Shockingly nude baked goods...

There has been all too much talk of food on Twitter. Photos of meals. Explorations of diners. Discussion of desserts. Virtual sharing of bacon sandwiches. Why, recipes have begun to take over respectable and otherwise entirely perverted spanking blogs.
One has to ask the question… WTF?

Are spankos and kinksters just aesthetes in disguise, looking for that next sensory fix, in whatever form it will take? Gin and tonic? Double chocolate layer cake with raw vanilla ice cream? Romp in the hay? The mind reels.

Fortunately, some sanity started to return to the twittersphere last night, with the suggestion that perhaps food did have a purpose in the spankoverse. It seems some of our number were using it as bribery in order to optimize the possibility of potential paddling of their posterior. To be specific, the celestial one was seriously squirming for a spanking, and she was pulling out all the stops.

And so began a discussion of just what bribes might warrant what spankings.
In order to ensure equitability in the meting out of punishment in exchange for reward (because we’re nothing if not fair around here) the following list is offered. It is not to be considered definitive, for we kinksters are innovative in the way of baked goods and bashed goods… but it’s a start.

And so, forthwith, the list:

Slice of bread – firm scolding

Slice of bread with butter – firm scolding with dirty words

Slice of bread with butter and home made jam – firm scolding with dirty words and corner time

Scone – unfulfilled teasing

Scone with clotted cream and jam – unfulfilled teasing with accompanying gropes and fondling

Muffin – Mild spanking over clothing

Christmas cookie – Moderate spanking (skirt up, over panties)

Cupcake – Light warmup spanking (panties down)

Chocolate cupcake – Warmup spanking, panties down, with butt plug

Mince tarts – Firm hand spanking until red and glowing

Orange cake with orange buttercream icing – ‘good girl’ spanking on the bare

Cheesecake – prolonged spanking

Raspberry cheesecake – prolonged spanking, pouts and corner time
(panties remain down, extra spanks awarded for actual raspberries)

Carrot cake – heavy spanking with inserted dildo

Chocolate cake – firm strapping

Chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream – firm strapping, with wind down sex
(missionary position for bonus points)

Chocolate cake and chocolate ice cream – firm strapping, with (do we really want to go here?)

Double chocolate cake – firm tawsing on the bare

Fruitcake – wooden paddling (bonus points if the paddle is made of wood denser than the cake)

Ginger cake – caning with inserted fig

Additional notations and suggestions are always welcome, and can be forward to the official keeper of the Baked Goods & Bashed Good list.

Your faithful servant,
Insatiabear

Delightful nude baking goods...

From the author and keeper of the ‘Baked Goods and Bashed Good’ list comes the latest in trend-setting spankophilia.

For, it must be said, that the spankoverse has an unhealthy obsession with buses. Or, to describe this phenomenon more accurately, an unhealthy obsession with throwing other spankos under said buses. Arguably, this is cruel. Buses must go through the rest of their lives haunted by the tragic recollection of running over their first bottom. Bus drivers must wrestle with the unfair moral question of whether to avoid said spankos, or to line up their wheels for a perfect strike. And we needn’t talk about the impact on our crumbling infrastructure, and the cost of on-going public works efforts necessary to keep our roads in optimal bus-friendly shape.

Given the tragic and one-sided nature of spanking-related bus-throwing transactions, the consequences are immediate and dire. Action must be taken. Decent, normal people want to know that they can ride public transit without fear of losing their venti no-whip triple-pump vanilla chai cappuccino due to the wilful and inconsiderate throwing of yet another spanko under the wheels of their bus.

To forestall this imminent tragedy, we announce the formation of a new society dedicated to the fair usage of buses in spanking scenarios.

The Society Against Unreasonable Use of Buses is dedicated to making the world safe for spankos who fear the looming presence of a Volvo diesel. Who prevaricate in the face of Prevost. Who desperately fear a Mitshushibi Heavy Industries logo being indelicately imprinted in their posterior.

We will lobby for humane rules for healthy alternatives to throwing your best friend under a bus. We will provide comfort and care to those who have been thrown under a bus. We will provide strategies and tactics to avoid being thrown to such a fate. And when all else fails, we will stand with everyone else as the perverted bystanders that we are, and watch the action unfold.

Memberships are on sale now. Membership provides numerous benefits, including knowing that you are standing in solidarity with other spankos, who would stand up for themselves if they weren’t lying prone under a bus. Know that you are contributing to making the world a safer place for buses, and a more interesting place for those familiar with what they look like from below. And, of course, get that all valuable annual “Get Out From Under A Bus Free” card, good for one extraction from beneath the wheels. Always useful just when it counts.

I am pleased to announce that my partner in crime, Mrs. Insatiabear, has willingly stood for candidacy for the position of Chief Administrator of Appropriate Bus Usage. She has taken up the flogger of office, and – trust me on this – she is not afraid to use it.

In anticipation of the extensive efforts that will be required to intervene in the exponentially increasing incidents of throwing-under-a-bus that we are seeing, we have also undertaken an extensive fundraising campaign. First up will be “Throw Em Under A Bus” day, feature the beloved @emma_enchanted, who has been an inspiration to so very many in how to artfully hurtle even the dearest of friends beneath the wheels. And who can argue against fate, destiny, charity, worthy causes and the joy she will provide her friends on what is certain to be a popular annual tradition? Certainly she can’t.

So join us, my friends. Stand up and be counted. Or at least, stand up before the number 12 express special looms over you. You have nothing to lose but the tire prints on your back.

Don't Let This Be Your Fate!

While this was not pre-meditated, there was certainly reasoning behind the decision.

The decision also no doubt had its repercussions, as the act was performed without announcement or fanfare. While one could argue that there was opportunity to do so, there isn’t much point when the announcement is about to be made inaccessible.

Nonetheless, I recognize that there were probably those that were sad, confused and concerned. There were also arguably people who didn’t notice. While we all have an impact when we throw our rocks in the pond, the ripples get overwhelmed and lost quickly enough. Even without a bear, Twitter will continue on uninterrupted.

The reasons for deciding to leave were simple enough. To an extent, they were rooted in why I found Twitter in the first place. The past year has been a difficult one, personally and professionally. Faced with an extended period where Mrs. Bear (for yes, the bear has a partner, and a much loved one at that) was absent dealing with a personal crisis of her own, I found myself lonely, restless and in need of distraction. If that isn’t a recipe for Twitter, then I really don’t know what is.

This wasn’t a secret, to be clear, and it’s not like my partner doesn’t know I’m kinky or share my interests (at least, some of them). I also let it be clearly known that I was ‘on Twitter’ when the opportunity presented itself. But Mrs. Bear isn’t on Twitter, isn’t particularly a fan of Twitter, and doesn’t have any especial intention of ever being on Twitter. So her awareness of what Twitter is was limited to what the average bear (pun intended) typically understands it to be.

Which pretty much sets us up for the modern-age, on-line equivalent of an English bedroom farce. An exchange of private messages with a friend showed up on my phone, looking for all-the-world like a ‘smoking text’ of me having a conversation with another woman. Which, literally, was true. Those actually conversant with the twitterverse recognize that direct messages are certainly common enough, and that over time very real friendships develop online. The results was that an innocent conversation checking in on how I was doing as a bear looked a whole lot like an on-going and intimate chat. Cue the usual perceptions of how such behaviour would be interpreted.

Now, I’ve come to value my online universe and the people within it enormously. Over the course of the last six months, I’ve garnered a number of acquaintances — and a few of what I would consider good friends. For the first time in my adult life, I have also been able to openly converse about spanking and kink with a (very) broadminded community of people that share my interests. That means a lot to me. My primary partner, however, means a whole lot more. We’ve been together for 18 years, and she has known me longer than just about any other person on the planet. We get each other, we understand each other, we respect each other and most importantly we love each other.

So, if my online existence was in any way going to be perceived as a threat to my real life relationship, then there was only one outcome possible: the bear had to die.

In that you are reading this, things have clearly changed. After a very late night and not much sleep, my partner and I sorted out our feelings over what happened, why and the reasons for both of our reactions. We reaffirmed that we still loved each other – and still trusted each other. My willingness to abandon my online presence may or may not have influenced it, but what is important is that we worked through would could have been an ugly and escalating misunderstanding and made it through whole, happy and still together. And that’s a good thing.

There are those that may consider it unnecessary for me to have erased my online presence, or even be offended that I would do so. There may be those who view it as problematic that my partner had issues with my presence online if it really was as innocent as I profess, or that my being willing to abandon it would be something I would even consider. While I’m sorry this may be your view, I’m certainly not going to apologize for my actions. I did what I felt I had to do at the time. For those who felt abandoned or hurt by my departure, however, I do truly apologize. It pained me to leave, knowing there were many out there that I would miss being in contact with.

The consequences of twittercide are severe, however. Just as in real life, once abandoned you can never re-inhabit your original body. @insatiaboo is gone forever, and there is no getting it back; the laws of the twitterverse forbid it. A lot has changed, however, in six months. I started as an innocent neophyte, unschooled in the ways of Twitter, with an egg for a face. I evolved into a sarcastic, funny and thoughtful polar bear, lounging on my ice floe, swilling Badoit and martinis while mocking the Girl for her inability to cook without incurring severe bodily harm.

People in the community are encouraged to name and give voice to their identity. And so, after a very brief absence, I am pleased and proud to say that I am back. I am a kinky polar bear. And my name is @insatiabear.

At least, in the eyes of many I probably I am

I like to think of it as being well-rounded. Or, I like well-rounded things. Bums figure prominently into this. Spanked bums, in particular. Sometimes mine, sometimes others.

Where my kink started is probably as much a mystery for me as it is for many, but it started as early as I was able to form coherent thoughts. For those of a sarcastic bent, no, this was not a recent occurrence. Let’s call it around the age of three or four, just to be safe.

One of my earliest exposures to kink, like many, was pornography. My path to sin, interestingly enough, was my father’s bedside table. Where normal parents no doubt might have a copy of Playboy or Penthouse secreted away somewhere, my dad had copies of Screw magazine. And European bondage magazines (from Amsterdam, I believe; kinky, those Europeans). I have no idea whether kink is hereditary, and I have no clue as to what his predilections actually were (nor do I seek to find out). I also have no idea whether his interests also extended to my mother, and I really, really don’t want to find that out, either. But it certainly reinforced for me at an early stage that there were different flavours of sex than those peddled by the mainstream media. And I apparently had a fondness for several of them…

Bondage, spanking, latex and leather were early fixations. And red ball gags. Not obsessions that got discussed at all (generally not the topics of casual conversation), but they figured into my masturbatory fantasies pretty much from the time that I figured out the mechanics of actually making that work.

Much of my early development was pre-internet, so my exposure came from what pornographic magazines I could either find or buy at a discreetly out-of-the-way convenience store (developing an appreciation at a surprisingly precocious age for the virtues of plain brown paper wrappers). My porn stash ebbed and flowed based upon the capacity of my mattress (why do pre-pubescent teenagers universally consider this a secure hiding place?!?) and the occasional bout of virtue that my conscience would unhelpfully inject.

The virtuous conscience is deadly to the development of an up-and-coming kinkster. The number of dildoes, butt plugs, handcuffs, paddles and other sundry accessories, not to mention stashes of pictures, stories, books and magazines, that have found their way into and then out of my life again is nothing short of astonishing. And sad. And depressing. Feelings of guilt that I was weird, and that I would be shunned, derided or mocked for my perversions, have been a periodic flirtation.

While I am different and unique, I am by no means alone, and there are many out there that share (and far exceed) my level of kink. On the best of days, I know and remember this (and correspond happily with many of them!) On the worst of days, I try to lock this idea up like a wilfully disobedient slave, in the deepest, darkest dungeons of my subconscious. It always gets out past the locks, however. While I recognize this now (mostly), it has taken a good long while to get here.

While I currently identify mostly as sub, this appears to not be as fixed a notion as it once did. I like and enjoy spankings and kinky sex, and I certainly like being on the receiving end. For me, this is playtime and reward, not punishment. I am not controlled or disciplined, and my relationship with my partner is one of equals. I am not subservient to her and she doesn’t dominate me. We love each other, we lust for each other, and we play with each other.

I’m also discovering a mischievous (some have said sadistic) streak that isn’t about being bratty for the sake of trying to attract a spanking, so much as trying to inspire squirming in others. These toppish tendencies are new and interesting and entirely formative in nature, so where this goes is anyone’s guess.

I am new to the whole world of blogs and Twitter, having recently ‘come out’ a few weeks ago (see aforementioned comments regarding virtue and guilt). In that time, I have found what many already know… that the internet is a wonderful way of finding your tribe, and of confirming in a way that is otherwise difficult or impossible that you are not alone. There is an entire universe of kinky people out there. What once lived in the darkened corners of the cupboards and recesses of our subconscious is being given pride of place in the light of our conscious minds, and that is no bad thing.

This blog is my way of exploring my kink, of sharing it and of contributing back to a universe of people that have contributed to me, in ways that many of them do not know and cannot possibly begin to imagine. It started after a small but influential lobbying campaign on Twitter. A select few – they know who they are – insisted that I should have a blog so they could read my stories. I consider this high praise indeed, given that I had only just written my first story the week prior. This has been followed by a second, a third and a fourth – with varying degrees of distribution. They will all appear here, and no doubt they will be joined by still more in the fullness of time.

Happy reading. I hope my words find a receptive audience – or at least a horny one.

Best,

Insatiaboo