In literary news, I finished at a breathless pace this past weekend the deliciously and squirmingly hot novel, ‘A Maid For All Seasons, Vol.1’ by the excellent, and prolific, Devlin O’Neill.
(All of his books, chock full of exquisite spankings, are available in The Cherry Red Report’s bookshop, powered by Amazon). Devlin was also featured recently in a CRR Author Spotlight.
The Thong Panty
**An opinion by Devlin O’Neill**
Michael Swayne, in the ‘A Maid for All Seasons’ books, calls it ‘an abomination,’ because it ‘neither reveals nor conceals’ a girl’s bottom.
His friend Professor Travis forbids his Red Blossom College students to wear the garment, in preference to snug white cotton butt coveralls, and even Sgt. Cameron in ‘Corporal Idaho’ likens it, unfavorably, to a stripper’s G-string.
Prof. Travis’s sister Felicia is convinced that her brother hates that particular underwear because he can’t understand how a girl tolerates having a bit of elastic stretched along her rear cleft all day.
Yes, it’s popular. Yes, it covers the strategic naughty bits, and even allows for the use of hygienic appliances (thank you, Light Days with Wings for Thongs) and yes, it very nearly eliminates the dreaded VPL, visible panty line, under a girl’s tight trousers, shorts and skirts, although the top of the thong often appears to onlookers anyway, given the current placement of waistlines.
But my chief objection to this underwear, as voiced by the above-mentioned panoply of protagonists, is that although the girl’s cheeks are bared, the bottom is not, at least in its entirety, and that, to me as a spanking enthusiast, is unacceptable.
I too much relish the thrill of discovery, that moment of triumph when I uncover a girl’s bottom, make it wholly naked to my hand – but if I lift her skirt or skin down her jeans only to find a stringy, imbedded slip of elastic, the experience loses its zing, becomes anticlimactic.
She’s hiding something, something I don’t necessarily need to see to spank the naughtiness out of her, but still she is tacitly asking that I accept her almost nakedness, her almost defenselessness and submission, and proceed.
I cannot do that, for her sake and mine. So yes, I invariably peel down her last vestige of modesty, but that action hasn’t the investment, the involvement, that tingly twinge of absoluteness that the deliberate pushing down of white cotton panties, a pink satin bikini, a blue micro-fiber boy-short with ‘Spank Here’ printed in red provides.
Yes, I am pedantic about this issue – ask anyone, especially my pseudo-nieces.
Not that I don’t enjoy the sight of a fair pair of feminine buns in a thong bikini displayed on the beach, although I always imagine her comely behind encased in tight white knickers, well bended across my lap in preparation for the strict swats she so richly deserves for parading so brazenly in public.
Tease me, will you, with that wisp of floss in your adorable bottom crack? You incorrigible brat!
The above opinion is that of the author and his wholly owned protagonists. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves.
– Prof. O’Neill