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  1. I am a sweet yet very down to Earth gentleman. I am looking for an honest woman who might enjoy having a RL LTR/home. I'm a loving, yet firm Daddy type. Spiritual, new age type. I am a straight top. I'm romantic, fun, beach lover, (bikini lover ;-). I'm sincere, trustworthy, supportive and protective. I'm very healthy, strong, athletic, and youthful. Sensitive. I'm very loving and affectionate. I'm a traditional family man. Love's music. Highly edjucated. A one girl man. Six feet, 170 lbs, not bald, very nice shape, sort of a health nut. Beautiful brown eyes, great smile, athletic physique, very nice everything. 😉 I'm looking for a loving relationship with a woman who wants to have a male led home. I currently live in Arizona, US. But I can relocate. Thinking of moving to a Southern California beach town. Questions? Dont be shy. PM me. I have a dominant side, but I am not domineering. I am very easy to talk to. I have a very positive, Can do attitude. No games please. Plenty of other players are on here for that. PM me and we will see if we can get together. Try me. Confidential.
  2. Debbie I met Debbie when I was in 9th grade. She was an awkward 7th grader, and just beginning to bloom into adolescence. She had a sparkle to her brown eyes and was friendly but not especially outgoing. We did time together in the junior high choir at the First Baptist Church in Dallas, where both of our families were regulars. We found out that we both lived in a fairly new neighborhood in North Dallas called Farmer's Branch. We became better acquainted on a choir trip to Austin one cold January day. We happened to sit together on the ride down, and after our recital at the UT Baptist Student Union, decided to stick together for the ride back. As night fell, we snuggled and cuddled but did little else. Although we clearly liked each other, she was, after all, in seventh grade and a 9th grade guy has his reputation to look after. So, we continued to chat in the hallways at church every so often, but didn't really become close. I went on to the high school choir and she was in the junior high group. I guess I didn't see her at all during my junior year. This changed the summer before I became a senior at WT White High School. The church had a special high school choir workshop at Baylor University in Waco for all high school choir members. Debbie was going to be a sophomore and had just graduated from junior high, putting us in the same choir again. I was now a senior, and had taken most of my required classes during summer school and had planned one last school year generally raising hell with my friends. My remaining courses were trivial and I had already been accepted into the University of Texas because of my SAT scores and high school grades. My parents had just bought me a new Trans-Am Firebird as an early graduation gift and I was photography editor of the school newspaper, so I had a pass to be out of class or away from school anytime that I wanted to be "on assignment." I didn't have a steady girlfriend and most WT White girls were either hippies or aspiring socialites chasing athletes. I had pretty much forgotten about Debbie until the bus trip. It was late July and surpisingly pleasant for a Dallas summer morning: it was a bearable 90 degrees and there was a bit of a breeze as storm clouds were threatening a late summer shower. As we milled around outside the downtown church preparing to board the bus, I caught sight of her. Could that really be Debbie? She had grown her dark hair long, grown several inches taller, and was perfectly proportioned. She was wearing a simple white cotton golf shirt with a short blue skirt looking like she had stepped out of the Neiman Marcus summer catalog. Her almond eyes still sparkled but there was a new budding sensuality to her gaze. I felt my knees go weak and my heart jumped into my throat. It was if the whole world became dim and she was drawing me to her with a powerful magnet that only the two of us could see. I quickly recovered and did my best to casually saunter over to her but I'm sure that it was more like a mad dash. "Hi," was all that I could get out. She almost laughed but smiled instead and gave me a hug. She smelled wonderful, like honeysuckle and roses combined. After a few minutes of somewhat awkward conversation, I asked her if she would like to sit together on the bus ride. She agreed and we began our official dating period under the cover of darkness on the ride back. We were inseparable from that day forward. A few weeks later, classes started and I'd wait for her to get out of school (I could leave early: journalism was my last class) and I'd drive her to her after school job at Poll Parrot chicken on Marsh Lane. Her parents thought she worked every day; actually she had Tuesdays off whenever she wanted. Our weekend dates were often with other friends. Sunday nights, we would sit together at church above the watchful eyes of parents who sat in pews downstairs while we retreated upstairs to the balcony. Sunday night church always included the direst warnings of fire and brimstone and admonitions against worldliness, favorite sins of Dr. Criswell were what he called "hippie conduct" involving drinking, drugs, and "fornication." Dr. Criswell looked like the Greek God Zeus. He towered over the congregation and bellowed out his sermons like a tinhorn dictator addressing the military. Of course, he avoided the sins that might lose donations among the wealth congregates like Mary Kay Ash and Ebby Haliday, the Dallas realtor. Business ethics and greed were seldom topics for moral outrage. After enduring this barrage, Debbie and I told our parents that we were going to Harvey Goff's hamburger joint on Forest Lane. Since I didn't have long hair, I was safe going there without being insulted unless Harvey was in particularly rare form. Sometimes we actually did stop by Harvey's, but we more frequently found ourselves speeding West out Valley View Lane to Northlake Park where there was a power plant cooling pond, few other cars, and a great getaway route. Rod Stewart's "Tonight's the Night," (which was reliably played every 90 minutes on Z-97) was our theme song, and we gradually became more bold in our mutual explorations. By Thanksgiving, Debbie was letting me take her bra completely off and feast on her firm, well-rounded charms. But that was pretty much where we stopped. Trans-Am firebirds are great for attracting attention but they leave plenty to be desired for budding romance. We were both eager to go further but were a little frightened of the experience and more than a little brainwashed by the long reach of Dr. Criswell: I think that we feared that somehow demons would visit unspeakable horrors on us should we cross the threshold from extreme frustration to actual fulfillment. Debbie's older sisters Sharon and Lynn came home from Baylor at Thanksgiving and changed the course of our relationship. Sharon was sociology major and had nearly completed a course on human sexuality. She and Debbie had a long talk that lasted most of the night on Friday. This was irritating at the time since we didn't go out but proved valuable in the near-term. Sharon told Debbie how wrong she had decided the teachings of the church were and how it was not only natural but healthy for her to begin sleeping with me if she was ready. I didn't realize it, but Debbie was already suffering a good bit of guilt from what we were doing and even more from what she wanted us to do. That Sunday night, she said that she might be willing to slowly proceed in the direction that I had been begging. She started hinting that she might have a Christmas present for the two of us. The next few weeks passed quickly with less time for experimentation. We both had church choir Christmas concerts and my parents insisted that I go on our annual ski trip to Red River over Christmas. So, our present had to wait. Christmas came and went and we finally arrived back in Dallas on about January 3rd, a few days before school started. Debbie was pretty busy with her family and had gone to visit her grandparents in Mineral Wells, a few hours away by car. She finally returned a few days before school resumed. In a long phone conversation, we had decided that next week would begin our next step on the journey to adulthood. Debbie's parents were conveniently gone during the day and her older sisters were both away at Baylor again after Christmas. Her father was corporate counsel for First Interstate bank, a 25-minute commute down the North Dallas Tollway those days and he was never home before seven. Her mother was a flight attendant for a fledgling enterprise called Southwest Airlines that flew only between Dallas Love Field and Houston's Hobby airport. Her regular schedule had her working four days per week from Tuesday to Friday from 8 AM to 6 PM. Neither of them would have welcomed Debbie entertaining boys in her room when they were absent and even the suggestion that young love had been developing in the house could have had dire consequences. Fortunately, Debbie's house was in the estate area of Farmer's Branch and had a furnished pool house that had evolved into a sort of teen-agers' living room and was pretty much forgotten by everyone-except us. It had a phone extension, parking in the alley and shuttered windows that provided a view of the pool, the house, and driveway and even had a rear entrance off the alley. Perfect. She planned to take off from Poll Parrot the first Tuesday after school started and we would proceed to the pool house for a long afternoon. I had never wanted Christmas vacation to end so badly! Tuesday afternoon's sky was mostly clear with a pale yellow winter sun hanging low in the sky and warming the WT White parking lot to a habitable 50 degrees. After a short wait, Debbie emerged from the East entrance: she had never looked more radiant. Dressed in a short red leather skirt with dark stockings, dark pumps and a beige ribbed wool sweater, she had her long dark hair pulled back and tied with a beret. After jumping in the car and giving me a peck on the cheek, she pulled the beret out and shook her hair loose and kissed me for real. Her smile conveyed that we were still on and I used every bit of self-control to keep from giving the speed trap cop on Marsh Lane a reason to stop me beside the fact that I was a kid driving a Trans-Am. After what seemed like hours, we arrived at the back of the pool house. We tiptoed in the gate and were greeted by her Collie, Ginger, the only creature stirring: the neighborhood would be deserted for at least two more hours. We checked the garage: it was empty; the house silent. I followed her through the pool house door, blocked Ginger's entrance with my foot, closed the door and turned the lock. Debbie lit a candle and arranged herself at one end of the six-foot leather couch. I switched on Z-97 and, like clockwork, Rod Stewart crooned out, "take off your shoes and sit right down." I joined her on the sofa and started one of the most natural kisses that we had ever shared. I was so determined to treat her with respect that she became impatient and slid her sweater over her head and waited. I gingerly reached back and un-clasped her bra and kissed her again. Then, I took a second to just admire the artistic beauty of the sight of her. Her long dark hair perfectly framed her beautiful young face and decended to rest on the tops of her impeccable breasts. The yellow afternoon sun filtered in through the bamboo shades on the west side of the room and splashed over her erect nipples in bas-relief. I almost cried from the sight. Wasting little more time, I began worshiping her nipples with my tongue and sucking them to an even more erect state. She began cooing and actually began un-fastening her skirt then slid it off. She was wearing dark pantyhose and was now the closest to being undressed that I had ever seen a woman. I had read plenty of Penthouse letters and had studied my brother's copy of "The Sensuous Man," but was more than a bit nervous when confronted with a real performance. I was not prepared for the amount of passion that burst forth from this normally reserved girl as I began applying my beginner's oral techniques to the new territory that she had presented, first through her panties, then removing them. I guess that she was happy because I was able to bring her to orgasm quickly. After she had finished, she helped me off with my jeans and barely touched me with her hand when the inevitable happened. "Wow, this is so cool," she cried in response. I was prepared for a far worse reaction. Debbie had lots of virtues: patience and tolerence of my inexperience among them. So began a series of meetings in the pool house. I lived for Tuesday afternoon, and started playing Days of Future Past just to hear the song. But like all stories like this, there was the other side of the story. Debbie started having quiet and somber moods. She wanted to give in to my pleas to experience actual intercourse, but still felt guilty. And Dr. Criswell's sermons on fornication and adultery didn't help any. Fortunately, I was able to convince her that since we weren't really having intercourse that this was not fornication. I prided myself in my persuasive ability and had already decided on law school by that time. Despite the solidness of my logic, I could tell that there was a terrible struggle going on inside this wonderful young woman. At times, I actually thought that I would be doing the best thing for both of us if we broke up. I even broached the subject and she burst into tears because she thought that I didn't want her any more. I was sure not ready to handle something like this. So, we continued with the stormy clouds of her guilt popping in and out for several months. I must confess that I had been harboring a secret and growing desire to spank her. Letters in Penthouse dealing with spanking gave shape to my rather primal thoughts and preoccupations with female bottoms. I had even thought about being on the receiving end if Debbie was wielding the paddle. But I never really had the nerve to mention them to Debbie in a sexual context. She had told me that her parents had spanked her up until grade school and that she hadn't had one since. Her paternal spankings were never on the bare and there was nothing abusive about her father but he was thorough and applied a wooden clothes brush to her jeans-clad posterior while holding her firmly over his lap. The last counseling session had been years ago when she was in fourth grade. She couldn't even remember what she had done but could talk at length about how close to him and totally free from guilt she felt when it was over. He cuddled her and she cried into his white dress shirt for a long time after her spanking and he dried her tears and took her out for ice cream. One beautiful late April afternoon found us gazing out at the scarlet blooming azaleas across the pool after a particularly passionate Tuesday session. With no warning, she started sobbing and saying how bad she was and that she needed some way to resolve her guilt. I'm still not sure if this was a set-up or not. After I got her a Dr. Pepper and settled her down a bit, Debbie started talking to me about how she might deal with her guilt and wondered if she should talk to the youth leader at church (a bad idea) or even her parents (a much worse idea.) I was so shocked at the latter suggestion that I blurted out, "What would your parents do if you told them?" She wondered if she would get a spanking. It was funny but I sensed that she didn't really dread this punishment and her mood lifted quite a bit. I asked her to describe it and she had a fair amount of the details ready. She talked again about how clean she felt after a spanking from her father, as if she had a fresh start. This was what I later learned to call "a defining moment." I swallowed hard, clenched my fists and managed to haltingly ask, "What if I spanked you?" She looked up at me with her big brown eyes and almost pleaded, "Would you really do that for me?" Mustering all of the resources I had, I answered, "Yes, but I think it would really need to hurt a bit if it was to work." Debbie vigorously nodded and told me to stay put and that she'd be right back. I watched her gorgeous form dance around the pool and into the white brick mansion's back door. She returned just a few moments later carrying her purse. When she dashed through the door, she produced her father's clothes brush from her handbag. It was quite a weapon: it was made of rosewood and was about 10 inches long, 2 inches thick, and 5 inches wide. The wide part of the back was a matte patina, suggesting natural polishing from being used on Debbie and her two sisters regularly in years' past. She blushingly handed the brush to me without speaking, lowered her eyes to the floor, and waited. I gently took her by the arm and led her to the sofa. She surprised me by dropping her jeans to her ankles first, then lowering her panties. I had put my briefs back on which did little to conceal my reaction to her positioning her beautiful bottom across my lap. I started slow and easy. After ten or fifteen half-hearted swats (after all, I loved this girl and didn't want to hurt her), she turned around and said, "John, you really need to make me feel this so that I'll know I've been punished." I picked up the pace and started to put my arm into it. Her skin began to turn pink as she gripped the arm of the sofa and started moaning into the cushion. I kept at it and her moans turned to yelps and finally sobs. But she never tried to get away or resist, although I thought that she was going to claw a hole in the leather arm of the sofa. All at once, she went totally limp. I kept up the spanks for a few more seconds until I noticed that my leg was dripping wet and that she was almost sliding off my lap. It took me a moment to even realize what had happened. I stopped the spanking and started gently rubbing her now deep scarlet bottom. She gradually turned over and gave me the most passionate kiss I had ever experienced. And after a few minutes, I would no longer get to use the argument that we had not actually fornicated. But I didn't need it any more. From then on, Debbie was often spanked as a prelude to our loving. And I'm not embarrassed to say that I felt the sting of her father's brush on my own bottom every once in a while and found that I wasn't quite as tough as I thought I was. Her years of tennis had equipped her with far more than enough strength to reduce even a cocky guy like me to a whimpering boy. But that's another story. I'd like to be able to tell you that I married Debbie and that she is still receiving discipline and occasionally handing it out to me. In fact, I think of her every time I hear Don Henley sing, "I'm driving by your house, Lord knows, you're not home." I sometimes turn my 911 down Marsh Lane across Valley View (taking care to observe the speed limit,) turn into her old neighborhood and cruise down the alley. The pool house is still there and the azaleas even bloom red in April. But Debbie lives in London with her ambassador husband and her parents have moved away. The details of our drifting apart are familiar themes to young lovers: different colleges, different career goals, and different family expectations. But I'll always cherish the memories of her allowing me to share in her wonderful life and for showing me what a gift that love and spanking shared by two lovers can be.
  3. I think it was harder for my Sir than it was for me, even though I was more scared than I had ever been for a spanking. This was discipline, not a punishment. It was strange and surreal for both of us. But it opened an entire threshold of relationship that had never existed in our 15 years of marriage. Sir and I had been thinking and praying about maintainence for quite some time. I believe I have posted about it before. Sir and I (my husband Wes and I have chosen to move to the more formal method of addressing him...as "Sir" to reinforce his role and my submission.) are evangelicals and both of us were raised with corporal discipline. My parents practiced Domestic Discipline as well, so it was inevitable that we would have it in our own relationship. Because of my upbringing though, I am a "good girl" and don't get in trouble very often any more. Like the Scripture says, wide is the road and narrow is the gate...so I try to stay as close to the center as possible. The longest I have gone is nearly 4 months. I was only spanked three times last year and none of them were serious offenses and easily could have been excused. Point being that as time between spankings ebbed, I began to feel more and more distant from Sir. It was like our life became more routine. Well as I noted in one of my first postings, we prayed and found that I was making an idolatry out of being a "good girl". I wasn't doing it out of my normal love...I was doing it as a method of controlling my life...something I am supposed to be abdicating to Sir and to the Lord. This was where the discussions about maintainence came up. We would talk about it almost everynight in our devotions. We schedule sex because of our lifestyle because we don't want that important aspect of our marriage to wane. Why wouldn't we want to schedule spankings which have just as an important role in our marriage and happiness. We talked about how long was too long and I suggested two weeks. Sir, in his wisdom, noted that maintainence wouldn't just be quick brief spankings and that 2 weeks might be too stressful both emotionally and on my butt. We settled on three weeks. I circled the date on the calender. If I didn't need to be spanked before then, I would submit to a three tiered discipline that included cornertime, and three spankings. If I did get spanked the three week clock would start from the following day after the spanking. Yesterday was three weeks. It was the strangest, scariest, yet most wonderful day of our marriage. In many ways it was like the first time that we made love and I gave him my virginity. It wasn't going to be perfect or altogether pleasant, but I looked forward to it. We deliberately chose an evening where all of our kids were at church for Awanas. Sir took the kids, and I stayed home to await him. All day I cleaned the house, did my routines, thinking about what layed ahead of me. I was reminded of the first time I went into real labor with Breanna my oldest, how much I couldn't wait for it, so I could be with my baby girl. I counted the cost of the pain and realized the reward was more than enought to offset it. I didn't know what the reward would be for this but I knew that God had blessings for our heart of obedience. We have a room that all spankings occur in. It is the same room we do our family devotions. It is on the third floor; has a nice big bay window that looks out over the Hudson Valley, a comfortable chair, and our paddles and straps. Before I settled in to wait for him, I cut two switches...one thin and whip like...and a thicker one like a cane. I pulled out leather strap that is solely for my punishments. I pulled out my Bible, knelt on the prayer cushion facing the corner and read all the highlighted verses in Proverbs which is part of our punishment ritual. I also read Proverbs 31 to remind myself why I was doing this. For the first time ever, as I heard him in the house and make his way up the stairs, I didn't feel the dread about what was going to happen. I did feel the anxiousness, the understandable nervousness about the pain, but it felt like I was almost looking forward to it...which isn't really right...but I just can't put it into words. Tough for someone who writes soooo much. Sir came in and sat in the chair where I would be spanked and bade me to come over. I sat on his lap and he hugged me deeply. I began to cry emotionally into his shoulder. "Molly, I love you so much," Sir whispered into my ear. "Because of that, I am not going to soften these disciplines. Do you understand?" I nodded. "Yes Sir," I sniffled I managed looking up into his appreciative gaze. "Molly, I am going to spank you. I'm spanking for a number of reasons. I'm spanking you because you are a healthier person after a spanking. We are closer together as a couple when you are spanked and that is a very good thing. Our sex is better after a spanking and I think we both really like that. I am spanking you so that you can practice submission and obedience which are Godly characteristics in a wife. Finally, I am spanking you so that you will trust my leadership over you. Now it is important for you to know that you are not being spanked because you did anything wrong. I am not dissappointed in you...quite the opposite...I am so proud that you want to embark in this next evolution of our marriage. I love that you call me Sir now. I love that we will doing this more often and it won't be because of something bad in our home. The children will start seeing the joy in your heart." I couldn't help but feel the smile on my face, which Sir was about to erase with his hand. I thanked him. Then he suggested that we pray. We both got out of the chair and knelt in front of it. It is easy to submit to Sir when I see him submit to the Lord so readily. He prayed that God would be with both of us during the spanking...that He would reveal Himself through the administering and receiving of it. He prayed that God wouldn't withhold any pain I was to feel that would continue to mold my character. Then he touched my butt through my pajamas and prayed that God would protect my flesh from injury. It wasn't a threat of severity...just a routine prayer he always prayed over me before spankings. For the first time though, I heard its sincerity and importance. When he was finished, we both rose wordlessly. He sat in the chair and when he was ready, I laid over his lap, clutching his leg for leverage, because my toes were barely touching the floor. I felt him pull my flannel jammy bottoms down to my knees and then slide my underwear down. He rested his left hand softly on the small of my back just above the crack of my back. He would steady me and hold me down when he started to spank me. "Ready, sweet girl?" he asked rhetorically. I nodded. "Yes, Sir, I'm ready." I could feel his body tense as he moved and his large hand slapped down hard over my left butt cheek. He brought it down repeatedly causing me to issue loud but controlled "OOWW!"s. He continued to raise the severity of the bare hand swats until I was on the edge of tears, my face red, and my body squirming under his control. He spanked me for probably ten minutes, easily 50-70 swats in rapid succession. Much longer than a normal warm up. After that he put me back in the corner, standing on my toes with my pajamas around my knees. I recited aloud for 15 minutes the reasons I was being disciplined. "I am being spanked to improve our marriage. I am being spanked to be obedient to God. I am being spanked to submit and trust Sir. I am being spanked because it makes our lovemaking better." The second spanking was with the strap. It was ten minutes and was almost the worse strap spanking I could recall. I was hollaring and screaming but refused to be disobedient. When he stopped I burst into tears. Nonethe less, I was put back into the corner, where I recited the reasons for being spanked. 15 minutes later I was laying on the ottoman, in the diaper possiton as Sir took the slender switch to me for ten minutes. It made squirm and cry but wasn't has overly intense as the strap. Then picked up the cane switch and gave me 25 hard swats that made me scream in pain. It was the real agony, that I expected. I cried and cried, loudly even as he pulled me up to hug me and hold me. Surprisingly after we held each other in the silence save my sobbing, we kissed each other deeply. Before we knew it, we were making beautiful love with each other and I felt it was a easy and joyful as any we had before. I have a reason to look forward to my next maintainence. Just not on my back
  4. My name is Bill. I'm a 33 year old spanko from Southeastern washington state.. I seek a person who Does not want, but needs spanking in their life, like they need air in their lungs, and food in their stomach. No one in their right mind would ever admit to desiring a punishment, yet it seems to somehow be there. The term funishment, resonates well with me. I've had a bit of experience under my belt, and some beneath it. I've learned you can teach someone to spank a bottom but that does not make them a spankophile. For if they do not share what you crave for themselves... The partnership will be unequally yoked. For those who understand psychology I am a spanko on the spectrum. For everyone else think of a nymphomaniac replacing sex with spanking. I really have no desire for traditional intimacy I've found something that transcends "SEX." It took me years battling cognitive dissonance, but I finally understood Domestic Discipline was my fallacy of truth.. I have a passion for punishment, and a desire for deterrents. Not a guilty conscience I'm talking about administering or receiving A no warm-up punitive incentive to dissuade unwanted behavior. A consequence to regret. Tears are not the end but rather the beginning. I don't want to enjoy a spanking. I enjoy the concept of it being forcefully imposed despite any effort to stop it... A plunge Into ecstasy from agony I fell. my glimpse of heaven by contrast of hell. My desire for discipline is only fulfilled. If consensually inflicted against my will. My bottom blistered, raw and sore. Is the key to unlock, what I adore. In an ocean of reality I shall disdain. Beyond the panic, beyond the pain. Is an island of paradise I will obtain. That tropical oasis to quench my thirst. After wandering the desert since birth. A black and blue bottom a cost I'll endure. Creates a love that's blissful and pure. After the anguish, words cannot say. Is a kind of serenity I can hardly convey. Seeking a co-pilot, who is willing to drive. That wrecking ball straight to my pride. Regressive innocence, able to thrive. Restoring my truth, and absolving the lies. The difference in living, and feeling alive. If you are thinking I'm sounding insane. Think of this before making that claim. Domestic Discipline, is a scapegoat's game. My Desired Deterrent, do martyrs feel shame? Once lived a man, who was tortured and slain. His crime was his innocence nothing to blame. If my pleasure from pain seems to high of cost. Need I remind you the weight of that cross? That was my poetic way of saying... I've dispelled the illusion, I don't needaccountability, guidance, correction, or atonement. I need someone with a passion I can attribute to an addiction to infliction. However the idea of "I'm bad and need to be punished." fits the narrative of the fantasy so well. Yes I know the truth however I also love to play "house." I love the endorphins released when guilt is not absorbing the impact of a spanking. When a sadistic intent is applied, rather than a Justified rationalized reason for accountability. It amplifies the feeling of "Sub Space" after the Panic response has been triggered, adrenaline, chaos take hold of the mind, in a moment of fear, and uncertainty. the fight or flight response kicks in. once the fear subsides, a surge of dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin. are delivered. it is the highest mental elation that I've ever experienced. Knowledge can be acquired, technique taught, experience and even wisdom obtained... Alas there is no substitution for your passion that cannot be espoused. Only a spanko can ardor the enthusiasm of another spanko. I believe it is the perfect amalgamation of "Trust, selfishness, empathy, fear, communication, and mutual sadomasochistic desires. Unless you're speaking to an astronaut, the vastness of space is simply unfathomable. I'm seeking a female spanking enthusiast who thinks no one else would ever crave this on the level that she does.
  5. Hi all, I've been looking for so long on other sites, I figured it can't hurt to try it here too. Looking for a single Daddy type Dom who is into giving spanking as much as I am in receiving it. I hope to find my love and soulmate. Is that crazy? Well, then that explains why it hasn't happened yet. I have a bigger profile and many pics on fetlife.com - under screen name Cuddlemeafter.
  6. Hello everyone! My name is Zachary and I'm looking for a spanker who either loves in Illinois or near St. Louis, Missouri. I'm a experienced spanker who gives love after. Any race is open and any age is okay. If you want to know more, Private message me plz. Thank you and talk to you very soon
  7. My 4rth novel was released yesterday through Blushing Books on their website and Amazon. Link and excerpt are below for anyone interested in some spanking romance http://amzn.to/2mRgBXC When he enclosed her with one arm braced on either side of her on the counter with her in between and demanded harshly, "Look at me!" she felt herself growing weak with desire. She met his sharp gaze and swallowed hard. "First of all," he rasped. "I never claimed to be a gentleman, so don't expect it. Second of all, you can bet your sweet butt that I do have a say in this. And you're not getting away from me until I've said it all. Third, you'd better have a good explanation for all of this, Alicia. Because I'm not buying it." She nodded jerkily, her face burning as she wondered if he knew how aroused she was just from the talking-to he was giving her and the way he had her pinned there, immobile. He hadn't even touched her and she was already aching for him. Lord, what was her problem? She shouldn't be turned on by this, by his anger. She knew what a real spanking from him was like and she didn't want another! He studied her a few minutes in silence, moving a strand of hair away from her eyes and cupping her cheek, then the side of her neck. He glanced down further and noticed, about the same time as she did, how rock hard and eagerly straining her nipples were through the worn flannel nightgown. His chuckle was as warm a sound as his breath felt on her skin. With one light finger, he traced a circle around one aching bud, glancing up mischievously to see her reaction play across her face. "Does this turn you on, Alicia?" he asked silkily. "Me crashing in here and scolding you for your behavior? Telling you what's going to happen and physically overpowering you, dominating you? Even after the spanking you got the other night from me?" His finger moved to her second nipple and teased a twin ring around it. She gasped involuntarily and blushed hotter. "Ah, there's that blush I'm so partial to. I'll take that as a yes... damn, what do you know..." Alicia whimpered and tried to pull back from him and his touch, enjoying it far too much and too disturbed by her attraction to his dominance and her desire for more of it. "You're gonna hurt your back, sweetheart, you keep pulling away from me like that..." He was so damn proud of himself! Standing there like a damn granite statue of cowboy sex appeal and making her body scream for him. She punched him in the chest, pouting because she knew she'd hurt her fist more than him. "You stop being angry at me, darlin', and you just might enjoy yourself." He continued touching her breasts, teasing around the nipples, and chuckled at her look of distressed desire. Every so often he grazed one nipple very gently with the pad of his thumb and she would arch against his touch. "Don't touch me..." she pleaded, her voice totally lacking in conviction. Her head lolled back over her shoulders, then snapped up as he bent his head and nipped ever so lightly at her nipple through the fabric of her nightgown. "I want you to stop touching me like that!" she cried more harshly this time. Luke leaned closer to her and spoke right in her ear. "You can stop the brat act, Alicia. You've made it clear to me today that I've neglected you. And I promise, you'll have your spanking tonight, just the way you need it." She sagged against him, hating herself and the thrill that shot through her at his words. Any other woman would have run for the hills, but, oh no, not her. She melted at just the images his words brought to mind. She sighed and murmured, "I don't know what's wrong with me!" Luke pulled back from her and shook his head. "There's not a thing wrong with you, Alicia, honey. Not one thing." He framed her face in his hands and kissed her with a violent slowness, a leisurely plunder that left her knees weak and her eyes glazed when he eventually pulled back and gave her a gentle smile. He ran one hand over her blond hair and kissed her forehead. "Now that that's settled," he said, taking her hand. "Let's go have us that talk..." Check out all of my books at Amazon: The Brat Next Door -http://amzn.to/2lqMQzu Gabby's Secret -http://amzn.to/2mq95W8 Lucky In Love -http://amzn.to/2mnGzEg
  8. When life passes us all by, moments and memories through childhood's eyes,When the youthful passions that gaily gave us imagination slowly dies, When traversing through thoughts of how it used to be is no longer enough, When emotions become nothing more then marshmellow fluff, When the words can no longer describe my sentiments about life, I find myself seeking wisdom from street corners paradise, I know that what I will find isn't what is needed to describe, The fullest attention to what might proscribe, And the bitter taste that reconciles the meal,And yet I walk these streets without zeal, Moments of longing in the Park Mindlessly dancing in the Dark Why do I run when I know I will be caught? Does my own end occur as a capricious emotional stake gravely as autumn leaves yet to see the rake?And what of the battles that have yet to be fought? Shoot across the sky The meteor flies Time passes by Without even saying goodbye all I can do is cry Yet I know every beginning eventually has to die Moments of longing in the Park Mindlessly dancing in the Dark Weird nostalgia of hot flashes of terrible and not so terrible memories brings me far back to the days of less worry and more beautifully lethargic existences What I wouldn't give to make it last Now I sit beside myself in simple reflection knowing that some thoughts can be best described as an infection Peoples opinions often end in rejection somehow my mood always ends in dejection Moments of longing in the Park Mindlessly dancing in the Dark Wishing a moment of monument can be left untouched in time, frozen for only I Time shows no such efforts in the stories I confide If I could stay indefinitely now in the now Then all I could ask is for you to show me how Is it true this is the Best time of my life? Is adulthood a path that leads nothing more then strife? What I wouldn't give to you I await with my soul Without you it becomes painstakingly impossible to become whole It is the world we stole Our objectivity, insipid emotions, they have taken there toll Soon mutual feelings can become null Romantic gestures no longer cajole It has become apparent our thoughts have lost all self-control Moments of longing in the Park Mindlessly dancing in the Dark Tattered and worn my idealism lay battered and broke, the night sky has lost its golden luster and when the time comes that your words become all you can muster And they roll off your tongue convoluted by bluster Know this emotions will become the past Everyone is born again much too fast life must always continue, For the sake of perseverance to undoing you, and to become one again, anew Moments of longing in the Park, Mindlessly dancing in the Dark.
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