Paddle-Rific Pundering

During our most recent Friday night festivities, as I was horizonal, fully exposed, and receiving his stinging gifts, we had an interesting conversation. Thanks to the wonders of technology, I can share these heavily edited highlights.

R: Your butt is paddle-tested. B: It's paddle-hardened. R: And you have lovely paddle burns too. B: I'll have to take your word for that. R: They're absolutely paddlicious. B: Did you just do a restaurant review of my butt? R: You definitely have a paddle friendly bottom. B: My bottom doesn't think your paddle is very friendly. R: I'm taking you to Paddletopia. B: This must be the long route. R: With a side trip to Paddleopolis. B: Just as I suspected. R: The yelps you make are a paddle call. B: Then you must be a paddle rustler. R: When you tell all your friends, you're a paddle-tail. B: Do you have any idea how much this hurts? R: We shake, paddle, and roll. B: I'm holding out for roll. R: When we walk upstairs, it's a frontier paddle drive B: I'm getting paddle sore.

My spanking continued a while longer, but the puns ended there.

It's the Little Things (Part Two)

When last we saw our hero, he was removing my slacks... (If you are just joining us, part one can be found here).

Randy soon returned carrying something in his hand that I couldn't immediately identify. “Now comes the unveiling,” he announced. After opening the top button of my slacks, my lover took the handle of the zipper and slowly unpeeled his treasure. I could detect enthusiasm in his voice as he declared his approval.

“What a magnificent ass, all warmed up and ready for action!” With that, he began kissing my lower back. He slipped my slacks down toward my upper thighs, continuing to kiss, lick, nip, and caress as he moved ever southward. His fingers admired the jutting orbs he had just set aglow. Soon the red thong that framed his artwork had to be removed as well.

From his pocket, he removed my favorite bullet vibrator and quickly activated it. In response to the telltale hum, I broadened my stance and arched my back. At first, he touched me lightly in a place he knows I like. Within a few minutes, he increased the pace and the intensity with which he slid the smooth plastic toy in, out, forward, and back. He punctuated this delightful stroking with regular swats from the leather paddle that was now back in his spare hand. The heavenly combination drove me to the brink of release. The sound made by the leather impacting firmly against my bare skin was quite different from the muffled thud I heard before my pants descended. Now loud cracks reverberated in my head even as the accompanying discomfort spread across my cheeks.

Then he stopped.

When he walked to the closet, I collapsed onto the bed. My next recollection was Randy helping me back up as he slid our love ramp underneath my hips. The slacks that started the ruckus were now removed and tossed over a chair. My feet were on the floor, but my throbbing bottom was now pointed straight at the ceiling. I had no idea what to expect next.

His desire, it seems, was every bit as powerful as my own. I gasped with both joy and anticipation as he entered me. I pushed back against his powerful thrusts as we bucked in unison. His strong hands clamped onto the fleshy part of my hips. My cries of pleasure seemed to drive him to continue his vigorous cadence. After he finished, his relaxed body rested atop mine. His arms encircled my waist. It felt so wonderful to renew this physical and spiritual bond.

Surprisingly, my bottom did not hurt that much after this adventure. But Randy took care of that issue by spanking me again the following morning for having the audacity to wear a certain red thong to bed. I told him that it's the little things that matter...

Based upon our poll results, my surprise was completely justified!

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!

Friday Evening at Home

I haven't shared a good spanking story in ages. Given that this is the whole point of MBS, that's a real shame. It's not for lack of stories to tell, I just get busy. These events transpired on Friday evening during our weekly fun time. I used the recorder to capture our dialogue, though the best parts involved very little talking.

As usual, I arrived home a couple of hours before Randy. This is a good arrangement most days because it gives me an opportunity to catch up on housework, fix some dinner, and check in at the blog. On Fridays, however, I often use this time to prepare for the evening's scheduled percussive festivities. What's funny is that I can plan only for myself. I generally have no idea what he has in mind. Sometimes, I suspect he doesn't either before it happens. My challenge is to provide suitable visual, auditory, olfactory, culinary, and tactile inspiration.

After a relaxing shower, I started by laying out a fairly tight plain white sweater. This is a versatile top in that it can be girlish, trampy, or businesslike, depending upon the rest of the outfit. I slid it over a padded über-bra (hey, I can pretend to have ample boobs).

For my lower half, I started with a silky pair of full white nylon briefs. Randy loves this style because it reminds him of what many girls and women wore back in the sixties. Next came a pale pink garter belt and dark tan stockings. I actually remembered to put on the garter belt underneath. I know what he likes. Atop this layer, I added a red pleated skirt. With the hem at mid-thigh, it felt pretty short.

Peering in my full length mirror, I liked what I saw, but I couldn't decide how to finish the look. What exactly was I going for? Each part worked fine, but the assembled whole seemed a little, well, disjointed. The stockings ruined the schoolgirl. The panties ruled out a stripper. Maybe a hot but slightly retro secretary... Yes, that was it! I added an old pair of plastic eyeglasses and overdid my make-up just a little. Next came a shiny black belt and matching pumps. A naughty office assistant stared back at me from behind the mirror. This would work just great.

It was still almost an hour before Randy was due to arrive. I had time to prepare the stage, but I wondered what I should do. I wanted to avoid interfering with any of his fiendish plans. Sometimes, he gives me a hint about his intentions, but this day I had nothing to go on.

I lit a vanilla-scented candle in the living room. I knew he'd like that. I turned on the air conditioning so we would be comfortable once things warmed up. I carried two paddles down from the bedroom. One was a semi-rigid roundish leather model. The other was our wooden teardrop paddle. Both are quite familiar and very effective. I removed two small portraits from the wall near the kitchen and replaced them with the two paddles neatly suspended from their respective cords. Randy had seen this little decorating trick before, but not recently.

I briefly considered burning some popcorn in the microwave to create an offense for my ill-behaved secretary, but I decided that stench would clash with the sweet candle in a most unpleasant way. No, we would have to invent something else.

Just about then, I heard the garage door opening one floor below. Randy was home. A wave of anxious anticipation passed through me. I ran into the lavatory, quickly rearranged my hair, and doubled checked my look. Sooner than I expected, I detected the unmistakable thuds of my man trudging up from the basement.

When the basement door opened, there he was. He paused for a moment as if to assess the meaning behind my appearance. His eyebrows raised in unison as a wry smile crossed his face.

“I'm ready for my dictation, sir,” I chirped with appropriate emphasis on the most important syllable.

“All in good time, my dear,” he replied. “First, I think we need to perform your performance evaluation.”

Oooo, he's good, I thought. He excused himself to use the bathroom while I pondered the events to come. I sat on the love seat hopeful that Randy might soon join me.

Naturally, his plan was a bit different. His idea of a performance evaluation involved me standing behind the love seat and bending over the back of it. At the urging of my Prince Charming, I placed my forearms on the seat of the couch. Quite by design, I'm sure, my bottom was way up in the air and completely vulnerable.

It was about this time that I realized that he hadn't even kissed me yet. I rationalized that kissing was probably fairly rare in real performance evaluations. So was spanking, I supposed, but that didn't stop Randy for even a moment.

“What a vision of perfection," he crowed as he unwrapped his human gift. Up went my skirt.

“Someone conveniently hung up two paddles just in case a spanking was necessary. How thoughtful!”

“So is this my performance evaluation?” I teased.

“No, but we will begin shortly.”

I clenched my teeth in anticipation of that first crashing swat.

But it didn't come, at least not immediately. Instead, Randy's palm caressed the taut fabric of my traditional white panties. His fingers assayed my lower curves and traced the gusset line. He rubbed the back of his hand repeatedly against the thin, smooth nylon covering.

Perhaps he was simply enjoying this exploration, but it had the effect of lulling me into misplaced confidence. When I wiggled my bottom in response to his touch, he slapped it hard across both cheeks.

“Young lady, your work of late has been below our standards. I could easily fire you, but spanking you is totally more fun.” I cracked up with this line, but he continued, now mixing friendly pats with stinging swats.

“Besides, if I fired you, who would get the spankings around here?”

It must have been a rhetorical question because he never answered it. Next, he grabbed the leather paddle and began spanking in earnest. Had anyone come to our front door, they surely would have heard the unmistakable sounds of corporal punishment. The swats reverberated throughout the room and my reactions were nearly as loud. I didn't care because the pulsating heat generated by the paddle seared into my very soul. I love being spanked because of the way it makes me feel – sexy and ravenous for his love.

“I can see we're getting nowhere this way,” my husband chided. I might have wanted to disagree, but before I could say a word, my bottom was bared. Now wielding wood, he assaulted my skin with fast, firm strokes. I screeched with pain but no relief was forthcoming. Were my head clear, I might have contemplated employing my safeword, but by this stage, I was simply experiencing each moment.

Despite the intensity, or perhaps because of it, Randy soon moved on to other pursuits. He dragged my panties all the way down and silently invited me to step out of them. After I did, he guided my legs apart and explored my wetness with his skillful digits. I was soon panting and imploring him to finish what he had started. He certainly did. His pleasure piston left me gasping and grabbing fistfuls of the pillow. As he worked, his fingers kneaded my scarlet flesh as if to renew my spanked glory. It was a satisfying soreness that drove me to the crest and beyond.

---

Well, I did get that kiss, but not until after Randy asked me what I wanted for dinner. When you live with a man, you take the good with the bad. On this evening, the good was outstanding. Thank you, my love, for a wonderful spanking!

Monday Night Double Delight

Anyone who was concerned for my well-being needn’t be. I can tell you that two spankings are better than one, at least when they’re fun ones. And these definitely were.

Yesterday morning, I shared with Randy what I had planned for my dual milestone celebration. He particularly liked the vintage Six Million Dollar Man lunchbox. But he thought no double celebration would be complete without a pair of spankings. So, just that quickly, we had a plan.

Learning about a spanking (or two) in advance is kind of a love/hate thing for me. I adore the excited anticipation that comes with knowing that I will soon absorb my lover’s best abrupt caress. It’s arousing to the point where my mind races ahead pondering all of the sizzling erotic permutations.

I dislike it because, well, I have work to do! It’s not easy to concentrate when not one, but two spankings await me before bedtime.

I almost made it through my day without acting like a complete ditz. About four o’clock, I was editing an article another writer had authored. My eyes came across the phrase “…a record spanning…” I think I must have uttered some sort of nervous squeal because my neighbor came around the wall to make sure I was all right. I was fine, of course, and the text really didn’t say “record spanking.” But that was what I read!

Later at home, I paced the house, puttering with housework and peeking at spanko blogs. I counted the minutes until Randy would arrive. I tried to anticipate his first move and then my response. This is, of course, a fruitless exercise, but it helps the time pass more quickly.

By the time that my dear paddle-happy hubby started walking up the steps from our garage, the butterflies in my stomach were already in flight. I wanted his attention desperately, but now, suddenly, I wasn’t quite ready. I wanted a glass of water. I wanted to fix my hair. I wanted to pee.

The door shot open and there he was, grinning almost from ear to ear. “Hi!”

His tone was cheery and upbeat. I knew immediately that he was looking forward to the events about to unfold. I answered his greeting in kind.

“Upstairs?”

I love a forceful man of few words. Though stated as a question, I chose to take this as a command. I marched up to our bedroom, ready to face my fate. Randy followed closely behind, reaching at one point to place his hands upon my hips. In my heightened sense of anxious arousal, even this gentle grasp seemed electric.

We moved into our bedroom and Randy immediately guided me to the bed. He clearly wasn’t wasting any time. He positioned me so that I was kneeling on the edge of the bed. My head and shoulders were down and my bottom was high in the air. This was a familiar spanking position. Randy prefers this stance when he wants to apply a free swinging sort of implement.

He lifted my skirt to reveal a red thong I had picked out for the occasion. “Oh, you know I like that!”

Yeah, I know.

He demonstrated his appreciation for my lingerie fashion sense by slapping his hard hand against the ample flesh of right cheek. A smart companion blow soon followed on the other side. Alternating from one exposed buttock to the other, my love delivered a well-executed warm up. These hand spanks were firm, and they hurt, but I drank them in like nectar.

After several minutes, Randy switched to a small leather paddle. I love this paddle and he undoubtedly chose it for that reason. I cooed as he made it dance and sting across my burning flesh. In one of those odd moments of self-awareness, it occurred to me that this set of sensations was just perfect. The one man in my life was spanking me so well that I just wanted it to go on and on.

Just as I was settling into the lovely rhythm of the smacks, he stopped! I raised my bottom ever so slightly as if that might cause my lover to resume. No such luck.

“C’mon, Bon. Let’s go grab some dinner.”

Surely, I thought, he must be joking. On second thought, I realized he was serious. If he wasn’t going to spank any more, he could at least make love to me. Right?

Wrong. He apparently worked up an appetite reddening my posterior and it just couldn’t wait.

It took me several minutes to get composed again. I mean really! I was in no shape, physically or mentally, to go to a restaurant.

But go we did, eventually. Randy selected a fairly upscale Italian establishment. I felt a little under-dressed, but by this point, that was the least of my reasons for being self-conscious.

As I was enjoying my salad, Randy bent across the table and whispered, “Can you still feel the burn?”

Of course I could and I told him so.

“Good. Now, slide your skirt out from beneath you and sit right down on the seat.”

“Huh?” I knew exactly what he was requesting, but I didn’t especially want to do it.

“Put your bare ass on the seat.” Now he was speaking loudly enough to make me uneasy. Rather than risk a more graphic public explanation, I clandestinely hoisted my long skirt to allow my freshly paddled flesh to rest directly on the vinyl seat. Fortunately, our booth was positioned such that no one could see what I had done.

We shared an excellent dinner, despite my squirming. Randy smiled and I couldn’t help laughing a bit at this latest predicament he had concocted.

Despite Randy’s urging, I opted to pass on dessert. Later, as we were walking through the dimly illuminated parking lot, he stopped in his tracks. Instinctively, I halted as well. He hugged me tightly as only a lover can. We kissed. As he pulled me close with one hand, the other reached down to squeeze my sore globes.

“I love you, Bon.”

“I love you too.”

“You know when we get home that I’m going to have to spank you all over again?”

“Yeah, that’s part of why I love you…”

We kissed again, a bit more briefly this time, before getting back in the car.

Once safely at home, we returned to the scene of the crime. This time, Randy asked me to strip. I gladly complied. He sat on the side of the bed and coaxed me across his lap. Once settled into this classic corporal punishment pose and totally nude, I was ready for anything. Anything but the hairbrush, that is.

Ow! Ow! Ow! I couldn’t help crying out. The solid wood back of the brush offended my skin like nothing else. My bottom burned with each mounting strike. This rapid assault was more than I wanted, but I probably would have been disappointed had it stopped when I began to rant.

Randy has a sixth sense about judging my state. Years of practice and observation have honed his skills in assessing when I am thoroughly spanked. By the time he let me up, I was almost breathless and begged him to let me get a drink of water. He casually gestured toward our bathroom and I didn’t wait for a second invitation.

While in the bathroom, I couldn’t resist admiring my ruby red cheeks. They looked very attractive indeed.

Back in the bedroom, we moved on to other adult pastimes. I began by wrapping my lips around his mighty Excalibur. He groaned with pleasure as I displayed my gentle gratitude. Next, he pinned me to the bed in a glorious junction. Finally, the last of my residual apprehension dissipated in blissful embrace. Ah…

So, yes, I did get two spankings as promised, but they were really good ones.

Redness in Paradise

Randy and I recently enjoyed a much awaited escape from our daily drudge. It was great fun and there were plenty of spankings involved.

I knew this was going to be an interesting trip before we ever left home. As we were packing our respective suitcases, Randy announced in a matter-of-fact tone, “I’m only taking one implement this time.” I recall being pleased that his mind was on my bottom. I expected he would finish his thought and tell me what he had in mind, but his monologue moved on to more mundane topics.

Curious as always, I returned to the subject as he drove to the airport. “So, what was that one implement you said you were going to pack?”

“Heh,” his wicked smile made me feel slightly uneasy. “It’s the teardrop paddle… and I buried it in your suitcase.”

Great. This particular wooden paddle is a very effective spanking tool. It’s solid hardwood and delivers an intoxicating mix of sting and thud sensations. But the prospect of getting a hard spanking wasn’t what worried me. This toy is one that couldn’t possibly be mistaken, even by the most vanilla observer, for anything but a paddle designed for spanking. The rounded edges, extra thickness, smooth finish, and heavy varnish clearly indicate an implement meant for smacking someone’s bottom and not any sort of ball. If the government maintains a database of spankos, I’m now officially listed.

My mind quickly jumped to visions of having to answer for my kink in front a panel of humorless uniformed security officials. What, I pondered, if they thought it was a weapon? I mean it is, sort of. Right?

Fortunately, we checked our bags and passed security without any questions. Throughout the flight, I wondered whether I might yet be interrogated at our destination. When I whispered my concerns to Randy on the plane, he laughed at me.

“What do you think they’ll do? Spank you? You should be so lucky.”

I had to laugh myself at this improbable scenario. “But what if they confiscate our paddle?” I inquired.

“Then I’ll just have to find something else to beat your butt,” he said in a voice that was a tad too loud for my comfort.

When we reached our destination, we retrieved our luggage without incident. The paddle police, at least for this day, seemed to have other priorities. The resort where we stayed features individual units set back in the woods. I was pleased to see this arrangement because the paddle can generate a lot of noise (as can I on occasion!). Quite naturally, we were tired from the long trip. We enjoyed a light dinner and then decided to turn in.

After all these years, Randy knows me in every way a man can know a woman. He knew that a nice, brisk hand spanking would be just the thing to settle my nerves, relax me, and help me get to sleep. He was right, of course, and after some gentle lovemaking, we drifted off to vacation dreamland.

The following morning, we shared a quiet breakfast in the main lodge and then wandered back to our unit. As soon as Randy closed the door behind him, he announced that it was paddling time. I might have preferred to allow my meal a little time to settle, but he is in charge of our spankings. At his instruction, I stripped and then positioned myself face down over the arm of a large overstuffed chair. I shivered with delight as he assumed his role as dominant disciplinarian.

“Young lady, your behavior of late has left me no choice. For cases such as yours, the only corrective measures that seem to work are those that involve corporal punishment.”

I watched as goose bumps arose on my arms. He was pressing all my buttons.

“Yes, I am going to have to use the paddle. I had hoped it wouldn’t have to come to this.”

I thought that seemed unlikely, but I played along.

“I will now give you the spanking you so richly deserve. This is likely to be very uncomfortable for you.”

With that warning, he proceeded to smack my upturned bottom with the teardrop paddle. This particular paddle is solid hardwood and its shape is somewhere between the classic paddleball toy and a Jokari. It works equally well for standing, bending, and over the lap spankings. Even light to moderate strokes are sufficient to focus the recipient’s attention. Randy wasn’t yet swinging at full force, but he started off with a series of painful swats. Before long, I was squirming in place. The paddle issued a loud report with each mounting blow. I squealed and kicked my legs, but I loved every moment.

Without the constraints of time, Randy apparently felt free to vary the pacing and the intensity of my paddling. I’m not certain how long I was actually bent over that chair, but it sure seemed like a long time. He would talk to me for a while, deliver a bunch of swift swats, and then casually return to his one-sided discussion. I’d love to share what he said, but by this stage, I was off in my own happy spanko place.

When he decided that I had had enough, Randy tossed the paddle aside. He knelt down next to my ear and told me that he loved me. He brushed the hair away from my face and kissed me sweetly. He rubbed my very sore bottom. I found all of this attention a tremendous turn on and I was ready to jump into bed (or wherever else he might please). That outcome, I soon learned, would have to wait a while longer.

“Let’s go swimming!” my man announced. I was quite unprepared for that turn of events.

“C’mon, Bon, get your swimsuit on.”

By this point, I understood his game. He wanted to parade my red bottom around the grounds. He knows this is a scenario I both love and hate. I am a little bit of an exhibitionist, but I fear the consequences of having my kink revealed. I complied with his instructions and donned my new salmon and cream-colored, one-piece bathing suit. When I bought it, I recalled thinking that just because I am a grandmother doesn't mean I have to be unattractive. When I recognized that there wasn’t enough pink fabric to cover the freshly reddened flesh beneath, I made a mental note to settle for the grandma look the next time.

Just as I pulled my cover-up around my waist and started to fasten it, Randy gave me a disapproving look. “Do I have to spank you AGAIN?” he exclaimed. I quickly abandoned that strategy and grabbed a towel for the pool.

I felt both nervous and turned on as we walked out the door of our unit and onto the wooded grounds. I didn’t see anyone around except a groundskeeper and he seemed busy with his gardening pursuits. We reached the building with the pool without incident. The pool, however, was already occupied by two other couples. One man was swimming laps. A woman sat in a chair and read the newspaper. The other couple huddled in one corner and laughed quietly.

Careful to keep my crimson globes pointed away from the other people, I set down my towel and waded into the pool. Once in the water, I felt safe. The cool water was soothing to my well paddled posterior. Randy joined me there and we embraced in about four feet of water. He started kissing me. I threw my arms around his neck and returned his affection. His hands, meanwhile, wandered to his favorite part of my anatomy. Concealed by the water, he grabbed, kneaded, and squeezed my bottom cheeks. The resulting combination of pain and pleasure was excruciatingly delightful.

Eventually, both couples packed up and left the pool area. We were alone. We momentarily pondered the concept of intercourse in the water, but decided it was too risky. That didn’t keep us from sharing a lot of sexy touching.

When we exited the pool, there was no one else around. I asked Randy whether my bottom was still red and he told me it wasn’t. It certainly still felt sore, so I wasn’t sure if I could believe his assessment. As a precaution, I tugged at my suit in back in hopes of maximizing its coverage.

Upon returning to our unit, we quickly doffed our respective swimwear and let nature take it course. The ensuing sex was energetic and fulfilling. It was the perfect completion to all of the morning’s events.

There were several more paddlings during our time away, but this is the spanking I will most fondly remember.

Poll: Getting Paddled

This poll was suggested by a regular reader. It's for the spankees.

Have you ever been spanked as an adult with a wooden paddle? Yes, and I liked it Yes, and it was OK Yes, and I didn't like it No, but I wish No, and I'm glad No, I don't get spankings Current Results

The Submission Test

Randy and I have an erotic game we play periodically and it’s called the submission test. As the name suggests, Randy employs a variety of methods to plumb the depths of my hunger for sexual submission. We hadn’t played this game for quite a while, at least a year by my reckoning. But last weekend, we revived it.

The fun began when Randy ordered me to go upstairs, strip naked, and lie face down on the bed. Knowing him as I do, that’s a signal that spankings, sex, and shenanigans were just ahead. Intrigued, I readily complied with his instructions.

About five minutes later, he walked through the bedroom doorway rubbing his hands together. I turned my head in time to see the eager smile on his face. He sat beside me and began rubbing my exposed and slightly chilly bottom.

“Tonight, my love, we are going to explore your submission. Everything we do will be with your complete, explicit, and unqualified consent. If you don’t want to proceed, you need only say so. At that point, we will stop.”

I knew the drill. I could end the session at any time, but would I? Or would I prefer to show off my submissiveness? The good thing was that I knew Randy wouldn’t propose anything that would injure me or place me in real danger.

“The time has come,” he informed me. “Shall I put on your cuffs?” He intended to restrain me. This was no real surprise. Light bondage can be enjoyable for me and it really heightens my feelings of submission.

“Yes, please do,” I responded in almost a whisper.

Randy slid the soft leather cuffs onto all four of my limbs. Next, he fastened elastic cords to anchor my wrists to the headboard and my ankles to the foot of the bed. He left me a little freedom of movement, but I clearly wasn’t going anywhere until he released me. He finished by sliding a large pillow beneath my hips.

“Now, my sweet, we begin with the paddle. Do I have your permission to paddle your bottom until it glows bright red?”

Phrased like that, Randy knew his question cast me in the role of co-conspirator in my own chastisement.

“Yes,” I replied.

Paddle me he did. He unleashed a flurry of about twenty hard, fast swats without benefit of a warm-up. This barrage left me panting and squirming. It really hurt! I had little doubt that the redness he sought had been achieved.

“Do you feel that?” His finger was now touching my rear orifice. I told him that I did.

“Well, that’s my finger and it’s covered in lubricant. I want to use it to grease your ass. Does that meet with your approval?”

I’m generally a reluctant participant in anal play. Let’s just say it’s not as much fun for me as a good spanking. However, this was the submission test and I wasn’t about to bail out over a slippery finger. I told him to proceed.

As promised, the finger penetrated and lubricated my most private opening.

“Now, let’s move on to the belt.” As Randy spoke these words, I heard the sound of his own leather belt sliding rapidly though the loops of his pants. “May I whip your naked skin with my belt?”

Most times, my answer would be unequivocal. But that small paddle had already done some fine work on my sit spots. Nevertheless, I nodded my assent.

“Do you mean that you grant me permission to mark you?” He wanted to hear the actual words.

“Yes, yes.”

The belt cracks burned as they were applied, but the sensation didn’t seem unpleasant.

“Now, I would like to shove a vibrator up your ass. Will you let me do that?”

I answered, “Yeah, no… Wait. You don’t mean the Hitachi, do you?” For those unfamiliar with the Hitachi Magic Wand, I was concerned that I had just unknowing agreed to an act that might not even be physiologically possible.

Randy burst out laughing. “No, but now that you mention it…” I had to admit that concept was pretty funny, as long as he didn’t actually intend to do it.

He chose instead a slim, smooth, bullet-shaped vibrator. It was already buzzing when he began sliding it into me. It was a strange sensation to be stimulated back there.

“Now I want to add a second vibrator in front. Will you accept that?”

OK, this was a total no-brainer. “Sure,” I agreed.

Randy activated a second vibrator, identical to the first in all but color (I couldn’t see anything he was doing, but I do know my toys!). He expertly rubbed it up and down to maximize the intense effects. Within a minute or two, I was bucking up and down, writhing with pleasure and pulling on my restraints. The feeling of those two vibrators working in unison was mind blowing. I nearly reached climax more than once, but my lover eased off before I achieved it.

“May I finish you off with this cane?” He now controlled both vibrators with his right hand as his left employed a small, thin cane to tap on my scalded bottom.

“Yes, please finish…” I gasped.

That flicking cane was just enough to trigger a monumental orgasm. He continued to strike it against my skin even as I moaned in ecstasy. I loved every second.

There are no losers in the submission game. We both won. He measured my submission and found it to his liking. I tested my own mettle and emerged victorious.

After I was unhitched, cooled down, and relaxed, I repaid his loving attention with my own style of oral gratitude. Randy was favorably impressed. Yes, this was a good game and a fine way to spend an evening at home together!

Keywords: spanking, submission, paddle spanking, belt spanking, caning, spanking story, spanking and sex, anal sex, bondage

Welcome to CP Solutions

This is a day for celebration here at My Bottom Smarts. You are reading my 700th blog post. This is also my 100th spanking story. What's more, sometime on Monday, we should record our three millionth hit. On this occasion, I must offer my deepest gratitude to you, my dear readers. As I have said before, without your ongoing encouragement, I would have given up long ago.

I guess this just goes to prove that there's a lot more to spanking than a sore bottom!

- - - - -
Teresa’s foot pressed firmly against the brake pedal of her almost new SUV. She could have made that light, she thought, as traffic whizzed in front of her. A quick glance at her watch revealed the time to be 7:21 am. She should still be able to make it in time. She tapped nervously on the steering wheel as the light seemed endless.

Finally, upon detecting the desired green signal, she sped off. Three blocks further, Teresa turned left in to a nicely landscaped office and industrial complex. On each side of the road were elongated single story buildings. They were identically decorated for the season with what seemed like a rather unimaginative institutional flair. She pulled into the parking lot in front of building number twenty three.

Again gazing at her watch, the time was now 7:28 am. After grabbing her bag from the passenger seat, Teresa hurried through the double doors and into an attractive waiting room. She could smell fresh coffee brewing in one corner. There were two other women seated on comfortable couches and casually reading magazines. Teresa approached the reception window. The bookish woman seated just inside wore a plain navy dress. She appeared to be in her mid-fifties. Her black hair was gathered in a tight bun behind her head. She looked up at Teresa above half-round reading glasses.

“Good morning, Miss Winslow. I have you down for thirty minutes at 7:30 with Rolf.”

“Yes, that’s correct.” Teresa’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Well, you’re fortunate that he is running a little behind this morning. Please get changed right away and report to room seven.” She handed Teresa a pink plastic pass card. The woman then quickly turned away and returned to her computer where she resumed entering data.

Teresa walked to the back of the waiting room and through a portal marked “Women’s Locker Room.” When she waved the pass card over the sensor, the door opened. She felt compelled to hurry, yet at the same time, a vague apprehension seemed to slow her progress. Once inside, she sat down on a bench and changed into the outfit she had brought. It was a scarlet and white striped thong-style workout leotard that left her soft, rounded buttocks completely uncovered. She placed the rest of her clothes and belongings into a locker and then strode quietly down a narrow hallway toward her appointment in room seven.

Arriving at the door, Teresa spotted a pink folder resting in a vertical basket attached to the outside of the door. A label on the folder read:

CP Solutions
Teresa Winslow
Female 37
Stress Relief
She was tempted to examine the contents, but she heard noisy footsteps down an intersecting hallway. Teresa rapidly opened the door and slipped inside.

When she turned around, there, directly in front of her, stood Rolf. She gasped. Broad and muscular, he towered nearly a foot taller than his petite client. His arms were folded in front of him, but his expression looked more serious than unhappy.

But for lack of a whistle, Rolf might have been mistaken for a sports coach. His tight fitting gray t-shirt displayed the CP Solutions paddle logo. He wore dark athletic shorts, white socks, and tan basketball shoes. His well groomed light brown hair showed just a hint of graying at the temples.

“Good morning, Miss Winslow.” Rolf’s voice was even and deep. “How are you today?”

“Good morning, Rolf.” Teresa felt suddenly timid. For a split second, she wondered why. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t done this before. “I really need this session.” As she spoke those words of confession, she peered up into his piercing cornflower eyes. She hoped he would understand.

“Shall we begin then?” This sounded more like a command than a question, but they both understood what must happen next.

Teresa walked over to an alcove across which stretched a padded beam. The beam was attached to the walls on either side of the alcove by an adjustable track system. The beam had been configured in advance to rest at the proper height for Teresa. Again feeling anxious, she nevertheless bent over the beam. She felt her lips tighten in anticipation of the discomfort soon to come.

“We will start with a standard warm up.” Rolf’s booming voice seemed even more forceful from inside the narrow alcove. With that, his rigid right palm impacted low on Teresa’s bottom. She cringed at the first sensation of pain. The second blow fell just above its predecessor. With workman-like efficiency, Rolf spanked up one cheek and down the other. Over and over he repeated this precise punitive pattern until he determined that her primary spanking surfaces were adequately prepared for the main portion of the session.

“I’m going to give you a break for a couple of minutes, but I’ll be right back. You may stand if you wish.” Without further explanation, Rolf headed out the door.

Warm-up or not, Teresa’s bottom stung. She rubbed with both hands, but this yielded no real relief. As she rubbed, she looked around the appointment room. It was a spanker’s paradise. On the walls hung numerous paddles, floggers, straps, and crops of various designs. The one table held a tray containing hairbrushes, bath brushes, and belts. On the opposite side of the room was a wall-mounted cabinet. Wide but not deep, it resembled one she had seen for the storage of billiard cues. This cabinet, however, contained punishment canes. She thought about opening the doors for a closer look, but she didn’t want to appear too interested in that cabinet.

When Rolf returned, he was carrying a small, rounded wooden paddle. It was the sort of a paddle that might be ideal for a close quarters, over the lap sort of spanking. But Teresa doubted that was on the schedule for today. She pondered briefly how nice it could be to be that near to Rolf, but his voice interrupted her daydream.

“Shall we?” His gesture directed Teresa to again assume her position over the beam. Once she was in place, Rolf began to spank again, this time applying the sturdy wooden paddle. Rather than the wide dispersion technique employed for the warm-up, Rolf now focused his attention and his swats upon the lower half of each cheek. The paddle generated a much louder report than had the spanking therapist’s hand. For Teresa, however, the biggest difference was shocking burn the paddle caused each time it smacked against her bare skin. Her hands gripped ever tighter as her fingers dug into the soft padding of the beam.

After several minutes of vigorous paddling, Rolf halted abruptly and placed the implement into the tray on the table. Teresa began to rise, but stopped when she felt Rolf's hand on her back gently indicating that she should remain in position.

“You will now receive four strokes with a 3/8 inch cane. These will likely hurt a great deal. Are you prepared?”

“Yes,” sniffed Teresa, “Just please get it over.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Compared to the paddle, the swish and crack of the cane was nearly silent. Teresa, however, couldn’t help exclaiming, “Ow!” as each stroke was applied. The final one hit just above where her bottom meets her thighs and was so powerful that she felt her knees buckle. By the time the session was over, she was sobbing quietly and words failed her.

Rolf wrapped his burly arms around his client and gave her a supportive hug. She melted into his chest, enveloped by his masculine strength.

After several moments, Rolf whispered that he had another session.

“Thank you, Rolf. That really, really helped.” He smiled as she tipped him a twenty and then he was gone.

As she returned to the locker room, Teresa marveled at how much more relaxed she felt. It had been a difficult session and she knew she would be sore for the rest of the day, but this feeling of peaceful bliss was so worth it.

Upon returning to the locker room, she took a warm, rejuvenating shower. The sudsy water flowed down her body in rivulets as her last of her cares swirled down the drain. Later, as she dried her hair in front of a long lighted vanity, Teresa couldn't resist examining her freshly treated bottom in the large mirrors. It was still warm to the touch and looked very red, but there were no obvious cuts or bruises. That Rolf, she thought, definitely knows his craft.

Soon, Teresa was again dressed in her business suit, with hair styled, makeup applied, and everything in order. On the way out, she stopped at the reception desk to make another appointment with Rolf in two weeks. By then, his services would again be most welcome.

When she left the CP Solutions facility, Teresa did so with renewed confidence and improved focus. She knew this would be a very good day.

Keywords: spanking, paddle spanking, caning, spanking story, spanking fiction

The Adventures of Safety Avenger and Tester Girl

On Friday night, I learned that I was married to a superhero. If that sounds remarkable, just imagine how surprised I was! Just when you think you really know someone...

When Randy arrived home from work, his passionate reunion kiss informed me immediately that playtime was just ahead. He swatted me twice on the bottom with his palm before asking me to go upstairs, lose my clothes, and lie on the bed. He took a quick shower, leaving me to contemplate my fate.

My man emerged from the master bathroom clean, rejuvenated, naked, and ready for action. He gently turned me onto my stomach. Next, he bound my wrists behind my back using a sturdy scarf. I cooperated. This was going to be fun! I knew I was in for the full treatment when he dragged out his homemade spreader bar from under our bed. Two old pairs of pantyhose effectively secured my ankles. Suddenly, I was fully exposed and incapable of escaping.

I mentally prepared myself for spanking, teasing, flogging, stimulating, lovemaking, and whatever else Randy had in mind. However, I wasn’t ready for nothing. He left. He was gone. All I could think was, “Now what?”

When my tormentor returned a few minutes later, he was wearing nothing a rust-colored sheet over his shoulders like a superhero cape. I didn’t know what to think or say.

“Hello, beautiful lady,” he said using his best Adam West impression. “I’m Safety Avenger. Wherever there are hazards, I’ll be there to protect innocent and guilty alike.”

I couldn’t help it. I giggled.

Ignoring my complete lack of reverence, Safety Avenger continued, “Were you aware that there are thousands of avoidable household injuries every year as a result of defective or worn paddles?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Yes, it’s true,” he said in an authoritative, but overly serious baritone. “In order to save you from this terrible fate, we must test each of your wooden paddles to ensure they meet our exacting safety standards.”

Now his game was clear, as was my role in it.

“Let’s start with this small model,” Safety Avenger said, picking up a thin spanking paddle. “I believe ten should suffice.”

So ten swats I received. They were fairly hard and made my bottom sting, but I found myself on the verge of cracking up again. The entire scenario was so silly. He still had a colored twin sheet around him. At least, I thought, he didn’t pick the fitted lower sheet. This mental picture put me over the edge and I began to laugh in earnest.

“You must understand, Ma’am, that this procedure is for your own safety.” Yeah, right.

“That paddle seems to be fully intact and functioning properly. Let’s choose one that is more substantial.” I couldn’t see what he had in his hand, but I surely felt it. He whacked my bottom ten more times with something thuddy. I struggled against my bonds, but I wasn’t about to go anywhere. I was really hurting now.

“Nothing unsafe here,” he said tossing the big paddle aside. “Let’s continue.”

He proceeded to go through his entire collection of wooden paddles, one by one, testing each with great care. It was definitely a fun spanking, but a very thorough one as well. By the end, I was burying my face in the pillow and gritting my teeth.

When he was finished with the last group of ten, Safety Avenger proclaimed, “You can feel safe, Ma’am, there’s no danger of injury here.” With this absurd pronouncement, I again began giggling uncontrollably.

“No injury, huh? What do you call this?” I inquired as my bound hands strained to point at my glowing slopes. By now, Randy was laughing along with me. The cape was gone when he bent down to kiss me. “Let me do something about that,” he said in a hushed, soothing tone.

He retrieved a bottle of lotion and spread the cool, smooth cream over the flesh he had just finished paddling. I moaned with pleasure and desire. His strong fingers massaged and manipulated my crimson skin. It hurt in a wonderful, deep, sensual way. As much as I adore being spanked, I often cherish the intense feelings immediately afterward even more.

Randy untied me and we made delicious love. With our spanking hunger nicely sated, our focus shifted toward erotic fulfillment. We explored each others’ bodies as only experienced partners can. By the time we finished, I was exquisitely relaxed and fantastically fatigued.

What a fine way to start a weekend!

Keywords: spanking, paddle spanking, spanking story, Bonnie, spanked