Cowboy Corner Time - Another Spanktiquing Adventure

The Pornhub/Cornhub April Fool's Day prank reminded me that I haven't posted about Cornfest 2015. That was back in July, before I returned to blogging. Fortunately, we always end up with a spanking-related story, and our Cornfest adventure was no exception.

We hadn't intended to go to Cornfest, two hours away in Camp Verde with not much in between here and there, but we were aching to get out of the oppressive Phoenix heat. Camp Verde is to the north and was forecasted to be cooler than home, with the added bonus of being hours away from everyone we knew. We could go for a drive, do some spanktiquing if we were lucky, and best of all, just breathe and be together.

The drive was relaxing, desert expanses on both sides changing from scrub to rocky hills to forests of cactus then back to scrub, mountains in stark relief off in the distance. When we arrived in downtown Camp Verde, we realized we weren't going to be there for very long. The festival was small, reminiscent of the Fourth of July fair in my little New England hometown. Neighbors commingled, chatting over fried dough and roast corn as their children raced around the craft and snack booths. Feeling like outsiders but happy to be walking around in the fresh air, we headed for the short downtown fairway, its shopping district consisting of gun shops, feed stores, and, wouldn't you know it, an antique store and trading post - Cowboy Corner.

Cowboy Corner turned out to be a melting pot of equestrian paraphernalia, decorative antiques, and general store oddities. They even had a barrel of leather straps.

In the equestrian area, we found a dogging bat we couldn't go home without. We've had one like it for a decade, but that one has a metal bar in the handle, leaving just the slapper free. The one at Cowboy Corner was completely leather and the texture of the leather was incredibly soft. I was dying to feel it tracing patterns on my bare backside followed by the swat of the double layer of leather in an over the knee or warm-up spanking. 

We also found a collection of leather conditioners. We've been needing one for ages, especially with our penchant for old leather and wood, and we figured the ones carried by a store specializing in leather equestrian goods would be worth checking out. We decided on Skidmore's Leather Cream, a handmade all-natural conditioner with beeswax. I'm adding their link to my Toys section because it has worked wonders on some of our antique leathers and it works beautifully on wood as well. I was worried about using anything on some of our more expensive or antique implements, but this one has turned out to be gentle and effective. I'd recommend it.

When we went to the counter, the clerk found our selection of the leather bat amusing. Apparently we didn't look like horse people. "She's going to use this at home!" he announced to us, the other clerk, and anyone else in the store, smacking the bat against his hand. He laughed a semi-toothless but genuine laugh. He looked us up and down. I'm slightly taller than Mr. W and I have more meat on my bones; I think the clerk might have thought I was the domineering type. "It don't hurt much, though, you see," he added. Then he started spanking his own butt with our new toy. We laughed and had absolutely no recourse to the conversation. We took our bag and headed the heck out of Dodge. 

Implement Inquisition #1: The Riding Crop

Audio Only: A bit of cropping from "Cropgasm," from the Naughty Abby days. Now my first attempt at turning video into audio. I enjoy the idea of being able to sneak in a little spanking experience without baring all.

I like the threat of pain that doesn't necessarily come to fruition. On my birthday, halfway through my spanking, Mr. W told me to present my breasts for the cane. They were already bare, so from where I had been kneeling on the bed, I got up on my knees and cupped my breasts from below, eyes wide and terrified, trembling visibly. He lifted the cane, then set it back down on the bed beside me. He then grabbed the tawse, choking up on it halfway, and proceeded to lightly slap me, inciting not welts but only my nipples to rise to his administrations.

One of my favorite threats is that of an implement purposely straying from it's usual destination to strike the most sensitive crevices of my flesh. I've been debating how to write about this here without being crass, but it's a blunt subject matter and considering at the top of this post I've included an audio clip of a cropping that later ends in orgasm, I don't know why I'm tip-toeing around the subject. I think it's just that I'm newly back to blogging, and I haven't yet become comfortable again with tossing around the dirtier words. All of that said, I'm going ahead with it.

I have a craving, in certain scenarios, to hear these words murmured close to my ear: "Reach back and spread your cheeks apart. I'm going to whip your asshole until it's as sore as the rest of your red backside. Then I'm going to fuck that swollen ass as hard as I want until I come. Do you understand, young lady?"

The crop is the ideal implement for this whipping of sensitive areas. It lands squarely where one aims it. It can be inserted between the legs to whip up at the pussy, or farther forward to strike the clit. It can bite the inside of one's ass cheeks with surprising teeth. That little bit of leather, directed accurately, causes great distress in very little time.

It can also be incredibly arousing. A series of taps, back and forth from cheek to cheek, or an increasing rhythm on the clit, followed by a series of strokes on the inner thighs then back up to the clit, to the pussy, to the inner cheeks of the ass and back, lead to a madness of sensation. It hurts, it stings, I want it to stop, and yet my body betrays me. I know it's part physical sensation but also, in greater part, submission. The knowledge that the very parts of me I need to be a mammal, to function at the base level, are in jeopardy is terrifyingly satisfying.

I want to have those words whispered, to reach back and spread my ass to full exposure, only to have that crop continue to land on the full rounds of my lower cheeks, even to strike at the tops of my thighs. To tap, so lightly, on my pussy lips, not for pain but to remind me that what we do is for the pleasure at the end. One strike to my clit, to remind me I am his. Back to the bottom, the cheek to cheek rhythm now, and then he whispers, "Are you ready?" "Yes," I breathe more than say, panting, ready for the next stage. He stands back, aiming carefully, then whips me quickly three times, each landing right on my tender asshole. He asks, "Are you sore yet?" He touches, lightly, determining if I am swollen, if I can bare his touch. He presses his fingertip against the struck flesh, tests to see how easily he can slide inside.

"I'm not ready," I whisper. "I need more."

This is the problem with the crop. It strikes at one level, the pain high and sharp, but it doesn't reach the lower depths of what spanking is about for me. The audio clip, from "Cropgasm," a film we made when we were making the Naughty Abby films, is the only time I've come from a cropping, and that may have been as much about extroversion and exposition as it was about the crop itself. The film didn't really work out, at the editing stage I didn't like the shirt I was wearing and we had to eliminate one of the camera views, so the entire thing is my white-pantied bottom in close-up and the crop. The panties were new and I'd never taken just a steady cropping before, so it was exciting and new, experienced at a fever pitch as you can you hear in my cries, which sound, I now realize, inordinately like sex. But in the bedroom, though I still crave that asshole whipping, I'd want it to come at the end of everything, a strapping or a caning, something that really gets to the core of me, before the crop actually whips that mammalian core.

Riding-Cropgasm

I must have sounded like a small child in the backseat of a car all day, intoning, "Are we there yet? Are we there yet?" Only, my question wasn't whether we had arrived a destination, but whether we were finally at a point of being ready to film after a month-long hiatus. I'd been craving the scene all weekend, but especially after working on the NaughtyAbby.Com site all day on Sunday, transferring the short films we'd made already to a PayPal friendly agent and redesigning the current main pages of my little baby business. In other words, I was due for a spanking. Past due.

We'd played a bit since that last tawsing we'd filmed, but nothing session-like. As Mr. Williams set up cameras and I changed into pony-tails and the white eyelet panties I'd been so excited to wear since buying them especially for this purpose early this spring at Victoria's, tension resonated through our house. What were we going to play with? What was the scene? How long would it be? Was it a screaming scene? A crying one? A playful one? Neither of us knew. We'd spent the whole weekend talking about it, but we still didn't know what was going to happen once I was face-down on the bed and he'd hit record on the cameras.

The scene, as it turned out, was one of revival. I may have wanted to believe that the short lunchtime caning two weeks ago was was my return to form, but it was this, a full twenty-five minute scene that was, more than anything else, what Mr. Williams and I do together when there are no cameras, when there are no eyes on us other than our own. The scene turned out to be an example of our courtship, our marriage, our love. It was us.

He began with a hand-spanking. I was face-down on the bed and he knelt next to me. A friend the other day told me of how much a hand-spanking can really hurt when you're used to implements, and I thought I understood, but I didn't, not until his smacks started landing on my upper and outer thighs. Unlike last time, not once did I question my dedication to the pain. I rode every moment, experienced every sting without letting go of it or trying to send it away. I knew what was to come next was going to be good.

Oh God, it was. He paddled me with a leather bat from an equestrian shop. He strapped me with one of our favorite barber strops. He double cropped me with two riding crops, and I actually orgasmed as he struck me with one and rubbed me with the other. It was... it was phenemonal. And that was before the caning that made me want to beg for more. It hurt so much and I adored every second of it because it made me feel like me again.

Unlike during some punishments, when I have the agony of a misdeed or a bad day to release, I had nothing to release this time except the heaviness of winter, the fear that this wasn't my calling, my concern that in turning my passion into a business, I was somehow whoring a part of my soul. Two emails influenced my ability to let those worries go and to let go of myself into experiencing one of the most sexual and passionate scenes (and after-scenes!) I've had in some time. One was the one containing the content of my reader Jim. His comments about my tawsing film restored my faith in what I'm doing. I'm not perceived as being a tawdry woman in the face of my husband. Instead, we are perceived as joyfully celebrating this shared fetish, and it makes me both relieved and ecstatic that what we do is seen as being a true part of ourselves.

The other email was from my best friend from high school, who sent a link containing a You Tube clip featuring another classmate performing karaoke Neil Diamond, commenting that she never would have recognized him. I wondered if she would be surprised to know what I'm up to online, or if she might have suspected I had it in me all along. I found that I was and am proud of the Naughty Abby project, of the woman I have become and have decided to share with my fellow spankophiles. I wanted to send her a link with the subject line, "What I'm Doing These Days." I may still.

At the end of it all, we had issues with two of our three cameras. The good news is that the fully-functioning camera was the one focused (with zoom) on my backside. We'll post the full version once we have the Members site up, and for now, we're going to work on picking out our favorite few minutes for a short video feature, if only to share that surprising (but quite amazing, complete with an announcement of "Sir, I'm coming!") riding-cropgasm. The other good news is that Mr. Williams is home every night this week and Saturday. So despite my extremely sore bottom today, even more tender flesh awaits me as the week continues. With any luck, more films and posts await as well.