The Reluctant Partner, part 2

Thank you for your comments on A.J.'s experience with a woman whose husband was reluctant to spank her. Now here's his tale of a man in the same position (excuse the pun!)

A married woman in Arizona I corresponded with years ago, finds out, as wives often do - her husband was having an affair.  It mentally paralyzed her.  Uncontrollable sorrow.  Endless tears.

But he wasn't having a sexual affair with another woman or a prostitute.  A couple times a year he wanted to be spanked, and since all his requests for her to do it came out TOTALLY AND FORCEFULLY, "NO!", he went out and found it somewhere else.  And got caught.

(It just reminded me of a line in the scandalous (and funny) book "The Happy Hooker" from decades back where the former call-girl advises women, "If you won't do it, there is another woman out there somewhere who will!")

Anyway, she was beyond distraught and he tried and tried to explain there was no sex, it was a spanking and nothing more.

She didn't believe him.  So he brought her into the bedroom, and reached deep back into a rarely used drawer of his and brought out a leather strap, one she had never seen, one you would look at and immediately know it had a purpose other than keeping your pants up!  And then he stripped off everything below the waist, handed her the strap, and lay across the bed.

And she took that strap from him and let fly in a fury. Strike after strike, letting all her emotions get taken out on him.  And then she noticed he was arching his butt up to receive the strap.  He wasn't complaining.  And then she (kinda) understood.

But from there, as in all things - they talked, and talked, and talked - and then she was fine with it.  Didn't understand it, but could at least handle it.  A few times a year he wanted to get the belt.  How often? 3-4 times A YEAR.  Maybe take all of 15-20 minutes each time?  So who can't find 30 to 60-minutes over the course of a year?  No one.

So life became good again.  For both of them.

Now the sad part.  A couple years later he was diagnosed with leukemia; two more years he was dead. And she told me her biggest regret was the lost years she had with him where she could have been more accommodating to him and wasn't. She felt terrible.  She blamed herself.  She got over it by trying to help other couples understand.

A very moving story. Thank you for sharing this, A.J.

The Reluctant Partner, part 1

Asking for a spanking for the first time isn't always easy, especially if your partner is reluctant. My good friend and contributor A.J. saw my response to a recent brunch and sent me two stories about spankos with vanilla partners. The first one is about a woman and her reluctant husband, and I can relate to that. Here's what A.J. wrote:

You responded to the last brunch question with:

"I told my husband all about my interest in spanking and asked him to spank me. He obliged, but told me I was sick and perverted. After our divorce..."

That caught my eye!   

It was back in the 1990's and I was thinking about spanking and finding a woman who would like to be on either side of the lap for some OTK fun time.  To keep this short, I found one - in far off California.  I came back to San Diego sometime later and we got together at my hotel.  She walks into the lobby - and she is STUNNINGLY BEAUTIFUL!

But it is early, there is no rush, so - "How about breakfast and we can talk?"  Sure.

During breakfast she tells me she, like you, was on her second marriage because, while she wanted to be spanked by husband #1, he was reluctant.  VERY reluctant.  To the point he also was calling her perverted.  Sound familiar?

So he found a marriage counselor.  Who was a fundamentalist "Christian" minister.  Who piled on her even more.

Disgusted, she walked out hurt and angry and found another marriage counselor; this time, one recommended by professionals, one who had real credentials and none of the religious baggage.

They meet the new counselor.  Her husband lays out his side about the spanking and how sick and perverted it was etc; she tells the counselor,  "Hey!  I just like to be spanked every once in a while!"

The counselor:  "That's it?  You just like being spanked...?

Yes.

He turns to him and tells him to take her home, put her OTK, and spank her!!!  "That's simple and easy to do!"  Then goes on about other people with serious marriage/family problems and - THIS isn't one of them.  Because consensual spanking is common.  Be more responsible and accommodating. The session ended early.

He took her home and spanked her.  But in the end, HE could not shake the idea of spanking coupled with "perversion".  Ultimately, they divorced.  She married again to someone more accepting of giving her the occasional spanking.

I have seen this same story on your blog and other spanking sites where one of the partners just can't understand that a consensual spanking is all right; whether it is him spanking her or, to me, more surprising, that while she likes being spanked - will refuse to spank him - even when he asks for it!  ("It just doesn't feel right...I couldn't do that...I could never do that, this his job," etc.)

And I don't get it.  You are willing to risk your marriage over something as silly as this?

Yes, I guess some people are. Stay tuned for part two, which features a spanko husband and his reluctant wife.

What did they see?

Yesterday morning we were rudely awakened at 3:30 am by a loud, persistent honking noise.

"What's that?" asked Ron sleepily.

"The carbon monoxide detector. We've got to get up and call 911," I replied. I tucked our dog under one arm and hurried to the study where I grabbed the phone and punched in the number. The dispatcher told us to keep the doors and windows closed as the firefighters would be testing the air with sensors.

Ron was simultaneously getting dressed and trying to silence the alarm. I thought putting some clothes on might be a good idea so I put our dog down on the bed and slipped into sweatpants and t-shirt. Then I told Ron to come outside and wait for help to arrive.

I went out into the warm night with my furbaby firmly tucked under my arm and listened. The fire station is only a couple of blocks away so I knew they wouldn't be long. Ron still hadn't exited so when I heard the rumble of a large vehicle I called to him to hurry up, they were almost here.

Then suddenly I remembered our collection of spanking toys displayed on the wall. Where would they actually go with their sensors? Was Ron trying to hide them at the risk of his safety? Ron finally appeared in the doorway with the dog's leash, just in case. I decided not to mention the toys to him. The firefighters had probably seen it all before, and it might make a good story for them to tell back at the station.

The truck pulled up outside our house and three men dressed in full firefighting gear came up the drive.

"Well, you're up," one of them cheerfully greeted us. The three trooped inside and we could hear the persistent honks of the detector. After a few minutes the lead man came out and told us their sensors had not detected any lethal gas or CO.

"Have you done any laundry lately? The house smells like fabric softener or Febreeze," he asked. Then I realized what the noticeable odour was. Ron had spray painted a piece of furniture the previous afternoon, and because of the weather, he had done it in the basement beside the furnace. I told the firefighter that, and he said that the paint odour had been picked up by the air conditioner and circulated through the house and finally set off the alarm. He noticed that the CO detector was nearly at its expiry date, and that they often go wonky before they expire. It couldn't be reset, so we promised to buy a new one that day.

We thanked the men and they departed. We checked the house as we turned off the lights, and figured they had only been in the basement, and maybe in the upstairs hall.

All's well that ends well. Our new CO detector is in position, the painting project is out in the garden shed, and our secret is safe.

Disciplinary Headlines

I'm a big fan of newspapers. Not online, but actually on paper. My high school summer jobs and my first full-time job were at daily newspapers, so I have a special fondness for the smell of newsprint. We subscribe to three papers, plus the weekly free paper full of coloured advertising flyers as well as local news.

Last weekend I saw not one, not two, but three headlines that set my spanko senses tingling. The first was in the national section. It read:

man convicted of impaired paddling

Silly fellow, he must have had a wee dram before putting his victim over his knee. But who called the cops?

The next one was among the international news items, and referred to the televised debates held last week.

[Candidate] takes hard beating at Democratic debate

I didn't see anyone leave his or her podium. it must have been a congratulatory spanking backstage afterward.

The third headline was in the Sports section. Now, you know how common spankoesque headlines appear there, but this one was different. The headline was:

In a pickel

It caught my eye because the word "pickle" was misspelled. I quickly scanned the article to see if the subject was an athlete named Pickel. I didn't find that individual, but discovered that there is actually a sport called pickleball. Ever heard of it? I hadn't, but the equipment is fascinating.

Aren't the balls pretty? But that's not the best bit. The balls are propelled by a paddle.

Mmmm, yummy!

A Gift from Above

I've mentioned before that Ron takes very good care of our cars and is quite particular about them. So imagine his horror when he looked out our front window yesterday afternoon and saw something that displeased him.

"What's that on the car?" he asked, as if I had seen something happen to the car and had the answer.

I was busy in the kitchen so I replied without looking. "I don't know. Probably bird poop." Our cars get targeted regularly by birds, especially at nesting time in the spring.

"No. Come see." I joined him at the window and saw the whole front of the car spattered with what looked like mud. I hurried out to take a closer look. It didn't look like bird poop at all. I leaned closer and took a sniff. The aroma was reminiscent of freshly fertilized fields. Our second car, a few feet away, was likewise anointed.

I reported my findings to Ron, and we wondered if some neighbourhood kids had sprayed our car with something noxious. But the cars were both facing our house, not the street. The following morning, further investigation revealed a portion of the roof near the cars was also spattered with the brown liquid. We often see private planes, helicopters, and small commuter planes fly over our house, so we finally decided that a plane must have emptied the contents of its toilet onto our property as it flew over.

Yuck! That pilot needs a good spanking!

Despite the chilly weather, Ron got out his bucket and brushes, and scrubbed the cars clean right after breakfast. I do hope that, like lightning, airplanes don't strike twice in the same place.

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.

That Hit the Spot

Here's what happened last weekend with the new hairbrush I told you about here.

I presented the bamboo stimulating hairbrush to Ron and waited for his reaction.

"We already have one," he observed.

"No we don't, I explained. (Actually, we have three brushes, not one.) "The one we have is round and has bristles. This one's square and has, um, points."

"I can't get the wrapper off," Ron grumbled, but I decided he was stalling. Some men just can't adapt to something new.

As I removed the cardboard sleeve I explained, "This brush has two sides, for two different sensations. Did you know that some paddles have sandpaper on one side?"

"Like the ping pong paddle?"

"No, that's rubber." I picked it up from out toybox and held it up. "It's only the beginner paddle. Maybe the expert model has sandpaper." (Note to self: check out sporting goods store for expert paddles.)

Ron examined both sides of the brush while I put the ping pong paddle away, prepared myself, and got into position. I was bending over the end of the bed when the flat side of the brush connected with my bare bottom - hard!

"Ow! Take it easy!" I whined.

The swats continued at slightly less intensity.

"I don't know what you're complaining about. You like this, don't you?" Ron asked.

"Haven't you ever heard of a warmup?"

"This is a warmup," Ron explained, then continued, "and it's over" and he stepped up the pace and the force of impact. Then he paused. I waited, then felt a dull, thuddy, not at all painful series of blows. He was using the pointy side of brush with all those stimulating pegs.

"Ooh, that feels strange. Try rubbing my bottom with it." Ron did, and that felt very nice indeed. This brush had been a wise investment,  I thought to myself. But all too soon, it was time for the other side again.

The brush attacked my sit spots again and again. I shuffled my feet and wiggled but maintained position, vocally expressed my displeasure. Ron kept alternating the sides of the brush, sometimes whacking with the pointy side and other times rubbing my increasingly aching backside. When he finally finished and I was allowed to stand, I noticed he was panting from exertion. The brush had cardiovascular benefits for both of us.

I examined my red bottom in the mirror and frowned in a combination of mock displeasure and real pain.

"It hurts," I whined.

Ron grinned and hugged me. "That hit the spot."

The new hairbrush is a keeper!

Seat Slam

I need to preface this story with a little background. Early in our relationship, Ron got the hiccups. No big deal, right? Wrong. To him it was a big deal. After trying for an hour or so to make them stop, he was in a temper. He stormed upstairs and slammed the bedroom door very hard. I was a little shaken by this and wasn't sure what would happen next, but kept out of his way until he eventually emerged, hiccup-free.

The next day I teased him about door-slamming being a new home remedy to cure the hiccups, and from then on, whenever they attacked him, Ron would say jokingly, "I need a door to slam." He never actually did it again, nor has he ever lost his temper over the hiccups since.

Recently I was in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner, when Ron approached me from behind and delivered a solid whack to my left posterior.

"Ow!" I exclaimed in mock indignation. "What was that for?"

"I have the hiccups," Ron explained. "I didn't want to have to slam a door."

"So?"

His hand connected with my right cheek in an equally forceful manner. "That was a seat slam!"

He's so considerate.

Reality TV and Spanking

Wouldn't it be funny if, during an episode of a reality show, the participants unexpectedly discovered that TTWD goes on?

Maybe on an episode of Hoarders, the declutterers uncover a stash of spanking implements beneath the piles of old newspapers.

"I wondered where those paddles had got to. What? Yes, I do need thirty, as a matter of fact."

Or perhaps on House Hunters, the couple looking for a larger house is shown that special room on the third floor. Pity the poor real estate agent trying to sell this property.

"Er, yes, this furniture is a little unusual. The straps are probably removable.  I'm not sure why they have those chains hanging from the ceiling, but you can easily covert this space into... Come to think of it, I guess this is the Master suite.

I actually saw a similar scene on a show in which the adult children arrange for their parents to go out of town, then hire a team to renovate and update their old-fashioned home. The children and decorators were in their parents' bedroom, and the son reached under the bed and pulled out a container.

"Oops!" he said, and slid the box back under. We never found out what secrets were stored inside, but my guess is their spanking secret was exposed along with the dust bunnies!

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.

Spank Quietly

A woman in Britain will go to jail for eight weeks if she keeps on having noisy sex, a court ruled recently. She and her husband keep their neighbours awake at night with sounds described in court as "unnatural" and "like they were both in considerable pain".

For the next year, to avoid a prison term, the couple will have sex in the mornings instead.

And will spank with quieter implements too, I hope.

Read the complete story here.

Now available on eBay

I know what you're thinking: I'm scraping the bottom of the idea barrel. But I had to show you this:




It's a potato that Ron was about to slice for dinner, but he showed me its unusual shape first. I took one look and saw - naturally - a bum! He was happy to let me take it away to the corner that I call the "studio" and snap a picture of it.

And I lied. It's not really on eBay. Ron turned it into French fries, and they were delicious!

Blackout

We have had some bad winter weather recently, and that include a power outage a few days ago.

The actual blackouts happened at night and were intermittent, so the power went off then came back on several times during the night. You'd think it wouldn't matter whether the power was on or off since it was dark and we were all asleep, right? Wrong. The carbon monoxide detector let out an unearthly wail each time its source of electricity stopped and started, and that woke us up. Fluffy had a panic attack from the noise, and Fang decided that since he was awake, he needed to go out for a potty break.

Ron tried to find the flashlight, and opened the drawer of his bedside table - the same drawer that holds many of our spanking implements. I heard him rummaging among them, cursing them and getting more irate by the second. Finally he gave up and slammed the drawer shut. I was secretly relieved: he seemed ready to use one of the paddles on the nearest bottom!

I managed to find my way to the door and slip out with the full dog while leaving the hysterical one behind. Once in the kitchen, the moonlight streaming through the window gave me enough light to find another flashlight as I let Fang out and waited for him to finish.

When we both got back to the bedroom I was met with a small bright light shining straight into my eyes. Ron had found the flashlight after all. I smiled as I imagined him methodically lifting the implements out one by one until he had a bouquet of them in one hand and the flashlight was the only thing left in the drawer. I didn't let him know I thought the situation was funny; he was entirely too close to all those implements. But the next morning we had a good laugh about it.

I wouldn't want to work...

... for the city of Bozeman, Montana. If you apply for a job with the city, you'll find this on the application:

"Please list any and all current personal or business websites, web pages or memberships on any Internet-based chat rooms, social clubs or forums, to include, but not limited to: Facebook, Google, Yahoo, YouTube.com, MySpace, etc."

That's not all. It also requires the applicant's user names and password information for all those sites.

Obviously that would also include members of Fetlife and Spankolife.

Would you out yourself for the sake of a job? How would you fill out that application? How much or how little information would you include?


Late-breaking news: After this story hit the blogopshere, the city had so many complaints that the requirement was removed from the application form.