Kardashian, Form 6b

An uncertain knock at the door. This was the bit of the job Dr Helen Wright enjoyed the most - dealing with troublesome pupils. And she felt it was very much her forte, afterall she was the most senior of headmistresses in all of England's private girls' schools.

"Come," she said, her voice sharp and commanding. The girl came in, a pretty girl (in a rather slutty sort of way), but in an ill-fitting uniform. It seemed as though she was wearing the clothes of a girl a year her junior.

"Yes?"

"Kardashian, miss," the girl answered nervously. She stood in front of the imposing walnut desk with her hands folded under her bottom and her gaze lowered.

"Ah yes, I've reports here that we need to discuss." Dr Wright moved papers around on the desk in front of her until she came upon a buff-coloured folder.

"Miss Honeybun, domestic science. She tells me that 'the descent of Western civilisation can practically be read into your every curve'. Mr Chips, woodwork,  appears to blame you for 'almost everything that is wrong with Western society today'. And Miss Bormann, modern history, suggests you're to blame for your peers 'soaking up a diet of empty celebrity and superficiality'."

Dr Wright paused, looked up and gave the girl her best penetrating look. "Anything to say?"

Kardashian seemded too abashed to say a single word in her defence, but after a moment she did manage to mumble: "Sorry, miss."

"Indeed," said Dr Wright, and she turned to the heavy leather tome to the right of her desk - the one marked 'Punishment Book'. For all that she pretended not to know the girl in front of her, she was actually all too aware of her notable qualities.

Possibly the complaints about her were rather exaggerated, but it would be a delight to deal with her firmly. I expect she has to slave in the gym to keep that posterior in shape, the Head thought to herself. What a pleasure to cane that rather ample backside.

 

Friday fiction: Rose red

One of the things Rose liked the most about gardening was how it gave her time to think. That morning, on the sunny south side of the rose garden, she had plenty of time to get her head around what was important. As ever, that was the usual big issue - her bum.

They had rather a difficult relationship, Rose and her bottom. A love/hate thing. First of all there was its shape. She spent lots of time in front of mirrors and she was sure that it stuck out more than other girl’s bottoms did.

It’s hard to be entirely objective about these things. Bottoms are not well placed to be viewed by their owners. She knew that the act of looking over a shoulder changed the shape of the behind you’re trying to view.

She twisted, she turned, she arched her back. She used a hand mirror to get an extra dimension, but the angles were never quite right.

But when she looked at her shadow or shop window reflection she was almost certain; there was a sticky-outy thing going on. It wasn’t that it was a big bottom because she was mostly rather slim, what it was, was prominent.

She’d asked friends, but mostly they just laughed. Becky, her lesby friend at uni, had very strong feelings on the subject. She insisted that Rose’s bottom was so near perfect that it was almost too much for her to bear. Or did she mean to bare?

Rose preferred not to be reminded of her and Becki’s drunken romps. If she thought about them too much she got distinctly damp. Better to get her thoughts out of that particular furrow, she warned herself.

Back to her backside. Whatever anybody else said Rose was more than a little conscious of her cheeky, round apple-crisp behind and show-offy prominence.

And it was also an issue at work. Not that a girl could let her backside decide her career choice for her. That would be like the tail wagging the dog, wouldn’t it? But it had to be said that horticulture was a problem for a girl with a problem bottom.

It was an unavoidable fact that gardening involves a lot of bending what with all the weeding, hoeing, raking and mowing . And you spent a fair bit of time on your hands and knees, with your butt cheeks thrust out.

That might be a problem for any girl, but it was a real headache for a slim girl with a big girl’s bottom. She often caught colleagues looking. She’d be on her knees firming in seedlings then look around to find one of her workmates looking at her. Or at least at the tightly-stretched seat of her tough, but unflattering, work jeans.

So, issue one was her bum’s shape. Issue two was its naughtiness. Can a bottom be ‘naughty’? Rose felt that it could. On a logical level she could see that sex and love were wonderful things to be celebrated fully in a healthy, natural way, but she and her sub-conscious were at odds on the issue.

Sub-conscious Rose thought about sex 24-7. Not just any sort of sex either, but dirty, kinky, wicked sex. In her world view what went on was a struggle between brain and bottom; brain thought good, intellectual thoughts, while bottom was fixated on sucking, licking, kissing, fucking, peeing – and smacking.

Rose’s bottom courted attention. It stuck out in a brazen, look-at-me way. It wiggled and it jiggled. It defied her and her brain was certain that what that bottom needed was to be well and truly reddened. 

I was on a train yesterday and found myself thinking about gardening and spanking, mostly thanks to Hermoine's great Wellred Weekly article I think. I love gardening, I love spanking, so why not put them together. And this idea came into my head. I'd like to take it further - perhaps it could become a short story? Although I'm not sure what should happen next.

Stripes, and bottoms

To my mind you have to have the perfect figure to get away with stripes, so personally I don't tend to wear them. But when I see them on others I can't help thinking about other sorts of stripes - and the implements with which they are created (cane, switch, belt etc).

Start the day

Get your hair - and your hat - right and you're ready for the day, yes? Clothes may help too, I suppose... I'm sitting here in my dressing gown enjoying the brilliant Wicked Knickers and thinking about getting dressed and getting on with the day, so this picture caught my eye.

One of the problems about working mostly from home is that there's a temptation on cold days like today to spend the day in your PJs, dressing gown and slippers. It's a slippery slope. Anyway, I digress. The point is that there isn't a point, it's just that I loved this photo and wanted to share.

Sport - and the perfect rear end

Does cycling tone your bottom? I do some cycling, but from what I saw in the mirror this morning it isn't doing the trick. Not to self, go further, or up more hills, or both.

I heard somewhere, sometime, that the best sport for butt-toning is acutally fencing. Fighting with swords that is, not stringing barbed wire. I've not the evidence one way of another to judge one way or not.

There is a logic to it, all that leg work must tighten things up nicely. I'd say horse-riding is good, too. Non-riders think you just sit there and do nothing, but a good brisk English-style trot for five minutes or more is one hell of a work out.

But I'm now thinking that volleyball is the thing to go for, if this picture discovered by YEOWCH is anything to go by. Very impressive. If volleyball delivers like this then count me in.

Kitchens and the spanko secret

This has really made my day.  I've just read about how Hermoine over at the excellent Hermoine's Heart has re-created her kitchen by putting all those naughty-but-nice cooking implments on show for all to see. You know, the innocent-looking spoons and spatulas that make your eyes water her applied to a bare behind.

My kitchen is halfway through a makeover, which has rather run out of steam. But now Heroine has breathed new life into the project - it's going to become Wales's new National Museum of Spanking Implements!
I've already got lots of good (pervertable) exhibits hidden away in kitchen cupboards and they can come out to go on show for visitors to admire. Then I can start touring kitchenware shops to add to the collection.
It's going to make the kitchen more fun to be in. I particularly like the idea that you could be drinking coffee with vanilla friends knowing that I'm sitting on a well-reddened bottom - and that the wooden spoon that did the reddening is hanging there for all to see.

Bottoms - a question of proportion

This?

'Should my bum look a bit bigger in this?' That's the nagging question that my new heroine Beryl keeps asking me.
My leading lady in 'A Week in the Country' just had to be full-figured. After all Flick was a Victorian, so the hourglass curves seemed a no-brainer.
Sitting down to novel two, which has the working title of 'Beryl Gets Stuck In' - or Begsi - I decided on different. Different historical period and, of course, different characters.
So, Beryl - or Bee to her friends - has started out as the anti-Flick. I was looking for as much difference as I could write into the new character.
Up to now she's been sporty, lithe and gamine. As a Land Army girl she has to be fit and strong.
But last night the scene I was writing had her driving a tractor while an over-sexed farm hand watched from a distance. In the 1940s tractors didn't have cabs and the seat was a big, buttock-shaped slab of metal; for the sake of the horny guy watching the bottom bouncing about on that tractor seat just has to be curvy and plump, doesn't it? 

Or this?

Something like this picture above that I came across on a photoblog, in fact. The question is should I stick with sporty girl Bee, a Joan Hunter-Dunn type or go back and re-write her as someone with more curves? 
Should Bee have 'junk in her trunk' or not?  Perhaps I should put it to a poll...

Dirty little secret

I met a writer friend for a drink last night for a bit of literary chit-chat. He's had a couple of novels published, but has to have a day job. I make a living from journalism, but I'm a novice fiction writer.

So we go in for a bit of mutual mentoring.
And he's delighted my current project is going well, but would like to help. When he offered to read and comment on completed chapters I had to look away because I was struggling to a straight face and I'm pretty sure I blushed beet red.
The prospect of my rather prim and proper (very vanilla) friend reading all that STUFF cracked me up.
I suppose I could bowdlerise it just for him - go though the draft and edit out all the red bottom-related material. It would take a lot of cutting, but at least his read through wouldn't take very long...

Out from the shadows

I've been a lurker myself for far too long now, I know. Shame on me. It's one reason why I've decided it was time to set myself some homework - by creating this blog. And by doing more commenting elsewhere.
Having taken the plunge I'm finding it really quite exhilarating. I have so much to ay and would love some of it to be a conversation.
LOL Day seems like a great idea. I'd be thrilled if you'd take the time to comment, even if it was just to tell me to stop nagging. Anyway, I'm off to do my own commenting elsewhere.

PS No link between LOL and the image. It was just one that I feel some sort of link with.

Mirror, mirror

More on perspective. A beautiful image new at MarQe's Study. A well-placed mirror gives a handy extra dimension, doesn't it. Good for checking out your cane stripes after the event too.