Thursday, January 17, 2008

The Longest Equation Ever?


Somebody found my site with the keyword search "longest equation ever." I know this blog was not what they were looking for, but can you imagine if it was? Knowing my famous inability to count, the phrase "longest equation ever" in a spanking context is just about one of the most frightening things I can imagine. Sometimes just counting to twelve is the longest equation ever. I can't imagine having to do actual math during a punishment, nevermind algebra or trig or calculus, or the quantum physics of a disciplinary equation. Just yesterday I was the recipient of six of the best on my lunch break, but as I didn't have to count, I barely knew if we had reached six when we had reached six. (The marks left afterwards indicated we had!)

That said, I haven't had time to write this week due the actual practicing of said subject (spanking, not math). Hurray! Lots of ideas and things come up in the future. I'm starting work on a book--possibly a novel, possibly a collection of stories--and I know I'd love to have everyone reading this be a part of that, whether it's by commenting with suggestions or just letting me know if it's interesting enough. My husband and I have also been discussing a project of a more... um... visual nature. I will certainly keep you all in the loop on that!
Hope to write more on the weekend...
xoxo,
Abby

Thursday, January 10, 2008

Gossip Girlicious

The girls of Gossip Girl.

If you're not in love with Gossip Girl already, you need to be. As a veteran bookseller, I cannot believe how much I've come to adore the serialized version of Cicely von Zigesar's teen novels. As an afficionado of schoolgirls and teen trash, the surprise hit of the fall season (in the states, at least) is my new obsession.

When it was first advertised, I had no idea how good the show would actually be. Then one Saturday, I caught a marathon of the first few episodes. The show, set in Manhattan's Upper East Side, is a cross between Heathers and Cruel Intentions--all the cruelty, all the sex, all the teen drama, and all the guilty pleasures associated with loving such things. And the fashion! These school uniforms are to die for.



Taylor Momsen, as Jenny, the good girl going bad.



Blake Lively as Serena, the bad girl going good.


The writing is good. Strangely good. I am addicted, even if only for lines like, "You're like one of my father's Arabian horses: rode hard and put away wet." It can get a bit silly and melodramatic at times, but why wouldn't it? It's sexy girls in cute outfits, and occasionally no outfits. Don't tell me you can't put up with a little melodrama for that.
As I watch the keyword searches that bring people to my site, I've had quite the number of people looking for little girls lately. And yes, I do tend to use the phrase "little girl" fairly often. And here I am, using it again, but ha! I'm still a grown-up. More or less. With a penchant for the trauma of underage fashionistas. So for those of you looking for actual children, please go away (not that you got this far anyhow). But for those of you, like me, who love the fantasy of the naughty schoolgirl, believe me, these girls are very naughty. And very watchable. If you need something to do this weekend besides browse spanking blogs, there are full episodes posted for free here. There's never an actual spanking, but watch a bit then close your eyes. I'm sure you'll come up with something.


This show is even the reason I've started signing comments "xoxo." I'm that compelled. I think some of you out there will be as well. Though I wonder if the CW will ask me to take this post down... My apologies if anyone has wandered on to my blog when they really shouldn't have.

Tuesday, January 8, 2008

Foreplaying With Myself



It looks like she's waiting, doesn't she? She's resigned and ready. She's even a little excited. Her left foot rises as she wiggles her toes in anticipation. She's no stranger to this position. Even the wickedly split birch doesn't unnerve her. I'm ready, her eyes seem to say. Come and get me.

Perhaps, in this scenario, she has spent the day at home. After seeing her lover off to work, she does the dishes, reads two chapters of a historical novel, and starts a load of laundry. With no plans past that, she sits down at their shared computer and begins to browse through the folder she named Spank Me in her bookmarks. She visits her favorite blogs, then opens up the file where they save their newest video downloads. She drags ten titles into Real Player and begins to scan through them, starting each in the middle. Finding one with a speed she likes, a hand spanking that turns quickly to a fierce strapping, she settles in, one hand on the edge of the desk, the other on the inside of her thigh . The girl on the screen is alternating between crying out and protesting, the perfect mix of pertinent and punished schoolgirl. The beating hits an orgasmic pitch. The girl watching the scene cries out in unison with the girl being strapped. Her cat gives her a dirty look. Finished anyway, she closes the window.

But she's not sated. The morning has left her with a craving no mere orgasm, not even mere sex, can satisfy. She tries writing a little. It only heightens the ache in her flesh. She reads a bit from the anthology of Victorian erotica by her bed. She tries napping; she even dreams of being whipped. When her lover calls to say he'll be on his way home soon, he hears the hunger in her voice. "Having a good day, are we?" he asks after their initial greetings. He knows what she gets up to after he leaves.

"It could be better," she tells him. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too," he reassures her. "And I miss your bottom. Be ready when I get home."

"Yes, sir," she whispers.

"It's been a while since your last punishment, hasn't it, young lady?"

"Yes, sir," she says again.

"You've been very naughty since the last time, haven't you?" He doesn't wait for her to answer. "You're in for it, little girl. Tonight will not be play. You will go outside and gather a birch together--"

She gasps. "But sir--"

He cuts her off. "You will gather a birch and you will wait for me, naked. I want you bent over when I walk in the door."

"Yes, sir," she sighs in a less girlish voice. "Come home soon."

"You will regret saying that," he tells her. They both know that she won't.

When they get off the phone, she pulls an end table to the center of the living room, the room into which the front door opens. She pulls the green velvet curtain from the window in their bedroom and drapes it over the table for effect. Its color matches her eyes, and she wants him to look in her eyes first when he gets home, even before his gaze trails over her bare body. She wants him to know how much she loves him and wants him. How much she loves and wants this.

She slides her feet into sandals and runs outside to the tree in their backyard. It's early winter; the tree is already bare. The twigs she finds are stiff but springy, a little life still left in them. She fears being scratched, but knows that the birch is more for effect than anything. His hand and his cane will most likely fall on her far more times than this homemade implement tonight.

Once back inside, she places the birch on the punishment block she's created, then strips and slips into a silk robe to where while she finishes getting ready. She pulls her wavy hair into a loose twist at the nape of her neck. He'll want to see her face as he disciplines her. She scents her pulse-points and applies just a little mascara and rouge. She wants to seem porcelain and doll-like when he first sees her, a girl in the first blushes of womanhood. She wants to seem innocent. She wants him to punish her for being anything but.

It's almost time for his car to be pulling up the drive. She hangs the robe on a hook on her bedroom door and walks through the house completely naked. With the tying cord from the curtain she ransacked, she creates a loose slip-knot around her wrist. She kneels; the velvet is plush and welcoming. The end table is just the right height for bending over from a kneeling position. Hands behind her back, she joins her wrists and tugs at the knot with thumb and forefinger. It tightens enough to complete the illusion.

He revs his engine as he pulls up the drive, alerting her to be on the ready. She arches her back and turns her face towards the door. I'm ready, she thinks to herself. She deepens the arch of her back, pushing her bottom out anxiously. Come and get me.

Friday, January 4, 2008

Spanking the Mermaid, Part Two

image obtained and shared by
the fabulous and sexy Curvaceous Dee


Here's the rest of the scene. If you haven't read the previous post, well, you got here just in time for the good part. Don't worry about the backstory--there are 10 pages of size 10 font before the beginning of this scene, so the only thing you'll miss is a bit of blushing and going over the knee. But who doesn't like a bit of blushing then going over the knee, right? Anyhow, here you go:



"Stop struggling, Melodie," Bluebeard commanded, three slaps coming down in hard succession. "Do you want me to spank your bare bottom instead?" Three more firm spanks landed on her cotton-clad backside, its reddened flesh showing through the thin white fabric. She flailed, her right hand reaching back to protect herself. He grabbed her hand and held her arm against her back while pulling her pants down to her thighs. She stiffened in embarrassment. This wasn't supposed to be happening. She needed him to love her as a woman, but he was treating her like a little girl. This, more than the pain, brought tears to her eyes. As he resumed the spanking, the tears began to fall.

His hand found a rhythm. Left side, right side, left side, right side. Two slaps hard, two slaps soft. She tried to ride the pain and found that as he warmed her bottom, the stinging slaps were fewer and farther between. Now each spread a warmth over her flesh unlike anything she'd felt before. Left, right. Pain, pain, gentle, gentle. She stole a glance back at the man with the blue beard. His face was set with concentration, his brow furrowed, his gaze firmly set upon her backside. She shook her hair to get his attention.

"Melodie, do not try to distract me," he began, but when he looked at her, her pale little face now red and wet with tears, he stopped spanking and began to stroke her reddened flesh. She bit her lip and he found himself grinning. Her eyelids fluttered as his hand stroked the sting out of her bottom. Her skin had never been so sensitive, so alive. She understood the pain now. Again, she wanted to tell him. Do it again.

But he had finished. The crop would have to wait for another time. He lifted her up off his lap and stood her before him, her pants falling down as he did so and landing around her ankles. She looked at the ground, red-faced, confused at what had just happened, ashamed at being punished and more ashamed at finding she hadn't wanted it to stop. The man with the blue beard stood and tilted her chin up. "You did very well, Melodie," he told her. She tried to smile. "That was your first spanking, wasn't it?" She nodded. He laughed and couldn't help but take her in his arms. "I could tell," he told her. "You looked so confused." He stroked her hair. "Good girl," he whispered down to her. "Good girl."

She nuzzled her face against his chest, relaxing into him. His hands had wandered away from her hair and returned to her punished bottom. She stepped out of her pants and pulled away from him, climbing onto the bed on her hands and knees. She looked back over her shoulder as if to say, "Are you coming?" His hands were already at the waist of his pants.

Spanking the Mermaid

image from Mermaids Volume 4
by by Luis Buci, Diego Cirulli, and Pedro Cuevas

I've been working on retellings of fairy tales, and recently decided to give them a cp twist. The following is from a work called "Seasiren," based on Hans Christian Andersen's The Little Mermaid as well as the traditional folktale of Bluebeard. I actually started this scene months ago in September 6th's entry, A Writing Spasm. In honor of the amazing response I've received thanks to being recently featured on The Spanking Blog, Abel and Haron at The Spanking Writers, and Dave at The Cherry Red Report, I thought it might be to time to share some fiction--or at least the rest of that scene. So, if you were wondering, this is what I do in my spare time (when I'm not getting spanked, of course).



The little seasiren had not bothered to dress, other than to slip on the sheer cotton pants and camisole she’d found in the armoire. She wrapped herself in her sheet and sat at the window, watching the world go by, knowing now that she was not meant to be a part of it. When the sky turned violet with evening, she did not light the lamps in her room. She barely noticed the knock on the door when it came. Marie or Serena or another man--it did not matter. She continued to stare out the window listlessly.

The accent, when she heard it, startled her back to herself. "I've come for you," said the voice. She turned, clutching the sheet in shame. The man with the blue beard had entered the room and closed the door behind him. He slapped his palm with a riding crop. She had seen men with such implements riding large four-legged creatures down the street below her window. Perhaps he had come to rescue her. Hope, fierce as the frenzy with which she and her sisters had once torn men apart, tore through her. She stood, allowing the sheet to fall from her nearly naked body.

He could barely see her in the darkness, but the rustle of fabric and the gleam of her pale flesh made no secret of so much bare flesh. His body stirred, but Marie had sent him for a reason. "Light your lamp," he commanded, pointing to the small gas lamp on the vanity by the window. Serena had showed her how to do this, and she accomplished a small flame with shaking hands. Once he could see, he lit the other lamp on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed, placing the crop on the disheveled blanket next to him. The little seasiren stood bravely in the light.

"Come here," he said to her sternly, his voice rough but soft. She approached. Their eyes were level as they measured each other. "Do you know why I'm here?"

She nodded her hand. With a brazenness that surprised them both, she ran her hands over her breasts and belly then reached for his hand, encouraging him to do the same. Bluebeard laughed and she blushed a violent crimson. He shook his head.

"No, no, little one. That is not why I'm here." The little seasiren's eyes sought the sheet lying on the floor. Bluebeard took her chin in his hand and brought her gaze back to his face. "Madame Marie told me you deserve to be punished, little girl," he told her, "but she didn't tell me why. I don't know what you've done, but I will punish you until you are contrite."

She tried to step away from him, but he grabbed her wrist. "Over my knee, Melodie." She shook her head, not understanding. Her new legs trembled. "Come here," he demanded more forcefully, pulling her towards him and over his linen trousers in one swift motion.

She lay limply across his lap, for a moment too shocked even to struggle. The small of her back glistened. She was so pale, so delicate. He wondered whether Marie was not being cruel in asking him to punish so fragile a girl, but once she was positioned fully over his lap, her bottom surprisingly full and splayed wantonly over his thighs, he silently thanked the Madame for this unexpected gift. He cupped one cheek, then the other, testing her bottom's resiliency. Now she squirmed. When he slapped her once, firmly, she tensed then looked back at him slowly, shaking her hair from her eyes. He saw shock there, and confusion, but at the core of her gaze was a hunger unlike any he'd seen from any woman back home or here on this godless island. In the humid evening, he shivered. "Eyes on the floor, young lady," he demanded, catching the tremble in his throat. "You know what you've done." Even if I don't, he thought to himself before raising his hand over her.

Pain akin to the tearing of her tail into two legs seared through her backside. She shook her head wildly and kicked her legs, but it only made him slap harder. Her mother's voice flashed through her mind. "Every pain you feel on land will be double," she had said. But so would every pleasure. She had to find a way to take this. At least she had blacked out when she had taken the draught. This agony did not end.


(Second half to be posted this weekend... this bit takes up enough space as it is!)

Tuesday, January 1, 2008

Wheel of Fortune


Happy 2008!
Whether you're on the giving or receiving end, may your spankings be all that you've dreamed them to be. As I bend over, writing this shortest of messages standing up, I know I'm already off to a good start.