Then she was bad

She was a good girl. That she had been told all her life. From an easy and cocooned childhood to a relatively uneventful time in high school, she had always been told it. Now in college, she still believed it to be true. A good girl, respectful of rules and elders alike. She had never felt any need to rebel against her parents, teachers, or society in general. Her hair had stayed jet black, long and straight, her olive skin unblemished; she liked her green eyes and her thin lips. She had grown into a lean, tall young woman, with round hips and breasts, she dressed like much of her friends, nothing too flashy or risqué, jeans, a lot, dresses, sometimes. She prefered one-piece swimsuits and listened to whatever was on the radio. She had played a little piano, because her parents had wanted. She had always been healthy and cared for, loved by her family and friends.

She was a good girl, conscious of her place in the world and appreciative of her luck.

Why then, was she bent over the lap of that man, her bottom up and defenseless against his unending waves of hard slaps ? *Spank! Spank! Spank! SPANK! SPANK!* It kept going from cheek to cheek, lavishing her round bottom with, all things considered, entirely unwanted attention. *SPANK!* They were consistently harder now *SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!*, and she was blushing. Her buttocks clenched slightly between each hard slap, in the vain hope it would ease the pain.

Her lips parted slightly, and she moaned, blushing even more. Her eyes were full of tears, and some had already run down her face, leaving dark trails where her cheap mascara had run.


He kept spanking her, mercilessly, as she squirmed on his lap and dared not try to get away. She was… oddly captivated. Ashamed, angry, in pain, but captivated. The warmth she felt —SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!— wasn’t just that of her burning behind; she felt it spread to her belly, her crotch… Was it… Good? Did… *SPANK!* Did she like being punished like a misbehaving brat?

She realised that he had asked that aloud. She mumbled an unintelligible answer and received a volley of hard slaps on a single cheek for it. She cried out and moaned again.

“I… I’m not a…” *SPANK!*

“You’re not a what?” he asked, and spanked her again, hard.

“I’m not a brat; I… I’m a good…”

He never let her finished and directed his vengeful fury to her other cheek. *SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!*

She bellowed in pain.

AaaaaaaaaaAAhh… I don’t want… I… I DON’T WANT TO BE A GOOD GIRL”

Tears were running freely down her face now, and she sobbed as she continued,

“I… I don’t want… I don’t want to be boring…”

She felt the hand easing up, caressing her burning bottom in between slaps.

“Boring?” he asked, hesitating

“I… I’ve always been a good girl. The good girl. The good one. I… What am I? I… I’m boring, I’m bland… Would you pick me up in a crowd? Would anyone?”

She was still crying. He kept slowly caressing and massaging the target of his recent attentions. He said nothing.

She sniffled.

“I want… I want a proper spanking…”

What do you mean?

“I mean one…” She bit he lip. “On my bare bottom… Like the ones I’ve read about…”

She didn’t think she had ever blushed as much.

He smiled.

Oh, the ones you’ve read about, huh?”

He grabbed the top of her leggings and slowly slid them down, revealing her simple white polka-dotted panties and her pink, red-speckled bottom underneath.

Maybe not such a good girl after all…” he grinned, and raised his hand.

She smiled. This was going to hurt.

And so it begins

This has been in the back of my head for a long time ; I needed a place to put writings and drawings, things that I’ve kept to myself for a long time about that interest of mine (ours?). You see, the problem with burning passions is that they can consume you if you let them simmer for too long.

Spanking, then… Pleasure and pain mixed together, fulfillment and humiliation, love and fear. It’s all in the duality, isn’t it? That dichotomy between dominant and submissive, master and pet, spanker and spankee… I find it fascinating.

Why, indeed, give yourself completely to someone. Can you really trust someone so fully that you would let them do anything they please with you? It turns out you can. On the other hand, can one be so sure of their righteousness that they can pretend to make the best decisions for every aspect not only of their own life but that of their care?


It takes work, incommensurate amounts of trust, from both parties. I fully believe that that submissive holds and immense power in that kind of relationship. A master craves control and trust ; pain, oftentimes, is secondary. But the moment the submissive is pushed too far, he or she can —and should— have the last word, that fateful “No” that will end it all.

And there lies the line that any dominant can’t cross. The apex of control might sometimes dangerously flirt with that limit. How much can one lose oneself? How far does trust run? How much pain can one take before breaking?

The art of a good relationship —and that of a good spanking— is all in the balance. It can’t be all punishment with no reward, it can’t be tight control without bursts of freedom, it can’t be bruises and welts without comfort and hugs. A hard balance to find sometimes, but a necessary one.

Like so, this blog. Pictures and texts, a few personal words. I doubt that many people will find this place, but I hope some of you will enjoy it. I know that for it to thrive it will need regular updates, regular attention and care.

Can I do it? Should I sign this contract? In all honesty, I’m fearful I won’t be able to uphold it. But then, without a little fear, where’s the pleasure?