Thursday, 29 April 2010

This and That

This will be a very short blogpost. Yes, Miranda is sloppy and lazy and she really deserves both this and that. Anyway, I don't have time to write much, just wanted to share this little thing with you.


Felicia is a busy woman, you know that, by now. Yesterday she took her time, though, to enjoy herself with the cheese board. You know what I think about the cheese board. It is way too hard and way too heavy to be really delightful. Felicia thinks this is good. 'It really packs a punch' as she so sweetly puts it.


Not that I dislike the cheese board, I love it, in my own way, but there is a bit of mixed feelings, that is very true. This time, I was leaning towards the 'no it is a tad too much' side of it all and when she took it out I began to negotiate with her.


She would have nothing of it. I got a choice between the armrest of the sofa and kneeling on a chair, but the removing of skirt and taking down of knickers were not negotiable. 'It has to be on the bare,' she said. 'Why?' I asked. 'Because,' she said. And that was that.


I negotiated a nice big pillow for the armrest so I went for that. Otherwise it is very uncomfortable. The price was no top and skirt and knickers completely removed.


Soon a very naked Miranda was placed on the armrest of the sofa, waiting for the cheese board to descend on her bottom.


I got twelve. It hurt and my bottom was really red afterwards, and had that kind of tingling sensation that sometimes comes after a good hiding, almost like a numbness but a numbness that is sharp, if you see what I mean...or rather feel.


Felicia was in a really good mood and I felt, kind of, relieved when it was over. It is strange how almost euphoric you can be after a spanking.


Right, an euphoric, newly spanked and very naked Miranda and a quite cheerful red haired woman with a cheese board in her hand. That can only end in one way.

No, not more spanking. I was thinking of something far sweeter than that.



Friday, 23 April 2010

You Know What This Means?

Right, it's not been much action on this blog including Miranda's bottom, lately. I do not count the last fantasies and stories as action...smiles. Anyway, the main reason is that said bottom has been quite left alone for a while.


That was until yesterday. It was in the evening, I had cooked for my beloved Felicia and fed the greedy cat. It is usually I who cook, not because I am some domestic slave or anything, it has more to do with health and safety. I will say no more.


Anyway, I was washing the dishes afterwards and was just done when a certain red haired woman came into the kitchen, holding a tea mug in her hand.

'Look what I found.'

'A tea mug...?'

'Shouldn't you have washed it?'

'I can do it next time.'

'I really think this is sloppy.'


If you don't know us, this may not sound weird but to me the conversation had taken on a slightly surreal tone.


'You know what this means?' she said and smiled a very evil smile.

I will remind you of the fact that we don't do the 'have you been a naughty girl' and any kind of 'discipline' or 'bettering of ones character' and that sort of thing. Spanking is for fun, full stop.


Yet I felt a strange kind of thrill when she said that. I knew what she meant. It was, kind of, silly, but I had to play along.

'It's just a tea mug.'

'Don't argue, go and get the hairbrush.'


I got her the brush. She had already placed the chair so she could sit down on it. I was wearing shorts in some sort of hope that the right dress would bring the right weather. Soon enough it was down shorts, down knickers and across redhead's lap.


Despite the silly pretext I had longed for it. Sometimes I really enjoy that sense of dread that comes with taking your clothes down and laying yourself down to get your bottom smacked.


Felicia is good with the hairbrush. In a way she was in a good mood, kept it on an acceptable level. It was stinging and demanding focus but not unbearable.


She is evil, you know that, don't you? She kept on until it became a little too painful, a little of 'I have had enough of this, now'. Then she stopped. But she wasn't done. No, she ordered me to remove shorts and knickers and climb the chair, while she got the belt.


'Oh, Miranda, your bottom is already red, almost a pity to use the belt on it.'

Not that it stopped her. No, the belt was there and it had to be used.


I don't know if the belt is really that bad, but the sound is very, how should I put it, terrifying. It has the right 'swish' and the right 'whack' to make an impression.


I was quite sore when she was done, and all for a silly tea mug. She even had me stand in the corner, bottom turned towards her, so she could see it while watching telly.


They say that variation spices up your sexlife, maybe that is true for your spanking life too. It is hard, though, to take this kind of thing seriously when you are giggling all the time. Not that hairbrushes and belts are not serious enough but what I meant was the silly pretext.




Wednesday, 14 April 2010

Some More Running in the Park

It is obvious that not only my imagination is sparked by parks and goal posts. Jim sent me this story and with his permission I am putting it here. I think this is hilarious, a great thank you to Jim for this story.


Miranda and Felicia's have a friend called Tom. He is centre-forward for a pub team that plays football in the park. One Saturday evening Tom came round. He asked if he could leave two big wicker baskets at Felicia and Miranda's place:

'These need to be at the pitch by 11am tomorrow morning. I daren't leave them at my house tonight; my sister’s kids are staying and they are into everything!

Tom flipped open the lid of one of the baskets; it was full of tuck shop treats: Mars Bars; Twix; Bounty Bars; Kit-Kats; Yorkies. There were also packets of crisp with every imaginable flavour represented.

‘The lads have to have their snacks after the match; running around in the cold makes ‘em ravenous! This other basket has our clobber. I'll pick everything up by10:30, I promise.'

The girls were happy to help Tom out. Felicia intended to be up early this Sunday, anyway. She was going for a dawn walk with members of her climbing group. Miranda was far too lazy to stir at such unearthly hour; but she had promised to cook lunch.

A comfy Saturday evening was spent, in. Sitting side-by-side on the sofa, they watched Doctor Who. Occasionally, Miranda would lean over to pick some crisps from the bowl---allowing Felicia to slap the seat of her knickers, affectionately and appreciatively. A bedtime kiss and cuddle, and they were both soon sound asleep.

Miranda woke long after Felicia had left the bed. Looking at the clock, she saw it was 10.15. A bit too early to get up; but she didn’t half fancy a Kit-Kat; and there were loads of them in the basket downstairs; they wouldn’t miss one, surely? If she jumped out of bed, and ran downstairs, she could nick one before the basket was collected. That’s just what Miranda did; not bothering to pull on her pants, or put on her bra, she slid down the banister and pranced into the kitchen. She lifted the lid of the basket, and then reeled back in surprise. The basket was just about empty! There were a few stray packets of Maltesers, a Turkish delight, and four bags of prawn cocktail crisps---but that was all!? Yesterday evening the basket had appeared full to the brim!

Suddenly there was a noise in the yard! Through the crack in the curtains, Miranda saw Tom and his mates arriving to collect the baskets. She couldn’t answer the door stark naked! And if they peeked through the curtains they would see her there! On impulse, Miranda dived into the basket and pulled the lid down. She could hear Tom knocking on the door. She expected him to get fed up after a while, and go away. But that’s not what happened. Felicia had not dropped the latch on the door; and, when Tom tried it, it was open!

Miranda felt the basket being lifted into the air. Tom and his mates carried it for a few yards, laughing and joking as they went. The basket, with Miranda inside it, was slid into the boot of a car.; and the one with the clobber was slid in beside it. Despite everything, Miranda felt quite warm and cosy in the basket. She told herself that the best plan would be to wait until the basket was put down in the dressing room. Once the team had gone onto the pitch, she could: sneak out; put on a spare pair of shorts; and a shirt, perhaps---and jog off home. Of course, there was always the dreadful possibility that one of the lads might lift the lid of the basket and find her there! That would be mightily embarrassing—and something she fervently hoped to avoid; but it wouldn’t be the end of the world either; everyone would have a good laugh and that would be that. Comforted by these thoughts, Miranda closed her eyes and snuggled down in the warmth; and soon the motion of the car had rocked her to sleep.

Miranda woke to the sound of cheering voices; there were feet pounding along grass, and a ball was being kicked! Coming to herself, Miranda realised she was still in the basket. How long had she been there? She didn’t know. She could see daylight through the wicker; it seemed that the basket was outside, on the touchline, perhaps! So much for her plan of escape from the dressing-room! What was she to do? It was just then, while she was thinking, that someone came and sat on top of the lid. There was a dog yapping and sniffing too. All at once Miranda began to feel claustrophobic. Panic swelling inside her, she pushed hard against the wicker above her.

‘Here! What’s happening!?’ asked a gruff voice. Whoever had been sitting on the basket had now moved off. Naked Miranda emerged into the light like Venus from the sea.‘ Beside her was a sweaty player, just about to take a throw-in. His eyes swivelled towards her, and his jaw dropped:


Blimey!’ he said.


'Blimey' thought Miranda, 'it's the lad who came in for the Lacan book yesterday!'


There was a substantial crowd watching the match, and they let out a collective ‘Ooh!’ as they caught sight of bare Miranda. Feeling all the eyes upon her, she turned deep red. Looking to her right side; Miranda saw the gruff man who sold flowers in the market. He was busy restraining his dog, but paused and, for a moment, their eyes met in mutual recognition. That was enough for Miranda! She jumped out of the basket and fled across the pitch, weaving between the legs of dumbfounded players as the spectators roared:

‘It’s a streaker! Whoaahay!

Dashing around the black-clad referee, who was frantically blowing his whistle, Miranda tried to make her way to the far end of the pitch, where the crowd was a little sparser. But she slipped on some mud, and went full face into another patch of mud. Big hands tried to grab her; but she was pumped full of adrenaline and easily shook them off.

Running straight towards the goal mouth, Miranda dodged the spidery goalie, but found herself caught, like a fly, in the sturdy netting. She managed to wriggle her breasts through; but her bum wouldn’t follow. Miranda was stuck there, her tits and legs dangling and her bottom exposed to whatever wrath might be wreaked upon it. The stern referee approached, causing her a thrill of apprehension. She imagined he might take the linesman’s flag and smack her bottom with it. Miranda could hear Tom among the mêlée of voices. Luckily, he hadn’t recognised her face under all the mud, and was less likely to recognise her bum! Someone said:

‘We need to cut her out of there!’

‘No!’ said the referee, ‘We mustn’t damage council property! It’s the groundsman’s job to deal with things like this. We need to carry on with the penalty shoot-out and finish the game.’

‘But the ball might hit her!’ someone objected.

‘If it does,’ the referee said in reply, ‘it will only hit her on the arse; and her arse deserves to be spanked---hard! If you were my daughter, young woman, you wouldn’t sit down for week, after causing all this mayhem. I advise you to move away from here, so we can carry on with the match. If you choose not to…well, it’s your own lookout.’

Of course, Miranda couldn’t move, but had to stay there as the hard leather ball was blasted towards her behind. Five times she was thwacked! The first one scorched into the left side of her bottom! The second shot seared her on the right! She yelled and kicked her legs throughout. The spectators cheered ecstatically as each of the next three balls landed smack bang in the centre-line of Miranda’s smarting bottom, which, by now, was glowing red. In fact, the force of the final ball was so great that it knocked Miranda straight out of the netting which had been holding her. Naked, muddy, and red---she ran off for home. She passed all the Sunday morning regulars--who she and Felicia saw so often in the park. Out onto the boulevard she raced. Cars, mistaking her bottom for a stop sign, screeched to a halt. On, and on, she ran until she was home.

Closing the door, thankfully, behind her, Miranda headed straight upstairs and ran the bath. Her bottom was throbbing, her heart was pounding; she was out of breath, but hugely invigorated by he whole train of events. All she wanted to do now was relax in the bubbles.

Later on, as they sat down to dinner, Felicia had no idea why Miranda kept shifting uncomfortably in her seat. ‘It’s not as if I spanked her this morning,’ she thought.

For her part, Miranda had no idea that it was Felicia’s climbing club who had raided the missing treats. Felicia, herself did not know about that. As for Tom, he and his mates were still celebrating their 5.3 victory. Missing Mars bars were the last thing that Tom was giving any thought to. Only the gruff flower seller was thinking about Miranda—or, more specifically, about her arse.