Imagine (fiction from my, the male writer, point of view)

Imagine a woman who has never experienced the special kind of bare-behind-intimacy that she requires. The urge first became repressed when as a child, in her toddler years, her mother had so completely vanquished her in the 'battle of the potty." Soon, thereafter, her heinie had become the focus of her irrational fear of chastisement-even though she had never actually been disciplined in that way --- on “that” place. Yet, the specter of being punished on her bottom had frightened her so as a girl.



As she grew into a beautiful woman, she found herself feeling ashamed and embarrassed when confronting her needs or yearnings that were associated with her bottom. Fortunately, this self-conscious woman-child eventually came to understand that there remained embedded deep within her psyche a hidden kernel of repressed desire--a compelling craving to experience a singular type of emotional bonding; she wanted to feel accepted and loved, to be taught, guided, and yes, even corrected.



In the course of exorcising her demons, this woman began to trust her instincts and she sensed that there was a way in which she could both unleash and fulfill her repressed desire. She had come to a unique insight: nearly all of her once indefinable urges and needs were associated with the sensuous rear mounds of her feminine behind.



Finally, after years of inner searching, she knew precisely what it was that had to happen. She needed to bare her rear end to a caring man who would stare down at its open vulnerability before he took her in hand. She knew where she was meant to be: naked and upended, bent over a man's strong thighs, with her protruding buttocks fully exposed, and amenable to chastisement.





I recount the foregoing, emotional, psychic journey of this beautiful woman—a journey through which she acknowledged her emotional and physical need to surrender her behind to another for some erotic disciplinary attention-- because that is the reason that I came to have her naked body draped over my knee.



I saw the well-formed mounds of her palpably sensuous behind tense and relax with a rhythmic vibrancy, as if her sassy behind possessed a life of its own. The deep shadowy mystery of her rear crevice narrowed and spread, as I caught a glimpse of the puckered, crinkled star that is nestled so snugly between her cheeks. I cupped the base of her bottom and my lubricated middle finger found her pursed rear opening. Traversing her willing sphincter, I probed her deeply and sensually, telling her in comforting, avuncular tones how I would wallop the naughty-girl globes of her naked behind, of how I planned to spank her bare impudent bottom as her doting papa had undoubtedly failed to do during her youth. I told her that I would spank her naughty-girl behind until she bawled out her private disciplinary delight.



Finally, it began and she felt the secure, warm, instructive sensations of my sturdy open palm smacking down across her bottom's divide and she couldn't help but sense that her power to act freely had temporarily been suspended. She was ready to receive the love and care --and discipline--that she craved. The woman-child at first grunted and groaned as the spanks began to repeatedly connect on the base of her reddening, twisting, gyrating rump and this caused her bottom cheeks to yawn agape, displaying her recently probed rear vent, as wafts of her bottom's intimate redolence teased my senses.



As if in response to this stimulus, I smiled and tightly held her waist and bent to my task with a will. I began to direct my spanks at the innocently offending spot, walloping the naughty girl over and over again directly on the very base of her bottom. I was determined to slap her round behind until it reached a heated crimson glow and until I felt her release of sweet submission. I directed my spanks to that special, intimate part of her being, the part of her usually shared only with the porcelain frame of her toilet seat. Her naughty, sensuous behind craved this attention. As emotional waves of punished joy washed over her, her bottom danced in lewd abandon. The red bottomed woman, displaying on my lap, in fact, wanted this. She straightened her legs and bent deeply with her head to the floor; she pushed her chastened bottom skyward, offering up her naughty, shameless behind to its condign correction.



Never properly disciplined as a girl, she was, indeed, where she was meant to be, with the wholesome, healthy feel of genuine, loving, but painful, correction being applied to her bottom, without anger or harshness of any kind. She began to feel the spanking increase in tempo and intensity. It hurt, but it was a good, wholesome hurt--a kind of healthy, natural bottom-pain. The spanking was beginning to do its work. She became ever more excited and agitated, begging me to please punish her, to discipline and chastise her naughty-girl bottom. Hard fast spanks clapped and smacked loudly throughout the room; my hand brusquely walloped her in a flurry of furious spanks. Then, we found the leather paddle-strap.



As a child, the idea of getting "a licking" had been most frightening, but now she actually felt that her rump was ready--she wanted to be tanned. Her red-spanked bottom soared up, seeking the searing comfort of the supple leather. Oh, I tanned her beautiful, sensual rump-- until she actually heard herself begin to bawl. Yes, the tears came, representing a variety of emotions--relief at finally experiencing what her body (and soul) had obviously needed, relief (and joy) that someone cared enough to bestow this intimate disciplinary gift upon her. She sobbed and hot tears flowed, as her licking served to poignantly cleanse her spirit. And that seemed right and proper. Her bottom burned with womanly pride as it took its licking of love. Her blushing behind had become the very center and essence of her being. In that precious instant, her behind was what mattered. She was all heinie! She reverted to the state of an endearing, naughty teen being cared for and cherished with her first compassionate dose of long-overdue, bare-behind, paternal attention.



Finally, she was gratefully surrendering to proper discipline and love, being administered on the spot that Mother Nature so conveniently and wholesomely provided for just this purpose. She felt at one with herself. At once, she was one and many. She was a sweetly-naughty, mischievous girl who needed to have her heinie warmed. She was an unsullied, virginal maiden who would obediently offer her bare bottom for condign correction. She was the sultry, sensual woman whose lusty rump hungered for attention. It was her behind which embodied all of these personas. As this loving discipline continued, she felt as if her bottom had begun to blossom. Her rump cheeks spread, opening involuntarily; the sensitive stained inner slopes of her of bottom crack and her pouting, pulsing anus offered a lusty, hungry invitation to the punishing leather.





All ofher old taboos had been broken and that she had been released. The mystery of her behind was unfolding and her repression was melting away. This powerful spanking had helped her understand that her bottom was an accepted part of her sexuality--of her womanhood. And through it all, the inexorable stinging slaps of the flailing leather ever reminded her that she was receiving a good, old-fashioned licking. No red-rumped American teen being licked in the woodshed ever bawled more proudly. Of course, this was simultaneously an erotic, emotion-filled experience. Her sensual, naughty bottom wiggled and danced, weaving to-and fro-as the all-punishing spanks landed again and again, always lathering a brand of searing love across her soulful female seat.



In all her punished glory, she howled her scorched bottom's pain-filled ecstasy. This was the licking she had feared, the licking she had needed, and the licking she had wanted. All of her repressed anger and frustration, her remorse, her loneliness, her petulance and her uncertainty--all this and much, much more was being resolved. And too, she was aroused, feeling more lusty than she had in years, even as she wailed out her bare-bottomed spanking song. Her womanly behind burned with a scarlet crimson glow and with an ecstatic-torment; her heart was filled with a peaceful bliss; the fire of love consumed her.



So it was that I spanked and spanked ever on, bringing this special woman through her cries and tears and beyond, to a complete, cathartic bare-bottomed, orgasmic fulfillment.
blisspank blisspank
61-65, M
1 Response Aug 1, 2010

This is my story and I still like it.