Hi lads and ladies and everyone in between! I wanted to briefly speak about this intermission between “The Trouble with Trouble” parts. I was about to post the next part, however, I realized that it needed a good bit more editing than I thought so I need this week to work on that. Also, I realized I haven’t gotten much reaction to the story as a whole so I’m not sure if you all are enjoying it! So, if you are and want to see it back next week let me know, please! Feedback keeps Jojo and I both motivated to keep creating stories and post for you all. Anyway, this is just a one-shot until I figure out where The Trouble with Trouble is going or if it’s going!
Also, I feel sad that I have to address this, but I feel I must with these Diary entries and anything I post especially in the first person. All my stories are fiction. They are based on stories and fiction I create in my head. While on rare occasion stories may be loosely based on real life that is rare and very loosely based. For instance, these diary entries are not actually me, but about someone that lives in my head! Anyway, I felt the need to declare that as it’s been something that I’ve been asked about before. I hope you all enjoy my first person pov stories. 🙂
Keep it spanky and enjoy Dear Diary 1/24/19 – LT
Being switchy pants is sometimes hard. It’s complicated and messy. It’s hard to top when you feel like a brat and hard to be a brat when you feel like a top. Today it’s one of those feeling like a brat when I should just stick to being a Top. It’s been a long time since I’ve been over anyone’s knee and I can tell. I’m moody and just want to cuddle with everyone. I need someone to take me by the ear and pull my pants down and well… you know the rest. I’ve tried everything I know how. Being bratty, just asking, and even acting out a little bit. Okay, a lot bit but eh… no one has that responsibility. I wanna pout but I don’t get that privilege either. I think I’m jealous of those that do get someone toppy. Anyway, I’m not sure what to do. I don’t want to make anyone feel bad or guilty, because it’s hard for everyone. I suppose I’ll go crawl into my bed and close my eyes and hope to go to sleep to the thought of just what someone toppy would do if I was with them.
I’d probably whine and ask them not to, but at the same time be thrilled that they were going to finally give me what I’ve been needing an wanting for so long. I would blush fifteen shades of red as they asked me just what brought us there. Sure, I’d answer but as usual, that wouldn’t be enough. She’d probably send me to a corner where I’d struggle to stand any sort of still, but I’d think about what was going to happen. That’s when the tingling feelings would really set in. Low in the belly and the untouched skin of my cheeks. I’d try to focus on where those two walls met but I’m sure that’d be more focused on the impending spanking. Finally, she’d call me, and we would have a short conversation. When the conversation was over, I’d then find myself pulls quickly over her knee. It’d scare me at first, I’m sure. It always does, but then there would be relief. Relief of the knowledge I don’t have to be in charge for a few minutes. Within a few short moments of her finding my waist and getting comfortable something would shift. I’d be able to begin to let go.
I know it hurt when her hand finally met my backside. But do I need that. I imagine she’d start slow and build the rhythm slowly. I’d just relax an let go. The feeling of hand on bum is like nothing else. It’s warm and stings and even hurts a lot if the swat is hard enough or there is enough of them in a row. I can only imagine hiding my head into a pillow as she swats faster and harder. The heat building and the bottom becoming more uncomfortable. She would eventually reach for the boy shorts and jerk those down as well as her sure strong voice would tell me off for allowing myself to become this tense and stressed. It gives me shivers just to think about bare skin meeting bare skin. I’d blush again feeling exposed and venerable over her knee, but I’m sure that feeling would quickly fade just as quickly as that hairbrush was felt on my now exposed skin.
The hairbrush while it’d hurt, I crave it. It’d sting and burn and just plainly hurt, but it would be the time for her to get me out of my head. Every swat would release another layer of stress. Of anxiety. Of worry. Each swat would be a vacation for my thoughts. I’d be more too though. She’d be showing her love. Her care. Spanking is a dance of two people’s need for a mutual physical connection. Painful connection, but still a connection. While I’d be grateful for every swat of that brush after the spankings were over I can admit I would be a bit of a baby. I don’t have such a strong pain tolerance. I’d whine and wriggle, but I do hope she wouldn’t stop anytime soon.
I can imagine the sting of her brush as she would visit my pour sit spots. That’s the part I’d feel later. Each spank would create a reminder I would feel for days to come for whenever I’d sit. I’d hate it. Oh would I hate the feeling of being held and place to be spanked, but I’d be necessary. I know I’d embarrass myself with my need to kick and wriggle as those swats punished my sit spots. Those last few would ring out around us and I would find myself tired. And I’d want to cry, but with my flaming cheeks and depleted emotions, I’d finally still as the spanking ended on the hardest note yet. I also crave the feeling just after the end of the spanking. Just as she puts the brush aside and hand will sooth the damage she did. I’d find solace in her touch. The silence would be a comfort for once.
I’d like to stay there over her knee being cared about for a bit before she would finally help me up to stand and find my place on her lap. I imagine her touch as I would be welcomed into her open arms and hide against her feminine frame. I want her cuddles just as much as I want her spanking palm. I’d cry diary. When she was finally able to give me a kiss on the forehead and rub my still exposed cheeks as I hide against her bosom. I’d cry about the unfairness of her having to take me to task. And the relief I felt because she did. I’d no longer feel guilty for being moody because I’d been well punished for it. Finally, she’d make me climb into bed sans pants and tuck me in tight. I’d sleep on my tummy with a small smile on my face as my poor bottom throbbed at such a through thrash. Sleep after such a thorough spanking isn’t like anything else, diary. And man would I sleep.
That’s what I’ll try to imagine tonight as I snuggle in my bed. The feeling of a raised bum, spanking palm, warm embrace and forgive naughtiness.
Night Night Diary.
– Switch in need of a Top