Spankos Are Painters
- Sweet Tea
- 8 minutes ago
- 3 min read
An unspanked bare bottom is a splendid blank canvas. Whenever I’ve got one over my lap, I’m overcome with a robust desire to paint each cheek a glowing pink or even red. This task does not require a little spanking, but a LOT of spanking. To miss a spot during a session would be a tragedy. I think you understand this feeling I harbor, dear reader.
The thoughts generated by the human mind are seeds of creation and art offers us a poignant means of expressing them. The art we spankos make together during our dalliances reflects the inner desires of both giver and receiver. Profound meaning is conveyed and emotions of all kinds are implied by the burning hues present in our living paintings. There’s potential for bold passion, feverish lust, firm determination, helpless distress, radiant desire, and stoic airs of justice. At the heart of a spanking is a merging of souls.
Spanking can also be appreciated as a form of performance art. The cadence, force, and sound of each clapping strike relays the feelings hidden within a spanker’s heart. The pitch and tenor of a spankee’s gasps and cries betray them as we, the avid listeners, absorb the nuance and depth of their painful plight. There is a swift grace embodied in the repetitive rise and fall of a strong hand cracking down across poised, vulnerable bottom cheeks. The contrast of energies between giver and receiver satisfies our collective spiritual craving for balance between the eternal forces of yin and yang. This is poetry in motion.
Like any artist worth their salt, we spankos come equipped to each session with our cherished tools of the trade. Bob Ross prefers his brushes—the fan, the round, the 2-inch, the script liner, along with his trusty palette knife. We spankos, on our end, prefer hands, belts, paddles, rulers, brushes, straps, slippers, and canes. Dabbling in the same shades as a seasoned painter—Bright Red, Flower Pink, and Alizarin Crimson—we draw attention to all the happy little bare bottoms peeking out from the bushes of Alpine slopes.
“What kinds of marks shall I leave? 🤔”
Wide bands? Thin stripes? Hand prints? Bruises? Perhaps a soft pink glow that spans both cheeks equally, darkening in the southern sit-spot regions? All depends on the painter’s chosen technique.
It’s no wonder we feel the urge to snap photos once these paintings are complete, capturing the light bouncing playfully off pairs of fluffy hot cross buns. We wish to store evidence of our intimacy in the annals of posterity, for a painted bare bottom is a sign of good times shared. A tangible result that can be seen, felt, and appreciated. It is art with deep meaning—a meaning spanking fetishists understand intrinsically.
Sadly, our art must eventually fade, for much of the beauty of erotic spanking lies in its ephemeral nature. The ‘not doing’ between ‘doing’ is what makes the ‘doing’ special, and the prospect of painting again together in the future gives us much to look forward to. It will happen someday, of course, for we spankos are driven to make these expressions of artistry. It’s in our nature to create these hues. We think about pink bottoms every day and feel called by the powers of the universe to manifest them in four-dimensional spacetime (in this life, at least).
May you paint forevermore with passion and vigour, friends.
-T