This is a story that I wrote for Fantasy Friday on PK's blog, New Beginnings. In case you missed it, I'll share it with you here. I hope you like it.
James and Paula loved their new house. Situated on a quiet street, it was exactly what they had been looking for. There was a large kitchen with an adjacent dining room, a family room, and rooms that would become an office and a guest bedroom. Behind the house was a huge yard that was edged with mature trees. Paula was looking forward to redecorating the living room to suit their taste. But first they needed to replace the tattered, mismatched furniture that they had inherited from their parents and a long-departed roommate. It had been fine for the apartment but now it looked shabby and not at all in keeping with Paula's plans. It was time to go shopping. Paula picked James up after work one rainy afternoon and the two set off to browse through a large furniture store situated in a strip mall on the edge of town. It was the dinner hour when they arrived, and that, combined with the rain, accounted for the few cars in the parking lot outside the store. The couple walked through the large glass doors then stopped. Instead of a large open showroom, they saw signs overhead, pointing the way to appliances, bedrooms, and living room furniture. In front of them was a path of light maple laminate flooring that branched three ways. Each branch led to a warren of small rooms, each one a fully decorated room showcasing the furniture. "I'm so excited," Paula exclaimed. "Let's follow the yellow brick road." She took James' hand and led him along the right-hand path towards the mock living rooms. They strolled past one room after another, commenting on the suitability of the contents of each, but not seeing anything they both liked. Then Paula stopped at a display done in shades of green and silver. "I like that chair. It has an interesting shape." "I don't know," countered James. "The arms look too low. Come here and bend over." He took Paula's arm and led her towards the arm of the chair. She looked around nervously, but James reassured her. "No one can see us. The place is practically empty." "Well, all right." Paula bent over one of the arms of the chair. James gave her a swat or two over her cotton skirt. "No, that's too low," he decided. "The arm is too hard," Paula added. She stood up and they moved on to the next room. It featured a sofa, chair and ottoman all upholstered in a patterned burgundy fabric. Paula stroked the smooth, velvety surface of the chair. "Mmm, soft." "Try the back of the chair for height," instructed James. Paula didn't hesitate this time. She bent over the softly padded back and took the swats James gave her. When he lifted her skirt and spanked harder, she squeaked, "Okay, stop, that's enough testing!" "I need to be sure it's right for both of us. Now try the ottoman." The ottoman was large, square, and soft, with four carved feet of dark wood. Paula giggled as she knelt in front of it and bent over. "Look! I can hold its ankles!" James leaned down, swatted her over her skirt, then lifted the skirt and gave her two more on her pink panties. "I wish I'd thought to bring the cane. Oh, well, this will have to do." James pulled a metal tape measure out of his pocket, extended it, swished it through the air, then took aim, tapping it gently against Paula's bottom. "Hmmm, I'm not sure." James muttered, then he swiftly hooked his thumb in the waistband of the panties and pulled them down around Paula's knees. "That's better. Now hold still." Paula was about to protest when they heard footsteps and a child's voice. "Mom, I wanna go home." "Get up," James hissed. Paula scrambled to her feet while James moved away, grabbed a handful of fabric swatches lying on the coffee table and pretended to be very interested in them. Paula smoothed her skirt and looked nervously at the family peering through the entrance to the display room. "No, I don't like the colour of that set," a young woman said to the man beside her. A small boy clung to the woman's hand and whined, "I'm bored. Can we go now?" Paula realized that her panties were down around her knees. Please don't let them notice, she prayed silently. "Let's just take a quick look at the rest of the rooms, then we'll go get something to eat," the man told his son. The trio moved on. Paula tugged her panties up and exhaled. "That was close. Maybe we shouldn't..." But James was already back to business. "Now we have to check the sofa for length." He sat down and patted his knee. Paula knew that signal. She obediently draped herself across his knees and settled herself along the length of the sofa. James lifted her skirt once more. "Not on the bare, please! Someone else might see." "Don't worry." James pulled her panties upward toward her waist, exposing her cheeks as he stretched the fabric. He spanked her slowly. "This feels pretty good. What do you think, hon?" "It hurts! Oh, you mean the couch. Yes, it's very comfor...OUCH!" Paula heard the sound of more footsteps on the hard floor just in time. "James, stop." Paula slithered off his lap and managed to pull herself upright mere seconds before a tall middle-aged man appeared and approached them. "Hi folks. How're you making out?" "Oh, fine," replied James. Paula smiled; she felt dizzy and didn't trust her voice. "This is one of our most popular models. Have you tried it yet, Miss?" "Come on, Paula, have a seat," James suggested with an evil grin. "N-no, I'm fine. It's very nice," stammered Paula. The salesman pointed out the two large pillows that were propped up at either end of the couch. "These pillows are included free of charge in your choice of colour. The fabric swatches are here somewhere..." James looked at his wife and grinned "Those would be just right for..." "Casual seating on the floor," Paula cut him off. "These items are all in our warehouse, and we can have them delivered in two days. We'll also pick up your old furniture and take it to Goodwill. No extra charge." Paula and James exchanged glances. Paula nodded and James said, "Yes, I guess we've decided on this set." "An excellent choice! I'll phone the warehouse then we can take care of the financial details. Follow me, please" and the salesman headed out of the room and down the yellow brick road. James put his arm around Paula's waist, patted her bottom and whispered in her ear, "I hope you aren't too sore, sweetie. We need to say goodbye to all the old furniture before it goes." Paula groaned.
Today is my best blogging buddy's birthday.
Many happy returns of the day, Bonnie. I hope Randy gives you everything you want and need today.
Be sure to drop by her blog to wish her many happy returns, and stay for brunch.
Last month I wrote about my outdated collection of erotic books, and that reminded me of another collection that I want to tell you about. Ron has a large collection of X-rated VHS videos that we haven't watched in years. We acquired them long before the internet existed. I forget the details but I saw an ad in the back of a magazine and sent away for a free catalogue from a company in the US that was willing to engage in cross-border video sales. Choosing them was always difficult, and they were priced to be sold in groups of three. The movies were grouped in categories which I won't elaborate on here but there was nothing kinky. There was a tiny picture of each video and a one or two line description underneath. Ron usually left the task of choosing and ordering up to me each time a new catalogue arrived in the mail. My own agenda was to try to read between the lines and guess which ones might possibly contain a bit of spanking in spite of Canadian censorship rules. I usually selected videos that had pictures of bare bottoms which suited Ron just fine. The videos came from the US by mail, and on one occasion, instead of three, our order consisted of two plus a note from Canada customs saying that the third video had been confiscated because it contained depictions of anal penetration. What an interesting job that must be, to spend the day watching imported porn. We usually watched a video on the weekend but rarely made it more than half way through one before other urges took over. I thought they were pretty dull, not much in the way of plot or dialogue, just a lot of in, out, in, out, remove, repeat. My favourite performer - and the only one whose name I ever bothered to learn - was Ron Jeremy. He had a great sense of humour and often said very funny things as he went about the business of copulation. He didn't take what he was doing too seriously; it was just a game to him. I only remember seeing one brief spanking scene that probably slipped past the censors while they were looking the other way. A woman and a man were doing it, she was on top, and her partner slapped her bottom a few times and said she had been naughty and her daddy had to spank her. Whenever Ron asked me to choose the evening's entertainment, that was the video I chose.
Some websites use filters to replace a seemingly objectionable word such as "ass" with a less offensive alternative like "butt". Unfortunately, the automated software that automatically replaces offensive words often replaces them regardless of whether they appear on their own or are embedded within a longer word.
This phenomenon has become known as "The Clbuttic Mistake".
Classic becomes clbuttic Assassination becomes buttbuttination
Passport becomes pbuttport
Constitution becomes conbreastution Assumption becomes buttumption Title becomes breastle Assets becomes buttets
Reassert becomes rebuttert
Embassy becomes embbutty
Embarrassed becomes embarrbutted How ripenisulous!!
While cleaning out a storage space recently, I came across a game called "Takraw" that we had both forgotten about. We'll probably never play it again, so I put it into the pile of things to go out for the next CP Pickup. But I did take a quick peek inside the box. Besides a plastic ball there were two paddles or racquets made of rattan that look like the ones in the picture above. I pondered the spanking possibilities. What do you think? Should we give them a try as implements before parting with them?
In my last post I told you that Ron's mission was to find a substitute for the ineffective paint stirrer. The man outdid himself. He didn't warn me in advance, so when I walked into the bedroom one evening, I was prepared for a spanking but not for what I saw. Hanging from the iron rail at the head of the bed was a bamboo shoehorn, similar to the one at the top of this post. It had hung on the wall in Ron's study for years and I had never given it much thought, but now it had tremendous significance. I can honestly say that I have never had such a strong reaction to an implement as I did that day. My stomach did a major flip-flop and I felt an emotion best described as fear mingled with excitement. I looked at Ron and said, "I guess I'm in for it" in a small voice. "You sure are," was all he said. And I sure was. It wasn't so bad the first time. Ron used the shoehorn end like a little paddle on my bottom, and it had quite a sting. But after a few whacks on each cheek, the end broke off! "You broke my shoehorn!" wailed Ron. I thought he probably had something to do with it but didn't comment. I giggled, which earned me several hard hand spanks. The broken implement hung above the bed, and each time I entered the room I felt a thrill of anticipation mixed with dread. I wondered what would happen at my next encounter with it.
I soon found out. Ron used it like a cane, striking me across both buttocks at once. Each stroke burned like fire, made worse because we had not yet learned about warmups. He didn't give me very many but each one made me gasp "Ow". I was so relieved when he hung up the wretched thing and turned his attention to consoling me in the very nicest possible way. The marks that appeared on my bottom the next day fascinated me. There were several on each cheek, caused by the knots in the cane, and I was so proud of them. Ron saw them too and was not as thrilled as I was. They turned me on but had the opposite effect on him. He was horrified by what he had done to me, and resolved it wouldn't happen again. He removed the shoehorn from the bedroom, glued the end back on, and returned it to its former location and function. We have since discovered many implements that do just as good a job, or even better. But I still miss the thrill of walking into the room and seeing that shoehorn hanging there, waiting for me.
Recently I was doing some touch-up painting with some paint stored in the basement. I was able to shake the small can to stir the contents, but when I needed some paint from the large can, I had to go and find a paint stirrer. There were several among the painting supplies, and as I mixed the paint I fondly thought about the stick of wood I held in my hand. A paint stirrer was our very first pervertable used for spanking. It was quite a few years ago, and Ron and I were redecorating. Each time we went out for more paint we would be given a free stirrer. I thought more and more about how much I wanted to feel that stick on my bare bottom. Going to the paint store became quite a turn-on for me. Finally I shyly asked Ron if he would spank me with our latest stirrer which was still unused. He thought that could be arranged, and took the pristine stick up to the bedroom. We tried it out that night and boy, did it sting! It remained our only implement besides the dressage whip for many years. Then came the wooden spoon that Ron used to break our 2 1/2 year spanking fast. Once I began buying and experimenting with other implements, the stirrer - nicknamed the Golden Paddle by Ron, who painted it that colour - just didn't pack a sufficient wallop any more. So it sank to the bottom of the implement drawer and Ron hunted around for a substitute.
What did he come up with?
That's a story for another day.
Last week I was called into my boss's office. I'll refer to that person as FoA (Figure of Authority).
As I walked in, the first thing I noticed was a large framed motivational poster hanging on the wall above FoA's desk. It said: DISCIPLINE. It's in you to give. Well, maybe it didn't say exactly that, but that's how I remember it.
FoA wanted to discuss a problem to do with a project I was working on. Certain members of the team were not cooperating.
"I'll speak to their manager and then we'll have to get out the stick," declared FoA. Yikes! Was FoA a spanko? We? Was the other manager one too? Or would I be given a stick to use? My mind reeled.
I managed to stammer, "Um, oh, right, the carrot and the stick."
"No, forget the carrot.We'll go with just the stick." That was spanko speak alright. But not exactly an example of good management technique.
I'm pretty certain that Ron doesn't read blogs, but every so often he does something that makes me wonder. Take the other night, for example. We were in bed, getting ready to enjoy our favourite indoor activity and started with some kisses that gradually increased in passion and intensity. Ron's arms were around me, holding me close, then one hand drifted down to my bottom and started rubbing and caressing it. This is always a time of anticipation for me as I await the inevitable. I didn't have to wait long. The first swat always takes my breath away. Several more followed, then Ron released me and chose his implement for the evening - the maple paddle. He flipped me over onto my tummy then straddled my legs so that he had easy access to my bare bottom and I couldn't escape. This was different. Ron usually trusts me to remain in position no matter what. Did this mean I was in for a harder than usual spanking? The maple paddle has a nasty sting and the first few swats had me squealing and squirming and wishing it were over. Ron read the signals and eased up enough so that the sting felt pleasurable as he continued. He paused to admire his handiwork and rubbed my reddened bottom for a while before resuming. He alternated between spanking and caressing, then slipped his fingers between my legs for some special attention. I waited, wondering if the spanking was over and we were moving on to other things, when I felt the crack of the paddle again while his fingers still worked their magic. What a surprise! What a combination! And yet, my first thought was "it's just the way she described it" followed by "has he been reading that blog too?" All this speculation plus the novelty of the sensations managed to distract me so that I couldn't concentrate on achieving the desired result. But Ron knew that too and soon put down the paddle and put me into a more familiar position, to our mutual satisfaction. No, I didn't ask where the new ideas came from. Some questions are better left unasked. But I hope we can try it again. Soon.
For some time now, I have been active in dog rescue. When a dog is placed in a new home where people will love and cherish him, we call that a forever home. If the dog was rescued from an abusive, neglectful or just plain ignorant situation, then it's especially important that he finds a home that he won't have to leave because his owners no longer want him around. Birthdays are often forgotten or, in the case of many rescues, unknown, but the day a dog finds his forever home is usually remembered and celebrated as his "gotcha day". Twenty-five years ago today, Ron found his forever home with me, and we began our new life together. We've had our share of ups and downs like any other couple, but there's no one I'd rather be with, and I know he feels the same about me. In spite of being from different planets, we definitely speak the same language when it counts. Happy gotcha day to my favourite Martian, from his loving Venusian.
Early each morning I hear the wild call of a loon as it flies overhead. I've never managed to see it, but I might someday. A great blue heron occasionally drops by for a brief visit.
During the day, a pair of hawks perch silently on the overhead power lines, perfectly immobile. Their half-grown chick is not so silent or still; it squawks and flaps, demanding a mouse snack. Higher up on a different line is another hawk, watching the group.
When it gets dark, the fireflies blink and flash, sending signals that I see out of the corner of my eye. I try to get a better look, but the flash is gone in an instant. Life with Ron is good.
Since he reinstated spanking as part of our lovemaking and I recognized and embraced my submissive side - or as he says, since I stopped being a pain in the ass - we have never been happier. I want to shout it from the rooftops and tell the world. But I settled for telling two friends that I see socially. I had no intention of outing myself in any way. I just needed to say the words, "I'm happy."
The first friend was someone with a few problems in her life. I had often listened sympathetically as she told me about husband, child, parent and job troubles. I thought she might be pleased to hear my good news. So when we got together one day and she asked me how things were going, I told her that everything was wonderful and my relationship with Ron had never been better.
Her look told me plainly that she didn't want to hear any more. She said something like oh, that's nice, and changed the subject.
The second person I told was someone known for her discretion; she could keep a secret. So when I told her, she seemed genuinely pleased for me and was reasonably enthusiastic in her response. But she had the good sense not to ask for details; she knew if I wanted to say more, I would. And I didn't, because I couldn't reveal any more details without talking about spanking. So that was that.