Life imitating art

Or imitating a spanking scribble at least. Just like the girl in my Christmas story, this naughty Penny got her backside tanned good and proper yesterday. (What is it about Sunday and me being spanked?)

To be fair to BH, I had been pestering him for a hiding like an eight-year-old might pester for a pony. Day in, day out, “Can I have a spanking? Wow, I want a spanking. You know, there really is nothing like a good spanking.”

(A slight paraphrase, but you get the idea).

Yesterday was the first day in over a week when we didn’t have to see anyone or go anywhere. And silly Penny got what she asked for and more.

Marched to the bedroom. Stripped down to my panties and ordered onto the bed. Wrists tightly bound and tied securely to the headboard. Baby-pink ballgag popped into my mouth and fastened behind my head. And suddenly I am helpless. Kneeling, face down, ass up, presenting myself for punishment like the most wretched little whore.

Unbearable anticipation, unbearable tingling between my legs.

The tip of the riding crop is traced down my spine and over my waiting buttocks. I moan shamelessly; arch my back, push my bottom out to meet the instrument of my punishment. To signal my submission, my wantonness.

He talks to me as he teases me with the crop, his words an extension of its caress. I close my eyes and feel the truth of his words.

I am a wicked girl. A slut. I deserve to be bound. I deserve everything I have coming.

And then with full force he thrashes me. The strokes come at a deliberate pace; a rhythm that lets me feel the full effect of each, inside and out. I yelp into my gag, I drool, I writhe, dishevelled, disgraced.

I beg for mercy.

I deserve none, and receive none. That frightful crop returns to my backside over and over and over again, scorching it, each and every blow sending lightning bolts of remorse and desire and pleasure coursing through me, overwhelming me. Faster and faster it comes, and I scream into my gag.

My words are meaningless, worthless sounds. His are deeply-spoken, measured, final.

“I will shortly be taking your panties down and inspecting you, bitch. And heaven help you if I find you wet.”

His hand between my legs, caressing me through fabric. Growled words of reproach. Helpless, wanton arousal in the wicked girl kneeling on the bed. There are no other words for it: she is an absolute disgrace. And then she is exposed, humiliated, her sole and most intimate item of clothing taken down and left at her knees.

A disgracefully red bottom; a sure sign of a naughty girl. And, oh – worse, far worse! – the little slut has been enjoying her punishment! She even whimpers with delight as he touches her shame!

He is quite right to take the crop to me again, to thrash my bare ass and legs with it, mercilessly, for my own good, but how it stings! Oh, please, please! I’m sorry! PLEASE!

*****

When at last – when he has beaten me to his full satisfaction – I am given the opportunity to please him I take it gratefully. I am a good little slut, an eager little toy. I know I was wicked and I am grateful to have been punished.

Fuck, I love spanky Sundays.

A visit to a naughty girl

(With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore. And Beatrix Potter. And all other authors!)

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro’ the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse...
...but, look! A little girl, climbing down from her bed!
With naughty little thoughts running through her blonde head.

Penny crept out of bed as quietly as she could; she knew she would be in terrible trouble if Daddy heard her. All was silent and dark in her room, for it was midnight on the most magical night of the year... Christmas Eve.

She should of course have been sleeping, like all the other girls and boys, but an impulse had gripped her imagination. She wanted to see Santa. So what if it was naughty to want that? She was sure Santa wouldn’t mind when he saw her happy little face.

She slipped her dressing gown on and tiptoed across her bedroom, then across the landing and down the stairs, being as careful and stealthy as a cat.

Cre-eak! went a step under her foot, halfway down the stairs. Oh, stupid step!

She breathed a quiet sigh of relief when Daddy didn’t emerge from his room. She carried on down the rest of the stairs, being extra-double-careful and stealthy.

Once downstairs she skipped with glee. She was going to see Santa! The real one! With the reindeer and the presents! She was sure he would think her the sweetest girl in the world, and maybe – she guiltily thought to herself – he would give her an extra gift for being so cute. Smiling with such happy thoughts she bounced onto an armchair and curled up to wait for her magical visitor.

*****

Some time later, she was startled by a sudden sound: she realised she must have drifted off to sleep while waiting. The noise was coming from the chimney – it had to be Santa!

Suddenly not so sure of his approval of her being awake, she determined to hide. She looked about herself, fixed upon a spot beneath the dining table, and scooted there as quick as a rabbit.

A few moments later, her curiosity too strong to resist, she peeked out from her shady hiding place. Despite her best efforts to stay silent she gasped in wonder as, sure enough, the portly red figure of Santa emerged from the fireplace, big black boots first.

Her gasp hadn’t been especially loud but it had been enough. Her little heart leapt into her mouth as Santa turned to her hiding place... then paced toward it... then bent down and looked straight at her, a displeased expression on his bearded, saintly face.

“And what, young lady, are you doing out of bed?” he demanded.

Thoroughly discovered, Penny gulped and sheepishly crept out from under the table, her little face glowing as crimson as Santa’s coat.

“I... I wanted to see you...” she whimpered into her chest.

Santa made an ominous harrumphing sound and pulled a roll of parchment from his pocket. “Ah yes,” he said. “Penelope... Hasler. Oh, yes indeed. You know, I don’t think you would have stayed up to see me if you knew what I had in store for you!”

Penny’s tummy sank with an all-too-familiar feeling. The feeling that she got when she was in for a spanking. Yet the sight of Santa’s sack of toys in the corner of her eye gave her one last flicker of hope. She looked up at him with her most appealing, wide-eyed expression. “Is it... a new doll?” she ventured with a timid little smile.

Santa laughed. “Ho ho, no! Oh, that’s a good one!”

Penny frowned in disappointment. And then she wailed as she was grasped firmly by the wrist and dragged across the lounge to the armchair she had sat curled up in not five minutes before.

“It’s not a doll you’re getting, my girl!” Santa boomed. “You have been bad all year long – the number of entries you have on my naughty list bears sad testimony to that – and tonight’s indiscretion is just the icing on the cake!”

And in the blink of a reindeer’s eye poor Penny lay helpless across Santa’s lap, her sky-blue nightdress up round her waist, her childish pink panties down round her knees. And then her little bare bottom bounced and squirmed under Santa’s hard hand as he set about slapping a much-needed lesson into her.

“Naughty girls get spankings!” he scolded, proving his point with emphatic (and painful) zeal. “And you have to be about the naughtiest little girl I’ve ever known!”

“Ooh! Ow! Owch!” Penny squealed, her slippered feet kicking, her blonde mane bucking, her little face a deeply flushed picture of sorrow. “I... I’m sor-ry!”

And she was sorry. Very sorry indeed. Santa spanked very hard, and long before he had finished poor Penny bawled in pain and sorrow, certain she could take no more. She was sorry the entire hour she spent standing in the corner, her little red bottom glowing in the night-time darkness. She was sorry as she lay in bed, sucking her thumb and rubbing the soreness away.

And she was sorry the next morning when she woke to find nothing but a note in her little red stocking.

Dear Daddy,

Penny has been very naughty this year and so I have spanked her and left her no gifts. I strongly urge you to spank her again today and send her to bed early.

Yours, Santa.

Poor, silly Penny. She had promised Santa that she would be good – “the bestest little girl ever!” – as he had expertly roasted her rear, and she would promise her Daddy the same when she was turned over his knee for a second, equally-thorough, Christmas Day spanking. And during each ordeal she cried just as pitifully as the ‘real tears’ doll she had set her heart on receiving, her little heart breaking with remorse...

...yet come December 26 she would be just as naughty as ever!

So as poor Penny sobs, her behind burning bright –
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Have a great time, everyone :D

Only two sleeps to go

It’s very nearly Christmas! I hope you’re all well and everything is set for a lovely festive celebration. I still need to wrap a few presents myself, actually... I will go and do that shortly, in front of the fire in the sitting room, the lights of the Hasler tree glistening prettily as I struggle with sellotape and try to make my gifts look like they were wrapped by an adult :)

Just to let you know that Ana’s Advent Calendar – on which I’ve been moonlighting as a helper elf – has a special post today in honour of us elves. (Some of) the naughtiness and fun we’ve had over the past month is detailed there for your amusement, so if you’d like a laugh, do pop over and say hi!

Oh... and if you have any thoughts about what should be done with a naughty Penny elf, grinning with mischievous glee in her sexy little elf outfit, do feel free to let me know in the comments here!

(Personally, I think Penny elfs should be given jelly tots and cuddles and not spankings at all, nuh uh!) :D

And let that be a lesson to you, my girl

I said yesterday that I was going to give myself a good hiding, and I did. The instant after posting on my blog I left my writing desk and went to the bedroom, fished my wooden ruler out from under the bed (we keep most of our hitty things there), went to the foot of the bed, yanked my knickers down to my ankles, hitched my dress up, and bent over.

Most times when spanking myself I imagine a scene – usually a school one – complete with an imaginary disciplinarian who is thoroughly appalled by my conduct and thrillingly/chillingly determined to teach me a painful lesson. I imagine him or her saying scolding words, and I feel his/her strict gaze upon me. But last night it was just me, in my bedroom, giving myself something I really needed. It was rather like the spanking I gave myself as a teen on a cross-country run, I guess, albeit more private and less chilly.

And I did need it, believe me. I haven’t been spanked for weeks and I would describe the feeling that I have had during that time as a type of desperation. Thoughts of spanking have come to me, all the time: at home, at work, in town, everywhere. And the yearning feeling that courses through me, part emotional, part physical, the feeling that tingles between my legs... it’s hard to describe, but it’s VERY real and VERY powerful. I’m sure many of you know the feeling I mean.

So I did what I had to do. Once suitably in position, I flashed that ruler down upon my cheeks just as hard as I could. Oh. OH. The wonderful slapping sound of wood upon skin... the delicious, much-needed sting (so intense when I gave myself a few spitefully hard swats in a row to the exact same spot)...

Bliss.

I didn’t have a particular number in mind before I started, and I simply walloped myself until it felt right to stop. Until the itch that had been driving me crazy had been scratched.

And when that happy point was reached, Penny’s naughty little bottom was very red and very sore, and she slept soundly and contentedly that night.

The end ;)

Party season

Apologies for the continuing lack of Penny productivity... I have simply been kept too busy to spend much time on my lovely little blog. Rest assured that I feel thoroughly ashamed – more toe-gazingly abashed than a fourth former caught under the covers in the dorm room with a salacious magazine in one hand and her other hand in an unspeakably wicked place – and I shall punish myself accordingly. (More on that later).

Saturday was a nice kind of busy, at least: in the evening I was hostess to a select gathering of sophisticated and urbane persons and a thoroughly enjoyable time was had by all. And Penny did get tipsy and act the giddy goat. But she only fell on her bottom once. As far as I remember.

I get another opportunity to behave badly this coming Thursday, as it’s the Christmas party at work. If last year’s bash is any guide, I think Friday is very likely to be a write-off, writing-wise...

But enough about my festive fooling. I mentioned punishing myself, and that is exactly what I intend to do right after hitting publish on this post. I am not only feeling guilty for a poor blogging performance. I am, sad to say, very badly in need of a spanking as my dear partner has not warmed my rear for a good few weeks. Not since November 24, in fact. A sorry state of affairs, I’m sure you’ll agree.

But I am not going to take it lying down. No sirree. I am going to take it bent over the end of the bed, with my dress hitched up and my knickers round my ankles. I am going to take my wooden ruler firmly in hand and apply it to my deserving buns until they positively burn. And I am going to feel like a very, very naughty girl.

(Oh, an amusing snippet from Saturday: we played Twister at our sophisticated soirée and a female friend whom I always had pegged as 100% vanilla smacked me firmly on the butt at one point. I would say I didn’t know where to look... but I was already looking foursquare into a second friend’s cleavage. Oh, the naughtiness! :D)

Shiny and festive and pretty

But enough about me, aha.

To festive up my blog and spread a little cheer, I thought it would be nice to snap and share some artistic and tasteful images of the Hasler Christmas tree!

I’m not an expert but I think it’s a Plastic Spruce. The important thing is that it stands proudly in the drawing room of Hasler Towers (between Doggie’s armchair and the TV) and makes the place look Christmassy :)

And, just for my dear friend Katherine Deane, here is my Disney Princess advent calendar! (I closed the doors up again for the purposes of picture-taking... the choklits are gone, needless to say).

Want more bauble porn? Here are some snaps I took last year of the little Christmas tree that sits on my writing desk :)

There's a brat in Ana's kitchen

It must be the time of year for yummy recipes – today Ana is inviting people to share their recipes for holiday treats on her blog, with guest Leigh Ellwood mistress of ceremonies for the day.

I better think of another recipe, quick! (Something other than the festive choklit biskits I’m currently scoffing out of a box :D)

Maybe I should send Little Penny over. She knows her way round a kitchin.

P.S. I’ll write something more substantial (if not more sensible) soon, I promise – the free time fairy has just been avoiding me of late. There’s an English lesson to be held, and poor naughty Penny has been waiting in suspense for nigh on three months now! Wail!

The spirit of giving

The title and theme of my Christmas short story, but this post is about something far less silly and far more important.

Ana Vitsky has a beautiful post on her blog today (part of her daily Advent Calendar series), all about the importance of selflessness and kindness. She reminds us to think of others – particularly those less fortunate than ourselves, particularly at this time of year – and she (and her many commenters) share sad, heartwarming, inspiring stories and suggest all kinds of ways, big and little, to reach out and help.

And this is, of course, the true meaning of Christmas: the capacity for kindness we possess, each and every one of us; the amazing difference that can be made to the lives of others if we choose to use that capacity. The spirit of giving.

I can only urge you to visit Ana’s blog and join in the conversation: I guarantee that your heart will be gladdened.

(As one final enticement, Ana’s post features an original piece of Penelope Hasler artwork, drawn purely in the hope of making a friend smile).

Tis the season to be spanky

Whee, it’s December! I don’t know about you, but now it really feels like Christmas is near, a feeling that I didn’t have yesterday. Amazing what opening the first door on a Disney princess advent calendar can do :D

And an even nicer Dec 1 gift was an email telling me that my Christmas short story has been published!

It’s one of ten brand-new tales in a lovely little collection called The Christmas Spirit, available from Amazon or direct from the clever people at LSF Publications. Lookit!

And if that isn’t enough spanky, seasonal story fun for you, there are not one, not two, but six other splendid collections all bursting with naughtiness and festive fun. Pop over to LSF’s Christmas collection page to have a browse :)

Yay for Christmas!

The advent of spanking

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas... and that means lots of super-fun activities and traditions :D

And, I have to say, as nice as decorating a pretty tree might be – and it is lovely – the greatest, shiniest tradition of all is Ana Vitsky’s Advent Calendar!

What dat, you ask? Why, only a month-long celebration of the festive season and the wonderful world of spanking fiction – with daily posts and chances to WIN cool prizes (including free books by a veritable galaxy of authors, and lots more besides!)

Sign up on this here post as a vital first step to taking part. I have :)

This message was approved by S Claus.

Sunday school

Saturday may be the hottest day of the week for spanking fiction, but – in Casa Hasler at least – Sunday seems to be the day when naughty girls get spanked most often in reality.

(Yay for free time! :D)

The scene is a familiar one, but no less shameful for that. Two figures alone in a softly-lit room. A schoolgirl standing before her teacher, fidgeting and frowning as she is upbraided, her blushing gaze fixed on her feet. Silly detention, she thinks to herself... not fair... too big for this.

That she looks for all the world anything but too big for detention, with her childish school shoes, knee-length school socks, pleated grey school skirt, crisp white school blouse, striped school tie, and pigtailed, ribboned hair, is a fact that our rebellious little miss might like to reflect upon sometime.

“Your conduct in Latin class was an absolute disgrace, young lady,” he scolds.

“But...” she mutters into her chest. “Lucy started it...”

“Silence!” he roars. “You are a disgrace, and you are going to be made sorry for it!”

A firm hand seizes her arm painfully. And suddenly she is over his knee, her skirt is tossed up, his fingers inspect the border of her knickers with a feather touch that makes her tingle.

“I’m sorry, Sir...” she whimpers, too late.

“You will be when I’m finished with you, girl. Very sorry indeed.”

The smacks that rain down upon her inviting little bottom make her jolt, and yelp, and protest anew. “Please... I don’t wanna spanking!” she whines to her teacher’s leg, her silly little head bobbing upside-down at its side, the smart trousers and shiny, irrefutably adult shoes in her eyeline wordlessly speaking of the chasm between his status and her own. As if to reinforce the point – the traitors – her own legs begin to scissor, and kick, and form the most indecorous shapes when she is spanked harder and faster for her insolent outburst.

She looks no more respectable when her knickers are taken down and left around her thighs in manifest tribute to her misbehaviour. She looks, of course, just as she is: a wayward schoolgirl getting exactly what she deserves. And she sounds like one as the hurtful smacks keep coming, again and again, each one deepening the shameful blush in her rear. How silly she sounds, yelping like that!

Sent to the corner, skirt held up in disgrace. Her little face, so brash and full of fun when she was playing her pranks in class, is now a sorrowful, tearful sight. She hates standing in the corner like a naughty little girl... she hates school, and detention, and spankings... she sniffles back a tear, feeling anything but big or clever.

The point of no return

Naughty girls (and boys) who have faced spankings will know that awful, sinking feeling you get when it becomes quite clear that, no matter what, you’re going to get a smacked bottom. No backing out, no pleading, no sweet smile will get you out of it. You’re at the point of no return.

My Christmas short story features a very naughty girl who has – for the first time in her life – reached that very point. And, lucky her, the one determined to spank her is none other than jolly old Santa!

Pippa gulped and unthinkingly clasped her hands to her behind. She didn’t like the idea of a spanking at all...

“B-but...” she whimpered in one last bid for clemency, “I don’t want a spanking...”

Her appeal met with a stonily determined glare, she glanced anxiously about herself as if in search for a means of salvation. Seeing none, she made a sudden, desperate dash for the door. Unfortunately, Santa was ready for her and grabbed her by the wrist as she tried to pass him.

“You’re not going anywhere but over my knee, madam!” he snapped, and in the twinkling of an eye he pulled the mortified young woman down across his lap as easily as one might a toy doll.

Hey, we’ve all been there... and what a nice place it is to be.

There are plenty more naughty treats to enjoy from the other Saturday Spankings participants! (Isn’t Saturday great?)

Coming attractions

I’m afraid that this is another ‘my dog ate my homework’* post as I’m snowed under with non-naughty things right now... leaving me next to no time for fun spanky blogging stuff. Sorry :(

But I will have time soon!

And I have a list of things all planned out to entertain and delight you, starting with a second snippet from my forthcoming Christmas short story on Saturday :D

*Figure of speech. Doggie wouldn’t eat paper really. He’s not (that) silly!

So many naughty girls, so much spanking

What an honour – for the second week running I am the co-star of an Ana Vitsky scene!

In marked contrast to my last appearance on Ana’s blog, in which I expertly portrayed a well-spanked little girl, this time I appear in the strict teacherly guise of Miss Hasler, a lady who is no stranger to administering firm correction to deserving bottoms. And I am joined in the classroom by the very talented and equally naughty Natasha Knight (lucky me)! :D

And unlucky Natasha, it has to be said, for she is set to receive what all badly-behaved schoolgirls need and deserve... a jolly good spanking across her teacher’s knee!

The insolent minx ;)

Round Table Discussion: Feminism

I’m a feminist and I like to be spanked.

Is that a contentious statement? I would personally say absolutely not. In italics and everything. After all, if I reformulated it as “I’m a feminist and I like to do things I enjoy,” nobody would think it incongruous in the slightest. Yet the idea of a self-proclaimed strong, independent woman allowing herself to be spanked is problematic for some. Let’s step into the theoretical shoes of one such person and ask the obvious questions of the spank-happy feminist:

How can you enjoy being dominated? Being struck? Women have fought for generations to free themselves of exactly that!

If feminism, the core of it, is about anything, it’s about rejecting limiting, essentialist worldviews and definitions. Principally, rejecting the idea that gender can be used as a criterion of ability or worth and thus as a determinant of social status. That people can be categorised, and assigned roles and modes of behaviour, based on their gender. That might equals right. The triumph of feminism in the Western world means that these and other such ideas are now relics, falling ever further out of use, rather than living things, part of the everyday fabric of life.

My life isn’t perfect, but I am thankful every day that I live in a time and place far removed from the restrictive societies that so many women had to live within (and still do in many parts of the world). I am empowered in ways that such women could (and can) only dream of. I can choose my own pursuits; I can study, and build a career; I can be financially independent; I can choose my own partner and live with him as an equal. I might not always succeed in my endeavours, but I have the chance to try.

That’s great, but get to the point.

What I experience when I submit to a spanking is quite different to what less fortunate women experience in their daily lives. The key difference is, of course, the factor of choice; of agency.

The fact of the matter is that I get spanked because I like it. Because I want it. There is a world of difference between that and being struck against my will. The central maxim of TTWD comes to mind: ‘safe, sane and consensual’. This means that, even though what is done to me might look like a man physically and emotionally dominating a woman against her will (especially given my excellent acting skills ;D), in reality it is a man respecting his partner’s wishes and giving her pleasure. That he is a man and I a woman is, in a very real sense, immaterial: the dynamic of our spanking relationship would be exactly the same if my partner was a woman. Or a Martian, for that matter.

I think that a great deal of the misconceptions people have about spanking come from the still-extant association it has with domestic violence, an aspect of the social and physical oppression of women that was a deeply ingrained part of Western societies until the mid/late 20th century (and still an unhappy part of many women’s lives today). But of course the resemblance is entirely superficial; a matter of surface appearance. The motivations – the realities – behind the two acts are so different as to be incomparable. To someone who doesn’t ‘get’ erotic spanking the distinction is meaningless, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. (In just the same way, I don’t understand electricity, yet it still somehow powers my computer despite my ignorance).

To return to the question implied in opening – how can a woman reconcile being a feminist with being spanked, and humiliated, and all the rest of it? – I actually think of the matter in quite different terms, i.e. that there isn’t actually anything to reconcile. Far from representing any kind of diminution of my liberation, my being spanked is proof positive of it: it is precisely because I have the freedom to express my sexuality that I can indulge my various fetishes. Because I’m free I can dress as a little girl and be scolded and sent upstairs to await a beating with the belt. I can be taken by the wrist and pulled down across my partner’s knee. I can cry out as he spanks my bare bottom nice and hot and sore, and relish the feeling of helplessness that comes as the pain builds and he holds me in place despite my struggling.

I would actually be less free, less empowered, if I was prevented somehow from experiencing those things; if I had for whatever reason to go through life unable to express the desires that well within me. That the absence of the ‘violence’ needed to satisfy those desires would make me less happy is something that would confound some, no doubt, but I know myself best and I know what I need.

And that, to me, is the purpose and the gift of feminism (and every other empowering ideology): it represents a reclaiming of our own bodies, our own lives. It pushes the horizons of what is ‘acceptable’ back. It has challenged, and continues to challenge, overarching and dehumanising societal ‘norms’ and in so doing puts power where it belongs: in the hands of the individual. That I sometimes choose to use my freedom when in the privacy of the bedroom to roleplay as a maid and have my backside thrashed is in no way a refutation of feminism. Rather, it is a thrilling affirmation of it.

My body is my own. My sexuality is my own. I’m a feminist and I like to be spanked.

This being the round table, there are lots more takes on this fascinating subject to enjoy. Do please visit the following clever people if you haven’t done so already:

A lovely (and sore) surprise

Bad girls get all the best things! My friend Anastasia Vitsky has very kindly written a delightful little scene starring flame-haired Irish beauty Tara Finnegan and... me!

(In a clear case of casting against type, I play a naughty girl called Penny who has earned a good spanking. Can you believe it?)

Interestingly, the scene takes place after the spanking has been delivered, and so details a very sorry and tearful Penny sitting on Tara’s knee. Ana captures the emotions, and the tenderness, of the moment so well: the loving firmness of spanker and the blushing timidity of spankee; the love that surrounds the act of discipline. (Also, she writes me very accurately!) And, as the piece is part of SatSpanks, all of this is achieved within eight sentences. Very clever!

Do pop over to Ana’s place and enjoy :D

Fireworks

A super-quick post today, based firmly in reality – or my version of it – rather than a fantasy world. (I say super-quick as I’ve just got home from work and I have to go make dinner in a second and potentially get ready to go out. We shall see).

The reality-based topic at hand is of the kind that my friend and fellow Brit-spanky writer OFG often writes about: the practicalities of kinking and, in particular, the noise one makes.

Noise is on my mind right now because November 5 is a very noisy date in the UK. It’s Guy Fawkes’ Night (or Bonfire Night if you prefer), which is basically a nationwide firework festival. It’s dark as I scribble this and so not a minute goes by without a loud BANG! outside. (Actually, it’s more like POP-POP-PHEEEE-BANG-POP-BANG!)

And the thought has occurred in my kinky little brain... what better evening to use as cover for noisy bedroom antics? Because, shameless painslut though I may be, I do live in a little house in a densely-packed area with neighbours all around, and I am conscious of the noise we make when implement meets bottom, and the noise I make when I squeal and squawk, and that ever-present awareness is a teeny bit of a downer. And I would love to be free of it, even if only for one night, and let it all hang out!

BH might want to go to a local firework display; it remains to be seen. Personally, I’d be much happier to be tied to our bed in my maid outfit and thrashed silly while the bangs and pops go on outside.

I shall have to see if I can persuade him to enjoy a different sort of firework display :)

He knows if you've been bad or good

We’re hopping from one holiday to another for Saturday Spankings today, with a little snippette from my forthcoming Christmas short. (Can you believe it’s November already? Yikes!)

In this scene, the self-centred and rude Pippa has been surprised – as one would be – by a visit from Mr S Claus himself, and it seems he hasn’t called round to deliver a gift. She’s a bit of a diva, and she doesn’t react very graciously to the news that she’s on the naughty list...

“You must think I’m as crazy as you are! Santa, indeed! A naughty list! I’ve never heard anything so stupid!”

Santa, quite used to such reactions in the naughty-listed, gazed steadily back at the fuming woman. “Stupid it may be,” he returned, “but the fact remains you’ve been a very badly-behaved girl this year. Selfish, immature, callous.”

Pippa, incandescent with rage at being spoken to in such a manner, opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by the ominous baritone of the stern-faced Santa.

I think we can all guess what this grown-up brat is getting for Christmas, can’t we?

There are loads of great authors with sexy, spanky snippets (this is SatSpanks, after all): check them out!

Shrouded forms that start and sigh

Eye of toad, and wing of bat – it’s Halloween and Penny’s a brat! Thought I’d make a bit of an effort and spook this place up this year. Hope it isn’t too scary for you :D

Come on in and help yourself to a glass of witch’s blood (fruit punch); don’t mind the cobwebs everywhere. I’ve been meaning to tidy up for ages.

Little Penny’s out trick-or-treating, dressed as the cutest pumpkin you ever saw, so it’s probably safe to turn the lights down and spin a tale of terror...

*****

‘Twas a night as dark as the grave... a night so dark that even the bats that fluttered about had trouble seeing where they were going...

And over the misty moors came a pair of eerie, shuffling shapes, the smaller of which made a terrible sound; a forlorn wail, like a tortured spirit...

“Are you sure this is a short cut? My feet are killing me!”

“Oh shush, Penny! You’ve done nothing but moan the whole time we’ve been out!”

Penny pouted. Her feet did hurt! She was all set to moan once more when she saw a faintly glowing amber light in the distance. A house!

“BH, look!” she said, excitedly. “We can ask there for a drink and a sit down!”

Upon reaching the house, a little cottage set in a clearing, the weary pair were surprised when BH’s knock on the door went unanswered, for the house glowed brightly at every window and smoke puffed cheerfully from the chimney.

“Maybe they went out?” Penny offered with an unconvincing smile.

Both Penny and BH jumped as, the next moment, the heavy wooden door swung open with a long, loud creaking sound. Still with no-one apparently at home, BH cautiously stepped inside.

“Come in, it’s okay!” he called a few moments later. He showed Penny a note that he had found.

Help yourself to refreshments, travellers, and rest yourselves.

“Great!” Penny smiled. “I could do with just exactly those things! I wonder if they’ve got any cookies?”

With that, she trotted off in search of the kitchen and returned shortly afterwards, a gleeful smile on her face and a cookie jar in her arms. “Cookieee!” she giggled.

“Hang on,” BH said, putting a hand to Penny’s arm in caution. “There’s more.”

Don’t take more than your share or you shall get what you deserve.

“Yeah, right!” Penny smirked, plunging her hand into the jar. “That’s a good one!”

“Well, as silly as it sounds,” replied BH, “we’d better take it easy. We don’t want to upset anyone.”

Penny, cheeks bulging with cookies, gave an indifferent shrug and plopped herself down into a comfortable armchair.

“Mmm...” she smiled contentedly a good half-hour later, wiggling her toes in front of the fire, the white of her knee-length socks glowing orange in its light. “Those cookies were lovely. And so was that cheesecake! We should have found this place sooner!”

BH, decidedly less at ease than his near-horizontal girlfriend, knitted his fingers. “Okay, Penny, we’ve had a nice rest... perhaps we should get going soon.”

“Hey, not yet! I saw some chocolate cakes in the kitchen! I’m gonna make some more tea and see how many I can eat!”

“No, really, Pen...” BH cautioned, but his words were met with a sassily pushed-out rear and a stuck-out tongue as Penny hopped to her feet. “Penny want choklit!” she grinned.

But the greedy girl had only made it halfway across the lounge when a ghostly whisper came through the room like an icy breeze. “You shall get what you deserve...”

“Oh!” Penny squeaked as her dress suddenly flew up around her, revealing her bare legs, her tummy, and her bright red Cookie Monster panties. “Help!”

Penny’s ever-protective partner leapt to his feet to assist but was held from her by a mysterious power: he could only watch in dismay as Penny was lifted into the air as if by magic, legs kicking, her face a picture of anguish. “No! Help! Put me down!” she cried, but suspended in mid-air she stayed. And, try as she might, her pretty blue tea dress would not be pushed back down, and her most intimate attire remained steadfastly, and mortifyingly, on show.

BH, almost – but not quite – as horror-struck as Penny herself, gasped as he caught sight of a wooden spoon floating in from the kitchen... and right up behind his unsuspecting girlfriend. He winced, unable to speak, as Penny was bent forward as if over an invisible knee. And then, to his horror, the enchanted wooden implement drew itself back... and arced itself painfully down upon Penny’s soft bottom, right on the sit spot of her right buttock. WHACK!

“Oww!” Penny cried, her mouth and eyes thrown wide open with the surprising – and painful – sensation. She howled again as she was treated to a second fearsome swat, then a third, then a fourth.

“P-please! Let me down!” she cried, kicking her feet in futile protest as swat after hard swat scorched her squirming rear, the spoon roaming at will over the inviting target her backside presented and leaving stinging, pink marks wherever it struck. “I’m –OWW!– I’m s-sorry!”

But her pleas went unanswered and her naughty bottom was walloped until it glowed just as red as her childish panties. What a spectacle she made, wailing and bucking as she was beaten, her dress shamefully raised in the time-honoured tradition: she looked and sounded every inch a naughty girl getting just what she deserved. By the time she was let down and she ran into the arms of her boyfriend her sorrowful little face was soaked with tears.

“IdidntwannaspankinanImsorryIstolethecookiesanIwonteverbenaughtyagain!” she sobbed.

It wasn’t another minute until Penny and BH had dashed from the house and started back towards home, thankful to be out of the reach of witchcraft.

“I’m glad we’re out of that crazy place!” BH said, once they had got beyond sight of the house.

“Me too!” sniffled Penny, rubbing her well-spanked bottom with a rueful pout. “That was dreadful! That horrid spoon really stung!”

“Don’t you worry, princess,” BH said. “We won’t ever visit there again.”

Penny smiled and hugged her boyfriend’s arm, glad to feel so protected.

A little further down the road, she spoke again.

“Well...” she whimpered in a small voice, “maybe... maybe we could pop by again sometime...”

*****

Spine-tingling story, huh? Hope you liked it!

And just for a little more Halloween fun, here’s a spooky maze. Penny has wandered off and got lost and now she’s being frightened by bats and cats and all manner of things that go bump in the night. Can you help her find her way home?

Happy Halloween!

Ho ho oww!

Yay! My Christmas-themed short story is now complete :)

Called ‘The Spirit of Giving’, it’s a fun little M/F sketch with Santa as the M and a self-centred TV hostess as the naughty and deserving F, and I hope it pleases like a snifter of liqueur after a big turkey dinner.

It’s set to appear in an anthology of festive fiction, so I will let you know all about that as soon as I have the details. Excited! :D

On the subject of holidays, now is the perfect time to tell you about the rather fetching purple image adorning the top right corner of my blog. It’s in support of an event called ‘Spank or Treat’, a multi-blog extravaganza with free stories, quizzes, prizes, and a whole lot of spanking! The fun starts tomorrow, October 25, so get in the spooky spirit and check out the participating blogs :)

I’m not part of Spank or Treat but I’ll be putting my witch hat on and spooking my own blog up on Halloween itself. Fans of pumpkins, ghouls and other such creepy accoutrements be sure to pop by!

Forbidden pleasure

News of a brand new book. Not one by me, but by the prolific Anastasia Vitsky. The first in an ambitious new series, Ana’s fascinating new story is titled Becoming Clissine.

Set in another reality, a dystopian land in which heterosexuality is outlawed, marriages are arranged and corporal punishment is firmly ingrained into everyday life, the story follows one woman’s struggle to overcome the intolerant society she was born into; her struggle to pursue love and retain her identity. It’s a darker piece than a lot of spanking fiction, and an affecting read.

There’s a lot in there, a lot of layers and several different expressions of kink, and one element that might be of particular interest (to some) is the presence of ageplay. The protagonist is forced as part of her ‘re-education’ to start life again with a new family, quite literally in the role of a child, and is treated accordingly (at least in spanking fiction terms). Speaking personally, this is one of those fantasies that really touches a lot of my buttons – including ones marked ‘visceral fear’ and ‘blissful escapism’ – and Ana explores it with sensitivity.

The beautiful cover image below links to the book’s Amazon page:

And a video trailer is on YouTube!

Round Table Discussion: Bringing spanking into a relationship

Is it time for another round table discussion? It is indeed! Today’s topic comes from the lovely Katherine Deane and concerns the hows, whys and wherefores of bringing kink into relationships. So no theorising for once!

I can say without hesitation or fear of contradiction that I am the one who brought spanking and all the other kinky stuff my partner (BH, my Better Half) and I do into our relationship. He was quite the vanilla gentleman before I got my hands on him, in fact. Whereas I had been a twisted little pixie since forever.

We’ve been together for four and a half years now, and my ass being smacked has been a part of things for four of those. I really didn’t waste much time in revealing my kinky side to him...

I can still vividly remember the moment I raised the question. We were lying on his bed in his student digs, sleepily cuddling after a hard day’s studying (no joke: we both worked our asses off at uni; my eyes hurt from the amount of reading I did sometimes), the lights were low, it was just a really safe, cosy, loving environment. (Very red, too: crimson wallpaper!) Neither of us had said anything for a while, but it was one of those not-a-problem silences, where we were both totally comfortable. And I turned my head slightly toward him, and said, “BH... [that is his actual name; amazing coincidence] ...this is going to sound very random, but... have you ever spanked anyone before?”

A gentle, surprised laugh. It turned out he hadn’t.

Looking back, I think I was pretty brave to just put it out there in the way I did. I knew BH pretty well – we had been friends before getting together – but I didn’t really know how he would react to his girlfriend dropping an ‘S’ bomb out of the blue. I guess I just trusted some instinct that told me he would be receptive rather than dismissive; that he would be open-minded enough for me to reveal something that was important to me, even if he wasn’t kinky himself, and not ridicule me for it. He’s just that sort of person.

The hardest, scariest bit over, the Rubicon crossed, (and, to be fair, his interest piqued), I nuzzled into his chest and told him all about how I enjoyed being spanked. How it satisfied something that I couldn’t quite explain; how it really, really turned me on. (I might have stroked him in various strategic places as I expounded upon the pleasures of erotic kinky play. Feminine wiles... :D)

I was mindful to explain that such things were perfectly natural and very widely practiced; that young ladies the world over enjoyed corporal punishment as part of their sex lives.

And I asked him if he would maybe like to spank me sometime, as part of foreplay.

And, bless his heart, he said he would.

Spin on four years and he’s the toppiest top anyone could wish for, beating me silly, scolding me, stripping me, tying me up, tying me down, roleplaying with the best of them, fucking me senseless, leaving me a bedraggled, orgasmic wreck once he’s finished with me.

I’m so glad I took a chance and asked the question I did in that cosy, book-filled red room.

A virgin bottom gets spanked

It’s Saturday! The spankiest day of the week!

My contribution to Saturday Spankings this time is a scene from my F/F WIP in which never-before-spanked Emily finds herself bent over, fearfully awaiting punishment at the hands of her lover, Charlotte.

“You are an adult, Emily. An adult with responsibilities that you should take seriously. Each of the smacks I give you is a reminder of that fact. As each one comes I want you to think about what you have done to earn it. Will you do that for me?”

I closed my eyes, scarcely daring to breathe, heart thumping against my chest, trying to comprehend the moment. “Yes,” I whispered.

I should probably have anticipated the first smack but it came as a surprise, a sudden flash of pain and sound throwing my eyes open.

Here are all the blogs taking part in Saturday Spankings this week:

Mini-break

I’m going to be away for a few days – with no computer and no internet, quelle horreur – so no more nonsense from me until at least next Tuesday, I’m afraid.

Actually, having said that, I will astound and amaze you by making a post appear automagically while I’m gone: an extract of my novella for Saturday Spankings. (On, er, Saturday).

I hope you like it :) Now, I’m off to the Sleepy Pines Home for the Terribly Overwrought to spend a little quality time in a nice soft room.

Scribbling in progress

I probably don’t write about my non-blog writing as much as I should, but I will henceforth try to do better! Call it a three-quarters of the way through the year resolution.

Right now I’m working on a Christmas-themed short story for an anthology (more on that once it’s complete) and the glorious mess that is my F/F romance novella. I’m making erratic progress with both, so – all being well – you might see new stuff by The World’s Slowest Writer in the near future. Whee!

To restate some of what I said here, writing a longer-form story is really proving challenging for me. Fun and exciting and liberating, of course, but definitely also challenging. My comfort zone is the short story, and I think that type of writing really suits my approach (such as it is). But I think the process of writing a longer piece is itself making me a better writer: it’s making me stretch myself, think about things in a different way, re-examine my craft and the decisions I make. And of course there is just so much more room: more textures, more layers, more space for the characters and the text itself to breathe.

As I said in opening, I’ll try to keep you updated with my progress and share snippets to build your fevered anticipation... like a proper writer! :D

Completely different subject, but after two and a half years I’ve finally spruced my blog up a bit :) Isn’t it shiny? I hope you like it. The header is an actual photo of my writing desk, and the pink bits at the sides are the contents of my head. Best not viewed with a hangover.

Round Table Discussion: Roleplay

What’s that sound I hear? Why, it’s a gaggle of beautiful, spanky people gathering at the round table for another edifying discussion! The topic this time is one very close to my heart. Roleplay!

It will come as no shock to regular readers to hear that I love to indulge in roleplay as part of kinky sex. I love dressing as a schoolgirl and being punished in detention; I love dressing as a maid and being thoroughly chastised by the master of the house. There are loads of fantasy situations and roles (and outfits) that I enjoy, and many more that I would like to try. (Cheerleader in a kidnap/non-consent fantasy is top of the to-try list, should anyone fancy forking out for a uniform).

But whether I’m playing a naughty secretary about to have her pencil skirt hitched up against her will or an ageplay daughter in trouble with a strict Daddy, the common factor is that it just feels SO damn good to cast off all of my usual cares for a while and immerse myself in another reality. One in which nothing matters but the rules my partner and I create; one in which the physicality of things, the sensuality of things, is central. For as long as we remain in the fantasy school of our shared imaginations, in a very real sense I am a schoolgirl, powerlessly subject to strict, humiliating discipline and the lustful attentions of my teacher. And those scolding words, that wagging finger, and that frightful, scorching ruler on my backside, are all I care about.

Escapism is of course a significant part of the experience, as the above hopefully attests. But I think that this act of escape is not as straightforward as it might seem: it is certainly not just a matter of ‘dressing up’. The proximity of roleplay to sex (and kink) is one complicating factor, as this introduces a level of physical and emotional intensity to the experience that renders it profoundly corporeal. A second is the liberating quality of escapism itself. I think that the sensation of escapism – an experience in which I am, essentially, escaping myself – ironically helps me become more aware of myself. It frees me to focus; it gives me licence to feel, and to relish, more completely. This dual experience, this simultaneous escape/centring, is perhaps comparable to the experience of submission and the phenomenon of ‘subspace’.

Okay, that’s enough theorising :)

Did I mention that I love to play as a maid? This fantasy vies with schoolgirl as my favourite as it is so damn hot. Different, of course: more licentious, more adult. I love the power dynamic, and the helplessness it affords me; I love that my partner knows he is free to do with me just as he pleases, however depraved or humiliating or painful his attentions might prove. I have been bent over a table and bound (minus my knickers of course), been verbally lashed and physically thrashed, then had his big, hard cock forced into my wicked little mouth... I can’t adequately describe the feeling I get as I pleasure him like that, an abject, shameful whore, tears running down my face, my bottom and legs agonisingly red from my thrashing. Let’s go with AMAZING. And then, when he strides round behind me, and tells me I deserve to be fucked like the wanton little bitch I am, and he forces his throbbing, steel-hard cock into me, every last yelp-inducing inch of it, and he pounds and pounds just as hard as he can, each thrust jolting me, making me gasp, his hips slamming against my tender skin...

And all the while he whispers (and growls) cruel, demeaning words, disdainfully reminding me of my lowly status, of his ownership of me... and warns that I will be sorely regretful if I have the audacity to come...

Yep, that’s my idea of a thoroughly good time.

That’s what this naughty girl thinks about roleplay, anyway. What does it mean to you? Please share your thoughts – I'd love to hear them!

And check out what the other kinky peeps round the table have to say:

Pumkins and lawndry and being a pony

We haven’t heard from that adorable poppet Little Penny for a while, have we? Not since... goodness! Not since February, in fact!

Well, as luck would have it ;) I have that very lady here with me today. I thought a little Q&A might be fun as, while I have been invited once or twice to bare my soul, the young Miss Hasler is distinctly less bared. A shame. But I’ve got a big bag of jelly tots and a set of probing questions, so I’ll see if I can rectify that.

What have you been up to today, Penny?

i got up an bounced on daddys bed (he sleeps for ages cos hes OLD) an had frostys for brekfast an a shower an got drest (daddy helpd a bit an so did mr hugs) – i always giggle wen daddy tickles me! then i helpd daddy wiv lawndry an tidyin an stuf an then we went to the super markit an got lotsa nice fings! daddy takes me cos i help. an now im here.

That’s a very nice drawing you’re doing. What is it of?

issa pony! shes called... hm... litenin, an shes clever an pretty like me. dat scribble by her leg is where i went wrong.

It’s Halloween soon. Are you looking forward to it?

yehyeh! haloween is GREAT cos its wen you get pumkins an choklit an sweets an all drest up an im only a bit scared cos im big now. im gonna be a witch or maybe a pumkin.

What is your favourite way to spend time?

mm... i like lotsa fings! my favrit is bein wiv daddy. i like it wen we go to the park an he pushes me on the swing. an i like it wen we snuggle! i feel all safe an warm.

Are there any things you don’t like?

spankins! an borin stuf like brockoly an corner time. an scary fings like big geece.

Do you have a favourite story?

goldylocks! i like it when she sleeps in the beds an scofs the porrige an the bears are all cross! daddy says im like goldylocks wen he reads it to me. hes SILLY !

What would you like to be when you grow up?

i AM grown up! an imma penny! an sometimes imma pony. i can do that. nenenemmm...

Hm. Penny has climbed down from the sofa and started rolling on the floor. Which I think might signal an end to the interview. I hope you enjoyed her thoughts; if you have anything you’d like to ask her, go right ahead in the comments and I’ll see if I can get her attention.

Getting what you ask for

Just a little post to keep you abreast (and abutt) of my kinky activities, and I guess to serve as a little addendum to my post on submission. I probably don’t say it enough, but I really am a very lucky naughty girl in that I have a partner who understands my needs and indulges me when I tell him I need a damned good hiding. Which is precisely what I did on the Sunday just gone.

What I wanted – needed, in truth – was a no-nonsense beating, with none of the scene-setting roleplay we normally do. (Great though that is; I just wanted to get right down to it this time). I had it exactly in my mind. He would be sitting on a chair in the bedroom, waiting for me. I would go to him, look timidly into his stern gaze. Have my jean shorts taken down as I stood at his side, ashamed beyond words. A brusque command, “Over my knee,” and suddenly I am face down, helpless, hard smacks stinging my bottom.

Scolding words; unfeeling reproaches for my all-too-late apologies and pleas for clemency. “But-- it stings!” And over and over that hard hand brings the lesson home. A good, sound spanking for a richly deserving girl.

I am told to stand, as curtly as I was told to bend. I sorrowfully, and unwisely, rub my sore bottom. I am spun and smacked where I stand; reminded of my place.

“That was just a warm-up.”

He stands, paces past me coldly, retrieves a cane. Cuts the air with it as he returns, making me tremble. Making me wish I hadn’t been so very bad.

The chair is turned round. My knickers are taken down and I am bent over it. “If you lose position you will be sorry.”

Six, or perhaps seven, agonising strokes and I leap up and clutch my backside in pain. Wicked, wicked girl. Back over the chair, angry words ringing in my ears, to begin all over again. Yelps, then sobs, as the cane is arced viciously against my skin.

Ordered into the corner, a shuffling wretch, hands on my head, tears of regret streaking down my face. Shame-filled whimpers as I am touched, my arousal impossible to conceal.

“Filthy girl. You will not enjoy your punishments.”

Led by the arm back to the chair; pulled down across his lap. Spanked without pity. A helpless, bawling, disgrace of a girl.

Just exactly as I had wanted it.

Round Table Discussion: Submission

Those clever gals at Spanking Romance Reviews have recently begun a very nifty thing called 'Round Table Discussions', a multi-blog initiative in which topics of interest to kinky folk are pondered. And I am proud to say that I have been invited to pull up a chair and participate!

The topic this time round (ha! Round!) is ‘Submission: in or out of the bedroom, or both?’

Which is quite the question. In response I would start by saying that, even though I am not in a D/s relationship, submission plays a role in my life every day. In fact I would say, quite unequivocally, that submissiveness is my default setting, in and out of the bedroom. It is reflexive; it feels as natural as breathing. Which makes perfect sense to me as I believe that such characteristics are things that people are born with, like blue eyes or dark hair. And it is this inherent quality that is crucial, I think: it is this innate core from which submissive urges arise, quite unconsciously, and to which the act of submission speaks.

Yet I also have to say that, as familiar as the sense of submissiveness is to me – as familiar as my hands – it is somehow also like an unknowable force of nature, almost like something outside of myself. Certainly something beyond my rational control, and something vast and forever new, an ocean to be explored. What I do know is that when I submit I feel satisfaction, wellness – deep, wordless, primal – as if a basic need has been met. Which, of course, it has. It’s comparable, I think, to eating when hungry, or sleeping when tired. And, while it might sound an obvious thing to say, I find it instructive to bear in mind that similarly fundamental drives have a degree of influence on everyone’s actions and feelings, wherever an individual might be on the kinky spectrum. (A side point, but I think it is such underlying drives that give kinksexual things the quality of authenticity: when these are absent it is so easy to tell that someone is just going through the motions).

Submissiveness is a key part of my sexuality, and is central to my relationship with my partner. And, even though it is not expressed within a recognisably D/s context, it necessarily forms an element in all the play we have in the bedroom. The specific act of submission might vary, as might the explicitness of my submission, but the same basic impulse lies behind each one. When I go across my partner’s knee for a spanking, I am submitting, even if I make a show of struggling defiance (and even if my spankings are always part of 'play' and thoroughly enjoyed). When tears come, and I give myself utterly to the experience, my submission deepens and becomes more complete.

I submit when I kneel at his feet and look up into his eyes. I submit when we make love. I submit when I nestle in his arms, passive and peaceful. In each case I am giving of myself to him, and trusting him to love and protect me. And that is a wonderful, cathartic, enveloping feeling. It is in these moments, I think, that the universality of submission (that is, its transcendence of the kinksexual context) and the inseparability of submission and trust feel most apparent. I know that many people reading this will understand the sentiment that, in order to submit fully, you have to trust completely.

As I mentioned above, I think that my submissive tendencies readily manifest themselves outside the bedroom, though they do so in less overt ways. (I have yet to be bent over and spanked in a shopping mall, anyway. Though I might well fantasise about that). I tend to be the quieter and more passive one in our relationship, and I instinctively consult with my partner on things, rather than acting unilaterally. In discussions, big or small, I tend to defer to his judgement. Which is actually an occasional source of irritation to him:

BH: “Where should we eat tonight? And don’t say it’s up to me!”

Me: “Up to you.”

BH: “Argh!”

But it’s just my nature. And it comes as part of the same package that means I will do whatever he wants in the bedroom, so I don’t think he minds too much.

Beyond our relationship, i.e. in other social situations, I am unassuming and happy to go with the flow. Little miss team player, that’s me. If the gals want to meet at 8, I will fit my plans to suit, and I wouldn’t dream of making them change their plans to suit me. And, while this might not seem as obvious an instance of submission as when I play the naughty sex slave and beg my pretend-master to stripe me, to my mind it is all part of the same thing: another reflection of my submissive nature. I yield, rather than impose; I respond, rather than initiate; I instinctively place the desires of others above my own. (Not, I’d just like to add, as the result of some calculation, nor in the hope of gain further down the line, but simply because it is my nature).

Of course, I could be completely wrong on all of the above. I am just speaking from experience and trying to put the things I feel into words. It’s a fascinating thing to think about, anyway :)

Do please share any thoughts you might have – I’d love to hear them. And do please visit the round table and check out what other bloggers have to say on the matter! (But don’t touch the peanuts. They’re mine).

Penny Does a Runner: Part X

If Penny was to avoid being recognised by Miss Harper she would need a good disguise, she knew. But what? A clown, perhaps... no, that was no good: the clowns had already performed, and she would stick out like a sore thumb wandering around the stalls by herself. She needed some kind of exotic costume... something that would allow her to wear a headdress or suchlike and not seem out of keeping. Conscious that her absence might soon be noticed she wandered round the circus in an anxious daze, racking her brain.

“Oh, of course!” she suddenly cried, startling a couple at a nearby hoopla stall. She would dress as an acrobat! No-one would think it strange to see a girl in a leotard and headdress serving snacks at a circus; they would just assume she was dressed that way to add to the general gaiety.

Penny dashed to a caravan she knew was home to a pair of female acrobats and, her knock on the door going unanswered, let herself in. The girls she had met earlier were both about her size, and they were bound to have spare costumes somewhere... with this hope at the front of her frantic thoughts she rifled through drawers as if her life depended on it. With a yelp of delight she came upon a leotard, and she wasted no time in taking her usherette dress off and pulling her new outfit on. It fitted like a glove: she smiled in satisfaction, twirling in front of the mirror. But oh, she thought, putting a hand to her head – what about a headdress?

She searched and searched but none was to be found. She would just have to find one somewhere else, and quickly: she had been gone for some time and would have to get back to her station. She took up her snack tray and headed back outside, glancing around herself once more, wondering which caravan might contain her salvation.

The next moment she was startled by a man’s voice, and a hand upon her shoulder. “Come along, you!” the man cried. “You’re due on in a minute!”

PART IX

Paris Hilton does bondage

A thoroughly enticing title but, alas, a misleading one: I’m afraid I don’t have any snaps of a hogtied Miss Hilton to share with you. But in my defence the title is taken directly from an article I spotted today on a celeb news site (feel free to put scare quotes round the words ‘article’ and ‘news’ in that sentence) that amounts to a plug for Paris’s forthcoming music album. (Which promises to be a treat, of course). The ultra-tenuous connection to bondage seems to be that Paris wore “S&M style” lingerie for a publicity photoshoot.

Which is fair enough: she can wear what she likes and promote herself how she likes. The thing I’m interested in is the idea of kink as a style, or a marketing gimmick. First and foremost it seems to me that, whether a celeb is actually a practicing kinkster or not, a surefire way of guaranteeing attention and column inches is to slip into a “racy” outfit and hint at a degree of kink.

It isn’t the first time Paris has done so, as this photo from 2008 illustrates:

The word “racy” was, of course, used in the articles covering that appearance, too. Which hints at the single most vital factor in the kink-style phenomenon: the media. In an era when mainstream audiences are less easily shocked than ever before – when they have, in a superficial sense at least, seen it all – the media machine still needs things to ‘shock’ people with. And it seems that kink (or watered-down, family-friendly kink-chic) fulfils that function right now.

Speaking personally, I’m not shocked or offended in the slightest by seeing someone famous in PVC. The thing that jumps out at me – the thing that gets closest to offending me – is the emptiness of the whole exercise; the studied cynicism of it. It feels like kink stripped of all its meaning; kink as nothing but a fashion statement. And it always does feel cynical; like a marketing ploy where none of the players have any investment beyond getting paid. The celeb pretends to be kinky, the media pretend to be breathlessly shocked (and faithfully copy and paste the relevant press release, with all the key buzzwords), the audience pay attention for two minutes then click onto another story.

And, while I would never claim ownership of all things kinky or seek to bar anyone from expressing themselves, I can’t help feeling somehow... cheapened by that.

Thoughts welcome!

Eeeek! It's... Friday!

Hm. This only posting on Fridays thing is getting to be a habit. Rest assured, I shall do my utmost to break it! I’m just about back to normal health-wise now (thanks and hugs to everyone who sent kind wishes) and I have a couple of days off work next week, so that bodes well for new scribbles.

As for this here scribble, I thought I’d muse and ponder a bit about matters superstitious. It is, after all, Friday the 13th – the unluckiest sort of Friday there is!

Apparently. To be honest I have no idea why Friday the 13th is considered unlucky. Let’s look it up on Wikipedia.

Hm. No real reason at all, it seems! (Sorry for the spoiler). Friday is thought an unlucky day in some cultures and thirteen an unlucky number. Put them together and presto: an ‘unlucky’ day. I did learn something from the Wiki article, though. It turns out that the Spanish equivalent is Tuesday 13th. And the Italian one is Friday 17th! Those crazy Italians!

Which just goes to show how silly and arbitrary superstitions are.

Still, I will confess to not being immune. Whenever I see a lone magpie (supposedly bad luck), I whisper “Hello Mister Magpie, how’s your wife?” under my breath; an incantation that (supposedly) counteracts the bad luck. I know it’s silly, and I feel silly as I say it, but I still feel compelled to. And that’s how superstitions work, of course: they circumvent our rationality and speak to something more primal.

The above musings may or may not be a sly indication of a theme that I mean to work into a spanking story; I couldn’t possibly say. That’d be bad luck.

I yam the lizard queeeen

Bleh. Been another hectic week and now I’m coming down with something. (The title of this post is a Simpsons reference, but it applies pretty well to an ill Penny. Definitely feel like some kind of swamp creature).

Braincell not really up to much right now so here are a couple of things that – in the best Blue Peter tradition – I made earlier: cute/ageplay-ish wordsearches!

Hey, it was that or another photo of my butt. Enjoy :D

Back to school? But we've only just finished!

A school-ish, kinky think-type post today.

I don’t know if it’s the same in other countries, but in England there’s a six-week school holiday from mid-July to the start of September. (No school in August, evah! Whee!) Oh, how I loved it as a kid. The feeling of jubilation as that expanse of school-free time stretched out into the future like a golden vista; waking every morning feeling light and carefree... just wonderful.

But as vast as it may have been, and as endless as it may have seemed midway through, the summer break always did come to an end, and I always got a really sad feeling when September arrived. I remember counting down the days as the end of the holidays drew near, and making a conscious effort to savour each moment. So sad going to bed on the last night before school!

And so to the kinky think. Akin to Easter eggs appearing in February and Christmas merchandise in October, it always seemed that the minute the school bell rang for the end of term, every shop was instantly full of ‘back to school’ stuff. (Seeing a big display of uniforms in my local supermarket the other day is what prompted this post, in fact). A practice that always struck me as terribly unfair. We’ve only just finished! I wanted to wail. Can’t we be allowed to forget about school for one day? Such a downer to be constantly reminded of it in the holidays.

Yet now, as a twenty-something, I don’t mind seeing those things at all. If anything, I get a secret little frisson of pleasure whenever I do see them. Which of course makes perfect (kinky and twisted) sense: I’m a school roleplay and CP freak and have a decided uniform fetish.

Case closed! Except... a taste for such things isn’t something that only came to me as an adult. I’ve enjoyed being spanked for as long as I can recall, and school has always been a favourite and central part of my fantasies. As a child I fantasised about other people punishing me with a smacked bottom (including my teachers), and I often wished that my school experience was more old-fashioned and strict.

So what I’m wondering is, given the above, how come I didn’t like the whole ‘back to school’ thing as a schoolgirl? And when exactly did dislike transform into like? I’m figuring it was at some point after I left school, but I don’t quite understand why that would be.

Thoughts on that (and anything else school-related) welcome!

P.S. I was treated to a new skirt and two new blouses from the aforementioned supermarket. I rather suspect my immediate future will involve some school fun and a jolly good spanking.

Sweetness itself

Regular readers will know that this blog is as much a Maria Sharapova fan site as it is a spanking fiction one – she does inspire me rather, divine goddess that she is – so it’s over to the sports desk for the latest news on everyone’s favourite sexy tennis player.

The bad news first: Maria has had to withdraw from the imminent US Open tournament (a biggie) with an injured shoulder. Poor Maria. (And poor us, not getting to see her in action). She plans to take the next few weeks off in order to receive “proper treatment and rehabilitation.” You don’t know how much I would love to help with that.

The cheerier news: Maria’s brand of sweets (you do know that she has a popular range of confectionery, right?) has just celebrated its first birthday. As a publicity stunt, Maria apparently pondered changing her surname (for the duration of the US Open) to Sugarpova. How funny would that have been, the umpire and commentators calling her ‘Miss Sugarpova’ every two minutes? :D (Of course it was just an idle threat, but Maria got the publicity for it anyway. So crafty!)

Just because I can, here’s a photo of the lovely Miss S in perfect serving condition. Get better soon, Maria!

P.S. In homage to Miss Sugarpova, readers are invited to suggest a suitable alias for yours truly. ‘Ivana Shpankin’, perhaps?

My dog ate it?

Rarrgh!! That’s the noise a stressed Penny makes. Life, work and everything have been conspiring to keep me mega-busy and mega-worn-out this week, so apologies for the quietness. Believe me, I would much rather be having fun here!

Hopefully things will settle down again soon and allow me to attend to naughty online stuff. For right now, though, I figure it might amuse if I explain my absence through the medium of the lame excuse (as practiced by schoolgirls everywhere). A little stream of consciousness writing, if you will :)

Okay. I haven’t posted anything lately because...

...well, I was going to, but late one night a unicorn tapped on my bedroom window and when I opened it she said I had to help her cos a nasty witch was going to destroy Neigh-Neigh Land (which is where the unicorns live). I grabbed my best cardigan and climbed out of the window and onto the unicorn (who was called Princess) and we flew away over the houses and the fields and the sea and we got quite near to Neigh-Neigh Land but a dragon suddenly appeared out of the water and said it wanted to eat us so we had to take the long way which was via the north pole. Really cold! I was very glad I had my cardigan.

It took all night and all day to get to Neigh-Neigh Land but when we arrived I was introduced to all the unicorns including the chief who was blue and called Sparkle. She said that the witch lived in a mountain and that only a girl called Penny could stop her because Penny is a magic name. It was late so we all slept and the next day I was given a flower necklace and a magic amulet and a stick and I had to go to the mountain all by myself and find the witch’s lair and it was very far and very steep and I snagged my dress on the rocks once or twice but I made it.

When I reached the top of the mountain the witch appeared and said she would eat me all up but when I said my name was Penny she hopped on her broomstick and flew away from Neigh-Neigh Land. It was a long way back to the unicorn village but when I got there they were all very happy that they were safe and threw a party and I ate lots of cake and learned a new dance.

When the party was over I said I had to get back to my friends so Princess flew me home (via the north pole to avoid dragons) which took a very long time but we made it and I gave her a kiss goodbye and stroked her nose.

And here I am!

Penny Does a Runner: Part IX

Penny had only been a member of the circus for a short time but already her former life as a schoolgirl was a fast-fading memory. She was doing very brisk business on her first night as an usherette, and she glowed in anticipation of the praise she would get from Mr Carter when the evening’s show was over.

But as she turned with a smile from her latest customer and looked out over the audience she was given a sudden and unwelcome reminder of her status as a fugitive: sitting not ten feet away, engrossed in the entertainment, was Miss Harper, her erstwhile Elocution mistress!

Penny’s tummy did a triple somersault, and terrible visions of punishment flashed across her mind. She had been in a world of trouble before she had run away from school – goodness only knew what would happen to her should she be dragged back there now! She would be thrashed on the stage! Given detention for a year! Demoted to the first, to start her schooling all over again!

Her first instinct, just as it had been when she was marched by Miss Pinchit to the Headmistress’s office, was to flee. But where would she go? The circus promised a life of travel and fun, but more importantly it promised shelter and board. She couldn’t leave it... but Miss Harper was certain to spot her sooner or later. Oh, dear! Whatever should she do?

Just then the audience broke into applause as Fernando the Fearless, a masked fire-breather, took his bow. Fernando – real name Fred – was unmistakable backstage, a shock of ginger hair making him stand out like a beacon. Yet with his mask on even his mother wouldn’t recognise him. Of course! thought Penny, inspiration hitting her like a bolt of lightning. She would disguise herself! Miss Harper would never suspect. And it would only have to be for one night, after all, as the circus was set to leave town the next day.

Penny dashed down the aisle and out of the tent, snack tray bobbing madly, would-be customers left waving at thin air.

PART VIII
PART X

All dressed up and cherry red

Yippee! Your humble hostess has been asked to guest on the very hot and very naughty Cherry Red Report blog and give a rundown of my five favourite roleplay costumes. Do pop over and peruse my musings (and feel free to leave a comment)!

Of course I would also love to hear your thoughts on such matters here. Do you have a particular favourite outfit and/or roleplay scenario? Is there anything that doesn’t turn you on? If you could dress a playmate in a specific thing for an evening of fun, what would it be?

P.S. No prizes for guessing what my #1 outfit is.

Swifter than the moon's sphere

Hey kids! As Kierkegaard might say. I’ve got a post or two on my to-do list but have been frightfully short on time this week so it’s Penny Blogging Plan B: ‘if in doubt, write a limerick!’ :)

I hope it amuses.

Bedtime for a Kinky Girl

She’s tucked up all safe as can be
As snug as the snuggest sweet pea.
She drifts off and dreams
Of spankings and screams
And sucks her thumb, grinning with glee.