Make Mine Well Done

Man Oh Man. What did I *think* would happen after I posted a silly poem that repeated the phrase “spank me” exactly 27 times? I wanted a spanking. No question. I asked for it. I told the whole wide world. There’s no denying that. There’s also no denying the fact that my dear spouse reads this blog. He has no patience for what he calls the “idle chit-chat” of the blogging world, but he does read my posts. What’s more, he takes seriously his role as chief spanker in this house. I meant the poem as lighthearted fun. Randy took issue with the implication that he had been neglecting his solemn duties. Last night, he rectified the situation. I knew I was in for it when he called from work and asked me about my poem. I mumbled something about early morning and having fun and the blog before he stopped me. “When I get home from work tonight, I intend to deal with this matter in the traditional fashion.” Ooo. I love it when he talks likes that. As Spanko Girl might say, it makes me all swoony. “Prior to my arrival, I expect you to pull down your pants and bend over the back of the couch. That wooden hairbrush should be close at hand.” I shuddered with multiple emotions – thrill, dread, anticipation, fear, arousal, submission, and perhaps a couple more for which I don’t have convenient names. This would surely be a spanking to remember. I spent the next few hours working hard at nothing. I visited blogs and answered some mail messages. All the while, my mind was on the hairbrush resting upon the desk just a couple feet away from my bottom. This well-used spanking implement would soon, I imagined, come a whole lot closer. As my mind was drifting away, I detected the sound of a garage door opening. The time of reckoning had arrived. I rushed into the living room, bared my target as instructed, placed the fearsome brush beside me, and bent all the way over the back of the couch. I’m sure I waited no more than five minutes, but from my perspective over the couch, it seemed an eternity. As I lay in that embarrassing position, I found myself nervously examining a worn spot on one of the couch cushions. It is with dark irony that I mused that my own cushions would shortly look worn as well. I heard Randy bound up the steps and into the kitchen. I heard him take off his jacket. He then strode into the living room where I was on display, precisely as he directed. “Very good. I see you recognize that there is no sense in stretching this out. Now then, let’s get down to business.” My husband pulled from his shirt pocket a folded piece of paper. He opened the page and read from it. “Poem: Spank Me.” Uh oh. I could see where this discussion was headed. Randy picked up the infernal hairbrush and began to rub it against my exposed sit-spots. The polished wooden back felt cool and smooth. “Did you write this?” I briefly weighed offering a smart answer, but sanity prevailed. I nodded in the affirmative. The response I received was about six well-placed swats across my bottom. They felt like full strength and burned like a flame. I jerked, but stayed in place. Randy then proceeded to read each line of the poem, spanking as he went. By the time he got to the Burma Shave line, I was howling in acute discomfort. He gave my poor bottom a very thorough workout with that heavy wooden brush. It really, really hurt! The only words I could mange to get out were “Ow, ow, ow!” As quickly as it began, my spanking abruptly concluded. Randy lifted me off the couch back and embraced me with his strong arms. He was again my gentle lover. “Let’s go upstairs,” he whispered in my ear. Once we arrived, my remaining clothes and inhibitions were both quickly discarded. I rubbed his manly shaft between my tongue and palette. I licked, sucked, kissed, and fondled the cyclops until he fired his round down my eager throat. We then moved to the bed where my lover applied a blue torpedo-shaped vibrator to a most sensitive spot. When I achieved climax a few minutes later, I found myself screaming and shaking with delight. Now, that scratched my itch! After the fireworks ended, I found myself over Randy’s lap at the edge of the bed. This was a position in which I have been spanked countless times. On this occasion, however, no more spanking was forthcoming. Instead, Randy retrieved some cream from the nightstand and spread it thinly across my punished behind. The cream felt cool and good once it was applied, but the actual contact amplified the very evident after-burn. We retired soon thereafter. For the first time in a week, I enjoyed the sleep of the contented. In retrospect, I got precisely the spanking I requested. It also happened to be the spanking I deserved. In the future, I won’t hesitate to ask, but I might be a little bit more specific! All day today, I’ve carried around the unavoidable memory of this incredible spanking. Yes, sitting has been dicey, but the biggest change has been the spring in my step and the smile on my face. It’s been a good day!

Keywords: spanking, hairbrush spanking, spanking stories