Sunday, March 29, 2009

Ideas and I Don'ts

I'm working on a new story, again in the fetish fairy tale genre. Ultimately, I will collect these tales and self-publish them, an endeavor I'm excited and frustrated about, as I have had no time to write much of anything, let alone a full book of naughty folktales. Working on this newest tale is one of the reasons I have not posted in a week, despite having posts I wish to write.

I've been overcome with ideas lately, the most amusing of which came upon me yesterday, as I rose sleepily from a late afternoon nap. I was just about to get dressed and run to the grocery store for a few staples when I realized I was going to have to throw even the few meager items I wished to buy on a credit card, as I am broke until payday. I thought to myself, "If ever we really are strapped for cash, I'm going to have to ask Mr. W to teach me how to top."

Umm, what? Why would I have thought such a thing? I'm 100% bottom. I admire and respect tops and switches of both genders, but as far as I know, I am not one myself. Yet somehow my subconscious decided, "Yes, that is the thing to do, should I not be able to pay the electric bill."

I find myself wondering how this plan would be put into action. Dominatrix Abby, advertised in local fetish venues? Was I going to recruit area female Fetlifers and film this new turn of events? Back when we were still filming, the Naughty Abby venture may not have been entirely lucrative after a mere three months, but it was growing, and honestly, I think it would have continued to pick up steam had we continued. I would still like to go back to it, possibly some month soon, but I would go back to it as the spankee with the round and soundly punished bottom, as I have always been. The only way to work the top idea into it would be to do something like Naughty Mistress Abby, who goofs up in a scene and has to be punished herself. This sounds way too complicated for what Mr. W and I did most successfully, which was to forego the plot entirely and just go at it with all the tools in the toybox.

So the plan: write books, make spanking good spanking movies, and move this blog (ideally more frequently updated) onto my own domain so I no longer have to deal with that pesky content warning. Not in the plan? Randomly switching fetishes and being someone I'm not. I hope this post has convinced my subconscious of that. The only person I'm going to top is me. (My only domme scene, in self-topping fashion, was, at least, committed to film. Always the comedienne....)

Monday, March 23, 2009

Everything I Need to Know I Apparently Learned in Kindergarten

Cute, but no longer a self-requirement.

The first phone conversation I can remember having involved me asking my five year old friend to tell me spanking stories.

I'm sure I'd been on the phone before then, saying hi to Grandma on a Saturday afternoon or sleepily wishing my dad goodnight when he had to work late, but this was my first true conversation with someone outside the family. The details are fuzzy now. For example, why was I alone in my parents' bedroom, talking dirty on the phone with my best kindergarten friend? How did I segue from "Do you want to come over and play tomorrow?" to "Do you want to tell me a spanking story right now?" All I remember is that I asked and she delivered, telling a story about a girl our own age who made a mess of the kitchen while making brownies. Punishment involving a hand spanking and a spanking with a wooden spoon, possibly still covered in brownie batter, ensued.

By the time I was seven, spanking stories about five year olds grossed me out. By the time I was thirteen, I had no problem envisioning a teacher putting me over the desk at the front of the room, but prepubescent spankings, even as adminstered by the hottest of middle school teachers, were no longer part of my fantasy lexicon. Up until I was eighteen and in college, the spanking stories that I had long since had to tell myself featured girls who were my own age, at whichever age that happened to be.

What changed when I hit eighteen? I went away to school, new laptop in tow, and in my dorm room was a DHL connection. I was online! I'd never had access to the Internet before and there was research to be done. It turned out my five year old instincts were right - the world was just full of people who wanted to tell me spanking stories. I couldn't get enough of them. I read everything from childhood memories to elaborate science fiction scenarios. My only rule of thumb was that the spankee(s) had to be female. My parallel age prerequisite dissipated in a textual universe populated by naughty daughters, naughty schoolgirls, naughty teachers, naughty office workers, and naughty wives. When I took those stories to bed with me, I fantasized myself as every archetype. I had a chance to be thirteen again, or sixteen, or to age a decade in order to imagine the husband who would punish me for leaving the burner lit on the stove.

Now, thirteen years later, I have come to realize that I've left most of those fantasies behind. I still enjoy reading all types of spanking erotica, and I still enjoy the sight of a spanked woman at any age - as long as she is at least eighteen, though preferably at least a few years older - no matter what character she happens to be playing. But as for what I experience behind closed eyes, I want, once again, to envision myself in scenarios that depict me at my own age. Maybe it's just a phase while I continue to sort out my own identity and my role in the spanking universe. Or maybe a core element of my erotic persona has come to understand that adults are as spankable, perhaps even more-so, than schoolgirls, and that I do not have to be anyone other than myself in order to deserve, receive, and fetishistically enjoy discipline.

I still want to play dress-up in crisp white shirts, A-line skirts and knee socks with Mary Janes, but I don't want to pretend I am younger than I am and I don't want to play a character. I finally want to be exactly who and what I am - a dirty, kinky, sexy woman who need not pretend at innocence or repentence, whose costume indicates not that she is a good girl being punished for being bad, but that she is a bad girl being punished because being punished is what she needs to feel good.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Maybe It's Really a Red Balloon.

Keyra Augustina, apparently known to the internet as
"The World's Perfect Ass."

I really wanted to post today, but I was stuck on subjects. I looked through my folder of "Possible Pics to Use on the Blog" and came across this one. The funny thing is, it's not a spanking photo. Or, if it is one, nowhere is it labeled as such. I even did a search on the model, Keyra Augustina, and spanking. They do not seem to go hand in hand. So this got me thinking again, as it did when I first found the image - why is her bottom so red?

On another subject entirely, my local and amazing bookstore, Powell's Books, is currently running a Six Word Memoir Contest. Six word memoirs are less like memoirs, more like very short haiku. For weeks, this has had me attempting to sum up life's experience's in exactly six words. This morning, I even decided to try Twittering one six word "memoir" per hour, but I only managed one. (I'm terrible at this Twitter thing. Watch me attempt it here.) Now, I am trying to come up with six word memoirs for this woman's bright red bottom.

Next time, check the water temperature.

Timer buzzes. This bird is cooked!

Roxanne turned the red light on.
(My apologies for The Police reference.)

Instructions: apply rouge to cheeks. Ohhhh.

Maybe it's really a red balloon.

The real definition of "bubble butt."

Submit your own six word memoirs in the comments! No contest here - everybody wins when we're writing about bottoms!

Saturday, March 14, 2009

When I Think About You I...

For all my teacher/student and warped fairy tale fantasies, the scenario I come back to the most often when I am alone, hands not on the keyboard but on my own body, is set nowhere but in our own bedroom, the characters no one but you and me, my only crime that which I am already doing. That's right. My favorite fantasy, of all the infinite spanking scenes available to my imagination, is to be punished for touching myself.

The fantasy begins in reality. I wait for you to be on your way home from work. When I know that I am at risk of you walking in on me, I slide out of my jeans and kneel on the bed, still wearing panties, still wearing my shirt. I try to hurry, I know that when you come home, you'll want to check your email and your news blogs, and by the time you're doing with that, you'll be ready for dinner. There won't be time for you to join in, and there might not be time later for you to come back to that which I have started. So I rush, fingers madly circling over the soft jersey cotton of my panties, listening for your car in the drive, your footsteps coming towards the front door.

When the door does open, I'm so close to coming that I'm already biting my lower lip, my thighs taut as they can be, eyes squinted shut. I don't notice the door opening, but you take one look at me and slam it shut. My eyes open at the unexpected sound. "Oops," I say. "I was just... finishing up." "I know what you were doing," you say, calmly, a bit sarcastically. "You couldn't wait for me to come home so I could join you?" I'm surprised. I didn't realize it had been on your mind. I didn't realize you would have wanted to join in. We've been distracted lately, our jobs and our own hobbies taking precedence over trying to fit in a roll between the sheets, or on top of them, before dinner.

No longer on the verge of orgasm, I'm a bit irritated now at being interrupted. "No, I couldn't wait for you to come home. I needed to take care of myself." You cock your head, raise an eyebrow, and begin to unbuckle your belt. "Well, that just seems selfish, doesn't it? What if I wanted to be the one to take care of you?"

You fold the belt over in your hands so that it makes a loop, which you then begin to slap against your palm. "Well?" I can't take my eyes off the belt. Is it looped so you can put it away on its hook? I know that's only naive wishful thinking. "I didn't think you wanted to take care of me. In that way, I mean. Not as soon as you got home, at least."

"Well, now I have no choice, do I? It's a shame. I was going to do such nice things to you, and now," he points towards the foot of the bed, "I'm going to have to punish you for being too much of a slut to wait an extra five minutes for her husband to get home. Get over here." I crawl over the mattress to the end of the bed. I look up at you and whisper, "Welcome home, sweetheart." You grin and lean over to kiss me, then straighten up to become the disciplinarion. "No, stand up. Spread your legs." You swish the looped belt between my inner thighs. "Wider. Elbow and forearms on the bed. Head down."

I take the position and wait. You're rustling around in something on my side of the bed, but I'm not supposed to look up to see what you are doing. Then you return to stand beside me, crack the belt in the air a few times, then bring it down swiftly, three times in quick succession, on my cold bottom. I'm still wearing panties, but it hurts. I lean forward and cry out. "What?" you say mockingly. "I thought you were already heated up." You whip the belt across my flesh again, one long stroke that stings the full width of my backside. "Please," I moan. "I just wanted to relax before the evening."

You begin a lighter but steady rhythm that I know is quickly turning my long-unspanked bottom a bright scarlet. I grab a piece of comforter in each fist and try to accept the punishment. After a few more strokes, you yank my panties down, and then, and this is what gets me, this is the core of what will make me come, you begin to berate me as you belt me, and even as my tears begin to stream, I know a rush of wetness is building between my thighs.

"Look how wet you already are," you say. "Bend over deeper, point that pussy at me." The belt swings dangerously close to the part you've just requested to see. "Perhaps I should punish it, too." You let the belt fall so that it hits my inner thigh and slips past the slick folds of flesh, making me shudder. "Oh, look at you. You're such a whore for punishment."

You've begun the steady belting of my bright backside again. "Maybe the belt is too good for you. Maybe we ought to try the cane? Will you still keep pushing your pussy out for a good hard caning, my little punishment slut?"

You stop and go over to the side of the bed. I know now what you were doing earlier. Opening the toybox. Moments later, you're swishing the senior cane behind me and you're pressing an object into my hand. "You're going to have to learn that when you try to have sex with yourself, right there in front of me and without my permission, you are going to be punished. And you're going to be punished with sex." You guide my hand, now outfitted with my ridged blue vibrator, under my belly and between my legs.

You stand behind me, cane bruising the air. "Go ahead," you say, "make yourself come." I am tentavively turning the vibrator on just as the first crack of the cane lands on the lower part of my backside. I haven't felt the cane in nearly a year, and I scream as loudly as perhaps I have ever screamed in response to punishment, but you keep on as if I have merely said, "One, sir." The second strike of the cane, and I have already lost my understanding of the scene. The head of the curved vibrator rests just between my labia, barely inside me, the clit ridge of the cleverly designed toy rests just as it should between the bed and my body. Each time I arch forward away from the strike of the cane, I drive the vibrator deeper into my body and the ridge harder against my clit.

You don't make me count. You don't let me know how many strikes are coming, but you do reprimand me as you cane me, an agonizing pattern of admonition, stripe, admonition, stripe. "Is this what you wanted when you lowered your pants today?" A lighter tap of the cane, stinging but without venom. "Did you want to be forced to come, whether you like it or not?" A hard strike, surely leaving a welt. I sob, tears wetting the blanket below me, but you pay no attention. "You will come, young lady, won't you?" Two hard strikes of the cane. With my eyes closed, I can picture the welts as they rise on my punished skin. "Do I need to put your toy elsewhere?"

You tap the most tender spot of my backside, the one I have always begged you not to punish with your straps and tawses and crops, even when you've made me spread myself open for you. The spot you have punished anyway. "No, sir, no," I plead. Three more hard strikes of the cane. "Then come," you say. You raise the cane and fell it upon me in a very hard stroke. I know more than feel that a vicious welt has appeared across my bottom, skin perhaps broken in a staggered patten, and as I lurch across the bed away from the pain, I leave my body, white the only light I can see. The caning and the pain continues in a vicious single stroke, and I know that I am shuddering in orgasm, leaving a wet stain on the comforter we have so recently learned is dry clean only, but I am beyond it, above it, flying.

"One more," you say, "to make a single dozen, much as you deserve far more. Are you coming?" I hear you from the blank space in which I hover and shudder, an empty space of agony and pulsating warmth, and I nod my head. Somehow, I manage to tell you, "Yes, Sir."

"Don't stop," you whisper, your voice rough, beyond yourself as well, and when the cane strike comes, the kind that leaves a mark for weeks, a slight bruise for months, I know I am screaming even as I come harder and harder, and I know you can barely breathe, and I know that I was right to touch myself as I waited for you, that you would punish me as I needed you to, that you would find, in those dozen strokes, everything you have ever needed, and remember that we need this, that we are this, once again.

Friday, March 13, 2009

A Heavenly Creature, Indeed

Looks like I'm not going to have time to finish the post I was working on for this evening. However, I promised myself I would post tonight, so hopefully the curve of Kate Winslet's bottom will suffice. I can't remember where I found this picture, but I did note upon uploading it that I actually renamed the picture "kate winslet omg." As in, Oh. My. God.

I made a list today of subjects for posts that are currently swirling through my mind, and the list is absurdly long. The list contains everything from my current spanking fantasies to my early spanking video viewing to what could ultimately become a thesis-long post on modern culture's fascination with the archetype of "the bad girl."

For now, I hope it helps just to know that when I was but a young girl, I fell madly in love with Ms. Kate solely for rolling around in her panties in Heavenly Creatures. Murder-shmurder. There was a lovely, lovely bottom.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

The Inaugural Peek of the Week: Mrs. Aristotle

A photo of my lovely wife's shapely, well-stocked,
tightly-trousered bottom as she stands at the kitchen sink!
I spank her naughty, 50+ yr-old bare backside
regularly and frequently!! ~Aristotle

Welcome to The Little Red Schoolhouse's inaugural Peek of the Week! I am absolutely thrilled to present you with Aristotle's homage to his wife's beautifully denim-clad bottom. Thank you, Mrs. Aristotle, for being our first Peek! And thank you, Aristotle, for perfectly capturing the spirit of this endeavor! Love and beautiful backsides - that's what makes the world go 'round.

Submit your Peek of the Week photos to with "Peek of the Week Submission" in the subject line. Review guidelines here.

Monday, March 9, 2009


Comic by the incredible Dave of The Cherry Red Report

Just a little Happy Monday note to say how ecstatic I am over being back to the blogosphere. I have so many ideas and am going a bit crazy trying to work my normal 9-5 job. I have the Peek of the Week plan (see below and send those pictures!), I'm getting my facts together on moving off of Blogger onto my own domain, I'm debating asking Mr. Williams to go back to filming his beautiful work on my backside, and I'm trying to figure out how to have more time for fiction writing in this genre and making that my 9-5 instead. Thank you to everyone who has stopped by, lurked, commented, emailed, and otherwise reminded me that this world makes me so happy and that I need to be a more active part of it once again.


Friday, March 6, 2009

Peek of the Week - A Proposal to You, Dear Reader

This is an older photo of mine and one that you've probably already seen. I use it as my profile pic on FetLife as well as in any reference to "Time From the Belt," as this is from that shoot. Still, it's one of my favorite pictures, and it relates directly to the post below.

This would be an example of a faceless but spanked over the panties
version of Peek of the Week. The possibilities are endless!

As my dorky way of wishing someone well on Wednesday, I wished someone a Happy "Peak of the Weak" yesterday and had an idea for a weekly post. Every Wednesday, or as close to every Wednesday as I can get, I could post a naughty photo and call it the Peek of the Week!

Then I got to thinking. Since I'm not so much in front of the camera anymore, what if I opened up the place of honor to my readers? Sure, I get a thrill from sharing my backside with the world, but I'd love to share that thrill with others. So the idea is this:

Submit your own photo for Peek of the Week to me at with "Peek of the Week" in the subject line.
The Peek of the Week will be a candid photo and not taken from someone else's page. It can be of yourself, your partner, your friend, what-have-you, as long as it's not, say, a photo you downloaded from a candid shoot of Amelia Jane Rutherford, unless you actually are Amelia Jane Rutheford, in which case, hello and feel free to submit that photo!

The Peek of the Week will be 18 or older and female, solely in keeping with the theme of my blog. I don't want to alienate the male bottoms of our world, I just don't think this is the right venue, at least not while this idea is in its infancy.

The Peek of the Week need not be nude. This could be a great opportunity to show off one's new panties! Or keep your jeans on, a peek of panties or backside showing or not. Anything that celebrates the bottom is welcome.

The Peek of the Week need not be a spanking photo. You can show your marks or you can show your blank canvas, it's up to you!

The Peek of the Week doesn't have to have a face. There should be a bottom, but after that it's up to you. Just make sure the photo is taken or cropped as you would want it to appear. If someone else is in the picture with you, make sure you have their permission to have it posted here! I won't be Photoshopping or changing it in any way.

The Peek of the Week can be anonymous, or not. Just be sure to say whether you want to remain anonymous or if you want a name attached, and if so, which name you want to use. It can link to your blog or website, or include text submitted with the photo. I'm happy to give you free advertising, as long as your submission is genuine.

The Peek of the Week can be young or old, voluptuous or skinny, pale or pink or purple or any other color that flesh can be. Any and all body types and shapes are loved and accepted. A bottom is a bottom! The idea is to celebrate all the amazing people who make up this world.

The copyright of the photo will remain your own. There may be more than one Peek of the Week if this turns out to be a popular idea. Submission is not a guarantee of being posted, but if I do get submissions, I'd like to share as many of them as possible.

What do you think? Also, when I originally conceived of the idea, I also considered "Peep of the Week." Which do you prefer? I'll put up a poll and see if anyone actually responds.

Worse comes to worse, you're stuck with pictures of me every Wednesday until it catches on, if ever. But wouldn't it be great to be the inaugural Peek of the Week? You know you want to....

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Rosario Gets a Licking

Rosario looking very ready for her punishment.

Rosario Dawson's Wet Punishment. Believe me, it's not what you think it is or want it to be. Nonetheless, this was the headline attached to an ABC (American Broadcasting Network) News Video I viewed recently. The strangest part of this, however, is that the actual subject of the video is more bizarre than what any of us would have pictured. The subtitle once the video pulls up is: "Ick! The actress says her mom used to lick her as punishment."

Her mom used to lick her? That's peculiar in any sense, nevermind as punishment. Apparently, her mother would lick either Rosario's face or her armpit and would do this in public. Rosario notes, "It was humiliating." There are so many elements of a fetish story here - licking, punishment, humiliation - but the fact that it fails to be a fetish story seems to confuse even the news anchor, who notes in regard to Mama Dawson, "She wouldn't spank her, but she'd lick that armpit."

That's right, Mr. News Anchor. I think we can all agree that we hoped the wet punishment would be something wetter, more humiliating, and, if nothing else, at least more painful. This certainly brings new meaning to the heretofore titillating phrase, "She received a licking like she'd never received before." Because it was in her armpit.

This topic alone would have been enough to merit a blog post. Not only is it obvious that we were meant to envisage a particular scenario more akin to our concept of punishment, but also the news anchor himself so lamented the dearth of spanking in the report that he had to bring it up himself! He may as well have just said, "Well, folks, if you weren't already picturing Rosario's bare caramel bottom upturned and blushing, her bare skin slick and shining, wet and well-punished, here, let me just toss these two little words at you to get you going. Spank her. Spank her. Spank her."

The thing that gets me, the thing that makes me wonder just what is going on over at Disney-owned ABC, is that, as Natty of Natty's Spanking Blog writes in her post "Not as perverted as it used to be," ABC reported on February 11th that kinky sex is on the rise. And ABC seems to be just fine with that.

Who would have thought that the juggernaut leading us into a spanko-friendly twenty-first century would be a broadcasting company owned by Disney? I can only imagine what might come next. Miley Cyrus punished for the misdeeds of her rock star alter ego, Hannah Montana? Or, coming soon, "Private Catholic High School: The Musical?" (Get the unrated DVD for extended punishment and dance scenes!) Ah, the slippery slope of public kink acceptance. Still, I can't imagine that slope is as slippery as Rosario after a licking.
Good Rosario / Bad Rosario