I’ve Moved

In case you missed it, I’m now here.

Please change your bookmarks!

Update Your Links, Please

I am here.
 
Hope to see you there!
 
 

Wear Your Attitude

When this…

meets this…

You get this…

Ah….don’t we all enjoy a happy ending?

Dave, of Cherry Red Report fame, continues his epic win-ness with a line of clothing that is sure to inspire many a happy ending. Introduce your devilish vixen to the behavior modification specialist and see what happens. I’m sure you’ll like the results.

Because we all know that…

Check out all of Dave’s fun, light-hearted creations at The Cherry Red Spreadshirt store. In addition to more overt messages, he has a great selection for those that want to keep their activities a little more undercover.
 
“Undercover”, that is, until the pants come down.
 
 
 
Read this post at my new place.

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

You’ve noticed my silence, my awkward pauses, my distance. I’ve been pulling away but I won’t say why.
 
Well, I’ve found someone else. Someone who lets me be me, all of me, with no restrictions.
 
I think it’s for forever.
 
WordPress, I hate to say it but I think our time is done. You grew jealous when I linked to commercial sites, blocking my ability to reach out to others, preventing future relationships from being forged. Your intentions were good — but ultimately too controlling and possessive.
 
There’s a new site in town. And she’s all my own.
 
Welcome to my new place: barelypinkreport.com. That’s right, my own domain where I can do whatever (and whomever) I choose.
 
I can post videos and audio directly. I can host multiple pages. I can link, link, link to Amazon.com and other commercial vendors. I can grow.
 
And now that I have this nasty business of breaking up out of the way, I can write again.
 
Please join me there.

 

Flashback Friday: Exposed

Borrowing from American Spanking Society’s idea of Flashback Fridays, I will repost an entry from approximately one year prior. Hope you enjoy the trip down Memory Lane as much as I do!
 

 
“Please pass the syrup and tell me, did everyone hear my spanking last night?” I asked the assorted guests at the Bed & Breakfast where D and I spent our weekend. “If not, I’m sure D could give it another go before check out.”
 
They heard. But you know I didn’t really ask. However, that question hung in the air, thicker than the honey-glazed bacon the innkeeper served for breakfast. I saw the truth there, as they glanced from D and back to me — D looking as proud as a peacock while meeting their eyes, me staring intently at their foreheads.
 
While charming in its 1896 imperfections, the house was not designed to hide the boisterous affairs of its occupants. And boisterous we were, although much less so due to my pleading, “Not the belt! Everyone will hear!” It was a request spoken in a loud, mirthful whisper, a request I’m positive was overheard as well.
 
Really they should have thanked us. I am certain, in the afterglow of our tryst, I heard a pair of beds squeaking in the night.
 

The Attitude

“You’re developing an Attitude,” he said under his breath in the check-out aisle.
 
“Oh? Is it a GOOD attitude?” I asked loudly.
 
“Umm…no. And it will be addressed later.” Swat!
 
There are lots of adjectives out there. Why, when someone is ‘developing an attitude’, is it automatically presumed to be a ‘bad attitude’? Positive. Cooperative. Sunny. Winning. Those could be used to describe my attitude — on any other day but this one.
 
Imagine jazz hands. Sarcastic jazz hands. With a snap. That was me.
 
Attitude with a capital ‘A’ apparently needs no adjective.
 

By Endart.

In the car, the only sound was my eye-rolling. You know the kind — when you roll your eyes so hard that the air sighs around them.
 
“We’re going to talk about that thing that’s been bothering you first. But then, young lady, you’ve earned yourself a Spanking,” he announced as he put the car in park in his driveway.
 
“Oh? Will it be a GOOD spanking?” I quipped.
 
It was not. Spanking with a capital “S” is similar to Attitude. It requires no adjective either.

Too Many Buns on the Fire

If you spank two women at once, are you doing as thorough a job as if you’d only been spanking the one?
 
I’d argue no, when your attention is split, you can’t possibly focus on achieving optimum spankage at maximum pleasure.
 

I haven’t been spanking two women at once. But I have been juggling multiple things. Multi-tasking, for me, sometimes means doing 5 things badly all at once. And for the next week or so, I need to be extraordinarily good at least one thing.
 
I will return with more of The Pink Report in about a week. Feel free to email, comment, or send carrier pigeons until then.
 
See you soon.

Both photos can be found at The Pink Papers, which will remain full of updates in my absence.

Flashback Friday: Parking Fines

Borrowing from American Spanking Society’s idea of Flashback Fridays, I will repost an entry from approximately one year prior. Hope you enjoy the trip down Memory Lane as much as I do!
 
To the parking attendant in Indy:
 
I’m sorry that we stole your “park” paddle but we definitely needed it more than you. You’ll be happy to know that my naughty bottom received a taste of it later in the form of a smack that rang out through the camper, jolting our hosts from their slumber.
 
(Perhaps you heard it too and mistook it for cracks of thunder?)
 
In the actual theft of the paddle, I maintain my innocence. My Dom caught me quite by surprise when he pulled it out from the couch cushions and ordered my panties down. Still, I did not return it to you the next morning (oh, how I wish that I did!) so I am complicit in the crime. I expect to receive my comeuppance shortly, so I hope this transgression can remain between us.
 
Your red-bottomed camper,
 
Miss Pink
 

Teach Me

Did you say I’ve got a lot to learn?
Well babe, don’t think I’m trying not to learn
Since this is the perfect spot to learn
Go on, teach me tonight.

She needed to return to that space that set her flying. She was close, on the periphery of the haze and electrical numbness, was almost there. She felt herself slipping, her arms spreading wider and looser as if to embrace it.
 
He brought her back. He wanted to show her things that she would remember, and in that euphoria, only wisps of memory would remain.
 
So he changed the rhythm, made her stand, made her undeniably here instead of where she wanted to be. He asked questions that needed answers, told her to count the strokes of fire.

Starting with the ABC of it
Right down to the XYZ of it
Help me solve the mystery of it
Go on, teach me tonight.

“Does this,” he began, lightly flicking the cane against her upper thighs, “hurt more than this?” He asked, as he punted her cheeks with a half-swing.
 
“Yes,” she hissed. “The thighs are worse. Much worse.”
 
“Good. Stay with me,” he whispered as the cane met those thighs again, eliciting another deep breathed reaction.
 
“Stay with me.”

One thing isn’t very clear, my love
Should the teacher stand so near, my love?
Graduation’s almost here, my love
Teach me tonight.

She stayed for as long as she could, his hand covering the recent welts with an all-over burn. She was pushed to the left, to the right, forward. Her breasts battled against her arms; her hair stuck to her tears; her toes clung to the carpet.
 
He taught her how far she could go before she left.
 
Everything loosened. Her hands released the footboard. She drooped forward but never felt the mattress beneath her. Embraced by the float, his voice came to her as the ocean comes through a seashell — a soft rush, a gentle pressure.
 
He taught her what came before. She wrote what came after.

Song “Teach me tonight” written by Sammy Cahn.

Eenie, meeny, miny, moe…is my coworker a spanko?

“Hey, brat.”
 
It was the coworker who said this — the coworker who I pegged as a Dominant based solely on a few exchanged pleasantries.
 
Being called a brat in a professional setting, when I had done nothing (had I?) to warrant such a label, was…curious. What made him call me a brat? Why that word? Does he know about me?
 
Or is “brat” like a schoolgirl uniform, a red herring, in that even vanillas can employ the use of it on an adult woman?
 
I’m sure I blushed. Almost positive. I know that I responded with a cheeky, “Good afternoon, Sir,” to which he was quite pleased. Definitely pleased.
 
Because my spankdar is notoriously off — tending to believe that any attractive male with nice hands is “one of us” — I pose this question to you:
 
Given that I have never displayed an outwardly bratty behavior in the workplace, is he a member of the club?