Guest post by Emen: Thudmuffin

Thudmuffin

Yeah, you. You know who you are, Prince of Polished Paddles. I don’t use the masculine to profile, I just haven’t met that many women who find hurling logs at peoples’ backsides a pleasurable pastime.

I admire your commitment, Thudster, you do persevere. Flying your flag and singing your anthem, I Can Make This Sting.

“Seriously, just listen to me for a minute, I can – I can do it. I can make this 4x4 sting. Come on, you need to try new things. I’m going to put some duct tape around this end so I can get a good grip and you bend over and hold onto something. No, something sturdier than that.”

You’re so sweet and earnest when you try to convince me. You’re so proud to show me these massive slabs of wood you cherish. And I smile and wonder where you keep the hydraulics you need to swing these

things.

And who would let you swing them at them. I’m not saying no thud, never and all sting forever. I appreciate some thud. I want it in the mix. But you run it right into the ground, baby. And you don’t want me. You don’t because I’ll tell you how it would go. You be THUD, I’ll be everything else.

THUD

S**T – does this guy know dry walling or sheetrocking or whatever you call it, cause --

THUD

DAMN – if he miscalculates and drives my head through this wall –

THUD

OWWWW – he better know how to fix it fast, cause –

THUD

F**K – even in my blind Vanilla world somebody’s going to notice –

THUD

STOP – a giant honking hole in the wall and –

TH–

See, that last one didn’t even connect because I respectfully crawled under the bed to get away from you. This can only end in utter frustration for us both.

Go and find your people. Look for the light. You’re going to be much happier there.

Guest post by Emen: limerick

There once was a lady so Bent

She couldn’t hang on to a Gent
When they spanked  her she clapped
When they kissed her she slapped
And so, one by one, they all Went

Okay so most of this is me writing rather than her poetry, but in those five lines, Emen captures an idea that in my experience is pretty central to the reality of secret spankos (or even not-so-secret-spankos) meeting on spankfinder or fetlife or somewhere and getting together with a playpartner, but something that is rarely discussed on spanking blogs... And something that's probably completely foreign to spankos that can be into spanking with their partner.  When spanko folks get together, there's frequently talk of a safeword, but what about when one party to the kinky rendezvous has different ideas when it comes to intimacy and "comforting" afterward? or becomes enamored and pours their heart and soul out, only to have the other communicate that they're just interested in the spanking part?  

courtesy of Devlin O'Neill's blog

Let's uhm... "face" it- there's taking off of clothes, lots of touching and physical contact, and when over-the-knee, your genitals are inches from each other's.  But it's just a spanking, right?  Have you ever kissed your spanker/spankee?  Did you ever want to but didn't?  This is a fertile area for comments and shared experiences.  Unfortunately I won't be here to respond, but Emen will.  So y'all play nice in the comments section! 

"Happy Memorial Day" is an oxymoron

I'm still gone, and Emen will be back, rest assured, and (I assume) her 1st story was well received, but wanted to take the opportunity to post (in advance) something commemorating Memorial Day. Nothing at all to do with spanking, but I have readers, and I wanted to say it.  Yes, Memorial Day marks the traditional beginning of summer, and is usually a fun time.  But it's also a chance to remember and say thanks to those that have given their life in the service of our great country.  There are a lot of them, and it wasn't a happy day for them, dying painfully in the field or a hospital, or for their families and friends grieving their loss.

America has plenty of problems, don't get me wrong (I won't go into them here) but each of us still have so much to be thankful for, beginning with the fact that we were born here (no offense to my readers in other countries.)

I'll grant that country music is an acquired taste, but thought this Trace Adkins song captured Memorial Day pretty well. (And from among the many youtube videos of the song, this one isn't cheesy or preceded by an all-American advertisement, but is just the song accompanied with a simple, powerful image.)

Guest post by Emen: Her first time

Dear readers:

I'm off for awhile, and I said I'd planned on having a guest host so the blog wouldn't just sit here dormant for a week or more.  I kind of had mixed feelings about it.  For whatever reason, a few of you tune in to hear what's on my mind.  Do you care what's on someone else's mind? There are a whole bunch of other blogs out there, and I figure that my readership has grown slowly but surely because some of you are curious what I have to say.  So what's the point in having a guest host? 


Part of it, as I said, was not wanting the blog to fall dormant for awhile.  Part of it is that I'm lazy and have run out of canned posts so I can't just schedule several of them to be published while I'm busy.  (And speaking of lazy... I think it's possible to set up an account and have someone actually log in and really guest-host.  Instead, I'm just copying and pasting her stuff and scheduling it to be published while I'm gone.  So maybe it's more like booking a talented halftime performer than a guest host, but whatever.)


Another big part of it though is that I want to share with the world the writing talent of another secret spanko.  I've had several reach out to me and felt like I've gotten to know a few of them.  One of them has even started her own blog!  But with the possible exception of my favorite shortstack of SpankCakes, none of them has a way with words quite like Emen.  She says she's not ready for her own blog, but I wanted to showcase a bit of her work here. 
***update- apparently in trying to get this saved and scheduled, it's popped up on blog rolls all over and when someone clicks on it, it says it doesn't exist- so I'll just go ahead and publish it now! ***

She arrived early. He was still laying out implements, though he’d had no direction from her about which ones to use. She didn’t know. She’d never been spanked. She had no fantasies to tell him, she said. She’d never let herself think about it long enough. She’d had no idea his world existed and she’d thought she was the only one.

He had imagined she might not show at all. She was skittish all the way through the long, patient email foundation he’d built with her. It was more work than he usually invested but he had a fondness for her. She was very young, unmarried, but had a bright sense of humor and a sensitivity he liked. And her awe at this thing he did made him see it differently than he had in a long time.

But he marveled she’d been able to push herself through his door. Her nervousness was overwhelming, it rolled over him like heavy perfume filling the room. He’d never witnessed a full body tremble before.  Even her eyelashes quivered as she stared at her hands.

He knew to trust his instincts and that this was no time to wait for inspiration. He was not a fan of abject terror. He liked to roll out the good cop/bad cop and keep some lightness in the mix. She was taller but smaller than she looked in her pictures. He smiled to himself, that was a first. He led her past the armless chair to a rocking armchair with a high back and sides and sat, pulling her to sit on his lap and relax against his chest. Her heart slammed against him with its chittering beat.

“What do you think is going to happen?” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” she sighed as if she was exhausted. He touched the inside of her wrist with his lips and she stiffened, then smiled slightly. He kissed her knee and ran his thumb down her leg and tapped her ankle and took her shoe off. He threw it backwards over their heads. She laughed out loud.

He undressed her slowly and finally rolled her naked body towards him so he could rub her bottom and run his fingers between her cheeks.

“Now?” he asked, and she nodded into his bicep. He spanked her slowly, increasing the force, pulling her awkwardly against himself to get access to both cheeks, and losing access to the breasts, and reveling even as his left arm went numb at the heaven that is the silk of a woman’s butt warming under a cupped palm.

As her gasps grew louder she began to scramble for purchase, digging her knees into his thighs to try to raise her ass higher. With a herculean effort he pulled them out of the chair in one movement and carried her to the armless chair, realizing as he sank onto it he’d left all the implements out of reach.

She hit the zone faster and more completely than anyone he’d ever seen. She went so deep he couldn’t get a signal, so he stopped when his palm was swollen, burning pulp and he didn’t want it hit any more.  She surfaced slowly as he stroked her with the back of his hand, tried to stand and fell back onto him.

He caught her shoulders and for the first time she looked directly into his eyes. Her pupils were dilated and in their endless depths glittered a lust so primal he caught his breath.

Beating of the Bounds

For several reasons, I've had real estate on my mind lately.  Spanking though is almost always on my mind.  What happens when you combine real estate and spanking?  The Beating of The Bounds.  

The story told to me long ago was that way back when, on the American frontier, when many folks couldn't read, to finalize a land purchase they would ceremoniously walk around the boundary and spank a child at each boundary, or border of the land.  Supposedly the thought, ahem... behind this was that the young person would remember the boundary best if they had a memorable beating there, and they should pick a child because presumably the child would remember it well after the old men who had completed the transaction had passed away. The frontier was a dangerous place- Bears, Comanche Indians, outlaws, untreated venereal diseases, etc... meant you didn't have to worry about skin cancer after a lifetime in the sun, much less heart disease after a lifetime of eating eggs and bacon!

This was the story I heard long ago, and even though I've said in the past that my enthusiasm for spanking was solidified when I read some stories in Penthouse Variations magazines, the fact that I remember this story from early childhood, and had a vivid imagination about the story pegs me as a lifetime spanko.  I have never seen it in any spanking stories or literature though, and wondered if it was completely made up to scare me way back when my parents were buying a new house.  The name "The Beating of the Bounds" always stuck with me, though I'd never looked it up on the internet to find out if it was true until just now..  

Turns out, the "Beating of the Bounds" has very little in common with the story I was told, but there IS a grain of truth to it.  In reality, it seems, if anything, even more bizarre. Not frontier America, but jolly England.  It was not to commemorate a single real estate transaction, but instead apparently a festival of sorts to solidify the church's claim on the land.  The wikipedia entry mentions that "the parochial officials headed a crowd of boys who, armed with green boughs, usually birch or willow, beat the parish boundary markers with them. Sometimes the boys were themselves whipped or even violently bumped on the boundary-stones to make them remember. The object of taking boys along is supposed to ensure that witnesses to the boundaries should survive as long as possible."   So the part about beating young people so they'd remember was accurate, but "violently bumped on the boundary-stones"... yikes!

I prefer the fantasy that to commemorate a single real estate transaction, a young attractive lady was marched out into the woods, and given a switching at each corner of the property to help her remember where the homestead ended. (And these captions will only be amusing to folks that have actually read real property legal descriptions, and to those folks, I apologize because I'm sure I've messed something up.)

"From an iron pin marking the SW corner of the of the NE quadrant of the Davis subdivision of Hazzard County, thence 60 degrees SSE to the banks of the Blue Moose River...

...from the banks of the Blue Moose River, hence 350 feet East to an iron pin...

...hence 30 degrees, 45 minutes NNE for 420 feet...

...hence 375 feet generally west following the meandering path of the Chalk Fork of the Blue Moose River to the point of origin.

Less and except a conveyance of the 3/16ths mineral interest retained by the Coltrane Family Trust, recorded in Book 1864, pages 233-241 of the Hazzard County deed records."


P.S. I'm excited that I actually get to use the "other cultures" tag again!