I am leaning against the car as she comes out of the convenience store, pretending to watch the gas pump into my car, but really watching for her, thinking about her, thinking about what I would do if she were mine to do things to.
She’d start toward the passenger side and I’d call her over. When she came close I’d reach out and grab her by the hips, pull her against me, between my legs. I’d slide my hands up the sides of her waist and around to her back; pulling her close. One hand would slide up to the nape of her neck, left bare by her ponytail. The other would stay, there on her back, holding her close so that I could feel her breasts press against mine, their softness, their fullness. I’d pull her closer still and put my mouth, right there, against the side of her throat. I’d taste the salt on her skin from the long day we’ve had, I’d smell the sweet girl scent of her, I’d feel the silky smoothness of her skin against my lips. I’d press my body all along hers and feel the shudder race through her as I bit her ever so gently, my tongue barely touching her skin. I’d feel the quick breath she would take, feel her press her hips closer to mine, and I’d think, “Oh yes, this is what it’s like to have a girl again…”
She reaches the car and opens the passenger door, but just before she climbs inside she gives me a quizzical look, having seen me watching at her, no doubt. I smile and shake my head.
And the words to an old song come to me: “Are you gonna be my girl?”
After a grueling interview process, I finally got the “position”.
Are you “Half-Nekkid” yet?
Are you “Half-Nekkid” yet?
I am feeling whiney small and deliciously helpless–please, I need a big strong man to save me! From what, you ask? Well, um…
Baldy is stuck behind the bed. And that other vibe, the cute little one? Just ain’t doin’ the trick. And I am too lazy to use my fingers. And I have NO BOY at my home, and no Mr. Mean Guy at his house, to beat me, tie me, fuck me, or even just to move the goddamned bed so I can get my wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am vibrator unstuck. All I want is one quick orgasm. Is that too much to ask?
Sigh. Woe is me.
Most times I write about my own experience, because that’s what I know best, and honestly, this is oftentimes the way I process the things that I do, that I allow to be done to me. Even as I am baring my soul (and other parts) here for the cyberworld to see, I am wending my way through my own psyche, trying to find answers to questions of my own about what it is I do. Occasionally, however, I like to point out other’s writings or thoughts that especially move me, that inspire, alarm or make me think.
One of the blogs I follow is Pandora Blake, an articulate, outspoken spanking model and writer in the UK, and recently she wrote in this post about being asked to write a guest column on Heresy Corner. I’d never heard of Heresy Corner before, but it has quickly becomes one of my faves. In the column she discusses a new law in the UK regarding “violent pornography,” and while that doesn’t affect me directly here in the US, I can see the same attempts at censorship happening here, soon, if they aren’t already. Whatever your stance on that topic, though, what really struck me is how intelligently & coherently she talks about kink and WIITWD. She is an inspired (and inspiring) writer, and I urge you to check out her blog and the article she wrote on Heresy Corner.
That’s apparently the highest number I can count to. At least when I am being caned.
We have friends that use the “counting” method:
Top: “Okay, I’m going to give you 30 whacks with this <insert favorite implement here>. Keep count for me. Oh, and if you miscount, I start over.”
W doesn’t play such games. He just hits me until he’s done. But, in the interests of wanting to make sure that I can hold my own and not embarrass him, he decided to see if I know how to count, by caning me until I forgot. I admit…it’s a fun game. I think he thought so too.
Apparently, I can only count to 212.
February 16th, 2009 by Vixen | Updated: February 16th, 2009
“Hike up your skirt a little more and show your world to me…”
You too can be “Half-Nekkid”! Go here for guidelines…
If any of you channeled DMB at the moment of reading that subject line, we might just be bestest friends. I have been grooving on old (lost to me) copies of Dave Matthews CD’s. EARgasm. Seriously.
I have so many things to post on right now. Don’t be surprised to read lots more from me pretty soon. Or not, I may write and stick some of these posts on “private”, I don’t know…but I just have to get some things out and it seems like I don’t have any time to do any of the topics justice…because, oh shit, I have to actually WORK for a living. Huh.
Here’s a quick list, to be revisited as I am able:
- Spanking 1 and spanking 2, or Who’s in Control Here? and the intricies of power dynamic (or alternatively, what makes Jade wet and why)
- Shoe sluttism and how that relates to power, or Why I Am Wearing Power Slut Heels Today, after being so powerless last night
- Dirty sex. We’ll just leave that one right there.
More later, as time allows!
Why do I get so wet just thinking about a spanking? What is it in a person’s psyche that equates spanking with sex? Or, at least MY psyche.
Tonight’s my spanking date. I am excited, nervous, and yes…wet. Sopping, actually.
I am nervous, though. My head is not in the same space as it was before, when I craved a spanking like a smoker craves his next cigarette. So…I am a little nervous. Or maybe a lot.
Just remember, he said, you asked for this.