Now I don’t think I have ever tried to deny that being taken over a man’s knee and taught the sort of lesson that only really gets across when my knickers have been taken down and his stinging percussion is performing a duet with my howls is something enjoy. Yes it’s painful, humiliating and demeaning , but as that is the whole point of it, I’m not going to cry foul when my bottom is catching fire and I’m struggling to get away.
But being spanked is like being kissed, and it does depend very much on whose doing it. For Rufus Sewell I wouldn’t care if I had any lips left when we finally dropped with exhaustion but if it was Ken Dodd a tiny peck on the cheek would be as much as I could cope with before I would be complaining that this is clearly last year’s mistletoe and it doesn’t work any more.
Now it’s hard to define my favourite sort of man, but yes, you’ve probably all realized that I do have something of weakness for older men, but there are limits, and if he‘s too old for me to go to bed with, he‘s too old to smack my bottom either. The man in this picture spanking a young pretty girl who seems to have lost her knickers might well under other circumstances be a lovely twinkly eyed grandfather and an absolute hoot at the twighlight home sing-alongs. But being spanked by him! Sorry, no!
I feel a sudden and overwhelming urge to join a nunnery.
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