Fun and unfun

I whacked my right elbow on a doorframe earlier (don’t ask) and now it really hurts. Wah. I walked into a door handle yesterday. Ow. I’m always bumping into things. I think maybe I should live in a wigwam. Or a nice, soft, padded room.

But, klutz though I am, never let it be said that I let a good elbow-banging go to waste. Because, sitting immediately afterwards nursing my aching arm, I found my thoughts wandering off into a kinky think.

There is fun pain and unfun pain. Kinky people know this, of course; it is a self-evident TTWD truth. Belt to the ass: fun pain. Stub your toe: unfun pain. Like, duh. But non-kinky people? I’m really not sure they understand the concept at all. To be fair, I figure that there is a sliding scale of understanding, or perhaps acceptance, going from those who get the appeal in a theoretical sense (“It’s not my thing but I can see how it might turn other people on”) right the way over to those who simply can’t comprehend how anyone could ever find pleasure in pain. To these latter types, a spanked bottom is just exactly the same as a banged elbow: pain is pain, right? Or, to put it another way, how can someone moan about a sore elbow when she loves to have a sore bottom? What is obvious and natural to me is baffling (and even perhaps a sign of depravity) to him or her. It’s a fundamental divide in understanding, and that’s without even touching upon the psychological and emotional aspects of TTWD, or the complex and individualised boundaries between play and discipline.

And I think that this is so – that is, I think that a non-kinky person can never really ‘get it’, however much they might wish to – because ‘it’ is something that is felt. And of course, whether you’re kinky or not, you can think about kink as much as you like, but at heart it’s a matter of something feeling good or bad, right or wrong, fun or unfun.

As my elbow reminded me today, in vividly direct fashion.

Dark-stemm'd beneath the shade

I’m in a poetry mood again today. As a change from my usual limericks, I thought it might be fun to make a ‘found’ poem.

Found poetry is where you take bits of text from existing sources and put them together to make something new. And – here’s the clever, 21st century bit – what better source material to use than the search terms people type in to find my blog? (If one wishes to write a poem about a naughty girl being spanked, that is...)

Lights, please. *coughs delicately*

thrashing naughty penelope hasler

naughty little girl being mean to her daddy
i want to be spanked like a little brat

young lady you are going over my knee
no daddy i promise to be good

remove short skirt
blue school knickers

bend over you're getting a paddling

daddys little girl
bends over naked

insolent bottom
waiting to be spanked

i'm sorry please don't spank me

paddle meets rump
naughty bare backside

wack wack smack smack
if you act like a brat i will treat you like a brat

spanked by daddy crying naughty
over the knee good hard spanking

tanning
blistering
howling
kicking

little girl in the corner
spanked bottom exposed

daddy's naughty angel

Little Penny: real-life edition

Isn’t it funny, the things that you remember? I’ve been thinking back to my school days and in particular right back to the earliest ones. The passage of time has blurred much of that period and the events within it (that doubtless seemed so terribly important at the time) into an impressionistic haze, but certain moments stay with me.

I think I remember them because they were unexpected, and they shook me. (Don’t worry, they’re nothing heavy: they’re more ‘Peanuts’ than anything). The thing is, I was a good girl at school. Certainly at primary school, I would say I was very good. Quiet and gentle, I listened intently to my teachers, I always tried my best with my work, I never threw fits or teased or fought with the other kids. A model pupil, in my own humble opinion. Yet every so often I would be told off and/or humiliated by teachers as if I was a naughty little tearaway; scolded really harshly and disproportionately (to my mind) for minor and unintended offences. I didn’t understand why I was being told off at the time, and I must say I still don’t... maybe the schools I went to just had an unusually high number of bitter and twisted teachers. Or maybe my sparkiness was taken as cockiness, something that I figure is like a red rag to teaching professionals. I dunno.

Anyway, one such incident occurred when I was six. I can’t remember exactly what our task was, but it was definitely a writing task. It might have been to copy words down from the board, or maybe to write about our parents, or maybe about the job we would like to do when we were all grown up. (I love that expression. Oh, and I wanted to be an astronaut). Bottom line, it involved pencils and exercise books. (Ah, writing in pencil! Those were the days. I still remember the sadness I felt at having to move up to writing in ink).

Much deep thought and leg-swinging later, I had written whatever it was I had to write. However, being an inveterate tweaker/perfectionist (even then) I found I wanted to change a line or two. I didn’t have a rubber (‘eraser’ to my American readers), so I used some six-year-old-style initiative and used my finger instead. Rub, rub, rub, write, write, write, sorted. I took my work up to the teacher’s desk, smiling and grubby-fingered, and waited my turn to have it marked.

This is where the crazy teacher bit comes in.

When my turn came, I don’t remember the teacher saying a single thing about what I had written – you know, the actual content of the exercise and the point of us both being there – I just remember her letting fly at me for the heinous crime I had thoughtlessly committed. “And what is this supposed to be?” she cried (and I mean really bellowed). “You don’t use your finger to rub work out, you stupid girl! Use a rubber!”

I’m six years old, remember, and now blushing and trembling at the front of the class as my teacher shouts at me. The rest of the scene is a bit of a blur in my memory, though I know it basically consisted of her lambasting me for my wickedness a while longer at an entirely unnecessary volume, me wondering why she was overreacting so much (and wishing I had used a rubber), and a sad trudge back to my seat, deeply stung and not feeling very clever. One particular thing she said I will always remember, though I don’t think I will ever understand why she said it: “You’re not as popular as you think you are, young lady!”

???

What has popularity got to do with not having an eraser? I was one baffled six-year-old that day.

Over (to) the sports desk

Another kink-lite post (sorry!), on something that probably doesn’t get mentioned on spanking blogs all that often... American football!

So, er, why am I mentioning it? Because an email penpal has (amongst other, saucier things) extolled the virtues of the game at length to me and I thought I’d give it a try. (Watching, not playing!) Actually, that isn’t quite true: he has ordered me to watch. And of course, being a good little submissive penpal, I will! As luck would have it, Brit TV now shows it so I can have a gander without travelling halfway across the world. The season apparently starts tonight, with two teams whose names I forget playing each other.

But never mind them. The team that is going to win this year is my newly adopted one, the New England Patriots. Here’s their insignia:

That’s a hell of a quiff. Bit of an Elvis profile all round, actually. Maybe he was a fan.

My friend did explain the rules to me but I must confess I’ve forgotten pretty much all of it, so I will no doubt spend the duration of the Patriots’ first game wondering what is going on (and making up my own storyline in my head). It’s all about yards, or something. And I do know that football has cheerleaders, so I guess I can enjoy looking out for them if all else fails. (If I had been born in America, I so would have been a cheerleader...) American readers are of course welcome to enlighten me.

Returning to my favourite sport for a moment (but funnily enough staying in the US), I am very happy to report that the lovely Maria continues her march to the US Open title: she has just won a very close quarter-final against the very annoying Marion Bartoli. Ha! Take that, you unsporting cow. Next up is that chump Azarenka, who thinks she’s all that (but isn’t). Go Maria!

Here’s a photo from the match, or more exactly of Maria giving a very sexy and unamused look during a rain delay:

“Where’s that idiot Penny with my bottle of water? I’ll give the crowd something to watch when I get hold of her!”

Tis the season, sort of

A little ‘PH files’ kind of post today (I’m really not sure what label to put to these posts; ones in which I write about general/real life stuff. Suggestions welcome).

I saw Christmas stuff in a shop the other day. Christmas stuff! In August! Are they getting earlier, or is it me getting older? I know that Chrimbo is the most important time of year for retailers, and I know we’ve had an insanely cold summer, but I’m sure they used to wait a teensy bit longer. I mean, even Halloween is still two months away!

Anyway, seeing it reminded me of my little blog (of course) and a festive page header that I made for it last year. Most of you won’t have seen it as I had about one reader back then (hi Mum!), but trust me, it’s magnificent. It probably sounds silly but I’m really looking forward to putting it up again. Cos it’s all, y’know, snowy :D

And then I got to thinking, when is an appropriate time to put tinsel up on your blog? December 1? The middle of November? Maybe I should be rebellious and put it up in September. But then that might get me put on Santa’s naughty list.

Speaking of which... did I ever mention that, amongst my many and varied dressing-up items, I have a ladies’ Santa outfit? I was spanked in it during the holidays last year, as part of a lovely bit of roleplay where I had been a very naughty Mrs Claus (slacking on my chores, teasing the elves and putting them off their toymaking) and Santa needed to teach me a lesson. Fantastic fun! And that rotter BH even said “Ho, ho, ho!” as I sucked him off post-spanking. Tsk!

It's so much friendlier with two

‘The Perils of Penelope’, the spanking fiction serial I am writing with imreadonly2 (and starring in!), is up to part three now, so I thought I’d write a little bit about the writing process from my own point of view.

The story is the first collaborative piece I have ever worked on, and I must say I am finding the experience very enjoyable. It’s hard to describe exactly how it feels to sit down and work on such a piece, but it is definitely very different to writing solo. Certainly in order to add to the story I feel that I first have to step into my co-author’s shoes and think about his thought processes; about the decisions he has made and the effects he seeks to create in the text.

I should make clear that the primary author is without question imreadonly2: he has been doing all the heavy lifting plot-wise whilst I have added a few embellishing touches. Even so, it has been fascinating to be invited into the creation of another writer’s story and asked to add my own voice to it. Singing in harmony is a pretty good analogy, actually, as the process is certainly not just one of pasting my sections into the blanks and hoping for the best: we have discussed and played with ideas, sent the story back and forth, and each of us has edited and tweaked and polished the other’s text to make the overall piece a cohesive whole.

And I know I’m biased, but I actually think that a reader would be hard pressed to spot which bits were written by which author, as our ‘voices’ dovetail together so well. It’s perhaps a little surprising that this should be so, as I think imreadonly2 and I have quite different writing styles. Whereas he drives a story forward with suspense and psychological drama generated through action (with the effect of that action upon the protagonists generally represented from a viewpoint external to them), I tend to focus on the inner life of characters; their hidden thoughts and feelings, or how they expressly feel inside about the action taking place around them. (As the central character in this story is me, that’s a bit easier than usual!)

A couple of extracts from solo projects might help provide a sense of our respective styles. Here’s a piece of 100% Penny, from ‘Teaching the Teacher’:

It was then that a certain feeling of disbelief suddenly came over me; it was as if I was dreaming, or watching someone else spank the bottom that lay before me. But the feeling only lasted a moment for, as I gazed down upon Harriet’s rear I saw, where I had smacked her, the faintest impression of my hand, and I was brought utterly, irresistibly, hurtling back into the moment. The realisation hit me like a wave: I was actually giving my wife a spanking!

And here’s some pure imreadonly2, from ‘The Mississippi Masqueraders’:

Julia left her sister shackled to the bumper as she confidently walked up the steps and entered thru the front door of the establishment. Honey kept her eyes down, partially at Julia’s command, but partially to ignore the stares and rude comments from the passerby’s who strolled past the lovely fair skinned wench so chained to the carriage like a dog awaiting its master.

Very different! But then I guess when we write together it’s a matter of our styles complementing each other, rather than clashing. And I think that that is possible because we each enjoy the other’s writing and understand where the other is coming from as an author and a kinky person; factors that make the ‘putting oneself in the other’s shoes’ thing I mentioned in opening much easier. I certainly think that the chemistry we have, or the combination of our different strengths, gives our co-written story real energy and depth.

The story is still being written, by the way, so I don’t actually know what will happen to Penny in the end. If I’m lucky I will get to contribute some more, as it’s fun! (And if I do I might have to sneakily edit any parts where sweet, innocent Penny is bent over and thrashed silly... maybe change it so she gets to scoff cookies whilst watching other girls get their just desserts...)

If you haven’t yet read this gripping tale of the back-to-school humiliation of a naughty adult schoolgirl, please do! It sits proudly on imreadonly2’s shelf in the Library of Spanking Fiction. Oh, and don’t pay any attention to the ‘Penny luvs COCK 4eva’ crudely scratched into the shelf... I have absolutely no idea how that got there.

Play

After a week of intensive treatment I am very happy to report that Doggie seems to be in much better shape. He is eating and drinking and walking and generally being much more his wonderful old self. It remains to be seen how the long-term picture looks, but hopefully that will be good. Thank you to everyone who sent supportive messages; each one meant a lot to me.

Just because he is the world’s cutest dawg and I want to show him off, here is another photo of my little hero, looking a bit sleepy and doing his favourite thing of snuggling into my butt while I power nap:

Pause

Just a quick hello of a post, I’m afraid, as the other man in my life – my wonderful little doggie – is very unwell and needs all my attention. It breaks my heart to see him in pain, and I’m not really in the mood for kink right now. I know you’ll understand.

Play nice and I’ll be back soon, hopefully with good news.

Here is the beautiful little guy in happier times, guarding my coat:

Sugarbabe

Important news for fans of sweet things and Maria Sharapova (but I repeat myself). The lovely Miss S has put her name to a new range of confectionery: Sugarpova! (As if she wasn’t sweet enough already, aha). There are tennis ball gumballs, gummy dress shoes, even jelly lips (ohhhh)! I might have to hunt some of these latter items down and, well, kiss them while dreaming of Maria.

Disregard the nagging tone of the article linked to above, btw. “Surrounded by gummy fish and tennis gumballs, Maria Sharapova isn’t apologizing.” Damn right she isn’t! More of a worry is that the CEO of the company that will make Maria’s sweets appears to be a self-loathing dimwit in the mould of Gerald Ratner. Quoth he, on launch day, that “Candy might not be healthy, but the industry sure is.” Gah!

Personally, I can think of few things I would want to do more than eat gummy bears off Maria’s bare tummy. Then eat her all up.