The Spankee's Catechism

by Paulus the Woodgnome

What do I like ? I like a man's hands. I like the first, caressing gesture along the curve of one cheek, the careful assessment of the tightness of the jeans and the thickness of the material, the pulling up tight into the crack to ensure that the maximum force is transmitted. I like strong, capable masculine hands pulling my pants down to expose to a hungry gaze my already flushed and stinging bottom. I like the feel of a man's hand on my bum. I like knowing that he can touch me there, that my private flesh is his to play with, to tease, to punish.

What do I like ? I like a man's physical solidity. I like the mass and strength of his thighs underneath me, the furnace warmth of his body as I'm pressed close against him. I like the play of his breath against my skin, the scent of him in my nostrils, musky and masculine. I like the press of his erection against me, telling me how rewarding he finds my punishment, telling me of his pleasure in dealing with me.

What do I like ? I like a man's strength. I want his strength to be greater than mine. I want his will to be stronger than mine. I want to feel the muscular power of him as he pulls me down across his lap, want to know that I have to remain in this helpless and rather humiliating position no matter how much I wiggle and gasp, until he decides that I can get up. And adopt some other position.

What do I like ? I like a man's imagination, finding new ways for a bum to be presented for punishment. Bent across a table or a desk. Doubled over the back of an armchair. Lying on a bed with pillows or a bedroll or even a small footstool underneath my pelvis, legs spread, to raise and part my cheeks in a manner that just begs for a good thrashing, a request that will certainly not be resisted. I like his amused, teasing voice as he finds yet another reason for further chastisement, for a taste of some implement, for the scanty protection of another layer of clothing to be removed.

What do I like ? I like a man's mastery. I want to be his, his to punish as he pleases, for his own pleasure. I want my arse to tingle in anticipation as I wait for his hand, for the slap of the paddle, for the sting of his supple belt, want to know: here I am helpless, my bottom presented for his desire. Want to know: I'm going to be so sore, so on fire, I'm going to beg him to stop. And want to know: he won't stop. Until he wants to. Until he decides it's over.

Yeah. That's what I like.

Copyright © 2001

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