Just When I Least Expect

Spring has finally started to arrive in our part of the world. We refer to this as the rainy season, although that’s also what we call autumn and winter.

There are some chores that are getting done now solely because there’s a pandemic and we’ve run out of better ways to amuse ourselves. Such was the case this morning. Randy and I resolved to go through a pile of boxes in our basement and separate the keepers from the discards. Some of the items belonged to our daughter when she was in college and don’t interest her now. Most of that stuff was relegated to the pitch pile. Easy enough.

The next set of boxes came from my mother’s last home. This was more challenging, especially for me. Almost every item has an emotional context. But I worked my way through with the thought that it’s just not practical to keep everything forever. Randy was helping, but at this stage, his help consisted mostly of pulling some chotsky from a box and declaring, “Hey, Bon, look at this thing!”

“Oooo, look!” There he goes again, I thought. He was intent upon showing me the latest treasure he unearthed. When I turned, I immediately recognized both the item he was waving and the look on his face. He dug out a wall hanging that had long been a decoration in Mom’s guest room. She created it years ago in her women’s art and wine group (not necessarily in that order). It was a rectangular plank, about thirty inches long, with a canvas painting decoupaged to the wood. The design was a group of flowers presented in an Impressionist style.

This was my mother’s wall art, but to Randy, it was obviously a spanking paddle. He spotted it the first time he ever stayed in that room. He even threatened to paddle me with it, but we never had the opportunity. Suddenly, opportunity was banging on the door.

“I think we need to take a break.”

“A break to bust my butt you mean?”

“Yeah. Get over the spanking bench.” He pulled our designated punishment furniture into the center of the room.

There was no sense in arguing. Sometimes, it’s just destiny. I took my position, face down on the bench, as my love fastened my wrist and ankle cuffs.

“I can’t tell you how many times I saw this and wanted use it to beat your ass,” Randy declared as he raised my skirt to unveil his target.

“Let me guess? Was it absolutely every time?” My clever observation probably didn’t improve my chances for leniency, but I was all in at this point.

My answer came in the form of a stinging swat across both of my exposed cheeks. It was clear to me from that first whack that this repurposed artwork could send a message.

As the fourth swat impacted, however, I heard an unmistakable cracking sound. It hurt, but I immediately knew it was not me who broke. Randy managed to split the board, and of course, tried to blame it on me. But I wasn’t having it.

“Damn pine. It always splits. Your ass is just too tough.”

“If my poor old hide is tough, it’s from years of you tanning it.” I felt grateful that we resisted the temptation to perform this pervertible test back when the plank hung in my mother’s house. There are some things that are difficult to explain.

Randy retrieved a crop that was conveniently hanging on the wall and finished the job. It wasn’t the spanking he expected to deliver, but I hadn’t expected to be spanked at all. So it was fine.

Eventually, we returned to the chore at hand. We might have kept that paddle, I mean wall hanging, but alas, it was split. About an hour later, Randy asked me to lift my skirt and show him my bottom. To his delight, I still had some visible marks. That lead to another vigorous spanking, upstairs this time, and the fun that follows.

Maybe tomorrow we’ll finish sorting through those boxes...

Randy’s Latest Bright Idea

As I have documented often, my dear husband is a veritable fountain of reasons to beat my bottom. One might think that after all of these years, he would have exhausted this resource, but that is clearly not the case.

After work on Friday, with his encouragement, I prepared dinner while wearing nothing but an apron, a thong, and my socks (hey, it’s winter!). Mercifully, he turned up the furnace. I had little doubt that I would encounter a less merciful form of heat after dinner.

As it turned out, I didn’t even have to wait that long. I was preparing a baked dish that required twenty minutes in the oven. Randy took this as an opportunity to begin our evening together. I quickly found myself in that familiar punishment position, on the couch, face down, and across his lap. He proceeded to whack my bottom with our small roundish leather paddle. It delivers a nice sting and leaves me with glowing red cheeks. I was just starting to sync myself with his rhythm and enjoy the rising heat when he stopped unexpectedly.

“Where’s your phone?”

“Uh, I dunno. On the counter?”

“Go get it.”

“All right, but...”

“Now, get in the bathroom and take a selfie of your ass.”

“Wha...?”

“You heard me. Send your selfie to me and if I like it, your spanking can be over.”

I didn’t respond. I did, however, do as he asked, more or less. When I looked in the mirror, my bottom was quite red and indeed worthy of a picture. I made several attempts at a selfie, all with disappointing results. How do people even do that?

As I became increasingly frustrated with my assignment, I decided it wasn’t fair. Taking pictures is his job. Besides, maybe I didn’t want my spanking to be over yet. I sent him a picture of my hip with just a bit of reddened bottom visible.

I then sauntered back into the living room swishing my apron as though it were a skirt. He already had my photo up on his phone.

“Is this it?”

“Yes,” I replied in a coy voice.

“I can see you’re going to need a photography lesson. Let’s go upstairs.”

I was pretty certain that this lesson wasn’t going to cover focal lengths or aperture timings. My guess was correct. This lesson was all about motivation.

“Assume the position.” Those words gave me chills of anticipation, as they always do.

I knelt on the bed with my head down and bottom raised, ideally situated for a serious corporal punishment. I didn’t have to guess about his weapon of choice because he announced it.

“Last time, you got the little leather paddle. This time, it going to be hardwood. And next time, you’d better hope there isn’t a next time, it will be lexan.”

I was quite certain that I didn’t want that last option. Today was going to have to be the day when I learned how to take a selfie of my butt.

Randy placed the cool, smooth surface of the paddle against my left cheek. He pressed against my skin as he moved it in a circular motion. I could still feel residual sting from the previous round, but I knew that would be soon forgotten amid the assault to follow.

“So what are you going to do after I’m finished?”

“Take a selfie”

He swatted me hard several times on each cheek. The whacks left behind a burning sensation. I was officially on notice that this would be a serious spanking.

“What kind of selfie?”

“A selfie of my bottom.”

More painful swats arrived in a slow and steady pattern. I reminded myself that this could have been avoided, but that notion did little to alleviate my current predicament.

After a flurry of forceful strikes all over my posterior, I suddenly perceived a different priority.

        Bzzzzzzzzzzzzz!

It was the timer alarm for the oven, an unmistakable sound, even a floor away in the bedroom.

“I’ll go take it out and you go take your selfie.” I was saved by the buzz. This time, I invested a bit more effort on Randy’s picture. After several tries, I managed to use the mirror to get my entire bottom in the shot before the color faded. I sent it to Randy and put my clothes back on. The rest of me of me was cold!

I came downstairs to find my love dishing up our dinner. He said he was very pleased with my second selfie. I told him I was grateful for that as I rubbed my roasted bottom. We had tasty dinner together on the couch where this adventure began.

After dinner, we watched some TV. I lay across Randy’s lap again, but this time he massaged moisturizing lotion into my sore flesh. Eventually, he located a spot that was not sore and required no additional moisture. That felt good too. Well, one thing led to another, as it often does, and we passionately celebrated our joining.

I suppose I could order a selfie stick, but Randy would probably figure out a way to spank me with it. Maybe I’ll just stand pat, if only because it hurts when I sit!

Your Honor, I’m Innocent

OK, maybe not that innocent, but in this case, I plead not guilty.

So I got spanked again, and hard, over Randy’s lap, with a paddle, and my bottom still hurts, a lot.

Have you ever received a spanking for something that wasn’t your fault? That happened to me yesterday.

We have both been working from home for the last several months, putting in many hours, and getting a lot accomplished. My job, in particular, can be performed remotely with no loss of productivity. In fact, I can get more done without the interruptions inherent in working in an office. Randy must go on-site occasionally, but mostly he’s here too. By the end of the week, we both felt cooped up and needed to escape.

We have many beautiful parks in our city and on Friday afternoon, we went for a hike. Fortunately, there weren’t many people on this particular trail so social distancing was a minor consideration. We stopped on a small bridge. As I leaned over the rail to see the creek below, Randy whispered to me, “Bon, voyeur at nine o’clock,” “Huh, what?” I responded. My mind was light years away enjoying the stillness of the forest. I could not quite parse his timepiece directions. “Slowly turn and look to your left.”

When I did, I spotted a young man, maybe a teenager, nearby holding a cell phone and conspicuously trying to look away. “He was taking pictures of your butt.” That seemed unlikely. We have a granddaughter who is almost his age. I told Randy he was nuts.

We walked further along the trail, all the while aware that our new friend was following about fifty yards behind. After a while, I stopped thinking about him and went back to enjoying our hike. Walking among the douglas fir, red cedar, and western hemlock trees is simply awe inspiring. We agreed that we need to get back to hiking more often.

Later, I bent down to look at a small critter among the ferns at the side of the trail. “Do that again,” Randy requested. So I did. “Yep, this kid is definitely snapping pictures of your ass. I just saw him do it.”

Randy pointed out that taking pictures of my bottom is his job. I agreed. “But you do look incredibly sexy today.” “What?” I replied increduously. I was wearing a simple pair of well worn jean cutoffs, a white tee shirt with the logo from my theater group, plain socks, my hiking boots, and a floppy hat. Fairly utilitarian I thought.

“Those shorts fit your curves like a glove, a surgical glove.” He said something else about being able to see my thong line, but I stopped him there. “Now wait a minute. Just because you obsess over my body doesn’t mean that anyone else does.”

“I’m telling you, Bon, I saw him.”

We concluded our hike with no further incidents. I suppose the fellow got what he sought because we didn’t see him again. We picked up some sandwiches on the way home. While we were eating, Randy announced that he needed to punish me for being just too damn beautiful out in public. I was simultaneously amused and annoyed by this prospect. It was by now almost time for my weekly bottom warming anyway. I became a bit more concerned when he produced a short but substantial wooden paddle that he intended to use to spank me.

With little fanfare, I was pulled across his lap with my shorts still in place. He whacked away for several minutes. The faded denim provided only minimal protection. I was quite sore when he ordered me to my feet and into a well lighted corner. Once I was in place, he captured several images of my bottom.

“Now rub please,” he commanded. Randy next recorded video of me vigorously rubbing the seat of my shorts with both hands. “That’s great. Now let’s pull them down.” I complied. More shots of my now reddened flesh ensued.

“OK, back over.” He sat down again as I shuffled to him with my cutoffs at half mast. I took my familiar position anticipating more punishment. He didn’t disappoint in that regard. Randy’s usual technique directs the hardest swats to the lower slopes of my bottom. He knows that inflaming that region will result in painful sitting later. Believe me, it works!

“Bad girl,” he scolded. “Dressing way too sexy for hiking.” I could have argued and would have been right, but that heavy paddle would still fall just as hard. The truth is that my bottom is my bottom. It’s not as though I can replace it with a smaller, less curvy model when it’s convenient. I chose those cutoffs because they are soft and comfortable. I can dress sexy. But this wasn’t it.

“Teasing that poor boy. For shame.” Now I knew he was playing with me. I’m allowed to be who I am. I might bend over for his enjoyment on occasion, but it’s not for anyone else.

Randy counted out ten more hard whacks and my paddling was over. I was then ordered back to that corner for a few more photos. Then he sent me to check my bottom in the bathroom mirror. It was very red. Next we made love and that was fun. We finished the evening spooning in bed while watching a movie that I won’t bother to recommend because we both fell asleep!

So what do you think?

          Earned spanking?

          Unearned but still necessary?

          Complete travesty of justice?

          Why are we even talking about whether it was earned?

Goodbye, Old Friend

We parted ways last weekend with one of our first spanking implements after more than forty years. My old sorority paddle had served faithfully to heat my bottom through every season and for every purpose. And now it's gone. Here’s what happened.

I needed to help an unlucky friend on Friday after work. By the time I returned home, it was too late for our regular Friday night spanking celebration. We played a little in bed before drifting off to sleep, but we both recognized this was just an appetizer.

I woke first on Saturday, showered, and dressed for the day. I started with a lacy white thong and bra set (not that Randy would notice they match). I then added a big comfy gray sweater and a pair of form-fitting salmon-colored leggings. Like the proverbial red flag in front of a bull, I chose this outfit to draw his attention.

Sure enough, an hour later, I found myself bent over with elbows on the bed. “Pink?” he asked. “You want to be pink? I can help with that.” His voice was gruff, but his words were playful. He swung my sorority paddle with his strong right arm. It exploded against the upturned seat of my lycra leggings with a surprisingly loud pow. “Ow!” I exclaimed. Paddlings always hurt and this one was no different. I wisely resisted the temptation to cover my target as the next painful dispatch arrived soon after. A third stinging swat soon followed as Randy began to perfect his stroke. He likes to spank harder when my bottom is covered in order to compensate for the additional protection, even when such protection is of negligible benefit. This, I thought, could be a serious spanking.

Then it happened. The fourth whack sounded and felt odd, but I didn’t realize what had happened until Randy uttered a curse word. He walked around the side of the bed to show me the source of his frustration. He held the paddle’s handle in one hand and the blade in the other. My first reaction was to giggle. I have seen (felt) paddles that split down the middle, but never one that lost its handle. I vanquished another spanking implement. Yea me!

“Oh, you think that’s funny, huh?” Needless to say, my loving partner finished the job with another wooden paddle. I just couldn’t stop laughing and my bottom paid the price.

Only later, as I struggled to sit comfortably, did I fully appreciate what had happened. My beloved sorority paddle had paddled its last. Losing it made me feel sad. Let me tell you about my old friend.

My sorority paddle was approximately thirty inches long, four inches wide and about half an inch thick. It was hardwood and was originally painted a cream color. This paint is faded on the front and mostly worn off of the back. The front featured the sorority crest near the handle, three Greek letters in black down the blade, and my name across the bottom. The back once displayed the name of the college we attended. Those letters are no longer discernible due to frequent use over the decades.

This paddle has been with me at every stop since the mid-1970s, even before Randy. He applied it to my bottom hundreds of times. It was our first paddle and always a favorite. Even in its broken state, or maybe especially so, it stands as a spanko monument. I want to memorialize the two pieces, but I haven’t decided how best to do it.

Randy wants to buy a replacement. “Maybe thicker next time so it won’t break...” This man has a one track mind. We have plenty of sturdy wooden paddles, believe me. This led to a discussion of responsibility for the calamity. He believes that repeated impact with my bottom caused the paddle to break. I think he was swinging it, so it’s his fault. The argument had no definitive winner, but I took the spanking.

So there you have it. The paddlings won’t stop, but the nostalgia just slowed a bit.

Just the Facts

Very early in my career, I worked as a newspaper reporter. Before the internet, the latest news was printed every day on large folded pieces of paper and sold to readers. My job was to find newsworthy events and write articles about them. Most of my articles appeared somewhere in the paper. An article about the opening of a new restaurant appeared in the Food section, unless it landed in the Business section. Hard news, like a crime report, found its way to the Metro section, or if it was really big, even the front page. An editor decided which stories would run and where they would be printed.

The editor was a potbellied geezer who chain smoked cigarettes in his office. I dreaded going in there and avoided it whenever possible. Beyond the noxious smoke, he was, at least by today’s standards, a serial sexual harasser. I didn’t know anything about that, but I knew he made me feel uncomfortable when he made unnecessary comments about my body or speculated about my sex life. Yuck!

This fellow required all of the reporters to “block” our stories. Before stories were written, when they were just concepts, we would fill out a block sheet that provided the essence of the story. Smoky would use these block sheets to decide where stories would run and how much space to allocate to them. We joked in the newsroom that a lousy story with a good block sheet could make the front page.

Recalling those events, I thought it might be fun and different to present a recent spanking experience in block format.

What: A scheduled weekly spanking and sex session

Who: Randy and me

When: Friday evening, around 8pm PST

Where: In our basement, on our spanking bench

Why: Because we love our spankings and each other

Tools employed: (1) brown leather riding crop, (1) smooth pink plastic bullet-shaped battery powered vibrator, (1) tube of lubricant, (1) spanking bench with (4) velcro cuffs, (2) small pillows

Clothing: Me – (1) pink cotton t-shirt, (1) navy blue cotton thong, (2) white cotton footies
Randy – (1) pair black Dockers, (1) long sleeve white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, (1) pair blue cotton boxers, (2) black cotton blend socks, (1) pair black leather dress shoes

Preparatory events: As I lay on the bench, Randy inserted pillows beneath my head and torso. He then placed restraining cuffs on my wrists and ankles.

Commencement: Randy positioned himself standing on my right side rather then the left as usual. This allowed him to repeatedly apply the crop to my bottom with a short backhand stroke using his right hand. With his left hand, he caressed my most sensitive region using the toy.

Spankee Sensations: The short, swift strikes of the crop landed all over my bare bottom. They felt like sharp bee stings at first, but soon spread into an all over stinging warmth.

Intermission: Several minutes into the festivities, Randy decided that the thong was in his way and had to come down. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. My hips are wide and I have a large bottom. Positioned as I was and strapped to the table, I was unable to assist in any meaningful way. Due to the nature of what he was doing, it was not sufficient to simply pull the panties to the top of my thighs as one might in a purely spanking scenario. Eventually, he had to release my wrists temporarily so I could lift myself.

Spankee Reaction: This spanking was an excellent blend of pleasure and pain. When the climaxes arrived, I was surprised by their intensity. Sensing my engagement, Randy stepped up the rate at which the blows fell. It was delicious.

Spanker Response: Randy kept going even well after I was spent. I appreciated his diligence, but I needed no more. I didn’t tell him because I guess I didn’t want to break the spell. He eventually inquired whether if I had had enough. He quit after I replied in the affirmative

Epilogue: After a quick clean up in the basement, we retired to our bedroom upstairs for more adult fun. Randy walked behind me up the steps and snapped my bottom with the crop several times along the way. I stopped climbing to see whether that would earn me some extra pops. It did.

One Sentence Synopsis: Bonnie is spanked frequently and she likes it a lot.

That’s our blocked story for this week. I hope it makes the front page!

A Whole Different Spanking

Regular readers know that spankings are a common occurrence at our house. Randy spanks and I accept. For decades, we’ve enjoyed this stinging symmetry. But what if the rules were somehow changed? We strive to discover new spanking ideas with varying combinations of role play scenarios, implements, positions, locations, clothes, and rituals. But is there perhaps another, even more fundamental variation?

During our scheduled Friday evening spanking session, Randy and I explored this question. He knew the plan. I didn’t. Here’s a lightly edited transcription of an audio recording:

R: I see you followed my instructions exactly.

B: Yes, I’m wearing the short pleated mini-skirt and ruffled panties you set out.

R: Good girl.

B: I see you you have your camera.

R: Yes, that’s going to be another part of tonight’s fun.

B: And that [big nasty solid hardwood] brush?

R: Pick it up.

B: OK.

R: Now stand right here (indicating a spot on the carpet with his foot)

B: (steps forward and extends the brush, handle first)

R: Nope. Not tonight.

B: (confused) What?

R: You’re going to do the spanking tonight.

B: (annoyed) You’re kidding.

R: No, tonight you find out what it’s like to deliver a good hard spanking.

B: Um

R: Stand here and let me focus the camera.

B: Self spanking?

R: Bingo

B: Must I?

R: We’ll do it together.

B: I don’t...

R: Now spread your legs a little bit more. Lean forward. Good. Now swat your bottom hard with the back of the brush.

B: (swat)

R: Hard, I said. This is a spanking. It’s supposed to hurt.

B: (swat)

R: That’s better. Now keep going. And as you strike, say, “Bad Girl!”

B: (more swats alternating sides) bad girl

R: Let’s hit harder

B: Ow, I don’t like this. (more swats)

R: Please lower your panties and continue

B: (loud swats) Bad Girl

R: That’s good. Your butt is getting nice and red

B: (swats) This is not fun. (swats)

R: All right. Do you want me to finish the job?

B: Yes please

R: OK, let me move the camera. There, now get over my lap.

B: Yes, sir

R: (rubbing bottom with the smooth side of the brush) That was a good warm up. Now let’s get on with the real spanking.

B: Ow, ow, ow!

R: (several minutes and many swats later) That should be sufficient. Get up and put your nose in the corner

B: (inaudible)

R: Lift your skirt. And no rubbing! (flash pictures being taken)

R: (sometime later) So how did you like getting to do the spanking this time?

B: Not much. It seemed like I had to do your job and my job too. When I am worrying about the actual spanking, I don’t get much chance to experience all of the spanking sensations.

R: I find it very enjoyable to smack that wood against your skin. It makes such a crisp, resounding thwack sound.

B: That’s all the more reason why you should be the one to do it.

R: So would you try self-spanking again?

B: I suppose, but it will never be a favorite.

R: I loved watching and filming it. I wasn’t sure you could give yourself a really good spanking, but you did.

B: The second part was a lot more satisfying for me. Just spank me.

R: OK, I hear you. So, do you feel punished?

B: Actually, I think I do. If you make me do that, I must be atoning for something really naughty. Right?

R: I’ll remember that. Does your bottom still hurt?

B: Oh my. Yes, definitely.

So that’s the story. We experimented with self-spanking previously, but it had been a long time. I even included it in one of my fictional stories about a long distance relationship. But it wasn’t a part of our repertoire. Maybe it will be in future. Maybe this was a one-off experiment. I guess we’ll see.

Here’s what I learned:

1. Even with my arm bent around in an odd position, I could still deliver a painful spanking. That curved handled wooden brush hurts!


2. It’s difficult to swat yourself hard. But the accumulation of whacks built into a really hot bottom.


3. I was able to master a variant of the wrist snap that Randy uses so effectively. A good spanking consists of more than just crashing a heavy implement against the skin. That snap adds sting to the thud.


4. Self spanking was not satisfying for me. The spanker role distracted from the spankee role. The latter is always my preference. However, if Randy were out of the picture, I might try it. But without him there, I imagine it would be even less enjoyable.


5. I was very relieved when Randy took over. What I crave is not the pain, though I need that, but the control. I want him to place me over his lap and take charge.


6. Repeating the words, “Bad Girl,” as I spanked myself was a little weird (a little like the Shame scene in Game of Thrones). It felt silly and yet, it sort of reinforced my submissive stance.


7. Speaking of submission, I've talked before about participating in my own spanking by fetching the paddle or baring my bottom. Never have I been more a direct participant. Actually administering each burning swat made me more than accepting and more than complicit. I truly owned this spanking.


8. There was another feeling beyond submission. It was embarrassment for lack of a more accurate description. Here I was, a capable adult woman standing in the middle of the room and spanking my own bottom repeatedly with a hairbrush on command. Wearing a way too short white tennis skirt with white fluttery briefs enhanced the experience. For reasons that not even I fully comprehend, that’s kind of a turn-on.


9. Randy understands this side of me and how to expertly press my buttons. As I was writing this, he looked over my shoulder and whispered, “Next time, we’ll add a butt plug.” A shiver of mortified delight passed through me. He knows what makes me hot.


10. At the end of the day, that’s what matters – a mutually satisfying experience. We made vigorous love afterward. Spankings are our first, best, and always foreplay.

Have a great week everyone!

I'm Ready for My Closeup

Hello again, dear friends. So it’s 2018 and we’re still here and talking about spankings. I started a reflective post about the changes our world has seen over the past year, but abandoned it, at least for now, because it’s all just too unpleasant. That’s not why you come here. It’s not why I come here either.

And so, on to the spankings. I can report lots of jolly holiday bottom warming around here. My husband, Randy, prides himself on finding innovative variations to enhance our percussive fun. After four decades, I am still repeatedly amazed (and sore) as I discover the clever ways he has devised to light a fire in my aft section.

Last weekend, he combined two of his favorite kinks – spanking and photography. The twist was that this time, he experimented with capturing the moment of maximum impact for a variety of implements. When our regular playtime began, he described his plan. He had me remove my jeans, but let me keep my top, bra, thong, and socks. It was cold in the bedroom so I appreciated that kind gesture. At his instruction, I bent over the love ramp he had positioned on our bed. He placed his cameras (yes, cameras!) on a low chest facing my exposed target.

Randy announced that the first round of experiments would involve his hand. He’s not a big fan of hand spankings these days because he claims that my bottom is much tougher than his hand and he is not the one who is supposed to be punished. I find this statement humorous, at least until he pulls out something more serious. But a hand spanking warm up seemed like a great way to begin.

He slapped my bare bottom briskly once on each side. Then he went back to check his recorded images. After a minute or two of fiddling, his attention returned to me. More swats ensued, and more gadget tweaking. It hurt a bit, but it was a good hurt and nothing for which I was unprepared.

When he declared success, I asked if I could see what was captured. It is my butt after all. He brought the camera around to show me a shot of his hand compressing my flesh. On the slow motion camera, I watched my left cheek deform upon impact, jiggle for a moment, and then return to its original shape. It was interesting, and frankly, a bit of a turn-on to see myself get spanked. I loved the hand prints!

Randy brought out several spanking implments to further the cause of science. Like a good lab assistant / test subject, I aided in his experiments. Next up was a leather riding crop. We had seen a GIF where a woman’s bottom ripples in slow motion after the impact of a crop. He wanted to see whether he could reproduce that result. I have plenty of flesh back there with which to make waves, so we were hopeful of a positive result. Sure enough, on the first try, he made my bottom ripple like a stone tossed into a pond. Then he applied the crop several more times in search of the perfect impact shot. This stung, but it was worth it to see the results. The tip of the crop pushed in my skin much deeper than I would have thought. As he gradually hit harder, the results resembled a tsunami radiating out from the punished area.

Then we moved to wood. A short, roundish, thick hardwood paddle was next. This paddle is usually applied OTK, but that didn’t stop him. He swatted me quite a few times because he couldn’t get the shot he wanted. It seems the paddle striking my bottom obscured his view of the impact. Even relocating the cameras did not achieve the desired shot. I had the poor taste to giggle at this dilemma, so he changed strategy.

When he showed me the vintage Vermont Country Store bath brush, I knew that the fun and games were over. This long handled wooden brush is a serious punishment implement. He found it provided a very satisfactory result, both in terms of his photos/video and my posterior discomfort. Ouch. That thing is so wicked. The images explained why. The spot where the brush strikes is deeply compressed and the surrounding flesh is violently forced outward. Subsequent swats amplify and spread the effect. No wonder it leaves marks!

He concluded with the punishment cane. My poor bottom was already red and pulsating with pain by this point, but I was curious to see what the cane would do. You know, the pursuit of science and all that… I lowered my head and braced myself for the stripes to be applied. By this time, Randy had a good understanding of his equipment so my caning didn’t take very long. The strokes were hard, but they didn’t hurt as much as that damned brush. The video showed the cane digging into both of my cheeks at the same time. Then it seemed to bounce off and the skin snapped back. Each stroke left a thin, white horizontal line crossing my otherwise red canvas. These lines grew into raised ridges I could feel with my fingers.

He kissed me and thanked me for being such a cooperative subject. Clothes were shed. Adult activities ensued. In the heat of lovemaking, a troubling thought came to me. “Did you turn off those cameras?”

“Yes,” he responded. And with that, pleasure resumed.

We’ve played with video before, but never in quite this way. This was a fun adventure. Randy got his shots and I got my swats. A fair bargain I think. Next time, he says, he wants to strap me to the spanking bench downstairs. He has plenty more implements that need to be tested. Now he wants to invest in a tripod. It just keeps getting better!

A Black (and Blue) Friday Spanking

This week’s lesson is don’t be late for a spanking. Readers of this blog may remember that Randy and I have a standing date every Friday evening. I call it a standing date because sitting is always uncomfortable by the time it’s over.

I had the day off on Black Friday and a plan of action. There was a very special gift that I wanted to buy for our granddaughter. It’s available only at one store in the mall. I figured Black Friday shopping would be crazy, but I was determined to get this item before they sold out. I waited until late afternoon in hopes that the worst of the crowds would have moved on. Wrong! I did finally obtain this high demand gift, but I spent a lot longer at the mall than I anticipated.

When I returned home, I was surprised to see that Randy was there before me. He greeted me with a stern expression and a heavy hardwood hairbrush in hand. He kissed me on the forehead and said, “Bon, you’re tardy and you will have to be punished.” His tone was serious, but the twinkle in his eye told me that he was looking forward to the evening’s festivities as much as I was.

After I had a much needed bathroom break, we moved upstairs. He sat on the corner of our marriage bed and summoned me to join him. He still gripped that wicked brush. I asked permission to activate the audio recorder on my tablet and he agreed. I then lowered myself face down over his lap and into the traditional spankee position.

When he lifted my long skirt, Randy broke character and exclaimed, “Oh, I love these panties. They make your butt look so spankable!” I had selected a white, high-waisted cotton thong with little red hearts. I knew he would like it.

Quickly though, he returned to his serious disciplinarian mode. He started to lecture as he rubbed the smooth back of the implement against my exposed cheeks. It felt cool, at least for the moment.

“Young lady, how many times have we talked about the importance of being punctual?”

“Many times.”

“And how many times have I had to beat your bottom over just this issue?”

“Many.”

“And what shall I do with you this time?”

“Spank me?”

“Oh yes, you’re going to get spanked, and thoroughly too. But I believe you need an additional reminder. Something special to help you remember. Do you know what that is?”

“No Sir.”

“After I wear out your bottom with this hairbrush, you’re going to get six strokes with the cane. Do you think that’s a fair punishment?”

“If you say so, Sir.”

“Then let’s begin.”

If there was a warm up, it was imperceptible to me. From the beginning, he shocked my bare skin with that infernal brush, striking about once every two to three seconds. This steady but relatively moderate pace allowed time for me to process the pain from each stinging swat before the next one fell. He alternated sides for a while and then delivered repeated hard blows to one particular spot before moving on. As is his usual practice, special attention was directed down low to my sit spots. From this point forward, my dialog was mostly unintelligible as I struggled to cope with a long and painful spanking. However, Randy had several pearls that would have been lost on me were it not for the recorder.

“You’re a good girl, but sometimes you simply need a hard spanking on your bare bottom.” (True)

“If I didn’t spank you every week, there’s no telling what would happen.” (I would be disappointed)

“Now c’mon, you act like this hurts.” (Dammit, it does hurt!)

“How embarrassing is it for you to be spanked like a little girl?” (Enough to be enjoyable)

“You know you love this.” (OK, you caught me – I love everything about it)

“That’s a very red bottom. I’ll bet it’s going to be sore.” (Going to be?)

For all his bluster, the caning afterward wasn’t that big a deal. It stung, but after such a thorough going over with the brush, the pain receptors in my bottom must have been worn out. The entire spanking probably lasted less than fifteen minutes, but it transported my psyche to a different dimension. By the end, he could have done almost anything and I would have gladly accepted it.

After the customary flash photography, my Prince Charming declared, “I’m hungry. Let’s go out and get some dinner.” Ugh. Men. I convinced him to give me a few minutes to recompose my spirit not to mention my face. I had to take a few moments to admire the lovely shade he painted my bottom. I found the raised ridges with my fingers, and thrilled at the ache as I pressed against my warm skin. I just got a spanking, I thought, and it was a really good one. My mind was at peace. I could happily slip off to sleep or maybe some gentle lovemaking and then sleep. But it was not to be, at least not yet.

As soon a joined Randy downstairs, he whisked me out the door and into the car. Dinner was fine, I think. At least I don’t remember anything not fine. Mostly, I remember squirming atop a very unforgiving chair. We talked over dinner, but I can’t recall any details. He was very sweet.

After returning home, we finished the evening in the best possible ways. Remarkably, I had no visible marks the next morning, though the delicious residual soreness stayed around a while longer.

As for Black Friday, I’m through. From here on, I’m a Cyber Monday gal!

Fiction: Academic Misconduct

This story is the first new fiction I have posted in a very long time. I hope you enjoy it.

“A hundred dollars for one hour's work? Is this scheme legal?”

Sue grimaced at the thought. “The posting said it's legitimate research funded through the Neuropsychology Department.”

“Well, *I* wouldn't do it.”

Of course not, Sue thought. Olivia is a princess who wants for nothing. She has no concept of how it feels to be a poor college student. She spends more on her hair than her two roommates combined spend on clothes.

Still, Olivia's offer to drive Sue and Carole to the Shakespeare festival next weekend was very attractive. They love renaissance fairs and the plays and the music and the food and the shopping and the costumes and... But how? Again, it comes down to money or lack of it. Admission alone was $20.

Sue decided to at least investigate the strange offer posted in the dormitory lounge. A hundred dollars could go a long way toward making campus life tolerable.

When Sue typed the address from the posting into her browser, an official looking university web page appeared. It confirmed what the posting had stated. Volunteer test subjects would be paid one hundred dollars for one hour of work at a time to be scheduled.

To get more information, Sue had to enter her name and student ID number. She wondered whether this was one of those identity theft scams the university always warns them about. But after providing the required data, an informational page was displayed.

It explained that a graduate student in the Neuropsych Department was conducting research into the effects of pain on cognitive function. Volunteers would be asked to complete an online test of basic skills. Once the test is completed, they would be subjected to temporary discomfort and asked to complete a second, comparable online test.

Temporary discomfort. What could that mean? If it involves needles, Sue thought, there's no way. But maybe it's something that's not so bad like a Chinese finger trap. For a hundred dollars, she wanted to find out.

Sue answered a series of questions on the Web page. They were trying to determine whether she was a fit subject for the research. She was asked for her name (again), age, gender, height, weight, and major. They inquired about medical history, medications, and disabilities. Once she had entered the information, Sue was informed that she was suitable to participate. She was assigned a time of 4:45 the following afternoon. She was instructed to report to door number three in the side of the old football stadium.

This arrangement sounded weird and it probably was, but Sue resolved to do whatever it took to go with Olivia to the festival on Saturday.

- - -
Walking from her history class, Sue tried to think about anything other than “temporary discomfort.” It had been a routine day. The English quiz was easier than expected, but lunch in the dining hall was a horror. Tuna casserole. Really?! Who eats that?

Leaves danced across the stone pathway as the chill of autumn had apparently come to stay. A jacket would have made this late afternoon journey more comfortable, but there was no time cross the quad and get it.

Sue's phone confirmed that it was precisely 4:45 when she arrived at the far side of the stadium. As the web site had described, there was a door sunk a couple of feet below the level of sidewalk and leading into the side of the old sports stadium. After savoring a last inhalation of fresh air, Sue walked down the three steps and grasped the tarnished doorknob.

Before she could turn the knob, the heavy metal door swung open. Suddenly, standing before her was a very tall, slim man with wavy light brown hair and dressed in tan cargo pants and a black tee shirt. He said his name was Kurt. He hastily shook Sue's hand and urged her to follow him.

Kurt led her down a dark set of damp concrete stairs leading to a dimly illuminated passage beneath the grandstand. As they began their descent, Sue heard the door swing close and lock behind them with a definitive “ka-chunk” sound.

Kurt was not at all what Sue had anticipated. She expected someone nerdy wearing black plastic glasses and a white lab coat. This guy could very easily sell hot dogs upstairs at the game.

They came to a plain wooden door with the words “Neuropsychology Lab” stenciled upon it. Kurt opened the door and gestured for Sue to enter. The lab was as bright and expansive as the hallway had been dingy and cramped. The cement walls were white and looked to have been recently painted. Rows of florescent lights hung from the vaulted ceiling cast a faint bluish aura. What appeared to be university surplus pod furniture was strewn around the edges of the large subterranean chamber.

From behind one of the pod walls emerged a sturdy mature woman. She wore a white long sleeve blouse, a knee-length navy wool skirt, and black flats. Her demeanor was cold and severe. Ms. Tomaszewski introduced herself to Sue as the research proctor. Her job, she explained, was to ensure that procedures and controls were strictly followed and that no serious harm would befall the subjects.

Serious harm? Sue thought. What had she gotten herself into?

Ms. Tomaszewski presented Sue with a consent form which she was encouraged to read thoroughly and then sign.

Following the advice of the matronly proctor, Sue scanned the form. It stated that she granted her permission to the university and its representative to administer a series of spankings. She also agreed to hold them blameless for any injuries or infirmities that may occur either incidental to or as a consequence of the spankings. This was a possibility she hadn't considered. Sure, she'd had some fun playing around with a high school boyfriend, but those weren't real spankings. This was her moment of truth.

In an instant of blind impulse, Sue signed the consent form and then pushed it away. Que sera sera. Let the spankings begin. There was no turning back.

- - -
Ms. Tomaszewski thanked her and snatched away the form to file. Kurt then directed Sue to a pod and asked her to sit down in front of a laptop. The program on the laptop presented a series of color images that she had to try to remember in sequence. In about ten minutes, Sue had completed the exercise.

Knowing what was next, and yet having no idea, Sue arose slowly. Kurt was now standing right behind her. In the darkness of the hallway, she hadn't noticed his cornflower eyes or his angular jaw.

“Please come with me,” he beckoned. “Ms. T, we are ready.”

They entered a larger pod in one corner of the cavernous room. In the center was a simple wooden table with a few metal folding chairs scattered around it. Sue imagined it might be used as a meeting room.

“Sue, I am going to spank you now.” Kurt said in a voice that seemed almost gentle. “If you wish to back out, this is your last chance.”

“No, no. Let's do it.” She replied barely above a whisper.

Kurt was now holding a rounded brown leather paddle that looked to be about a foot in length. The striking surface was visibly worn.

“OK. Please stand here, lean forward, and place your forearms on the table. I will deliver one hundred swats on your bottom with this paddle. I will do so in sets of ten. If you want me to pause between sets, please indicate this by saying the word, 'pause.' I expect you will remain in position until the spanking is complete. If you choose to express your discomfort by screaming or crying, that is permissible. I can assure you that no one else will hear you down here. Do you understand these instructions?” Kurt's tone was suddenly bold and commanding.

“Um, yes. Do I have to take my pants off?”

Ms. Tomaszewski shuffled from one side of the table to the other in a manner that suggested she was uncomfortable with this question, but she remained quiet. She scratched some notes on her clipboard.

“No, Sue, your jeans will be just fine.” explained Kurt, “Shall we begin?”

“All right...”

Sue tried to prepare herself for what was about to transpire. Except it didn't. Maybe it was a minute, but it seemed like an hour. Kurt stood behind her and seemed to be surveying her upturned curves.

Then without warning, Kurt began to strike the seat of Sue's faded jeans in an alternating left-right pattern. Each time the paddle impacted, it generated a cannon-like bang that reverberated throughout the large room. Initially, the sound shocked Sue as much as the pain. When Kurt reached ten, he announced this milestone. Out of the corner of her eye, Sue thought she spotted Ms. Tomaszewski nodding approvingly.

After only a few seconds, Kurt renewed his systematic assault. As if scientifically measured, each strike seemed carefully gauged to be equally painful. The sizzling blows repeatedly struck the same two spots low on Sue's bottom. After the second ten, Sue wondered whether she could tolerate the full hundred. She clenched her teeth and silently vowed to continue.

Somewhere between thirty and forty, the pain became so immediate that Sue had to vocalize her discomfort. What she meant to be a scream, however, emerged as a mere squeak. Panting had robbed her of her full voice.

Again and again the paddle made solid contact with Sue's denim covered posterior. She lifted first one foot and then the other, but managed to stay in place.

She sighed with relief when Kurt finally uttered the words, “One hundred.” Her spanking was over.

Sue wanted to take a few minutes to compose herself, but Kurt explained that the rules of the experiment dictated she she take a second test immediately. Disoriented but compliant, she trudged behind him back to the small pod where they began.

Sue grimaced as she sat on the unpadded office chair. Never had she been spanked so thoroughly. Her bottom felt hot and undulated with prickly soreness.

The test seemed harder this time, though she couldn't be sure. Within a few minutes, she was finished. As she was completing the last of the questions, Sue heard Kurt bidding Ms. Tomaszewski good evening. The door banged as it closed behind her.

- - -
“All done?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Are you OK to walk home?”

“I guess. So... Am I your last spanking of the day?”

“Yes, I'm going home too.”

“Well, it's dark outside now. I'd feel safer if you walked me back to the dorm.”

“All right. I can do that.” Kurt grabbed his backpack, turned out the lights, and locked the door to the lab.

They tromped up the dank steps and emerged behind the stadium. It was indeed dark.

“Kurt, what is that place?”

“It used to be the marching band room until they built a new one about twenty years ago. Now it's our neuropsych lab.” Our nickname for it is “the catacombs.”

“I can see why. Do I get my $100 now?”

“It will be credited to your campus account tomorrow.”

“OK, that'll work.”

“Are you still sore?”

“Are you kidding? My butt is on fire!” Sue punctuated the sentence by vigorously rubbing with both hands.

“Oh, sorry.” Kurt's knowing smile sabotaged his apology.

“I don't think you're all that sorry. You like paddling girls.”

“You don't understand. It's scholarly research. I hope to get my findings published in a peer-reviewed journal.”

“But you do love to spank girls...”

“Why would you say that?”

“I can tell. Call it a woman's intuition.”

“Oh yeah? What else does your intuition tell you?”

“It tells me that you won't mind if I do this...” Sue reached her arms up and placed her hands behind the neck of her much taller companion. She then stretched to kiss him squarely on the lips. Slowly, Kurt's long arms wrapped themselves around her torso. This first spontaneous kiss in the grove behind the old stadium lasted nearly a minute. The second one was longer.

“You can spank me anytime, be it business or pleasure.”

Kurt was now the one who was surprised. He had enjoyed spanking Sue, maybe more than the others. Could it be that he was picking up her vibe? Or pheromones? Ultimately, he decided while this was an interesting question, it didn't matter.

“Are you cold?” he whispered.

“No, I have a very ouchy bottom to keep me warm.”

“No, I know. I mean the rest of you. I have a sweater in my backpack if you'd like to wear it.”

“OK. Thanks. You know, it's too late for me to get dinner in the dining hall. But if you'd like to give me an advance on my $100, we can get some subs at the Scene.”

“That sounds great. Let's do it, but I'll pay.”

“So, Kurt... What are you doing on Saturday?”

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!

It's the Little Things (Part One)

I'll warn you in advance that this story is a teaser...

When a couple has been together for a long time, it's easy to fall into a rut. It's not a matter of not getting along or not desiring one another or not appreciating each other. It's more a feeling that you've tried everything there is to do.

When the novelty wears off, Randy and I work together to bring it back. Our secret isn't something spectacular like mile high spankings (already did that!) or paddlings with a cricket bat (um, no thank you). It's little things.

Knowing each other as we do, we each know what the other craves. I had a little extra money this past weekend, so I decided it was time to freshen my summer wardrobe. While shopping, I found a pair of slacks that I immediately knew would light Randy's fuse. They were a stylish light tan hue and highlighted my curves quite nicely, but the key features were a zipper in the center of the back and button at the waistband.

I used to wear pants, shorts, and skirts with a back zipper and/or buttons when they were popular back in the seventies and eighties. Randy loves this look. To him, it represents free access and an open invitation to use my bottom as he pleases. I bought the slacks and a couple of coordinating items and brought them home.

We had plans to meet some friends for dinner on Saturday night. I figured this would be an ideal opportunity to introduce my apparel upgrade. I paired a cool turquoise cotton blouse with my new tan slacks. I wore a red thong underneath to cover the very slim possibility that Randy didn't catch the hint.

He called up to the bedroom where I was dressing. As usual, he was ready to go and I wasn't. I vowed to make his wait worthwhile. A few minutes later, I strolled down the steps with a little extra hip shake once I knew he was watching.

“Wow. I like that.” he stammered.

I rubbed my body against his. “We really have to go, you know.”

I knelt before him in the front hall. “I told Bob we'd meet...”

By this time, I had matters well in hand. My man offered no further protest as I paid tribute to his masculinity.

- - - - -
As we drove to the restaurant, Randy asked, “Are those new pants?” I confirmed his suspicion.

“They look really good on you.” I smiled. “We may have to take those off later.” His hand rubbed the outside of my thigh.

Despite our late arrival, our friends weren't anywhere around. I could only hope it was for the same reason. We were seated and ordered drinks. While we were waiting, I excused myself to visit the powder room. I figured that my makeup could use some freshening. As I left the table, I walked about six steps before turning around to see Randy staring at my bottom. I smiled, gave him a brief hip shimmy, and scampered off to the ladies room.

When I returned to the table, our friends had arrived and the conversation had turned boring. I'm glad there are people who know about 401Ks and Roth IRAs and navigate through the monetary haze. But at dinner? Ew. I'd rather talk about a septic system china syndrome.

We ordered attractive entrees from the seafood-oriented menu. Randy selected sauteed fish and I had a shrimp, scallop, and angel hair in olive oil dish. Eventually, the conversation lightened up, but only after a survey of weather, sports, and politics. At least the dinner was good.

After dinner, we bid our friends good night and walked back to the car. Randy couldn't seem to keep his hands off of me. I thought I might get a full blown spanking right there in the parking lot (not that I would have necessarily minded, but there are better places for such things).

When we got home, Randy made it clear that he intended to help himself to all that is his. I love it when he talks like that. Moments later, I found myself up in our bedroom, bending over the bed. Randy apparently thought that the seat of my slacks required one more quality control test. His test involved a spanking with a leather paddle. It was yummy in a delightfully warm stinging way.

Between swats, his hands touched, caressed, squeezed, and kneaded the light fabric covering my bottom. After a while, his fertile imagination progressed to the next step. He tossed the paddle onto the bed and wandered into our bathroom. “Stay there,” he instructed. I stayed.

Soon he 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 was Randy carrying? A Wooden Bathbrush A Wet Washcloth A Tube of Lubricant A Vibrator Massage Oil Nothing Current Results

Tune in again tomorrow for the exciting conclusion!

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.

The Note

It was about 10:45 on Friday morning when my telephone rang. It had been a productive morning, but my thoughts were beginning to drift toward lunch. I’m not certain how I knew it was Randy calling, but I did. Sure enough, his crisp baritone greeted me as soon as I answered.

We exchanged small talk, household goings on (who’s going to pick up the dishwasher detergent and such), and other news of the day. But I sensed that this was not the true purpose of his call. It’s not like him to call to chat.

“I want you to write me a note.”

“A note?” I inquired. I was intrigued, but not entire clear about his latest plan.

“Yes. This note should explain to me precisely why you deserve to be spanked.” There was a perceptible bounce in his voice as he spoke the last few words. He was clearly pleased with this idea.

“Have it ready when I arrive home tonight.” This instruction was presented as more than a request and yet less than a demand.

“OK, sure. I can do that.” What else could I say?

“Good. I’ll see you at home.”

And that was it. He hung up and he was gone. A note. He wanted a note. This was an assignment, but it was also a challenge. He wanted to see me script my own spanking and put it in writing. I could do this. I knew I could. But what should it be? As beneficial as this assignment was for my libido, it was awful for my productivity. I thought of little else the remainder of the afternoon. Finally, I used an hour of leave and left work early with the intent of focusing on my note.

When I arrived at home, I sat down at the computer and began to write. I had a couple of false starts, but finally settled on this note:

Dear Mr. _____, I write to enlist your aid in improving Bonnie’s behavior at school. She continues to be disruptive in study hall by passing notes, talking, giggling, and playing with her cellular phone. Her teachers are at loss as to how they might get through to her, and quite frankly, so am I. She has served numerous detentions, but these seem to have no effect. I have contemplated suspending her from the cheerleading squad, but Ms. Welch, the cheerleading coach, asked me not to do so because of the difficulty of adding another girl in the middle of the season. I have run out of remedies and must now appeal to you. If you have the means to correct Bonnie’s misbehavior, I ask that you implement appropriate disciplinary sanctions at home. Working together, it is my sincere hope that we can get this young woman back on the right path. Yours truly, William A Wills Principal

I printed the note, added a signature, folded it into thirds, placed it into an envelope, and sealed the envelope. I wrote Randy’s name on the front. Then I placed the envelope in the center of our kitchen table.

I had almost two hours left before Randy returned. I walked upstairs and began collecting the parts of my cheerleading uniform. Randy loves cheerleaders. Several years ago, he bought me a red and white uniform, complete with a sweater, a short red and white pleated skirt, and red panties. We’ve played with this uniform a number of times, and it has always been a spanking good time. For a change, this was my chance to surprise him.

I took a quick shower and shaved my legs. I applied some moisturizing lotion so my skin would be nice and soft. As I slipped on each part of the uniform, I became more excited. I knew this was destined to be a great evening. When I peered into the mirror, I saw a naughty cheerleader who deserved a good spanking. A shiver of anticipatory delight ran through me. Yet something was missing. I decided that my hair style looked far too mature. To correct this deficiency, I pulled my hair up into pigtails. I decided that was just the right appearance.

I still had more than a half hour before my dear spouse was due. I decided to apply fresh makeup, but to overdo it just a little as a teenager might. I considered setting out spanking implements, but I decided that Randy would probably prefer to choose himself.

I ended up killing time in our bedroom. I lay on our bed and started to read a book. I was too distracted. I tried to rearrange items in our big closet, but that too failed to hold my interest.

Finally, I sensed the garage door open heralding the arrival of my prince. When I heard him bound up the steps from the garage, I couldn’t help clenching my hands together. Whatever was going to happen, it would be soon.

I waited a minute, and then two, and then five. It seemed to be taking forever.

“Bon?”

“Yes?”

“I think you had better get down here.” He found the note. His voice was stern and direct. I was about to get precisely what I had requested. I trotted down the steps.

I had hoped that Randy might smile upon seeing my appearance. But if he did, I didn’t catch it.

He was in the living room. He sat in the center of the couch and beckoned me to come closer. I stood right in front of him with my arms at my sides and my athletic shoes together.

“Bon, we have a matter to discuss and I think you might know what it is.”

“Is this about school?”

“Yes. I got a note tonight from your principal and he says you’ve been misbehaving again. I trust you remember how we deal with bad reports in this house. Tell me, Bonnie, what happens to young ladies who act up at school?”

“Spankings.”

“I’m sorry, but I can barely hear you. Please tell me, using your full voice this time, what I am about to do to you.”

“You’re going to spank my bottom.”

“Yes, that is correct. You are going to receive a spanking. Now, I want you lie across my lap, just as you did the last time.”

“Yes, sir.” I took my place in that time-honored corporal punishment pose.

“I can assure you that you will soon be very sorry for your misdeeds.” With that, Randy’s hard palm clapped against my panty-covered posterior. It hurt, but not in a bad way. After so much waiting, I was pleased to finally get my spanking underway. He continued to briskly swat my bottom, sometimes alternating sides and other times concentrating the blows all in one spot.

It was a deliciously stinging spanking and just what I wanted. Randy continued to chide me as the blows rained down on my upturned seat.

“I don’t want to have to repeat this exercise again, Bon. But if I have to, I can and I will spank you as often as it takes.” He punctuated his words with more hard smacks.

“Now, are you going to talk in class or make paper airplanes or whatever the hell it was that you did?”

At this stage, I was laughing. “Yes, I mean, no. I mean, what was the question?”

“So, my message must not be getting through.” With that observation came another flurry of strong swats.

“No, ow! I get it already! I'll be good.”

“Well, I certainly hope so. Now, I want you to go upstairs this minute. Take off all of your clothes, kneel on the bed, and wait for me.”

“Yes, sir.” I did as he ordered, stopping only briefly to examine my nicely reddened bottom in the mirror.

Just a moment after I had taken my position on the bed, Randy entered the room.

“Turn around and face the headboard.” While I breathlessly awaited his next move, he rummaged in our toy chest.

“Back! No fair looking.” I again faced forward without catching a glimpse of his weapon.

A loud, smart, searing “Snap” introduced his choice. It was our leather slapper, an excellent selection. This was a totally different sensation than his stiff hand had been. It struck quickly, again and again, all over my naked bottom with light, flicking blows. Over time, the accumulation of sharp hits melted into an overall toasty warmth. Yum!

Just as I was beginning to savor my lover’s rough attention, he switched gears again. Randy’s fingers now delicately trailed across my sexual undercarriage. I parted my legs lustily to invite his further exploration. Before I realized what was happening, my man had pulled me to the edge of the bed, dropped his pants, and was about to impale me in a most divine way. I gasped, first with anticipation and then with pleasure, as he completed our bonding.

A few luscious minutes later, we collapsed together onto the bed. I nestled my head into his strong chest while Randy gently rubbed my sore bottom. This place, both spatially and spiritually, was the center of my universe. I was one with my loving partner and we were at peace. These were the moments that we wait and work to find. The chaos raging outside had no effect here. We were together and all was right.

Epilogue: The note is currently posted on our refrigerator door as a reminder.

The Spanko Files: Terpsichore (Update)

Since we last heard from our friend Terpsichore, there have been more developments.

Since my first real spanking, we have had another encounter and we shared the best lovemaking of our lives. I asked if we could use toys. Right now, our collection consists of his hairbrush, a pink spatula, and his soft leather belt (I have been wishing for that belt for ages).

At first, he seemed tired and I was afraid he was going to fall asleep before we even got started (it has happened before). But then, all of a sudden, he flipped me over onto my back, held my arms pressed at the side of my head and started to kiss my neck I love having my neck kissed and I love when he is in control, or better yet, when I am out of control. He then explored my body for a while before flipping me onto my stomach.

He started spanking me with his hand and then moved on to the toys. I never wanted it to stop. It was very light, but so enjoyable. At one point, I started to say thank you and roll over, but he stopped me and said he was not finished with me yet. This was music to my ears. I could hear him lift up the belt. Using the belt, he tapped really lightly all over my bottom, back, and upper thighs. It felt great.

I think it will be a long while before he is comfortable using the implements with any force. However, he seems to have no problem applying his hand and sometimes, it is almost too hard. :-) But in a way, I like that we are easing into it as I do not yet know how much force I could or would want to handle... And I certainly was enjoying myself. He touched me all the while he spanked in ways that made me melt and quiver. It was such a nice time. I’m hoping for another night like this one. It was definitely the best lovemaking of my life... tied with a day last fall when I told him my secret. That was also a memorable night. :-) And so my dream has at last come true. But this dream is just beginning.

May your romance blossom as your adventures continue.

The Spanko Files: Terpsichore

We have an update from our friend, Terpsichore. As you shall see, the news is very good.

My First Real Spanking

There were no candles lit, no roses, nor anything romantic. But somehow that didn't matter. I was downstairs on the computer while my husband was upstairs in the living room watching TV. I came upstairs to say hello and greeted him with a kiss. He greeted me back. I greeted him again and then sat next to him. He was watching something on the History Channel. I didn't pay attention to what it was. I was focused on distracting him. He was enjoying the distraction.

Then, all the sudden, he kissed me and pulled me across his lap. He immediately pulled down my pajama bottoms. There was no time for anticipation. It didn't matter whether I knew what came next and I didn't have to beg for it. He smacked my bottom and then rubbed in gentle circles. It was like a massage, only better. There was no intensity or speed. It was more relaxing than erotic. But it didn't matter. I was enjoying it and I decided the second he placed me in that position that I was not going to move until he decided to stop. I wiggled a bit to get comfortable as I am a little long for our couch.

All the sudden, I became aware of the TV which was still humming in the background. I mildly wondered if he was still watching the program or paying attention to me, but decided it did not matter. He could watch TV with me over his lap anytime he wants ...and I told him so. The spanking continued with casual conversation, TV, and giggles. I just relaxed and enjoyed the occasional smack and rub. I hate to admit I was almost bored at times because it was so slow and relaxing, but I was so happy too. My husband started to explore other parts of my body and then after a while he rolled me over and started kissing me and we moved upstairs into the bedroom for more play and lovemaking. He even took the brush I had bought at Christmas time with the pretty flowers on it that up until now has just been used on my hair. He gave me just a few little light taps, but it was great to have a hand holding it other than my own.

I was all smiles... I had my first real spanking! It was not nearly intense enough or fast enough or long enough, or romantic in any way, but my husband initiated, decided when to start and stop. That for me made it real and special. And I am so very grateful as it has given me hope that it will not be the last time. While we have a long way to go, there is a lot to look forward to. :-)

We have since talked and it feels good to be communicating again about my favorite topic of spanking. He expressed his desire to have me guide him through the spankings as to what feels good and what is too much or too hard. It may be a long time before he finds his dominant side. However, since he is asking for me to guide him, perhaps I will find mine by telling him what I want. That’s difficult when I hardly know myself, but I am ready for the challenge of finding out together. Of course, the biggest obstacle is finding time to make love at all. But there will be a time in our lives when that will not be a challenge. I am happy that, in addition to being the parents of two small children we love so much, we are also a couple again. Since my first real spanking, we have had another encounter and we shared the best lovemaking of our life. I’m looking forward to what the future may bring... :-)

Bravo, Terpsichore! Your patience finally paid off.

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.