How to bare a behind

I have just realised that I haven’t done a chatty blog for yonks. Stories always get more hits, and I have posted a few of those since last year’s personal trauma, but muses and wanderings on the delights of being whacked on the bottom have been strangely silent. George Eliot is credited with the wise piece ‘Blessed is he that having nothing to say does not open his mouth and prove it.’ Maybe I subscribe to it or, more likely, laziness and Christmas and research for this blog have kept me over occupied. That or they are my excuse.

The ‘research’ bit is the most interesting. Whenever I indulge these days I often wonder if my experience or pleasure will be worth blogging. Trawl through my pieces and you will find thoughts on The Leicester Governess, Thwarted Whackings, Whipstock Grange, Mistress Sapphire, Corrective Therapy and Medical Inspections amongst others. It is as if the pleasure of the experience is redoubled and repeated by writing it up. I win all ways. Musing on all this and remindful of the fact that a light blog is well overdue I got to thinking of that most singular pleasurable aspect of the corporal punishment or submissive scene. Avert your eyes if you are of a delicate nature. That most singular pleasure to me, centre of the anticipation and the pain and the relief, is the first moment your pants are taken down. It is exquisite, a heavenly moment of offering yourself, a line finally crossed. It has happened to me numerous times, in a variety of situations, and is always consummately desired and relished. No bodily sensation equals that moment your pants come down. I experienced it when I was very young, childhood spanking or belting imminent, and I still do. Nothing equals an authoritative figure, male or female, taking down your pants for dominant fun. Whether pure CP or shades of BDSM, when my knickers are coming off I still shudder at the thoughts of expected joy.

So, on the basis that the baring of the behind is a key procedure in my pleasure I thought, as a 2016 treat or whatever, I would list you those moments in my life when that delicate action was particularly special.  Some painful, some titillating, occasionally embarrassing. But all, to this hedonistic incorrigible, memorable.

 

When I was about nine or ten I was taken over a male teacher’s knee in his study and given a dozen or so hard spanks on my bottom. I remember it so well, especially standing at his side as he undid my shorts and pulled them down to my knees. I wore nothing underneath. For the first time in my life an authority figure, other than my father, was going to see and whack my bare bottom. The situation, the sensation, dwarfed all that followed. It was a defining moment in my life, made especially so because his very large hands virtually covered my small behind.

 

When I was a little older I was caned, four strokes on my bare behind, in a sports changing room. The teacher made me, and three others, strip completely naked for swimming and then offered an alternative punishment. I have often relived that momentous disciplinary occasion but have always regretted that the teacher never took our pants down himself. He had clearly decided to cane our bare behinds, why not make it special. He missed a trick that, even at a very young age, I already desired.

 

When I was about twenty an old school friend, embarking on a physical education career, practised a sports massage on me. We were both young and naive and unsure of our sexuality and he, annoyingly, insisted I kept my underpants on for the session. I remember little of the proceedings but one moment stands out. Towards the end suddenly, and surprisingly, he pulled down my underpants and proceeded to give my now naked bottom cheeks a vigorous workout. Sorry about that, he said, but it wasn’t working with your pants on. I just beamed at the memory of my bum being bared.

 

Throughout my life I have on a number of occasions bared my bum for the medical profession. We all have to. But my most significant, and one that induced an unwelcome erection, was an examination by a young Chinese doctor when I was in my thirties. At London University College no less. I was being examined for nasty crabs. It was the standing still in my underpants whilst he checked all the usual places that stirred me; it was the pulling down of my underpants to complete the inspection that surged me to full prominence. I reckon it was then I first knew I was a rampant submissive bi-sexual. The sensation was heavenly. I apologised. He gave a beaming Chinese smile. Nothing surprises the medical profession.

 

The first time I was caned for adult pleasure I was very nervous. It had been about fifteen years since my last school caning and it had taken me a long time to come to terms with my strange need and to pluck up courage to find someone to do it. He was very posh, very understanding, but very firm. I remember standing in his large flat, dressed only in white top and shorts, readying myself to bend over his impressive leather horse. I was trembling having been told that only six of the very best would do. Kill or cure seemed to be his motto. He said that they would be on my bare backside and slowly removed my moderately thick shorts. That moment was heaven, a surge of desire shot through me and even before I got into position and suffered the first whack I knew I was hooked. He certainly knew how to bare a behind.

 

I have come a long way since those early days. I thoroughly enjoy being whacked and, equally, thoroughly enjoy writing about it. Having a creative mind I have equally enjoyed the variety of ways in which one can indulge this consummate pleasure. Everything from spanking parties to adult schools and private domination sessions. In later life the latter has encompassed the female of the species if only for the fact that professional practitioners of the ancient art tend to be of the fairer sex. At least where I live. I am lucky in that I care not who takes down my pants as long as they are bossy. And it is the taking down of those pants, whether bending over a chair, standing to attention, or blindfolded and tied to an overhead beam, that is the most important. The heavenly sensation when all your enclosed bits, genitals and bottom, are released to the air. It is divine whatever the pain to follow, especially if you are down to a vest or less. That teacher who did it when I was nine or ten removed my shorts very slowly, or so it seemed. And all my life and all my experiences are, in a strange way, repeating that first baring of my behind. It never fails to thrill. Alfred Roy