A different kind of spanking

Many of our spankings are planned in advance; they are long, intense, and involve various levels of pain. Then there are the short, sharp ones that are quite unexpected but very welcome. Finally there are the spankings that deliver little but promise much. That's the kind I want to tell you about.

Ron and I were in the kitchen preparing dinner. Whenever he seemed to think I was in his way, he would give me a pat on the bottom as an indication to move over. That was fun, and I seemed to be in his way far more often than was strictly necessary.

After we had eaten and were clearing the table, I bent over the dishwasher to put in the plates and cutlery. I felt a sharp smack, first on one cheek, then the other. A hand returned to the first cheek and stroked it gently but firmly, then repeated the massage on the other side, then in the cleft between them. When the hand withdrew, I straightened up and shut the dishwasher, wondering what would happen next.

I got my answer when I opened the refrigerator and put some leftovers on the lowest shelf. One hard swat on my bottom was followed by several more. When I stood up, Ron's hand slipped under the elastic waistband of my black velour pants and caressed my cheeks. He then thrust his hand under my panties and explored further.

"Mmmmm, that feels good," I purred.

"Shall we leave the rest of the cleanup till the morning?"

"That works for me."

I have to admit that there was no more spanking that evening, but the alternative was very nice indeed.

Amuse, Abuse

Although we have planned weekly spankings, Ron loves to launch unexpected sneak attacks whenever he can. Recently I was clearing some clutter off the coffee table - something Ron is very strict about, because I tend to use it as a dumping ground - when I suddenly felt a sharp smack on my bottom.

I froze and held my breath. It was soon followed by several more. I thought this was slightly odd; after all, I was clearing off the table before the piles got too high.

"I hope you're amusing yourself," I remarked a bit sarcastically.

Ron  didn't miss a beat. "Amusing myself; abusing yourself," and gave me a final pat to send me on my way.

Not abuse, of course. I loved every minute of it.

Hat Trick

A nasty flu virus has been lurking in our office, and the sounds of coughing and sneezing fill the air all day. When I felt the symptoms of a stuffy nose and the urge to cough, I feared I had caught the plague.

Ron noticed the cough and sympathetically asked if I was sick. I said I might be, and got out the bottle of Cold-FX. I took two and left the bottle on the table as a reminder for the morning.

We prepared dinner together and I managed to eat, even though I had little appetite. Spanking was the last thing on my mind. Ron, however, had different ideas.

When we had finished, and I was clearing the plates from the table, I felt a sudden, unexpected impact on my bottom. I froze, waiting. Another whack, this time on the other cheek. I put the plates down, rested my elbows on the table, and endured several more hard handspanks. They felt ouchy but good.

When Ron stopped, I resumed my kitchen duties. As I bent down to pick up a dropped napkin, he made another assault on my bottom. Well, this was turning into an interesting evening.

The third and final set of whacks was short, and happened as I stood at the fridge, putting away the leftovers. One smack on my left cheek, then a pause.

"I'm uneven. I don't like that," I complained.

Ron rectified the situation with a second smack.

"That's better." But my pleasure was short-lived when I felt a third slap to the left.

"Now I'm uneven again."

"It's over," said Ron, and I had to be content with feeling lop-sided.

And what of my flu symptoms? They had vanished. Was it the Cold-FX, that miraculous preventer of colds? Perhaps the tasty meal of spaghetti and red wine had something to do with it; tomatoes are thought to have have special properties, and red wine is good for you. But my money is on the spanking hat trick. Three spankings in a row is enough to clear anyone's head and banish chest congestion. I heartily recommend it.

Beat it

Last night we enjoyed some homemade pickled beets with dinner. Between us we managed to finish the jar, leaving only some pieces of onion floating in the tangy red liquid.

As we cleared the table, Ron grabbed the jar and announced that he would dump the contents down the drain. He knew this would annoy me because I am a fervent composter.

"No, it goes into the green bin." I carefully strained out the solid vegetable matter, then bent over the compost bucket and coaxed the pieces out of the jar.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

Ron decided to administer an impromptu paddling while I was in the appropriate position.

"Beats, beets. Get it?" he chortled, as his hand warmed my bottom.

"Yes, I - ouch! - get it. Very funny."

You've gotta love a man who enjoys his homonyms. But I think that tomorrow we'll have bread and butter pickles with dinner.

Sneak Attack

 








The other day, after Ron and I had finished dinner and cleared the table, we and the dogs headed for the family room. Fluffy and Fang were excited; they would be getting their evening biscuits before we all settled in to watch TV. Fang was tucked under my arm as I led the way, and Fluffy danced around us in anticipation while Ron brought up the rear.

Whack!

Ron had made a sneak attack on my bottom. My right cheek throbbed. We heard the clatter of toenails on the tile floor as Fluffy scrambled out of the room to get away from the noise. Fang remained unconcerned, his mind on the impending treats.

"You scared him," I chuckled. Then I reached back with my free hand, rubbed my sore cheek, then contemplated its untouched mate.

"Scare him again."

Whack!

The second smack hurt much more than the first one, but I was happy. I like everything to be even.

A Television Startle

One of our favourite television programs from last season was Boston Med. This reality show was filmed inside three large hospitals in Boston, and each episode featured  three medical cases as well as the doctors, nurses and patients involved in them. It was the last place I thought I would see some spanking, but then, you never know!

Here is the synopsis of episode four:

A trauma surgeon fiercely committed to his work operates on a pregnant woman who was shot in the chest; a teen with a diseased heart waits patiently for a transplant; a pair of surgical residents take advantage of time off for a night on the town; an ER nurse relaxes on a cruise with her coworkers.

The picture above is of the nurse, relaxing on her cruise. To me, it looked very much like she was bending over for a spanking. The shot was repeated several times during the hour, as a teaser of what was to come, When it finally appeared in the storyline, I lost myself in fantasy and imaginings. Then I heard Ron say, "Did you see that spanking?"

"What? Do you mean that nurse bent over?"

"No, the next scene." My daydreaming had made me miss the real thing! 

I rewound the tape (we still use a VCR) and played the scene again. Sure enough, right after the scene on the cruise ship, the action switched to the club where the residents were enjoying themselves. A closeup of a male, his back to the camera, then a female hand landing a hard swat on his posterior!

That was worth rewinding. We laughed, exchanged knowing looks and carried on with the show. I hope there is more spanking this season, if Boston Med returns.

Sleepy Spanking

This weekend has been absolutely phenomenal in terms of weather. The temperatures are seriously higher than seasonal, and it feels like midsummer instead of early spring. We have all been spending long hours outside, and after a frigid winter of staying indoors where it's warm, we are intoxicated by the fresh air and sunshine.

Fluffy, our crazy young dog, runs laps around the yard when he isn't chasing squirrels and robins. Fang, a sedate older canine, enjoys strolling and sniffing for squirrel poop. When he finds some, he rolls in it blissfully. Crookshanks the cat watches them both disdainfully from the window. Ron and I have been raking, cleaning, and otherwise preparing for another busy season of gardening, barbecuing and enjoying the backyard.

All this sun and exercise takes its toll. By late afternoon we all feel quite exhausted. It isn't so much the activity as the fresh air. We have had our fill of moving around and doing things. We will adjust to outdoor activities in a week or so; it's only the first few days that affect us this way. But I suspect that any spanking I receive this weekend will be delivered and received by two sleepy people with their eyes half-closed, stifling yawns between the swats. And the dogs won't even notice; they'll be fast asleep!

Instead of hunting for Easter eggs, you just might find me curled up under a bush beside one. Happy egg hunting, and happy Easter!

Politically Correct Spanking

Lost and Found

Last year I found a wonderful place to buy small but unique gifts for the holidays. Lately I have been making plans for another excursion to the same location, but while cleaning my closet I came across this wooden spoon.

I had picked it up last year, intending to present it to Ron at just the right moment, but somehow I either lost my nerve or misplaced the spoon. So, I couldn't justify another trip that might result in more implements coming home without trying out last year's find.

I considered leaving the spoon on Ron's bedside table as an obvious hint, then thought better of it and slipped it into the drawer. I'd let him make the ultimate decision.

That decision came sooner than I expected. We were rather overdue for some intimate time together, and the pillows were arranged against the headboard of the bed. I was in for an over the lap spanking. Ron reached for one of the implements hanging on the bedpost, then stopped. Ever the gentleman, he politely inquired, "What would you like?"

"Pick something short," I advised. He looked at the pillows and thought a minute, then opened the drawer.

"When did you get this?" He held the spoon up and examined it.

"Oh, last year some time. I'm not sure exactly."

Ron smacked it against his palm a time or two, then settled himself against the pillows and motioned for me to assume the position. I did so, wriggling a little to get comfortable. I felt the bowl of the spoon pressed against my cheek, and waited.

Smack! Ow! Smack! Ow! it had been a long time since the last wooden spoon spanking, and I had forgotten what a wallop they packed. I squeaked after every stroke and kicked my legs. Ron had to caution me to keep still, and I did with difficulty. For some reason, the swats to my left cheek hurt twice as much as those to the right.

"I think I should return that thing to the store," I grumbled.

"Do you want to try something else?"

"No, I'm okay."

Then Ron got creative. Instead of the steady right-left pattern, it became three right, three left, two right, four left. Then the swats started falling at irregular intervals, in some bizarre pattern. I thought to myself, Morse code? Who is he trying to contact? Or is he beating time to a song only he can hear? What the heck is it? Buddy Holly? Whatever it was, the strange uneven beat made me giggle, even as the swats stung me. Encouraged, he continued performing his percussion on my posterior.

Ron stopped, put the spoon down, and gently stroked my bottom. I relaxed; that felt good. Then he resumed his rhythmic right-left pattern, but with his open hand. Slow, even swats, back and forth, that felt like caresses to me. I love hand spanking, but rarely get it except for playful swats while I'm clothed. He didn't stop for what seemed like a long time.

Then after a little pause the spoon was put into action once more. This time I barely felt the sting. I kept silent and still and drank in the heat, the sound, and the impact and well as the warmth and strength of my husband's body beneath me. I didn't want it to end. The rhythm became erratic once more. Jerry Lee Lewis, I guessed.

The solo ended, and Ron began to gently rub my bottom. Mmmm, this is nice, I thought. I hope he keeps on doing it. I wonder if he'll use his hand again. I hope so. But this is nice. I love bum rubs even more than back rubs. Maybe I should ask him to spank with his hand again. But this is nice. He isn't stopping. I'm so happy, I think I'll close my eyes. I wonder if his eyes are closed too. Mmmm, this is nice....

Before I actually fell asleep, Ron's hand slipped between my legs for a different kind of stroking. I abandoned any thoughts of a snooze as I rapidly became aroused. In an unusually short time his gentle touch had brought me to the edge and I was soaring.

That spoon was a wise investment.

Autumn Colours

Thanksgiving Day was sunny and warm. We had eaten our fill of turkey with all the trimmings the day before and we both had the day off work. We decided to go for a drive to admire the changing colours of the leaves; it was the perfect time to see them at their best.
I was delighted to go on the excursion, but not so thrilled with the thought of sitting in a car for several hours straight. We had finished off the previous day with a spanking, and my bottom was still quite sensitive. Ron had had a preview of some autumn colours as he turned my bottom several shades of pink and red with his hand. I don't know how he knew I'd been hoping for a hand spanking; that man has a knack for reading my mind. I had welcomed the intimate feeling that only skin to skin contact can produce, but as he got underway, he surprised me with the force of his impact. It made me wonder, and not for the first time, how his hand could hurt so much more than any of our leather implements. Let's just say I was a lot more vocal than usual!
We got underway and once we were out of the city I forgot about my discomfort. We passed tree-lined fields, farms and villages, and forests presenting a massed display of many shades of green, red, yellow, orange and brown. Every so often we would drive by a lake. There was absolutely no wind that day, and the water's surface mirrored the colourful display above. It was a picture postcard day.

I thought back to the last time we had traveled the route, many years ago. We had not yet experienced the delights of spanking; that was still several months in the future. We were both grieving the unexpected loss of a much-loved dog. Her young and frightened successor was in the car with us, enduring her first outing with people who were still strangers to her. This time, I felt peaceful and relaxed, thanks in part to the stress reliever of the night before.
Our destination was a mountain with a lookout site. The parking lot was nearly full; it was a popular destination for many families that day. The view was spectacular. We looked down on miles and miles of colourful trees, intermixed with houses, barns, roads, and a lake dotted with boats.
After taking a few pictures, we hiked along a trail through the woods. Several times we passed large fallen logs, and I half-wondered what it would feel like to be bent over one and spanked. Not that I really wanted another one so soon, but it was fun to imagine. There was too much likelihood that we would be surprised by other hikers, so we didn't stop to experiment.
We returned to the car and went in search of something to eat. Last time, we had eaten a picnic lunch at a table under the trees so that our young dog could share the meal with us. This time we stopped at a small country inn and had a delicious meal. Then we had the pleasure of retracing our route along the bright, tree-lined roads all the way home.
It was the perfect end to a weekend devoted to giving thanks for all that we have together.