Photo Haiku: Natural Red -- 6 of 7

Earthen fountain...
Grains fall from red to white,
Eroding woman.

Image courtesy of A Simple Space Annex, author unknown.

Photo Haiku: Natural Red -- 5 of 7

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Photo Haiku: Natural Red -- 4 of 7

Lost red kitten...
Nimble fingers searching
For place to play.

Photo "Kia A" by Jon Barry, via Erotic Guru.

Photo Haiku: Natural Red -- 3 of 7

Flame quenched by roses...
The pleasing scent of green
Wafts from her collar.

Image courtesy of Erotic Guru, author unknown.

Photo Haiku: Natural Red -- 2 of 7

Flower among weeds...
Woven fire and lace
Cover pearl.

Photo by Horst Diekgerdes, via Daily Redhead.

Photo Haiku: Natural Red -- 1 of 7

Morning flame...
Tickle of steaming pond
Between her legs.

These times are especially busy for me and, as a consequence, my creative output has diminished (really, I couldn't even think of a good metaphor here). I figure that this is a good opportunity to introduce a new filler--er, feature to this blog. I do hope that you enjoy this series of photo-inspired haiku. Next week, this blog will return to its regular spanko content.

Photo "Golden" by Dmitriy Sharov, via Daily Redhead.

Ekphrassis 4 (Catherine)

Shame does not rinse away so easily, does it? The shower fails to cleanse; the scalding assault only drew out a blush upon which the residue droplets now give you chill. And so you hide. The towel may shield your eyes from mine, but you can still feel my stare bearing down on you. That towel will become drenched in your tears, become heavy, and only add to your burden.

You are ashamed of yourself. You told me you didn't do that. You told me you're not that kind of girl. And yet there you were, in the shower, hand trapped and face blushed. Even through the torrent I could see your tears commence as your private world was breached. You want to bury yourself in that towel now that your wantonness is uncovered.

You should be ashamed of yourself: not for the act, but for the secret. You are to reveal yourself completely to me, to bare all of your desires. It is for the lie that you will be punished. Once you take your position on the bed, the remnant droplets on your bottom will accentuate the sting as my leather paddle imparts on you the importance of honesty. Afterward, you will flip onto your back and make your premiere, a recital taken to completion. Not in secret, but in the open. All of you will be under my gaze, including your eyes. You will watch me as I watch you. You will see that you are no longer hidden. You will be embarrassed, but without shame. Come now, let's begin the cleansing.

Photo "Маша" by Pavlov Oleg, via Tush.

Friday Flash Fiction: Les Domestiques

The lady and her maids bathed in the afterglow of their sapphic festivity. One maid emerged from beneath her lady's dress, hair disheveled, still tasting on her pouty lips the juice from noble fruit. While the one had serviced under the dress, the other, taller maid had held her mistress, caressing her cheek and staring intently into her eyes, their noses touching, their breath warming each others' faces. She had watched her lady over the course of la petite mort, guiding her to death and back. The three women turned their heads to the mirror, the maids diverting their gaze from their lady to each other. Their panties were soaked in anticipation of her departure, though their eyes were somehow accusing each other of trying just a little too hard to win the young domina's affection.

---

(Click for details on FFF)

Here was this week's prompt:

Your challenge for this Friday, 8-20-10, is to use the photo above to write a flash fiction of 87-137 words. Since everyone seems to be enjoying the required phrases, please use this phrase in your submission: "...their eyes were somehow accusing..."

Photo courtesy of Charles; artist and source unknown.

Unbridled mare waits...

Unbridled mare waits...
Fighting verses at the front,
And itching in back.

In other words, check out "Battle of Wills" by Cowgirl, a new spanko poet.

The Last Dance of the Damned

Seam of heaven torn,
Sky births sea.
Dropless rain pummels
Without compassion.
Our clothes, our hair, our skin
Saturated.
Our lust insatiate.
Our thirst unquenched.

Violent deluge chokes our sight,
But washes not away the taste of skin.
Entangled, we feast,
To consume one another
Before taken by the sea,
To meet our end
Not with a whimper,
But an orgasmic scream
That almost pushes back the torrent.

For while pure in heart,
We were not in mind nor deed,
And so denied boarding,
Cast away,
Driven, beaten, hammered with invective,
From deliverance-vessel.

Left,
To drown as we revel,
To die as we have lived,
To burn as we have loved.
Lost in the diluvial finish,
The ultimate embrace,
The last dance of the damned.

---

This image was the subject of a Flash Fiction Friday last month (July 9, 2010).  I didn't participate then because I didn't yet have a blog, but the image was too inviting for me not to write something.  The prompt for the FFF was:

Your challenge for this Friday, 7-9-10, was to use the photo above to write a flash fiction of 48-148 words. I also provided a key phrase for use somewhere in the submission: "...driven, beaten, hammered..."

Image provided by Luna Mauvaise, original source unknown.

Some Sunday Silliness

Take a guess at how much that stormtrooper action figure you're now holding is worth.

Um, five bucks?

Ha! No, my collectors guide values it at $18.20. It's from the early 80s.

Aren't you from the early 80s?

I am, you brat. Now guess how much that same action figure was worth before you removed it from its original packaging.

$18.20?

No, my dear, $129.50.

That's crazy! What kind of nerd would pay that much money for a little doll?

It's an 'action figure'. And there are a lot of wealthy nerds out there with nostalgia for their youth.

Were you ever going to sell it?

No, of course not.

Well then how is the market value relevant?

Because it...that's not the point. You still devalued it.

Fine, I'm sorry I devalued your dolly.

'Action figure'! And you surely will be sorry. I'm going to have to think about how to best punish you.

I have a feeling I'm getting a spanking.

Of course, my love, but it has to be a fitting punishment.

You're not going to spank me with your plastic lightsaber again, are you?

Tempting, but no, I don't want to put more dents in it.

Is there any way I can make it up to you without getting my bum spanked? How about if I call you 'Han Solo' again while we're making love?

Hmm, don't think so.

'Emperor Palpatine'?

Mmmm, Dark Side sex...tempting, but no, you need to be punished.

You could make me sit through the original trilogy again.

But that wouldn't be...you're just bratting now. Maybe, though, I will make you sit through them, on a very sore butt that is.

What if I put my hair in those cinnabun things?

Nah, not worth it. But I do wish I had a stormtrooper costume. That would make the spanking fit the crime beautifully.

Aren't you a little short for a stormtrooper?

Now you're being mean, and only increasing your punishment.

No, I'm not. Mean would be if I said that when you took your skivvies off.

Let's not go there. You're in enough trouble as it is.

Oh, just spank me and get it over with, fly boy.

As you wish. I tell you what, I'm going to spank you with the overture playing...

It could be worse...

...with the bathbrush.

Oh, come on!

Ready?

Put that thing away!

Here we go...dah dah dah Daaaah...

Ooh! Please... Ah!

Hopefully this will teach you not to touch my collectors' items.

Aahh! Grrrr. The more you tighten your grip, the more dollies will slip through your fingers--Ow!

Keep it up, missy. Your ass is going to be as sore as a Tusken Raider's after a long day of Bantha riding.

Ouch! No way, your powers are weak, old man.

I'm 29.

Aiee! Still, you don't have the endurance to swing that brush for long.

I find your lack of faith disturbing.

Owweee!

You are such a brat! I bet that brat Leia is your favorite character.

Aah, ow! Nuh uh, my fave is Jar Jar Binks. Oww!

You better stop being so fresh, else that trooper will storm Uranus.

Only you could be so bold. Aahh!

Your ass is getting as red as the planet Yavin.

Oh, mmm, I'm sorry I took your 'action figure' out of its packaging.

Good, I hope you learned your lesson. But you're grounded for the rest of the week.

Aww, but I was going out to pick up some power converters...

Worst... Ouch! line... Aaah! ever! Owwwww!

Have you had enough?  You know what I want to hear from you.
Oh, don't make me say it.  It's so stupid--Ouch!
I grow tired of your resistance.  Tell me what I want to hear.
Fine... Dantooine.
You see, I knew you could be reasonable.  Now, do you have anything else to say for yourself?

Well, there is one thing...

What's that?

While you have the bathbrush out and all, we should talk about what I may have done with your Indiana Jones collection...


Image courtesy of Tush.

Flash Fiction Friday: Fusion

Across the floor, he spotted her nude form. Her body glowed in the wash of crimson light, a beacon in the darkened room, beckoning his approach. She said nothing as he neared, nor as he wrapped his arm around her belly. They now bask in one another, their bodies radiating in the cold emptiness of the room. As their temperatures rise, her sex melts over him and they become one, fused like molten steel in their ardent fuck. Their skin bleeds together as they rock back and forth in the glow. United, forged in passion, they stand apart from the world, a single flame in the darkness.

---

(Click for details on FFF)

Here was this week's prompt:

Your challenge for this Friday, 8-13-10, is to use the photo above to write a flash fiction of 80-120 words. Since everyone seems to be enjoying the required phrases, please use this phrase in your submission: "...her body glowed in the wash of crimson light..."

Image courtesy of Carter Vaughn, via Erotic Flash Fiction.

Swans at play on pond...

Swans at play on pond...
Rain and rose frolic, splashing,
Weaving narratives.

In other words, I recommend you read the accounts of Miss Pink and Rayne about their evening together back in July. Pink's version of the event starts here and Rayne's here.

Ekphrassis 3 (Oletha)

Fear not, my nimble beauty, that sound is but a bear or beaver. There's nobody for miles but us. You are free to frolic as you please, to explore nature as a naturalist. The blues and greens of the river and woods provide an idyllic background for the paleness of your skin. The jagged edges of the rocks seem tamed by your graceful curves. Natural beauty among natural beauty.

You stand astride these rocks with long and luscious legs, two sides of an equilateral triangle with heaven atop. With those legs, could you straddle Gibraltar? I could surely think of no better entrance to the Mediterranean than that! I would love to sail through such a gate, tickling you with my flag as I pass by.

Relax, my precious, I'm quite sure we're alone. My my, how shy for an exhibitionist. I know, you want to save your secrets for me. Good girl. When we get to a nice spot, we'll have to stop for a bit and explore another of your secrets. Here in the woods, on the bank of the river, I'll find a rock where I can sit. You'll reveal yourself once again. You'll tell me about those desires you've hidden almost your entire life, those needs you've tried to suppress, to drown. Then, on this river bank, I'll provide you exactly what you have always been wanting.

Don't worry, my sweet, no one will hear or see but me. When I put you over my lap for your spanking, my eyes alone will feast on those supple cheeks. I'm the only one who will see your bare bottom amble through lovely shades of red. Only you and I will hear the slaps as my hand rains down on your butt. Only you and I will hear your whine dance among the rocks and see your tears flood the riverbank. And after your spanking, when, still across my lap, you scream in release as my fingers play, only we will be around to enjoy it. Only I will see the crinkles of your eyes and nose as you come, and only I will receive your deep, teary glare afterward as you thank me for giving you what you have always desired, for restoring your balance.

Photograph by Stefan Soell, courtesy of Best Bums in the World.

Waiting at Brick Wall

I am to wait, though waiting so be hell;

Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well.

-- William Shakespeare, Sonnet 58

Cold brick wall cools the blush.
Shame-fever eased by dispersion,
Malapert longs for diversion,
To think not of the brush.

White brick wall reflects sorrow.
Penitent revealed completely,
Hoping that he acts discreetly,
Else dreading tomorrow.

Thick brick wall muffles sound.
Murmuring from celebration
Driving sense of isolation
And fear of secrets found.

Rough brick wall tickles brow.
Quivering from bass transmitted,
Guilt and shame o'er deeds committed,
Both feed churning stomach now.

To brick wall she will sing.
Whimpering, gut wrenched in her woes,
Waiting there trembling, for she knows
What nearing footsteps bring.

Image courtesy of Time Out! via MarQe's Study.

Flash Fiction Friday: Release

She has closed her portfolio and rehung her drab suit. She no longer clouds her mind with analysis or calculation. The professional has retired for the day; the animal emerges. Her dark mane, only minutes ago bound tightly by pins, now plays freely on the sheets. Her breasts, buried all day under cotton, now bask in the open air.

She feels him, but even as he lifts her, she seems almost unaware of his presence. Tonight is not about romance or the meeting of souls. Tonight is about her: selfish sex. Not about connection, but about release.

Her cry swells as her body arches further. Tense in her loins, calmed in her mind, she savors the oscillating rhythm. From the apex, she is drifting, floating, crashing to earth as the cycle completes. She reaches for climax, the summit of her day. As the undulation continues, the pulsation overtakes her. Her body tensed and stretched, a final cry drives out the burdens of her work. At the ebb, her mind is relaxed and her spirit renewed.

---

(Click for details on FFF)

Here was this week's prompt:

Your challenge for this Friday, 8-6-10, is to use the photo above to write a flash fiction of 134-184 words. Since everyone seems to be enjoying the required phrases, please use this phrase in your submission: "...drifting, floating, crashing to earth..."

Image courtesy of Samantha Wolov, via Erotic Flash Fiction.

Muse Flash: Shakespeare was a Spanko

Spanker of the Mind and Body

CHICAGO, April 26 (AP) -- Did you know that William Shakespeare, often considered the greatest playwright in the history of the English language, was a spanko? A typical fan of fannies will recognize the leading line from his spanko version of Hamlet's famous soliloquy: "To spank, or not to spank,--wait, there's no question" (III.i). But are you aware that Macbeth was originally envisioned as a BDSM comedy, where "Nice is naughty, and naughty is nice" (I.i)?

A landmark study out of the University of Chicago (where else?) has struck the world of Shakespearean literature with its findings. Drawing on a newly discovered collection of the Bard's scratch work, the research team has uncovered startling insights into Shakespeare's inspiration. "Our goal is to bare it all," said the study's lead author, Professor Slender Escanes.

Spankophilic scholars have long suspected Shakespeare as having tushist proclivities. Scattered hints to the Bard's credentials permeate his body of work, including the presence of characters such as Bottom (A Midsummer-Night's Dream), Pinch (Comedy of Errors), and of course Dr. Butts (King Henry VIII). Now, however, Prof. Escanes's research team has been able to provide concrete evidence that Shakespeare's known plays were in fact derived from spankodramas that the playwright felt unable to publish as originally composed.

For example, the dramatist apparently intended Calphurnia's plea to Caesar not as a foreboding vision of the great warrior's death, but as a bratty protest against the ritualistic lesbian exhibitionism and discipline to which she was routinely subject.

Calphurnia:	Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies,
	Yet now they fright me...
	Ladies did lay, and spying men did moan;
	And girls did shriek and squeal about the sheets.
	O Caesar, spankings are unwelcome news,
	And I do fear them!
(Julius Caesar II.ii)

The trove of documents, found standing in the corner in an old Victorian manor, contained thousands of pages, parchment scraps, and Stick-Ye Notices from Elizabethan times. Acquired from a flea market by a long deceased implement collector, the documents are like pieces of an unassembled puzzle. Each scrap contains a few verses that resemble Shakespeare's known writing, and yet, convey a fascination--some would say obsession--with spanking and related activities. While their work is ongoing, Prof. Escanes and his team have been able to recognize parallels of many known verses and have pieced together heretofore unknown interpretations of several of the Bard's most famous plays.

Consider the Scottish play whose name many dare not utter. While Macbeth (oops) has been adapted to other contexts and interpretations by dramatists over the centuries, the documents reveal it to have been originally a very different tale. Most drama lovers understand the character Macbeth to be a murderous usurper who tests fate, becomes consumed by narcissism, and destroys everything around him. But initially, he was just a Wiccan-loving sadist who got off on tanning his lady every now and then. In the original version of one of the play's famous scenes, we see the Scottish thane is merely badgering his naughty wife while she bawls over his lap, her chastisement about to commence.

Macbeth:	Whence is that crying?
	How is't with me, when every scream enthralls me?
	What hands are here? Hah! The tears from thine eyes
	Will fill great Neptune's ocean. Watch this flood!
	Free from my hand? No; this my hand will rather
	The maxiglutean cheeks incarnadine,
	Making the pale ones red.
(Macbeth II.i)

Look, as I blow this feather from my face,
As she surely knows what for her awaits,
Obliging with this hand when she is good,
And wielding with my other when she's not.

Upon discovery, the collection immediately drew the attention of scholars. The American Shakespearean Society joined forces with Todd and Suzy to prepare, with economy of acronym, a painstaking analysis of the archive. Professor Escanes was tapped to instruct and lead a research team.

The team's first task was to ease access to the Annals of Anne Hathaway, as the collection of texts came to be called. The Board of Bard Discipline, which held the access rights to the Annals, initially was quite retentive, citing several sensitive matters that first needed to be addressed. When asked about the sensitivity of the Annals, Professor Escanes pointed out a figure in the Annals synopsis. "It is a burning issue," the professor remarked as he gingerly explained the recorded incidents of inappropriate access. The Board had allowed the professor a peak at its Annals, but required a show of greater discipline among the team. The research team was eventually able to negotiate entry to a wider part of the collection, even soothing the sting caused by such rough application of the Board's policies.

Once the Annals were fully exposed, the digitization could begin. Only then was the team able to delicately probe the archives to glean insights into Shakespeare's repressed spankanima. While the team worked in secret, their exertions were leaked before completion to the Pink Report, which barely published the premature emission (the leakers now face disciplinary inaction).

Among the first controversies settled by the team was Shakespeare's role preference. Given his uncanny ability to discover and elucidate all sides of the human soul, the team readily concluded that Shakespeare was a switch. "Switches make the best playwrights," the professor explained. The Bard's acuity in both roles is demonstrated throughout the spanko verses. On the one hand, he dishes out verbal torments on par with the most able spanker, such as in Richard III: "Bratty thou art, bloodshot will be thy end!" (IV.iv). On the other hand, his submissive characters often deliver exquisitely sassy lines as well, as with Portia to Brutus: "With an angry wafture of your hand, gave sign for me to peeve you" (Julius Caesar II.i).

As the team examined the archives further, they turned up a number of interesting finds. For instance, The Taming of the Shrew has been long thought to be among the most M/F of Shakespeare's plays. In its original form, however, it is interestingly far more balanced. With the spanko version of Shrew, one finds a story of a battle of wits and will between a dom and domme, mistakenly matched up by Spankfinder.

Katharina:	I knew at the first
	You were a submissive.
Petruchio:	What, me a submissive?
Katharina:	A pain-slut. [strikes]
Petruchio:	Thou hast hit me: come, over my knee.
Katharina:	Asses are made to bare, and I will you.
Petruchio:	Women are made to bare, and I will you.
Katharina:	No such play for you, if me you mean.
Petruchio:	Alas, pet Kate, I will not humor thee!
	For, spanking thee for me would give delight,--
Katharina:	Delight for me is pain for you, you bitch;
	And bet as heavy that my hand will be.
Petruchio:	Spank me? should---bah
Katharina:	Well tanned, and like a sissy.
Petruchio:	O bend o'er bad girl! shall a paddle make thee!
Katharina:	Ay, for a subbie, as he takes a lickin'.
Petruchio:	Come, come, you wasp; i' truth, you are too bratty.
Katharina:	If I be waspish, best beware my sting.
Petruchio:	My remedy is then, to pluck it out.
Katharina:	Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies,
Petruchio:	Who knows not where a brat will
	wear her sting? In her tail.
Katharina:	With your tongue.
Petruchio:	Why tongue?
Katharina:	Sure, if you talk of tails: and so lie back.
Petruchio:	What, put my tongue in your tail? nay, come again,
	Pet Kate; I am a dominant—
(The Taming of the Shrew II.i)

The team struggled to fill several gaping holes in the spanko representation of Shakespeare's body of work. Even after a few months of probing the documents, the team could not find clues to the origin of Romeo and Juliet. The team called on an expert, Bonnie, M.B.S, to assist in the uncovering. Bonnie's investigation found that Romeo and Juliet was originally a story of two spanking neophytes exploring their newly discovered kink, as evidenced by the following verse:

Romeo:	O, squirm again, bright angel! for thine ass
	Is glorious to my sight, being o'er my knee
	As if a pale, supple gift of heaven.
	Onto the white-upturned butt and back thighs
	My right palm doth fall quick a blaze on them.
	Then my finger makes lazy-pacing rounds
	And trails along the valley of the rear.
Juliet:	O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore touch there, Romeo?
	Deny thy pleasure and refuse thy game;
	Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
	And I'll no longer be a devilet.
Romeo:	[Aside] Shall I tease more, or shall I spank at this?
(Romeo and Juliet II.ii)

The team was very impressed with Bonnie's work and awarded her their Special Chair of Spankosophical Wit for her contributions.

She casts her mind to Crimson Moon:
in most strange postures
we will see her set herself.

Antony and Cleopatra remains a play on which there persists a lack of evidence, perplexing the team. "It would be very striking if Shakespeare didn't see a spanko story here," remarked Escanes. "I mean, with all the whipping and hitting and threatening dialog... I mean, come on, it has to be written by a spanko. Besides, it's a historical fact that Cleopatra was one kinky bitch." In fact, the leading hypothesis among the team was that Antony and Cleopatra was published in its original form. "It's basically a spanking play as it is," Escanes claimed, "the whole historical plot is secondary."

As with most Shakespearean scholarship, controversy arose among the team as to the authorship of the work. Did the man from Stratford-upon-Avon that we identify as William Shakespeare really write these plays? A faction arose that claimed it was all just the work of Sir Richard of Windsor, but in the end, the Stratfordian view dominated.

The research has also generated controversy from the vanilla world, where spanko disciplinary studies are often dismissed as a passing kink in a scholar's otherwise straight-laced career. Escanes assures us, however, that he has been committed to the field since his early days and that the discipline is truly needed. "Will we ever be able to convert more 'normal' Shakespearean scholars to our worldview?" the professor asked rhetorically. "I really don't know. Vanillas are so weird."

Escanes also described an incident at a conference in Cincinnati last year, where a vanilla studies scholar took issue with the team's emphasis on what she called "violent imagery" in the plays. "Clearly," Escanes chuckled, "she had never actually read any of Shakespeare's published dramas." The professor pointed out that many scenes in the Annals version are actually less macabre. For example, whereas in the standard version the moor Othello strangles his wife to death out of jealousy and suspicion, in the Annals version he merely provides her sound, but loving correction.

Othello:	One more, one more.
	Be thus when thou art bad, and I punish thee
	And love thee after. One more, and that's the last.
	So sweet was ne'er so painful. You must weep,
	But they are just tears. This paddle's heavenly,
	It strikes where it doth love.
(Othello V.ii)

Methinks I am a playwright new inspired.

Escanes wished he could say that all of the spankotexts were clear improvements on the standard versions of the plays. However, he pointed out that in Two Gentleman of Verona, Shakespeare had originally written, "That man that hath a hand, I say, is no man, if with his hand he cannot spank a woman." (III.i). "Men tend to like the spanko version," explained Escanes, who then conceded, "but among women, even spanko women, the standard text is preferred in this instance."

Prof. Escanes emphasized that there was much more work to be done in examining the original versions. Many passages have still not been found. Escanes and the team are currently recruiting spanko scholars from all over the world to search through Shakespeare's work and unveil the spanko variants.

Escanes was dismissive of the prospect that his findings would stimulate a great deal more interest in Shakespearean literature among spankophiles. "Spankos are human beings, and they need no other reason than that to read Shakespeare," he stated. When asked about what spankos around the world could best learn from Shakespeare's work, the professor turned his head to gaze out his window and sighed in momentary reflection. He then, curiously, quoted Ophelia from the standard version of the Danish prince's tale: "We know what we are, but know not what we may be." (Hamlet IV.v)

This parody has been republished from Spankolife by the author.