Spanked virtual book tour – Interview with Rachel Kramer Bussel

Well, I wrote the other day about how excited I am about Spanked: Red-Cheeked Erotica . Now, I get to really share some of that excitement with you, my dear readers, because the editor (and author of one of the stories in the anthology, Rachel Kramer Bussel, has stopped by this blog on Day 4 of her Spanked virtual book tour. Here’s what we talked about:

Zille: Despite their myriad differences, all these stories have something in common: you selected them for this anthology. What are the common factors that made you choose these stories for publication?

Rachel: This was one of my easiest anthologies to edit, because the stories, for the most part, just worked. I did a private call for submissions, asking my favorite writers to send me stories, and the ones they turned in surpassed even my greatest expectations. I already edited Naughty Spanking Stories from A to Z 1 and 2 and wasn’t sure how much more great spanking erotica was out there, but they went above and beyond. It’s hard to say, though, exactly why I pick a story. Usually it either works immediately, or it doesn’t. A good story has to grab my attention and not let it go. It has to take me place I haven’t been, or places I have been, but in a new way.

And what I like about these is that they each bring a different nuance to the topic of spanking. They get into the motivations as well as the actions, which is really what makes a story. So I’m not sure how much they have in common save for really powerful, hot, arousing writing that gets into the heads of spankers and spankees. I usually get way more stories from the spankees point of view, which I understand; it’s easier to write, in a sense, but I’m always looking for hot stories from the spanker’s viewpoint as well. I’m editing Bottoms Up, the sequel to Spanked, right now, and, as always, want to get a really good mix of spanking viewpoints, styles, implements, and scenarios.

Zille: You say that you don’t normally like Daddy/girl stories, but you include a story called “Daddy’s Girl” (by Teresa Noelle Roberts) in this book. What made that story hot for you?

Rachel: I think she just nailed that particular form of roleplaying so well. She explained it, without taking the reader out of the story. She also makes it clear that while Daddy/girl play is familiar for this couple, what “Daddy” is doing is a bit out of the norm. He pushes her buttons, and she’s not quite sure what to expect. That I loved, because she made it clear that this is something she enjoys. Other than that, I’m not entirely sure, but if I had to pick a favorite in the book, one story that consistently makes me wet every time I read even a portion of it, it’d be “Daddy’s Girl.”

Zille: These stories range the gamut between people getting spanked for the first time (such as in Donna George Storey’s “A Rare Find”), and well-established spankos pushing intense limits (as your own story, “The Depths of Despair,” exemplifies). In putting an anthology like this together, are there any fears that a section of your readers will be too jaded to enjoy the former, and another part will be freaked out by the latter? How do you walk that line?

Rachel: It’s a tricky line to walk, certainly, especially because I truly hope this book appeals to newcomers who may or may not ever actually engage in spanking, as well as seasoned spankophiles. I made my book trailer deliberately “light” so as to give a sense too of the playfulness of spanking, because that can be a big part of it. But the darker aspects, the ways a spanking can linger on our skin and in our minds, far after it’s done, are just as important. I’m sure there are things in here that will freak some people out; there are things in Spanked that freak me out, but I think that’s a good thing. I also hope people finally figure out that it’s okay to read about fantasies, to grapple with them, to use erotica to figure out what intrigues you, what you might never want to do, what you might do with the right person, under the right circumstances. I really hope the book appeals to people across the spanking spectrum, even people who might never have considered it before. And remember, just because you want to read about something doesn’t mean you’re signing up to get spanked for hours on end. Reading is such a safe form of exploration, because you do it alone and can sort out your thoughts, turn-ons, and turn-offs.

Zille: These days there are so many free spanking stories online, but people are still buying erotic books. What is it about erotica in book form that keeps people coming back for more, even in the face of such wide-spread and easily obtained competition?

Rachel: I think books will always be alive and well, especially erotica (though I’m happy to report you can buy Spanked: Red-Cheeked Erotica for Kindle now). Especially for erotica, though, I think people want something tactile. You can curl up in bed with a book, masturbate with it held close, as opposed to a computer screen. There’s something intimate, to me, about owning a book; it’s yours, and you can write in it or earmark the pages. You know which parts are your favorites, and erotica is a genre where there’s a lot of rereading. Also, you can spank someone with a book! So while I’m totally supportive of online erotica and am happy to see that market flourishing in terms of online publications and e-publishing, I will always be an erotica book buyer and reader, and think plenty of others feel the same way.

Zille: In “Daddy’s Girl,” there is a paragraph that reads,

Soon, my ass feels huge and hot and tender, but in a good way, like huge and hot and tender is it’s proper state, and I’ve been waiting for years, not knowing what I was missing, for someone to repair my sad unspanked bottom.

This sums up exactly how I feel during a spanking. As a fellow spanking-enthusiast, does that description work for you, as well? Does it seem to you, as it does to me, that the desire for a spanking is more than just masochism, there are other “needs” inextricably enmeshed in craving a spanking and the resulting satisfaction from getting one?

Rachel: For me, it is about much more than just masochism. I’m a switch, though probably more of a bottom, but spanking reigns supreme in the activities that, without fail, turn me on, and very quickly at that. For various reasons, I don’t get to indulge my love of spanking very often, so when I do, it kindof sweeps me away, as it did for this character. It’s hard to do a spanking scene (bear with me) half-assed, whether as top or bottom. When someone is only halfheartedly engaging in spanking, it just doesn’t work, or at least, doesn’t work as well as it could or should.

For me, so much of the magic of spanking comes from finding the right partner to connect with, someone who can push me right up to and maybe over my edge, but who gets why I find it hot. If they don’t get that, sure, they may technically know where to hit and know what they’re doing, but they may leave me cold. What I’ve found in working on these stories and interviewing the authors about the motivations of their characters is that spanking taps into so many deeper emotions and needs. It can make the person being spanked extremely vulnerable, and a good top plays with that.

I got caned for the first time in January, and that helped inspire my story. There were so many moments where I almost called it off, where I was so scared of what would happen next, and then I realized I could just work with that fear. I could cry it out, and that the pleasure and the reward of having gone through it would outweigh the momentary pain.

Zille: As you worked on putting this collection together, did you used any of these stories as inspiration for your own personal playtime (alone, or with a lover?) If so … details please!

Rachel: Spanking is one of those activities that for me really only works with a lover (or two). I can get completely turned on fantasizing about it or reading about it but then I’m kindof stuck with myself, though I’ve been reading about self-spankers, which I find interesting. I think the story that really blew my mind and gave me much fantasy fodder was “Daddy’s Girl.” Daddy/girl roleplaying has always been something I’ve skipped over reading about, feeling very removed and a bit squicked by it. But that story pushed me over the edge and made me see the possibilities for it.

I’m hoping to incorporate some of the fantasies I’ve had since working on Spanked into my personal life. It’s not always easy, though, because believe it or not, I can still be very shy about asking to get spanked. Anyone who has the guts to do so, I salute you, and recognize how brave and bold an act that is. I’m amazed, though, at how just reading about spanking or looking at spanking photos, can turn me on; other things turn me on, too, but not as quickly or powerfully as spanking.

Also, and I’m not sure I should say this, but I’ve been spanked by more than one author in the book. That is all I will say about it, other than both authors have very good spanking hands, kinky minds, and stand out in my spanking memories.

Zille: I have to say, hearing that you’ve been spanked by some of the authors of Spanked does add a serious titillation value — it’s so hot to think about! Maybe for the next book you can get all the authors to spank you for the promo video!

Thank you, Rachel, for taking the time to answer my questions! This was really fun, and you’re welcome back on this blog any time!

“Accepting the unfair” (daddy/girl spanking story)

One of my favorite resources for CP-related stories is the excellent blog, A Taste of the Birch.

Today I found the extraordinarily hot story, Accepting the Unfair. I hope the Author, “Placid,” doesn’t mind me reposting it over here.

Picture courtesy of Girls-Boarding-School.com

Uncle takes his tawse to her sore bottom…

I found this image online quite a while ago. I went to the site, but couldn’t find the series it was from. If anyone knows about where I can lay hands on it, please comment and let me know!

Daddies and bio-fathers…

I just called my parents to talk with my mom, and my dad answered. He must be having a less-sucky-than-usual day because he sounded clearer than I’d heard him for a long time, and when he was getting off the phone he called me “sweetie pie.”

Nowadays he’s mostly too caught up in his own misery to waste time on terms of endearments, so it’s the first time he’s said anything like that to me a long, long time.

I almost started crying. It was so bittersweet.

I need my Daddy to come home and cuddle me, now. Knowing that I can still be a little girl in his arms will take away some of this … this … I don’t know what to call it.

Last weekend the bad schoolgirl went to the teacher’s house…

“Well, girl,” he said, “You’re in a very compromising position.”

Oh! I thought to myself – we’re going to have role-play! I was dressed in full school-girl mode (navy pinafore and blazer, white short-sleeve button down shirt, navy regulation knickers, white knee-socks, and black patent flats) and sometimes he just beats me when I’m dressed like that. But this time, he was giving me a favorite gift: full-on, deep in-character role-play. And I knew he wanted the bad girl.

So, I smiled up at him sassily and said, “But you’re the one who’s naked!”

“You’re the one who came to my house,” he reminded me, “on a Saturday. And why are you here?”

“I came to talk to you about my grades,” I replied, and, with the total satisfaction of someone who knows that she will get what she wants, I ran my hand boldly down his chest and stomach to his cock, stroking it and his balls.

He smiled, too. He was enjoying my bad-girl confidence because he knew just how easily he could break it, and have me sobbing on the bed or the floor. It wasn’t a conscious decision on my part, but right then I knew that I wasn’t going to give in easy. Today, today he would have to work to break me. It had been a long time since we’d gotten to properly play, and I knew deep inside me that I needed every little bit of what was to come; every cane weal and strap welt and those other bruises which you never can be quite sure were caused by what.

But this was not conscious. The conscious me smiled at him and got down on my knees, saying, “And now about my grades …” and then licking, sucking, looking up at him with the full belief that I would entirely get my way glowing from my eyes.

And of course I wouldn’t. I was digging myself in deeper, getting myself into the most compromised position I could. I could trust him to note my every bluster, my every wrong step, and use them all against me. And he loved watching me dig my hole, his cock hard in my mouth, letting me know that trouble was coming.

It is only that trust that he knew that I was only acting bad to please him that lets me be free to take on the role of the saucy, sassy, smart-assed bad-girl. It’s so easy to obey my Master in real life, so natural and right, that if he didn’t give me this safe space to be naughty in, he would only have a desperately obedient slave. I don’t understand the submissives and slaves who disobey their Masters/Mistresses. In day-to-day real life, well, my slavery is really real. To mess up is to cause my Master to be disappointed in me – and I simply can’t stand that. It makes me feel like a failure. It shakes my world, my safe and solid foundations and makes me feel scared – like a child who has broken her daddy’s favorite antique and is afraid he won’t love her anymore.

But, safe within role-play, I can be the spoilt little brat who doesn’t care what swathe of destruction she leaves behind her – she is secure in the knowledge that whatever she does, she’s so cute: “You gotta love me!”

Now I was a somewhat older brat. The girl who didn’t get enough discipline growing up, and got used to getting everything her own way. Now she was trying to manipulate a teacher to ignore her shoddy work in the classroom. What she didn’t know was she was playing right into his hands….

He let me give him a good long blow-job. Long enough that I was quite sure that everything was going my way – after he came, an “A” would be mine.

But suddenly he pulled away. This confused me – he hadn’t come yet – what was going wrong? “Take off your blazer,” he ordered. I smiled and complied. Oh, he was just a dirty old man who wanted to see me naked – no big deal, still entirely manageable. I came back to him, now sitting on the edge of his bed, and started stroking him again. But he started talking to me. “You know, you need to be disciplined,” he started to explain. But I interrupted him. No, I didn’t! To my mind, we had a deal – a blowjob for an “A.” Now he was breaking that deal, and I wasn’t pleased at all. I tried to explain to him that he was the one in a compromising position – after all, here he was naked, with his own student giving him a blowjob: wouldn’t look good at all. But, after letting me protest a bit, he started smoothly explaining that I had it all wrong. I was the one who came over to his home on a Saturday, I was the one who offered my body for unfair grading – despicable behavior for a student of X School – and anyway, who did I really think they would believe, an upstanding teacher like himself, or a student of dubious record like myself.

I objected, of course! But everything I said seemed to draw me further into his trap. I was getting desperate now. He ordered me to bend over the bed. I said, “No! I’m leaving!” – and tried to do just that. He grabbed me and threw me down on the bed. I fought – I tried to get up, get away, he pinned me down, I struggled and wriggled out of his grasp and went for the door. He caught my wrist and pinned me down on the bed again. This time his arm was near my mouth, and I did what I’ve never done before – I bit him. I was still a little in control, and so I bit him lightly, to tell him, “I’m out-of-control-enough to consider biting you, but not so far gone that I really will.” He got it, and played along like I had bitten him hard. His fingers bit into the delicate skin of my wrists (I still have finger-print-bruises as I type this, almost a week later) and I gasped in pain. He twisted my arms so I was entirely unable to move, and grabbed a slipper.

I never knew the slipper could be so intense. Normally, I try to breathe through, and process the pain. But now I was too invested in the fantasy. I fought and cried out, still trying to get away, and that gave him the excuse to bring the slipper down as hard as he liked, over and over. (“Oh shit,” a little voice said in the back of my head, “Maybe we should start trying to moderate things a little…”) But it was too late – it was vital for me to fight all I could, get it all out. Finally, in the end, I collapsed, and he finished with a few final strokes. He thought I’d been broken, and he told me that next came a caning, fully expecting obedience. I didn’t say much more than, “Oh no, no,” because I didn’t want him to see I was still fighting. But when he turned away to set things up, I went for the door again. The fear and excitement was high in me – I never do things like this! What would he do to me now?

After his initial surprise, he hauled me back easily, despite my struggles, and made suitably threatening noises: “We’re going to have to teach you a lesson, girl.”

He made me bend over, my head resting on a black leather footstool. It was an awkward position – I couldn’t straighten my legs and keep my head on the stool, I was slightly off-balance and couldn’t get balanced as long as I was in that position. It was perfect. I had been quite bad enough to have earned a hard, difficult-to-get-through beating. There was fear, of course, but there was a blazing rush of “I earned this,” a masochistic eagerness that dulled the fear and thrilled my body.

He gave me six of the best in that position, and then another six on the backs of my thighs, and I was crying out in pain, and sinking in my knees and being told to get back in position. By that point he didn’t have to hold me there – the pain was doing that for him.

I was gasping when it was over, and he picked me up and put his arms around me. I panted into his shoulder, and then I plaintively said, sotto voce, “I don’t want more, but I need more, if it’s not a bother.”

The last part of that was not sarcasm, although my bad girl self excels at sarcasm. No. He’d gotten down to a raw place, a place that is hurt and jaded and expects to be let down. A part of me that wants to submit, but is too much a throbbing mass of self-protection. So many other Doms would have taken it wrong. He gently told me it was no bother and he was proud of me, and held me when I started crying.

My memory gets hazy at this point. He used a tawse on me, and I was scared of it but longed for the pain of it. He got out an inflatable rubber dildo and worked it into my ass.

We had stayed a bit in character, so that as he penetrated my ass I could beg him, “No, no…” He worked the whole thing inside me, and then pulled back up the knickers that had been pulled down, keeping it snugly in place, the tube and bulb sticking out like I had a little black rubber tail. And then he beat me more. I had come from him working it up inside, and I came again and again, helplessly, as he beat me, crying out but no longer struggling or moving.

Then, as I was deep down into sub-space, he made me blow him – my mouth and ass both full at the same time, my pussy aching from orgasming while empty. He stood bent over me while I kneeled on the floor, and he reached down and let a little air out of the dildo and moved it in and out of me while I moved my mouth up and down his cock. He re-inflated the dildo, and then, perhaps liking feeling me moan on his cock, un-inflated and re-inflated it again and again. He came, and I eagerly swallowed it all.

Then he was on the bed with me, holding me in his arms. He told me now he was going to make me feel better, now I’d see that discipline didn’t always have to hurt. He pulled the panties out of the way, and slid his large fingers inside me, ordering me to come more and more. As I came on fingers he started speaking in a low voice in my ear, telling me that this was the start of my training, that I was his now to use any way he liked. He told me I would now have to forget any future plans of college – that he would be personally overseeing my education. He told me about a school in Switzerland that he might send me to, where I would be taught to serve and be a gracious and generous hostess. He went on to exemplify this by telling me about how guests would be able to use me, man after man bending me over in the entry hall and roughly fucking me up the ass. He had at this point pulled his two fingers out of me, and they were lightly cupping my clit while his thumb had slid inside me and was rubbing slowly against my g-spot in a way that makes me come continuously for as long as he likes. I was fully his, fully in his control, living only in his voice, his words, the sensations he made me feel.

He was getting to the point where it was starting to hurt – he had fucked my pussy hard with his fingers, and now I had orgasmed so many times that my pussy was starting to ache. I whispered a plea: Please, Sir, can I ask you to stop and you won’t, please, please tell me that you won’t stop until it pleases you, please, Sir….

He assured me of that, and I started begging him, saying, “Please stop, it hurts now, please, please take your fingers out, they’re hurting me, please stop…” and he kept going, he told me, “No, you have to take more now, you have to take it for me. I’m not stopping until I’m satisfied.”

Suddenly, I was free, totally free, and my nerve endings seemed to blossom with sensation, and the most amazing orgasms rolled out of the very centermost part of my being. My mind and body came for him, and in my powerlessness I could let go like never before.

He gave me time to recover, and then, I discovered that he had grown hard again. My ass still stretched full, I knelt between his legs and gave him the most loving, thorough blowjob I could. I laved his balls with my tongue while stroking his cock with my fingers, and then switched and took him deep into my mouth while playing my fingers lightly over his balls. I did everything I knew he liked, trying to give him the best satisfaction, trying to share with him the depth and intensity of the feelings he had given me.

When it was over, he half-carried me to the bathroom, and bent me over the counter while he told me to relax and eased the dildo out of my bottom. He half-carried me back to bed, and we snuggled into each other’s arms and sank into that sweet rest that comes only after the most intense, intimate sex….

Tomorrow, the bad girl is going back to her teacher’s house. She will probably not have learned everything she needs to know about being disciplined quite yet. She still may struggle a little, despite the fact that underneath it all, she knows she needs it and has never felt anything like that before.

---

Note: A picture of my ass, post-scene, can be found here.

The Elephant’s Child

IN the High and Far-Off Times the Elephant, O Best Beloved, had no trunk. He had only a blackish, bulgy nose, as big as a boot, that he could wriggle about from side to side; but he couldn’t pick up things with it. But there was one Elephant–a new Elephant–an Elephant’s Child–who was full of ’satiable curtiosity, and that means he asked ever so many questions. And he lived in Africa, and he filled all Africa with his ’satiable curtiosities.

He asked his tall aunt, the Ostrich, why her tail-feathers grew just so, and his tall aunt the Ostrich spanked him with her hard, hard claw. He asked his tall uncle, the Giraffe, what made his skin spotty, and his tall uncle, the Giraffe, spanked him with his hard, hard hoof. And still he was full of ’satiable curtiosity! He asked his broad aunt, the Hippopotamus, why her eyes were red, and his broad aunt, the Hippopotamus, spanked him with her broad, broad hoof; and he asked his hairy uncle, the Baboon, why melons tasted just so, and his hairy uncle, the Baboon, spanked him with his hairy, hairy paw. And still he was full of ’satiable curtiosity! He asked questions about everything that he saw, or heard, or felt, or smelt, or touched, and all his uncles and his aunts spanked him. And still he was full of ’satiable curtiosity! [...]

Click for the rest of the story

Daddy — will you read this to me one night…?

Educational Video Report #5 – “In Loco Parentis”

It’s been a long time since I did a video report for you, Sir, but then, I’ve been getting a more hands-on education from you, Sir!

I loved this video. Everything was perfect. The situation of “bad girl” being sent to the headmaster’s house by her concerned parents for discipline, the actors, the set, everything!

Except – the girl obviously missed a cue that caused an awkward cut at the end of the video. I believe it was because the actress was tuning out the actor while he lectured her – which is actually probably quite accurate if you are portraying how a teenager will react! However, for me, in our M/s dynamic, it’s not how things are at all. I’m hyper-attuned to what you say – especially if what you are talking about is future harsher punishments, as is the case in this video!

This video gives me helpful hints on how to dress as the schoolgirl for you. And, masochistically enough, it really makes me want to try the birch (something which I will quite possibly regret about 45 seconds into you trying one on me for the first time, but regardless, my bottom tingles with anticipation for it.)

What I really loved here was how the girl was lectured by the headmaster. He never stopped talking to her. I know by now I do not have to tell you how much I appreciate that in a scene. Your words connect me to you, to what is happening. They keep me from going off into bad places in my head. His continuing lecture on discipline, the history of discipline, reminders of why the girl needed said discipline, was incredibly hot to me. Which is really funny if you consider that I hated getting lectured by my parents (and, during my teens, when they tried to talk sense into me, I’d rudely interrupt with, “Daaaad! Don’t lecture me!” And simply refuse to listen to them. Which should have gotten me punished in some way, but they never did, so I guess, Sir, that means more work for you now!)

Anyway, the one thing that really bothered me was the girl’s reactions. As in, she didn’t have much. Either I am a big wuss, or she wasn’t getting punished that hard. But the cane weals looked quite vivid! I know I certainly would have made more noise in that very bent over position he made her maintain.

It kind of embarrasses me, Sir. Please tell me if you are happy with my reactions. I try really hard to give the right reaction – but I cry out more times than I just breath hard through clenched teeth or make a small “unnnhhh” sound. I want to do the appropriate noises, ones that please you.

This was the first video that I’ve ever masturbated to orgasm watching. Of course, it’s also the first video I’ve watched since you got me Mr. Buzzy! I watched to the end of the caning, wasn’t quite there (I was trying to come right on a cane stroke, but they weren’t spaced in a good rhythm for that) and so I went back to the start of the caning and started again. But the timing was still not great, and I ended up coming after a really good-sounding cane-stroke, but just as he was lecturing about these modern mamby-pamby ideas of discipline!

Watch “In Loco Parentis” in Video on Demand or over at classicspanking.com.

Father’s Day — “Daddies” & “Dads”

I was so excited about having a Daddy again, this father’s day, that I got all into ordering gifts for him (that is, my Master, if that was not clear enough) and totally forgot to get anything for my bio-dad!

This is now remedied, and some gourmet marmalades are wending their way across the country as fast as they can to him.  And my Daddy loved his gifts, although the little bastards ending up arriving a day late, despite my early ordering.

I need to do a long post as some point about how exciting and wonderful my Daddy is.  And how the scene we had a while ago (our first real Daddy/girl scene) was one of the hottest things that’s ever happened to me in my life.

And the sex we on Saturday was pretty fucking amazing, too.  (Yes, I meant to phrase it that way.)  Another Daddy/girl scene, but this time with the cane involved.  Oooh … the memories of that scene still make me quiver….

From the Naughty Girl…

Sir, my naughty side has been clamoring inside me. The Good Girl has been able to keep the Naughty Girl pretty well squashed-down inside me, because she has been getting such wonderful attention and rewards. But the Naughty Girl just won’t shut up – and I think it’s because she knows that you know what to do with her – and she has been waiting for so long….

When I was at the garden nursery yesterday buying plants, I saw this 5-6 year old girl (in a classic “little girl” dress and her hair in bows, to complete it!) I first noticed her only because her father bellowed “Get back here NOW!” right beside me, and then went in chase of the girl, who had taken off into the labyrinth of plants on sale. He walked purposefully after her as she ran on her little legs, up and down the rows, giggling whenever he got too close. When he was far away, she would stop and wait – then when he got within a certain “safety zone” she would take off again – and then again stop and wait, panting with exertion and excitement.

I know that feeling!

I remember my dad chasing me around the dinning room table – the only time he ever threatened to spank me. I was so excited – I remember feeling anticipation coursing through me, and while I would never have admitted wanting to get caught – and spanked! – it was obviously not enough of a deterrent to keep me from having done whatever I did in the first place, nor from my “making it worse,” by keeping running (and giggling, just like that little girl in the garden store.) I finally made it to “my chair” at the dinner table, and slid into it, like I had gotten to the safe place in a game of “Duck, duck, goose.” And my dad didn’t spank me.

It was the same with this little girl. When she had had enough of the thrill (was perhaps getting a bit tired) she found a bench near where they had started their game of chase, and she slid up onto it just like I had done, a big grin on her face: she was “safe.” And she was – she was not disciplined in any way. Indeed, later I saw her take off into the twisting paths again, and this time her father actually ran after her, a big smile on his face, and chased her down and swept her up into his arms.

Which left me standing there, in the shade by some random batch of plants, feeling all these confused feelings. The little girl had originally started out by disobeying: by all rights a punishment was due her. Seeing her father at first step out so purposefully towards her sent a thrill of excitement through me. But seeing her father smile as he ran after her, later, and seeing her trusting delight as his strong arms scooped her up … also made me feel warm and … well, missing you even more, Sir.

It is definitely the Naughty Girl who loves the thrill of the chase – from the point of view of the prey! The Good Girl will never run (like a deer caught in headlights, but it is more than just that.) But, knowing that only worse trouble is coming, the Naughty Girl will run away from it – longing to be caught, needing to be caught. I remember the relief when my dad didn’t spank me, 25 or so years ago, but also disappointment. I’ve felt that disappointment over the years since, when I’ve run away from lovers just a little too well, or wrestled a bit too enthusiastically, and they have given in and let me get away with it, let me “win” – a victory that is beyond pyrrhic.

It’s the Good Girl who deserves, and who longs to be swept up in strong encompassing arms and held and kissed and filled with that simple yet so profound happiness of being taken care of.

Looking back over this, I would like to elaborate on the “point of view of the prey” part. So much is made of the point of view of the predator: of the flash of muscle in the leopard, the excitement as he draws closer and closer to the antelope, the smell of the prey and then the leap and the rush of hot rich blood as his teeth tear through the tender flesh.

But what about the antelope? For a while, the game is even, perhaps even on the antelope’s side. The prey feels the same exhilaration as the predator – the same exultation in speed, the same “life or death” urges flow through her.

Now, I am not saying our antelope is disappointed when she doesn’t feel her haunch torn apart by vicious teeth – we play a different game than them. But to illustrate my point, I link to the following song: The Hunter’s Kiss

Here’s a sad story about a deer and a man

A romantic scene from a lullaby.
In a clearing green, where his eyes met mine.
I was frozen motion. Oh! His bow was raised.
Then the fleeting notion-that my life he’d save.

But I saw it coming, flying through the air.
Feathered backside humming. Miss me, hit me where
Where it will only hurt me, not a mortal wound.
Leave me lying dirty, someone would find me soon.

I have never felt like this before.
Felt my body sinking to the grassy floor
No, I have never known a love like this.
Felt the flaming arrows of the Hunter’s Kiss.

My life is not mine.
Like a dog or a wife.
He has taken his time.
He has taken my life.

I could see the steaming of his cloudy breath.
No, I was not dreaming.
I was next to death.
As I lay there twitching, then my legs he tied.
There was nothing missing on the day I died.

Buy the MP3: Hunter’s Kiss ($0.99)

Buy the CD: 12 Tales by Rasputina

Thoughts on submission, early influences, and my need for “Daddy”

Sir,

When I was reading that Thai culture book, I found some things about the Thai culture that were, for me, very exciting!

I started writing about this, but never finished what I was writing. I thought about this the other day, and have just found the document. I thought I’d post it here, in it’s rough and unfinished state, for your interest and amusement:

I always was attracted to “teachers.” Not just my schoolteachers, but characters in stories, idols I created in my mind, etc. Sometimes it was sexual, but often it wasn’t – like my fascination with “Treebeard,” from The Lord Of The Rings, whose sections of the book I read over and over, and whom I dreamed would hold me up in his huge gnarled hands – but whom was most certainly NOT a sexual character for me, even now.

At night, to put myself to sleep, however, I WAS in the huge, inescapable hands of the “spanking monsters.” They washed me, fed me, held me, and spanked me (they even changed my diaper, at times, but I think that was less about infantilism and more about finding some reason for them to be touching my genital area.) I was having these fantasies as early age 8, I know for sure, and maybe earlier.

The common themes, be they my fantasies sexual or not, were the fact that I was with some über-adult, who was caring for me, teaching me, and very literally holding me in their big, strong hands.

Those were my formative fantasies – the very first longings I felt for other (not “Mommy”) humans. Were they longings for “Daddy?” Well, that does seem to be the case, as we have (on record, to my embarrassment) romantic stories I wrote with female leads with my name and male names with my father’s! (The example that springs first to mind is my first grade story that tells of a Prince rescuing the Princess from something or other, and them riding off into the sunset together.)

Why this was so intense for me is unknown. My father was around, a morning and evening presence in my life. He played with me, spent time with me, read to me, etc. I was not lacking a father figure in any way. (Nor did he ever try to do anything untoward to me in any way, so I did not have that stimulus for sexual confusion.)

And, although in later life I got into “Daddy-play,” it was not a long-held fantasy. I think it was more that my father, in his more vibrant days, helped shape the kind of person I would long for. I never, and still don’t, want him, as my father, to be my lover. The very thought evokes a very healthy feeling “UGH – not right!” in my mind!

So, from the beginning, I wanted a person (mostly I went for males, but not always) who had some qualities in common with the traditional father figure, but I was very much looking outside my family.

But I’ve gotten sidetracked – back to hands. Big, strong, knowledgeable hands. Hands holding me – protecting me, molding me, controlling me. That is without a doubt what I have wanted and needed all my life, both in sexual and non-sexual relationships.

I am a dominant person with most people. I get quite cranky when people don’t get the point right off and do what I tell them (although mostly I have no trouble taking control of whatever situation I am in where I have enough knowledge to legitimately do so.) I like to be in control and have people do recognize that. And I can have fun being a Top, and learn things about myself. But that’s just “the way I am.” Being that way does not fulfill a need. I need to submit my will (and other things) to someone I know is worthy of my submission, someone who can make me submit because they are superior. Which leads to the first quote:

“It is important to note that traditionally those of a low status have never viewed such a social system as particularly unreasonable or severe. Rather, they have tended to feel that those who have status and authority derive them to a certain extent from their moral and ethical excellence….”

I have several requirements for what I feel is honest, real submission (not just a fun short-term game.) The Top must be: older, stronger, quicker witted, more intelligent, and also, obviously, capable of being more dominant than I. Now, I want to submit. But I can’t just say, “Oh, I’m going to submit.” It doesn’t work like that. I need to feel I am really submitting to something real, or I cannot really give one hundred percent of myself. It’s very much the same for me emotionally and physically. I cannot have (or, have not had) a “rough sex” scene where I knew I could “take down” the Top, but I wasn’t doing it for whatever reason, that was truly satisfactory for me. Only in scenes where I knew I was incapable of winning, was that dominant … knot inside me able to untie and let me get all the way to the place of fulfillment.

“In return for the service and respect of the subordinate, the superior gives protection and leadership.”

“An important aspect of the relationship between subordinate and superior is the notion that a person should have an influential individual on who he can phyyng (depend) for assistance with coping with life’s vagaries. The depth of this client-patron relationship varies with the degree of mutual affection and trust. Benefits flow both ways, for the patron can also call on the client to provide certain services….”

“The ideal supervisor is almost like a member of the family, an elder brother, respected relative, or particularly in this case a phii liang (often rendered in English as “nursemaid” or “trainer,” though the literal meaning, “elder who looks after,” better conveys the idea here.”

“Traditional Thai promotional practices reflect the deeply ingrained pattern of benevolent paternalism in which the nai (“master”) rewarded the luuk nawang (subordinate) for respectful, obedient behavior. Though in theory, a nai is a person of wrath as well as mercy, carrying the whip in one hand and the bag of money in the other, in practice the boss has been much freer with using the money rather than the whip.”