Exploring the Maze

The spanko mind is an interesting place, filled with layers of paradox and contradiction.  When viewed through the proper lens, pain can heal and confinement can liberate.  So it is with me.

On Friday evening, Randy and I were settling into what I perceived to be our familiar weekly OTK spanking session.  My skirt was around my waist and my panties were around my knees as he rhythmically slapped my bottom with a small leather paddle.  This spot over his lap on the edge of the bed was comfortable, other than the expected posterior distress, and even that was quite tolerable.

Then everything changed.  "I've got an idea," he announced.  "Let's go to the basement."  Instantly, I grasped his meaning.  Our spanking bench is set up down there because, well, there just isn't any other place for it.  This spanking would not be our regular Friday blue plate special.  I mentally prepared myself for a far different experience.  I wasn't sure what form it would take, but I knew that it would be memorable.

We walked down two flights of stairs to our rumpus room.  Randy told me to keep my skirt raised, so I did.  Those sorts of commands help to get me into the right headspace for a big session.  Feeling the cool air against my already tingling bottom awoke the butterflies within me.

Arriving before the bench, he immediately guided me down onto it.  As I lay on my stomach, he strapped my wrists and ankles into the attached velcro cuffs.  My legs were apart and my stinging bottom was on full display. From this moment forward, he would make all of the decisions.

Randy then disappeared for several minutes.  I heard him climb the steps.  I had plenty of time of ponder his next move and my own fate.  As tightly secured as I was, I couldn't do anything else.  I decided he must be planning a hard spanking.  That would be OK I thought.

When he returned, I saw through the corner of my eye that he was carrying something, but I couldn't determine what it was.  I would soon find out.  I gasped when a well lubricated plug slowly penetrated me.  It wasn't painful, but it was unnerving.  No sooner had I resigned myself to this intrusion into my very personal space, I felt the first sizzling flicks of a crop dancing in rapid fire fashion all over my upturned bottom.  A crop is designed to gain the attention of a large animal with a thick hide.  I am but a small animal and despite years decades of deliberate percussive toughening, my skin remains sensitive.  Those snaps really hurt and I told him so.  His nonverbal response was to increase both the pace and the intensity.

"You like spankings," he reminded me.  "At least that's what you tell your readers."  OK, I did say that and it is true in the abstract and I knew I'd like this one too as soon as it ended.  But in that moment, I was getting way more spanking than I wanted.  I mean, ow!

When he paused, I caught my breath and wondered what sort of pain stick he planned to apply to my seat next.  Wrong again.  He still had that equestrian whip, but he augmented it now with a buzzing vibrator.  He resumed swatting with one hand while he stimulated with the other.  It didn't take very long before I lost any remaining semblance of control.  Perhaps it was best that we were in the basement because I know I became quite vocal.  Even though spankings hurt a lot, they are almost always a definite turn-on for me.  All it took was a bit of buzz to send me sailing into the stratosphere.

I recall regaining my wits to the sharp sound of Randy still cracking my bottom with the crop.  This was not so vigorous as before, but he maintained a steady pace.  By this point, my bottom was hot and stinging all over, but I really didn't mind.

I pulled briefly against each of the restraints just to learn whether I was still locked in.  I definitely was.  I was completely restrained by my husband and my body was his to enjoy as he desired.  That thought, along with the sensation of a plug up my butt, made me feel very submissive.  I was his possession and that is precisely who and what I wished to be just then.  I didn't have to be strong.  I didn't have to choose.

I trust my husband with my heart, with my body, and with my life.  This experience renewed that trust in way that words cannot.  It's a funny juxtaposition that I felt completely safe and content in this situation that others might perceive as dangerous.  Maybe that makes sense, at least to me, in a spanko way.

Sometime after this, Randy found his satisfaction with me still tightly secured to the bench.  He gripped two ample handfuls of my well-punished flesh as he drove deep.  His thrusts felt wonderful as the entire bench rocked beneath me.  It occurred to me that we once broke a coffee table under similar circumstances.  I hoped the bench would survive because I truly enjoy the places I can go while strapped to it.

Next, he walked around me clicking photos of my predicament.   Evidence, I thought, of my latest spanking adventure.

Yes, the spanko mind is a remarkable place.  It's like a maze with a thousand corners, and I aim to stand with my sore, red bottom on display in every one of them!

Spark and Hum

The familiar front door handle felt cold in my hand. As I slowly grasped and turned it, the door unlatched and I was able to easily push it open. As I crossed the threshold, I knew a domestic adventure lay immediately before me. Randy was home early. Very early in fact. He almost never arrives before I do on a weeknight. I recognized that he must have some special planned.

“Hi Honey!” I exclaimed in no particular direction. I closed and secured the door. I heard no response.

I walked into the kitchen, but all was as I had left it. I checked the living room with similar results. There were no lights on in the basement. So I headed upstairs.

Our bedroom door was closed. That was surely a sign. I took the knob in my hand. It resisted my attempts to twist it. It was locked from the inside!

I gently knocked. There was no audible response, though I could hear stirring. OK, this was getting weird.

“Sir, may I enter?” At this point, I hoped we were playing the same game.

I heard the door being unlocked and then swiftly pulled open.

As I peered into our dimly lit bedroom, I saw first my strong husband dressed in a white terrycloth bathrobe tied at the waist. He looked very sexy. The sight of the black riding crop in my lover’s hand triggered an involuntary intake of breath.

Flickering candles made shadows dance upon the walls creating an air of mystery and illusion.

In the middle of the floor, I spied a long, thin bench that had come from our patio. As I examined it, I heard Randy firmly close the door behind me.

Without uttering a word, he pointed the business end of the crop to direct my attention to a small pile of clothes on the end of the bed. I removed my work clothes, folded them, and set them aside. My assigned uniform consisted of a pink lacy thong and a matching cami. I slipped them on.

My man must have appreciated that look because his hands were soon exploring my every curve and crevice. While I was changing, he had placed a blanket over the wooden bench and a bath towel in the center on top of the blanket. After several minutes of delicious kissing and fondling, Randy whispered in my ear.

“Straddle the bench and sit on the towel.” I complied. I had expected to be told to either bend over the bench or lie upon it. Randy’s plan wasn’t anything quite so conventional.

“Lean forward” was my next whispered command. When I did so, I felt something slide beneath me from back to front. It was a very odd sensation. Only later did I learn that he shoved an inactive bullet-shaped vibrator inside the towel. The vibrator sat partially in a crevice between the slats in the bench such that it didn’t quite feel as though I was sitting on something.

Until he turned it on, that is! Wow. I practically stood up when the buzzing startled me. It felt great, but I just didn’t expect it at that moment. Before I could recover from that first shock, the tip of the riding crop made abrupt contact with the skin of my left cheek. Ow!

“Sit down and lean forward.”

Again I took my place atop the undulating towel. Again my bottom felt the fierce kiss of the whip.

These twin sensations were so amazing that I barely had a chance to reflect upon how available and vulnerable my bottom was in this position. Randy took full advantage by striking all over my quickly reddening globes. It hurt to be sure, but it was a hurt I craved.

I found myself gently rocking my hips to maximize the effect of the vibrations. The cumulative effects of snap, sting, rub, and buzz quickly overtook me and I began to pant with passion. Sensing my approaching climax, Randy applied the crop swiftly and sharply. My entire being quaked with orgasmic release. I squeezed my eyes shut as waves of pleasure and pain and pleasure swept me away.

The next thing I recall was being moved to the bed. My legs felt like rubber. My thong came off and the lovemaking was fast and rough. I know it was enjoyable, but details are pretty fuzzy.

- - - - -
Later, we were snuggling in bed and talking as we often do. The dialog went something like this.

Randy: “Did you like that set up?”

Bonnie: “Couldn’t you tell? The way you positioned the vibrator drove me absolutely wild. I think we should try that again.”

Randy: “I was hoping the bench would offer something new and different.”

Bonnie: “I can tell you that position stretched my bottom taut and left it really exposed. The crop stung like crazy.”

Randy: (Laughs) “Yeah, I’ll bet it did.”

Bonnie: “OK, I have a question for you. Why the uniform? Wouldn’t it have been easier to just get me naked?”

Randy: “Easier, perhaps. But I love the way your curvy body looks dressed up like that. It just begs to be spanked and screwed.”

Bonnie: “Well, I sure feel spanked and screwed.”

Randy: (Smiling) “Good.”

I think 2008 is going to be a good year.

Keywords: spanking, riding crop, spanking story, spanking and sex

Divide and Conquer (Part Two)

Readers who wish to follow the story from the beginning are encouraged to start here.

I love being an empty-nester. I miss our daughter sometimes, but not so much that I wish she were back with us full time. Happily, she is grown and has her own life now. Randy and I are free to seek our own adventures. …and what adventures! Those were the thoughts that passed through my mind as I floated down the misty passage that divides dreams from consciousness.

I became aware that I was alone in a strange bed. Randy had left, but his spot beside me retained some of his warmth. It was still dark, though I felt as though I had slept for days. I fumbled to find the clock radio and to my surprise, it read 9:43. AM or PM? Could we have missed a whole day? That seemed impossible.

I rose from the bed and threw open the heavy drapes. What I saw outside was not night at all, but rather a dark morning with a heavy rain storm in progress. I shook off the drowsiness and worked to get my bearings. Randy was in the shower. We had a performance to attend at one o’clock. This was vacation.

When Randy emerged from the bathroom, he shot me a sly smile. The gleam in his eye told me that he had plans for me. He told me that he was glad I was awake. Still naked as the day he was born, I could see that his gladness was genuine. He encouraged me to lie across his lap. Sleepy but willing, I did so. My lover delivered four nice crisp swats on the fullest part of my bottom before abruptly halting.

“This won’t do.” His voice was serious.

“What? Why?” I stammered in hopes of somehow remedying whatever stood between me and this lovely little hand spanking.

“Too loud. Get up and lie flat on the bed.”

His wish was my command. I arranged myself prostrate in the center of the bed. Randy then moved me closer to the edge and separated my legs so that my feet were apart. He produced from his bag the same crop he had employed so effectively the previous evening.

He began this spanking with light flicking snaps all over my bottom. This hurt, to be sure, but these transient stings merely stimulated my spanko appetite. After a while, my man turned up the intensity. Particularly memorable were several blows to my seldom spanked inner slopes. Eventually, he had me jumping with each strike of the leather tip. By the time he completed his fleshy artwork in crimson, my entire bottom was alight with a toasty glow.

We made love at the edge of the bed. I knelt facing the center of the bed and he took me from behind while standing. I adore this position. I always feel very submissive and completely filled by his love.

I enjoyed a quick but refreshing shower. Afterward, I couldn’t resist admiring my fresh marks in the mirror. Randy did a nice job. My entire bottom was covered in red blotches, and it felt just like it looked. As I turned a bit father, I noticed one wayward crop head impact about two or three inches down my right thigh. That, I recalled, must have happened when I jumped.

Next, I prepared myself for the day. We had tickets to two performances. I thought my long flower print skirt and a sleeveless pink top would be perfect for a steamy summer day. Once again, my husband, lover, and self-styled fashion consultant intervened.

“How about those white shorts?” he inquired hopefully.

“No way!” I had no desire to show off my marks in a public place.

“Really? What not?” His tone was more curious than insistent.

“I don’t want my marks to show.” I tried to sound firm.

“You don’t know anybody within a hundred miles. Besides, if someone asks, you can tell them you sat in brambles.” I could tell he was proud of this witty comeback.

“Brambles? Are you insane? Why would anyone sit in brambles?” I was a lot more amused than I was showing at this point.

“Maybe you lost your balance?” I was fighting back a giggle.

“OK. Since when do brambles leave a mark like this?” With that, I whirled around and pointed to the mark in question.

He smacked the spot hard with his hand.

“Hey! No fair.”

“Now it looks like brambles. Put on your white shorts.”

I decided that I had been defeated by inferior logic. I put on the shorts over my obligatory thong. I hadn’t even finished buttoning them before Randy told me how beautiful he thought I looked. He was again all over me, squeezing my very sore posterior, massaging my breasts, and kissing my neck. I would consider selling those shorts as an aphrodisiac, except that they appear to work on only one man.

As I was applying makeup, I twisted around to check how apparent the mark was. It was plenty visible well below the bottom hem of my shorts. Anyone who had ever spanked or been spanked with a crop would probably recognize the pattern. I figured the dark thong would be very visible as well, but the thicker denim was opaque. Unlike the previous evening, only the thin outline was discernable.

Having missed breakfast entirely, we wandered out into the rain in search of lunch. We found a small restaurant down a side street about a block from the theater. They offered a varied menu organized around the concept of Pan-Mediterranean cuisine. This, I learned, meant an ambitious combination of Spanish, French, Italian, Greek, Middle Eastern, and North African specialties. Feeling bold after his morning conquest, Randy opted for falafel (complete with the chef’s secret sauce). I ordered the house salad with olives and feta. Both were tastefully presented and sustaining (They weren’t all that great, but I’m telling a story here, OK?).

What I will recall about this particular establishment, however, was not the food, but the seating. They had chairs where the seat was a dome-like metal grid. This design could not have been comfortable for the majority of patrons who had not been recently spanked. As for me, I could hardy keep still. My bottom was quite tender and that chair didn’t help at all. Randy observed my discomfort and appeared more amused than concerned.

We arrived at the theater in reasonably dry condition about a half hour before the curtain. This gave us time to look around the many exhibits before finding our seats. This play was a drama. The story was rather sad, but the message was a positive one. Again, the performers were wonderful. It was a young cast and they managed to totally immerse me in the story.

After the show, we hung out in a very cool bookstore until it was time for dinner. This experience reminded me of how much I miss independent booksellers. Their slow, agonizing demise at the hands of chains and the internet is a real loss for anyone who loves books.

Perhaps it was just my imagination, but I thought there was one younger fellow who was spying on me in the bookstore. By this time, my telltale welt had faded, but it wasn’t entirely gone. When I mentioned this to Randy, he laughed and told me that *he* was definitely staring at my butt through the stacks.

Our dinner was the landmark meal of the trip. We drove out to a local winery that also serves gourmet dinners. We had what I can describe only as a four course feast. It made me glad I had a salad for lunch. The appetizer was sautéed wild mushrooms with herbs. The salad was mixed organic greens with peppercorn dressing. For the main course, I ordered baked tilapia. Randy enjoyed a broiled lobster tail. It was all excellent. I thought I had no room for dessert until they brought the dark chocolate mousse with an assortment of fresh berries. Randy didn’t have to remind me that it was full of healthy anti-oxidants. Just wow!

Our evening show was a rollicking musical comedy, complete with plenty of singing and dancing. The costumes were splendid and the cast seemed to be genuinely having fun. This infectious happiness spread into the audience to make this a fine night out and an appropriate conclusion to our theater trip.

It was a long, hot, tiring day and by the end of it, I was ready to fall into bed. Even so, Randy still had the energy to kiss and lick what was left of my welts. This felt good, especially when it devolved into oral sex. Looking back, I have to admit that, despite my complaints, I too find Randy’s unusual brand of spanko exhibitionism a turn-on. It was a pleasurable day and one to be remembered.

The following day’s drive home was uneventful and largely anticlimactic. We were still tired, but it was hard not to smile at our good fortune. We agreed to plan these escapes more often.

Keywords: spanking, vacation spanking, riding crop, spanking story, spanking and sex, Bonnie, erotic spanking

Divide and Conquer (Part One)

Every summer, Randy and I visit a popular theater festival in another state. We renewed that lovely tradition last week. The three plays we saw were all excellent and the casts, sets, costumes, and staging were superb. We shared several exquisite meals as well as some all too rare quiet time together. It was such a great outing that we are already looking forward to next year’s trip.

Regular readers probably won’t be surprised to learn that the week included some spanking as well. There were several spankings in fact. Before we left on Tuesday morning, Randy caught me coming out of the shower. Knowing the man as I do, I figured that a pre-trip bun warming was a distinct possibility. Nevertheless, he managed to surprise me by choosing a moment when my mind was racing in several directions other than spanking.

I walked out of the bathroom, still slightly damp and with my hair wrapped in a towel. I looked up to see him seated on the bed, facing me, clutching a wooden hairbrush in his strong right hand. He clearly intended to take me over his lap and spank me. I started to turn around and head back from whence I came, but his voice stopped me.

“Wait just a minute…” His pitch rose as he enunciated the word “just.”

I froze in mid-step. I knew my fate was sealed.

“I believe you and I have some business to transact.”

He sure knows how to make it sound romantic, doesn’t he? Nevertheless, I turned to face my destiny. Without additional hesitation, I lowered myself into that familiar position. I was face down across his lap with my unclothed bottom optimally angled to accept the coming onslaught.

Our session was brief, but shockingly intense. The curved handled brush delivers a powerful, burning wallop and with repeated application turns the recipient’s posterior a fiery red hue. By the time he let me up, I was clutching my scalded flesh in a futile effort to stem the pain. I felt thoroughly spanked.

As I was working to regain my composure, Randy grabbed a department store bag from the top of his dresser. He tossed it to me. I opened the slick, shiny plastic bag and removed from it four black cotton thongs. The store tags were still attached.

My first thought was how wonderful it is to have a sweet husband who buys me sexy underwear even after all these years. My second thought was that he probably expects me to wear these thongs on the trip and then use that as an excuse to spank at every opportunity.

I was, of course, correct on both counts. Randy announced that he wanted me to wear these new thongs on the trip. I asked if I could please wash them first and he agreed that there should be enough time before we left. However, he asked that I wear one pair when we departed.

As it turned out, this was not my dear husband’s only fashion mandate. He wanted me to wear a pair of light tan canvas slacks. I think he thought he was being sly, but I immediately recognized his game. He wanted me to show off my well tended bottom for him and the rest of the world, framed by a very visible dark thong.

As with so many of his plans, I felt simultaneously horrified and thrilled. On one hand, I really didn’t need to be paraded around like a prime cut of meat. I’m a grandmother! Yet, on the other hand, something deep within my submissive core desired to be that meat. I wanted my curvy body to inspire impure thoughts in complete strangers.

Perhaps I could have begged off, but I made no attempt. In fact, I even packed a favorite pair of white shorts.

By the time my newest lingerie came out of the dryer, I was otherwise packed and ready to go. I slid one pair over and into my recently toasted bottom. The feeling of the warm fabric gently separating my cheeks caused me to shiver with anticipation. I was now due the full treatment and I wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less.

A quick check in the mirror revealed that the tan slacks were every bit as translucent as Randy had envisioned. The T-shaped top of my black cotton thong was clearly visible in back. I pondered for a brief instant the possibility of modeling this new look for my man, but I decided that would probably delay our departure even further. After all, we did have tickets for a performance that evening.

My bottom was still quite tender when we set out for our four hour drive. But the weather was pleasant and the highway was inviting. Under the right circumstances, I love a road trip. I like to watch the cars and trucks, mountains and pastures, signs and sights. You can learn a lot about people and the way they live by driving along a two lane road. By the time we arrived at our destination, I felt surprisingly energized.

We chose an established hotel chain for our accommodations on this trip. The previous time we attended this event, we stayed at a cute little bed and breakfast. The old house was downright charming, as were our hosts, but the thin walls and lack of privacy definitely inhibited some of our noisier vacation activities. To our delight, our new room was located at the end of a long hall on the top floor. Other than the housekeeping staff, we saw barely saw another soul the entire time.

Once inside the room, Randy insisted upon carrying out one of his favorite traditions. He likes to inaugurate a new dwelling by reddening my seat. In the name of good fun and all that inevitably follows, I eagerly played along.

I started to remove my slacks in preparation for the inevitable, but he told me that he would rather I left them on this time. He said he “liked the look.” My man positioned me on hands and knees in the middle of the carpeted floor. From his bag, he produced our black leather riding crop. It’s an effective toy in terms of spanking, but by no means excessive. I rather like its savage kiss.

“Crack” went the leather tip as it impacted against my lightly covered bottom. I flinched, but maintained my position. Again, he snapped the whip against my opposite side. This too hurt, but in a delicious sort of way. I tipped my hips to invite more of the same. He did not disappoint.

The blows now fell slowly and at irregular intervals such that I could not anticipate when or where the next one would fall. He turned on the television to provide us with a little aural cover. Randy then straddled my waist facing my burning derriere. He applied the crop again with skillful aim and just the right level of severity. Now craving the wicked burn, I felt as though I wanted all he would give me.

The next thing I recall, I was on the bed, on my back, without clothing, and accepting a very different sort of gift. My fingers dug into my lover’s back as we were overtaken by the hazy otherworldliness of a breathless coupling. The preceding act had been welcome and necessary. This phase, though, dripped with erotic indulgence. It was deep, sensual luxury. Somehow dirty, yet wholesome, and fulfilling, but promising more. Mmmmm.

I would have been quite content to drift off to sleep beside my life partner, but Randy reminded me that we had tickets for a performance in just ninety minutes and we hadn’t eaten since lunch. Faced with this practical conundrum, I chose to abandon for the moment my dreams of slumber.

Randy and I shared a quick but tasty meal at a storefront café. I had a grilled chicken avocado salad with a honey vinaigrette dressing. Randy chose a deli sandwich with kettle chips. I enjoyed again being in the company of theater people. There were as many characters in the restaurant as we saw on stage. We smiled as a very demonstrative gay patron informed everyone within earshot how pedestrian he thought the bouillabaisse had been. As far as I could tell, that item wasn’t even on the menu. Later, an older woman instructed her waitress with great precision about the temperature at which her soup should be served. Unfortunately, we had to leave before learning whether it was to her liking.

As we walked to the theater, Randy seemed to dawdle. I thought we were in a bit of hurry, but you couldn’t discern that fact from his leisurely pace. Finally, I said to him, “C’mon, shouldn’t we get going?” He laughed and replied, “Yeah, but I love looking at your beautiful ass in those pants.”

I suppose it’s nice to be appreciated.

The play was a classic British comedy. It was appropriately serious about being silly and silly about being serious. There were many laughs and we thoroughly enjoyed the production.

We stopped for dessert in the same café after the show. I have a weakness for chocolate and for cheesecake. The two combined in the proper proportions can be pure heaven. This rendition was happiness on a small plate. I ate it slowly in hopes of savoring every morsel. I would tell you what Randy ordered, except that I have no idea. The cheesecake was that good!

The conclusion of Divide and Conquer can be found here.

Keywords: spanking, vacation spanking, hairbrush spanking, riding crop, spanking story, spanking and sex, Bonnie, erotic spanking

Implement Stories #6: Griz and Good Girl

I'm delighted that another of my favorite spanko couples decided to join in the fun by contributing their own implement story. Griz and Good Girl publish a great blog named Everything Goes. If you haven't visited lately, I wholeheartedly suggest you do. The fun they share starts with spanking and bondage, and only gets better from there.

Let's learn about a very special crop.


good girl: This riding crop can be found at JT's Stockroom for a meager $28 and it is worth every penny. It is of high quality and is very functional. Like all crops, it provides an easy way to discipline a submissive with exactly the amount of force a dominant desires. It is 26" inches long and offers great leverage for a good snap to the ass, thigh, or breast.

Griz: One red ass, with two red cheeks. I love symmetry, and I love the new riding crop we have purchased. I have found myself with an uncontrollable urge to use it on good girl every evening and not just for training. I tell her to get on her hands and knees and spank her hard and many times over until she begs for mercy.

good girl: This new crop is actually my favorite spanking toy. It gives Griz more control over both the force and location of his spanks. Of course, I prefer the lighter, playful swats on my ass, though it is possible to hit quite hard with this crop. And the sound it makes as it flies through the air is truly a mindfuck. I reflexively flinch when I hear the whizzing sound of the crop flying through the air, even when its not directed toward my ass. We have a rule that I'm not allowed to touch the crop with my hands. Since its for disciplining me, Griz doesn't want me to become too comfortable with it. The picture above shows how I have to carry it around when he wants me to bring it to him. We're still beginner spankos and this has been a great starter toy for us. I give it two perky nipples and one sore, red ass up!

Griz: I like to smack good girl on her ass, and really, who wouldn't like to smack good girl on her ass? Well now, we have a new rule: Every time I slap her on the ass she has to thank me for doing so.

                      Smack!

"thank you, sir"

                      Smack!

"thank you"

Additionally, whenever I spank her, she has to count out the spanks. In other words, when she happens to walk by me and I take a swing at her ass and that melodical smack sound is heard, she is compelled to thank me for the honor of my hand on her rear. However, when I bend her over and spank her with a crop, paddle, spoon, flogger, or my own hand on her flesh, she must count each and every time I spank her, then thank me for it in the end.

good girl: While I don't particularly enjoy having to count each spank (because those kinds of spankings happen when I've done something bad), it does help me get in a submissive, repentent frame of mind. The same thing happens when I thank him for smacking my bottom. It makes me feel small, submissive, and grateful to him for taking the time to spank me.

I'm grateful to both of you for sharing your favorite implement and your spanking style with MBS readers!

Keywords: implement stories, crop, riding crop, submissive, spanking