Happy Spanksgiving

Thank you to all my faithful readers. I couldn't have continued all these years without your kind support.

Slava Ukraini
Glory to Ukraine

Happy Thanksgiving

A very happy Thanksgiving to all my American friends.

Here's how to stuff a turkey the Canadian way.

Glory to Ukraine

To all my American friends

From the Top Shelf - Thanksgiving

Today is Thanksgiving Day in Canada, a time when we celebrate the bountiful harvest our rich land provides for us. We remember all the things that we have to be thankful for, and one of those, of course, is spanking. I have an excerpt from the first chapter of a very funny book by Dara Ames, called TV Dinners for Thanksgiving, published by Blushing Books.

It was one of those hectic days at work, but I knew better than try to convince Trey I didn’t have time after school to go grocery shopping for Thanksgiving.  He’d been on my butt for the last week to go and get food to serve his family for the holiday, but since I hate to cook, and really don’t know how to fix much of anything but pasta, I put it off.  Last night he got that certain look on his face, you know the one I mean… the one that says he’s about ready to apply his hand to my very tender bottom, and told me I’d procrastinated long enough and if I didn’t get my shopping done before he came home today I was going to get a sound spanking.

Yes, I am married to a man who believes in spanking!  I don’t know where he gets it from, either.  Trey’s Dad certainly never spanks his Mom or she wouldn’t act like such a bossy witch all the time!  And I know that his sisters have never had a spanking in their entire life… It shows!  So, where Trey gets this quirk, I don’t know.  It couldn’t possibly be that I brought it out in him like my girlfriend, Clarissa, always teases.  It just comes as naturally to Trey as breathing, and for some reason I don’t understand, I agreed to be a spanked wife!  Of course, I try to make sure those spankings don’t happen very often!  I’m not fond of sitting on a spanked bottom.

Trey has invited his entire extended family of forty-two people for Thanksgiving dinner, and expects Josie to feed them all. Josie takes the easy way out and buys frozen TV dinners and figures her troubles are over, bit in fact, they've only just begun. At dinner that evening:

...We talked of work, like we usually did, and once we finished, Trey said, “I want some sherbet for dessert.”

“Mmmm, me too!” I agreed.  I jumped up to get bowls and spoons while Trey went to the freezer to get the sherbet.  I suddenly remembered that opening the freezer door wasn’t a good idea, but my, “No!  Wait!” was too late!

Trey had already opened the freezer door and several frozen TV dinners came tumbling down.  “What the…  What is this, Josie?” he asked, bending down to pick them up.  “What in the name of God did you buy this many turkey dinners for?”  I could see the exact second he figured it out.  His normally warm brown eyes darkened in fury and disbelief.  “Please tell me you didn’t do what I think you did?”

“Well, why not, Trey?  They are a dollar each, and they have turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, and peas!  A complete dinner, and all we have to do is heat them up and serve them.  Voila!  Thanksgiving Dinner!” I said proudly.  “I bought some cranberry sauce from the deli, too,” I added virtuously.  “And, I got Mrs. Smith’s pumpkin pies to bake, and I got Cool Whip for on top.  I’ve got it all covered.”

“You. Can’t. Be. Serious!” Trey said in a strangled tone of voice, looking at me as if I had two heads.

“Of course I’m serious!  You know I hate to cook, and I stood there for nearly half an hour looking at turkeys, and I didn’t know what to buy… so, I got dinners instead.”

“You are NOT serving my family TV dinners for Thanksgiving dinner, Josephine Adele Drake Pearson!  I won’t have it!”

“Then you’d better plan on cooking yourself!” I told him, my famous temper coming to my defense.  “I told you that I can’t cook, but you and your big mouth had to invite your entire family for Thanksgiving to see the new house!  What were you thinking, Trey?  I don’t know how to cook a turkey… so I did the next best thing.  Those dinners cost a dollar each.  I can’t cook a turkey dinner for that price.  Your family can just eat it or go hungry!” I declared.

“I repeat, you are not serving TV dinners to my family for Thanksgiving dinner!”

“I spent our budget on the dinners, and on getting the pies and cranberry sauce.  I even got some nice napkins and paper plates for dessert.  It’s fine, Trey.”

“It is NOT fine.  Good grief, Josie, you know my family by now.  You know they expect a traditional dinner.”

“They’re getting a traditional dinner,” I argued.

“A TV dinner is not traditional.  Traditional is a real turkey with all the trimmings, cooked here.”

“The turkey is real, and I’ll be cooking it here in the oven!”

“Okay, this is a prank.  You’re just doing this to yank my chain.  Those boxes are empty, aren’t they?  You put everyone up to saving them for you just to get my goat…!” Trey looked at me expectantly.  I glared at him.  He shook his head.  “Josie, you’d better not have blown our budget on TV dinners or I am going to set your sweet little butt on fire!”

“You told me to get the Thanksgiving shopping done, and I did!”

“I did not tell you to waste money buying TV dinners!” Trey exploded.

I suddenly realized that Trey was not as delighted as I thought he would be with my wonderful idea.  In fact, he was upset, royally pissed, and I was pretty darn sure that I should have claimed the whole thing a joke when I had the chance…  You know what they say about hind sight…?  But, I didn’t do that and Trey was livid.  Why did I have to pick now to remember that Trey thought frozen dinners tasted like the cardboard box they came in?

I was fully prepared to defend my turkey dinners when I glanced at Trey’s face again and realized he was wearing his ‘Ricky Ricardo’ expression… the one that meant poor Lucy was about to get a spanking!  I quickly decided that a strategic retreat was in order, and turned to run.  I made it about five steps before Ricky, I mean Trey, overtook me and spun me around with one hand wrapped around my arm just above the elbow.  He stopped by the jar where I keep my cooking utensils and grabbed a bowl scraper that some misguided fool, my Great-Aunt Josephine, gave us for a wedding gift!  I’m sure my spinster aunt had no clue that the bowl scraper would be put to use in this manner, but Trey thought it absolutely perfect for warming my bottom.  I wasn’t nearly so enthused with the idea, and right now I was wishing that I could destroy the darned thing!

Trey pulled me over to the table and pushed me facedown over the hard surface.  He started spanking over the seat of my jeans with the scraper and I hollered from the very first smack.  I was convinced that making as much noise as possible during a spanking only served to prove that Trey was killing me and would cause him to stop sooner.  It didn’t work, but I kept trying anyway.  “You are not serving frozen TV dinners to my family for Thanksgiving, young lady!”

“I didn’t intend to serve them frozen, Trey!  I was going to heat them up, and transfer the food to our nice plates!” I told him.  “It would work!”

“It won’t work!” he spanked harder and I yelled louder.  He stopped, I sighed in relief, but Trey wasn’t finished as I thought.  He reached underneath me and unfastened my jeans and tugged them down to my knees, and my panties came down with the jeans, leaving my poor bottom all bare and defenseless.  The scraper hurt a lot worse when applied to bare skin, and Trey was truly irritated with me and intended to prove it to me.  My cries of pain were a lot more genuine now, and I was starting to feel just a bit sorry for my brilliant idea.

“I have never heard of anything more ridiculous in my entire life, Josephine Adele Drake Pearson!  TV dinners for Thanksgiving!  What were you thinking!”  He continued to spank me with the scraper and I was howling in pain.

“Owwww!  Come on, Trey, stop this now!  Can’t you see you’re taking off my skin?” I complained.  “It hurts!” I proclaimed.  “Please, honey!” I begged.  Nothing worked.  That darn scraper fell regularly, seemingly at random, turning my cheeks, my upper thighs, and the really tender area in between a flaming red.  I felt like he’d set fire to my bottom!”  “Trey!  Enough, please!  I have to sit and grade papers tonight!” I reminded him, hoping for a bit of sympathy.  He knew how hard I had to work.  “Oh, honey, please stop now!”

“You wasted at least forty-five dollars on worthless cardboard dinners, and I guarantee you will be using them for your lunches for the next forty-five school days, Mrs. Pearson, is that understood?”

“You can’t be serious!” I declared.  “I don’t even like turkey that much!  And I hate peas!”

Read the complete chapter here. You might even want to buy the book to see what happens next. (Hint: there are more spankings in store for Josie.)

Friday FAIL

In Canada we will be celebrating Thanksgiving Day on Monday, and here's what every busy cook needs to make the meal special. An inflatable turkey.

It's available here,  and this is the product description:

This inflatable turkey, complete with an oven-perfect skin, is almost good enough to eat.

The next time you invite people over for Thanksgiving, serve them this turkey first and watch their horrified expressions ... but be sure to have real turkey or they'll probably stuff you with it.

If eating turkey isn't your thing, there's meatloaf

For dessert, how about a lovely cupcake?

Or a nice slice of fruitcake.

Yum yum.

To My American Friends

We won't be having turkey, but Ron will be enjoying the football game.

And the half-time show.

A Thanksgiving Tale

This fictional account is based on a 100-word "drabble" I wrote last year for a contest Thomas was having on his blog. I decided to expand it to a longer story. It's based on a true misadventure - I really did burn the sauce one year - but it's pure fantasy.


Alice sat at her dressing table, carefully applying eyeliner. She wanted to look her best, and had planned and worked hard to make this day perfect. She would proudly serve her first Thanksgiving dinner to their families and everyone would think she was a wonderful cook.

"What's going on down here?" Matt's angry shout broke into her thoughts. Alice jumped up, put down her brush and ran to the bedroom door, wondering what all the fuss was about. Then she remembered. She hurried down the stairs and into the kitchen, where she was greeted by clouds of black smoke and Matt's angry face.

"How many times have I told you not to walk away when you've got something boiling on the stove," he barked.

"Oh, I forgot. I only went upstairs for a minute, to put on my . . ."

"I don't care why you went upstairs. Look at this mess."


Alice looked. A pot sat on the stove. Thick red lava foamed and bubbled and spilled over the rim onto the stovetop, where it sizzled and blackened and hardened on the hot ceramic surface. The knob was turned to OFF but the heat would take a while to dissipate. The air smelled of burned sugar.

"My cranberry sauce!" she exclaimed. Then, "I'm sorry, Matt. I didn't mean to."

"You never mean to. But you always do it again. This time I'm going to teach you a lesson."

"What do you mean?"

Matt reached out and set the stove timer. "You have fifteen minutes to clean up this mess. Then I want you to go upstairs to my office, take off your skirt and panties, and bend over the desk." He gestured to the wooden spoon balanced on the spoon rest in a puddle of sauce. "And bring that with you."

"But your parents are due in half an hour. And I need to baste the turkey. Please, Matt . . ."

"Fourteen minutes."

Alice knew arguing would only fan the flames, and result in a harder spanking, so she set about trying to salvage some of the sauce. Her hands shook as she ran hot water on the wooden spoon then dried it carefully. She was not going to risk getting cranberry sauce on her new black velvet skirt as part of her punishment. As she scrubbed the stove in a frantic effort to remove the hardened sugar, she thought with some trepidation about her fate.

She would slowly climb the stairs to Matt's study, remove her panties and skirt, carefully place them on the back of the desk chair, and bend over the desk. The wooden spoon would lie waiting on the smooth surface just beside her elbow. Then she would listen for the sound of his footsteps on the stairs. She would not look at him. Head down, hands gripping the edge of the desk in front of her, she would hear him scold her again.


He would adjust her blouse so that it protected nothing, then place a hand on her back, pressing down so she knew there was no escape. lecture her, tell her how careless and irresponsible she had been again. She would agree and apologize. He would grasp the spoon by its handle and press the curved bowl against her curve. He would raise his arm. She would hold her breath and squeeze her eyes shut. He would spank her, hard and long. She would sob and beg; he would ignore her and continue until she had been sufficiently disciplined. She would promise to do better in future, and would be allowed to stand up, put on her clothing and return to the kitchen. The doorbell would ring before she had fully composed herself.

Alice was trembling and her eyes were filled with tears as she finally finished her tasks and glanced at the timer. One minute to go. How could she face their guests and get through the evening after this? She turned toward the stairs . . .

The front door burst open. "We're here, dear. Happy Thanksgiving!"

Carol and George, Matt's parents, stood in the front hall, smiling. Carol held a basket out to Alice.

"I brought you some home-made rolls. My, something smells . . . interesting."

Matt bounded up the stairs from the basement. He glanced at Alice, then at his parents.

"Hi Mom, Dad. Oh, that. Alice was experimenting in the kitchen." He looked at Alice meaningfully and she pleaded with her eyes. Please, don't make me go upstairs now.

Just then, Alice's brother Patrick and his fiancee Sharon appeared in the doorway. After a flurry of hugs and greetings, and exclamations over the pumpkin pie Sharon had brought, Matt said to Alice, "Don't you need to baste the turkey?"

Alice breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't going to spank her right now. "Yes, I do," she gasped gratefully and disappeared into the kitchen.


Dinner was delicious, and everyone enjoyed the traditional feast of roast turkey, gravy, vegetables, and even some of the cranberry sauce, which Alice had managed to salvage.

"Mmm, the sauce tastes unusual, but it's good," commented Sharon.

"I added a little marmalade to it. I, um, ran out of cranberries," Alice explained.

After everyone had enjoyed Sharon's pumpkin pie, topped with whipped cream, the group left the table. While the men disappeared in the direction of the football game on television, and the women discussed Sharon's upcoming wedding, Alice's mind was on the delayed punishment. Would Matt forgive her and cancel the spanking? Probably not. But at least he might wait for another day. If his team wins the game, he'll be too happy to spank me. If they lose . . . Why did that stupid stove have to be so hot anyway?

Eventually the guests took their leave, and Alice stared at the door as it shut behind them. Matt came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her.

"Dinner was fantastic. Everyone loved it. I'm so proud of you." He took her hand, led her to the couch, and together they sat down.

"I love you, Alice," and Matt kissed her gently, then more passionately. He held her tightly and stroked her hair, her arm, her back. His hand drifted down to her thighs, then reached for the hem of her skirt and pulled it up. He caressed her firm bottom, slipping his hand underneath her thin nylon panties. Gently he pulled her forward so that she was half sitting and half lying across his lap. Alice moaned. Matt uncovered her bottom cheeks and caressed them lovingly. He slapped first one, then the other, not gently, but not hard. The swats came in a steady rhythm and Alice squirmed into a better position to receive them fully. If this was her punishment, it certainly was an enjoyable one.

Matt's strong hand delivered stinging blows that soon had Alice writhing with pleasure. When he finally stopped, that same hand found its way into her intimate place while the other undid the button and zipper on his trousers. Soon they were on the rug, passionately enjoying one another's bodies in a very pleasurable way.

"Promise me one thing," Matt said later, as they lay entwined and sated.

"Anything," murmured Alice.

"Next time, buy canned cranberry sauce."




Happy Thanksgiving day to all my fellow Canadians.