I am excited to share that my friend, Newt, has started her very own blog. Perhaps you will recognize her name by the playful, insightful, inspiring comments she’s left here. That brilliance is transferred to her own place now, The Anthropology of Newt Kai, making the spankosphere just a bit more colorful and bright. Won’t you go bid her hello?
Philosophy (Words on the Bottom) Nudity & why I’m the blogger who won’t show her butt anymore (Secret Spanko) From Concertina (Hermione’s Heart) While the Imps partied through the night (Blossom & Thorn)
I’ve just noticed that Lea, a strong contender for Spanking Bloggers Network Blog of the Month, has also posted this photo. Do visit her when you get a chance. Here’s the deal. I’m not going to tell you to vote for me on The Spanking Spot’s Blog of the Year Award. I won’t tell you that, because I’d be telling you not to vote for the other blogs on the list. And they are wonderful. I am ecstatic to be on the list of ten blogs nominated — I keep going back to see me there. I’m just a regular person (aren’t we all?) who, one day, decided to start a blog. And now I’m listed alongside Dave, Erica, Pandora, Chross, DJ Black, and other tremendous talents. It’s amazing. Please do vote. It’d be appreciated if you voted for me, but every blogger on that list deserves to win. Voting is open until December 21. Good luck to my fellow bloggers!
Here is a sentence I thought I’d never type: I am naked and he is reading. It gets stranger: I am naked and he is reading from his laptop which rests on my butt. He is reading my words out loud. ‘This is you at your most pornographic. This is you at your strongest, your most vulnerable. It takes all of your power to remain this way, shivering in anticipation of what’s to come while hungrily beckoning for him to satisfy your greed. He can see you. He can see all of you. He takes his time, admiring what you continually choose to show him. He knows that you enjoy this; he knows how hard it is for you to wait. He makes you wait.’ It is true. I am shivering yet haunted with heat. His forearm hairs dust my left cheek as he scrolls down the page. I know what comes next: a photo of a woman resting her hands on the mattress, waiting. I cross my wrists, just like the photo, and I wait. ‘He is silent, but his pulse races along with yours. You can feel it: each of your hearts thrumming with desire, imagining his palms opening and closing while he contemplates your thighs, your bottom, white with wanting. You lick your lips and exhale, readjust your hips while you wonder at his thoughts. I lift my hips here, the unfamiliar weight of the computer on my butt making me uncomfortable. “Be still,” he says and […]