Friday, 28 October 2016

Bush Camp

Busy week, not complaining but no time to write and no spankings to write about anyway (boo!!). So here's one of my travelogues which I haven't posted before and yes there is spanking in it but not until near the end and it's not very strong (boo again) because it couldn't be under the circumstances, you'll see why. We were in South Africa by the way. It's a bit long even by my sometimes standards.

"Oh that's not a riding crop," said Johan, our host. He'd obviously overheard me mention the metre long leather whip hanging from the wall. "It's a sjambok, made from rhino hide; herdsmen used them traditionally but they got corrupted into other uses including the police force only theirs were made of dense plastic because of budgets." He was smiling ... South Africans did have a sense of humour then.

We were in the main lodge of a game resort on the Pilanesberg national reserve, waiting for our guide to come and collect us. There were trophies around the walls too, and tribal artefacts and crude weapons, old uniforms next to animal hides and flintlock rifles, about which P commented he wouldn't fancy just that standing between him and a charging lion. There was a picture of David Attenborough on one wall, I didn't read the script underneath it but assumed he must have been doing something worthy. Johan saw me looking. "Yes he's been here, there's a dam not far away and he endorsed some conservation work that was undertaken there. He's not just a British treasure, you know, the whole world holds that gentleman in esteem and has a right to him." 
Johan must have done his homework, I thought, or he was just naturally knowledgeable about his own country. He was certainly proud of it. Then our guide came. I had one last look at the sjambok on the wall as we followed him out, perhaps they sold them in the souvenir shops.

There were five of us in the Land Rover, us and a Canadian couple. Apparently the bush camp where we were going would only have seven guests that evening whereas it could accommodate up to two dozen, all in tents. It would be virtually full the next night. The Land Rover had no air conditioning so all the windows were open. It was old, P thought probably 1950's. The driver, who turned out to be our camp manager and head gamekeeper, told us later it was made in 1958 and that he could replace virtually any part on it without recourse to a garage, he seemed proud of that, it was obviously his baby. I asked about sliding some of the windows shut, I was thinking of my hair although I didn't say it, but he said not to because it would get stuffy and it was best to keep them all open so anything that flew in could fly out again. I didn't like the sound of that but he knew his business, I'd say he was about forty to forty-five, athletic and bronzed with an easy way of talking, his name was Jacob, I thought if I happened to get stranded in the jungle I could think of worse people to be with.

The journey to the bush camp was about thirty minutes, I don't think it was many miles as the crow flies but on the bumpy higgledy piggledy road that connected the camp with the lodge it was slow going, no problem at all for the sure footed Land Rover but out of consideration for his passengers, Jacob wasn't rushing. It wasn't quite like the air conditioned comfort we'd enjoyed on the two hour drive up from Pretoria but more enjoyable because Jacob was talking all the while, filling us in on the wildlife we could expect to see, safety regulations when at camp and when out on safari plus meal arrangements, washing facilities and security aspects which we hadn't even thought about. Commonsense stuff, perhaps, but to be taken very seriously. He said some of the stories he could tell us about guests who thought they could just do as they pleased and somehow they'd be all right, because it was an organised tourist trip, would make us laugh and some would make our hair stand on end. He said to forget that we were tourists, we weren’t covered by insurance for most aspects of our stay and there was no guarantee we wouldn’t get hurt. He said we’d have more chance of making a claim if we tripped over a mop bucket than if we got bitten by a lion. I was sure he was being serious, too, even though he said with a smile.

Our home for the next two days was a clearing amongst the trees with a space for vehicles to park and turn, a thatched roof open sided hut which was the focal point of the camp and where all meals were served, with a small bar and a few lounge chairs scattered around the perimeter. It was raised off the ground by about three feet, plenty of room for snakes to slither under it without disturbing us, P joked with me. I didn't think it was funny.

We were taken to our tents which were separated by about six or eight metres, they were also raised off the ground I was pleased to see after what my husband had said. Whether it had been true or not. There was a double and a single bed in each one, Johan followed us up the steps into our tent and for one ghastly moment I thought we'd be sharing but that wasn't the case, he was just making sure we were comfortable and happy with the arrangements. P assured him it was fantastic, the porter who'd accompanied us showed us the bathroom, which was a part open-air cubicle at the rear of the tent, and how to work the shower. There was nothing else to show; no aircon, no electricity and only kerosene lamps in the evening, which would be lit by the staff. Oh and a whistle hanging on the wall 
... for emergencies. Blow it hard, said the porter with a beaming white smile, and someone would come running. I didn’t like the sound of that, it had to be a wind-up surely.

The porter left to take Johan to his tent and P started unpacking our stuff, or at least the bits of it he wanted, then he passed the job over to me. I couldn’t see much point putting things into the limited cupboard and drawer space available so there wasn’t much to do. P was playing with the digital camera and a videocam, making sure he had spare batteries and data cards and generally fiddling. I found a Marlborough leather belt amongst P’s things, I hadn’t put it there and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him wear it, especially not with shorts. I asked him if he was going to put the digital camera into its case and attach it to the belt, there was a loop on the case for exactly that purpose. And perhaps a nice long knife in a leather sheath would look well on it. He’d look the part when we went into the bush, I said. He laughed and said no, it was to tan my backside with if I gave him any problems. “Ooh how thoughtful,” I said, “I’ll have to be on my best behaviour then.”

We were to report to the main hut (it was the restaurant, bar, meeting area and focal point of the camp) there would be hot and cold drinks and a short official introduction to our itinerary over the next couple of days and a recap on camp protocol and health and safety. After that we were going on a two hour drive, we’d see some wildlife at a watering hole near dusk and have sundowners half way up a small mountain. We’d be back in time for dinner which would be served around 8 pm. We were told to take a warm top with us as it got cold very quickly after sunset. I was excited.

We went back to our tents to get cameras and tops and ten minutes later set off in a converted open back Toyota Landcruiser. It could carry eight and was two-tiered in the back to make sightseeing easier. We got the higher tier seating which pleased me because if anything attacked us I thought our chances would be better. I told P but he said what about if something came out of the trees, then we’d get it first. I hadn’t thought of that. The Canadian couple who’d travelled from the lodge with us earlier were on the lower seat in front of us plus a couple who’d arrived the previous day who were actually South Africans but living and working in Europe. I didn’t like her, Lizelle, she was snobby but her husband was okay. P thought she was fit, only because her bottom filled her shorts out unignorably fully though. He’d mentioned it earlier when she’d strutted down the path to her tent to get the stuff she wanted for the drive. He’d commented she was quite a bit taller than her husband too but I said it was just the ridiculously thick soled walking boots she was wearing and I was surprised he’d even noticed as he'd seemed mesmerised by her behind.  I thought if a lion jumped onto their seat I hoped it would be her side.

We actually saw our first lions on that short trip but it was purely by chance, not planned. We were near the watering hole watching water buffalo and antelope when a pride shuffled past us no more than ten metres away. We didn’t see a big male, the female was leading 5 smaller lions, two male and three females, larger than cubs but not full grown. They weren’t distracted by us at all apart from the odd glance and, amazingly, none of the other animals were stressed by the lions. It was as if they had some sort of pact at drinking times, though not presumably at meal times. The ranger told us we had more to fear from water buffalo than we did from lions. They, and hippos, killed more people each year than lions, he told us. Nevertheless he had a rifle in a holder near his leg.

P took loads of photos until the light faded, he said he’d edit them later but he didn’t because we were a bit later than planned getting back to camp and it was straight to dinner. We didn’t get our sundowners either. Dinner was a meat feast plus a vegetarian dish followed by bought in puddings,then exchanging stories round the camp fire. Well it was the cook’s fire actually and set slightly away from where we ate but we could still feel the heat from it and the flames were cheerful.

Snobby lady Lizelle was employed by the UN and her husband, Darren, was a data scientist. She wasn’t happy about her  food, she said they’d had one of the same meats on offer the previous evening so she ordered the alternative which was springbok which she said was dry. I had warthog and some local made sausage which I thought was wonderful. P had some of everything including the vegetarian dish, Johan did the same. We also had a couple of bottles of Pinotage and some Lion beers which came from a small bar where we could help ourselves from and sign for. The Canadians drank beer, the South Africans stuck with soft drinks which were free. I asked P if he should offer anyone a 
glass of wine but he said no, they could get their own wine.

Jacob joined us for dinner, he hadn’t been the ranger driving us on the outing, we didn’t know where he’d disappeared to. He wasn’t drinking alcohol, he was on high alert, his wife was pregnant and due any time, he said he had to be prepared, I thought his wife had a good husband, I hoped she appreciated him. We asked him if she was at the lodge but he laughed and said no, she was less than five minutes away through the bush, they had a cabin there. There was a registered nurse at the lodge and she would come out to the cabin for the birth, they didn’t want a hospital. Her mother was staying at the cabin to keep her company.

The evening was enjoyable. The South Africans retired around then-thirty, the Canadian girl too but her husband stayed and had a few beers. Johan impressed everyone with his knowledge of his country’s wildlife and got a bit merry as he isn’t a regular drinker. Jacob left us near midnight and told us to help ourselves if we wanted more drink, just list it on the clipboard. We didn’t, it was a full day and an early start next morning so we all decided to turn in. The cook, who was still on duty, lit a kerosene lamp for each of us and escorted us to our tents. The funny thing was, she carried a powerful flashlight, sensible woman I thought, I would have swapped it for one of our kerosene lamps.

We were first stop, she saw us enter the tent then reminded us to zip the outer flap, there was no need to lock it unless we wanted to. The tent to our right was empty and to our left was Johan. It was quiet, I felt isolated, the light from the kerosene was dull and yellowish even when we turned it up. P used his key fob torch to shine into the corners and make sure nothing was in there with us. I’m not sure what we’d have done if there had been.

P set his phone to wake at seven then undressed for bed. He told me cheerfully to remember to stuff a sock into each of my trainers. “Why?” I asked. He said to stop anything settling in them and I told him to bloody well stop it at once or I’d go back to the lodge. He was chuckling, I suppose it had been a silly threat to make. Anyway I made him wait with me in the bathroom while I brushed my teeth and used the loo, then I stripped to my knickers and jumped into bed. P was beside me a few minutes later, the kerosene lamp on his bedside table.

He told me he’d noticed me watching Jacob during the evening and asked me if I fancied him. I said of course not, I just admired him, he seemed like a sensible well balanced man. P put his hand on my thigh and asked me if I thought he was well balanced too, I told him I did. “Even when I have to spank you?” It was an un-necessary question but I answered it. “Yes,” but then added, “but you don’t often ‘have to’ spank me, you do it because you like doing it and you know it keeps me well behaved. Well mostly.”

“Hmm. I think I’m going to spank you now, before we go to sleep,” he said.

“You can’t here, it will be heard, they’re only tents,” I whispered as if to emphasise the fact.

“If you don’t make a noise, all they’ll hear is the splat of my belt across your bottom and nobody will venture out from their tents to investigate, you can bet your life on it. And Johan’s our nearest neighbour anyway and if he asked in the morning, I’d just say I splatted some mosquitoes.”

The bed cover was pushed back by now and P got out to fetch his belt. He made me turn over onto my tummy, pulled my knickers down and gave me a dozen good licks of it across my bare bum. It was loud but it was over quite quickly and he was back in bed cuddling against me and stroking my bottom where he’d spanked. I purred, I wanted sex, he did too. Then we were both distracted by noises outside. There were animals out there (dur...surprise surprise). I could hear them walking, in fact I could hear them snorting and breathing! Perhaps they were pigs, I thought, but P whispered they could be anything even rhino. Oh god no, I thought as I lay dead still. P did the same until we heard the noises fade. Thoughts of romance were suspended. I asked my husband if we should take turns to 
keep watch, or keep listening as was the case. “Why?” He asked. “Are you going to go out and shoo them away, because I certainly won’t.” He had a point.

As it happened neither of us had a full night’s sleep; successive unfamiliar sounds kept us half awake and our imaginations did the rest.Some of the animals must have been quite large, I would say, from the noise they made as they trundled through our little encampment. At breakfast next morning we were told rhino had been through the camp,as had warthog and several other smaller animals, we were shown some of the tracks later.

P said he could do with one of those sjambok things. I told him he wouldn’t dare use one even if something poked its head through the tent flap. He said he didn’t want it for the animals, he fancied using one on my bottom. I just said “Ooh, P, I didn’t know you cared that much.”

Have a fun weekend.


Wednesday, 26 October 2016

A Smile for Today

Found on ebay


Monday, 24 October 2016

Naughty Words

This book by Cara Bristol looks like it could be very useful to new writers of erotic sexual/spanking stories.

Here's the blurb...

If you've struggled to find the right tone for your romantic sex scene, stared at the computer for 15 minutes trying to come up with the perfect verb, become stymied because some terms are too crude while others are too flowery, or found yourself reusing the same words over and over, Naughty Words for Nice Writers, A Sexual and Spanking Thesaurus can help you break through those barriers. Cara Bristol, the author of 17 erotic romances, has written a guide to help you find the erotic words to write a sex scene that sizzles. Naughty Words for Nice Writers is packed with more than 1,200 usable, functional synonyms geared for romance, erotic romance, and erotica. Included are 28 different "erotic word lists" such as male and female anatomy, foreplay, orgasm, specific sexual acts and kink, sexual noises, spanking terminology, and much more. The guide offers suggestions on how to write a sex scene and how to tighten your writing so it sings. With an emphasis on verbs, this guide will help you "show" the intimacy between your characters rather than tell it. Whether you're writing a "fade to black" scene or a graphic and explicit one, Naughty Words for Nice Writers will give you the words. 

Spotted on Amazon.

Have a good week.


Friday, 21 October 2016

Real Pasta and those Spankings

Back on our wine and dine circuit, after a couple of years absence all because my husband took umbrage with the owner, is our one-time-favourite Italian bistro. They used to do the best pasta in town and, as we discovered last week, still do. The only trouble is, they've changed the decor and the furniture and the layout so that they can get more people in. So it isn't quite the same quirky little pasta parlour we used to enjoy. The food's as good but the atmosphere is different and I couldn't quite put my finger on why.

The reason we returned was we'd learned from friends that the owner was no longer working there himself (he used to chef and or maitre d' according to his mood). Instead he had swapped places with his brother, who was now running the show and he was doing likewise several miles away. So we returned, sheepishly and cautiously, quite ridiculous really as staff had changed too and we were unknown to his brother, just another couple of customers. Halfway through the meal P remarked how good the food was and how nice it was to get proper Italian food again, made fresh by people who knew what they were doing. There are plenty of places offering Italian in the town but they are plastic offerings (my husband's description), not proper. We've even been known to eat at ASK a few times during our self imposed exile and, lovely though the staff are, it's all pre-made and shipped in (sorry ASK).

But there was still something missing and my husband summed it up at the end when I was finishing my wine and he was sipping coffee. He said it was a pity we'd fallen out, it should never have happened, it used to be nice to be known and to chat with the boss over the counter (it's an open kitchen) or have him sit at the table with us for a while. He was right of course, the personal touch counts for a lot. I agreed and nearly told him it was his fault, his silly pride and stubbornness had caused it, but I didn't. I just said well let's start again and he seemed happy with that.

There was something else though, still gnawing at me. There was romance missing. Yes that was it, definitely. I remembered many an evening sitting in there on the little wrought iron chairs, sometimes with a sore backside after a spanking, always getting a round table in the corner, cosy and warm, in more ways than one. Yes I think that's what I was missing. I told P what I thought, he just pooh-poohed the romance talk but he admitted there had been several times when he'd brought me there after a spanking and a few when he'd taken me home at the end of the evening to give me one. Then he put his hand over mine and said, 'Well, next time you're a naughty girl I'll know where to bring you afterwards.'

He might says he's not romantic but I'm sure there was hint of nostalgia in his voice and his hand said it all. It often does.

Have a fun weekend.


Wednesday, 19 October 2016

A Smile for Today


Picture from Glenmore's Adult Spanking Stories and Comics.