The Spinster's Exploits

Sex, sensuality and possibly spanking after seventy…

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The Spinster is a 70-year-old South Walian who doesn’t believe sex, sensuality and fun stop at seventy. There is more to growing old disgracefully than wearing purple 💜- although she does love purple! She considers herself to have dual sexuality as she loves vanilla but something gets unleashed when she is spanked by the right person… She is excited to have reached this significant milestone and thrilled to discover erotic possibilities can be there for the taking. Oh! And she can be a touch up herself and talk about herself in the third person – but nothing a good spanking won’t cure!😉🤭

  • Some Pleasure and Some Table-Turning

    After a long and pleasant day at Brecon Jazz, we awoke for a chilled Sunday morning.

    And after reviving with a cuppa and a cuddle, my gorgeous lover gently took back the reins, as a casual stroke of my breasts reduced me to the chaotic and turned-on confusion he has mastered so well. He decided to be kind and delivered much pleasure rather than demand a second cuppa – if he had – I would have acquiesced, albeit somewhat unsteadily and in a daze – but he didn’t and between us I had an amazing orgasm focussing on his attentions, what we’d done to each other and what we may do in the future… And that future featured his promise of me at the receiving end of a cane…

    And as he prepared to leave he reminded me of his earlier promise and asked me to draw the blinds. And it was my turn to kneel on the bucket chair and lean over the back with my bare bottom in the air. I think I protested it may not be the right height for me, but he brushed my pathetic protests aside and it was my turn to receive a very firm cold caning at the hands of my lovely switchy lover. It was very painful but incredibly sexy being in his power again. And rather wonderful to be off for lunch with the Women’s Guild with a stinging bottom and fabulous memories of an amazing weekend.

  • Sexual Domme-ination…

    So my gorgeous switchy sub seemed to respond well to my direction and had an exquisitely striped and reddened arse when I thought I’d earned a little break. Determined to keep control of him and his very perky cock, I decided it was time for me to be pleasured.

    Now I adore my nipples – they give me such pleasure – especially in his hands and mouth – but they are not to be relied upon as they seem the gateway to my submissive streak. Attention to them brings me pleasure and even ecstasy, but I find myself spineless and acquiescent and even willing to forego further pleasure once my traitorous breasts are in his hands both literally and metaphorically – and in his mouth – I am a lost cause.

    I would have girded my loins – or pulled on my big-girl-pants – if I wasn’t wearing my rather fetching silky knickers. I think I’d got him to get me out of the skirt and blouse and I was very happy in corset, said knickers, stockings and suspender belt.

    He hastily moved aside the cushion where he’d been beaten and loosened the upper part of my corset ribbon to gain access to my breasts that I demanded he pleasured. And he did – beautifully. And it was utterly gorgeous, and I felt totally in control – and it felt like he and his cock were fully at my disposal as I gave the odd stroke to his body and continued to receive his worship of my very demanding breasts.

    I could feel my excitement at his beating, submission and now very close attention to my eager nipples and wondered at the state of my very tingly fanny, so decided he should check it out and he did. As his fingers slipped and slid in my wetness I felt deliciously wanton and naughty and decided I too needed a thrashing. I demanded a hard, cold caning from my obedient slave which he immediately set to deliver.

    I have no recollection of what we did about my knickers, but I received some – for me – eye-watering strokes of the cane on my unprepared but eager bottom and they were delicious and took me to the edge of my endurance as I decided how many more I would take before returning to the pleasuring I had interrupted which was now so much sweeter with my throbbing bottom.

    I was definitely in my knickers at this point as I decided I wanted a hard fucking over the cushion where I had beaten him. I was kind and generous enough to check if he would like to fuck me, and it seemed he would…

    So the cushion was put back to present me for my pleasure at his cock.

    And it was glorious as he moved aside the damp knickers and fucked me hard and I claimed his orgasm for our joint pleasure.

    I think that may be where I ceded control as we collapsed in an overheated mess and we got us out of my corset. I honestly can’t remember if either of us gave me an orgasm or not – but I was in a very happy – and amused – place as we discussed what had happened.

    There is no way I could ever be a Dominatrix – and don’t really want to be one. But being a Domestic Domme was fabulous fun and appeared to have done wonders for both of us. We decided I could have that capital D for my efforts! It seemed starting with a cold caning was a master stroke – or more… I’m very amused by how turned on I was being in total control of him and the proceedings – but of course – with his consent as he has mine when he is in charge.

    So I guess we have both earned our Switching badge! Our feedback session required no questionairres and was more fun than any training session I’d attended! I guess said training sessions would have felt different if delivered while lounging around in just fishnets and susenders!

  • Solo delight/quickie

    Wow – just done something I’d not done in over a decade. Got so turned on while on my own during daylight hours, I actually came upstairs for a wank!

    Now this is something I do solo at night because I’m having erotic thoughts or having trouble sleeping, but a special trip upstairs out of pure randiness – wow!

    I did have an amazing weekend with my lover – as stated and more anon – and writing about my love life definitely makes me revisit, imagine and plan and so works wonders for my libido.

    Today I posted an edited version of my last post – my nascent Domme having fun – on a fetish site and got likes and comments and looked up commenters and their sites and ended up down various spanko rabbit holes. And somehow I went from part-time Domestic Domme to spankee and Domestic Discipline fantasies! I was taken back to my early days of web exploration and the excitement of reading about errant women being controlled and spanked by sexy partners/Spankers/Doms/Heads of Household. Whoops – getting all tingly again!  I guess we all have formative fantasies/erotic ideas that retain their power – and powerful, fair, sexy, loving men meting out well-deserved spankings is mine! And I’m more than happy to have so many other sources of pleasure available in my head and in reality. And any time I need a delicious quick shiver, I can think of the very vivid and real memory of my gorgeous Switch and his switch on that memorable walk…

    So lovely to be in touch with my full kinky/spicy vanilla self in all my twisty, pleasurable glory.

  • Finally, I  get my hands on him…

    …not to mention canes, bath brush, paddle and carpet beater – but I did wonder if it was going to happen…

    So I’d been wondering if I should go for unleashing my fragile baby domestic domme on his toughened flesh and sensibilities. He had enjoyed her first time round, but then turned the tables rather deliciously with a memorable fucking. As previously deduced – more his Wicked Willie of a cock than him, but obviously still him. I was determined to exercise my power for longer.

    Once again, lingerie was going to play its part because dressing up makes me feel sexy and he’s a sucker for such frivolities. I chose a leather look brown lace-up corset with brown frills around the bottom with a creamy suspender belt and pale fishnets finished off with silky brown knickers and my lovely red stilettos. I went for a no-nonsense white blouse and knee-length tight black and white skirt.

    And he was running late again. I was once again all dressed up and wondering where to go. I had no idea why the delay and I was seriously hacked off at the message he was running late. Off went the heels and carefully chosen music as I settled down to watch ‘Mad Men’ and admire Joan’s ultra-feminine charms and powerplay.

    He arrived with apologies into my nicely brewing thundercloud and explained the situation. He had excellent reasons for being late, but we both agreed I needed to have been put in the picture and we then established our future boundaries and rules. And being Welsh we sealed the deal with a much-needed cuppa!

    And after all my planning it seemed a shame not to give him a good beating with those lovely weapons of moderate damage I’d brought downstairs. And he had told me he could take more than I gave him last time…

    And ordering him to kneel on the bucket chair, drop his trousers and pants and bend over the back with his bare bum in the air as I’d imagined, seemed an excellent idea. And he complied and it was.

    I’d imagined delivering a cold caning to his unprepared flesh and it still seemed a pretty good idea. For me when receiving or fantasising about receiving – it is one of those wonderfully shivery experiences of dread and excitement as I take the painful stripes and imagine the lines appearing on my vulnerable flesh.

    And delivering those stripes and watching them appear on his flesh was thrilling.  And the power trip of having my lover so vulnerable while I was trying out my canes, discovering the power of a very thuddy and solid shoe horn and my gorgeous carpet beater was intoxicating. As was his lovely trip into submission to me.

    I ordered him to pull up his clothing and stand up before ordering him out of his lower garments and got huge satisfaction from him losing his socks first! There is something saucy and vulnerable about a man in just his shirt, although a impressively thrusting erection does deliver a somewhat mixed message.

    Ordering my lovely sub man plus his Wicked Willie cock over my lap was a delight – especially as I’d decided to be mistress of both of them. And playing with his cute bum, balls and gorgeous straining cock was an utterly pleasure as I tested my strength on his bottom with my nasty, thuddy bath brush and paddle.

    I took further delight in ordering him upstairs to be my sex slave but couldn’t resist ordering him to place himself over a perfectly shaped cushion on my bed for more beating. My only disappointment was that – unlike me – he is immune to the power of my plastic fly-swat – so I had to make up for it with practically every toy in the box – it was tough – but somebody had to do it. And he did thank me very nicely.

    The only real casualty of this domme-ly adventure was one of my lovely old walking canes – but luckily not the silver-tipped one. I saw said canes in an antique shop many years ago and something was triggered in my spankee brain so I bought them and they’ve been unused until we got together as they are non-flexible and seem unyielding. He was happy to experiment with them in his hand or across his arse – and it was his arse that gave him his first broken trophy from my toy box! My beautiful canes broke and it’s possible I was being a mite over-enthusiastic at having such an experienced and well-beaten bottom – pun intended – at my disposal. It would appear he is no stranger to toys breaking rather than them breaking him!

    And now was the time to see if I was woman enough to control a sex-slave – and it seemed I could. Wicked Willie was very much in evidence and appreciative of the odd touch and caress but appeared to be under my control like the rest of my wonderful, obedient lover. And I discovered the joy of a willing and skilled lover at my command… to be continued…

  • Oppression and all that…

    As a fifties-born feminist I really struggled with my desires and fantasies. I love the way young women and men now accept fantasy and play as just that and it’s all fine. There seem to be no issues between feminism, equality and one’s inner life for young feminists.

    The confusion and battle were brought back to me when I read ‘Melted Down to Stars’ by Sian Michael in Laughing, Not Laughing: women’s writing on ‘My Experience of Sex’ edited by Catherine Merriman, and published by Honno

    “I was fired up with the terrible righteousness of the young. I could see it all now – Craig was my oppressor, the bastard, telling me I wanted it, making me melt into submission, having me spend the whole weekend playing the part of his ‘pleasure slave’. Well, no more!

    By the time I was thirty we had three children. Gravity and childbirth had taken their toll. Politically correct sex was such a bore, but it was all my re-formed mind could allow and, anyway, I may not be one of those evangelical die-hards who tell strangers in public places that they love Jesus, but by then I had joined the church.

    A woman deacon and mother of three could hardly dress only in silk and gauze scarves and play the slave, agreeing to obey her husband’s every sexual whim. Well, could she?

    A feminist theologian who knows all the tricks of patriarchy all the way back to Adam can hardly purr when her husband spanks her tll her backside stings and she promises to be good. Well, can she?”

    Thankfully Sian had a rethink and I am hopeful that she and Craig recaptured the joy and she was once again ‘melted down to stars’ by him and their fabulous fun.

    I too am a ‘feminist who knows all the tricks of patriarchy all the way back to Adam’. And while no theologian I am better versed than average on religion and its control on us from Lilith and Eve onwards.

    Unlike Sian I never unleashed my inner spankee in my youth and had no Craig to rail against. As a well-read feminist I blamed myself and my internalised oppression for my inappropriate fantasies and desires. This is the sort of thing that informed my thinking:

    “And Sister, if you can’t turn on to a man who won’t club you and drag you off by the hair, that’s your [hang up]. Keep your hang ups the hell out of this revolution” – “Lilith’s Manifesto” in Sisterhood is Powerful

    Luckily I too got to rethink and accept my desires and fantasies bring me a lot of pleasure and do nothing to undermine my feminism and passion for equality. And the journey continues as I march into my eightieth decade having reached the age of seventy, still curious and exploring…

  • Fat is a Feminist Issue

    You have to be of a certain vintage to know that this is one of the things that made Susie Orbach famous long before she met the Princess. And the Sad Princess is a lesson in how the most gorgeous of us have body issues.

    I owned this book when it came out in the late seventies, and also Kim Chernin’s “Womansize”, subtitled “The Tyranny of Slenderness” when it came out in the early eighties. As a feminist of a certain age – seventy, if you’re asking – I have lived the life and walked the talk. But still feel fat and ugly at times. And as a feminist of my vintage – I fight it tooth and nail.

    I love my body for how it works and how it feels when I stretch out, or swim, or when I do tai-chi and most definitely when making love or having the most outrageous body-shaking fuck. But loving my body doesn’t stop me wishing my too solid flesh away at times…

    Like most women of our shared culture, I felt self-conscious when I was a size 12/14. In my youth that was 34/36-24/26-36/38. At size 20 – add ten inches everywhere – I am officially obese. I find pussyfooting, euphemisms and polite alternatives embarrassing and annoying. I joke about being a big bog-standard woman as the idea that being overweight makes one big and beautiful is simply ridiculous. And – yes – of course –  it is lovely that many find such women irresistible and that sexual attraction is so fabulously diverse.

    I do admire the body positive and do my best to be positive – I do not dress to disappear and either aim for comfort and freedom or flaunting of the bits I want to flaunt. I have discovered that having 44 inch breasts stops one being invisible – even at seventy…

    I have been very lucky in my lovers since I gained weight in my thirties and I tell myself that they accepted my body from the start. And I hoped the erotic pleasure we found together imprinted me as the source of such delight as their very human bodies imprinted on me…

    So why am I wanging on about this now you may be wondering? Well – it’s because I’ve come up with another step on my body positive journey – My lover and I are going to stay at a naturist resort! It would be lovely to genuinely lose my self-consciousness and honestly love my imperfect but wonderful flesh.

    As established earlier – we are polyamorous friends-with-benefits who are sort of dating – and spending rather a lot of time together in the bedroom and out. But there is a wider world out there and we both find the idea of sharing the pleasure and pushing boundaries very exciting.

    I have finally got round to reading “The Ethical Slut” as said, and it has been mind-expanding. While my situation as an older child-free spinster is somewhat different from the starting point of the writers, there are interesting issues that apply to many relationships and to those wishing to have a more open sexual/intimate/playful life. And feeling less self-conscious about my body seems like a good step.

    And I do know that nakedness and sexuality do not automatically go together and I will behave appropriately, but being naked with others socially, feels like an exciting part of my mad post-70 journey – What an adventure!

  • My plans in tatters,,,

    …so there I was in all my finery, with discreetly planted weapons of moderate damage when I got the message about the traffic… it seemed I would have to wait for the pleasure of disciplining my lovely switchy sub…  and it is hard to get entirely comfortable in drag queen heels – still – all the more to take out of his arse I thought…

    And he finely arrived – totally knackered! I was all ready to do my stern bit but gave him a hug instead and he asked for time out. So I led him to the sofa but set him to work removing my killer heels, before making us a nice cuppa. We are such a lovely pair of pensioners, sipping our tea, while he stroked my legs through the fishnets and admired my shiny red toenails and copped a feel of my naked thigh above the stocking tops…

    It seemed only fair to ditch my cherished plans, finish our tea and go for a siesta. After all the trouble I’d taken I was in no hurry to remove my finery and nor – it seemed was he… I lost the dress and thanks to the medicinal properties of my bog-standard tea, I had a reasonably perky lover on my hands and a rather vanilla situation as he explored the contents of my so-carefully chosen lingerie.

    And suddenly I was aware Wicked Willie had joined the party and a rather hard fuck seemed an appealing option. I was however concerned about my lover who really had been looking quite shaky with fatigue so recently so I asked if such a fucking was a possibility. It seemed it was.

    And I knew what I wanted – a hard fuck from behind – doggy fashion, with a little support to take the thrusts – and it was amazing. And it didn’t break him! Must be my tea-making skills, camiknickers and fishnets!

  • Worthiness…

    In between my lovely erotic adventures. ordinary life goes on – including housekeeping and everydaynesses. As a retiree my time is my own but I have my routines – various groups and activities – which have mainly stopped for August – that month of holidays and/or grandparenting duties. So I awoke this morning with my mantra for such days as these; “There is nothing I have to do…” It always feels good – Especially when I managed to get up at eight and had taken in the news of the day.

    I   am rather pleased with myself for doing my morning session of Welsh – are there any pensioners out there not on Duolingo?! – and then catching up with my washing up and making two batches of soup – lamb and veg and ham and veg. I even managed a mini freezer sort to make room, Unfortunately I managed to not close freezer door properly and have annoyingly iced up freezer. Luckily only casualty was an icecream lolly and temperature was maintained.

    I also had a good sort out of my phone pics. Was very pleased to be able to move my saucy ones into a secure file. Not managed to find it yet, but I’m sure I’ll work it out…

    I did some exercise and tai chi so feeling very smug.

    So if you’re looking for a post to like to encourage me to like yours – fill your boots – hardly any naughtiness here… And I’ve even done my recycling! Just my food caddy and the non-recyclable bag which – for a fortnight – was satisfyingly slim…

  • All dressed up…

    After my previous thwarting I was all set to give my lover what I hoped would be a memorable beating…

    Based on the contents of wardrobes and drawers and personal loves, I was sticking with a fifties vibe. I love a modified fifties look with modern garments – I am not a re-enactor and while I love a certain sexy restriction by my underpinnings I don’t like to be a victim of my lingerie! I know there will be lovers of rubber roll-ons and control pantees that survived into the late sixties and my youth – but definitely not for me – but be my guest!.

    Now a fifties asthaetic with a bit of give and stretchy stockings rather than micromesh – bring it on! I have a much-adored teddy/camiknickers that I love so much it got an honourable mention in a short story of mine. This is how I described it over twenty years ago on my heroine who definitely had my body and insecurities. And the fabulous garment still merits a place in my lingerie drawer after various sorrowful culls over the years…

    “She chose a pretty black garment with roses that was some sort of cami-knickers if her memory of the catalogue description was accurate. It was an ‘all in one’ with a built in under wired bra with lace topped cups that did wonders for her magnificent 42 inches of flesh. Other than the bra bit it was unrestricting and made up of shaped panels so it had a subtle waist but flared out into a pretty French-knicker effect. Teamed up with the matching suspender belt and black stockings she knew the look to be a traditionally sexy one even allowing for her dimpled thighs and big wobbly bottom.”

    This time I went for fishnets and added my much-loved net skirts before being unable to resist trying on some mad stiletto platforms fit for a drag queen or sex worker! I loved the look and felt fabulous. I added a gorgeous modern version of a fifties low-cut and full-skirted dress and a choker around my neck and was thrilled with the look. I’ve not worn vertiginous heels for a man in over ten years so I was feeling very sexy and very wobbly!

    I have joked about being a male lingerie fetishist trapped in a woman’s body and this is an example of why. The irony being, I usually dispense with even bra and knickers if I can reasonably do so without disgracing myself. I love the freedom of no underwear, so dressing up in my finery is an erotic act in itself.

    And I collected a cane, carpet beater, hairbrush and bathbrush along with a used mug and my body lotion and made my wobbly way to the top of the stairs. And hoped I’d not take a tumble due to my ‘Bambi-on-ice’ level of body control. I did giggle at the thought of being rescued by my neighbours or paramedics if I ended up a damaged heap at the foot of my stairs in my finery… Luckily, I reached the ground floor intact and was able to do some practice sashays between kitchen and living room while awaiting my gorgeous lover…

  • Sweet men (and penises) – a short diversion…

    Contrary to myth and the opinion of many of my male friends – sweet men can get a lot of action! If you melt her heart, it doesn’t mean she sees you as a puppy or child – unless that’s your thing and your intention all along – but that’s another story and outside my particular knowledge and expertise.

    No – a melted heart will often get you into her bed – it certainly works on me. But – what about all girls loving a sailor bad boys you ask? Nah – Not the mentally healthy ones with some self-respect – it’s no fun being treated like dirt and playing second fiddle. And there’s nothing stopping sweet men playing at bad boys when desired… treat them mean, keep them keen works a treat if you want an insecure puppet…

    And as a spankee and possible fledgling part-time sub – sweetness is an innate commodity that does not get in the way of fabulous macho posturing, dominant control and/or cane swishing… Ooh – I may now need a little lie-down…

    An exhausted man, or an injured one, or just a thoughtful one can pull my heartstrings. And I will happily want to nurture – if I know he would do the same for me if the roles were reversed.

    And I have a real love of a sleepy penis although have been told over the years not to call them sweet – but they are! The very fact that – like their owners, they are seriously impressive beasts, makes their dormant state more touching and carressable in a non-arousing way – unless of course – there is a change of mood, and your cute sleepy friend decide he wants to come out to play… And that could be him or his penis – as previously stated – men and cocks sometimes take turns at being in charge although they work wonderfully together!