June 2020 – Our Bottoms Burn

Pegging

I never wanted to try pegging. I was anal erotic for a few years as a youth. One day poof that desire was gone. I don’t recall even knowing about pegging back then. I probably would have tried it if I had known about it.

I guess pegging is just another type of ass play like enemas, fisting, etc.

From time-to-time, I have encountered pegging images on spanking sites. I have been intrigued to see how many women like the role of the penetrator. There are images of “mean” women forcing men. I suppose that caters to men who favor a FLR. Like spanking, the images that attract me are the ones of the “girl next door” playfully showing off her cock.

From Cosmopolitan: 14 Women on Why They Love Pegging

It’s All About The Ass

Lots of images of women showing off their appendage

Oh my, what a cutie

Playful Women, Bless Them

School Girl Outfit With A Cock

Women Look Better Thrusting Than Men

Wonder Why She Did Not Trim The Straps

Party Time

The State Of Race Relations

The country is becoming unglued. Are we headed to civil war? Jacobins in the streets. Trump is a failure. I don’t know who will be pulling Biden’s strings, as he is truly incompetent. Our government is fast becoming a democracy and while the word is normally thought to be a good thing, democracy has always turned into chaos. [For those who only have what passes these days for an education, the US was started as a republic, not a democracy]

The “perfect storm” is just getting started, and that means that what we have experienced up to this point is just the tip of the iceberg.

So as the country melts down, I want to share with you what’s happening, or rather not happening, in the state that was the center of civil rights in the ’60s.

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Before the community organizer became president, my impression was that race relations were steadily improving. We live in a city that is 59% Black and has about zero racial friction. Post Obama, I read of conflict someplace almost every day, yet here it remains quiet.

We live in Montgomery, the first capital of the confederacy where the city motto is The Cradle of the Confederacy. The first capital building of the confederacy is a tourist attraction. Montgomery had the year-long bus boycott after the Rosa Parks incident. It is also the home of MLK Jr’s church.

We are 90 miles south of Birmingham the destination of freedom buses and Bull Connor’s dogs and fire hoses.

Montgomery is less than 60 miles from Selma where the March to the Montgomery Capital steps started.

Community policing is practiced. Every week a dozen or so officers follow the Cheif around neighborhoods shaking hands, listening, playing basketball with the kids, handing out small toys, etc.

One might think this city would be a lightning rod for civil unrest. Yet all is quiet. As a woman told Bacall “We are past all that”.

Ironic is it not?

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In other news, the number of earthquakes is increasing. So many that they fail being even a blip in the news. There was a 7.4 off the coast of Mexico this past week.

Locusts, yeah you saw that a few months back in Africa. Well, kids, they are in Argentia eating everything and they are headed for Brazil.

Just when is that asteroid going to hit? When is a solar flare going to upset everything electric?

I am going to take an edible listen to Jazz.

Panty Boy

Found this one in the vault. It was written by a friend of mine a few centuries ago. We enjoyed paddling each other for several years. She was happy to indulge my fetish for wearing panties.

She knew he liked to be paddled wearing girl’s panties and she liked to paddle him in girl’s panties. So off to the store they went. He wondered what color she would select – yellow, peach, or maybe white. They were always nylon with a little decoration and usually full cut. She wanted a snug fit, but large enough to cover his bottom and hold his cock, when it got hard – and it always did when she had him put them on. The most important thing was that they were thin, so they would not protect his bottom from the paddle.

She took her time selecting a pair, holding them up, and asking if he liked them. When she made up her mind she gave them to him to take to the register. She hoped the clerk would realize they sure as heck would not fit her.

She wasted no time when they got back. She had him strip while she watched. His cock was already hard. He pulled the panties on. They fit to her satisfaction. She had him put on white socks and a t-shirt to complete the outfit. Now the teasing began. She stroked his cock through the panties and reminded him how much the paddle was going to sting. She got the paddle out and continued to tease him, getting him hotter and hotter.

She said in a low voice, “I am going to give you a real good paddling. You got some good paddlings when you were in school, and I’m sure you can remember how they felt. I’m going to give you the same, except this time you will be wearing girls panties while I paddle your bottom.”

She just looked at him for a long moment as if she knew the effect the sentence she had just passed had on him and then she told him to follow her. A no-nonsense principal paddle lay ready on the bed. She told him to stand at the side of the bed. He felt foolish standing there with a full erection, knowing that she was going to paddle him. It made no sense. He knew that, but it was his reality and while both embarrassed and nervous, he was still excited.

She told him to bend over the bed and rest his weight on his forearms. He had bent over many times before, but always on his palms, the extra few inches he was bent over, made his bottom, seem more venerable than ever before. For the first time since school days, his legs felt weak. He sensed that he was about to get a very thorough paddling.

She picked up the paddle and stepped to his left side. Things were moving very fast. She slapped the paddle on her palm and to told him to get ready. Without a pause, he felt her press the paddle to his cheeks; sighting her aim. He saw her arm go back and he felt the first lick. It burned like fire. She was swinging as hard as she could. She knew the first licks would sting more than the rest. She held the paddle in place for a second, then drew it back and gave the other cheek the same.

After the tenth lick, she told him to could stand up and take a short break. He started rubbing his bottom and she said it was getting very red. He looked into the mirror and saw she was not exaggerating; it was bright red from the center down to his legs. She certainly knew how and where to paddle. She teased his cock and fondled him making him really hot.

Before he was ready, she told him to resume his position over the bed. When he bent over, she slipped her fingers into the waistband of the panties and pulled them down. The panties were thin, but they had offered some protection from the paddle. Now he felt totally exposed and even more venerable. She resumed her position at his side and immediately started smacking his fanny with the paddle. The licks burned like fire and he blubbered that she was scorching his bottom. She said, “Good, I mean for it to really sting,” and she continued swinging the paddle without a pause.

He lost count of the number of licks. And then she stopped. He realized she was changing paddles. It could not hurt any worse – he thought. But it did. When she was through, she told him to straighten up. He did and again started rubbing his bottom; there was a real blaze in his backside. In a few moments, the erection that he had sported during the first ten licks, had lost during the second set, returned in full force and his hand went to it. She watched as he moved his hand back and forth and took his cock into her own hand.

Jeans

A post for those who enjoy a paddle on tight jeans, be it the giver or receiver

She does magic in her jeans

Girls Having Fun

The world would be a sadder place without women.

Oh right, this is a spanking blog. OK, here is a girl having fun spanking

The Coming Urban Exodus

What the cultural effects of Covid and riots might be

By Daniel Henninger for the WSJ
June 17, 2020

In his speech last weekend to the graduates of the U.S. Military Academy at West Point, President Trump said something with which, in normal times, few would disagree: “What has historically made America unique is the durability of its institutions against the passions and prejudices of the moment.” Until now.

Among the most durable of those institutions is what some call “the great American city.” America’s cities are indeed a wonder—built quickly from nearly nothing across a vast continent into a unique story of social and economic success. We may now be on the cusp of a great reordering of the nation’s population as many people decide it is time to separate themselves and their families from the social, political and moral turbulence of this country’s large urban areas.

A familiar story line of recent years has described the rise to economic and political power of urban centers such as New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco and Washington as young, politically progressive workers in the knowledge and service industries poured in. This, by popular account, increased tension and division between urban sophisticates on the forward edge of everything and the stodgy suburbs and conservative rural communities. I think the coming urban exodus will be different. People with all sorts of political beliefs are going to get out because they are watching city after city reach a tipping point of social disorder and political disorganization.

In two recent, overlooked articles, demographer William Frey of the Brookings Institution reports that the well-noted migration into large metropolitan areas that occurred from 2010 to 2015—predicting “the decade of the city”—has in fact reversed sharply in the past five years.

Boston, Chicago, Los Angeles, Miami, New York, San Francisco and Washington are all leaking people. Meanwhile the presumably disdained suburbs and exurbs, distant from these city centers, are gaining residents.

Then came the pandemic and the protests of 2020.

Hardly anyone disputes that the coronarivus pandemic was going to affect individuals’ trust in the human density of urban living. Many were already daunted by the possibility of again enduring a shutdown of every aspect of city life while quarantined in small living quarters.

Late May witnessed the killing of George Floyd, followed by nonstop street marches and significant looting in multiple city centers—the ones already losing population: New York (as always), Philadelphia, Chicago, Cleveland, Milwaukee, St. Louis, Minneapolis, Seattle, Los Angeles, Portland, Ore., on and on.

Urban dwellers are resilient, but these simultaneous events have forced people to face a hard reality. In just three months it has become clear that modern urban progressivism is politically incompetent and intellectually incoherent.

After the days and weeks of marches through cities, what has fallen out of it is basically one idea—defund the police. In New York, with blocks of stores boarded up and cherry bombs exploding nightly everywhere, the City Council has agreed to cut the city’s police budget by $1 billion, or one-sixth. How hard is it to connect the dots?

A shapeless mass declares multiple blocks of Seattle now belong to it, and when asked how long it could on, Democratic Mayor Jenny Durkan wanly offers: “I don’t know. We could have a Summer of Love.” The first one was in 1967, also accompanied by massive urban unrest.

New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo over the weekend issued a plaintive request to the daily street protests: “You don’t need to protest. You won. You won.” Then the kicker: “What reform do you want? What do you want?”

Historically, the media and press have served an arbitrating function among competing urban forces. No longer. Through the pandemic and now the protests, much of the urban-based media have become bizarrely invested in apocalyptic story lines, picking at scab after scab and problem after problem, with not much effort at sorting substantive policy alternatives other than heading deeper into the progressive frontier.

The message being sent is that progressive governance is, at best, ambivalent about maintaining civil order. The net result the past three months has been a sense in many cities of irresolvable chaos, stress and threat.

I think many younger, often liberal families would stick it out if they thought there was anything resembling a coherent strategy to address this mess—the new health threat, the homeless, the rising crime, the filth, the increasingly weird school curriculums. But there is no strategy.

The quality of the response by both political and institutional urban leadership to the pressure of these two events has been so uniformly unproductive that it sends a message: The cost-benefit just isn’t working anymore, with incentives mounting to move out.

The unhappy result as young families and well-off retirees leave is that these cities will increasingly become more divided between upscale progressive singles able to afford the political incompetence and the residents of inner-city neighborhoods that will fall further behind.

For those who’ve always wondered what the 1960s were like, you’re living it, but this time without much love.