tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64068558549751628802024-02-07T00:46:03.240-05:00Mischief Managed<br><i>Welcome. These are the stories and musings of a young woman at the first stages of her journey into the world of spanking... =D<br>Thank you for reading, and please feel free to spread your wings!</i>Raynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.comBlogger139125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6406855854975162880.post-36704572346940367492011-12-14T13:22:00.001-05:002011-12-14T13:22:41.635-05:00Canes of AntiquityDuring a most welcome and lovely visit to my home town, MrA and I stumbled upon a quaint little antique store, where, quite unexpectedly, we were able to acquire some particularly intriguing items.<br /><br />These treasures of antiquity were my ever-incorrigible partner's discovery. At the time, we were shopping with family members, so a certain (aka HIGH) level of discretion was required. I was innocently gazing at some lovely brass figurines near the front of the store when he came up and whispered in my ear, "Go to the back, turn left, walk down to the end of the hall, and see what you find hanging from the B--- sign."<br /><br />Immediately I knew it couldn't be anything good.<br /><br />Hanging? My first dreaded guess as I picked my way through the shop was some sort of evil strap... Maybe even a tawse... Some form of heavy old cracked well-worn <span style="font-style: italic;">perfectly</span> authentic leather just resting serenely upon the wall of this ancient place.<br /><br />Alas, perhaps another shop, another day :D<br /><br />When I arrived at the end of MrA's cryptic verbal treasure map, what I found instead was even worse: four long, slim, whippy, crook-handled canes, hooked over the side of an old sign. They had been deliberately plucked from a basket of all sorts of other long, whippy-looking evil things -- the only four crook-handled canes in the whole bundle.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CYYVyiosFFM/Tujn94r9uOI/AAAAAAAACyc/yPyQly4irbs/s1600/IMG_0390.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CYYVyiosFFM/Tujn94r9uOI/AAAAAAAACyc/yPyQly4irbs/s400/IMG_0390.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5686049579930073314" border="0" /></a><br />I handled them carefully, discovering that, while appearing spindly and quite thin, they retained quite an astonishing amount of strength and suppleness.<br /><br />Needless to say, before we left town, MrA and I took the opportunity to make one pit-stop and purchase four new additions to our growing collection of implements. After a good hardy bath in rubbing alcohol, each one will undergo a thorough treatment regimen with mineral oil, to re-hydrate what is obviously some very old wood (or rattan? we are not quite sure what they are made of...), and smooth out any rough edges.<br /><br />Playing with them will require some careful measures, but really, I think MrA liked them more for show. They have a very appealing visual aesthetic :D I am <span style="font-style: italic;">sure </span>they will get more looks than uses... :D:D But in any case, I will be sure to keep you informed as to their progress in our hands!Raynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6406855854975162880.post-78853501151742147032011-11-30T22:57:00.004-05:002011-11-30T23:01:54.767-05:00Spanking at your Fingertips<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Ah the joys of technology!</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">As you may imagine, I am a hugely enthusiastic fan of any technological application that allows me to make pretty things of my own design -- a blog, for instance, full of content of my choosing and crafting :D<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Thus, any time I happen to get my hands on my partner's iPad (shameless plug, highly attractive and addictive little slice of technology), the first application I always seem to go to is the "Drawing Pad," where all manner of pretty colors and shapes and ideas are literally<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >at my fingertip</span><span style="font-size:130%;">.<br /></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />I have an entire blank canvas to fill with<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" >whate</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" >ver I want</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:180%;">.</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">One evening, waiting for him to come to bed, I had a moment of inspiration and finger-drew this very rough, first-attempt sk</span><span style="font-size:130%;">etch.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9tSdhDItd9vZYe6sTy96_IrKv5eUfUw8__mdDhg5XFmTklaoZl3aDORaDBR2fzMR0GS3lc-AWJGIzlzWHPTSELGmsrptO5KG0G5z5dkrhOIxDBZ3zETryYZ4r1c0fHyY2nNOyONbFcI0/s1600/photo%25281%2529.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9tSdhDItd9vZYe6sTy96_IrKv5eUfUw8__mdDhg5XFmTklaoZl3aDORaDBR2fzMR0GS3lc-AWJGIzlzWHPTSELGmsrptO5KG0G5z5dkrhOIxDBZ3zETryYZ4r1c0fHyY2nNOyONbFcI0/s400/photo%25281%2529.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5681001782298249954" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">When I say rough, I mean </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >rough</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> -- this was pure thought in my mind translated straight to purple lines on the smooth glass surface of the iPad, no pre-planning, no pre-sketching, no erasing -- just creation.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Despite its crudeness (and I don't mean the content ;D), I decided to post it here for you to enjoy, and perhaps to inspire you to explore some of your own illustrative leanings.</span><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Your canvas awaits!</span></span><br /><br />(Even if you don't have an iPad, get out some finger paints, for goodness sake! Just be sure to wash the paint off your hands before spanking anybody... That could get a tad messy...) :):)<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WTfH_t8Ai64/Ttb6zSF20oI/AAAAAAAACyQ/ybfqX2bPV9I/s1600/tumblr_lari8czdm11qcotzfo1_500.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WTfH_t8Ai64/Ttb6zSF20oI/AAAAAAAACyQ/ybfqX2bPV9I/s400/tumblr_lari8czdm11qcotzfo1_500.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5681003738911134338" border="0" /></a><br /></span></div>Raynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6406855854975162880.post-11713322058260086012011-10-29T23:00:00.003-04:002011-10-29T23:16:18.075-04:00Spanked on a Park Bench<div style="text-align: center;">I have let nearly the entire month of October slip by without a single blog post! Shame on me!<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />It's not for lack of material -- living with a spanko, I have more material from the past few months than I have ever been able to amass in my entire life before moving in :D<br /><br />What is it then? Perhaps it could do with the fact that I am not online nearly as much as I used to be... Besides spending more time furthering my career, I am also no longer constantly looking for ways to fill other needs... I have everything I could ever dream of asking for right here :D<br /><br />It is truly a pleasure, whenever I can, to share this journey with people who enjoy hearing about it.<br /><br />Thank you for being such a patient, gracious audience, as I find a new rhythm for living and posting about a spanking journey that has taken a very positive turn :D<br /></div><br />~~~~<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Walking around outside in the twilight hours with a Top can be a very dange</span><span style="font-size:130%;">rous thing. Especially if you yourself happen to be a Bottom or Spankee. And you happen to be walking around a rather deserted park. With benches. And plenty of tree cover.<br /><br />Let me show you what happens:</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-expgeqK58BY/Tqyx58vHwII/AAAAAAAACxg/59yrxmB11_0/s1600/edge2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-expgeqK58BY/Tqyx58vHwII/AAAAAAAACxg/59yrxmB11_0/s400/edge2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669101640067039362" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Ladies and Gentlemen, I can assure you, I speak from experience. :D</span><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:130%;">This very thing happened to me not more than a few weeks ago, when the weather was still mostly hospitable but brisk enough to keep most people ind</span><span style="font-size:130%;">oors as the sun left the sky.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">There we were, strolling through the neighborhood park, quite aware of being all alone.</span></div></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Passing by one bench -- quite close to the entrance.<br /><br />Passing by another -- still in plain view of the cars zipping by on the street.<br /><br />Approaching a third bench -- tucked away in the quiet trees of the park, facing away from the street, away from the empty playground on the other side of the green, protected from the view of backyards by rows of tall bushes and branches of leaves.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:180%;">A pause.</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">A look -- exch</span><span style="font-size:130%;">anged.</span><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:130%;">We are both thinking one thing. Although I am feeling nervous and anxious and giddy all at once.<br /><br />He is just giddy. :D<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5N9BiCN9wGkunhyphenhyphen_JdYfP2is_eLFhLctSnPwTdA0ASGKK8JsXIybAo6Rs4NorLeiqOd4onMWeAr5pxHwdGjcaR56QhvnZ_iE4puKeMW8emweV0vk0_0KQHkqN8R_YhtmRtVlyiWkWHQA/s1600/IMG_0118.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5N9BiCN9wGkunhyphenhyphen_JdYfP2is_eLFhLctSnPwTdA0ASGKK8JsXIybAo6Rs4NorLeiqOd4onMWeAr5pxHwdGjcaR56QhvnZ_iE4puKeMW8emweV0vk0_0KQHkqN8R_YhtmRtVlyiWkWHQA/s400/IMG_0118.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669105443214451218" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Before I can think too much, I am already being pulled towa</span><span style="font-size:130%;">rd the bench. In one fluid motion he sits down and guides me over his lap, ignoring my verbal protestations and frantic glancing around to make absolutely positively undeniably sure that we are without a doubt inescapably and totally <span style="font-style: italic;">alone</span>.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">SMACK!</span></span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Already his hand is coming down on the seat of my jeans -- hard and fast and without any regard for the sound that must be echoing all through the park right now.</span><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" >SMACK! SMACK!</span><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Suddenly my jeans are coming down and it's all I can do to keep from crying out, not wanting to draw any attention whatsoever from the surrounding brush. Even the flowers blooming so brightly nearby should turn away and hide their colors, in my opinion. No eye should be drawn in this direction!</span><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">SMACK SMACK SMACK!</span></span><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Now he is spanking me over my panties, my face beet red, the sound of his hand on my skin amplified by the lack of thick cloth to muffle each smack.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">As quick as it began, it is over. My pants come back up, and I scurry to sit up next to him and hide my face in his chest. Terrified to look around to see if ev</span><span style="font-size:130%;">en a single living soul has ventured within the park in the last 45 seconds.</span><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:130%;">He is chuckling, </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-l00NwTq3pt8/Tqy8OK1rQ8I/AAAAAAAACx4/qY5ZlfOeH3k/s1600/alice%2Bcheshire%2Bcat.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-l00NwTq3pt8/Tqy8OK1rQ8I/AAAAAAAACx4/qY5ZlfOeH3k/s320/alice%2Bcheshire%2Bcat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669112982566290370" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">stroking my hair and holding me, safe in his knowledge that I will soon look up at him with my face shining, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Once I calmed down, and was assured that we were in fact alone the whole time, we decided to take some pictures in order to solidify a shared memory of the event. It was, in effect, the first time he had truly spanked me outdoors, and as we planned to add to that a great many more times, remembering the first was special for us.</span><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">He took off his hat, and we set it on the bench right where he had been sitting. We snapped the photo above, and now every time we walk by that bench, day or night, alone or in public, we will both smile and remember :D</span><br /></div></div></div></div></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span>Raynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6406855854975162880.post-78268550708483724312011-09-07T22:33:00.009-04:002011-09-07T23:35:20.548-04:00Good Morning Spanking<span style="font-size:130%;">There I am, half asleep, covered in sheets, glad for a morning of sleeping in without worry of needing to rush off to work.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh96icQzziyTjdRW3aCk0FFkx6kI2UOvUkru1n2V51ZsLXG3F40PMmx4br-W2ZBRQK7JSd_Ktvy_92zDL6feSPzROavwFbDqC9511OlesDvmSAmxz7zUvCX9JNrofxUPg9qhlz4gUGW8tI/s1600/a+sleeping+girl.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 292px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh96icQzziyTjdRW3aCk0FFkx6kI2UOvUkru1n2V51ZsLXG3F40PMmx4br-W2ZBRQK7JSd_Ktvy_92zDL6feSPzROavwFbDqC9511OlesDvmSAmxz7zUvCX9JNrofxUPg9qhlz4gUGW8tI/s400/a+sleeping+girl.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649799741512922642" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:130%;">There he is, dressed and showered and ready to go, shirt buttoned, belt buckled, tie knotted and three minutes left before he has to walk out the door to catch the train.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">He taps me awake, just enough for a goodbye kiss.<br /></span></div></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />"Are you going?" I can't keep the drowsiness out of my voice... My eyes are half-open.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:130%;">"Yes, Beautiful."</span><br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNZGAqx000dKcNktB0-FEb3KF_Cusu3zR9ZAymB6ynTGLYT1eSnEzfHNaOi50d-yrRFc437p5xK5UPAi5YRFqrplWwBbwKkBdl4GoSARCWjZ4l_-QuG6x1idxCN1Y2tHO_j_BRnY0m9lA/s1600/penbed1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 187px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNZGAqx000dKcNktB0-FEb3KF_Cusu3zR9ZAymB6ynTGLYT1eSnEzfHNaOi50d-yrRFc437p5xK5UPAi5YRFqrplWwBbwKkBdl4GoSARCWjZ4l_-QuG6x1idxCN1Y2tHO_j_BRnY0m9lA/s400/penbed1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649801718208939826" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: right;"><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />But his hand is reaching for my arm, turning me over under the sheets.</span><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Before I can fully realize what is happening, he is spanking me, his movements effortless, the sounds of his hand muffled by the thin, cool layer of soft cloth, but the sting real, and hard.<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">He is spanking me to make sure that I will feel him today, still with me, even while his physical presence is elsewhere.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;">And, rest-assured, I did feel him.<br />All day long. :D:D:D</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0kdg7j3DP_w/TmgpA4Yl9_I/AAAAAAAACxY/O6KM73uB0Z0/s1600/spanked-cutie.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 185px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0kdg7j3DP_w/TmgpA4Yl9_I/AAAAAAAACxY/O6KM73uB0Z0/s400/spanked-cutie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649810827648563186" border="0" /></a><br /></div></div></div>Raynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6406855854975162880.post-54023815407207057552011-09-02T17:30:00.000-04:002011-09-02T17:31:08.501-04:00Happy Day :D<div style="text-align: center;">For the past few birthdays, I have been transitioning into that state of being where suddenly -- even though it really happens slowly and surely , bu you know how years can seem sudden once you actually stop and take a look - where suddenly, one's birthday becomes less about "growing up, " and more about growing forward. Less about monumental changes and milestones like becoming a "teenager," getting braces, or graduating high school, and more about recognizing both the big and the little things that have come to pass in the last year which led you to where you are now.
<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">
<br />It used to be that growing a year older meant that I was losing baby teeth, or entering a new grade in school, or legally permitted to consume alcohol, or going off to college. Even turning 23, it meant that I had graduated college, and was moving across the country to enter graduate school.
<br />
<br />This year, as I ebb ever nearer and nearer to accomplishing a full quarter of my life, I have weathered and grown from many changes. The difference is, these are changes presented to be by life, rather than guided my way by our cultural age-appropriate milestones. I have fallen in love, and begun a partnered journey that feels so new to me, and yet so familiar. I have stumbled upon a spanking community that is more perfect than anything I could ever have imagined, and I have opened the door to "the real world" after 20 years of being in classes year-round, finding challegens and opportunities that I never even knew existed. Oh, and I got a smart-phone. About time, right? :D
<br />
<br />I know there will still be many age-related changes coming my way -- next year I will be able to rent a car without the additional "you are still in the: <span style="font-style: italic;">Statistically-proven-to-drive-like-you-just-got-your-license-yesterday</span> age-bracket" insurance-related fee. In many more years I may find myself smack in the middle of a mid-life crisis.
<br />
<br />But this year, it is nice to realize that I am in charge of making my own changes now.
<br />
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y8cGY0PPjTw/TmFKKhhdoTI/AAAAAAAACww/LDYio5R6HBI/s1600/Bill-Ward-OTK-Hand-Spanking-Cartoon.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 287px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y8cGY0PPjTw/TmFKKhhdoTI/AAAAAAAACww/LDYio5R6HBI/s400/Bill-Ward-OTK-Hand-Spanking-Cartoon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647876952357183794" border="0" /></a>
<br /><span style="font-size:130%;">So far, I think I've been doing pretty darn good :D</span>
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<br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >------
<br />Any grammatical errors in the above text are the responsibility of my iPhone -- even though I didn't use it to write this post... hehe :-)</span>
<br /></div><style><!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Cambria; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --></style>Raynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6406855854975162880.post-12718169994746454482011-08-31T12:00:00.002-04:002011-08-31T21:55:44.820-04:00The Spanking Collection - Released!<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Dear Readers!!</span>
<br /></div>
<br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I am very happy and proud to be one of many today announcing the launch of a <span style="font-weight: bold;">new book</span>, <a href="http://www.spankingwriters.com/blog/2011/08/31/thespankingcollection/"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The Spanking Collection</span></span></a>, edited and produced by the lovely Abel and Haron of <a href="http://www.spankingwriters.com/blog/">The Spanking Writers</a>.</div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">All proceeds go straight to charity!</span> (Cancer research, UK)
<br />
<br /></span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Do you remember the <a href="http://solemnlyswear-uptonogood.blogspot.com/2011/08/arlington-girls-reformatory.html">Arlington Girls Reformatory</a>? You can read all about it in the full-length fictional short story that I was thrilled to write for this collection. Not only that, but you can read the wonderful stories of no less than TWENTY unique and intriguing authors, all of whom wrote <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">exclusively</span> for this book -- these stories will not be available anywhere el</span></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">se!</span>
<br />
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3bveg1xlX0/Tl4v0tSYB8I/AAAAAAAACwo/3LPEvW0v318/s1600/The%2BSpanking%2BCollection%2Bfront%2Bcover.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3bveg1xlX0/Tl4v0tSYB8I/AAAAAAAACwo/3LPEvW0v318/s400/The%2BSpanking%2BCollection%2Bfront%2Bcover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647003565325551554" border="0" /></a>
<br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a href="http://www.spankingwriters.com/blog/2011/08/31/thespankingcollection/">CLICK HERE</a> to find out where to buy the book, and for a full list of authors and their short-story titles -- it's out in both paperback and eReader versions, and remember, you are supporting a very good cause, and some very fantastic writers!</span>
<br /></div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: normal; font-style: italic;">XOXO Happy Spanks, and Happy Reading!!!</span></span>
<br /></div></div></div>Raynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6406855854975162880.post-17450649377699928492011-08-26T15:45:00.004-04:002011-08-26T15:53:25.175-04:00Countdown CaningSo all of you (you know who you are!) who have been dropping hints either subtly or unsubtly, directly or indirectly, that MrA should have so much fun caning me over the next few weeks before the swiftly approaching <a href="http://www.scony.com/spanking-weekend.html">Spanking Weekend in the Mountains</a>, so that by the time we get there to see all of you, his ability to cane anyone will be all worn out -- (xoxo love you guys :D, but) I will have you know, MrA is taking you quite seriously!
<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I've never been caned so often in my life!
<br />
<br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEireYSBMULxJ9oKjyus2zNTDpb7e6thDxn9uTtaS5AtsYnL2nLNP43k0_VnZPeUDAHjWGAhnd4WegDLtN3TSB8AsBuoxofwg0jNk14mjS1PX_wr3j9OZe5OXbQYVmAEOsiWDAAp4wdR5wI/s1600/showershame61.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 206px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEireYSBMULxJ9oKjyus2zNTDpb7e6thDxn9uTtaS5AtsYnL2nLNP43k0_VnZPeUDAHjWGAhnd4WegDLtN3TSB8AsBuoxofwg0jNk14mjS1PX_wr3j9OZe5OXbQYVmAEOsiWDAAp4wdR5wI/s400/showershame61.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645255112578598322" border="0" /></a>
<br />(Not a very big jump, there, as I've never been spanked so often in my life either, before moving in with a spanko...) :D
<br />
<br />Just recently, in fact, we both discovered a new "game" to have fun with the cane -- really, one could use any implement, I suppose, but somehow the alliteration of "Countdown Caning" just sounds so perfect :D
<br />
<br />We have tried out this novel new idea more than once now, and loved it every time!
<br />
<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Here's how it goes:</span></span>
<br />
<br />After each stroke of the cane, you do a countdown. The trick is, with each successive stroke, the countdown gets shorter. So say, for example, you want to start the countdown at 10 -- it would look (sound) something like this:
<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">WHACK</span></span>
<br /><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br />"Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one--"
<br /></span>
<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">WHACK</span></span>
<br /><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br />"Nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one--"
<br /></span>
<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">WHACK</span></span>
<br /><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br />"Eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one--"
<br /></span>
<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">ETC...</span></span>
<br /></div>
<br />Do you see how it could become terribly exciting very quickly? :D:D The countdown continues to shorten, so that by the time you get down to:
<br />
<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">WHACK</span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FgKrnpmzseo/Tlf13k06_9I/AAAAAAAACwQ/wC01XfVL4jk/s1600/caned_over_stool.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 216px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FgKrnpmzseo/Tlf13k06_9I/AAAAAAAACwQ/wC01XfVL4jk/s320/caned_over_stool.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645250993059463122" border="0" /></a>
<br />"Three, two, one--"
<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">WHACK</span></span>
<br />"Two, one--"
<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">WHACK</span></span>
<br />"One--"
<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">WHACK</span><span style="font-style: italic;">!</span></span>
<br />
<br />Each stroke is coming so much faster each time!
<br />
<br />But you've already been "warmed up" with the slower ones in the beginning, so mostly what it does is get your adrenaline going, rather than hurt more (although it does hurt just a little bit more :D:D).
<br />
<br />Fun fun fun :D I'm sure that MrA will be happy and willing to teach the countdown caning game to anyone interested in playing :):) Just as long as you don't ask for a demonstration first!!
<br /><span style="font-size:130%;">
<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">:D:D Happy spanks!!</span></span>
<br /></div>
<br />Raynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6406855854975162880.post-91766470959982853272011-08-20T09:47:00.002-04:002011-08-20T11:44:03.846-04:00Arlington Girls Reformatory<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Remember when I set out to write a spanking story for a collection of such stories that </span><a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);" href="http://www.spankingwriters.com/blog/">Abel and Haron</a><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> planned to turn into a book with proceeds going to charity? Well, it's been written! And the book will be coming out soon -- be sure to check back here often, and Abel and Haron's </span><a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);" href="http://www.spankingwriters.com/blog/">blog</a><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">, for the release date and more information!</span>
<br /><div style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">
<br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Meanwhile, please enjoy this small taste of the ev</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">ents surrounding and immediately succeeding my own literary contribution to the book: a story entitled, </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Arlington Girls' Reformatory</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">. :D</span>
<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">~~~
<br /></div>
<br /><div style="text-align: left;">He was seated when I entered, his legs crossed, his iPad in hand, his brow furrowed. He looked up at me from his desk chair after a moment -- I averted my eyes, unable to meet his gaze.
<br />
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bq9iHA8H-qo/Tk7jm6HTEOI/AAAAAAAACvY/-oFnQLfForw/s1600/013.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bq9iHA8H-qo/Tk7jm6HTEOI/AAAAAAAACvY/-oFnQLfForw/s400/013.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642697640716210402" border="0" /></a>
<br />"Miss Bailey. Sit down..." His gesture offered a chair, straight-backed, armless -- it had been deliberately placed there, waiting for me. As I sat, my skirt barely reaching my mid-thighs as the material tightened, he transferred the device he'd been holding into my hands. I saw at once what he had uploaded onto its screen: a PDF of the referral I had received, which had landed me here in the first place. "Read. I will be with you in a moment."
<br />
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_8Ni0RuQ2lo/Tk7RNANV2iI/AAAAAAAACvI/owM9I25oC3U/s1600/Referral-1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 315px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_8Ni0RuQ2lo/Tk7RNANV2iI/AAAAAAAACvI/owM9I25oC3U/s400/Referral-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642677404466272802" border="0" /></a>My eyes rolled over the accusatory document, reading carefully but with familiarity -- I had perused this very document in great detail only days before.
<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family:courier new;"><span style="font-size:130%;">"Arlington Reform School
<br />Discipline Referral Form"
<br /></span></div>
<br /></div></div>It read across the top. I'd had to fill in the word, "Arlington," as the reform school hadn't even been named yet at the time this form had been created.
<br />
<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"> <span style="font-family:courier new;">"Student's Name: </span></span><span style="font-family:arial;">Rayne Bailey</span>
<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:courier new;">Status: </span></span><span style="font-family:arial;">Emeritus"</span>
<br />
<br />Well, I had founded the school after-all! Seeing as how I'd created the whole concept for the purposes of my "creative writing" assignment. Although, it seemed quite extraordinary to be in this predicament, sitting here in this chair, reading this referral with my name on it, awaiting my fate, as an "emeritus" member of the Arlington Girls' Reformatory. The situation must have been quite serious!
<br />
<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:courier new;">"Reason for Referral: </span></span><span style="font-family:arial;">Lack of motivation, Scheduling problems, and Other: Missed multiple deadlines</span>"
<br />
<br />All of these offenses were checked. A spacious lined area also offered the writer of the referral plenty of room to expound upon the offenses of the referred, and here my punisher had written quite a few words of explanation. I had not only missed the first deadline for turning in my story, and received an extension... I had then proceeded to miss the second, extended deadline. Luckily, I still finished my story in time for it to make the book, and all turned out well. But in the process, I had put quite a lot of stress on myself, and not to mention on my partner, who weathered the storm with me through two long weekends of writing and revising.
<br />
<br />And there he was again, returning to his seat at his desk, considering me.
<br />
<br />"Finished?" I nod, and hand the tablet back to him. He receives it coolly. "Is everything written here correct, Miss Bailey?"
<br />
<br />"Yes, Sir."
<br />
<br />"All of the names and dates?"
<br />
<br />"Yes, Sir."
<br />
<br />"And the offenses, you admit to committing them? You had no less than three months to complete your assignment, and yet you procrastinated enough to miss not only one, but two deadlines?"
<br />
<br />"Yes, Sir."
<br />
<br />"Is there anything more I should know about this situation, Miss Bailey?"
<br />
<br />This question is slightly unexpected. Anything more he should know? Any extenuating circumstances that may have accounted for her tardiness, her inability to finish on time, even though she did finish in enough time...? The fact that she had just recently finished graduate school and moved three states away, the fact that she had recently fallen in love and invited the life of a-whole-nother person into her own, which accounted for much of her time spent doing many things other than writing?
<br />
<br />Of course he should know these things! But glancing up into his eyes, it was clear that should she choose to utter any of them, it would only make things worse for her. Excuses, they would be, and excuses alone -- not nearly excusing the fact that it had taken her three months to start working on a work that was to be published as part of a multi-author volume.
<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIX9Utd0pKvz5FFvSoM_r_3_F7e6b3Ivlc0fO0jfP3gRIwASV_Cz3OTBu3-QUSoI495Gt0MRFP_ij5CQszxBpMHCASf89icPU4OUcsFkvJUPAeEEjxNozRODOHNPXD3uYEop121gV685g/s1600/t15.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 218px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIX9Utd0pKvz5FFvSoM_r_3_F7e6b3Ivlc0fO0jfP3gRIwASV_Cz3OTBu3-QUSoI495Gt0MRFP_ij5CQszxBpMHCASf89icPU4OUcsFkvJUPAeEEjxNozRODOHNPXD3uYEop121gV685g/s320/t15.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642697979544261602" border="0" /></a>"No, Sir."
<br />
<br />"Very well. Stand up, Miss Bailey, and face the corner. I want you to think about what is going to happen to you, and why."
<br />
<br />Obeying, I can feel my senses enter hyper-mode as I try to track his movements behind me. His hands are on the straight-backed chair, moving it, adjusting its positioning. He is off to another corner of the room, retrieving something -- something light enough that it makes not a sound as he lifts it and carries it nearer.
<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">"Come here, Miss Bailey."
<br /></span></div></div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">I turn. My eyes are lowered, not searching for his face -- but instead for his hand. For what is in his hand. It is long, thin, crook-handled. One of the canes we had recently purchased for just this purpose.
<br />
<br />"Bend forward over the back of the chair, place your hands on the seat."
<br />
<br />It is all I can do not to whimper as I take my position. This will be the first time that MrA has ever caned me.
<br />
<br />"You'll receive three with the smallest cane, for the first deadline you missed."
<br /></div>
<br />His distinction of exactly <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yWlBDmjlLzo/Tk7k4-KVxkI/AAAAAAAACvo/E209Su2LE0A/s1600/SchoolHouse3piece.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 130px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yWlBDmjlLzo/Tk7k4-KVxkI/AAAAAAAACvo/E209Su2LE0A/s320/SchoolHouse3piece.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642699050551985730" border="0" /></a>which cane he was using puts me on guard. We have three, you see. A small one, a Junior cane, and a Senior cane. How many of them is he going to use tonight? <span style="font-style: italic;">Not all three??</span>
<br />
<br />As he raises my skirt, his instructions issue forth: "Count each one, and make sure I can hear you."
<br />
<br />The first stroke comes as a total shock -- hard and fast, the first time we have played a scene together without any form of warm-up.
<br />
<br />"Ahh! One, Sir!"
<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">The next two with the small cane are easier to take, but no less painful. Despite its small size, that little cane still lands quite a sting.
<br /></div>
<br />After a hissed, "Threeee, Sir," he pauses, and instructs me to stand.
<br /></div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">"Back to the corner, Miss Bailey. No rubbing." Behind me, he moves to place the small cane back where it came from, retrieving another. My bottom is already burning -- and yet I know we're only half way done now, if that.
<br />
<br />Only about 45 seconds pass before he is calling me back over the chair. "Same position, but this time," and before I can do anything, his hands have not only raised my skirt, but lowered my white panties, leaving them stretched across my thighs, framing his target perfectly. "For missing the <span style="font-style: italic;">second</span> deadline, Miss Bailey, you will receive three with the Junior cane. Start the count back at one."
<br /></div>
<br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUi4ta_a-om2E0Q1VvV25c9aaFZp-B_ZgBnPLmTcFzN5BsO2vvjy5SmAWgAQXhI4M5-yen9P7yIlT6Ftb0IHPIwtjHrD6pQOrPUfeCZOJaS5DPpFKk3EAZ0jziOEc5vePuSu3X-poA87Q/s1600/holiday_04.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 185px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUi4ta_a-om2E0Q1VvV25c9aaFZp-B_ZgBnPLmTcFzN5BsO2vvjy5SmAWgAQXhI4M5-yen9P7yIlT6Ftb0IHPIwtjHrD6pQOrPUfeCZOJaS5DPpFKk3EAZ0jziOEc5vePuSu3X-poA87Q/s400/holiday_04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642701492131287698" border="0" /></a>He is lining up this first stroke with the next-size-up cane, I am biting my lip, grateful at least for the brief warm-up afforded to me by his initial use of the smaller cane.
<br />
<br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >Swish--CRACK!</span>
<br />
<br />"Aii! One, Sir!"
<br />
<br />The next comes swiftly, and I hardly have time to catch my breath -- <span style="font-style: italic;">Whap! </span> "Two, Sir,"
<br />
<br />The third and final stroke is the hardest of all, leaving me breathless and whispering my final count.
<br />
<br />"Stay where you are."
<br /></div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">No, please, that's it, isn't it? We're done, right? Why are you going back and picking up another cane??</span></div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">"For all the stress you put yourself through, not to mention your professor, and your partner, you will be receiving one stroke with the Senior cane. As it is just the one, there will be no need to count."
<br />
<br />My mind is spinning -- I have <span style="font-style: italic;">never</span> felt a Senior cane before -- not in my life -- even just one stroke with that <span style="font-style: italic;">thick</span> piece of rounded rattan seems unthinkable!
<br /></div>
<br />There it is on my skin, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJolP5uXIbUzpRjT_I04EUBxt7MXzWjh5s8HyYX2zpc6CC_tTDeSgg3aaUlEdaxh-yLlWLdoFbJi53s-p9D_Lf9nGF9RuoD2Gm6Cx_IwP8j27fXIwzlpfQGM5kSFSg6VKh3P6rwNNYuz4/s1600/sX8RVo7UrV.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 180px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJolP5uXIbUzpRjT_I04EUBxt7MXzWjh5s8HyYX2zpc6CC_tTDeSgg3aaUlEdaxh-yLlWLdoFbJi53s-p9D_Lf9nGF9RuoD2Gm6Cx_IwP8j27fXIwzlpfQGM5kSFSg6VKh3P6rwNNYuz4/s400/sX8RVo7UrV.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642738800606047010" border="0" /></a>tapping lightly, taking aim. Suddenly it is gone and I know it is coming --<span style="font-style: italic;">
<br />
<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Whoosh--CRACK!</span></span>
<br /></div>
<br />It is all I can do to keep from yowling at the pain -- the sudden fiery line of white that flashes across my skin, just like any other cane but somehow much, much worse. "I'm sorry -- I'm sorry, Love--"
<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">"I know. It's all over now. Come here."
<br />
<br />And I am up in his arms, myself again, and we are both grinning from ear to ear at the success of our first role-played scene together, let alone our first real caning!<span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsE75_33QVIAaihrTj_93gyOQW4HeF-l3vSkNBMbOobCi2jHPhkF9LmNQQZb2rLROhcLLoLD40AHwWnICB2HCZ98dvTTOFeb0h-2mNOTgWeLZtL3pVeAScvOgn9lFM6NsY-1h1gfjJzTE/s1600/leave_out_all_the_rest_by_bloody_scream.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 247px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsE75_33QVIAaihrTj_93gyOQW4HeF-l3vSkNBMbOobCi2jHPhkF9LmNQQZb2rLROhcLLoLD40AHwWnICB2HCZ98dvTTOFeb0h-2mNOTgWeLZtL3pVeAScvOgn9lFM6NsY-1h1gfjJzTE/s400/leave_out_all_the_rest_by_bloody_scream.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642739857769897282" border="0" /></a></span>
<br /></div>
<br />We got the canes (which we love) from <a href="http://www.cane-iac.com/">Cane-iac.com</a>, and they actually included another cane for us as a special surprise -- a straight-handle about the size of the Junior! All are lovely!
<br />
<br />Here's to many more role-plays, much more use of the canes, and many more posts thereof! :D
<br />
<br />Raynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6406855854975162880.post-13935853554157468032011-08-11T13:50:00.006-04:002011-08-11T13:58:35.059-04:00Spanking Surprise!<div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-deVxOdpeY1k/TkQBeCcNgeI/AAAAAAAACuI/qf2NP4zUzlI/s1600/0601-man-and-woman-illustration_li.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 287px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-deVxOdpeY1k/TkQBeCcNgeI/AAAAAAAACuI/qf2NP4zUzlI/s320/0601-man-and-woman-illustration_li.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639634248937603554" border="0" /></a>There we were, enjoying ourselves with friends at a nice little restaurant on the eastern shore line, having just come out of a refreshingly cool yet sunny jaunt in the ocean, recently dried off and de-sanded as best we could, waiting for our drinks to arrive.
<br /></div>
<br /><div style="text-align: right;">I quietly announced a need to visit the restroom, before taking my leave from the table.
<br /></div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Little did I know, I was expeditiously followed...
<br /></span></div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">As they tend to be in restaurants, the restrooms in this sea-side establishment were placed far at the back of the building, off to the side, in a little alcove far removed from any unsuspecting diners.
<br /></div>
<br />It wasn't until I <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eRQi0IGeZ0Y/TkQG36Q8CfI/AAAAAAAACug/5XvVZn-m4MM/s1600/251px-Naughty-Secrets-IMG_0781-15.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eRQi0IGeZ0Y/TkQG36Q8CfI/AAAAAAAACug/5XvVZn-m4MM/s320/251px-Naughty-Secrets-IMG_0781-15.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639640190977575410" border="0" /></a>was about to exit the conveniently-placed little room, however, and rejoin my friends at our dinner table, that I came to realize just <span style="font-style: italic;">how</span> convenient their placement really was--
<br />
<br />Upon opening the door, it took every effort for me not to gasp as the figure of my partner, his finger pressed to his lips, suddenly appeared and began shuffling me back the way I had come.
<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Surprise, surprise!</span></span>
<br /></div>
<br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-D3gsKvqRc9k/TkQRVS83mcI/AAAAAAAACu4/LSWRvkhYKjw/s1600/b2-gbs.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 282px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-D3gsKvqRc9k/TkQRVS83mcI/AAAAAAAACu4/LSWRvkhYKjw/s320/b2-gbs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639651690936768962" border="0" /></a>Having already switched off the light, I reached around him to switch it back on again, becoming quickly aware of his dubious plan, while he pulled the door shut quickly behind him. My reach, quite fortuitously, had put me in the perfect position, and he needed not a single moment more to wrap his left arm around my waist and hold me fast while delivering hard, fast spanks over my dress.
<br /></div>
<br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">He was spanking</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="font-style: italic;">me</span></span>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">just inside the door of the restaurant's</span><span style="font-style: italic;">
<br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">public</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>facilities!</span>
<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">And not just a few playful slaps, either -- this spanking was quite hard, and more than a bit painful! :D
<br /></div></div></div></div>
<br />
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XnJsAGH_u-s/TkQQ77RXC_I/AAAAAAAACuo/7fgF4eQC4UA/s1600/sofia_shower2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XnJsAGH_u-s/TkQQ77RXC_I/AAAAAAAACuo/7fgF4eQC4UA/s320/sofia_shower2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639651255083535346" border="0" /></a>
<br /><div style="text-align: left;">I dared not cry out, and he dared not lift my dress and risk producing the much louder sound of skin striking skin (actually, I don't know if he really "dared not" -- I think he probably would have dared :D In reality it was most likely a function of being quick, and sparing me<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>much more<span style="font-style: italic;"> extreme</span> embarrassment) :D
<br /></div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">When he finally let me stand up straight after 15 or 20 seconds (with more than once smack per second! :D), his face shone with triumph. We had never done anything like that before -- and as far as we could tell, with lack of police sirens wailing outside or managers hammering on the door demanding to know what naughty business might be going on, we were quite successful!
<br /></div>
<br /><div style="text-align: right;">Out we came from the tiny off-set room, straightening up and re-entering the world of normal public restaurant behavior. Did the smile plastered on both of our faces when we returned to our table give us away to our dining companion? Or did my flinch when I went to sit down again go utterly unnoticed? I suppose we'll never know...
<br /></div>
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XtBM092JTUo/TkQWAiUCzaI/AAAAAAAACvA/W3oIxOYm3WM/s1600/Screen-shot-2010-10-28-at-8.18.42-PM.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XtBM092JTUo/TkQWAiUCzaI/AAAAAAAACvA/W3oIxOYm3WM/s320/Screen-shot-2010-10-28-at-8.18.42-PM.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639656831841389986" border="0" /></a>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">What we do know, is that we had a very fun time at the beach, and that we have a very fun secret to share, whenever and wherever we possibly can -- even when it happens to be a surprise! :D:D
<br /></div>Raynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6406855854975162880.post-77211077088813422602011-08-08T22:49:00.002-04:002011-08-08T22:54:52.775-04:00Consensual Spanking Day!<span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >Happy World Consensual Spanking Day!</span>
<br />
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6rjqjXz_cbM/TkCgBLFlMCI/AAAAAAAACuA/TxuyIhilA6E/s1600/d843.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 399px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6rjqjXz_cbM/TkCgBLFlMCI/AAAAAAAACuA/TxuyIhilA6E/s400/d843.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638682675484373026" border="0" /></a>
<br />Today, August 8th, according to many both deliciously dubious and highly credible sources, has been designated Consensual Spanking Day, by whichever powers that may be...
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<br />Despite the gaping lack of any CNN or ABC (or FOX or NPR or Al Jazeera or BBC, if we are being multi-partial and inter-national) news declaring the holiday, I'm sure we all need very little prompting to put on a great celebration! :D
<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:130%;">What is it that you like most about spanking?</span>
<br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span>
<br /><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:130%;">How has consensual spanking contributed to your life, whether through ideas or actions or words or lifestyles or anything that comes first to mind?</span>
<br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span>
<br />I knew spanking was a part of me from the very beginning. Now I can truly say that it always will be, and the fact that I am able to share that with my partner in a consensual spanking relationship is more than I ever could have imagined.
<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Thank you, Mr A, for helping to make my dreams come true! :D
<br /></span></div>Raynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6406855854975162880.post-56333752489903295862011-07-14T07:02:00.010-04:002011-07-14T07:12:41.290-04:00The Cane at St. Brutus's<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXDTCCFZESJtDE6ubKrL0etvcQHVzTOsAuwiGbCqkFc4OEnoVdu5Zphan_kr34Q0KS0qxODPOGTZa7GrjZ9F8mwBmtdPq7C8c6RP09mTusfn3Eqp1h0dV1YkNw7oVaV4nx0MlAQjaW9-Q/s1600/hp3404148927_e768114b6a_b.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 251px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXDTCCFZESJtDE6ubKrL0etvcQHVzTOsAuwiGbCqkFc4OEnoVdu5Zphan_kr34Q0KS0qxODPOGTZa7GrjZ9F8mwBmtdPq7C8c6RP09mTusfn3Eqp1h0dV1YkNw7oVaV4nx0MlAQjaW9-Q/s320/hp3404148927_e768114b6a_b.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5629035949658190114" border="0" /></a>As many regular and probably a very many newer readers may know, I am an avid Harry Potter fan. (Clues may include <a href="http://solemnlyswear-uptonogood.blogspot.com/2010/02/stern-potions-master.html">this post</a>, as well as <a href="http://solemnlyswear-uptonogood.blogspot.com/2010/11/fantastical-world-of-harry-potter.html">that post</a>, oh, and perhaps even the name and URL of this very blog, which refer to the highly useful Marauder's Map that Fred and George pass on to Harry in his third year.)<br /><br />Despite the blog's name, however, Harry Potter-themed posts don't often grace these pages - after all, how much spanking material can one draw from a single epic 7-book British fantasy world about a magical school? : ) In light of the greatly anticipated and highly imminent new and final movie of the cinematic series, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - Part Two, in theatres this evening, I have decided to feature the enchanting wizarding world in another rare Rowling-themed post.<br /><br />When I think of spanking <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-W65xwpb-SDQ/Th5ak9usDqI/AAAAAAAACto/odmFF1mR3_M/s1600/hp011.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 216px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-W65xwpb-SDQ/Th5ak9usDqI/AAAAAAAACto/odmFF1mR3_M/s320/hp011.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5629036175351877282" border="0" /></a>in relation to Harry's world, my thoughts usually settle on none other than the exacting and oh-so-kinkify-able Professor Snape. :D<br /><br />There is, however, one particular scene which I have yet to mention, that is in fact of J. K. Rowling's own making.<br /><br />Do you remember it? If you are a spanko and you read the Harry Potter books, you might find it hard to forget : )<br /><br />In Chapter Two of the third book, The Prisoner of Azkaban, Harry's positively horrid Aunt Marge comes to visit. Because Marge hasn't been made privy to the shocking fact that Harry is a wizard and attends a school for magic, Harry's magic-hating guardians have come up with a cover story for him:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);font-family:lucida grande;" >“And,” said Uncle Vernon, his mean little eyes now slits in his great purple face, “we’ve told Marge you attend St. Brutus’s Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys.”</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);font-family:lucida grande;" >“What?” Harry yelled.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);font-family:lucida grande;" >“And you’ll be sticking to that story, boy, or there’ll be trouble,” spat Uncle Vernon.<br /></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);font-family:lucida grande;" >Harry sat there, white-faced and furious, staring at Uncle Vernon, hardly able to believe it.</span><br /></div><br />"St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys"... : ) When Mr. A and I were imagining which characters people might be dressing up as at the midnight showing of the final movie tonight, I had the thought that he could go as an Administrator for St. Brutus's. Perhaps I would dress up as a newly admitted pupil, after the Center had inevitably gone co-ed... :D<br /><br />The appeal of the imaginary Center, of course, is made clear a bit later, when Harry's Aunt Marge decides to engage with him about his school experiences:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);font-family:lucida grande;" >“Don’t you smirk at me!” b</span><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);font-family:lucida grande;" >oomed Aunt Marge. “I can see you haven’t improved since I last saw you. I hoped school would knock some manners into you.” She took a large gulp of tea, wiped her mustache, and said, “Where is it that you send him, again, Vernon?”</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);font-family:lucida grande;" >“St. Brutus’s,” said Uncle Vernon promptly. “It’s a first-rate institution for hopeless cases.”</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KnK1rkt2wp4/Th5bujheg8I/AAAAAAAACtw/0iVp-bZNReQ/s1600/article-0-01D4E39A0000044D-202_233x329.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 227px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KnK1rkt2wp4/Th5bujheg8I/AAAAAAAACtw/0iVp-bZNReQ/s320/article-0-01D4E39A0000044D-202_233x329.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5629037439627461570" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);font-family:lucida grande;" >“I see,” said Aunt Marge. “Do they use the cane at St. Brutus’s, boy?” she barked across the table.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);font-family:lucida grande;" >“Er —”</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);font-family:lucida grande;" >Uncle Vernon nodded curtly behind Aunt Marge’s back.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);font-family:lucida grande;" >“Yes,” said Harry. Then, feeling he might as well do the thing properly, he added, “All the time.”</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);font-family:lucida grande;" >“Excellent,” said Aunt Marge. “I won’t have this namby-pamby, wishy-washy nonsense about not hitting people who deserve it. A good thrashing is what’s needed in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred. Have you been beaten often?”</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);font-family:lucida grande;" >“Oh, yeah,” said Harry, “loads of times.”</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);font-family:lucida grande;" >Aunt Marge narrowed her eyes.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);font-family:lucida grande;" >“I still don’t like your tone, boy,” she said. “If you can speak of your beatings in that casual way, they clearly aren’t hitting you hard enough. Petunia, I’d write if I</span><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);font-family:lucida grande;" > were you. Make it clear that you approve the use of extreme force in this boy’s case.”</span><br /></div><br />:D:D<br /><br />You can imagine how my heart nearly stopped when I first read that scene! I loved how they did it in the third movie, as well, with Harry having to turn his back to keep his Aunt from seeing the smirk on his face.<br /><br />There had to be at least <span style="font-style: italic;">one</span> explicit reference to the cane in a 3,407-page (UK editions) series about a British boarding school -- even one of Witchcraft and Wizardry! (And in fact, for those more avid readers, there's at least one other mention of a cane that I can remember :D)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTDycgZJKEJwqvKusTFWWsqLpcGNx0roOVGN2pW0JvF_ItIRGsTizn-yTO0TGPqJlqNZYrQCH82ulJBTWNJskv9CJ_ktVYkWNFLk1wtc5zTdjp-dcPPEgMNw9uX_c1LONcbqjkDdW9Vc4/s1600/128252_WindowsLiveWriter_5a584ba75b92_1A71_037_thumb_1.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 221px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTDycgZJKEJwqvKusTFWWsqLpcGNx0roOVGN2pW0JvF_ItIRGsTizn-yTO0TGPqJlqNZYrQCH82ulJBTWNJskv9CJ_ktVYkWNFLk1wtc5zTdjp-dcPPEgMNw9uX_c1LONcbqjkDdW9Vc4/s320/128252_WindowsLiveWriter_5a584ba75b92_1A71_037_thumb_1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5629037656285960802" border="0" /></a><br />In honor of St. Brutus's, and my ingenious idea of bringing the imaginary school to life (go figure...), I am writing now laying on my stomach, with no less than four red-white welts across my bottom from our new set of canes (soon to be featured in another post).<br /><br />It seems Mr. A is taking his new position as a St. Brutus Official quite seriously!! :D:D<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">All references made to Harry Potter or related characters are the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling--a truly brilliant writer and wonderful person.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div>Raynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6406855854975162880.post-29910678043717972532011-07-07T09:36:00.004-04:002011-07-07T09:56:17.764-04:00Guest Post from MrA: New Spanking Game<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);">I am very pleased to announce that my partner -- who comments here as Arthur, but who many of you know as Mr A -- has graced Mischief Managed with a guest post! He is eager to tell you all about a new spanking game we recently devised together -- involving a pair of dice, and a multitude of implements!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);">Soon, he will be starting his own blog, where he will be sharing his thoughts on spanking as someone from the giving end -- as well as a fair dose of his very own spanking-inspired creativity :D Check back here very soon for a link to begin reading more from Mr A!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);">Meanwhile, please enjoy his stirring account of our new game -- and let us know what you think! :D:D</span><br /><br /></div><p><span><rayne introduces="" her="" and="" the="" game="" they="" devised=""></rayne></span></p> <p><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >Hello Rayne’s Dear Readers! </span></p> <p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: arial;" face="arial"><span>I can’t think of a better place to introduce our newly contrived game, than a blog named “Mischief Managed”. What a perfect way to descri</span><span>be a game whic</span><span>h blends the very reason we all find ourselves on this blog together...</span></p><p face="arial" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh345_BQlDhbLPmT0zimeNS6wqmJi_58bTixbWqX1HyHEPC7qTNmdKHf3tu7eHQBUO1507kQV1nrpjDTw46X3mOtcEJk1BbeXSETjOp7vr8zARCY5DwVGftefpG-T4wiWeWOHltue_sIa0/s1600/1787.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 164px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh345_BQlDhbLPmT0zimeNS6wqmJi_58bTixbWqX1HyHEPC7qTNmdKHf3tu7eHQBUO1507kQV1nrpjDTw46X3mOtcEJk1BbeXSETjOp7vr8zARCY5DwVGftefpG-T4wiWeWOHltue_sIa0/s200/1787.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626608123098897458" border="0" /></a><span>1. Spanking</span></p><p face="arial" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: arial;"><span>2. Implements</span></p> <p face="arial" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: arial;"><span>3. Anticipation</span></p><p face="arial" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span>4. More Spanking</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span>Before launching in to the rules, lets cover a bit of the background which res</span><span>ulted in this ingenious game.</span></p><p style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span>As you readers know, recently myself and Rayne have embarked on a journey of partnership, friendship, love, commitment, and yes, spanking. And with</span><span> each passing day, we find validation in our choice to embark on this journey. Mind you, we are human; flesh, blood, emotion, faults and complexities which need to be navigated. As such, we quickly realized that we would have to find (many) ways by which to keep the spanking aspect of our relationship fresh and exciting. It would be a curse if ever we fall in to the vanilla trap of monotony given how much we embrace and cherish our mutual love of spanking. </span></p> <p style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span>So, with this in mind, I knew we would always be mindful in our communica</span><span>tion as we progressed in our journey. However, I confess that this whole idea of a spanking game was</span><span> nowhere pre-conceived in either of our minds. Rather, it was an explosion born out of the realization that our combined cadre of implements and desires had already reached a point which would pose to us a challenge much different than monotony...!</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span>In anticipation of a forth coming “play date”, we fou</span><span>nd ourselves postulating and trying to figure out which implement(s) might be called in to service. For those of you who know me, yes,...my mind went to one of many hairbrush cho</span><span>ices. However, for Rayne, her mind was most assuredly on something comprised of leather or flesh. Finding ourselves at the beginning of what could have been an impasse, both our minds began playing with how we c</span><span>ould creatively solve our dilemma before the desire escaped us. </span></p> <p style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span>It couldn’t have been more than just a few moments, when out came the idea of idea of adding chance to our selection. Having visited Las Vegas a few times in my life, my mind immediately thought of the craps table. Within moments, the idea of a dice-based game was born and agreed upon.</span></p><p style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7QiIDbNmo4o/ThUgayrV3AI/AAAAAAAACtA/72gVHK53kA4/s1600/huge.39.195723.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7QiIDbNmo4o/ThUgayrV3AI/AAAAAAAACtA/72gVHK53kA4/s320/huge.39.195723.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626438954121550850" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span>The question now was, how should this game be played? For this, the following will be a rough set of rules which we have found to our liking thus far. The beauty of this game is how flexible, fun and safe it is while allowing a true sense of uncontrollable anticipation to fill the air during actual play. </span></p> <p style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span>For starters, the game only needs 2 things...Dice! Two dice to be specific. Outside of this, the game is completely adaptable to any situation. For us, again, we were dealing with the dilemma of how to incorporate our cadre of implements. Hence, it seemed only natural to assign a specific dice role to an implement. Easy enough! Or so we thought until we </span><span>sat down to the task moments later.</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span>Seems that we own more than 11 implements (Dice roles can equal 2 through 12), so we found ourselves at another impasse. How do we pick which implements are in the game? Well, being a bit clever with #s, I realized that “7” could be achieved in 3 different combinations. (1x6, 2x5, 3x4) So, what if we expanded our initial 11 options to a whopping 21? </span></p> <p style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ycDa-E8hJlI/ThUl5bElKLI/AAAAAAAACtI/IIh91iCMKkk/s1600/nancy_hairbrush_topless_p1010405.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ycDa-E8hJlI/ThUl5bElKLI/AAAAAAAACtI/IIh91iCMKkk/s320/nancy_hairbrush_topless_p1010405.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626444977919043762" border="0" /></a><span>Funny enough, that was still not enough! ...and NO, I do not own 21 hairbrushes! In fact, what we discovered is tha</span><span>t we have several different types of implements of which w</span><span>e own multiples: leather paddles, straps, hairbrushes, wood, etc.<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">(Lovely photo found on <a href="http://cutiepiessexyspankings.com/">Cutiepie's Blog</a>)</span></span><br /></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span>So with this realization, we set to the task of assigning a specific number, say “5” which has two possible out comes. (1x4, 2x3) Well, since there are 2 options, it seemed reasonable to pick a class of implement which we had 2 similar devices. In this case, Rayne owns a wonderfully sweet heart strap and a very pleasant black strap. With a stroke of a pen, there w</span><span>as our first accomplishment. A few </span><span>minutes later, some minor bartering (I gave up on having all my hairbrushes as choices, she ceded that a cane could be part of the game) we had the makings of a completed game. Each combination of dice had an assigned implement.<br /></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span>Next question,</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ONGKy4ygX1k/ThUfKFZursI/AAAAAAAACsw/GZA_sqC5T20/s1600/eeeee.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 253px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ONGKy4ygX1k/ThUfKFZursI/AAAAAAAACsw/GZA_sqC5T20/s320/eeeee.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626437567578549954" border="0" /></a><span>...how should each implement be used? Great question! Being a game, it didn’t seem reasonable to have that question open ended, and having a set # just didn’t seem fun enough. Simple fix you say? Well you are right, but here we tried to over think this one a bit. The answer is quite obvious, just roll the dice again and</span><span> there you go, that is how many strokes could be assigned to the implement. GREAT!!!! Well, that is until you roll a “2” which is the cane, and than a “12” for stroke count. To quote my partner,...EEEEEPPPP!!!!<br /></span></p><p style="text-align: right; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;"><span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(Another lovely photo, found on </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.devlinoneill.com/">Devlin O'Neill and Poppy's Blog</a><span style="font-style: italic;">)</span></span></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span>Ok ok, I agree, that wouldn’t work so well. Again, after a brief moment, we came to the following outcome to our newly devised game.</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span>The roller (usually the bottom / receiver) would g</span><span>et to roll first for as many implements as the players intend on using. [If you can’t decide on this, just roll the dice] Once the implements are known, the roller then gets to start rolling for stroke count. The key here, is that each roll for stroke needs to be assigned to an implement. Once all implements have an assigned stroke count, well use your imagination, or check back for future accounts of how the games turned out.<br /></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span>A few quick thoughts as to gamesmanship.... Let the top (giver) control which sequence the implements are used in, and to what degree. It might be a game with rules, but it is a spanking game, and thus some unknown should be retained. The gam</span><span>e isn’t about pain, after all, it is about fun and trying new things. With that, adapt the game as it makes sense. Make all odd #’s flesh (Hand) and even numbers your favorite paddle. Maybe 12 can equal an evil wood spoon, while a 7 is a free pass.</span></p><p style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span> <span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEOPKlVVSzxlXTJnAnK0Lvvl0kIIwGPat5CwctdoB48lU1KxFQKsKTe_ZVarqndbzKCcE5_FoqsA2z6q3M0Aohti6SayJWpxrid_mWsQnEvRs8lfSXNgBdC7uDxALp9CGKlJEwaVXqPto/s1600/48353.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 350px; height: 199px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEOPKlVVSzxlXTJnAnK0Lvvl0kIIwGPat5CwctdoB48lU1KxFQKsKTe_ZVarqndbzKCcE5_FoqsA2z6q3M0Aohti6SayJWpxrid_mWsQnEvRs8lfSXNgBdC7uDxALp9CGKlJEwaVXqPto/s400/48353.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626446821134677106" border="0" /></a></span></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span>Just have fun, and please remember to comment with thoughts, opinions or recounts as to how the game worked out for you!</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span>Regards,</span></p><p><span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >MrA</span><br /></span></p>Raynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6406855854975162880.post-21281059551280044612011-06-29T08:23:00.002-04:002011-06-29T08:59:11.619-04:00Chapter Three - Salvaged!!<div style="text-align: right;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOSVqr5SiCjarzTl82hUjyB_Pz_2yaEhwLqp1ejZdd1L8HYVUeXVWACdHduNIwEhIYYOGPwz8qxp-An3FI7WLeIisZUJiyHG4xTY4_AYt6M_PQi19eysxaTTW0vivZR7LN2-25hfF6zog/s1600/vintage-fans-really-blow-Winks-skirt-up.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOSVqr5SiCjarzTl82hUjyB_Pz_2yaEhwLqp1ejZdd1L8HYVUeXVWACdHduNIwEhIYYOGPwz8qxp-An3FI7WLeIisZUJiyHG4xTY4_AYt6M_PQi19eysxaTTW0vivZR7LN2-25hfF6zog/s320/vintage-fans-really-blow-Winks-skirt-up.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623458143320524338" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:17px;"><span style="font-size:100%;">M</span></span><span style="font-size:17px;"><span style="font-size:100%;">iracle of miracles! Thanks to numerous very diligent an</span></span><span style="font-size:17px;"><span style="font-size:100%;">d crafty readers, the Third Chapter of my Spanking Weekend Saga has been restored to life!</span></span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Thank you so much to all of those who contacted me with full replications of the post that I thought had been lost forever! You are all <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">amazingly</span></span> clever and kind! I am still dancing with glee at the fortune of having such a dedicated readership! :D:D<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">And so, without any further ado, restored to you by your fellow readers, here below is a full replication of the long-lost-but-found-again Chapter Three of the Spanking Weekend!<br /></div></div><span style="font-size:17px;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></span> <style>@font-face { font-family: "Times"; }@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }@font-face { font-family: "Georgia"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-size:180%;"><b><span style="font-family:Times;">Chapter Three - All for One, and One for All!</span></b></span></span><br /></div><p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:130%;" >D</span><span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:130%;" >ear readers! How rude of me to go and leave you hanging</span><span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:130%;" > like</span><span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:130%;" > that -- waiting patiently for t</span><span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:130%;" >he next installment of my weekend adventure!</span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" >Remember that </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n-civIT_FU4/TgqCUBNNXGI/AAAAAAAACrw/hjQKRPZd7x8/s1600/To_study_by_alma_lunar_1.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n-civIT_FU4/TgqCUBNNXGI/AAAAAAAACrw/hjQKRPZd7x8/s320/To_study_by_alma_lunar_1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623450365158317154" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" >thing </span><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" >I mentioned some while back about finals? And grad school? Wel</span><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" >come to that TIME. :) My books and papers have now </span><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" >taken over my apa</span><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" >rtment and are slowly eating me alive!!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" >Thankfully, I have found a single shining moment to share and I will do nothing less --</span><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" > we do happily have at least a few more chapters of spanking weekend fun to go!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" ><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:10pt;color:black;" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" >If you have been following along (hard to do with these long intervals, I know!), you will know that, some weekends ago now, I had the pleasure of attending a <a href="http://www.scony.com/"><span style="color: rgb(34, 68, 187);">spanking weekend event</span></a> -- my first multi-day spanking experience, in a structured, spanko-centered environment. :D:D<br /><br />While there, rest assured, <i>plenty</i> of mischief found itself managed. Or should I say, plenty of mischievous spankees found <i>themselves</i> managed...!</span><span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:10pt;color:black;" ><br /></span><br /><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" >One such lucky group, as many of you may have read about in my <a href="http://solemnlyswear-uptonogood.blogspot.com/2011/04/chapter-two-twice-to-woodshed.html"><span style="color: rgb(34, 68, 187);">last post</span></a>, found itself managed on multiple occasions!</span><br /><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" ><br />After our escapade in the woodshed, the five of us who had conspired together (some of us much more last-minute than others!) to try to earn a group spanking found ourselves in another sticky situation, this time involving not one, but </span><span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:13.5pt;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:130%;"><i>two</i></span></span><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" > Tops.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: right;" align="right"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip32BPyRJKB3Rt_0IZNBakDaCtjiyf9_5LXiG1krxDsH7I4bWip24KW1ufw4Oz-fHJ-iwZJKmQeD4Nf3a3QGtuybgxXJayrCM47A2dZtVxccgNqnIgmI243kgC5sPC9heKXaQfTj1bcZo/s1600/businessman_and_businesswoman.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 190px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip32BPyRJKB3Rt_0IZNBakDaCtjiyf9_5LXiG1krxDsH7I4bWip24KW1ufw4Oz-fHJ-iwZJKmQeD4Nf3a3QGtuybgxXJayrCM47A2dZtVxccgNqnIgmI243kgC5sPC9heKXaQfTj1bcZo/s200/businessman_and_businesswoman.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623452761186447954" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:130%;color:black;" ><i>The</i> two Tops, no less -</span><span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:130%;color:black;" >- the t</span><span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:130%;color:black;" >wo organizers of the event -- the top of the very top!<br /><br />How had we gotten ourse</span><span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:130%;color:black;" >lves into <i>this </i>mess?!?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" >Our numbers had swelled by the time they got t</span><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" >o us -- our illustrious ranks joined by a well-deserving, mischief-making young man in attendance at the weekend.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"><br /><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" >It was thanks to him -- and </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4_IJDXRAIvt-LMFnRT3won2VHQmXM2OzcPf5YPLtJwRiQGV45Yf3N03lrSPIDe2RPE6wWLTTmqP78Gl1_hnEAE3stm9M9eUaO1mXjj8sbQr44HPXwRks1ZrIwOWbC1SGq60q51sd216s/s1600/friends_pact.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 254px; height: 193px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4_IJDXRAIvt-LMFnRT3won2VHQmXM2OzcPf5YPLtJwRiQGV45Yf3N03lrSPIDe2RPE6wWLTTmqP78Gl1_hnEAE3stm9M9eUaO1mXjj8sbQr44HPXwRks1ZrIwOWbC1SGq60q51sd216s/s320/friends_pact.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623451890031699666" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" >the therefore co-ed nature of our punishment -- that we were all allowed the grace and fortune of retaining the protection of our pants st</span><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" >aying up or skirts staying down throughout! (A </span><span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:130%;color:black;" >great big thank you</span><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" > to him for that!!! :D)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" >We were led, in a line, to the scene of our reckoning: a pool table conveniently big enough for six people to bend over, three on each side. Two huge, bright, imposing lights hung over the center of the table, spotlighting our plight, throwing our faces into clear distinction as we leaned in close to one-another. I wondered, in that moment, if I looked as nervous as some of my compatriots -- their eyes wide and lips tense.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y2ktlQ6x7-Q/TgqEIrhBCGI/AAAAAAAACsI/O2syfP1NO3E/s1600/abc_f003.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y2ktlQ6x7-Q/TgqEIrhBCGI/AAAAAAAACsI/O2syfP1NO3E/s400/abc_f003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623452369380509794" border="0" /></a></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:13.5pt;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">Our punishers circled around us like vultures, eying their catch, straps readily in hand.</span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" >The first "Ow!"s reached my ears before any physical confirmation of their source. I saw my compatriot to my immediate left jump, heard her hiss, felt the </span><span style="font-size:130%;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" >swish</span></i></span><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" > of air from the strap landing on her backside a second time -- not even a foot from me! I knew I was next, then -- w<span style="font-size:100%;">hen my companion quieted and I felt a steadying hand on my lower back.</span></span><span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:100%;color:black;" ><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" ><br /><span style="font-size:180%;">Swish--</span><b><span style="font-size:180%;">CRACK!</span></b></span></i></span><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" ><b><br /></b></span></i></span><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:100%;">This was </span>my first experience of a strap in the hands of either of these two upstanding Tops -- both were equally worthy of the chorus they produced in us as they rounded the table!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" ><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;" align="right"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6leTIrfxGv4/TgqEuQaCTJI/AAAAAAAACsY/nIBoo0RjRP4/s1600/naughty-blonde-spanked-04.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6leTIrfxGv4/TgqEuQaCTJI/AAAAAAAACsY/nIBoo0RjRP4/s320/naughty-blonde-spanked-04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623453014938504338" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" >Again and again, a<span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" >swish</span></i></span><span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:130%;color:black;" > and a <b><i>crack</i></b>, <i>swish</i>, <b><i>crack!</i></b></span><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" >, the immediate OWs and hisses, one of us would jump and then another at the other end of the table would echo -- our faces flinging up in the light -- marking each punisher's place in the </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;" align="right"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" >room at that moment.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;" align="right"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" ><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:10pt;color:black;" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" >I have never been punished with so many others all at once -- the experience of being bent over a pool table as a group of six, and successively strapped by two diligent spankers, was, indeed, truly unique and one that I will remember dearly far into the future.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" ><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:10pt;color:black;" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:black;" >Did we get more than we'd bargained for? Absolutely! Was it worth every last minute and better than we could have imagined? Most c<span style="font-size:100%;">ertainly and undeniably so, thanks to everyone involved :D<br /><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimoAp-eCI1tgN7y6jkdLSwUwCEBhVhtNYgzWG6Aj9REOkM8r7YnBfAciAP0oeQzJS56E3JYWP07K3vZQYprd5NoDUNVm5P7BxeSJcxMT62quX5nhVJpwBPjc-5pbb1PDTfcgbPC4qvHVg/s1600/PACT_Friendship_bracelets_rdax_250x188.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 188px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimoAp-eCI1tgN7y6jkdLSwUwCEBhVhtNYgzWG6Aj9REOkM8r7YnBfAciAP0oeQzJS56E3JYWP07K3vZQYprd5NoDUNVm5P7BxeSJcxMT62quX5nhVJpwBPjc-5pbb1PDTfcgbPC4qvHVg/s320/PACT_Friendship_bracelets_rdax_250x188.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623453493607734258" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><br /><span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:180%;color:black;" >Thank you all for including me!! :D</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:100%;color:black;" ><br /></span></p>Raynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6406855854975162880.post-302018409444907062011-06-26T13:52:00.022-04:002011-06-26T17:02:55.553-04:00Chapter Four - First Day at School<div style="text-align: justify;">You may, this fine hour, be sitting there ever-so-comfortably (or not, I hope? :D), reading quietly, and wondering to yourself... "Chapter One, Chapter Two... Chapter Four?? What happened to Chapter Three??"<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">It was eaten, my dear friends. The treacherously insatiable jaws of Blogger.com gobbled it up mercilessly, before it could breathe more than a single day of life. And alas, much as I tried with all my might to wrench my words back from the abyss, they remain only in the memories of those few who were able to glimpse them in the early hours of their creation.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;font-family:georgia;"><br /><div style="font-weight: bold; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">But life goes on. :D Quite splendidly, in fact!</span></span></div><div style="text-align: right; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-style: italic;">( </span></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >See "About" section to the right :D</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-weight: normal;"> )</span></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKEH1AZBSo-Uwn_R7nM8OgRKVEaAlkxl5nu5FuScG4hXbzyik5IX7O8JFQduxYLEdscuDZW7iof7wo6CxuVI11Lrz_0PcdLc4edc_keQIUMO64ZXiifE5NT3HDnKMS7niLB3V6sL3rImQ/s1600/450324700_7e8f8901cd.jpg" style="font-weight: bold;"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 168px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKEH1AZBSo-Uwn_R7nM8OgRKVEaAlkxl5nu5FuScG4hXbzyik5IX7O8JFQduxYLEdscuDZW7iof7wo6CxuVI11Lrz_0PcdLc4edc_keQIUMO64ZXiifE5NT3HDnKMS7niLB3V6sL3rImQ/s200/450324700_7e8f8901cd.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620801488013034786" border="0" /></a><div style="font-weight: bold; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br />To finish up our Spanking Weekend saga -- since so much happened over that weekend that one post, nay, not even two or three posts, would have been enough to do it justice -- We're going to school. The bells are ringing, the bus is moving, classes are about to commence, and you'd better not be late!</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><div style="text-align: center;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:180%;">Chapter Four - First Day at School</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic; font-family: georgia; font-weight: bold;"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fUcLneaFwWk/TgEX2lkHyKI/AAAAAAAACpw/J68VRBqwIWE/s400/woodys-greeting-part-3.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 291px;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620800036499081378" border="0" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Artwork by Dave Ell, on </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://woodettes.wordpress.com/">The Woody Back to School Unit</a></span><br /><br />There we were, all ready for class in our neatly pressed school uniforms (with many varied an interpretation of the word "uniform"...), piled onto our " school bus" and approaching the "schoolhouse." The bell started ringing as we descended our last hill, and pupils scurried in through a line of tutting teachers.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5pCV4wV62qMTDMAXnT-kxLa4RfPFxHEtaOU-C1fKVdJhoeSDGrkNbGWMomQKDhXW6Qx0sQspmtRkvdKuB9zuorbmLumGd8wSc9ym2irsHZfYHYmniZFc7mPaEthnq4f-lZAdYv59giVY/s1600/Prefects-the-demon-headmaster-9614819-520-390.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5pCV4wV62qMTDMAXnT-kxLa4RfPFxHEtaOU-C1fKVdJhoeSDGrkNbGWMomQKDhXW6Qx0sQspmtRkvdKuB9zuorbmLumGd8wSc9ym2irsHZfYHYmniZFc7mPaEthnq4f-lZAdYv59giVY/s320/Prefects-the-demon-headmaster-9614819-520-390.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620800412592553058" border="0" /></a> <div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Before even arriving to class, on the online message boards, assignments had already been given out! We were to come prepared to our first class with a sentence written, in legible hand-writing, about the best way to contribute to a proper learning environment in the classroom.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><div style="text-align: center;">As students settled into their desks, pulling out notebooks, pens, spitwads, gum -- and their completed assignments, it dawned on me that I had never done my homework.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrRvfeQwBunLrnLtPOCT2IRE9CMdz11tQxC5GIRz46EFnXzvra8zOJ5C6zbZEDwbiWz6D6CJEDiiRGw3UwvV4b5fNipZTZaJ-_w2wiF7w7YrbNCtwB1TpWia5BjlK5zjJUaav4KauWqqg/s1600/row-of-people-writing.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 167px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrRvfeQwBunLrnLtPOCT2IRE9CMdz11tQxC5GIRz46EFnXzvra8zOJ5C6zbZEDwbiWz6D6CJEDiiRGw3UwvV4b5fNipZTZaJ-_w2wiF7w7YrbNCtwB1TpWia5BjlK5zjJUaav4KauWqqg/s320/row-of-people-writing.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621856263268486690" border="0" /></a>I hadn't written a single sentence! I hadn't thought it all that important!<br /><br />That is, until I was suddenly surrounded by a cadre of studious suck-ups who had ALL written <span style="font-style: italic;">their</span> sentences!<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Quietly, as if diligently taking notes while our first teacher of the morning conducted her class, I cracked open my notebook and began jotting down a suitable sentence.<br /></div><br />I even had<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5D-CNHnG_1qAMqVgWXHhra3MRnT-VPP-63SJVJAyFR9RPeGxHXxTWHkcRQheYM7Eh8q_VOVJYxWb8rtZ6QPwdapeiY0LHD2dLR-YdwieCBLJvQHx7OWLX8k31bMzGdu3RrLdbss-gJSs/s1600/integrityCheating.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 205px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5D-CNHnG_1qAMqVgWXHhra3MRnT-VPP-63SJVJAyFR9RPeGxHXxTWHkcRQheYM7Eh8q_VOVJYxWb8rtZ6QPwdapeiY0LHD2dLR-YdwieCBLJvQHx7OWLX8k31bMzGdu3RrLdbss-gJSs/s320/integrityCheating.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621850359762701314" border="0" /></a> to copy the beginning prompt for the sentence from my classmate sitting immediately to my right -- a very gracious friend who kept m y secret safe :D<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">You know what the funny thing is? <span style="font-style: italic;">That</span> was probably the only thing I did all day that actually would have really warranted a spanking -- and nobody noticed!! I mean, I completely got away with not having my homework done ahead of time, and copying half of it from a friend -- right there in the class room!</div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">But as much as it pays to be the quiet invisible one getting away with things in the middle of the room, I still somehow managed to find my fair share of trouble...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVKJbtnGaFxKaeFqqMYuSgYGPkadjg3bVceylUc7xZFXTuQAuyF17Vju_yMLxQG0UPzGUrVDUnMiK4Z77nI_ATsF7k5_FJmVPe9UU9zJLbaaODolLFIAxgfkqF1tdKSWgwAAo03dJV2TA/s320/referrals.jpg" style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 186px;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622538191167727426" border="0" /><div style="text-align: right;">You see, through years of primping and perfecting, a time-honored system of dealing with trouble-making had been established for this school, by way of the use of "referrals."</div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">If someone of a Top mind-frame (with a certain color name tag) spotted someone of a Bottom mind-frame (with a different color name tag) doing something worthy of inspection or correction, that Top could then fill out the first half of a referral form, and hand it to that Bottom. The Top writes their name, the name of the Bottom, and the infraction committed. The Bottom can then decide to check one or more of the disciplinary options listed on the form (or come up with their own, if they so desire, with explanation).<br /><br /></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3HBjwC8nCVw/Tgda1fGkVxI/AAAAAAAACq4/0ggj3nKaA44/s320/tawse.jpg" style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 244px;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622562534723966738" border="0" /></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />I'm sure you can imagine what some of the options may include... :D</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">This way, because everybody is still kind of getting to know each other, the Bottom has the option of taking their referral to whomever they wish for discipline -- not necessarily the Top who gave it to them, although that is an option, too -- which alleviates a lot of the pressure associated with asking for and orchestrating scenes, for both the Top and the Bottom.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Once the indicated punishment has been completed by the chosen Top for that referral, the Top signs it and it is returned to a box for record-keeping purposes.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip9SFQ8bLUbfdnUnkOahB7NNkiAXEiabMp9fIGe68JAfDJ_Q8_ag6yInMBRduJtQ1cIqVQQKwN9MqVEEisVUSx6zQmZBg_XsSNNzOQp_ekaS9LMDeHbzmPbl73C0Tr1fZvRLH8RJkdn1U/s1600/HouseRulesSHmPg012.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 231px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip9SFQ8bLUbfdnUnkOahB7NNkiAXEiabMp9fIGe68JAfDJ_Q8_ag6yInMBRduJtQ1cIqVQQKwN9MqVEEisVUSx6zQmZBg_XsSNNzOQp_ekaS9LMDeHbzmPbl73C0Tr1fZvRLH8RJkdn1U/s320/HouseRulesSHmPg012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622576390679849250" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center;">I loved that referral system -- it was like walking around with a free spanking pass in my pocket -- all I had to do was hand it to someone I wanted to play with, instead of trying to brat or otherwise get their attention and hope something happens -- or ask for it outright, which is insanely hard to do, and for me sometimes takes away some of the magic of it...<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TgimmrnhZrU/TgdhFmrNUwI/AAAAAAAACrA/Zzjhnn9PCdQ/s1600/049.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TgimmrnhZrU/TgdhFmrNUwI/AAAAAAAACrA/Zzjhnn9PCdQ/s320/049.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622569408704369410" border="0" /></a>One of the referrals I received was for a simple geographical mistake I somehow made during a team-building class run by one of the weekend organizers (the one and the same assigner of the <a href="http://solemnlyswear-uptonogood.blogspot.com/2011/02/assigned-essay.html">Etymology Essay</a> I wrote so many months ago...).<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: right;">I thought it only appropriate to take the referral, written and handed to me by my ever-watchful and helpful partner, back to the gentleman whose "class" I had so rudely disrupted with the original mistake.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">He needed no further prompting whatsoever. Just as soon as he had the paper in hand, off we went -- me with more than a little trepidation -- to one of the curtained-off spaces near the back of the room.<br /></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">You see, between each class period, the whole school implements a 15-20 minute break for the administering of necessary discipline earned during class sessions...!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDWXG11AO5r8u5bsP-6C1FV7qL4F7A3_OMtKWrGxXLzNG4HFbeibQKxOf8ghQ5NfnqaefijENUrFDi7DAaOvYDF8p7phzWxYawHKC3BxYkBJ3Tg7iKH-VPBPMnH3ihzoij4UwtUSS-01E/s1600/baby_dome_tall_chair.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 135px; height: 248px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDWXG11AO5r8u5bsP-6C1FV7qL4F7A3_OMtKWrGxXLzNG4HFbeibQKxOf8ghQ5NfnqaefijENUrFDi7DAaOvYDF8p7phzWxYawHKC3BxYkBJ3Tg7iKH-VPBPMnH3ihzoij4UwtUSS-01E/s320/baby_dome_tall_chair.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622580556516176130" border="0" /></a>To my great surprise, upon pulling back the curtain, a giant chair stood there, literally three times as tall as any normal chair one might see on an every-day basis.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />"Oh good, it's free. This is my favorite chair." Oh, yes, of <span style="font-style: italic;">course</span> it is... :D :D<br /><br />Suddenly, I am over his lap, my school blazer ruffled, my plaid skirt flipped up, both my feet and hands far, far away from the ground.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></span></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiID8cK7NWIrcFVWMHXtwnzpQo4n3yx1CQtFCa_4qoTRMue7Xa3yhObJZq8cVUZSQz3EFKo0eY8tSmAvTNyZjZouYX5o5X87CUBw_mE6jJMmRXk8Ai3Kvj6t5-If-BTSPcL7m64bGlp2QE/s320/07.jpg" style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 256px;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622582304659009298" border="0" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">I am truly suspended in midair over his knees!</span></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">He is lecturing me about geography, and I am amazed at the difference this chair makes in setting the tone for the scene -- how short and small I feel, in this uniform, over his lap.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Where can I buy one of these chairs?? :D</span><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It isn't long before <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f80_-X7Zd4s/TgEYc_HA0zI/AAAAAAAACqA/jmH0HMvlp9Q/s1600/38169.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f80_-X7Zd4s/TgEYc_HA0zI/AAAAAAAACqA/jmH0HMvlp9Q/s320/38169.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620800696191341362" border="0" /></a>he is setting me back down on my feet, and instructing that my panties come down. I must have turned the same shade of red as my maroon jacket! (A splendid piece of uniform, by the way, made up by a dear friend, complete with school crest and all!)<br /></div><br />I was back up and over, this time with panties joining my knee socks, and swearing that yes, I knew the different between East and West, and yes, I would even be able to recognize North and South if they came along...!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">It was after this ordeal, dear readers, that I decided to entice the writer of that very referral back to the same space, enchanting as that extra-tall chair was...<br /><br />Maybe during my next day at this school, I will be mo re successful. What exactly will that success mean? A better grasp of geography? Perhaps... Or perhaps it will have something more to do with just how many referrals I can manage to incur -- only one way to find out!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aJxHqzjr1yE/TgdxSMqpKuI/AAAAAAAACrg/FpPS3QIqqXw/s1600/paddle.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 295px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aJxHqzjr1yE/TgdxSMqpKuI/AAAAAAAACrg/FpPS3QIqqXw/s320/paddle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622587217247021794" border="0" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Hopefully be seeing you back at school -- very, very soon! :D</span></span><br /></div></div></div></div></div></div>Raynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6406855854975162880.post-66497313242190137292011-06-08T17:27:00.005-04:002011-06-09T08:43:12.350-04:00Back on Track<div style="text-align: center;">Okay, so perhaps re-writing an entire post from scratch -- one that had already been slaved over and completed and published and even commented on before it was so unfairly lost -- was a little too daunting for me.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YnSsluMKpbo/Te_CZfxUe2I/AAAAAAAACog/nKJf3516zPM/s1600/surviving-novel.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YnSsluMKpbo/Te_CZfxUe2I/AAAAAAAACog/nKJf3516zPM/s320/surviving-novel.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615921003635178338" border="0" /></a>I can't stand it when that happens -- when a completed work is suddenly gone. When I complete something, it is because I have put literally hours of time and more than hours of energy and thought into it.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">With my blog, each post is like a work of art to me -- so to be faced with having to completely redo one that had already been done was just not working.<br /></div></div><br />Instead, I will <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XGntaiqGpfQ/Te_AX6y7qsI/AAAAAAAACoY/8rqTi27zhsY/s1600/changes.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 206px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XGntaiqGpfQ/Te_AX6y7qsI/AAAAAAAACoY/8rqTi27zhsY/s320/changes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615918777506704066" border="0" /></a>switch gears, and share with you some of the major changes that have taken place in my life in the last three weeks, before launching back into the saga of the oh-so-long-ago-now spanking weekend. :D<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Firstly, dear readers, after a conglomeration of serendipitous and otherwise highly fortunate events, I have found myself in the loving arms of a partner, every bit a spanko as I am, and we are in the process of taking our first steps in making a journey through life together.<br /><br />It is an enormous change for me -- many enormous changes -- but it is what I have been looking for, waiting for... He is what I have been hoping to find in a partner -- in someone to share life with. What we have feels like the natural next step in both of our lives -- something to be mutually beneficial and grow as we grow together.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dP8nrCOplKY/Te_Stu-Jx_I/AAAAAAAACoo/TeVsKMNZkeA/s1600/natures_embrace.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 316px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dP8nrCOplKY/Te_Stu-Jx_I/AAAAAAAACoo/TeVsKMNZkeA/s400/natures_embrace.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615938943498962930" border="0" /></a><br />I hope to be writing many more entries detailing the adventures we have -- to start, I will detail for you our very first spanking game, as engineered by our own (mostly his) ingenuity right on the spot! :D<br /><br />It was evening, some hours before we would both collapse into bed...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx61AeiWoYvuml4bOPcYoOjOt6HflMvccAmyhzzEaZVOcHTXIz8dOWhNezNq6hXt1z7sHgAVwpUK1PyzhBjWUM-803tdz1Wc6DLxVnUWMkwP8zqnOlrg2n1w2eosN1zwe81PIZkgzcWIM/s1600/DSC03890.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx61AeiWoYvuml4bOPcYoOjOt6HflMvccAmyhzzEaZVOcHTXIz8dOWhNezNq6hXt1z7sHgAVwpUK1PyzhBjWUM-803tdz1Wc6DLxVnUWMkwP8zqnOlrg2n1w2eosN1zwe81PIZkgzcWIM/s320/DSC03890.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615941195524734562" border="0" /></a>In order to be successful the following morning, I needed to find the clothes that I would wear and lay them out so that I wouldn't have to spend half an hour trying to find them when we would already be rushed.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Having already flopped down into bed, I was less than enthusiastic about having to get up and rummage around for clothes.<br /></div></div><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">"What kind of motivation do you need?"</span> By the glint in his eyes, we both knew exactly what was on his mind. To my look of intrigued surprise, he nearly grinned. <span style="font-size:130%;">"Two with the hairbrush for every minute that it takes you?"</span><br /><br />My mind reeled -- hairbrushes are by far not my favorite implement...<br /><span style="font-size:130%;">"I get to keep my jeans on?"</span><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><br /></span><span style="font-size:180%;">"Yes.<span style="font-style: italic;"> Time starts now.</span>"</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl5zXMqdll0rbkyqBHTN3KYWdONxQmHvphrbhqymBWLUul3O2KgccPgjrmClwdgiM0_S7YKZDz5LB_P6DVI4QIxjfKdsgIVc5XQmIXLh6x9u6TuJjE_TKdo36MstTxNqFJzHehMun3rYU/s1600/stopwatch-large.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl5zXMqdll0rbkyqBHTN3KYWdONxQmHvphrbhqymBWLUul3O2KgccPgjrmClwdgiM0_S7YKZDz5LB_P6DVI4QIxjfKdsgIVc5XQmIXLh6x9u6TuJjE_TKdo36MstTxNqFJzHehMun3rYU/s320/stopwatch-large.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615952103776639666" border="0" /></a><br />I fling off the bed, and go scuffling around through my things to find what I need for the morning. He makes a good show of not watching, either me or the clock, and nonchalantly minding his own business as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening...<br /><br />It only took me 2 minutes to find what I needed and lay it out. TWO minutes, dear readers. Who was motivated??<br /><br />I was so proud of myself for having only earned four strokes with an implement I disliked, and over my jeans! Easy! I had thought it would have taken me closer to ten minutes! Flashes of 20 strokes with the hairbrush cross my mind as he bends me over the side of the bed, and an involuntary I cringe sweeps over my face.<br /><br />Twenty would be particularly horrible with one of the hairbrushes we have, a heavier one that packs a hard thud -- the one that I am <span style="font-style: italic;">sure</span> he must have gone to get... The one I'm sure he has in his hand behind his back as he approaches me from behind...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;">Seeing <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Pl29rYGWUME/Te_Y9hyr6zI/AAAAAAAACpA/baotUEFi_5Y/s1600/WetHairBrushes.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Pl29rYGWUME/Te_Y9hyr6zI/AAAAAAAACpA/baotUEFi_5Y/s320/WetHairBrushes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615945811908881202" border="0" /></a>me craning around trying to catch a glimpse of which hairbrush he has chosen, his grin widens and he engages with my curiosity, <span style="font-size:100%;">"How many hairbrushes do we have?"</span><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >"Five..."</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">"Can you describe them?"</span><br /></div><br />"The purple one, the pink one, the little wooden one with ridges in the back, the dark wooden one with a black rubber handle, and the heavier fake-wooden one..."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >"Very</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" > good."</span><br /><br />But he doesn't tell me or show me which he has picked! Little did I know, a dark twist had entered his mind when he realized it had only taken me two minutes, and he presents me with a choice:<br /><div style="text-align: right;"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">"How about double or half?"</span></span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JQIKChHzyDM/Te_cIX2LNYI/AAAAAAAACpI/4VDTIugi60c/s1600/4065852-a-question-mark-surrounded-by-numerals-and-done-in-old-letterpress-type-hand-tinted-for-a-unique-loo.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 112px; height: 168px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JQIKChHzyDM/Te_cIX2LNYI/AAAAAAAACpI/4VDTIugi60c/s320/4065852-a-question-mark-surrounded-by-numerals-and-done-in-old-letterpress-type-hand-tinted-for-a-unique-loo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615949296752604546" border="0" /></a>Before I can think too much about the math, he continues, easing his new idea into my good graces, "You guess which hairbrush I have, and if you guess wrong, that doubles your number of strokes to 8 -- but then when you guess right, it's back down to 4 again, and so on."<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >Hmmm...</span></div><br />Remind me, dear readers, never to play math games with this tricksy brainy gentleman. Very treacherous waters!<br /><br />As I myself had been surprised at the small number of strokes I'd earned, I didn't see the harm in adding in a little risk -- so I agreed. Do you remember which hairbrush I was so <span style="font-style: italic;">sure</span> he had picked?<br /><br />That wasn't it! I guessed wrong! Suddenly my little four-strokes were, in fact, eight, and I was at a loss -- how could that not have been the one he picked? He knew it was going to be over my jeans, so he wouldn't have picked one of the lighter ones!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">My next guess proved wrong, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DOF-qk48s9Q/Te_gdA8MQ0I/AAAAAAAACpY/dR9nCqRO4as/s1600/3981744-isolated-portrait-of-a-young-woman-looking-surprised.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 168px; height: 154px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DOF-qk48s9Q/Te_gdA8MQ0I/AAAAAAAACpY/dR9nCqRO4as/s320/3981744-isolated-portrait-of-a-young-woman-looking-surprised.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615954049427587906" border="0" /></a>too. Not the purple one we both love -- 16 strokes!</div><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Sixteen strokes! What just happened??</span></span><br /><br />Suddenly I didn't want to play the game anymore, but he held me to my commitment and bid me keep guessing -- apparently the limit to my guesses was five, the number of hairbrushes it could possibly be.<br /><br />My next guess proved wrong a THIRD time (not the pink one!), and now I was looking at a whopping 32 strokes with the hairbrush over my jeans, from what started as only 4! If I got it wrong again, my total would double to be 64, and my only saving grace would be the last and final guess, the only hairbrush left, that would take me back down to 32.<br /><br />Here it was, the difference between knocking my total down from 32 to 16 by getting this guess right, or bouncing all the way up to 64 if I got it wrong. Thankfully, my intuitive sense kicked in (finally!) and I got it right -- the wooden one with the rubber handle.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_0wghC3SG1w/Te_oxnikTbI/AAAAAAAACpo/peoNGYuCyZc/s1600/01.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 298px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_0wghC3SG1w/Te_oxnikTbI/AAAAAAAACpo/peoNGYuCyZc/s400/01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615963199479500210" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" > <span style="font-style: italic;">Phew!</span></span><br /><br />16 strokes, and not 32. Still, 16 is four times what I was going to get originally! Serves me right for playing such a dangerous game!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0RNqA1WmBNGdd5BLP0ojBeoHjTVfNR4yht30s3Z5KN7QuEezkPaEToomy46P-5eVpnrvU1lKksWVyf5xQgKux7Z2P9fpMQya8fPAnpQ-MzZ0n8XDAD-ApL4CnIKJZKsMOxObR6_AJCh4/s1600/stockfresh_id61135_smiling-young-couple-in-love_sizeXS.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0RNqA1WmBNGdd5BLP0ojBeoHjTVfNR4yht30s3Z5KN7QuEezkPaEToomy46P-5eVpnrvU1lKksWVyf5xQgKux7Z2P9fpMQya8fPAnpQ-MzZ0n8XDAD-ApL4CnIKJZKsMOxObR6_AJCh4/s320/stockfresh_id61135_smiling-young-couple-in-love_sizeXS.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615955087388091234" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Here's to many more games to come, in our spanking future :D</span></span><br /></div><br /></div>Raynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6406855854975162880.post-74809582098732145872011-05-14T23:40:00.001-04:002011-05-14T23:40:14.849-04:00Blogger Down!Hi All!<br /><br />Apparently Blogger is having some serious issues right now, and ate my latest post (Chapter 3 of my spanking weekend adventure!) It will take me a few days to re-write (or maybe Blogger will be nice enough to restore it??? Please???) -- So in the meantime, please enjoy an intermission and this lovely little photo of a studious young lady, who is also surely working away on her next journal entry! :D:D<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w7Hi_MXpPOU/Tc9K-hroIXI/AAAAAAAACn4/9ljnejEPC_I/s1600/lolita_by_carlostattoo.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 387px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w7Hi_MXpPOU/Tc9K-hroIXI/AAAAAAAACn4/9ljnejEPC_I/s400/lolita_by_carlostattoo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606782499153256818" border="0" /></a>Raynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6406855854975162880.post-73416118242429871542011-04-28T10:26:00.007-04:002011-04-28T10:43:53.676-04:00Chapter Two - Twice to the Woodshed!<span style="font-family:courier new;">"What</span><span style="font-family:courier new;"> ti</span><span style="font-family:courier new;">me would you have had class on Friday, were you not skipping it to come to the weekend?"</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--95KKo6Tkew/Tbc0zjrhOdI/AAAAAAAAClI/S8HI0c-OhYc/s1600/0322-woman-looking-at-computer_sm.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--95KKo6Tkew/Tbc0zjrhOdI/AAAAAAAAClI/S8HI0c-OhYc/s320/0322-woman-looking-at-computer_sm.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600002722014247378" border="0" /></a>The Instant Message flashes onto my screen -- only text, but oh so audibly potent.<br /><br />I can hear his voice in my head, as if he were standing right there behind me.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family:courier new;">"1:30pm..."</span> comes my sheepish answer...<br /></div><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">"Then I will see you, outside t</span><span style="font-family:courier new;">he woodshed, at 1:30pm on Friday."</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: right;"><div style="text-align: center;">A shiver runs down my spine -- I'm not even at the resort yet and already lining up punishments!<br /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-style: italic;">Is it worth it to skip class?</span> I think so -- definitely -- think about it -- just one class for an entire day of spanko symposium! But, what is worthy of skipping class, in his eyes? What will he use? A trip to the woodshed in itself implies more than just a hand-spanking... Will he use his belt on me? A switch? Some other nasty whippy thing??</div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">I happen to know that this particular spanker owns a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carpet_beater">carpet beater</a>, and tends to be quite partial to it...<br /><br />Sure enough, as I approach the woodshed (having arrived 1.28 minutes early only to find him already there waiting), I can see the long handle of the aforementioned implement sticking conspicuously out of the top of his bag. Oh my.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Was it really worth it?</span> Again the question flashes through my brain -- but I am here now, the deed is done, and I am about to pay for it...<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jk2rTQOzMGc/Tbc1_g-mPbI/AAAAAAAAClQ/qVX0F3ETmnA/s1600/WoodShedRainShelter.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jk2rTQOzMGc/Tbc1_g-mPbI/AAAAAAAAClQ/qVX0F3ETmnA/s320/WoodShedRainShelter.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600004026959019442" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Photo by Cia de Foto</span></span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">We traipse inside, and I am greeted with the sight of at least two constructs suitable for bending over, and one armless chair -- just for good measure, I suppose! I am instructed to hang up my coat, to loosen my jeans, and to bend forward over one of the conveniently available structures. To think, I could be sitting safely in class right this moment...!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">He starts with hand-spanking<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdQbYDpF_66ZtNiDGufIxQGmCl9YkuE4dwOkYvlgv8xlwUC7w6ZV2lPPFuwhps6ez7H9vI2orcve1QNaazGTvoNijTkCeamJNwbXbbv2jLwALrMq9KV1_udH0rlroShVAmBvVO1lFHrFw/s1600/woodshed.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 195px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdQbYDpF_66ZtNiDGufIxQGmCl9YkuE4dwOkYvlgv8xlwUC7w6ZV2lPPFuwhps6ez7H9vI2orcve1QNaazGTvoNijTkCeamJNwbXbbv2jLwALrMq9KV1_udH0rlroShVAmBvVO1lFHrFw/s320/woodshed.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600005424790744450" border="0" /></a> over my panties, all the while scolding about the gravity of skipping class, the importance of education and accountability -- I am certainly being held accountable!<br /><br />It's not until he has my panties down and an implement out (I cannot even recall what implement, it was such a full weekend!) that he decides to surprise me with another line of questioning.<br /></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">"So I want to know about this ISF. Tell me the truth."<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Now, dear readers, the ISF started out as a group of mischievous spankees attending the spanking weekend who banded together in hopes of, at some point during the weekend, obtaining a group spanking scene. I was graciously offered association with this group after the core group had already formed, and up to this point, most of our mischief had consisted of creating aliases and posting fun-based mayhem on the online forum that serves as a virtual meeting place for many of the weekend's attendees.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-iR0YPM2O-9elsWoX4Cd6BYGAcJuRTYVDyGEsdxjk9b8UVn9IwQgbtq26ic_-mrLl_PThu3-ikn_t9AgHTkYHbM-nZTH4Bj6LzQcxEmCPG_IhaO-m80sgk4kGVg3m5RTigJc8xiQSNto/s1600/hands_pact.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-iR0YPM2O-9elsWoX4Cd6BYGAcJuRTYVDyGEsdxjk9b8UVn9IwQgbtq26ic_-mrLl_PThu3-ikn_t9AgHTkYHbM-nZTH4Bj6LzQcxEmCPG_IhaO-m80sgk4kGVg3m5RTigJc8xiQSNto/s320/hands_pact.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600439098691564402" border="0" /></a>We had "sworn" to each other that we would protect each other's identities, while at the same time doing our part to try to facilitate our ultimate goal of a group spanking scene.<br /><br />So, when he asked me there, while I was bare and reddened and vulnerable and not getting up any time soon, you can imagine the somersaults that my mind began to make! Where did my loyalties lie? Somewhere between solidarity with my friends, and concern for my own behind!<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Luckily, he knew exactly what questions to ask so that I would not have to incriminate any of my friends.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />"Do you have another name on the message board?"<br /><br />"Yes, Sir. J___." Now he would know every message that I had ever posted under the name of J___, many of them much more boldly mischievous than I would ever be myself!<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">"Then I want to see J___ here again, at 9:30pm this evening. Is that clear?"<br /><br />My reluctant acknowledgment of the second woodshed appointment was followed immediately by the rest of my comeuppance for missing class -- Which turned out to be <span style="font-style: italic;">quite worth it</span>, dear readers (who wants to sit in class when she could be getting <span style="font-style: italic;">spanked</span>?!?) :D And quite mild compared to the events of later that evening!<br /></div><br />---<br /><br />It is 9:27pm, and by now, <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7zoFkXxRTQ944b42dtmePIsUSP2KYfSKrPqnEfKpi87yXiJBEZc6t7twrJASLCQA3Xyo8C5bF42T7FxBzgeLM1aqf19jckwZzDzTyoZRk5N5KX0aXGp1tlVU4Y9ElSrKYmQP2a9os3E4/s1600/noise.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 174px; height: 288px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7zoFkXxRTQ944b42dtmePIsUSP2KYfSKrPqnEfKpi87yXiJBEZc6t7twrJASLCQA3Xyo8C5bF42T7FxBzgeLM1aqf19jckwZzDzTyoZRk5N5KX0aXGp1tlVU4Y9ElSrKYmQP2a9os3E4/s320/noise.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600460718764104898" border="0" /></a>we have all realized that, somehow, all of us have managed to schedule an appointment for the woodshed at 9:30pm! We set off together, gathering strength from each other and knowing that this is exactly what we knew we'd been asking for, been planning for... but would it be worth it?<br /><br />We are five in number, standing in a line outside the woodshed, only our coats and each other for warmth. Five faces turn as his footsteps approach, five bodies begin to shift and scuffle, five hearts beating faster.<br /><br />"In." He ushers us in first, follows, and turns to latch the door behind him.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">We are scolded, en mass, admonished for our frivolous behavior on the online forum -- confusing people and causing mischief, interrogated about our false identities, who was our ringleader? Who was the mastermind behind our group? Were we all willing and knowing participants in this plot?<br /><br />Soon, we are all instructed to line up against one wall -- we briefly jostle for position, those girls who want very much to be either first or last finding their place quickly, those too anxious to make much of a fuss ending up somewhere in the middle. Graciously, and quite responsibly, our leader takes up her post first in line, first to be punished, so that the rest of us can know what is coming.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-44mCK7g0pDU/Tblp3QeYPXI/AAAAAAAACl4/xud27Lrt6_g/s1600/126.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 264px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-44mCK7g0pDU/Tblp3QeYPXI/AAAAAAAACl4/xud27Lrt6_g/s320/126.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600624009648029042" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br />One by one, we are each hand-spanked with pants down over the structure near the center of the room, those in line listening to the smacks and the yelps with growing anticipation.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgkbF1Zv7DVMrvyGo78PuZhflRSvJlIV42AYGt8ztLGx-JMSLgU_6ylaH4SlRks0mUrtyVGZ46o_UpDN1Bt04nAgtqP-t2tZWAanfkHahc-2kcSx9G2MP6Nx32IfYqFUcqVCwv7SOkvQM/s1600/002.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgkbF1Zv7DVMrvyGo78PuZhflRSvJlIV42AYGt8ztLGx-JMSLgU_6ylaH4SlRks0mUrtyVGZ46o_UpDN1Bt04nAgtqP-t2tZWAanfkHahc-2kcSx9G2MP6Nx32IfYqFUcqVCwv7SOkvQM/s320/002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600614815007641186" border="0" /></a>When my turn comes, as I knew it would, being third in line, I can hardly even look up.<br /><br />I see his hand gesturing me forward, and feel my face beginning to flush -- right here? In front of four of my dear friends? I have *never* been spanked in front of this many people before, who have nothing else to do but watch or listen, intently, dreading their own turn!<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(Last three photos from </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.rge-films.com/Movies/">Lupus Pictures</a><span style="font-style: italic;">)</span></span><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br />Our plight did not <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TSN2DyAAOa4/Tblr59rzOtI/AAAAAAAACmA/TxwvD5hBYCo/s1600/carpet-beater%2Bspank.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 302px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TSN2DyAAOa4/Tblr59rzOtI/AAAAAAAACmA/TxwvD5hBYCo/s320/carpet-beater%2Bspank.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600626255166913234" border="0" /></a> stop at the first round of hand-spankings, dear readers. What had we gotten ourselves into??? Do you remember that carpet beater I mentioned??<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Out it came, and, one by one <span style="font-style: italic;">again</span>, down it went on each of our upturned, uncovered bottoms in turn -- accompanied by new-found squeals and squirms!<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">While our first two members endure their second round, myself and my compatriot immediately to my left (fourth in line, right after me), exchange multiple glances of disbelief and anticipation. We are both "the new girls" -- I need to know that she is okay, and I can see in her eyes that she needs the same from me.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Our discipliner notices our silent communications, I am sure of it -- but kindly allows us this small indulgence, knowing that it will help us both to accept our punishments.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zz9_VB72S7I/TblxoM4FjuI/AAAAAAAACmI/eFthcWkMqOQ/s1600/stock-photo-businessman-hand-beckoning-someone-to-come-here-isolated-on-white-background-47750956.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 283px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zz9_VB72S7I/TblxoM4FjuI/AAAAAAAACmI/eFthcWkMqOQ/s320/stock-photo-businessman-hand-beckoning-someone-to-come-here-isolated-on-white-background-47750956.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600632547077099234" border="0" /></a>Finally, when it seems that our ordeal is coming to an end, and our brave leader has taken her extra chastisement for her esteemed position in our ranks, I am surprised to see his intimidating hand beckoning to <span style="font-style: italic;">me</span> again!<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Why me?</span> What have I done??<br /><br />Is this supposed to be some kind of grand finale?? When will it be over?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Then I remember: before he'd known the face behind the alias, he had promised J___ on the message board that he would be counting the number of ridiculous posts she'd made, and reminding her of these transgressions when the time came.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Apparently, now was that time!<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">"How many posts did J___ make?"<br /><br />I had not counted! I had not wanted to know!!<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">"Twenty-five! You will count each one." Twenty-five? Really? Was he sure he'd counted correctly!? Had it been worth those 25 posts of fun to deserve <span style="font-style: italic;">more</span> punishment??<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">SMACK!</span> "One, Sir!" <span style="font-weight: bold;">SMACK! </span> "Two, Sir!"</span><br /><br />They are coming very quickly -- I hardly have enough time to count! By "Sixteen!" I have dropped the "Sir" just to be able to get the count out fast enough, and by the last three I had earned several extra swats just for lack of ability to keep up!<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiijoNnB39dMMQR_RWUpVbiP0LKuABdPvC9R4r2akH67JzDywhGlYaFmJWzKre_Jm-_-ZT7l22HKjA8C1qLeiZNzI0gcwzyJO__3tpmmm9STkMlQv8LZjSKUwDdoz6vKmkSaBeceCKL3SA/s1600/draft_lens2274634module125524891photo_1293668144huge-group-hug.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiijoNnB39dMMQR_RWUpVbiP0LKuABdPvC9R4r2akH67JzDywhGlYaFmJWzKre_Jm-_-ZT7l22HKjA8C1qLeiZNzI0gcwzyJO__3tpmmm9STkMlQv8LZjSKUwDdoz6vKmkSaBeceCKL3SA/s400/draft_lens2274634module125524891photo_1293668144huge-group-hug.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600640003631806738" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Five very sore bottoms and a group hug later, and yes, dear readers, in the end, it was quite worth it!<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Up next: You didn't think we got away with it that easy, did you??</span> :D<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiGY0Yo4Cu8o0Ggl0E05kwv0br_pXbaC2ytM6ZsNa-klZ52WfG7TcJsmdoLXKFRkj-bR_GQIrNuevWkHBl5ArxH5HqiC3q-9LTxPKVLgptRzJFSOROCC72hvXbSFJuqKB_g2QCegj6wJQ/s1600/044.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiGY0Yo4Cu8o0Ggl0E05kwv0br_pXbaC2ytM6ZsNa-klZ52WfG7TcJsmdoLXKFRkj-bR_GQIrNuevWkHBl5ArxH5HqiC3q-9LTxPKVLgptRzJFSOROCC72hvXbSFJuqKB_g2QCegj6wJQ/s320/044.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600638646264007410" border="0" /></a></div></div></div>Raynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6406855854975162880.post-32274973036493737882011-04-21T22:13:00.003-04:002011-04-22T00:35:08.786-04:00Chapter One - Spanking Weekend<div style="text-align: center;">This past weekend, I was one of many elated attendees at a spanking event in the mountains -- in a lovely resort staffed by equally lovely spank-friendly people, and well-equipped with many a spanko's needs...<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4kC4LyUm8SU/TbDN5ernjMI/AAAAAAAACkg/O8RsWIogEIU/s1600/Jade-and-Bettys-Hot-Tub-Spanking.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4kC4LyUm8SU/TbDN5ernjMI/AAAAAAAACkg/O8RsWIogEIU/s320/Jade-and-Bettys-Hot-Tub-Spanking.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598200724193774786" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Including a jacuzzi...</span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />(perfect place for making mischief and getting away with it, right?? :D)<br /></span></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3-TVD9UmXOs/TbDOTfrRliI/AAAAAAAACko/KlXENRqOdKk/s1600/Take-Copy-To-Woodshed.gif"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 307px; height: 303px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3-TVD9UmXOs/TbDOTfrRliI/AAAAAAAACko/KlXENRqOdKk/s320/Take-Copy-To-Woodshed.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598201171137369634" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />A woodshed...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">(stocked with bales of hay and even a door lock with a five-letter combination... <span style="font-style: italic;">can you guess what it was??? </span>:D)</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhihLaL2vvU6YVeSM_XSqlyYhx3IQMKEB82zKcPZdmbWX4SKJbel9XrmKeZ39f0gvr1f4fPV70e0kP7O2wMRCHIuLFYKSWxtRJv-AM4-7FM4bjKGkdRyYWbPVIcGX6leOy38EEL0ruSxPw/s1600/a174bb74809d7a4b11fa1266f6405497.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 217px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhihLaL2vvU6YVeSM_XSqlyYhx3IQMKEB82zKcPZdmbWX4SKJbel9XrmKeZ39f0gvr1f4fPV70e0kP7O2wMRCHIuLFYKSWxtRJv-AM4-7FM4bjKGkdRyYWbPVIcGX6leOy38EEL0ruSxPw/s320/a174bb74809d7a4b11fa1266f6405497.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598208600687380370" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">A classroom...</span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">(hall passes and class bell included!)<br /></span></span></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EhYNh_x0L8I/TbDTrtKptsI/AAAAAAAACk4/X2SD7Be82tU/s1600/P73293359556269.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EhYNh_x0L8I/TbDTrtKptsI/AAAAAAAACk4/X2SD7Be82tU/s320/P73293359556269.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598207084633634498" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">An upstair</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">s office...</span><br /><br />(complete with an authoritative desk, an armless chair, and a school desk)<br /></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">And, of course, plenty of private rooms and play spaces for more behind-the-scenes fun :D<br /><br />I have an adventure to share with you, dear readers, from each and every one of these places, and more! My next few blog entries will be chronicling some of the most memorable events from my weekend in the mountains with a whole troupe of spanko friends, so stay tuned!<br /><br />For now, let me say that it was truly a once-in-a-life-time experience, made possible by the <a href="http://www.scony.com/">SCONY group</a> which I have had the pleasure of coming to know <a href="http://solemnlyswear-uptonogood.blogspot.com/2011/02/shall-we-d.html">better</a> and <a href="http://solemnlyswear-uptonogood.blogspot.com/2011/03/st-pattys-spanking-party.html">better</a> in recent months. :D<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Coming up next: Chapter Two - A Trip </span>(or Two)<span style="font-style: italic;"> to the Woodshed</span><span style="font-style: italic;">!</span></span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">----<br />School girl art by Kamitora<br /></span></div></div>Raynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6406855854975162880.post-35871146183012767162011-04-14T00:26:00.002-04:002011-04-14T00:29:43.664-04:00Impromptu SpankingThere we were, sitting peacefully around the dinner table.<br /><br />I was sent to <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9j9cLhLvcIU/TaZNSWDtjaI/AAAAAAAACkI/M118GGGpKYc/s1600/dinner-party-conversation1.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 165px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9j9cLhLvcIU/TaZNSWDtjaI/AAAAAAAACkI/M118GGGpKYc/s320/dinner-party-conversation1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595244564608552354" border="0" /></a>rummage for more wine in the kitchen. Yes, <span style="font-style: italic;">sent</span>. Ordered, detailed, delegated, appointed, what-have-you. :D Gladly :D<br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(Artwork by Jay Remer, the Etiquette G</span><span style="font-style: italic;">uy)</span><br /></div><br />While obediently on my way, my hand absent-mindedly found a momentary perch on the back of his head as I passed. I like to do that, without thinking -- the consistency of physical touch is something that flows naturally out of me -- sometimes I have to work to keep it in check.<br /><br />But in that moment when my fingers made contact with his hair, the previous night flashed through my mind's eye...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">..."Go ahead. Grab, and pull. See what happens..."</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">My fingers are running through his hair as we lay there -- it is short, but still grabbable, if I do it right...</span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kunaSMIjMo0/TaZybKPPQzI/AAAAAAAACkQ/y8SRWmG9K5o/s1600/tumblr_lh8hqtUphe1qe3pipo1_500.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 212px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kunaSMIjMo0/TaZybKPPQzI/AAAAAAAACkQ/y8SRWmG9K5o/s320/tumblr_lh8hqtUphe1qe3pipo1_500.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595285397984723762" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">Our faces are less than an inch apart, my nose under his chin, my eyes looking up into his... I want so badly to try, to be impetuous, to "see what happens" -- but I can't do it! He is looking at me, a grin behind his lips, his eyebrows ever-so-slightly raised.</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">I try several times</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj011l9VD2zm1cjGWXxArGcFEugJh41d58FbnwDfgvbqqUMaB0h6krmDwvLNB4M8hmExxdGfow6jq6f-BFyHT7Tw9ko0fN0XLQ60hkfUtt8bvWNNxExslZ2rynZelVUXJ9FgbQPmDI2DE4/s1600/200420297-001.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj011l9VD2zm1cjGWXxArGcFEugJh41d58FbnwDfgvbqqUMaB0h6krmDwvLNB4M8hmExxdGfow6jq6f-BFyHT7Tw9ko0fN0XLQ60hkfUtt8bvWNNxExslZ2rynZelVUXJ9FgbQPmDI2DE4/s320/200420297-001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595288586964964082" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"> to drum up the courage -- he even told me to! He gave me permission! And yet, all I can seem to muster is one or two half-hearted tugs, which hardly measure up to the challenge of "grab and pull."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">No tempting of fate, no adventurous follies -- at least, not last night...</span><br /><br />Suddenly I am back in the dining room, my fingers in his hair, my steps carrying me around to the kitchen behind him...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">And I grab -- and I pull...<br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;">And I </span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" >run.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><div style="text-align: right;">I know which cabinet I need -- it happens to be a low cupboard -- I have to bend down in order to reach it...<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7hCSVrr1eGI/TaY-GduvBkI/AAAAAAAACkA/FHJ1DakGQQs/s1600/nnn17.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7hCSVrr1eGI/TaY-GduvBkI/AAAAAAAACkA/FHJ1DakGQQs/s320/nnn17.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595227867835205186" border="0" /></a>But before I can get it all the way open to recover the wine, he is already there, his arm firmly around my waist, holding me in position, his free hand swatting, swiftly and forcefully.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">He did not even bother to fuss with any clothing or implements -- just his hand, doling out a sharp and impromptu reminder that certain actions, no matter how spur-of-the-moment, come with consequences...! :D:D<br /></div></div>Raynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6406855854975162880.post-80257396828362376142011-04-08T15:54:00.003-04:002011-04-08T15:59:22.076-04:00The "Look"My "Boss" from the <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitPZFp9YdTJRcYCnYrh6CqnfF5XclspCLUwxcWAJB4KkYQ80quNnCFv6EbFDfNa6A-UwdByYT4_HInCdQEfZZD7Cg6APTYsCikt3NIOUqssOFqtE7s3yT4gIikv1F-hAWAl6g32kFq8i8/s1600/CCP0011389_P.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 260px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitPZFp9YdTJRcYCnYrh6CqnfF5XclspCLUwxcWAJB4KkYQ80quNnCFv6EbFDfNa6A-UwdByYT4_HInCdQEfZZD7Cg6APTYsCikt3NIOUqssOFqtE7s3yT4gIikv1F-hAWAl6g32kFq8i8/s320/CCP0011389_P.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587139879683567538" border="0" /></a>last <a href="http://solemnlyswear-uptonogood.blogspot.com/2011/02/punished-for-being-late-to-work.html">roleplay scene</a> I did, involving a consistently tardy employee and a traditionally-minded supervisor, featured ever so briefly in one of my dreams last night...<br /><br />It was just a look. <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">THE </span></span><span style="font-size:130%;">look.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Accompanied by the dreaded command, <span style="font-size:130%;">"Come here."</span><br /><br />That's all it was!<br /><br />The dream literally consisted of three seconds of material -- and yet was <span style="font-style: italic;">oh so</span> potent.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v7MQjmBujbE/TYmCs3kdaRI/AAAAAAAACiI/QQSndZh6pFg/s1600/11722839_cb1986f472.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 268px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v7MQjmBujbE/TYmCs3kdaRI/AAAAAAAACiI/QQSndZh6pFg/s320/11722839_cb1986f472.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587140520072538386" border="0" /></a>What <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> it about that "look" that is so compelling? -- That instant when you <span style="font-style: italic;">know</span>, deep down to your core: <span style="font-size:130%;">you're in trouble.</span><br /><br />You've done it now.<br /><br />There's no turning back. :D<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">You are suddenly small, vulnerable, caught, and held deliciously responsible.<br /></div><br />It's something in<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zq47hLmkvPc/TYmDDG-WyhI/AAAAAAAACiQ/Hhg0kSEk9lA/s1600/4924343829_48d5c98bf4_z.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 212px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zq47hLmkvPc/TYmDDG-WyhI/AAAAAAAACiQ/Hhg0kSEk9lA/s320/4924343829_48d5c98bf4_z.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587140902164810258" border="0" /></a> their eyes. But it's more than that -- it's the whole expression, the way it's delivered, the sheer piercing direction, focus, and attention. The purpose behind it.<br /><br />Your projected, imminent future that is now sealed -- tying the both of you up in an inevitable dance...<br /><br />On FetLife, there is an "interest" called: <span style="font-weight: bold;">"</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">the look </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">that tells you in no uncertain terms that you have crossed the line and earned a spanking."</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC6rySB0J2ZfWLaNCoN0ObxzPaV83xjMpa_DuY1r-NkbWBb2JKuIycbA0FUkeJDkcFD6jm930uzkpBwSxoBRJpCV8kxPZMmsa4XpRjXlZh3yyK5e3ua1tN3h42LnlWD5h94ICPzSoxmhQ/s1600/2333249340064198220ZYauFM_fs.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 199px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC6rySB0J2ZfWLaNCoN0ObxzPaV83xjMpa_DuY1r-NkbWBb2JKuIycbA0FUkeJDkcFD6jm930uzkpBwSxoBRJpCV8kxPZMmsa4XpRjXlZh3yyK5e3ua1tN3h42LnlWD5h94ICPzSoxmhQ/s320/2333249340064198220ZYauFM_fs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593293389067931202" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;">I think that sums it up rather nicely... :D<br /><br />Of course, hopefully it's not really a <span style="font-style: italic;">real</span> line -- it's a playful line that still exists within the realm of good-natured fun, or it's an imaginary line facilitated by a role-play situation.<br /><br />But in either case, it is a line that, once crossed, requires addressing. And <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> is where "the <span style="font-style: italic;">look</span>" comes in...<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;">Often, the "look" can be accompanied by other telling bodily clues, such as crossed arms, hands on hips, head tilted slightly to the side, a beckoning finger...<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y9_V-1Nq0No/TZ9gefncamI/AAAAAAAACjw/t0eFMon2BwA/s1600/SuperStock_1566-544503.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 186px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y9_V-1Nq0No/TZ9gefncamI/AAAAAAAACjw/t0eFMon2BwA/s200/SuperStock_1566-544503.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593295339216726626" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQkwV75xKx7m_o7yTcXWsOAJ8ApaBiVlnlwPlidjwswxFSpnoke59tHDgVLmgrEbsYkSLhnZxuugZo-zNOZlE_lMQcukwvsHuUeINtFaI-b597MAI7aBQ0Q3c14EsNcBu5cHicseBQS00/s1600/8716336-young-fashion-man-with-a-serious-look-and-crossed-arms.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 141px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQkwV75xKx7m_o7yTcXWsOAJ8ApaBiVlnlwPlidjwswxFSpnoke59tHDgVLmgrEbsYkSLhnZxuugZo-zNOZlE_lMQcukwvsHuUeINtFaI-b597MAI7aBQ0Q3c14EsNcBu5cHicseBQS00/s200/8716336-young-fashion-man-with-a-serious-look-and-crossed-arms.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593295631678489986" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Heck, they may even be leaning on the straight-backed wooden chair which is shortly about to be put to use for your benefit! :D:D<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-O-d9t69aPe4/TYkQhlZtQdI/AAAAAAAAChQ/kSGmRfe0UD0/s1600/sterlinghayden333.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-O-d9t69aPe4/TYkQhlZtQdI/AAAAAAAAChQ/kSGmRfe0UD0/s400/sterlinghayden333.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587014981891473874" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">As a bottom, what is it about "the Look" that gets you? Do you even enjoy it? -- Perhaps it is not your thing! What feelings does it awaken in you?<br /><br />As a top, what kind of Look works best for you? What are you trying to convey in such a look? And if you reply, "You already know the answer to that question..." you may be right, but I still want to hear you say it! :D</div>Raynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6406855854975162880.post-90122444632382002772011-03-31T17:45:00.008-04:002011-04-09T20:45:59.017-04:00Weighing Options<div style="text-align: center;">Remember my last <a href="http://solemnlyswear-uptonogood.blogspot.com/2010/08/new-hairbrush.html">new hairbrush</a>? The red, velvety paddle brush??<br /><br />Well, ladies and gentlemen, I have recently acquired aNOTHER new hairbrush! What was I thinking????<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NsbT8-Y2vi8/TZTnhNBY32I/AAAAAAAACiY/JWpezPpUZ8o/s1600/Hair-accessories.gif"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NsbT8-Y2vi8/TZTnhNBY32I/AAAAAAAACiY/JWpezPpUZ8o/s320/Hair-accessories.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590347595090812770" border="0" /></a>I walked innocently into a local pharmacy, looking for something else entirely, stumbled (quite accidentally! They just pop up out of nowhere in those stores!) on the hair accessories section, and was quite amazed to find, not one, but TWO lovely, weighty, broad, straight-backed prospects.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">One wooden, with a very nice grip, and one fo-wooden (looks like wood but is something else), and heavier than most other hairbrushes I have ever encountered.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:130%;">What was a poor spanko to do?<br /></span></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">After carefully weighing my options (for about 2.8 seconds), I finally strode right up to the check-out counter with both in hand. The strapping young lad behind the counter must have wondered what on earth any girl in her right mind would be doing that would require TWO hairbrushes...<br /></div><br />"Gifts..." I muttered, briefly catching <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP5oBej4Q79W6MLt_rjmpzFvKTG1BSY2tR4uwLLuNhu1ettLNUdFU3YiE5qSUGOIa6DPmSAnVgugwm3IPtAJEhB0cfEJbV0AaVpCI6MAUw6FdytpcqD8VBp4s-Tupdx-IzL0SjeBkBJuI/s1600/hairbrushes300-01.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 172px; height: 197px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP5oBej4Q79W6MLt_rjmpzFvKTG1BSY2tR4uwLLuNhu1ettLNUdFU3YiE5qSUGOIa6DPmSAnVgugwm3IPtAJEhB0cfEJbV0AaVpCI6MAUw6FdytpcqD8VBp4s-Tupdx-IzL0SjeBkBJuI/s320/hairbrushes300-01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590353693568035330" border="0" /></a>his inquisitive glance and then looking down. Lame excuse, of course -- again, <span style="font-style: italic;">who</span> in their right mind would want a <span style="font-style: italic;">hairbrush</span> as a gift?? :D<br /><br />But it seemed to satisfy him, at least superficially, because next minute I was walking to my car, two new hairbrushes dangling in a plastic bag at my side.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">"Two??" you may be asking... Yes, I did say that I have <span style="font-style: italic;">on</span><span style="font-style: italic;">e</span> new hairbrush, not two. So what happened to the other...??<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Well, dear readers, let me tell you: I thought it would be fun (what fun!) to turn my good fortune into a game with a friend I knew I would be visiting soon. It is true, I enjoy finding such perfect implements in every-day innocuous stores, but really, what on earth was I going to do with two hairbrushes? I'm not that crazy!<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pTfnEzynXQE/TZTvTbERE5I/AAAAAAAACjI/gS-gttJrwYg/s1600/texting.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 212px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pTfnEzynXQE/TZTvTbERE5I/AAAAAAAACjI/gS-gttJrwYg/s320/texting.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590356154435834770" border="0" /></a>I immediately texted him to let him know what I had found, and that he would be receiving one, quite truthfully, as a gift -- but that it would be up to him to use whatever means necessary in order to decide which one he wanted!!<br /></div><br />Yes, I am sure you all can tell exactly where this is going...! :D<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLSU3WUf9kr6iClXOBR7ER8c2Vj-RC9qsDWqavRjcmp4TFS0pOFJRLYHJvLxhMg4VErtGsU-XglSwvxgnsjSZ6kq6ZsLMnv0StIoge3K71B3o6yp1p6yUzMWhKVQ_N-ItvQIJViNZqfkA/s1600/hairbrush-otk+all+things+spanking.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 282px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLSU3WUf9kr6iClXOBR7ER8c2Vj-RC9qsDWqavRjcmp4TFS0pOFJRLYHJvLxhMg4VErtGsU-XglSwvxgnsjSZ6kq6ZsLMnv0StIoge3K71B3o6yp1p6yUzMWhKVQ_N-ItvQIJViNZqfkA/s320/hairbrush-otk+all+things+spanking.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590348244585203506" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(Lovely draw</span><span style="font-style: italic;">ing found on <a href="http://allthingsspanking.com/">All Things Spanking</a>)</span><br /></div><br />So, not more than a few <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RFDlqXf-mwg/TZTo30EzR6I/AAAAAAAACio/_l66ll7S4M0/s1600/balance-scale.png"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 284px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RFDlqXf-mwg/TZTo30EzR6I/AAAAAAAACio/_l66ll7S4M0/s320/balance-scale.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590349083042858914" border="0" /></a>days later, there I was, over his lap, while he labored over his decision, weighing his options quite judiciously!<br /><br />"Hmmm..."<span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"> </span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;">SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!</span> </span>"I like this one, because it is wood, and that definitely carries a certain traditional appeal..."<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-style: italic;">SMACK! SMACK!</span> "But this one is nice because of the weight... how does that feel?"<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-style: italic;">SMACK! SMACK!</span> "More thuddy, or stingy?"<br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jemk4Cx5S-E/TZTuIj3SjbI/AAAAAAAACjA/zN1Ve1dfe3Y/s1600/hairbrush-spanking-firmhand.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jemk4Cx5S-E/TZTuIj3SjbI/AAAAAAAACjA/zN1Ve1dfe3Y/s320/hairbrush-spanking-firmhand.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590354868307135922" border="0" /></a>The evil grin in his voice needs no visual confirmation. He is enjoying himself quite immensely!<br /><br />"Owwww...oooh both, Sir..."<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-style: italic;">SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!</span> "Do you need a bit more comparison? Which one stings <span style="font-weight: bold;">more</span>?"<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;">SMACK! SMACK!</span><br /><br />"Oooh-ahh! That one, Sir!"<br /><br />"Mmhm I thought it might..." <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;">SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Whatever possessed me to think that this would be a <span style="font-style: italic;">fun game</span>??<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nWpYlRUgDrI/TZTxhDQ5b1I/AAAAAAAACjQ/Bt87ryn7IiQ/s1600/imagessdfsdf.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 271px; height: 186px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nWpYlRUgDrI/TZTxhDQ5b1I/AAAAAAAACjQ/Bt87ryn7IiQ/s320/imagessdfsdf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590358587587784530" border="0" /></a><br />By the end of it, dear readers, my bottom was quite red -- and I was one hairbrush less, but no less acquainted with either one!<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aI7DlJ7V6zE/TZT0dxfariI/AAAAAAAACjY/mr9kSOvDxCY/s1600/DSCF3534.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aI7DlJ7V6zE/TZT0dxfariI/AAAAAAAACjY/mr9kSOvDxCY/s320/DSCF3534.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590361829812121122" border="0" /></a>He ended up choosing the stingier wooden one (of which I neglected to get a picture before passing it along!), which means I now claim ownership of the thuddier, heavier one that <span style="font-style: italic;">looks </span>quite <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiqFMFQfpq6r3XwLwI7hiZZFS94AClLDZ8F9vXtvPDkkZzJUy5Lqe401S5QX4rx9lPXF6AGBja4TVIpFVUh-nEUfLiM2gqGwcUlovIWVl3-k_FG9GNC6qaDGYK-16_ARQ9d6tTiwLlgAk/s1600/DSCF3532.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiqFMFQfpq6r3XwLwI7hiZZFS94AClLDZ8F9vXtvPDkkZzJUy5Lqe401S5QX4rx9lPXF6AGBja4TVIpFVUh-nEUfLiM2gqGwcUlovIWVl3-k_FG9GNC6qaDGYK-16_ARQ9d6tTiwLlgAk/s320/DSCF3532.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590362492503438578" border="0" /></a>deceptively like wood, but isn't (pictured at left) :D<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: right;">In all honesty, this one hurts quite a bit more (deeper impact) -- and therefore I am very happy to be more in control of its use!<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br />Well... at least, to be under the <span style="font-style: italic;">illusion</span> of such control, anyway... :D (Much easier to hide it if I know where it is!!)<br /></div>Raynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6406855854975162880.post-52296776691868476742011-03-22T15:24:00.011-04:002011-03-22T23:56:12.461-04:00Corner Time<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzcCJz_leJHmxJu1NU2O1ncYdPXf80FhYgqHgtYhJuq_WSjCeW7HFPA_bp7lXEQFU6yE3AJcKZyRdun_atw0SRH2HmahMJeocZ7RovN9MFkzSFVR8wWFVAk3XoWTpzX4n9eqbt3Lt0itE/s1600/627Angel_by_pachnidelko+Arianna%2527s+Looking+Glass.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 197px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzcCJz_leJHmxJu1NU2O1ncYdPXf80FhYgqHgtYhJuq_WSjCeW7HFPA_bp7lXEQFU6yE3AJcKZyRdun_atw0SRH2HmahMJeocZ7RovN9MFkzSFVR8wWFVAk3XoWTpzX4n9eqbt3Lt0itE/s320/627Angel_by_pachnidelko+Arianna%2527s+Looking+Glass.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585262907097851778" border="0" /></a>I have been ordered to stand in a corner (in real life) twice in my twenty-some years. Both times as an adult, and both times in conjunction with spanking exploits. Both while bare *blush* : )<br /><br />The first time was for a solid <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">fifteen minutes</span></span>.<br /><br />In the <span style="font-style: italic;">living room</span>.<br /><br />With big bay <span style="font-style: italic;">windows</span> facing the street (thankfully, a large, full-foliage tree covered most of the view...), and a glass sliding door leading out to the patio in the back yard.<br /><br />I could see right out into the yard -- it was lined with high hedges, not a soul in sight... (thank <span style="font-style: italic;">god</span>). :)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HAX8dF6h9g4/TYLc3OkrP_I/AAAAAAAACeI/bAZnaw8A4tA/s1600/officecornertime%2BArianna%2527s%2BLooking%2BGlass.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 248px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HAX8dF6h9g4/TYLc3OkrP_I/AAAAAAAACeI/bAZnaw8A4tA/s320/officecornertime%2BArianna%2527s%2BLooking%2BGlass.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585269329255677938" border="0" /></a><br />He was sitting at the table right behind me, shuffling papers and doing <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">work</span></span>, while I stood there, nose in the corner, red bottom on display -- as if my being there like that was completely normal and matter-of-fact. Something that just happens to naughty girls, no questions asked. *blush*<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(The above two photos are both gems that I found on </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.ariannaacquiesces.com/">Through Arianna's Looking Glass</a><span style="font-style: italic;">)</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQY8uxxgu_tyEY-priZHfzi77VrwyZGUY5Vv6kpUJ9GuSnmeamiBSAhBoMAzNj_bfVgaRxnadEv35yXE9XjM3Jyb0AQH1zAiPfAx4yT1AgXesHml65e6lGsOYSpACUOY8TypdLpEHqLMg/s1600/010.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQY8uxxgu_tyEY-priZHfzi77VrwyZGUY5Vv6kpUJ9GuSnmeamiBSAhBoMAzNj_bfVgaRxnadEv35yXE9XjM3Jyb0AQH1zAiPfAx4yT1AgXesHml65e6lGsOYSpACUOY8TypdLpEHqLMg/s320/010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585809044210833362" border="0" /></a>He had just finished spanking me in the room down the hall, after which he had immediately proceeded to haul me through the house, jeans and panties around my ankles, out into the living room, and place me firmly where I stood, informing me that should I move before he told me I could come out, we'd be pulling a chair out onto the backyard patio and he would spank me out there!<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:180%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXOLKxtWGv7qO8VjOaw3K8Hz_MEBHz890IghqASw9HSpaaUxJSSkZBkywhTtxYpF-F4AY0NeDknha7Se2QKvWFFDB7hzev6IDdbJC4SJOz-oejG9hD_dCEPipwg1mt2g2pBo0CD1JGm-Q/s1600/016.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXOLKxtWGv7qO8VjOaw3K8Hz_MEBHz890IghqASw9HSpaaUxJSSkZBkywhTtxYpF-F4AY0NeDknha7Se2QKvWFFDB7hzev6IDdbJC4SJOz-oejG9hD_dCEPipwg1mt2g2pBo0CD1JGm-Q/s320/016.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585809263919630962" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:180%;">In </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" >broad daylight</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" >!</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;">(As a side-note, we did have a safe-word, and I recognized this as more of an exhilarating threat than an actual possibility -- as he knew very well of the fine line I walk between exhibitionism and concern for my own safety.)<br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /><br />I did not move an inch, dear readers -- I dared not move a muscle!<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Every once in a while, I would hear him stop working, sense him turn in his seat, and feel his gaze on me -- nonchalant, as if surveying the clock for the time -- but each time I knew he was looking, by face flushed and I tried that much harder not to move, as the urge to squirm intensified...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4ViM0Lw5A44/TYlvMibnJkI/AAAAAAAAChw/MUv1aE0-m0A/s1600/sassy3.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 274px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4ViM0Lw5A44/TYlvMibnJkI/AAAAAAAAChw/MUv1aE0-m0A/s320/sassy3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587119073921541698" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(Artwork by Sassy Bottoms)</span><br /></div><br />The second time that I have ever been ordered to a corner, which just happened very recently, was for (thankfully!) a substantially shorter period of time -- but equally as significant :)<br /><br />Again, he had just finished spanking me. When he ordered me up off his lap, I had immediately pulled my panties up. He pointed across the room and said, "In the corner, pull your panties back down to your knees, hands together behind your back."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Vn-sHKgAszk/TYls20RrZsI/AAAAAAAACho/zLZG37_8dzg/s1600/AAAD001142.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 186px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Vn-sHKgAszk/TYls20RrZsI/AAAAAAAACho/zLZG37_8dzg/s320/AAAD001142.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587116501731337922" border="0" /></a><br />With my bottom burning, and still gaining my balance back after being tipped over his lap, it must have been taking me too long to get situated in the corner -- he came over and peremptorily helped position my hands where he wanted them, intensifying my sense of his authority over me.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HGpN3TP7yIU/TYTTAAD_kQI/AAAAAAAACgo/YUiPoOVPcVs/s1600/10171161412.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 123px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HGpN3TP7yIU/TYTTAAD_kQI/AAAAAAAACgo/YUiPoOVPcVs/s320/10171161412.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585821434816467202" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: right;">To keep my panties at my knees, I had to bend one calf out a little -- <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> not wanting them to drop to my ankles... There's something terribly <span style="font-style: italic;">exposing</span> about feeling them there, so close, and yet not close enough!<br /><br />I stood there, panties around my knees, my face as red as my bottom, knowing that he was right behind me but not sure whether he was watching or not... Breathing heavily from the very recent spanking, and from pure embarrassment... My mind reeling and heart racing...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(Artwork by Escobar)</span><br /></div></div><br /><br />It was a least a few minutes. Long enough for my breathing to slow and my mind to quiet ever so slightly. Only then, when he heard me starting to calm down after several long minutes, did he tell me to come out of the corner and lay over the pile of pillows on the bed -- <span style="font-style: italic;">he was taking off his belt</span>...!<br /><br />Whatever could have possessed me to think that we were done?! Apparently, corner time can serve just as well as "intermission" as it can signal the end of a spanking -- something I will have to remember in future! :DRaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6406855854975162880.post-946559987185891652011-03-20T09:13:00.002-04:002011-03-20T09:15:25.463-04:00Charity Spanking Anthology!<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I am </span><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">super excited!!</span></span><br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QivIysJzM8w/TYX9u9--qeI/AAAAAAAACg4/BLw6Bs44ZUc/s1600/letter_writi_24714_lg.gif"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 319px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QivIysJzM8w/TYX9u9--qeI/AAAAAAAACg4/BLw6Bs44ZUc/s320/letter_writi_24714_lg.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586149896177494498" border="0" /></a><br />The illustrious and wonderfully generous <a href="http://www.spankingwriters.com/blog/about/">Abel and Haron</a> of <a href="http://www.spankingwriters.com/blog/">The Spanking Writers</a> have decided to organize the publication of a collection of original spanking stories from various writers, the proceeds of which will be donated to charity. They have invited many kinky authors, from many walks of life, to participate -- and I am very happy and honored to be among them!<br /><br />This will be my first venture into kinky publication (outside of this blog, which is a certain kind of publication in itself...). All of the stories will be original -- written exclusively for this book.<br /><br />How exciting!!!!<br /><br />More updates will be coming about this project soon, and you can read more about it on <a href="http://www.spankingwriters.com/blog/2011/03/15/introducing-the-charity-spanking-anthology/">this entry of The Spanking Writers</a>.<br /><br />The plan is to publish before the end of the year! :D I hope all of you lovely readers will enjoy the final product when it is finished!Raynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6406855854975162880.post-69096520809101117672011-03-17T16:23:00.004-04:002011-03-17T16:37:34.353-04:00St. Patty's Spanking Party<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Happy St. Patrick's Day!</span><br /></div><br />What better way to celebrate than a St. Patty's-themed spanking party!?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OejY1zwbHlA/TYIR9KwidKI/AAAAAAAACcQ/hGyFapkRnZI/s1600/f3441a.jpg"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyvmwBNJCqb2mPE6lzkrscYWo50nm6uERiW87L2goo8kFh7TFzqRV2qV6QumEwLaqSNaDbiFuKOOxofR-8brSeJo8e01R1GXvcAy80hkKyOXs_7qEyA4X_Su4mb36wTph4Dr3VHfkLQoU/s1600/f3441a.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 270px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyvmwBNJCqb2mPE6lzkrscYWo50nm6uERiW87L2goo8kFh7TFzqRV2qV6QumEwLaqSNaDbiFuKOOxofR-8brSeJo8e01R1GXvcAy80hkKyOXs_7qEyA4X_Su4mb36wTph4Dr3VHfkLQoU/s400/f3441a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585129187070742226" border="0" /></a><br />Alright, perhaps March weather <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yxjDp3O_MB8/TYJtAB_yDJI/AAAAAAAACdw/hT5o3xeMoeo/s1600/KitchenCraft-Irish-Shamrock-Patterned-Funky-Spatula.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yxjDp3O_MB8/TYJtAB_yDJI/AAAAAAAACdw/hT5o3xeMoeo/s200/KitchenCraft-Irish-Shamrock-Patterned-Funky-Spatula.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585146335196220562" border="0" /></a>necessitates a bit more shelter than the lovely beach scene depicted above (from <a href="http://karenrenee.info/reneekaren.karenrenee.org/Az.eroticas/Biblioteca/Magazines/Februs/Februs6.htm">Februs</a>) -- but don't you just love the look on that girl's face? :D<br /><br />This past weekend I attended my second SCONY party! You can read, <a href="http://solemnlyswear-uptonogood.blogspot.com/2011/02/shall-we-d.html">here</a>, about my first encounter with the <a href="http://www.scony.com/">Spanking Club of New York</a> -- it was truly a pleasure to return! =)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYO8S4Oq1Uk26m_NSZbc6biXdW8y7gGm081zV2uWR5QF9Vs44une3n9Kz-hCSLJNS-SMfAycnIO3ctRUVM_MyPebYfvSFAntuqYWCgg5c-jfXM3AmLM9FS7QdZ5wCYzyOptypmUs9K7A0/s1600/jbw20614.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 171px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYO8S4Oq1Uk26m_NSZbc6biXdW8y7gGm081zV2uWR5QF9Vs44une3n9Kz-hCSLJNS-SMfAycnIO3ctRUVM_MyPebYfvSFAntuqYWCgg5c-jfXM3AmLM9FS7QdZ5wCYzyOptypmUs9K7A0/s320/jbw20614.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585129616108772114" border="0" /></a>Equipped as I was with an adequate supply of green-tinted attire (not wearing green to a St. Patty's spanking party is like walking right into a spanking!), I still could not manage to get away with anything less than <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >five</span> spankings that night, at the hands of five separate spankers!<br /><br /><br />One of these fine gentlemen, you'll remember, had detailed to me a 500-word essay only weeks before -- an assignment which I completed in record time and even then, at 3-times the word requirement! (Or so I thought!) If you are curious as to this essay's contents and origins, you can read it <a href="http://solemnlyswear-uptonogood.blogspot.com/2011/02/assigned-essay.html">here</a>. :D<br /><br />I had thought, upon <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZASTMrAWicB6YnBp_zK_6wWm2B1pDAg4Tc7FDshN3E8GorK-s6sdWAu219hipzRKigL4Q9V0d_EKU1k1MeBYajEVQmQKAzeMWB3eI4EoOFGbb2pTuDI6qa1y-eJcldKFK4qe-VnZn1oE/s1600/legal_document_review.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 280px; height: 186px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZASTMrAWicB6YnBp_zK_6wWm2B1pDAg4Tc7FDshN3E8GorK-s6sdWAu219hipzRKigL4Q9V0d_EKU1k1MeBYajEVQmQKAzeMWB3eI4EoOFGbb2pTuDI6qa1y-eJcldKFK4qe-VnZn1oE/s320/legal_document_review.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585061498752806706" border="0" /></a>submission of my essay, that, if anything, he may be slightly peeved at having to read so <span style="font-style: italic;">many</span> words... Not the case, ladies and gentleman. In fact, allow me to quote for you from his particularly foreboding email response:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:130%;">"</span><span style=";font-family:'Cambria','serif';font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:Arial;">In all, the essay was delightful and </span></span><span style=";font-family:'Cambria','serif';font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:Arial;">I thank you for your clearly deta</span></span><span style=";font-family:'Cambria','serif';font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:Arial;">iled efforts that resulted in such a completely and utterly enjoyab</span></span><span style=";font-family:'Cambria','serif';font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:Arial;">le piece of reading material.<br /><br /></span></span> </div> <div style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> </div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:'Cambria','serif';font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:Arial;">However, and all that said,... </span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:'Cambria','serif';"><span style="font-family:Arial;">In your essay, only </span></span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:'Cambria','serif';"><span style="font-family:Arial;">217 words</span></span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:'Cambria','serif';"><span style="font-family:Arial;"> addressed the assigned issue.</span></span></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;" >Alas, for you, this well short of the prescribed 500.</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;" >We will 'talk'.</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" >"</span><br /><br /></div> <span style="font-style: italic;">What??</span> You can imagine, dear readers, my utter surprise! I should have known something like this would happen!!<br /><br />And "talk" we did -- He allowed me plenty of time to acclimate (both mentally AND physically :D...) to the party atmosphere, and then, near the close of the evening, finally approached.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVSimTTWxMnyIs4iWYr3YQ-ahIwxxjZsKV6LmM-9cvhP-V3v7d6VkyiMww95hCQXzqiC_pCuHGKmtNKHzOgc7Q_ap3lH_B1gB7kudrZlxsu1Nu4kGIYbRU4SHiG41FLxSio-oaDUZIbcE/s1600/AAKF001009.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 186px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVSimTTWxMnyIs4iWYr3YQ-ahIwxxjZsKV6LmM-9cvhP-V3v7d6VkyiMww95hCQXzqiC_pCuHGKmtNKHzOgc7Q_ap3lH_B1gB7kudrZlxsu1Nu4kGIYbRU4SHiG41FLxSio-oaDUZIbcE/s320/AAKF001009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585068335997681010" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">"We have something to discuss."<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">*gulp*</span></span><br /><br /><br />As I put down my water, he took the lead and steered me to the nearest open cubicle -- made up of tarp and plastic frames, these make-shift privacy cubes lined the walls of the room, each equipped with two chairs inside.<br /><br />He had me sit first, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gJFARQcwWW4/TYJePVYubdI/AAAAAAAACdI/ib-wfQtmcOo/s1600/spank05.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gJFARQcwWW4/TYJePVYubdI/AAAAAAAACdI/ib-wfQtmcOo/s320/spank05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585130105424735698" border="0" /></a>and stood over me, arms folded, reminding me why this "discussion" was necessary. With particulars out of the way, he ordered me up, sat down himself, and got right down to business.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">"Why are your pants still up?"</span><br /><br />I must have turned five-thousand shades of red :)<br /><br />A year ago, dear readers, I would have been positively paralyzed -- I still remember the first time someone (a lovely gentleman whom I met across the water, no less) told me to take my pants down myself... I got as far as putting my fingers on the button, but then he had to get up and do the rest for me, all the while sparing no words about what happens to naughty girls who don't follow directions...<br /><br />This time, with a little more practice in me, I was able to manage it with only a small hesitation, and almost immediately found myself over his lap, jeans around my knees.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AVCdVDP_KOs/TYJpEpPlCgI/AAAAAAAACdY/DhMMkHijzLE/s1600/pb01b.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AVCdVDP_KOs/TYJpEpPlCgI/AAAAAAAACdY/DhMMkHijzLE/s320/pb01b.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585142016404425218" border="0" /></a>My panties came down, and he started spanking -- by then I was already sufficiently "warmed up," from several other similar encounters through the night, so it pretty much started hurting right from the very beginning!<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">"<span style="font-style: italic;">How</span> many</span> words was your essay supposed to be?"<br /><br />I am already squirming. "500, Sir..." It is still so hard to make words come out of my mouth when I am bottom-up, bare, over someone's lap...!<br /><br />He immediately stops and leans over me, his voice direct and commanding, <span style="font-size:130%;">"Speak up so I can hear you."</span><br /><br />"500!" The spanking continues, harder.<br /><br />"And how many were actually <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >on</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> topic?</span>"<br /><br />"217, Sir!"<br /><br />His hand doesn't stop as he goes on to tell me that, while I write very well and he enjoyed reading, I would do better in future to mind his instructions more carefully...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4Jlo7Muf56U/TYJh9_MXSWI/AAAAAAAACdQ/aYtAjq0fnqc/s1600/GBSpic08.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4Jlo7Muf56U/TYJh9_MXSWI/AAAAAAAACdQ/aYtAjq0fnqc/s320/GBSpic08.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585134205456042338" border="0" /></a><br />"So, we already know you are good with words. But how are you with numbers?"<br /><br />Oh <span style="font-style: italic;">nooo</span>!! Math! <span style="font-style: italic;">Spanking and math do not mix!!</span><br /><br />"How many words short were you?"<br /><br />Luckily, dear readers, I had pre-calculated this sum, in the off-chance that he should happen to ask at this very moment, when the last thing my mind is capable of doing is any kind of mathematical acrobatics -- It still took me a moment to recall, however, with my bottom on fire, and knowing full well that a wrong answer would be even further detrimental to my current predicament...<br /><br />"Two hundred.... eighty-three, Sir?"<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">"Correct. Just be glad I'm not giving you 283 whacks."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVcABfWEocLhxUruYm_wT6pIfExHzZdwx41FD1RcaP1j_C_Nag9Np6zSm8iA-5sHpTsy3sXClaPvfrnEmJ7FS7-Fe8YvPCC6Ia1AnCzh4Rz3iuadF3wQDACbBtQ7McLK5pZ6o2ebZrtW0/s1600/irish4.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVcABfWEocLhxUruYm_wT6pIfExHzZdwx41FD1RcaP1j_C_Nag9Np6zSm8iA-5sHpTsy3sXClaPvfrnEmJ7FS7-Fe8YvPCC6Ia1AnCzh4Rz3iuadF3wQDACbBtQ7McLK5pZ6o2ebZrtW0/s320/irish4.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585143888813017714" border="0" /></a></span>Eeeep! Yes -- yes Sir, I am very, <span style="font-style: italic;">very</span> glad!! Thank you! I promise, next time, you <span style="font-style: italic;">will</span> find the minimum word requirement, and <span style="font-style: italic;">beyond</span> -- even if it takes me a whole novel!<br /></div>Raynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6406855854975162880.post-38791073209166841362011-03-11T08:08:00.001-05:002011-03-11T08:08:00.062-05:00His Hands<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNpnauc-uCphg2OCxiV6a1KD2zILIi9uXT1RszrUUHKfR9LGYlzMA8C_zNTQbtUp2GquczCZQCdkYEM_Z6b-27EiE4UlzHQhAGRWSb8jZJ6scGzGmQ1o4aVz68gwoBJDe3DT2lUpn19ys/s1600/adamspreview.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 314px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNpnauc-uCphg2OCxiV6a1KD2zILIi9uXT1RszrUUHKfR9LGYlzMA8C_zNTQbtUp2GquczCZQCdkYEM_Z6b-27EiE4UlzHQhAGRWSb8jZJ6scGzGmQ1o4aVz68gwoBJDe3DT2lUpn19ys/s320/adamspreview.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582309405039930498" border="0" /></a>What is the first thing you look at when you see a promising prospect for the first time? When you're walking down the street, people-watching? Male or female, opposite or same gender -- what is the <span style="font-style: italic;">very first thing</span> you tend to notice about a person?<br /><br />Where do your eyes go <span style="font-style: italic;">fi</span><span style="font-style: italic;">rst</span>, on a purely superficial level?<br /><br />Yes, lovely people, we are talking purely, unabashedly, blatantly, and beautifully superfluous -- usually I am much more a proponent of emotional/spiritual/mental connection and all of that -- but that, of course, would come later. Right now, I'm just talking down and dirty gut-reaction physical attention -- what grabs yours in those first few moments?<br /><br />:D<br /><br />For my part, my eager eyes go right to his hands. (Or hers, depending on the day... But we'll leave that for another story =D)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6dN5hKYupwA/TXharB9sQAI/AAAAAAAACb4/S3VWPfcKQP0/s1600/only_common_sense.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6dN5hKYupwA/TXharB9sQAI/AAAAAAAACb4/S3VWPfcKQP0/s320/only_common_sense.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582311433433792514" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It's only logical, right?<br /><br />I mean... Well. You know what I mean :D<br /><br /><br />Not only do I notice, firstly, his hands in themselves, but, quite often, I find myself also making mental note of where they are, how he holds them, what they are doing when he is not necessarily thinking about them...<br /><br />The way a person chooses to carry his hands can say quite a lot about him: his confidence, his comfort level, his personality... Even acting as an indicator for mood -- is he feeling thoughtful, pensive? Is he agitated? Is he feeling easy-going, or tightly-wound and tense?<br /><br />Recently, I stumbled upon a lovely little compendium of body-language information, all about the placement of one's hands. It's easy enough to find, if you care to look for such things. Now, don't quote me on this -- I cannot verify the sources or the truthfulness of this information, but, all the same, it is certainly quite fun to read...! :D<br /><br />I will share with you two of my personal favorites:<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />1) Steepled Hands</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uxi8V-KSGWk/TXlCO7qyhPI/AAAAAAAACcA/ml7MKvo--uE/s1600/8-42-12.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 189px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uxi8V-KSGWk/TXlCO7qyhPI/AAAAAAAACcA/ml7MKvo--uE/s320/8-42-12.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582566037405205746" border="0" /></a><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">"People who are confident, superior types or who use minimal or restricted body gestures often use this gesture, and, by doing so, they signal their confident attitude. It is frequently used in superior/subordinate interaction and it can be an isolated gesture which indicates a confident or 'know-it-all' attitude. Managers often use this gesture position when giving instructions or advice to subordinates and it is particularly common among accountants, lawyers, managers and the like."</span><br /></p>It would also be "particularly common," I daresay, among Headmasters lecturing wayward students before administering a caning...<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">2) "Superiority confidence gesture"</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> (honestly, just who comes up with these names??)</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNcvow80U3IrZxzo7Mmei3E0ARPM5v4-e5Ev2drFJFaxyXsZTAFnK2P8B4DsbyWc72BDhDPGjkEyLwE1XTTAgLVbZsArnylyZiulNFIzY_aqvmHibIJcrJ2RJ5j2CMT04FsByamVTaJs4/s1600/8-44-1234.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 138px; height: 304px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNcvow80U3IrZxzo7Mmei3E0ARPM5v4-e5Ev2drFJFaxyXsZTAFnK2P8B4DsbyWc72BDhDPGjkEyLwE1XTTAgLVbZsArnylyZiulNFIzY_aqvmHibIJcrJ2RJ5j2CMT04FsByamVTaJs4/s320/8-44-1234.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582567951285710946" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">"Superiority/Confidence Gesture - Several prominent male members of the British Royal Family are noted for their habit of walking with their head up, chin out and one palm gripping the other hand behind the back. Not only does British Royalty use this gesture; it is common among Royalty of many countries. On the local scene, the gesture is used by the policeman patrolling his beat, the headmaster of the local school when he is walking through the school yard, senior military personnel and others in a position of authority."</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">*shiver*</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Oh, ...my. :)</span><br /><br />So let's hear it, lads and lasses -- what's <span style="font-style: italic;">your</span> guilty pleasure in those first few moments of visual contact...?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mo3Hu_LLewk/TXhZipcg7OI/AAAAAAAACbw/6GAoV_50Lo8/s1600/customer-service-busy.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 166px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mo3Hu_LLewk/TXhZipcg7OI/AAAAAAAACbw/6GAoV_50Lo8/s320/customer-service-busy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582310189901606114" border="0" /></a>Raynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17858359237159893643noreply@blogger.com15