Boobs > Bum

I think my boobs and my bum are connected by some kind of internal umbilical cord. If I get spanked, my mounds swell in response, as if some kid was yelling in the end of a can and his friend got an earful across the playground. Bam! my ass clammers. Boom! my breasts pop. Smack! my ass quivers. Zoing! my boobs leap. And so it goes.

It doesn't even take contact. Just the threat of a spanking can make my balloons fill and get perky. Sometimes just a stern word can give me an extra large shelf in which to bury my shame-filled head.

And it doesn't even take another person. Alone, I can make my babies glisten with my tongue, my nipples stretch with my fingers, and pump up the pressure with a lusty massage. It certainly helps when I show them off to a wide-eyed voyeur on the internet and he or she goes a little gaga over them. Touch me! my breasts squeal. Oh, give me a second alone with them and they'll be touched! my viewer responds.

But there's a dilemma. Spanko men are ass men. So how do I get them to beg for my breasts? How do I encourage them to press my chest HARD against the bed while they up-end me for a bottom-warming? So here's my pitch: Boys,....um, men...sirs....my boobs are bigger than my bum. And perky. And round. And if I squeeze them together like this, just so...see?...well, they kinda look like a bum, don't they?

Nothing is forever, including my bosom. So here's your opportunity. Seize the day! Thank you.

I think I have to go spank them now. They are swelling randomly again and need some attention. Naughty girls. :P

Signed 36F and perky

When the river dries up

What's a spanko gal to do when her river dries up? When her libido hides under the covers? Well, sure there's the obvious stuff - ask the doctor, go see a therapist, cry, try a vibrator, or make a sweet cup of love tea. But then what?

Well, here's where it rocks being a spanko. Even when the body doesn't respond - because of stress, illness, relationship doozies or other - the mind is so well-disciplined that it can still trigger the high. Read a spanking story, watch a clip, or delve into the blogging scene. Look through your closet for an item of clothes that could work as a costume. Remember your hottest fantasy scenarios. Chat with strangers across the world who share your kink.

I've had a hard journey in the last few years. But I am so grateful for my endlessly creative fetish, one which has carried me to galaxies with comic book stars radiating from my behind. My drive will come back one day, and when it does, I'll have a long list of positions I want to try, expressions of submission I want to share, and a stored up spankgasm that will need some serious attention. I am in a cocoon, but my wings are tapping against the walls.

Bobbing for Apples

Looking for a spanking partner is like bobbing for the perfect apple. I draw up a list of the criteria I want - what kind of apple, from which location, natural or candy exterior, texture and freshness. Then I bend over, put my mouth below the surface, and try to latch on to one I'll like. When I can't find one, I stick my head further under, immersing my senses in the shared water. Sometimes I bite down on something rotten, or anathema to me, and sometimes the apple is so close to what I was looking for, that I wonder if I can just accept it as it is, without holding out hope that it can be modified to meet my needs.

Looking for a spanker on dating sites is quite similar. I have to gamble by going in deep and deeper, exposing parts of myself, risking my pride and confidence, in the hopes that I'll find a close match so that we can get started. Sometimes that involves tasting some which are underripe or past their prime, or even a pear masquerading as an apple.

As with fruit-bobbing, testing a spanking partner means bending over and letting my face get drenched in wetness. But I haven't penetrated Eve's apple with my teeth quite yet. When will I get a chance to taste the knowledge of delicious sin?

When will I find the man whose approach to life and spanking gives me butterflies?