Wednesday, February 13, 2019

Prelude to a Cream Pie (A Naughty Abby Vignette)


This video is a snippet from my 41st birthday spanking, just last week! Not the same spanking as below, but is close enough, as it includes a hand spanking with a sjambok balanced on my bum.


I'd already left a creamy ring around the base of his cock by the time he moved me to the armchair with the intention of punishing me. I'd known it was coming, had tried to be ready for it, had tried since he'd texted me of my transgression the day before.

I'd been sitting at my desk at work when the message came through: "I need to have the kitchen wench severely whipped for forgetting my morning coffee!"

Alas, I was the kitchen wench in question, and I truly had forgotten his coffee! As I'd run around the house doing my usual 6 a.m. morning routine, I'd been distracted by Twitter, of all things. I proceeded to send a series of apologies and emojis, knowing two things for certain. One, he wasn't at all mad at me, and two, I definitely had that punishment coming anyway. Sure enough, he followed up with "It's really ok! I just wanted something fun to whip you for, and you provided!" Kissy lips. Mmm, a weekend whipping was on its way.

I climbed onto the chair, pressing the outside of each knee into the sides of the seat. I crossed my arms and rested them on the back of the chair, settling my chin into the backs of my hands. I arched, presenting my bottom.

He already had the sjambok in hand, the braided whip that alternately thuds into the muscle or stings across the surface of the flesh, depending on how he wields it. He has coaxed both low, rumbling waves of pleasure from my body with this leather beast, as well as weeping and welts. I'd been looking forward to this moment but suddenly wasn't sure if I had it in me to take a full punishment whipping, even for fun. My whisper hoarse, I told him, "I don't know if... I don't know what I'm up for."

"I know," he said. Without saying anything more, I knew he'd already taken my position, my trembling, and my wetness into account. I wasn't ready to say I was ready, but he knew I was without my saying it and I could sense his arm pull the whip back. A small nod of my head into my hands. The crack of the leather braid cut across the air sharply, breaking the silence, followed by a quick snap as the whip just barely flicked the naked skin of my ass.

It wasn't enough to howl about but I wanted to howl. Mr. W began a light but steady rhythm, the heavy braid landing at times more like a flexible cane when he choked up on his hold. The blows weren't hard, only consistent, only warming my backside from sit-spot to top-of-the-crack one stroke at a time. Despite the gentler strokes, it was hurting more than my birthday whipping. Maybe I just wasn't warmed up yet. Frustrated with myself, I tried to signal that I was ready for more.

He began to mix harder strokes into the mix, whippy strokes that cut into the inner curve of my ass cheek. They bit, and with those strokes I did begin to call out my pain. Each "Oh!" or "Ah!" seemed only to encourage the steadiness of Mr. W's lashes. Soon it felt as if the whip was dancing from cheek to cheek with quick sharp snaps, stinging and biting and inciting me to tears.

I was having trouble holding position and my body was doing a spastic twerk. I couldn't maintain the arch in my back and soon found myself free of the whip, collapsed over the back of the chair despite the punishment being quite minimal. Mr. W was giving me space to breathe.

"How are you doing?" he asked once I'd caught my breath. I shook my head. "Not great. Not as good as I want to be doing," I told him.

He stroked my back, my bottom. "You were doing great for long spaces and then it was like your body would give up. Then you were back at it, ready to go. What can I do for you?"

I didn't have to think. I knew I needed something to get over the hump in my own head, and I knew we were going to have to get closer than the sjambok allowed. "I need to cry. Will you spank me with your hand, Sir?" I asked. I wanted it. I wanted his hand burning my bottom, close, hot, and hard. I wanted it to hurt and I wanted to get past whatever was keeping me from fully enjoying the punishment up to now.

I was already in the mindset that my spanking was causing me pain. As his hand began to smack me, quick sharp spanks back and forth, I found my tears quickly.

What was bothering me? Smack, slap, smack, smack - I could feel my cheeks wobbling in time with the spanking. I did so well for my birthday spanking. Why couldn't I do it now? "Ow!" Sob. "Ow!" More sobbing. "Owwwwww!" All the tears burst forth.

The spanking didn't stop as I relived the last two days. We'd laughed about forgetting the coffee; the pain and tears were not contrition, it wasn't that. Work had ended on a positive note on Friday, I wasn't processing any stress there. For our primary weekend activity, we'd been working on the Etsy store, setting up naughty books for our smut shop. Visions of extreme sexual scenarios danced through my head, and  yet I was still crying and he was still spanking me and I was still trying to find a way to enjoy it.

His hand was firm, his palm curved to the shape of my ass cheek. Grabbing, slapping, smacking, turning me tender, each smack landing with a fire brighter than the last, his full attention on giving me what I'd asked for. Giving me the spanking I'd craved, the spanking I hadn't had to beg for, but would have. Then -

That's it, that's it. More please. Closer, faster, harder, I don't want the whip or the strap or the paddle or the cane, just your hand, Sir, just your hand, Daddy, yes please keep spanking me don't let me go don't turn away just you and my bottom, please, Sir -

I felt the arch return to my back vertebrae by vertebrae. My ass pushed back, greeting Mr. W's hand with greed. "Ooh, yes please Daddy, please spank me," I whispered, all my flirty filthiness back in force.

Later, Mr. W would tell me that it was a visible process that began in my shoulders and worked its way down my body, releasing the tension and unlocking my head. From the inside, it was a distinct shift, a place of pain turned quite literally to pleasure as the realization came to me that I'd been missing Mr. W. We'd been working together all day but not fully interacting. Sharing surface thoughts but not digging deep. We'd been so busy that even though we'd spent the day together, I hadn't felt him with me until he'd taken my hand-spanking to heart and let me have it. Connected, our skin warmed to the same heat, here he was with me. The shift in my head was from loneliness to feeling loved.

Fortunately for Mr. W, I don't get romantic when I feel loved. I get dirty.

The tears disappeared without my trying to end them. The sobbing became sighs of encouragement. "Yes, yes," I whispered, in case he hadn't noticed the shift. I arched deeper, presenting my body for whatever might be next on the agenda. I knew what I wanted, though. One of the books I'd been reviewing had an especially naughty scene that had stuck with me. All I had to do was say one particular magic word one more time so he'd know what I wanted, too.

Thank god he saw how wet I was again. I was clearly ready to move on from the spanking and so was he. With his hands on my hips, my lower back, he held me in place as he rested the head of his cock just at the dripping opening of my pussy. "I feel so little beneath you," I said, keeping my voice as small as I wanted to feel. "Daddy."

"Yeah?" His breath was rough. I was too wet. He was slipping inside me.

My voice even smaller: "Oh. Oh! Daddy..."

He knew what I wanted. He held tightly to my hips and pulled me back onto him like a glove he wanted to ruin. "Yeah, that's it, baby,"he growled close to my ear. "Take it for Daddy. That's it."

Scene-wise, that was all we needed. I bit the back of the leather chair and he let me have it, a pounding for my pussy but a salve for my mind. I was at peace in this place of being possessed. Throbbing waves threatened to break the spell and return me to womanhood, but:

"Oh, Sir. Oh Daddy! I feel like my tight little hole is going to burst all over you. Oh! Please, please. It's so much!"

We came together, collapsing in a gasping pile of trembling limbs. "Dear god you are incredible," Mr. W sighed into my skin. "Mmmmm, thank you Daddy," I purred, snuggling back against him. "Thank you for my spanking. My fucking. I needed you."

He helped me stand and held me steady. I looked down and saw the creamy emulsion my body had left on his. I grinned, remembering what was in the kitchen, feeling like a little girl all over again. "We have lemon cream pie!"

Mr. W's blue eyes sparkled. "Go get me some pie, little girl," he laughed.

"Yes, Sir!" Naked, sated, barely dripping any longer, I skipped off to the kitchen for pie.


I hope you're following me on Twitter! I'm on there daily and am generally happy to interact. Plus I post pics of my butt there ALL the time. @AbbyW2007

Thursday, January 31, 2019

Throwback Thursday - My Favorite Belting


It's #ThrowbackThursday again - i.e. I'm up early enough to snip a little low-def video from another Naughty Abby Spanking Video, 2008's "Time for the Belt." This is the same clip I'm posting to Twitter, but....

Check out the original post Doctor When? for what I thought about this video at the time, and a not very well-hidden treasure if you enjoyed the 30-second clip. Fun Fact: Even in 2008 there was still some question as to whether spankings on film were "real," as I reference something about that in the post. Good thing we've all become porn stars since then and we all know that what we're doing on film is what we're doing in real life. And having fun doing it!

Wednesday, January 30, 2019

Hello, Voyeur


I claimed the title of Exhibitionist/Voyeur for my own last week. After a lifetime of writing and talking about spanking and sex, after more than a decade of posting pics to show off my ass, whether a blank canvas or a masterpiece of markings and a glimpse of drippy wet naughty bits, I announced bravely from the privacy of the bathtub to Mr. W, “I’m finally saying it. I’m an exhibitonist, and obviously a voyeur too. I’m owning it. This is me.” Duh. It was a little anticlimactic. I’ve always know that I wanted to stand out, and I’ve always wanted to connect with others over kink. Most of my life, I haven’t allowed myself to do so, but it’s been engrained from the start. I have new readers, so many of you haven’t heard my stories of sitting around with friends and neighborhood kids at my yellow and orange Playskool plastic picnic table, asking them to tell me about their spankings. Most would, eager to share their experiences. We were kids, so it was hand spankings, mom’s wooden spoons, and the very rare and shocking daddy’s belt. Boy did I wonder about that last one, it sounded so mean and intense. Sometimes we moved on before it was my turn and I was relieved, or if we got to me I’d make something up. I’d never been spanked. All I had were their real life experiences and my fantasies about them. All these kids really knew about me regarding spanking was that I was fascinated, perhaps obsessed. As just an innocent seven year old, I was given a lead role in the annual second grade Thanksgiving play, which was always a big deal in my school. I was cast as Mother in “Back to the Future at the Garrison House.” It was 1985 and “Back to the Future” had been the hit movie that summer, so naturally, our play was about time-traveling to the 17th century. Wild West my butt, Back to the Future III. We did it first and we took it farther back. In my colonial New England town, we had two historical buildings that were named for what they were - The Little Red Schoolhouse and The Garrison House. Later in town history, we built a ginger ale factory and named it after the town - Chelmsford Ginger Ale. Pilgrims - not great with making ginger ale or at naming things, considering the town name itself is a town in England, as are pretty much all the other townnames in Massachusetts, except for those with Native American origins. One thing about growing up in a colonial town with colonial events and “growing up colonial” history lessons is that you can’t avoid corporal punishment, especially when talking about school or how children should behave at home. I already knew from children’s literature that spanking was to be expected as a part of life - who didn’t want to be whipped by Pa’s strap in “Little House in the Big Woods,” or take a turn as “The Whipping Boy?” Then I had my friends and neighbors confirming my suspicions. Spanking was already everywhere for this little bookworm and schoolgirl voyeur. So what’s a girl to do when she finds out she’s playing a Pilgrim Mama and this is her big line in the school play? “GET TO BED CHILDREN, OR IT WILL BE THE SWITCH FOR YOU!!!” I had to say this to my friends, my classmates! In my black and white pilgrim dress and bonnett, clapping my hands after the line to indicate the sound of impending smacking. I knew what a switch was, knew it was birch, knew my children would have had to go outside and cut the branch themselves. I get shivers remembering, and I get shivers telling you about it now. As I begin to explore switching and femdom, I feel like that little girl all over again, wanting so desperately to be spanked, standing up in front of the world and saying the opposite, knowing deep down it’s just as true. Ever since that play, when I felt exposed to but not actually seen by my school, my teachers, and my family, I have wanted nothing more than to be exposed and seen daily. I think I’ve been screaming since I was seven, “Will someone please see me for who I truly am?” I grew up smart and weird, polite and awkward, fitting in everywhere and nowhere. I found boyfriends to play at play spanking by the time I was an older teen, but until Mr. W, I never did feel fully seen. Once we’d played, I also knew I’d never been fully spanked until he came along. My life since then has been figuring out just how much a person needs to be seen. How much I need to be seen. Is one person knowing who you truly are enough? Can you live a life doing your best impersonation of yourself, and every now and again you get to be the complete you, only to tuck her away again, polite and tidy? Your friends might have a little piece, the internet might have a little anonymous piece, your family probably doesn’t know a damn thing about you. Do you even know yourself, if you spend so little time with the real you? Over the course of adulthood, I stopped knowing myself, and eventually lost myself completely. No, I didn’t just stop knowing myself - I hated the me I thought I was. Every now and again I’d pop out and how up here on the blog, but it got to the point where even Mr. W wasn’t getting to see the me that any of us know and love. Fortunately, when I feel good, I really love myself and I think I have an absolute treasure trove of knowledge, passion, compassion, and enthusiasm to share here, in the world of kink, and in the world at large. That is why it still feels powerful to say that three years ago, I started myself on a path to get myself back, which began with five days in a behavioral health facility (a mental hospital) in January 2016. It has been an absolute fight to be the me who writes this today, but here I am, about to turn forty-one, and for the first time, more than ever in my life, I feel seen on a daily basis. Most importantly, I see and love myself. Every. Single. Day. Mr. W has loved every version of me because he knows that it’s always been me on the inside. I can finally look back on my life and love every version of me too, because whether I’ve been in hibernation, incubation, or secret old spanking videos, it’s all led to now, Abby standing on her little red soapbox, announcing this, that, and the other thing. I’m publishing this! I’m selling that! I’m getting spanked! I’m writing smut! And here’s my butt! Hello, Voyeur. I’m Abby, Exhibitionist. Voyeur. Spanko. Monogamous kink player. Erotica writer. Vintage smut librarian and purveyor of filth. Ass worshipper and worshippee. Goddess. Seven year old Abby was ashamed and embarrassed of listening to her school friends’ spanking stories and threatening to thrash them on stage. Forty-one year old Abby is proud and literally aroused to say the world is her stage and she is ready to be its star. That’s how good it feels to say this to anyone willing to listen/read/watch/experience. I am so happy you’re here. I couldn’t do any of this without you. I definitely couldn’t have made it here without Mr. W. I love you more than anything, Mister. Thank you for walking beside me when we are balanced, carrying me when I fall, and celebrating me when I rise. I wouldn’t have anywhere near as sexy a story to tell without you.





Monday, January 21, 2019

Started as a Bottom Now I'm Here


With plans only to tease, delight, and explore, I took Mr. W over my lap on Saturday night. I was on the bed, propped up with pillows behind me. He lay across my legs, head on my left, bottom directly before me, bare cock pressed to the tops of my thighs.

I ran my left hand up and down his back, taking moments to massage the areas I know are always most sore, while massaging his glutes with my right. Despite knowing he wanted all my attention on his bottom, I took breaks to reach over with both hands to knead his shoulders and run my knuckles alongside his spine, gently pressing out the tightness and discomfort of a long day working at the computer. His back needed the attention as much as his butt and I was taking care of him, whether he liked it or not.

Eventually, though, I couldn't resist the sweet little globes he was presenting to me and I began to playfully tap his cheeks with a series of tiny little smacks to each side. Three in a row, taptaptap! Each side would get a few rounds of those, then rubs. Four in a row, tap-tap-taptap! A couple rounds, and more rubs and loves. All the way up to rounds of six little spanks to each cheek.

The playful smacks weren't even enough to turn him pink but he'd done well, keeping his bottom up and centered, letting me explore without wiggling, letting me smack him at all -

- after all, am I not usually the bottom in all this? Isn't it usually my butt getting the spanks, and much harder ones at that? Dear Reader, you are not alone in your surprise and possible wonderment at this scene as it plays out (unless you read Rosy Reset Button the other day, in which case you might have guessed round two was coming).

We are exploring different roles in our play. I am exploring the idea of femdom, especially "gentle femdom," (#gdf)  which I will write more about as I work through countless new feelings and fantasies. I am going through a sexual Renaissance of a sort. Everything is new and exciting and I suddenly really want to spank Mr. W, to enjoy him worshiping me and my body, and to honor him equally but in a new power relationship during sex play.

Since he'd done so well with the initial playful smacks, I wanted to give him a reward. I began to massage that most sensitive spot between his cheeks, rubbing tiny circles to coax the the tight wrinkly hole open. I leaned forward and kissed the top of his crack sloppily, letting a pool of saliva gather, then rubbing it down the length of the crack and using it to lubricate just the tip of my index finger.

As I pressed against the spot, he moaned and arched, letting me in. A careful visitor, I continued to circle and tease him, allowing his body to take me in rather than force my way, and soon he'd taken the full length of the finger inside his body. With  my left hand squeezing his ass cheeks, I slowly and gently allowed the finger to continue the massage from the inside.

After a short time, I pulled out and asked him if he was ready for me to spank him again. "Are you ready for more spanking?" I asked. "You can earn another round of those touches."

"Yes please," he answered from his throat, his voice deep, barely audible, evidently lustful.

"A little harder this time?"

"Yes please," he said again.

I didn't want to just go at it and make him hurt. I  wanted to build up a nice, warm, buzzy sensation. I began with single smacks to the curve of the bottom of each cheek, upward strokes allowing my palm to land right in that sweet spot then glide in a quick light glide over the rest of his ass. Smack and feathery tease. Back and forth I spanked, building a little warmth, a little pink, and when my hand began to feel a little warm too I rubbed his bottom vigorously. "Well done, well done," I whispered.

After I few moments to assure any sting remaining from the skin-to-skin contact had abated, I returned to the rhythm, smacking a fraction harder and leaving out the feathery touches. It wasn't hard, but in that moment I was spanking him and it felt incredible. He was under my power and he was trembling with pleasure. Endorphins and dopamine flowed. Back and forth, my hand found its happy home again and again. I found myself fantasizing about moving to a chair and taking him back over my lap, small paddle in hand, to continue the spanking and take him to the next sensory level.

Once again, when the light sting of his flesh against my palm signaled that he had warmed satisfactorily, I ceased spanking and rubbed, massaged, and kissed the whole - and the hole - of his backside. Salivating against the now not-so-tight little button, I murmured with my mouth full, "Ready?" Soon I had him gently but nonetheless impaled again on my index finger, sliding it in easily, crooking the tip of my finger to massage his prostate. "That's it," I whispered, encouraging him to melt into me loving him. "That's it, you beautiful man."

I was so ready for him to be inside me, but this time was for him. I made no move to change things up, but soon he indicated he was ready to change positions. As much as I wanted to keep playing with his ass, I hoped he was ready to fuck.

If you did read Rosy Reset Button, you'll know that this is my second time this past week attempting to allow myself to be "in charge" while giving Mr. W sensual attention. I may be exploring the idea of femdom, but I'm starting with just putting the focus on him, the same way he puts the focus on me when he is spanking and dominating me, and also giving myself permission to guide the scene. In Rosy Reset Button, we hadn't set the nature of our playtime first so he didn't realize that I was viewing myself as in charge. This time, I had thought the parameters were in place just by the act of what we'd been doing, but our usual personas showed up and created some awkward confusion.

I like to share even the sexy scenes that go awry because we are all human, and sometimes things go wrong when we're naked. It doesn't mean WE are wrong, or bad, or failures. It's easy to attach shame to our self-view when we don't get sex right, but the truth is, really great sex is a little bit lucky timing, a little skill, and an absolute ton of self knowledge. We can learn about ourselves and our partners by practicing, and what better activity to have to practice than sex?

As he got up, he leaned forward and kissed me between the legs. It seemed exactly the right act for him to fall into next and I opened my legs for further pussy-licking attention. At the same time, he realized just how dripping wet I was. A wet spot had formed where I'd been sitting with him over my lap. A large, wet, ready for it right now wet spot. My juices, before he went down to kiss me, had webbed my thighs.

"Young lady!" he admonished. He stopped kissing my clit and pulled back into a sitting position. Then he smacked that wet pussy! It was fucking hot. My pussy throbbed and it was probably a visible clench and release. He smacked it again, then again. It all happened very quickly and as soon as I was beyond aroused my brain kicked in. "Hey lady, weren't you in charge a moment ago?" My brain demanded explanation even as Mr. W began slapping the insides of my thighs.

I was so very wet at having spanked Mr. W, even lightly, even for play, and now all the control had been wrenched from my hands. The hands that had been powerful one moment were now pushed away from protecting my thighs. "How dare you get so wet, so aroused?" Mr. W, the character, wanted to know. I was his naughty little girl, the scene and relationship so familiar. Maybe he was my Daddy, punishing me for my lasciviousness. Maybe he was my Sir, in control of my body and I was aroused without permission. One thing I was NOT was a domme.

I burst into tears.

Crying after a spanking is pretty normal, and something I've done a gazillion times. Are you supposed to cry when you're the spanker though? And when you've barely done any spanking? I thought not.

I had thought myself the great protector and sexy sensual guide. Next thing you know, Mr. W has his arms tightly around me, he's leaned forward, his weight on my torso, his head on my shoulder, his breath as he pulls me close on my neck, my chin, my cheek, my ear. "I've got you," he whispered. As he always does when I need him, once I feel lost and unstable. "I've got you."

We talked then. I had a chance to explain that I'd been feeling really good and proud of myself, taking charge, trying something new with confidence, only to internalize the chastisement of the pussy and thigh slapping as a sign that me wanting to dominant him, even in play, was bad and a punishable offense. I felt tricked. I didn't feel that he had played me. It felt like the universe had teased me with strength and then took it all away.

"God no!" he answered. "You were so incredibly wet. Did you see this puddle?" He made me look at the spot soaked through the sheet. "You were that wet from touching and spanking me. It was so fucking hot. I just went for it." I was not in trouble with him or the universe after all.

We talked and laughed. We didn't get back to sex that night, favoring instead the connection we found emotionally and mentally afterward my tears. Mr. W has always been my top and switching to spanking and punishing me during sex was normal for him in that moment, so when he was turned on by how turned on I was, it just came naturally. Meanwhile, I'm trying something new and am learning that until it comes as second nature - as whipping my thighs and pussy does for Mr. W - I'm going to need to set up what I want for the scene ahead of time, which is advice I would give to anyone just exploring a new kink.

And in really fantastic news, now we know just how much spanking Mr. W seriously turns me on. Now I need to practice.


Saturday, January 19, 2019

The Way We Play - Erotic Spanking Vignettes by N. Abby Williams




The "N" is for Naughty!

Everybody, I did it! For ages I've been meaning to put together a collection of some of my favorite blog posts and release a collection that captures both the sexiness and the love that Mr. W and I put into our relationship and TTWD.

I've released it on Amazon for $1.49 as the first title from my very own spanking publishing house, TLRS Press. You can expect new never-before-read works from me soon. Someday, I hope to be publishing you as well!

These are the 12 posts included in The Way We Play, with links to the original posts. Take a free preview or read them all. If you choose to buy the collection on Amazon, I truly appreciate your patronage. Your support means more spanking goodness to come!

Caught Wet Handed (sorry, can't find the original link)

Thursday, January 17, 2019

Throwback Thursday Hand Tawsing


Hello spankos! I pulled this short hand tawsing out of the Naughty Abby archives last night so I could post it to Twitter for MC Customs, maker of fine leather tawses, straps, and paddles. This snippet is from "Please Not My Hands," starring Abby, Mr. W, and a heavy tawse we bought for Christmas in 2007 from MC Customs. This video is from spring 2008, happy #throwbackthursday!

Let me know if you like these throwbacks, I'd be happy to grab a few more short scenes from the archive to post here - spanking, caning, strapping - let me know what you'd like to see in the comments! You can also message me on Twitter @AbbyW2007, or email me at abby.schoolhouse@gmail.com. :-)

I'd also like to take this moment to encourage everyone to watch the Picnic at Hanging Rock miniseries on Amazon Prime, starring my beloved Natalie Dormer from The Tudors. (I'm not an Amazon affiliate, I just really enjoyed it and want everyone to check it out.) The series is luscious and dark, punishment and eroticism around every corner. A few weeks back, we enjoyed quite the sexually charged weekend watching it naked in bed. From a fetish standpoint, I would say this is for the schoolgirls crowd. However, it was also a beautifully told and gorgeously filmed piece of art and a compelling mystery.

Tuesday, January 15, 2019

Rosy Reset Button

Last night, lying in bed exhausted after an unexpected romp with Mr. W, both of us well-medicated and fighting the flu but apparently also horny as hell, I felt giddy. I told him, "I feel like I'm going through puberty again, or I'm a teenager again, or, I don't know. I'm getting turned on by new and different things. I'm having new sensations. It's exciting."

I've found new delights as I build my Twitter feed. I've found myself turned on by things I had not considered, or things I had turned away from in the past. Everything feels new and sexy now; the orgasms are mine for the taking. I am so grateful to the community and to the individuals who are opening my eyes, even after a life of quiet devotion to sex and kink.

We've been talking about switching, something we've very lightly danced around before but never really tried. Now feels right. I've never been more comfortable in my body. I feel strong, I am a goddess and a warrior. I feel like I can channel this intensely feminine power into delivering fleshly delights to Mr. W's body and ecstasy throughout his mind, once I understand how to play his body as he plays mine.

If we'd been healthier, last night could have been the night. As it was, I couldn't resist asking him to lie across my lap as we watched Ripper Street on Netflix, a new favorite. I just meant to relax him, run my hands up and down his back, massage his bottom and the tops of his thighs. I'd spend long minutes running my short nails lightly across his backside, hip to hip, dipping into the crack for extra scritchy-scratches, teasing his skin then massaging deeply into the muscle, grabbing hold of each beautiful buttock at its root, kneading the flesh to coax out any lingering tightness. I just wanted him to be jelly over my lap, so he could rest and not get this flu bug as badly as I did.

Instead, his cock refused to go gently into our good night, so insistent was its firm knocking against the tops of my thighs that eventually I could not ignore its rapping.

"My pussy needs attention," I told him, trying out a more demanding sexual language than I would normally use.

He rolled off me and laid on his back, his ready cock an invitation. I climbed aboard, already so wet that he slid in with almost no friction. I began to grind and he was all mine for a moment. Then, my Daddy said something to his Naughty Daughter, except I hadn't had those characters in mind and it threw me off and I lost my rhythm. We've been pretty consistently playing with the Daddy thing lately, really having fun with it, I will be sharing more of that as well, don't you worry, but I was just in a different mental space last night and I was in charge - until I wasn't.

Mind you, this was two loving married sick people trying to make each other happy and relaxed before getting a good night's rest. I realized that both of us were trying to be in charge to take care of the other one. It wasn't a roleplay crisis, no communication breakdowns here. Just two people doing their best to be sexy for the other. He takes such incredible care of me. I'm really looking forward to a day in the near future when I get to tell him that I'm taking charge, and then I do. 

I stood up and invited him to the space at the end of the bed. I spread my legs wide and put my hands on the floor in front of me. "Why don't you press that rosy little reset button back there?" I said, wiggling my butt back and forth in front of him. I wasn't sure if he'd take that as in invitation to play with my asshole or smack my ass, but as should have been expected, he took it as an invitation to both.

A few good hard spanks to each cheek and an index finger deep inside my asshole later, we were back to fucking, deep and hard and soon I was bending forward into my knees and elbows, animalistically taking his cock from behind. I felt like a tigress about to burst forth from my own skin and I came hard and hard again, a guttural growl deep in my throat turning into a nice sexy cough as we finished.

I am going to warm that man up to a gorgeous pink and then drive his senses into overload with his first real spanking from his Wife and Mistress, Mrs. W. But until then, I am so glad this little Abby has her Mr. W, her husband, her Daddy, her best friend in this amazing smutty life to care of her. 

Saturday, January 12, 2019

@AbbyW2007 & Saturday Whiplist

I'm finally on Twitter again! I need to fill up my Twitter feed with spankos in case Armageddon comes, so we can join together and rebuild the world . Can you help?

Follow Me: @AbbyW2007

Follow Mr. W: @MrWilliamsTLRW

As we continue to take pics of our playtime, I'll have bonus photos to post to Twitter, plus some additional fun content when I don't have time for full posts. Plus it's perfect for showing off little finds when we go out spank-tiquing (when we look for pervertibles at antique stores) or smut hunting. I just got the account going again this week, I am fully open to follows and following.

Here's some other stuff going on this weekend. We're calling this the #Whiplist going forward, for any spanking related to-do's! Make your own!


I want to do Brigit Delaney's Erotic Journal Challenge. I discovered it on Twitter and am thrilled that there is something like this going on. I have a terrible head cold, so if I don't make it this week, next week for sure. The challenge this week is: When did you discover your own sexuality? For example, when was the first time you masturbated or realized you could feel physical sexual pleasure? When did you first feel sexual desire? How did you address it?


Mr. W found one lot of 94 vintage erotica paperbacks listed on Craigslist locally and went to pick them up yesterday. Because of my cold, we still haven't gone through them, but I peeked. Hot damn. This one, How to Make a Mini by Don Tattersall, from Continental Classics circa 1968, features quite the set of rules for the students of Institution Ariel: 

"According to the manager's wish, each pupil must have a permanent A to satisfy the master. If she only makes a B, even if she only misses by one or half a point, she has to receive a hand spanking in front of all her classmates. If she makes a C, she is whipped with a cat o'nine tails, under that she receives a poisoned ivy whipping on the cunt or the ass hole. If she has a 6, she will be whipped on the sex, and shall receive an enema of two pints with a normal size nozzle." The rules get more severe from there, including quite a bit of anal punishment along with much spanking. The rest of the book describes the students failing at their grades and getting their ass-centric comeuppance. It is surprisingly dirty in the best way.


Plus I still want to do a write-up of both our Tuesday and Wednesday nights! Here's another shot from Wednesday, shows a little more of that rosy glow, although we do need to look at lighting for future shoots. This is one of the first pics Mr. W took that night so my rear end is still flushed with pain and excitement.


Thursday, January 10, 2019

Becoming My Fetish Incarnate



If you're not up for reading - more welty bruisy pics below. But I'd love if you read my love letter to spanking as it slowly begins to consume more and more of my time and life. xoxo, Abby


I am overwhelmed with a renewed sense of desire, as if on the verge of something so illicit and delicious that my skin can barely stand the anticipation. An underlying but constant distraction keeps my mind and nerves abuzz. I get through the day but the thrum in the shadows grows louder and stronger and faster - I have become lust incarnate for a thing I cannot possess.

I crave this thing called Spanking. I want to live inside it, taste it, fuck it, be it, know it like an acolyte knows the meaning behind the meaning behind the meaning of a favorite prayer.

Suddenly I'm writing again. I have ideas for stories. I'm putting together collections. As you know, I've been more comfortable posting photos of myself as well, either spanked or just in celebration of the body and the bottom. Mr. W is working on a number of spanking-related projects that I hope to be sharing with you here soon. We've started going out smut hunting again, and looking for pervertibles, and just being in the mind-space all the time. It's starting to feel like we're always turned on.

For too long, spanking has been a core part of each of our identities, but we haven't allowed it to be front and center. Yet, if you asked each of us privately, it is THE thing that makes us each who we are. And if you asked us together what makes us amazing as a couple, if we were comfortable enough to say so, we'd tell you it's because we not only complement each other's fetish, we ARE each other's fetish. He is my top and everything I would want that to be. I am his bottom.

Starting next week, I've actually adjusted my work schedule so that I have more time to write and play and share all this with the world that knows what I'm talking about. And I want to be an advocate for spanking play! This blog contains eleven years of (on-and-off) writing about understanding why I am like this. I am at long last through with that. I am like this. I think things are about to get really good.

The pic at the top and these here below are from playtime with the strap and cane with Mr. W last night. I wrote the above yesterday but didn't get a chance to post it. Then all this happened. One of my "vignettes" to tell you the dirty details will be coming up in the next few days.

Afterwards, I asked him if he had a favorite moment or part from what we'd just done, but in true brat fashion I was too excited to tell him my favorite to let him answer. "My favorite part," I told him, "was when  you had my in - for lack of a better term - diaper position on the edge of the bed, and the strap really hurt and I started wiggling. You grabbed my legs and did your best to hold me in place, but you let me cry and twist and turn." That twisting and turning resulted in some of the welts you see on my left leg - truly my own misbehaving fault! "There was a moment in there when I realized you were just going to let me cry and squirm and I just let go and existed purely in that moment."

"My favorite moment," he replied, "was that same moment, when I felt you let go."

I'm writing up this last bit early this morning and I have the most delightful shivers. Someone's going in to work wet today.









Sunday, January 6, 2019

A Collection of O


 I first read the classic erotic novel The Story of O in the summer of 1999 during hours worked in the basement computer lab of my college library. Obsessed with knowing the thoughts of like-minded readers at the time, I printed out the entirety of Amazon's customer comments on the classic title. I just found the print-outs yesterday while looking for another part of my collection, an article from The New Yorker magazine, that appears below. As for the comments, they are dated March 3 1997 - August 9 1999. I haven't reread them yet, but I can see a follow-up post coming soon if there is anything of interest. Imagine! The thoughts of fellow readers, some surely with a spanking obsession much like ourselves, and the voices they used in 1999! This discovery feels historical. I can't wait to dig through these pieces of internet, literary, and bdsm history.

The article that appears here in 9 photographs (please use the enlarge feature on your device) is also from the basement of my college library. As a bibliophile, I know better than to destroy or steal library property. As a young woman blossoming into her sexual identity, I carefully removed the article from both the magazine and its rightful library home. So spank me. Smiley face!

"The Unmasking of O" by John De St. Jorre delves into the heart and secret life of Dominique Aury, the woman behind the nom de plume Pauline Reage. It also features the art of Guido Crepax from the 1975 graphic novel adaptation of Story of O, which I am regretful is not part of my collection, as it is no longer in print and is now a collector's item in its various printed productions. The article, originally printed in 1994, is worth the read. 











A third piece from my collection that I will share today is a new find. We went out smut hunting yesterday - thrift and used bookstore shopping for treasures, and this was amongst our spoils. The 1959 edition that appears at the top of this post is from another such day of erotic questing. The new one is fantastic! It's a printing from 1967 by Collectors Publications in California, who interestingly claim the motion picture rights on the copyright page (see below). This porn is ours! This one includes a Preface that reads like a carnival barker announcing the prizes that lie within these pages: "THE STORY OF O is a tragic, sick love tale. It is a story of man's inhumanity to man. O does not necessarily typify womankind. What she does epitomize is shown by her name - O, meaning, cipher, zero, NOTHING."  It screams trailer for an exploitation film or circus ringleader announcing the next act. Later editions insist upon a sort of sanctity, a respect to both the woman who wrote it and its place in the annals of erotica. This one delights in its tragic salaciousness.

Also of note is the back panel of the book - an advertisement for the complete collected and unabridged eleven volumes My Secret Life, which many of us know now as a single volume, My Secret Life - An Erotic Diary of Victorian London. I would love to get my hands on these individual volumes! The more erotica on our shelves the better.