Benchmarks

This is not a Christmas story, but it is a new spanking story that captures some Christmas week fun.

          Two words: cheer leader

That was the text message I received from Randy the other day. I was at work. We had been talking about how best to commemorate MBS's ten millionth page request. I was in a meeting. It was all I could do to not blush. I knew precisely what he meant, or at least I thought I did.

After the meeting, I texted him back.

          What's the second word?

He should know that cheerleader is just one word.

          Paddled!

I had to ask, didn't I?

          6:30

I had my marching orders. I left work at the end of the day and upon arriving home began my preparations. I tied my hair into pigtails emerging from either side of my head. I collected the pieces of my cheerleader uniform – a red sweater with a big white W on the front, a red and white pleated skirt, matching red cheerleader briefs, and white footies with little red pom-poms at the back. Randy loves the naughty cheerleader routine. Truth be known, so do I!

As I donned my costume for the evening, I couldn't avoid recounting the memories of past encounters with my inner cheerleader. The skirt was clearly intended for someone without my mature hips. When I bend over, most of my panty-covered bottom is visible. I knew from experience that neither the flimsy nylon cheer panties nor the cotton thong hidden beneath would offer any meaningful protection once the spanking began.

I checked myself in the mirror (twice), went to the bathroom, read e-mail, and paced the floor in anticipation of my man's arrival. Waiting to be spanked is much worse than any spanking. I had visions of a friendly neighbor stopping to share a cookie surplus and finding instead an oddly nervous little rah-rah granny.

When Randy finally arrived, he was all business. He takes celebrations seriously, especially if spanking is involved. He kissed me and then told me to go upstairs to our bedroom. He said he would be up in a minute.

True to his word, he trudged up the steps shortly after I did. When he entered the room, I was seated on the bed and displaying my best naughty teen pout.

“Bon, I understand that you've been spending too much time on spanking blogs.”

“Too much?” I ad-libbed, “How much time is too much?”

“You've achieved it, young lady.” Shivers passed through me. I adore that authoritative tone.

Randy sat next to me and stared into my eyes. He gently grasped my chin between his thumb and forefinger. His sudden physical closeness and formality was a bit unnerving.

“You know, of course, that I am going to have to spank you.”

“Yes, I know,” I murmured with head bowed.

“All right, then. Get over my lap.” I complied.

As soon as my torso came to rest atop his thighs, his heavy hand began falling on my bottom. What followed was a vigorous, stinging hand spanking. I voiced my discomfort, but it was a delicious scene. As he smacked alternating cheeks, he told me how he thought that girls who spend their days talking about spankings on the internet need a dose of reality.

“Every time you sit down tomorrow, you're going to remember what being spanked is all about. This is no fantasy. It's just my hand and your butt.”

This man presses every one of my buttons.

In time, he tired of spanking and lecturing. He helped me up from his lap.

“Now we are ready for the main event. In commemoration of ten million hits, you are going to receive ten pops from the paddle. Bend over and put your hands on the bed.”

I did as he commanded, but I was very curious to see what sort of paddle he would retrieve from our toy chest. We have an extensive collection ranging from hideous to sweet.

“Eyes forward... Are you ready?”

I couldn't see what he was wielding, but I was certain I would soon feel it.

“Yes,” I conceded.

Rather than swinging the paddle, though, Randy stopped to caress me through my uniform. He clearly liked the feel of my breasts through the sweater, and especially, the warmth of my freshly spanked globes through those silky red briefs. His roaming fingers, the spanking, the uniform, and his voice all conspired to build my arousal.

“OK, I need you to stay in position. I do not want to miss. Count them out for me please.”

Smack! “One,” I squealed with surprise as the blow was considerably harder than I anticipated. I judged that he was swinging a fairly large wooden paddle, but by no means the worst.

Smack! “Two.” The second swat was even harder than the first.

We continued with this disciplinary call and response until ten nearly full force swats had been delivered. There was no more lecturing, just workmanlike paddling. I didn't lose count, though I felt my knees buckle involuntarily a couple times. Overall, I handled my session very well. At least that's what Randy told me afterward.

When I played back the audio recording in preparation for writing this story, I was surprised by how much I shrieked. Wooden paddles really hurt! In fact, just as he predicted, I was sore a day later.

When the paddling was over, Randy lifted me back to my feet and enveloped me in a big hug. As I snuggled my head into his chest, I felt at peace. After a few minutes, he invited me to go to the mirror and admire my marks. He knows I love that part of the ritual. My sit spots looked very red and even had a hint of a possible bruise on the outside of my right cheek. This was a memorable spanking befitting a momentous occasion.

Randy took great delight in stripping off my cheerleader uniform one article at a time. His enthusiasm was unmistakable. Now clad in only a gray sports bra, the short pleated skirt, and footies, I was positioned in a kneeling position on the bed. He then bent me over again, but not for paddling this time. I welcomed his overture and we enjoyed a very satisfying completion.

So, there you have it. My ten million page cheerleader paddling was a wonderful success. Thanks again to all of you who made it possible.

Happy holidays from Randy and Bonnie!