Today’s treat is a personal reflection on why I love spanking.
You may find my reasons resonate with yourself too.
I’m very sorry to hear that your kinky side is currently bringing you such sorrow, rather than joy.
But you are certainly not alone. All across the world there are people whose upbringing and social taboos have made them deeply ashamed of who they are, and how they feel.
What you’re experiencing now is no different to what generations of gay people felt before coming out. That crushing sense of shame, a feeling of somehow being all wrong. Human beings are social animals, in the past, being cast out from the tribe could have been a lethal consequence of not fitting in. So we’re mentally wired to feel a deep unease when we don’t conform.
Being kinky, like being gay, is simply a sexual preference – albeit one that goes against the mainstream hetero-normal view of what sex “should be”.
In 2017, no right-minded person would think of shaming someone for being gay. Society is more accepting of different sexual preferences now. Your challenge is to become more accepting of yourself – to build up your own esteem, to come to understand that your kinks make you unique and deeply interesting, not weird and dirty.
Please don’t develop an anxiety about people “knowing your secret”. I know people can be malicious, and sometimes what’s said or done in the bedroom can be used to bully and humiliate. But as I wrote in the post on sexual confidence, it’s an important life skill to learn to dismiss shamers and bullies.
“It’s a grown-up thing, man. You wouldn’t understand…”
Here’s a message worth repeating, for all those embarrassed and ashamed of what turns them on.
Many misinterpret the powerful erotic feelings of their sexuality as something bad, deviant or filthy. But really, eroticism is a thrilling energy. One of the most powerful creative urges you possess.
Your fantasies are a gift. Embrace them, harness them, enjoy them.
A new story of statuesque submissiveness
One particular fairy-tale from my childhood has always haunted my dreams.
You may roam around my home,
He said, go anywhere you please.
Except the library in the tower
What a most peculiar tease.
One day bored, she disobeyed.
Sneaking up the twisty stairs, and there,
On a plinth beneath the steepling shelves
A tome awaiting one who dared.
Curiosity overtook the impetuous girl,
Heaving open the hefty umber book
She knelt amid the misty sunbeams,
And consumed it in a single look.
But disobedience has consequence
The minx had read an enchanted scrawl
Now high in the clouds she’s petrifying,
Slowly transforming… into a doll.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be one of my dolls. Not permanently, of course, that would quickly become very tiresome. Maybe just a hour or two. Long enough for someone to play with me, to stroke my cheeks and comb my hair.
Please, don’t misunderstand me. I’m not a narcissist, but I do know I’m beautiful. I see heads turn when I pass by, long leering looks as strangers admire me. I watch as their eyes rove across my pretty face, quickly, trying to avoid the awkwardness of accidental eye contact. As if my own eyes were too bright for mere mortals to behold, and they risked staring into the centre of the sun. Then, their gaze will usually drop, to my slender neck, to linger lewdly on the small round mounds of my breasts.
I notice when others appreciate my slender body, the hourglass curves of my torso and waist. I know those who pass behind me will glance furtively backwards, trying to catch a glimpse of my perfect pert bottom. I often wonder: is this how a statue feels? To be an object of rare and graceful beauty, somehow contrived from the disorder of the universe, existing to enrich all those who gaze upon it.
And when I think of myself as a statue, or a doll, as an object that arouses others – it excites me.
One of the happiest moments of my life was when my hungry mind began devouring Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Quite unexpectedly, I turned the page and stumbled across the story of Pygmalion and Galatea. That day I wept tears of joy, which trickled down my cheeks to splatter silently on his precious words. Across two millennia, this exquisite Roman poet taught me that I wasn’t weird. That I wasn’t alone, that the ancients also adored and eroticised the beautiful figures they crafted from stone.
Soon I learned there was a name for it too: Agalmatophilia – a sexual attraction to a statue, doll, mannequin or other immobile figure, and the sexual arousal of such transformations too. I began to think of myself as Galatea, the beautiful statue etched from marble by the sculptor Pygmalion, the outcome of his magnificent labour of love.
Yet, despite all I’ve learned since about the wonders of sex, still nothing turns me on more than the thought of becoming a doll…
With the concluding part now posted, here’s a reminder of part one…
“Getting caught” is an excellent way to earn a spanking. And highly erotic for both parties too. After all, being kinky is just playtime for grown-ups, and I know most of you have hearts of gold and wouldn’t dream of doing anything truly bad in real life (i.e. being spiteful, hurtful or abusive).
Instead, the whole notion of “naughtiness” is an invention. A game of mischievous disobedience and breaking taboos. So if you want to trigger a spanking, what better way than being “caught” playing to your favourite spanking story.
You’re getting excited at very thought, aren’t you? Well, you know what you should do…
I want your beautiful mind
Your coy and subtle intelligence
Your filthy imagination filled
Feverish with fantasies
Come hither reader
Stroke the page
Conjure the words and make them real
I don’t think so.
If you met me in real life you’d never guess what I get up to in the privacy of my own home. In public, I wear a completely different mask.
If you want to know if someone likes spanking, just ask them.
“Have you ever been spanked?”
“Did you like it?”
Having the sexual confidence to ask intimate questions when the mood is right is a very attractive trait to possess…
Come be my leading lady
I’ve a one-off erotic drama
Improvised and unscripted
Created just for you
Don’t worry, I’ll direct things
No need to learn the words
Or justify your filthiness
I know what you can’t express
There’s no shame upon this stage
Turn your mind off, and just be
Nor any need for rolling cameras
My keen blue eyes see further
Than any lens of glass can see
Peering deep inside to glimpse
That secret side
You love to hide
Come star in my performance
I need only one
Be my focus of attention
Be the centre of the sun