From the Top Shelf - Andy's in Trouble Again

A few weeks ago we met Andy, from Tales from a Switch by Rollin Hand.   A husband and father, Andy behaved more like an over grown boy, until his wife decided to "take him in hand" for his antics. That settled him down for a while, but it seems he's up to his old tricks again.

Andy was actually pretty good for awhile after that. Oh, he was still his irreverent self, but he restrained his most over-the-top impulses. But you can’t keep a good man down, I suppose, and truth is, I wouldn’t want him to change. All I wanted was for him to stop doing things that were stupid and had potential to hurt us or himself. So when the phone rang at 2 am on a Saturday night in the Summer, I thought, ‘Oh, no. What now’?

The boys in Andy’s informal gang had gone fishing. They were going to get back late after cooking the fish they caught (right!) at the campground by the lake. But now here was Andy saying I had to come and get him. And I naturally had to ask what had happened.

They had all gone in Phil’s SUV and it seems that Phil’s SUV was now stuck in a ditch. Well, it sounded innocent enough, but I’d learned that with Andy, sometimes things are not what they seem.

I picked up a rather sheepish Andy and the two of the guys (I was the only one with a big SUV to haul everyone), but Phil’s wife had come to get Phil because he might need stitches for his head, they said.

On the ride home the story came out. They had sat around the fire after it got dark and Andy and Rob and Gary had started talking about Bigfoot and how they’d heard that years ago there had been Bigfoot sightings here and how now some game warden had found strange footprints. So then Andy says he’s got to take a leak. He’s gone for a bit and next thing you know, Bigfoot comes crashing out of the woods snarling and growling. Well, of course it’s Andy in a gorilla suit, but Phil, who is a nice guy but very gullible, starts screaming and jumps up, runs to his truck, jumps in, steps on it and rams it into the ditch hitting his head on the steering wheel. Meanwhile all the other guys are cracking up.

Rob’s wife Helen is fuming when I get him home and they have to tell her the story. “Dammit, Rob! Of all the damn fool things, you just sleep somewhere else tonight.”

I said to Helen, “Don’t be too hard on him, Helen. Everyone’s ok. You know, boys will be boys.”

So after I drop off Rob and Gary I said to Andy, “What in God’s name were you thinking?”

And he said, “It was just a joke. Who knew Phil would jump in his truck in a panic like that?”

And I said, “A big hairy monster comes tearing out of the woods and you wonder why Phil panicked?”

Andy finally admitted that maybe this one was a little over the top. I told him that there were going to be some
consequences for this one and he said “What do you mean?”

I told him he knew what I meant, and he just groaned. Then he asked hopefully, “What happened to ‘boys will be boys’?”

I said “Andy, I know boys will be boys and it should have been a good joke, but things went wrong and now Phil’s hurt. And you guys should pay for any damage to the truck. Meanwhile I’m going to remind you why this was not a good idea. Yeah, boys will be boys and when they are they get boy-type consequences.”

I told him we’d deal with it the next day, I was too tired. The next morning Andy wa not in bed and I came down to find breakfast all made and Andy bright as a cherub. I told him it was very nice and considerate for him to do this and I loved him dearly, but I also said that he should send the kids out to play as we had some business.

Andy’s face fell. Maybe he thought I’d relent, but he should have known that once I set on a course, there’s no turning back. We did the dishes together and when the last plate had gone in the dishwasher I said, “Ok my sweet man, downstairs with you. Right now.” I gave him a pat on the butt to urge him along. Andy rolled his eyes but he knew not to argue.

I went upstairs to look for something suitable. This was sort of at a different level than the prior time.  Someone could have been hurt. Andy had several leather belts and I selected a wide one that looked like it should go with outdoor garb. It was nice and supple and when I folded it back on itself it was about 18 inches long.

Andy saw the belt in my hand and swallowed hard. “Are you…?” he asked pointing at the belt. I said, “I think this is appropriate for boyish hijinks. I understand that this is the instrument of choice in woodsheds everywhere. So let’s get going. Turn around, face the back of the sofa and lower those pants.” Andy stifled a groan but undid his belt and let his pants drop. “Briefs too, dear.” Andy started to protest but I was firm. Andy shucked his underwear down to his knees.

I said, “Look at it this way. You feel bad about Phil and you feel bad about hauling me out in the middle of the night. So I’m going to give you a licking with this belt alright, but then it’s done. By the time I’m done you will have paid for this little screw-up. So bend over and hold on.”

Andy bent over, bottoms up. I put my hand on the small of his back to steady him and reared back with the belt. It came down with a thwack! and a red band appeared across Andy’s bottom cheeks. Andy sucked in his breath but stayed still and I let him have another. Then another. More red bands appeared. Andy kept up a steady stream of “whew!...ahh….owww!” but I whipped the belt down across his rear end repetitively, about once every five seconds. One time Andy started to stand up, but I just said, “Stay down, we’re not done yet.”

Andy said, “For God’s sake Rachael, how many more?”

I had lashed him maybe twenty-five times and his butt was getting very red so I said, “Ten more and count each one.” I decided these would be a little harder so he’d remember, so I stood back, measured my distance and really let him have it. The belt thwacked and he yelled, “Oww…one.” The result was the same for the remaining nine. I took my time, lined up the stroke and delivered it square across both cheeks. The loud splat! and Andy’s yelp of distress told me that these last few licks were imprinting the lesson well.

I told Andy to stand, and like the last time, I went to him, took him in my arms and kissed him passionately. I told him to take the belt upstairs and put it away, but someplace where he’d know where it was. As he pulled up his pants I could see that he had an erection. That night we made love and it was as passionate as the first time.

We both realized by now that there was something about a whipping that made us both randy. Andy admitted this to me later. “My butt was blazing for hours afterward, but later it was just a warm glow and I started to feel aroused. But just so you know, I’d rather have my sex without a whipping first if you don’t mind.”

And I said, “Stick to the straight and narrow, my love, and that belt will stay right where you put it.”

I hope Andy has learned his lesson.

From the Top Shelf - Wondering

The Spank Shop is an excellent blog that Aunty Andrea keeps well-stocked with an assortment of spanking fiction. A story I especially liked is an F/m one called I Know You're Wondering written by Esskay. Here's a sample to whet your appetite:

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.

Enjoy the rest of the story here, and do check out the archives for more.

Now you're in trouble

"How many times have I told you that you must wipe the glasses carefully, by hand, to remove the water spots. Now come with me..."

This picture was in an advertisement for a water softener, and did not include the admonishment that appears above it. I couldn't help but notice the no-nonsense look on her face and decided to add what I assumed she might have been saying.

Somebody is in for a spanking, don't you think?

From the Top Shelf - When the Master Speaks

I rediscovered When the Master Speaks by Josephine Scott recently, and it's a fascinating book. The chapters alternate between letters written in 1869 and events that take place in 1969.

This selection is an erotic fantasy that one of the modern characters is imagining.

I am walking along the road, an address in my mind, aware of being on time to visit a mistress.

Here, this is the house, with neat railings and manicured garden, with beautifully cared for wooden door and glittering brass knockers and letter box. This is it. My nemesis my pain my dues.

My fluttering nerves can surely be heard a hundred yards away! The dryness of my mouth, the dampness of my palms, oh why am I walking here, what am I doing here, what is the matter with me? Walking toward pain.

The door opens as if by magic... She is there, my mistress.

"Come" and I follow. A dungeon. A playroom, she calls it, a room with padded benches and horses to bend over straps for suffering and a mirror to see. And racks of implements of pain and pleasure awaiting my skin my skin my skin.

Over her knees, her cool skin on mine, for I am stripped to nothing to be sure she misses no part of me she wishes to hurt. Over her knees feeling childish and waiting for the sting of whatever she chooses, never her hands, her white hands with the glittering red nails are not allowed to touch someone, she prefers to use something hard and inflexible usually. Now, a paddle.

Flat and hard, it covers a wide area, it smacks on this cheek and that and I gasp and writhe and she orders me to be still and I am.

Over a padded bench, hands secured to the legs, ankles secured to each other, helpless, cannot balance, must lean forward,  must throw body weight into the bench as she has designed it to do. Helpless. Bottom red and stinging, helpless I await the tawse, her favourite, a three tailed heavy one that is well used, flexible, well able to deliver a violent and nasty sting, as it does now. Twelve from one side, twelve from the other.

I know the drill, she has done it before. Twelve times standing to my right, the thickness of the leather and delight of the leather wrapping itself around me covering both cheeks at once, covering the stinging redness of the paddle, covering my skin, I cry out for release and yet delight in the pain, for the pain goes deep and touches every erotic feeling I have. Thrills and spills thrill of anticipation and apprehension of fear and longing and she knows it.

She stands, I get twelve strokes from her standing to my left, the leather wrapping itself over the weals already inflicted, I am crying out and protesting and getting nowhere for the twelve will come whether I want it or not, and I do want it, of course I do, it is my desire, my feeling, my own decision to be there.

I am allowed to rest and wait to stand and to rub and to ease the pain a little before the cane, oh twelve hard nasty cuts with a fine whippy cane are enough and then and then and then...

Satisfaction is achieved.