Friday's Scream Queen
4 hours ago
There was a coldness about the room. It came from the soft flicker of fluorescent lights recessed into the ceiling, from the dull white paint on the upper walls and the gray-blue paper decorating their lower half. My obscured reflection staring up through the floor's polished sheen offered nothing of the warm reassurance I craved. The clack of my heels against the wood floor echoed with the cold, hollowness of a cell. Most of all, the room was cold because of its vacancy, its loneliness.You'll want to know all the details, so read the rest here.
My arrival was proceeded by the arrival of an equally cold message. Delivered via the company's intranet messaging system, it had filled the computer screen leaving no possibility it could be missed or ignored. My throat went dry, my eyes blinked and burned with the damming of trepidatious tears. Unable to clear away the message, I shut off the monitor and glanced guilty about the office. No one had noticed or gave any indication they had seen. I rose to my feet, standing on legs braced by trembling knees and forced myself to walk.
The secrets of the room were well kept by those unfortunate enough to have crossed its threshold, but the after effects were common knowledge. Everyone who ever exited the room did so with the obvious evidence of having been spanked and spanked thoroughly. Reddened buttocks, thighs and faces were proof enough that inside the room they had been spanked. The bareness of their bottoms, although not solid proof, certainly suggested the spanking was given on the bare and the marks, evidenced it was more than a hand at work during the spanking. I had no idea the full extent of the punishment awaiting me, but I knew a spanking was a certainty from the instant the message ordering me to the room had appeared.
I know you’re wondering what I’m doing here like this, sitting naked on the bed with no one else here.
The truth is I’m waiting for my wife to come home. When she does, I’m going to get a spanking.
I’m actually supposed to be standing in the corner while I wait for her. But I know I’ll hear the garage door go up when she pulls in and uses the remote. No sense standing in the corner any longer than I have to. I’ve already moved the chair she uses for spankings where she wants it, and I also put her hairbrush on it. Now I just have to wait for her, and she’ll probably get here in the next few minutes.
I have no one to blame but myself for getting into a situation where my wife spanks me. I’m a 49-year-old man who was never spanked in his life until three years ago, and now I find myself in this position a lot more often than I want. I didn’t want Nancy to treat me this way, but it seemed to be the only way to keep going with her, so I agreed to let her do it. I guess that since I agreed to this kind of marriage, I can’t complain about it, but some times when she thinks I deserve a spanking, I don’t think my behavior was that bad. On some other times, I guess I do deserve to be punished.
It’s a long story how it all happened.
Mr. Phillips has not taken his book out of his case; he prefers to watch and wait. Next to him on one side, a very tall man in jeans and a T-shirt is reading the Daily Sport, stopping at every other page to inspect with real care the pictures of naked women, all of whom to Mr. Phillips's eyes have breasts that are implausibly large and unerotically rigid, as if they had been inflated especially for the occasion. Not for the first time Mr. Phillips wonders who these girls are... All of them...have bodies like the girl in the photograph that the man has now stopped looking at as he turns the page to begin reading a piece called "Hanky-Panky No Thanky! Neighbours' Spanking Game Keeps Street Up All Night."
"I come here, look around, look at girls, look at men looking at girls, try to cook up some ideas based on what I see. Tennis, now there's a thought. A whole magazine based on girls playing tennis—girls leaning over showing their bums, glimpses of tit when they throw the ball, that sort of thing... Let's face it, why do you think people watch tennis on the telly in the first place? To get new ideas about the placement and timing of their forehands? Bollocks. It's for the totty. It's basically about women's knickers. They should have a camera trained on them as they serve, a super-slow-motion Knicker-Cam. Or Totty-Cam? You have to give people what they want.
Think of that famous photo with the girl's skirt hitched up and her rubbing her bum. Just a glimpse of cheek, that's all you really get—but what a classic. Not that it makes much sense. Is she supposed to have been hit on the arse by the ball, or what? And why isn't she wearing any knickers? Go brilliantly in a story shoot, that would."
"Dad wasn't much if a tit man, was he?"
"No, it was bums or nothing for the old man."