I could see her shadow on the other side of the folding screen, a moving sculpture of feminine grace with her round hips and shapely legs. My handmaiden.

She draped a pair of filmy stockings over the screen. I snugged my basque up against my body and exhaled. “Willow. Come cinch me up, dear.”

She tugged the ribbon – I breathed in, exhaled to feel the basque compressing my form. Yes. My girl knelt before me to smooth each stocking free of wrinkles. She tugged on her white satin gloves – and I saw the loose thread.

The slap was automatic; I didn’t feel it, only saw her recoil with shock and shame in her wide green eyes.

“Girl. Your dress is out of place. Your gloves-!”

She flushed. “Ma’am, I- I-”

“Willow Green. Fetch me the hairbrush.”

Her lips parted, then closed. She obeyed.

The sway of her ass kindled my hunger. She knelt before me, the boar-bristle hairbrush face-up in her hands. I pulled her to her feet and bent her over my knees. It took one arm to pin her across my lap – she was all rustling petticoats and squirming curves, my girl, with those long legs kicking out. I slid my dark-gloved hand beneath her skirts, exposing the undercurve of her plump ass.

The first strikes fell on her thighs, reddening them, taunting her. Sharp and swift where she could take the least. Crack. Wood met flesh, and flesh yielded.

I spanked her bare ass and she squealed.

Updated! Read the other participants’ 250 word story entries:

Naughty Abby
Casey Morgan (no relation, alas)
The Spanking Resource

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Even in the way I was attracted to people- I still idolized masculinity- the whole world, it seemed, did- and I may as well have stayed straight for all the feminist good I was doing. Masculine was good. Femininity was bad. That, I realized, was called Sexism.

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I can appreciate the irony: even as we move toward a greater appreciation of sex work, that oldest and simplest means of ascribing value to a woman, we reflexively devalue the feminine. Which is why it’s so important for those of us that perform femme to wear our femme identity with pride and strength – not because we’re afraid to be masculine, but because we’re not afraid to own that this, too, has power and worth. Ciswomen were not born second-best, and transwomen are not reaching for something lower but femmes of all walks of life – queer or otherwise, born with it or born to seek it – are making the choice to embrace this second walk, hips swaying.

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