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Spanking Theatre

Spanking stories for the theatre between your ears

Month

July 2019

Your favourite Naughty Game?

spankingtheatre:

It’s always interesting to see what fantasies and activities are most popular, so here’s all the naughty games I’ve posted, along with their likes. No surprise to see how popular Inspections for Girls has been, it now has over 900 fans…

  1. Inspections for Girls (964 likes)
  2. Squirm (463)
  3. Panty Pulling Chair (352)
  4. Bottom Inspection (336)
  5. Sensations (276)
  6. Dildo Ritual (255)
  7. Clothesline (191)
  8. Secret Reading (179)
  9. Ups and Downs (177)
  10. Words (168)
  11. Throne (146)
  12. Straddle (117)
  13. Naked Reading (114)
  14. Naughty Panties (109)
  15. Figging with Ginger (103)
  16. Wet Panties (90)
  17. Spanking Machine (86)
  18. Fucking on a Train (61)
  19. Strip Search (60) [new!]
  20. Inspections for Boys (51) [new!]
  21. Bottom Wiping (34) [new!]
  22. Drawing Lines (33)

And new series of Naughty Games for Couples has begun, now with three activities to play:

  1. The Hour (103 likes)
  2. Envelopes (57) [new!]
  3. Grand Tour (39)

Do explore, and enjoy!

In case you missed them, three new naughty games have been added recently too, plus another one for couples…

3 New Spanking Stories

I posted a brand new story this week, a treat who all those who love to drift off into naughty daydreams. In case you missed them, my last three stories are:

And as a special bonus, readers might also appreciate this popular recent post:

Daydreaming

A spanking story

The door to the detention room had opened without warning. 

She looked down at what she’d written, now spanning several handwritten pages, initially neat,  but then steadily deteriorating in presentational quality. as she’d entered the Zone. That moment had unleashed a flood of words, in a sudden hot torrent of erotic self-expression whose candour had taken her completely by surprise. 

She’d been expecting his return for a while. In fact, he had promised it. He had left her here alone to write, alone in detention with just a pen and her thoughts, which ironically where the two very things that had gotten her into so much trouble in the first place.

She had finished writing about 10 minutes ago, having said everything she had intended to say. Enough for writer’s regret to set in, to become acutely self-conscious of the confession she’d just poured onto her pages. Which Sir would soon be reading, and from which Sir would soon learn all of her secrets.

For the past two hours, she’d been sitting alone in classroom 21A. Yet several hours before, she’d been sitting on the very same chair surrounded by her classmates, attending one of Mr Mortimer’s lessons. 

Strict, dreamy Mr M was her Maths teacher. He wasn’t toweringly tall, but he did have a certain presence, a quietly-spoken compelling demeanour, never domineering or bullying, but there was never any doubt his voice expected obedience from those who heard it. 

Yet she had disobeyed him. He had told the class to work on their own solution to a calculus problem, some esoteric application of partial differential equations. She normally excelled at this kind of challenge, but this morning she was distracted by more carnal thoughts. 

Her pen had hovered over her blank page, awaiting instructions from a mind that had decided to concentrate on matters other than higher-order geometry. Her eyes seemed to lose focus, as if the muscles responsible for their movement had grown weary, until she was absent-mindedly staring at her teacher. In her daze she hadn’t even realised how flirtatiously she’d been combing her fingers through her hair, and certainly hadn’t noticed her classmates’ sideways smirks. Not that her inattention was caused by indifference, on the contrary, Mr Mortimer’s class was the highlight of her academic week. 

She found herself lapsing into a daydream, a beguiling distortion of her current reality. Her mind began riffing on her teacher’s stern demeanour, the disapproving glance he’d given her when he’d noticed she wasn’t writing. Then, her imagination took over, escalating her situation into a thrilling fantasy. 

With surprising clarity, she dreamt her whole class had gotten into trouble. Each one of them having to write little confessions for Sir, who then lined them up at the front of the class to have their panties pulled down and their excitement inspected. 

She felt her pen move, clandestinely doodling…

It had been an extraordinary, pulse-quickening daydream. But just like the parabolic problem she was meant to be solving, her mental escape was fleeting, a trajectory that was always doomed to return to earth. Then reality resumed, her teacher’s characteristically stern voice asking her to remain behind and see him after class. As her friends tittered, a shock ran between her legs so intense that she almost peed herself.

She looked down in shock, and hurriedly turned the page with the obscene picture she’d scribbled, earnestly hoping no-one had managed to glimpse it.

She spent the remainder of the class calculating almost apologetically, not that her remorse stopped her panties from filling with a wetness of a very different kind. Eventually, the end of lesson bell rang, and she sat shame-faced, blushing brightly as her classmates filed past her, shooting a series of silent, teasing glances as they went.

When the last had left the room, she had stood, closing her textbook and gathering her possessions, before self-consciously smoothing down her skirt and advancing to the front of the class. 

“You wanted to see me Sir?” she’d asked, with a coy innocence that even she didn’t find particularly convincing.

He got straight to the point. 

“You are in my class to learn, young lady. This classroom is not a quiet place for students to drift off to their private little dreamworlds.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

She was shocked to hear herself apologise, basically admitting her guilt before she’d even had a chance to formulate an appropriate excuse. But Mr M was very charismatic, slightly intimidating even, and she didn’t want to lie to him.

“Report back here after lessons end today, young lady. Dismissed.”

“Yes Sir!” she said excitedly.

It took her a few moments to realise how ridiculous she sounded. She was being called back to be disciplined, probably to sit in detention like a silly little schoolgirl. Yet she had reacted to her sanction like she’d been nominated for some special honour. She hurried out of the classroom blushing furiously, not daring to meet her stern teacher’s gaze.

* * * 

At the end of the school day, she had arrived back in the classroom to find Sir waiting, and the subject of her detention essay already written on the blackboard in front of her.

“What I was daydreaming about”

She took her familiar seat, as he sternly explained his expectations. Her task for the afternoon was to write an essay on what had been so compelling that she’d zoned out of his lesson. He had other things to do, so would be back in two hours to read her work. 

On hearing this, she’d stammered a single question.

“M..must I write everything, Sir?”

“Everything, young lady.”

And then without another word, he left, closing the classroom door behind him.

She had spent the first 10 minutes alone utterly conflicted. Surely she couldn’t tell him the whole truth of what she’d been dreaming about – it was far too filthy. But what would she write instead? She suddenly felt very transparent, as if he had already read her like a book. She was sure he already knew that some kind of erotic fantasies were involved, even just through her giddy responses to his questions. If she made up something, she knew she’d just come across as silly and lame, nowhere near the adventurous young adult she believed herself to be.

Perhaps, she pondered, honesty really was the best policy. To admit spanking turned her on, and how she fantasised about him putting her over his knee almost every night, as she stroked herself to sleep.

So she had begun writing.

A couple of hours later, on his return, she’d handed her pages over, demurely and respectfully. He had sat down behind his own desk, and begun to read what she’d written, wordlessly and impassively.

Whilst she sat in trembling silence, awaiting his verdict.

* * *

Her essay went like this:

I have something to admit to you, Sir. I fantasise about you.

I fantasise about you being strict with me. I imagined it only last night, how you noticed my lack of inattention in class, my pen doodling aimlessly rather than scribbling studiously. 

In the interests of full disclosure, I include the image I was drawing in class this morning. 

As you can see, the scene depicts all 12 of our class bending over at the front of the room. I have drawn us all from behind, with our skirts lifted and our panties pulled right down, pooled around our ankles. You’ll note our socks were still pulled up high to the tops of our calves, as I’m sure you’ll agree, there’s no excuse for slovenliness. 

You’ll see twelve bare bottoms staring out from the page. I have to confess that in a study period earlier this afternoon I embellished my original scribble to add additional accuracy, drawing the hairstyle of each of my classmates, so the odd lock of hair is the only aspect of identifiable individuality visible from behind their legs as they touch their toes.

I am there too, of course. My own legs parted, a few subtle pen strokes depicting the folds of my slit. I drew myself that way because in my fantasy, that’s how I imagine you wanting me.

I’ve drawn you too, Sir. You’re standing behind us, surveying our row of a dozen cute bare bottoms. You’re holding a long thick wooden ruler in your right hand – because we are all going to be spanked. 

I should explain that I drew you with a ruler because that’s what I use on myself when I’m home all alone, when I imagine you spanking me. 

You might also appreciate the fact that in my reverie, I imagined a whole backstory to this scene. Would you care to know how we all came to be bending over at the front of the class, with our bare bottoms on display?

Yes, I think I should explain.

I was imagining that you’d noticed how the concentration levels of our class had been waning. How our expressions had become dreamy and distracted. Understandably, this had displeased you, and we all should certainly have known better. After all, we are the most senior pupils in the school.

So you had decided to confront the issue with your characteristic candour. And we had arrived in class to find a single sheet of paper on our desks. You began to address us directly.

“I have a question for you all, class, And I want you to think about it very carefully.”

You turned to the blackboard, and began to write something slowly. 

M A S

I wonder if you could feel the weight of a dozen eyes on your cute backside. Lingering admiringly.

M A S T U R

There were chuckles and tittering as what you were slowly writing become apparent – and then inevitable, to everyone’s general amazement.

M A S T U R B A T I O N

“How many of you masturbate whilst thinking about me?” you asked us starkly.

A few shrieks of surprise were followed by nervous giggles. But no one dared break the subsequent silence.

“Well, since no one will admit to it, I’m going to have to line you all up at the front of the class, and check inside your panties.”

Your threat provoked gasps.

“Since I wouldn’t expect any pupil to attend my class with wet panties, I can only assume anyone I find with a mess in their underwear has been remembering what they get up to at night as I was writing on the blackboard.”

“So, before I inspect you all, and determine the truth, I shall offer you all one last chance to confess.”

“If I am the subject of your fantasies, and you masturbate whilst thinking of me, you may write out the nature of your fantasy on the page in front of you.”

“If you have nothing to confess, and I discover the insides of your panties are dry, you may assert on your page that you do not fantasise about me, and nothing further will happen.”

“If you fail to confess, and I discover your panties are actually soaked, I shall remove you from my class, and you will have the pleasure of old Mr Barnaby’s tutorage instead.”

You felt that was a much more threatening sanction than spanking the offending girl’s bottom. I think you know many of us lie awake in bed stroking to exactly that disciplinary eventuality. And so you sought to make use of that.

“If you do confess, you will be put over my knee and immediately spanked. As clearly what you crave is a good hard spanking on your bare bottom.”

“You have 5 minutes to write your response. Then your inspections will begin…”

By this point, I’m sure you’re intensely curious about what I would have written. So let me tell you…

Sometimes, when I get home before anybody else, I go straight to my room. I don’t even change out of my uniform, I pick up the thick wooden ruler I keep on my desk, and bend over. I imagine your deep, stern voice scolding me, telling me that I’m going to be spanked. Our school rules are strict and very clear, skirts will be raised and underwear lowered. So that’s exactly what I do, I bare my bottom in the little erotic theatre of my own bedroom.

I hope my candour isn’t too embarrassing for you, Sir. But you did ask me to include everything. 

I hold my ruler behind me, raising it up as far as I can – before I bring it down on my poor little bum with a dramatic smack. I imagine it’s you who is spanking me, Sir. I know you smack hard, but also that it’s for my own good. 

After I’ve given myself a dozen hard smacks, I place my free hand underneath me, and rub myself in urgent circles whilst I bring the ruler down, repeatedly, until I feel I can’t take anymore. Then I imagine being spread and inspected, I know regular inspections are a vital aspect of any good disciplinary regime.

When you’ve examined me, you send me to stand in the corner, placing the ruler between my sore pink cheeks. Just at the right angle so the edge of the ruler parts my swollen pussy lips, collecting the sticky dew that drips from me. I stand in the corner with my arms folded behind my back and the ruler jutting out from between my sore pink cheeks Sir, and I think of you.

That’s what I do when I’m alone, Sir. I spank myself until my bottom is hot and stinging, and imagine it’s you who is disciplining me. I’m sure the other girls would have similar stories, but I’ll let them speak for themselves. Perhaps they’ll find themselves seated where I’m sitting now soon, telling you their stories.

But I was also imagining what happened next, after you’d read our confessions.

There would have to be spankings. Long, hard, painful spankings on the bare bottom for every one of us. I imagined myself bending over at the end of the line, my skirt lifted, my messy panties already tugged down to the floor. You had already moved down the line, splaying our bums to inspect our excitement. Now we were being dragged from the line one by one, to the lone chair you’d placed at the front of the classroom.

I imagined peeping back on the unfolding scene through the narrow gap between my own slightly parted thighs. It was enough to see each one of my classmates being put across your knee. Once skirts were flipped up, and bottoms bared, I imagined you spanking each girl with the wooden ruler.

I imagined each one of my classmates kicking and squealing childishly as they got their thoroughly deserved spankings. You would spank each one to tears, then lead her back to her original place in the line. You’d tuck her skirt into her waist, and fold her arms behind her back so she couldn’t rub. Then she’d stand there sobbing and sniffling, and her bright pink cheeks displayed for your appreciation.

Eventually, it would be my turn. I’d feel your hand grip my arm, dragging me upright, then pulling me towards the spanking chair. Before I knew it, you’d have put me over your knee.

There would be the usual cursory bottom inspection, of course, tugging my cheeks apart to ascertain how excited I was. Whereupon you’d see my bare slit glisten, conspicuously and disgracefully.

But my spanking would be different from all the others. I would take my spanking stoically, impressing you with my grown-up self-control. When it was all over, I’d be the only one standing in the line not crying. Standing proudly with my red bottom on display, a glistening wetness just visible between my legs.

So, now you know, Sir. That was what I was daydreaming. This has been my confession. Know now that I’m sitting in a little puddle of my own excitement. I must commend you, this assignment has been a most effective means of discipline. Now I see what I deserve with absolute clarity.

* * *

He said nothing when he had finished reading. He remained seated behind his desk, motionless, almost statuesque, not even acknowledging her and the filthy fantasies she’d written, or the obscene accompanying cartoon. It was as if the shock of her sordid behaviour had petrified him. And so they both sat there in silence, her heart thumping in her chest.

All she could do was watch and wait, studying him intently for even the tiniest clue to what he might be thinking. Was he disgusted by what she’d confessed? And now considering whether to throw her out of his class?  Or was he on the verge of abruptly standing, to haul his chair to the front of the classroom? She might only be seconds away from being grasped by the wrist, and put over his knee. She throbbed at the very thought.

Then, as she watched him, she noticed something. How his expression had subtly changed. He was no longer focused on her pages, but was now gazing idly at some indeterminate point far beyond. A visceral thrill ran through her as she realised what that meant. 

Sir was daydreaming. 

Unseen in his reverie, she sat in her own little sticky puddle, and smiled.

.

.

.

@spankingtheatre 2019

Originally posted at spankingtheatre.tumblr.com.

You’re welcome to reblog and share.

Self-Spanking Challenge #15: Fire and Ice

spankingtheatre:

The 15th instalment of the Self-Spanking Challenge! Newcomers can find previous challenges here.


Challenge – Day 15

Contrasting sensations can amplify each other. Pain and pleasure. Silence and noise. Hot and cold. You’ll be familiar with the hot ache of arousal, and the fiery stinging heat of a good hard spanking, so in this challenge you’re going to couple that warmth with a completely different sensation, the seasonally-appropriate, cool numbing chill of ice…


To begin, make some ice cubes. Put a tray into the fridge if you haven’t any ready, and wait for them to freeze. Then put them into a bowl of water, which will help take off the frost and melt away any sharp edges.

If you’re playing in your bedroom, put a towel or two on your bed to keep your covers dry.

The idea of this challenge is to alternate between spankings and ice play. For instance, you might begin by circling your breasts, watching as you make your nipples harden. Follow it up with a series of spanks to warm up your bottom.

Then lie down and nestle an ice cube in little dimple of your belly button. Your job is to make sure it doesn’t slide off. A test of your self-control as you feel the ice begin to melt, its cool water dribbling down your heated skin.

Follow this with another quick spanking. Extra hard if you let the ice cube slip.

Then try pulling down your panties and placing an ice cube in the gusset. Then slowly, pull your panties up. Where will you feel the chill nip of the ice? On your bottom hole, your perineum? Boys might feel it against their balls, or the base of the cock. Girls might feel it slip between their lips, or numbing the hot little bulb of their clit.

Pull your panties up until they’re tight and snug against your crotch, leave them in position for a minute, whilst the ice chills and melts, as you feel the trickle of meltwater soaking your panties, mingling with your own arousal. In effect, this a variation of Ups and Downs, where you’re pulling your underwear up and down until the ice is completely melted. And when the ice is gone it’s time for your spanking.

You may have your spanking on your cold wet panties, or you can take them off and have your bottom smacked bare. Either way, aim for a good thorough bottom warming.

When your bottom is hot and pink, get another ice cube to cool it down. To avoid numbing your fingers, you might want to hold the ice cube with a cloth or flannel. Trace the ice across your cheeks, paradoxically you may feel your bottom getting hotter, as the bitter cold is interpreted by the nerve endings in your skin as a burning sensation. You may feel the muscles of your vagina and anus involuntarily clench, hard…

Keep reading

What a hot day it’s been!

And tonight I plan to post a brand new story, so the temperature in your bedroom may get even hotter…

But what better time to play with some ice?

Would you spank at girl at her request, if she’s had a stressful day at work or feeling anxious and needing release?

Yes.

Panties down.

Ups and Downs: Part 1

spankingtheatre:

A story of appreciation and discipline, in two parts


I’m standing in disgrace at the front of the class, in a classroom that’s not really a classroom. 

I must confess, I didn’t take my assignment seriously. I thought it was all a bit of a giggle. Now here I am, my back to the rest of the class and my dress hitched up above my waist. I can hear my classmates scribbling busily behind me, they’ve been warned that any dawdling and they’ll be dragged up here to join me. Even so, I wonder how many have risked looking up from their pages to sneak a peek at me.

I feel the tremble of approaching footsteps again. I hold my breath, bracing myself for what I know happens next. A single whack from a wooden ruler stings my left bottom cheek. I scrunch my mouth shut, I don’t want to give the class the satisfaction of hearing my discomfort.

Of course, the smack to my bum is more than just chastisement. It’s also my signal. I obediently lift my hands from the top of my head and reach downwards to my sides, my fingers sliding inside my knicker elastic. I bend at my waist, slowly pulling my panties all the way down to my ankles. From bitter experience I know if I attempt to pull down my underwear too quickly, I’ll get a volley of smacks across the backs of my thighs. 

So I must pull down my panties slowly… Very… Slowly… And that means lingering in the most shameful position of all. The one where my bare bum juts out towards the class, making my cheeks spread apart, admitting a breeze of cool air that tingles my most intimate parts. For several seconds as I lower my panties down my calves, I can’t help but reveal my bottom hole and the little slit that lies just beneath, and all its secret folds. The moment my panties reach my ankles I leap up, bolt upright, replacing my hands on the top of my head, my face burning, knowing I’ve just exposed my everything.

Behind me, I just know my classmates are surreptitiously looking up from their essays, sneaking sly looks at the pink patches now spreading across my newly exposed flesh. I know this because that’s exactly what I do when others occupy my current position. And then the footsteps recede again, and I’m left alone.

Waiting.

Blushing.

Throbbing.

All too soon I hear the footsteps return. The next whack is on my bare bum, applied to the sore patch now developing on my right bottom cheek. This is my cue to bend down and pull up my panties – slowly of course – allowing all those witnessing my disgrace another good long look between my legs.

My skin is now exquisitely sensitive, I can feel the material of my underwear tickling as it passes up my thighs. Then there’s a moment when my gusset nestles between my intimate lips just before I roll the rest over the tender flesh of my newly spanked bottom. My obligation done, my hands fly back to the top my head, and I wait for the dread thud of approaching footsteps again.

On the next stinging whack, I’ll pull my panties down again. 

Whack, up, wait. 

Whack, down, wait. 

Up and Down. Up and Down.

My slow-motion spanking will continue until the ruler-wielder is satisfied I’ve learned my lesson. Though I must confess, when I’ve watched this exquisite bottom-warming show from the classroom seats: I’ve never wanted it to stop. 

Does that make me a bad girl?

Keep reading

Next in the alphabetical retrospective of past stories is Ups and Downs, a two part long-form story that explores the wonder of mentorship, and the appreciation of strict discipline. 

In fact, the major themes of this story with be familiar to any who have read and understood my last post on why we pull down your panties. If you haven’t, I’d recommend reading that first.

One key theme is the erotic theatre of the
undressing ritual, a deceptively simple act capable of flooding a submissive girl’s mind with a heady mixture of trepidation, excitement and shame.

But the story deals with deeper psychological themes, such as what it means to submit oneself to physical discipline. During the story you’ll encounter good girls, who submit willingly to their discipline, and so are rewarded accordingly. But you’ll also encounter a bad girl, haughty, stubborn and resentful, who attitude to a spanking is very different indeed.

Who would you prefer to answer to?

A strict governess who whacked your bare bottom, and sent you to bed angry and unsatisfied?

Or a strict headmistress who ensured you were always soaking wet before she punished you? One who always sent you away grateful that she cared enough to steer and discipline you?

You may read Ups and Downs, and make up your own mind…

Why We Pull Down Your Panties

All naughty girls know the consequences of misbehaving, even if they’re yet to actually experience it themselves.

A good hard spanking on the bare bottom.

But have you ever contemplated why we disciplinarians always pull down your panties?

One obvious reason is the highly charged erotic theatre of the undressing ritual, a simple act that can simultaneously flood a naughty girl’s mind with a heady mixture of trepidation, excitement and shame.

Some girls think their panties must come down because a spanking on bare skin hurts more. But in reality, a barrier of thin fabric rarely has much moderating effect, and could easily be negated by pulling the panties up tight to expose her buttocks anyway. So dispensing with protective cover isn’t a strong reason to pull them down at all.

A more compelling reason it is provides an opportunity for her to confirm her consent. When a disciplinarian tells her to pull down her own panties, they are offering her an option: she can acquiesce to their instructions and signal her willingness to submit to her impending punishment, or she can assert her right to say no and call a halt the scene. 

Another part of the reason is, of course, that spankers tend to find the buttocks and the intimate areas that lie within both aesthetically beautiful and sensually arousing. Even though disciplinarians often prefer to keep their appreciation to themselves, especially when needing to project a stern, austere professional demeanour. After all, a girl who reports to be spanked should be thinking about the smacks on her bottom, not how pretty it looks.

But perhaps the most important reason we pull down your panties is because it allows us to see how excited you are.

To we disciplinarians, little details matter. We notice the sticky smears inside your underwear as you slip them down your thighs, and the glistening wetness of your slit that you do your best to hide. We know arousal prior to punishment is inseparable from the act of physical discipline. It is not a mere side-effect, but something just as important as the pain you’ll soon be experiencing.

As stories like Abstract Art and Ups and Downs demonstrate, the discovery of a sticky mess in the panties of one about to be spanked speaks volumes.

A wet slit tells a disciplinarian something she dares not say aloud: that her brattiness is an act, and her protests a charade. Her arousal demonstrates that in reality, she needs this discipline. It might even reveal how much she craves it.

We disciplinarians inspect those we put across our knees to assess how much this spanking will actually hurt. We know any girl who bends over with a dripping slit will already be high on a heady cocktail of arousal hormones, her body awash with adrenaline, estradiol and oxytocin. Her spanking might still hurt, but we know it will only be a transient sting, her pain soon transmuted to a fuzzy pleasure by the endorphins it triggers.

When a girl with a wet slit is being spanked, we know it is because she needs to be spanked.

To take your spanking like a good girl, is to submit without fuss. Aroused, contrite and accepting.

But what if a girl is spanked without being aroused at all?

An unaroused girl is one who had not anticipated her spanking, one who’ll receive little satisfaction from her punishment, one who will be dismissed with a bottom that’s hot, pink and sore, uncomfortably stinging and throbbing. 

This is what happens to Bad Girls. Those who receive abrupt, sudden punishments. The ones taken unawares, whose misbehaviour results in a wrist being grasped, to be dragged over a lap or bent over in front of the class. Bad Girls are not aroused because they didn’t think their misdemeanour would ever be discovered, they believed they’d got away with it.

But now her skirt is being raised and her panties are being tugged down. True punishment spankings are always performed without delay, so the miscreant doesn’t have time to get aroused. Not for her the mercy of visiting the headmistress after school, clit hard and pussy moist after a quick rubbing in a nearby toilet cubicle. Bad Girls are spanked immediately. Their pleas ignored.

Her disciplinarian nudges a Bad Girl’s legs apart, noticing how the lips of her slit are slim and dry, not swollen and puffy. In this state, two dozen hard whacks with the cane, slipper or wooden ruler can suffice. Her arousal will come later, as she stands in the corner with her red cheeks on display, or replays her humiliation as she lies on her bed, with her fingers between her legs.

A Bad Girl rarely feels contrition, and only begins to regret her naughtiness as her bottom reddens. She resents being punished as she doesn’t really feel she’s done anything wrong. She may kick and whine and struggle and cry, but we disciplinarians already know what to expect. We have foreseen it.

Not that we needed to read your mind. A bare slit reveals everything we need to know.

And that is why we pull down your panties.

Thunderstorm

spankingtheatre:

image

When clouds above are dark and heavy

And the soggy air a smothering fug

When the first low rumbles echo in our ears

And tremble deep inside our tums

That’s when we share it

Just a glance, then without a word

We drop our clothes right where we stand

A puddle of garments left behind

As if we’d melted in the sultry heat

Hips sashaying as you recede

Just as the first raindrops splatter down

Bursting joyously on your naked skin

How I want to stay and stand and stare

At my cherished porcelain beauty

Now so vibrantly luminous

Under these drab battleship skies

But, I must go, and fetch the cane

Heavier drops patter on my head

As all around, the treetops writhe

Following footsteps in the cool lush grass

Until I find you waiting at the garden’s end

Already bent over the gazebo rail

Your slender legs spread so expectantly

Staring out across the golden fields

Glowing still under glowering skies

Witness the tempest’s dark stain spread

Across the sky, amid the clouds

As milk might spill into a pond

Feel the prickle of expectation

Your lover’s breath upon your neck

My fingers wet, despite our shelter

I know you love to be caned in thunderstorms

To yell your soul at the angry skies

Keep reading

Do you have a type physically?

I think most people have a preference for what they find physically attractive. But it’s typically a range of characteristics rather than strict set of specific criteria. It’s unhealthy to consider other human beings as products, defined by their measurements.

People have hidden dimensions, facets that aren’t measured in centimetres. I have tried to be open-minded throughout my life, and have been rewarded with relationships with wonderful people.

The world has an adult population of 4.3 billion. That’s over 2 billion individuals of each gender, of every shape and size, (and if you’re bi, you get to choose from the whole lot). Somewhere in that gigantic thrumming crowd of humanity is not just someone who believes you’re just their type – there’s likely to be millions of them.

But physical attractiveness is only part of the story. In time you’ll come to realise some characteristics are much rarer, and much more important.

And that’s why I’ve come to realise that it is those who like spankings, who like fantasising about spankings, and who like experiencing spankings – they are the precious individuals who are just my type

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