The Saga of the White Shorts

On Saturday morning, Randy and I planned to visit an outdoor arts festival. It was some distance away, but a friend was exhibiting so I wanted to be sure to attend. I woke up first, showered, dressed, and prepared breakfast. Randy slumbered happily until I reminded him of our plans. Groggily, he awoke and got ready for the day.

As soon as he walked downstairs and into the kitchen, the first words from his lips were not a greeting, but rather, “Hey, I like those shorts.” For the record, I was wearing a pair of white denim shorts. They weren’t hot pants. They weren’t short shorts. They weren’t Daisy Dukes. They weren’t even especially tight or revealing. They were simply a pair of jean shorts appropriate for an outdoor festival on a warm day. Only later did it dawn on me that his exclamation was male shorthand for liking the way I looked while wearing those shorts.

Within a split second, he was upon me. My strong husband took me in his arms and wrapped me with an enthusiastic hug. His hands slid down immediately to cover and squeeze my denim-clad cheeks. Before I could process this sensation, he began to kiss me in a most aggressive fashion. Before I could resist, my submissive reflex took over.

“Mmmmm” I moaned, as he unclasped my bra with a skillful one-handed maneuver. My tee shirt quickly departed and his kisses moved southward. Rippling shivers passed through my entire body as my lover licked and bit my erect nipples. All the while, his fingers rubbed my feminine folds through the cotton fabric.

Needless to say, by this time, I was very turned on. The arts festival was rapidly plummeting down my priority list. Randy next guided me down onto the kitchen table. I was bent at the waist and lying on my front. It was a position very conducive to spanking. I had little doubt that was the next act in our mid-morning melodrama. I recall being mildly surprised that he hadn’t bared my target in preparation.

After several moments of digging though kitchen drawers, Randy located the item he sought. It was a large wooden salad spoon that on occasion doubles as a spanking implement. The first whack was full force and so were many that followed. He struck quickly using a rapid fire delivery all over my bottom. Were it not for two layers of protection, I’m sure I would have been in serious agony. As it was, the heat and stinging discomfort rose steadily as he poured on swat after swat.

He stopped as suddenly as he began. Once again, his digits touched, rubbed, and squeezed my upturned buttocks. This time, though, the contact brought pain as well as pleasure. These were sensations I knew well. I adore that deep animalistic craving that immediately and inevitably follows a vigorous spanking. It’s an irresistible itch that can be scratched only though immediate physical coupling, and scratch it we did!

Randy led me into the living room, lowered my shorts and underwear, and then bent me over the arm of our couch. He then dropped his own pants and impaled me from behind. As he thrust in and out of me, my man grabbed two handfuls of my punished flesh. As it often does, this mix of strong stimulation triggered the first of several mammoth climaxes. The lovemaking was wonderful. By the time he finished, I had received all of the attention I could possibly want.

Eventually, we did make it to the arts festival. Randy insisted that I put back on those white shorts that started this runaway romantic rendezvous. Several times during the day, he expressed his appreciation for my appearance by swatting my bottom with his hand. I know several people saw that gesture and, for all I know, they may have witnessed me wincing as well.

All in all, it was a fine way to spend a Saturday.

Keywords: spanking, playful spanking, spanking stories