The Birthday Ritual

I was saving this nugget for a special occasion. It seems only right to celebrate Independence Day with a bang. This classic birthday adventure story is from my archive.

My husband, Randy, is quite fond of ritual, especially when it concerns my birthday. His concept of ritual involves intense bare-bottom paddling. Every year, he picks out a different surprise locale for our celebration. With each birthday, I marvel at his ability to conceive of a new place and motif for my annual tail toasting. This birthday was no exception. In truth, my birthday isn't for more than a week. Most years, however, Randy likes to get this event over early. I suspect this is to allow him to spank me again on my actual birthday. How could I complain? I wondered if Friday might be the magical night, but as usual, I really didn’t know. At Randy's suggestion, we dined out. He picked one of my favorite restaurants. It features seafood. It's casual and unpretentious. It's a place I might choose. If my darling wanted to wine and dine me, he wouldn't take me there, right? He'd choose one of those upscale continental establishments as the perfect prelude to a spectacular evening. Right? As well as I think I know this man, he can still cross me up. This was definitely one such occasion. He had me completely at ease. We talked and laughed and just enjoyed our evening out. He was in a good mood and seemed in no hurry to get anywhere. We lingered over dessert. All was well. When we left, Randy drove in the direction opposite of our normal path home. At this point, I began to become suspicious. He was up to something. I just knew it. So I innocently asked, "Where are we going?" He turned his head toward me and smiled broadly. It was a smile that said everything and nothing. In my heart, I now knew. In my mind, though, I wasn't so sure. "Is this my birthday spanking?" I inquired boldly. No sooner had I spoken the final fateful word than butterflies took flight within my stomach. After a long, agonizing pause, he told me "Oh, you're going to get spanked all right." He voice was deep and even, almost matter-of-fact. Now owning an answer I wasn't certain that I wanted, I sat quietly as Prince Charming drove on. We pulled off the freeway at an exit near the edge of the city. By now, it was completely dark. I couldn't imagine what could be of interest in this neighborhood. Soon enough, I received another hint as Randy pulled into the parking lot of a self-storage company. This is the type of place where you can rent a locker or a room to keep your old furniture, appliances, or other belongings. It was surrounded by a high fence and seemed well lit. Randy got out and I followed him in the office. Inside, we saw an old man intently watching a football game on a bad television. Randy told him he was here to pick up a couple things. With an absent-minded wave of his hand, the man gestured for us to enter. We walked out through the back door and onto the lot. No else was there. Randy led me to a locker all the way in the back. He unlocked the sliding metal door and rolled it upward like a garage door. All was dark inside. He walked in and led me by the hand. On came the light and down came the door. With that, he exclaimed, "Surprise!" It was a surprise too. The dingy locker was about the size of a small single car garage. A lone, bare bulb mounted on the unfinished ceiling provided the only lighting. The air was warm and musty. Yet, the storage space was oddly festive. Streamers, balloons, and a happy birthday banner decorated the room. On the floor was a piece of carpet I recognized from our basement. Atop it was a piece of furniture I hadn't seen before. It was a kind of a footstool. The base was chrome. Above that was a rounded wooden platform shaped like a broad 'U'. Between the sides of the 'U' was black leather covered padding. While hardly the classic spanking bench, in this context, its purpose couldn't have been more obvious (especially when there were five wooden paddles leaning against the side). Yes, my dear spouse had spent quite a bit of effort preparing this special spanking. "Happy birthday, Love" Randy whispered as he held me tight. I was, for once, at a loss for words. I cooperated as he stripped off my clothes. He stopped along the way to give me a kiss here and a nibble there. I'd come this far. I wasn't about to turn back. When I was naked, he positioned me face down against the stool. He asked me if I was ready to be paddled. I quietly replied, "Please paddle me." Paddle me he did. Before the first set, he informed me that this spanking would be a celebration of my life as a spanko. Taking in hand the smallest of the paddles, Randy reminded me that as a stubborn, headstrong child, I was spanked often (it wasn't really that often, but he was on a roll). He counted out whacks one through ten. They hurt, of course, but I was doing fine. Next, my lover took the next larger implement. He told me that as a horny teenager, I first established the link between spanking and sexuality. Ten more hard swats left me breathing hard and wondering when the small locker had become so warm. In my twenties, I discovered the joys of a spanking relationship. Randy commemorated this era by applying my sorority paddle to my glowing seat another ten times. By now, I was becoming really sore. Randy sensed my distress and asked me if I needed to stop. I said I didn't know. He was nice enough to give me a break. His fingers and mouth explored my body. I cooed with pleasure. After this momentary distraction, we returned to the business we had come to transact. In Randy's hand was the teardrop paddle. He recalled that, in my thirties, I learned how spanking can be a lifestyle choice. Whacks thirty through thirty-nine seared my skin. My lifestyle, I decided, wasn't going to include sitting for quite a while. As for my forties, they are a book that was still being written. Randy told me he thought our lives together were improving with each passing day and each swing of the paddle. Twice more the teardrop found its stinging mark. I was almost done (to a crisp that is...). I knew what was next. The Mother of All Paddles wasn't there as a decoration. It was to delivery the legendary "one to grow on." This implement is too big and too heavy to be used often. Fortunately for me, we don't. However, the time had come again. I took a deep breath in anticipation of its sudden impact. "...and one to grow on" crooned Randy. BOOM! The swat resonated like a firecracker inside the small room. The sting was immediate and intense. It was over. Randy stood me up and we embraced. His hands soothed and caressed my skin. I cringed as his grasp reached my crimson posterior. "Let's go home," he said. After I dressed, we left. On the way out, the old man asked the obviously empty-handed Randy if he got everything he needed. I blushed when he replied, "No, but I will in a few minutes." I practically ran back to the car. It was late when we arrived home. We rushed up to the bedroom and made passionate love. I was hot in every way. As is his way, my Prince Charming stoked my fires before finally extinguishing them. Yes, this was yet another birthday to remember. My treasure chest of memories is feeling just a bit more full tonight. But I know that plenty of room remains!

Keywords: spanking, paddle spanking, spanking story, spanko, birthday spanking