateful he was here. He was a breath of fresh air compared to the old fossils who were pastors elsewhere in the County, and his arrival had doubled the size of the congregation. Parents who’d had to drag their daughters to church each Sunday now found these same girls dressed to impress and pushing their parents out of the door to get the best seats. Christi liked the back seats though, where she could watch and enjoy without being seen.

Christi gazed at the man and imagined what he might be like under those robes. She had some experience with guys since leaving High School three years ago – she was now a Junior at college and she had quickly discovered the joys of older guys, eager to teach a fresh young country girl the ways of the world. But this guy was older than those college boys, and she imagined his muscles hard and firm, his manhood big and strong, and his big hands strong yet gentle on her body. She thought he could show her things the younger guys only dreamt of, that he could mold her body into his, do things with his cock she had only read about. She shifted in her seat as her thoughts overwhelmed her and she felt her sex tingle with anticipation. She glanced to either side – she had the row to herself today. Gently she laid her summer jacket over her lap and slid a hand beneath, pushing up her short skirt to slip inside her soft cotton knickers. With a little manoeuvring she eased the gusset away from her pussy lips and then slid a fingertip down her crack, sliding along the moist groove. She found her clitoris and gently circled the growing bud, teasing the little nub into erection. Years of practice meant she had this technique down pat, and she knew she could bring herself off in seconds. She bit her bottom lip to stifle a cry, then began to flutter her finger across the sensitive tip of her erect clit. Quickly she felt the heat grow and her orgasm began to build like a wave at sea, hurtling toward the shore to crash down onto the beach, exhausting all its power. She held her breath as the peak hit, then as her orgasm ebbed she slumped into the seat and breathed a ragged breath. Guiltily she glanced around once more, but no one seemed to have noticed. Up front the pastor briefly caught her eye and she was sure he must have seen the guilt on her face, but his eyes continued onwards.

At the end of the service, Christi hung back to watch the pastor some more. She saw him head into the confessional and saw an old lady go into the booth next to him. After a few minutes she came R out and Christi dashed across and into the booth without thinking. She closed the wooden door and sat on the hard wooden bench. She could smell the manliness next door through the screen. The scent moistened her pussy once more.

She jumped when he spoke to her. “How can I help you?” She shivered at the sound of his voice, deep, husky and so close.

Christi was momentarily speechless, but then the words stumbled from her before she realized what she had said. “Punish me Father, for I have sinned.”

“I think you’re mistaken, young lady. I forgive, not punish”

“But to be forgiven, first I must be punished for what I’ve done, Father.”

She heard a surprised cough through the screen, and decided to go further. “I desecrated this church, Father.”

“a..a..and how did you do this, child”

She was bold now. She could tell she had the upper hand. “I touched myself, Father, between my legs. I rubbed myself and I brought myself off thinking of a man. Thinking of you. I imagined him, I mean you, taking me, right here. Do you think I need to be punished, Father? Will you punish me?”

“My child, you are right. You must be punished for your deeds as penance. You must go to the vestry and wait for me there.”

Christi ducked out of the confessional and dashed into the vestry. Looking around she saw she was in a small office with a desk and a rack for the pastor’s vestments. There was a floor to ceiling cupboard across one wall. Now she was here, she began to feel very nervous and foolish. What if he decided to call her parents, or the police? What if he denounced her to the whole congregation? She couldn’t live with herself. She decided to just make a run for it, but just as she was about to dash from the office the door opened and the pastor stepped inside. He stood in front of her and looked down at her. She looked up, but then ducked her head in shame at his gaze. He lifted her chin so she had to look up into his eyes, eyes that seemed to read her soul. Without a sound, he turned her around and pushed her towards the desk, then eased her forwards so she was bent over the edge. She felt a draught as her short summer skirt was lifted off her buttocks. She tensed then as she felt his fingers on her knickers, easing them down over her firm young buttocks. He tugged the knickers down to her knees. She felt his breath on her bum as he knelt to remove the garment entirely. His face was so close to her bum he could see everything, see her smooth, shaved pussy, her wetness and the pinkness within. She knew men liked to look at her from behind, liked to fuck her doggy style. She knew she looked good, knew he must be excited by the sight he had before him. She was excited and ashamed of the situation she had engineered, so she lay with her face pushed against the leather blotter on the desk to hide her shame and avoid looking at the man to whom she was so willfully exposed.

She heard noises, scraping and a door opening. She presumed he was looking for something in the cupboard. After what seemed an age, she heard his footsteps as he moved back to the desk. She felt his hand on the small of her back, and then a cool, firm pressure across her buttocks. She realised he had a paddle in his hand and she tensed in fear and anticipation. The paddle lifted clear of her bottom and then seconds later returned with force and a hard, deep pain. Christi cried out and tried to stand, but the pressure of his hand kept her down. He hooked a foot behind her heel to pull her legs apart and smacked her again, again, again. He paused then, and she felt the board on her back as he put it down to free his hand. She felt his fingers stroke down her buttock cleft and on to her wet pussy. She felt him cup her bald mound, and then the pressure of his fingers opening her lips as he dragged his hand back upwards, across her labia and towards her anus. She felt a pressure on her hole as he pressed a lubricated finger against her whorl, popping the tip past the ring of muscle momentarily. She cried a ragged cry at the intrusion.

Next, the board lifted off her back and he tapped it firmly against her spread cheeks, then lifted it clear before smacking her again with the unyielding oak. Six times he smacked her, each hard and solid, then he stopped. She lay sobbing across his desk as he soothed her sore, tender cheeks. Through her tears she didn’t hear his zipper as he eased it down to free his shaft. She felt it though, as he painted her pussy with the tip of his rigid cock, and then slid inside her to the root. She felt his hips smack her tender buttocks with each thrust. She felt his urgency grow along with her own until suddenly she was coming and then she was empty as he withdrew and she felt the warm splatter of his cum on her red hot cheeks. He left her then, to recover, and he went about his business in the church.

As she lay, sore, exhausted and sated, she knew. She knew what it was like to be with a real man, and she knew she would be seeking absolution at his hands every Sunday.

Driven to distraction

So apparently sex and driving don’t mix in Russia. I don’t mean ACTUAL sex. I’m sure we all know, or at least, can imagine how tricky it can be to concentrate on driving when attempting to give or receive sexual favours at the wheel. Oral sex is a particular favourite and a somewhat risky manoeuvre on post-winter potholed streets. Makes texting whilst driving positively pedestrian.

No – Russia is imposing a driving ban on transgender and transsexual people, fetishists, exhibitionists and voyeurs. All are considered “mental disorders” now barring people from driving, according to BBC News website. This is, apparently all in a bid to reduce road accidents.

Exhibitionism I get. Seeing a pair of naked buttocks pressed to the side window of a passing car whilst the owner bends to blow her partner could lead to a loss of control. I get that. Catching site of some back seat doggy with a pair of swinging boobs on display is likely to cause one’s eyes to stray from the road ahead for more than a moment (especially if voyeurism is your thing, so there’s two down).

Now, I can see that actual sex acts, whether ‘fetish’ or not, should be avoided when the car is in motion. It can be quite distracting to all concerned, especially if done right. And I can see situations where participants in ‘the lifestyle’ might be well advised to avoid driving. That leather head mask might be a bit restrictive for shoulder checking, I can see that. And if you’ve just come from a session with a favourite Domme, your ability to sit comfortably at the wheel is, I would hope, severely compromised due to the latticework of welts decorating your nether regions. Same goes for figging, or a butt plug. Must be damned tricky to sit comfortably with a bottle stopper shoved up your arse, or a stinging root.

Maybe the perception is that fetishists have such a wildly exciting sex life that their mind is constantly dreaming up the next scenario, so that in the throes of a well-imagined scene they end up rear-ending a meaty Russian (possibly thereby killing two birds with the proverbial stone, or whip maybe). Or maybe it has to do with the Russian predilection for spanking – if any of the stronger websites are any indication, there is a particularly sadistic streak in the pysche, or the recent story of the Russian doctor curing addictions through caning.

If the Russian bureaucracy were to introduce corporal punishment in a bid to reduce traffic accidents, they would not want to be encouraging poor driving as a result. Can you imagine the result!

“Sorry officer, I saw you there so I put my foot down harder. I heard I can get 10 strokes for every kilometre over the limit.”

“Oops. I seem to have smacked you up the rear. Oh well, eye for an eye I suppose!”

“That was  a No Entry street? Well if I’m to learn my lesson, you should show me what it feels like to have someone go up my No Entry then!”

I can see how this might all fall apart very swiftly. But on the other hand, maybe this is exactly the time to consider a job in law enforcement. Just imagine pulling over this car full of young beauties and sniffing a little booze in the air. Some swift discipline in the backseat and four hot bottoms later, all is good, except for the night-stick now extending painfully down my pants leg.

A Curious Thought

1-scarlet

A curious thought just occurred to me

As I bent you gently over my knee

Adjusting your lie to set your bum just so

To delightfully build that heartwarming glow

*

That thought, the one that occurred just now

That whittered away and furrowed my brow

Was the curious state that leads us here

With you bent so and exposing your rear

*

How it is as adults we just want our bottoms spanked

And afterwards, we’re on knees to give thanks

Yet not long ago, when we were small fry

We did all we could to avoid catching the eye

*

Of teachers so strict they would beat the whole class

(I got slippered one time, for answering back)

And parents, when told of our need to atone

Would whup us again to drive the point home

*

Yet now we are grown, well, in years at least

We spank one another to satiate the Beast

And great pleasure we get from a stinging red rear

No threatened strapping can fill us with fear

*

I can spank you with slipper, with hand or with crop

And I know you will beg me never to stop

And when your bottom is delightfully pink

And your pussy is dripping and it’s hard to think

*

You will drop to your knees to worship my cock

With lip-smacking pleasure as you gobble the top

And shove your tongue into the pleasure slit

And beg of the same when I lap at your clit

*

And when it’s my turn to offer my bum

When you beat me with vigour like you’re beating a drum

My manhood will rise to its magnificent size

And you will grasp it and squeeze it like you’ve won the prize

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And you’ll sit on my shaft and drill yourself down

Like a queen on her throne and wearing her crown

And then ride to the races at a vigorous trot

Til your pussy is screaming and your nerves are all shot

*

And you quiver and shudder and scream to the sky

“Oh fuck! Yes, I’m coming, I’m going to die!”

So I try to control your wild bronco bucking

As I jerk up my hips to finish the fucking

*

Just trying to finish and let go both barrels

Without snapping my dick (it’s one of life’s perils)

And I’m frantically stabbing my dick in your nest

When you collapse in a heap on my heaving chest

*

Oh my, I’m so sorry. I got carried away

With thoughts of our spanking and fucking and play

Now what was I saying, Oh yes, I recall

How adults love a sore bum better than all

*

So I give thanks to the strangeness that makes us desire

As adults, the spanking that stokes at our fire

When as kids we would run with abhorrent fear

When threatened with a whupping to light up our rear