Unconventional thank you: Eat your heart out, Emily Post

Thanks to the help of my fellow bloggers, last week was the biggest week at The Pink Report since I started pounding away at the keyboard in March.

I am dreadful at thank you notes. (I write them but they are never sent.) So instead, I will thank each of the generous bloggers who contributed to my banner week with a photo — a small measure of my gratitude.

Emily Post, eat your heart out.

To Chross for his most recent link to “History of a Spanko”, I give this (ass with class):

To Consensual Spanking, for Red’s kind words and endorsement of my blog, I bequeath:

To The Spanking Spot, for linking to “Extraordinary Uses for Ordinary Things”, I hope he enjoys this (she is crying, after all):

To Woody’s Back to School for calling me witty and charming (a man of impeccable taste), I give:

To Poppy of Poppy’s Submissions, for posting links to my blog on Spanking Scouts, I give chocolate because she is a very good girl and all good girls deserve a treat:

If I have forgotten anyone, please do message me so I can flood your inbox with personal pictures of…my neighbor. Someone really should tell her to close her curtains.

Joking aside, it is spectacularly fulfilling to be heard and appreciated. And I thank you from the bottomest of my bottom (and my heart, too).

Hugs,

Miss Pink

Joyful girl

I do it for the joy it brings,
because I’m a joyful girl.

-Ani DiFranco

Nothing brings me greater joy than to fairly lose a wrestling match and then to be a soundly spanked loser.

Or to be spontaneously straddled on the floor, dress hiked up, for a fast and hard bottom-warming complete with leg-kicking and laughter.

Or to make a confession and experience the anxiety of awaiting the sentence. “What do you think your consequences should be?”, knowing that what I suggest isn’t necessarily what’s going to happen.

Most of the spanking I desire needs no reason or explanation. We do it because nothing else comes close to the explosive sensations, the total-body experience. This is what our vanilla counterparts don’t get: being someone else’s toy, trusting that person to hold you safe and to treasure you while thoroughly spanking you is an incomparable pleasure.

Spanking makes me feel young, not in an age-play sort of way. But in the wonderment and lightness, the bubbling expectation of Christmas Eve, the running-through-the-grass-under-the-sprinkler sort of way. I feel light and proud and glorious. I feel like spinning cartwheels and doing underdogs on the swings. I want to twirl until the world spins, drive fast over hills just to feel the dip in my tummy.

The fast slap of a hand on my bottom makes me feel all of those things. Spanking is my all-in-one. It’s my cure for growing older and my antidote for wrinkles.

Pink-tinted, giddy hope and unicorns and picnics and fairy dust all become possible with the joy of this simple request: Please spank me.

This just in

Thank you, Ghostbuster.

Open doors

A wise man recently told me, “if you look too long at the closed door behind you, you won’t notice the open door in front of you.” I’m not sure how original a sentiment that is (sorry D, you can pay me back later for that), but it certainly applies to most facets in life.

I’ve had some doors open for me that I ignored. And this is my promise: if the door is open, and I can smell freshly baked cookies, I’m GOING IN.

(Perhaps there’s no such thing as coincidence, but D messaged me right before I published this post. He had just pulled cookies out of the oven.)