A Spanking Alphabet

A Spanking Alphabet

by Abby Williams

A is for apple, delicious and red,
like an arse that’s been spanked and then sent off to bed.

B is for backside, for butt, and for bum,
and don’t forget bottom, that’s my favorite one.

C is for caning, cruel and correcting,
so be on your best when the teach comes inspecting.

D is for Dad, his spanks are the meanest,
he’ll cause you more pain than a dental hygienist.

E is embarrassed, each time you find
it’s time once again to bare your behind.

F is for flogging, figging, and fear –
but pain can be sexy applied to your rear.

G is for grievance, imagined or real,
if you’ve done the crime, then punished you’ll feel.

H is for hairbrush, watch out for its sting,
it’s surprisingly mean for such a regular thing.

I is for imp, and a naughty imp, too!
Imagine if real imps were as naughty as you!

J is for jiggly and juicy, like jelly,
when you get your bum smacked while you lie on your belly.

K is for knee, as in “Over it, now!”
No need for a why if you’ve got when, where, and how.

L is for lashes, the kind that you get
in tens or in dozens, they oft come in sets.

M is for mercy, but for you there is none
until penance is paid and your spanking is done.

N is for naughty, who wants to be good
when your tush loves the feel of leather and wood?

O is for “Ow!” “Ouch!” “Oh!” “Oomph!” and “Oof!”
A spanking may hurt but a pink bum’s the proof.

P is for paddles, all shapes and all sizes.
If you’re cruisin’ for a bruisin’, a paddling might be what the prize is.

Q is for quiz, as in, “If you fail,
you’ll stay after school and learn how to wail.”

R is for riding crop, no need for a horse,
though pony play’s still an option, of course.

S is for strapping with leather that’s thick.
If the spanking’s in the woodshed, a strap’s a classic pick.

T is for tawse, the scourge of the Scots,
it bites like a cane - but it gives me the hots!

U is for undies ‘round your ankles or knees,
spanking’s best on the bare, no matter your pleas.

V is for vibrate, sometimes it’s fun
to get spanked with a vibe tucked into your bum.

W is for whipping, there are so many kinds
I’d write a whole other poem, if I had the time.

X is for Xerxes, a Persian king of invasion
who might have conquered more land if he’d used spanking as persuasion.

Y is for “Yes, Sir,” if he asks you to stand,
or bend over, or lie down, if there’s a cane in his hand.

Z is for zesty, a life full of spanks,
so spankers get spanking and spankees – get spanked!

A Bottom for Breakfast

Mr. W is in charge of sharing amusing images of bottoms with me, and this one is perfect for a Sunday morning!

We have the house to ourselves today. I'm hoping to have some exciting hot-bottom stories to tell you about later this week. Until then, in the spirit of this post, happy smacking and snacking with your bottom of choice!

What's That Got To Do With the Price of Fetish Fettuccine?

While reading this list of the top 20 most bizarre Craigslist ads, I became fascinated by a listing searching for a "Woman to sit in my bathtub full of noodles, wearing a bathing suit." It reads:

• I will pay you $1 USD to sit in my bathtub full of noodles while you wear a one piece bathing suit.
• I will not be home, nor will anyone else while you do this.
• I will leave the key for you, and you will sit at your leisure.
• I will require at least a 5 minutes stay.
• A neighbor will watch the front door from across the street and using a supplied stopwatch, will time your entry and departure.
• Please supply your own footwear.
• The noodles will be cooked, and therefore slippery.
• DO NOT bring any sauce. I will season the pasta after I return home prior to dinner.

I love this ad, presuming it was genuine, although I realize that is unlikely. Firstly, this person is admitting to an unusual fetish and seeking a way to fulfill it. Secondly, he/she has considered the bathtub sitter's need for privacy, or perhaps has a very specific fantasy of what the woman in the bathtub looks like, and rather than spoil the imagined scene, he/she has decided that just knowing a woman was in the bathtub full of noodles is enough.

Past that, the details have been considered, like loaning a stopwatch to the neighbor (how did that conversation go?). A one piece bathing suit is a must, though I would have also requested full body hair removal and a swimming cap. Also, the diner will be seasoning the pasta, so it is imperative that although the bathtub sitter may be compelled to bring her own sauce, she should NOT do so. If I was the woman in the bathtub, I know I would have wanted to bring my own vodka tomato cream sauce, so it's important to know that the pasta, prior to seasoning, should be woman-flavored only.

The stumbling block in the plan is that the hopeful diner is only willing to pay $1 to the pasta woman. Unless this is her fetish too, why would anyone answer this ad? Is it naive and/or selfish of me to think that people should be willing to pay a premium for having their most secret desires fulfilled? It seems like an entire bathtub of fetish fettucine (or similar) is worth at least $100, even $1000.

There's something interestingly cocky about offering a single dollar. On the one hand, I can't help but feel that it devalues everyone who provides a unique fetish-based service. On the other, the single dollar may indicate that this person believes that a woman in a bathtub full of noodles is either a common occurrence or it's his/her God-given right to be granted such a thing. Isn't that the epitome of confidence that fetish communities aim to inspire? That what we like and want is normal and acceptable and completely within reason as part of our experience as human beings? After all, the woman would sit in the bathtub of her own free will. My brain just can't get to why she would do this for free.

We live in a world where some people will pay good money to see fully-clothed women hug balloons and step on things because that's what turns them on. And that's just on film. If that was my fetish, I wouldn't expect someone to come over to my house and pop balloons or squish fruit with her high heels free of charge, whether I was in the room or not. Maybe that would happen if we were at a fruit squishing convention and we were having a private party, but a house call? I think not, pasta man. I think not.

There's no moral to the story here, no grand statement. I'm not really ranting, I just thought this was funny and I'm enjoying getting back to posting, even if every post can't be super sexy and worthy of repeated reading or viewing. I guess, if I had to make a closing statement, it would be "Don't offer only a dollar for fetish services," but I'd be preaching to the choir. I'm lucky to have a fetish that has such a generous and friendly fanbase. I shudder to think if the subtitle on my blog was "writings on sitting in a bathtub full of noodles, ziti, elbow macaroni..."

Spanking Shakespeare and Other Teen Tails...Erm, Tales

It's not what you want it to be.

When I was a teenager, there was very little published for my age group, which is why I read Miller and Nin and Plath perhaps a few years before my time. There were the school library classics - Twain and Austen and the Brontes - little of which satisfied my cravings for true explorations of the body politic and the human psyche. There were the Christopher Pike and R.L. Stine horror novels. There were the godawful Lurlene McDaniel teen romances and the cringeworthy Sweet Valley High twins. Then there were the tales of true teen life, meant to ward us hellions off of sex and drugs. For those who recall Go Ask Alice and Mr. and Mrs. Bo Jo Jones, I wholeheartedly sympathize.

Last week, while browsing at the Powell's on Burnside for birthday presents for an about-to-be-fourteen year old, I found the selection to be almost fantastically lascivious. Was I in the teen section or the erotica section, heretofore known to be located next to nautical fiction and across the aisle from sci-fi? Girls in corsets draped the covers of historical fiction. The cover of Melvin Burgess's Doing It consisted of a shadowed outline of a couple having upright sex. A favorite of both mine and Mr. W's was a zombie cheerleader lying back on a bench, one leg bent up in come hither fashion.

Anyhow, this post is not to analyze the past or current teenage landscape. It's to celebrate the apparent complete lack of difference between the stories we tell our sixteen year olds and the stories we tell ourselves. The fact that we are not, by now, a race of spankophile sex-craved zombie vampires in school uniforms remains a mystery.

These both look like BDSM erotica, don't they? Untamed, especially, looks like something published by Blue Moon.