Musical Interlude

 

In this holiday season we enjoy listening to all the old favourite Christmas songs on the radio. We also play our Christmas CDs in the kitchen while preparing dinner together. The other evening Ron was stirring something on the stove and I was bending over in front of a low cupboard, looking for a baking pan. The music was playing, and suddenly I felt a stern hand on my bottom, smacking it in time to the music.

"That's your song," he explained. I listened, and heard Joan Baez singing "The Little Drummer Boy".

"Rum pa pum pum, on my bum," Ron sang.

I guess he had a point.

* * *

The next afternoon I was bent over the end of the bed, struggling through our weekly spanking session. Ron had brought out the big wooden spoon. We both like it (him more than me, though) because of its unusual musical capabilities. When he whacks my left cheek, it makes a distinctive sound. When he whacks the right one, the tone is different. Ron decided to have some fun. He tapped out a rhythm  then stopped.

"Can you guess what I just played?"

"I have no idea." Wrong answer.

"Let me play some more," and he did.

"Still don't know," I answered. I was getting a bit sore from all the percussion.

"It's 'God Save the Queen'", Ron announced proudly. "Listen." He proceeded to play the first verse over again.

"Yes, yes, I get it. That's lovely." I laughed with delight, surprised that Ron had chosen that particular song, since he's quite opposed to the monarchy. I guess he knew I would like it, since I'm quite an enthusiastic supporter of the Queen.

I was even more surprised to hear what came next.

"You can use that in your blog."

So I did. See how obedient I am?

Spank that Spoon

 For those of you who read my post about the spanking spoons and didn't believe they were actually musical instruments, here's the proof. The pair shown above is an example of the spoons historically associated with Irish music, although they are commonly used in many types of folk music. Modern versions are joined at the end of the handle. This may be more practical for playing, but it renders the spoons useless for spanking, so I prefer the traditional style.


The video below explains how to play them. It looks a lot like spanking to me.

Music of the Spheres

At last week's brunch, Bonnie asked about tears during a spanking. My reply was that the only tears I shed are tears that come from laughing too hard. By coincidence, on that same day I experienced one of the times that I laughed till I cried.

Among the implements Ron selected for my spanking was a sturdy wooden spoon that he hadn't used for some time. It was placed on the bed along with two leather paddles and a short cane. Ron started with the spoon. He alternated smacks on my cheeks, as usual, but then he made an observation.

"Listen." Thwump. Thwick. "They make different sounds." He repeated the demonstration in case I hadn't understood. Thwump. Thwick. Thwump. Thwick. Thwump. Thwick.*

"So my cheeks are uneven? Different densities, I guess," I mumbled, my face buried in a pillow. The concert progressed. Thwump thwick. Spock spack. Thwump thwick. Spock spack. Thwump thwick. Spock spack.


"Like one of those Jamaican drums that you can tune." I meant the steel drums of Trinidad, but at the time I just wasn't thinking too clearly.


"You have a Jamaican butt." Ron proceeded to tap out a calypso beat on my bottom as I giggled and tried to sway to the beat.


The spoon was put aside for one of the leather paddles, but after a time its turn came again.
Ron whacked, then listened. He whacked again, then declared, "There I've got them tuned now." and the concert continued as he turned the spoon this way and that to produce a variety of sounds. Thwump thwump. Spock spack spick. Thwick thwick thwick. Spock spock.

I could barely control myself as I laughed and he played. I didn't even feel any discomfort from the spoon as the concert continued, and only noticed a sting when Ron switched to the cane for a little change of pace.

After a dose of the small leather paddle and a longer session with its larger counterpart, the spoon came into play for the third time. Ron tapped one cheek, then the other, then tapped harder. Thuck. Sput.

"They're out of tune again. I'll have to fix that." By then I was practically hysterical, and the tuning effort ended in disaster as he just couldn't get my cheeks to produce exactly the right sounds, or so he said. We were both laughing and even the resumption of the cane couldn't put a damper on our fun.

"I think you've worn that spoon out. I'll check the ones in the kitchen and get you a replacement," I consoled him as I had dried my eyes on my sleeve.


*I really wish I could have recorded that session so you could hear the actual sounds the spoon made but I'm afraid you will have to settle for my attempts to write them phonetically.

From the Top Shelf - The Spoon

Have you visited Wintermute's Spanking Stories recently? If not, you are in for a real treat. It's a veritable treasure trove of M/f, F/M, F/f and other stories. Real-life, fiction, erotic and disciplinary spankings are all there for your enjoyment. Here's a story I especially liked.

The Spoon

They were browsing through the kitchenware section of the store. He was carrying a plastic basket that contained some of their purchases - a bottle of champagne, some glass ornaments. He picked up the salad spoon and fork. The spoon was made out of blonde hard wood, about eighteen inches long with a flat oval end. It was about half an inch thick. The wooden fork was joined to it with a rubber band. They cost $4.95. He put them in the basket.

"We already have salad servers," she said.

"I know. When we get home I'm going to spank you until you're red with this spoon."

To which she had no answer, but the idea made her pussy tingle.

When they got home he put the champagne in the refrigerator. He took out the salad spoon.

"When do you want it?" he asked her. He knew she had been thinking about the spanking he was going to give her as they drove home. He knew it made her pussy wet, even though she knew it would hurt. Especially because she knew it would hurt.

"May I have it now?"

"You may. Come with me."

He lead her into the living room, unzipped the back of her dress and sat on the couch. She slipped the dress over her head, leaving her on her lace panties and bra. She moved to his right side and pulled her panties down to her knees and lay across his lap.

He started spanking her with his hand, alternating cheeks, the slap of his palm loud, echoing in the room. He spanked her until her buttocks began to blush pink and his hand started to get sore. She spread her thighs as he moved his hand down, opening herself so he could caress her pussy. He ran the handle between her pussy lips and caressed her bottom with the wide flat back of the spoon. She felt the sharp pain of spoon on her right buttock, then then on her left. He paddled her for a long time, alternating sides, stopping every once in a while to caress her bottom and her pussy. As he punished her, her bottom blushing red and hot under the strokes of the spoon, she started to cry out. Finally when her bottom was crimson and very sore, he stopped.

"You've been such a good girl", he told her. He caressed her hot cheeks. "You took such a hard spanking. I want you to get up now and take off your bra and your panties."

She stood up, reaching between her breasts to unhook the bra, letting it fall to the floor. Her panties where around her ankles and she stepped out of them.

"Bend over the arm of the couch."

She bent over the end of the couch, her chest resting on the seat, her bottom pushed up, buttocks red, thighs spread. He looked at her as he undressed. He loved her like this, offered, surrendered...

"Get the strap, please," he said.

Want more? Read the rest of the story here.

Implement Relocation

Last week I decided that our kitchen looked pretty dull and needed some decorative touches to liven it up. I didn't want to do anything extreme or expensive (although granite countertops would be nice - sigh) and I like the colour scheme we have, so I decided to enhance the walls with some of our more decorative implements.

With Ron's help, I hung the heavy baguette cutting board beside one of the cupboards. Then, on either side of the window, I mounted the maple pizza cutter and the heart-shaped spoon using clear plastic hooks. Finally, I relocated the bamboo backscratcher to a prominent location near the dining room door.

The room has been transformed from a utilitarian kitchen to a spanko's paradise. Implements are within reach when needed, and they give me a little thrill whenever I see them, hanging there, waiting. Visitors will never guess the double purpose, I hope.

The Wow Spot

Ron has become quite adventurous lately. Take last Saturday, for example. He was waiting for me in the bedroom, the dressage whip on the bed beside him and the open toybox on the floor at his feet.

"Take your pick," he offered magnanimously.

I found it hard to take my eyes off the whip; obviously he had already made his choice for the afternoon's activities. After rummaging through the contents of the box, I selected a wooden spoon and my favourite leather paddle. Ron nodded his approval and took them from me so I could prepare my bottom for the inevitable.

When I was suitably unclothed and in position over the end of the bed, the fireworks began. First the wooden spoon, administered in a rapid staccato pattern of left, right, left, right. Too fast, too hard, I thought, as I always do at the beginning of a spanking, but I said nothing except "ow!" and kept still.

Ron picked up the dressage whip next, but I quickly said, "Not yet. I'm not warmed up enough," so he relinquished his hold on it and took up the paddle instead. I waited for the hard thud of the flat surface on my bottom. And waited. And waited. I looked back and saw Ron smiling at me. He was messing with my mind.

Finally he got down to business, and a new and different pattern emerged. Instead of left, right, left, right, it was left, right, centre, left, right, centre - the centre being the middle of the spot where my bottomcheeks meet my thighs. The sweet spot? It was the ouch spot to me, and I told him so repeatedly. Every third swat elicited at least one loud "Ow!" and sometimes more.

"What did you say?" Ron asked. not pausing for an answer.

"Ow! I said 'ow!' Ow!"

"Was that 'Ow' or 'Wow'?"

"Not 'Wow', 'Ow'."

Ron wasn't listening. "I found your Wow spot!" he said delightedly, and made sure he gave it a lot of extra but quite unnecessary attention.

By the time my husband switched to the dressage whip that had been postponed earlier, I was almost glad. Anything to give my Wow spot some relief.The whip is such a stingy implement that although I had been able to hold my position earlier, I couldn't avoid displaying my displeasure at the force and speed of the strokes. I cautiously inched my way sideways along the foot of the bed, trying to get out of range. Ron had to reach farther, and then started to follow me in my futile escape attempt. We both stopped when I reached the far edge, and I had to stand up and walk back to my starting position.

The whip was too slender and flexible to connect with the Wow spot, so it danced on my bottom, thighs and calves, with intermittent whooshings as Ron swished it back and forth through the air near my head, enjoying the characteristic sound it made. I stoically endured its harsh caress, and became silent, struggling for control. Ron noticed, and tickled my ear with the tip of the implement. I exhaled and giggled. To my great relief we finished off with more of the spoon and the paddle.

"I'm glad I found your Wow spot," Ron said as he hugged me. He couldn't get enough of his new joke.

"I'll bet you are," I grumbled as I accepted his and returned his embrace.

I wonder whether Ron has been studying my spanking reference books in his spare time.

Spring Cleaning

Happy Spring! How better to celebrate our release from the grip of a long, cold winter than by a bit of spring cleaning?

My husband Ron enjoys wearing cologne, and I thoroughly approve. On Valentine's Day, I gave him a set of several designer fragrances that I had sampled and liked, and I thought he'd like them too.

A day later, as he was reorganizing the side of the bathroom cupboard reserved for him, he extricated several boxes from the back, then called me to come and look. I was amazed to see several more gift sets of colognes - each one by a different designer, thank goodness. These gifts from past holidays had been carefully stored away then forgotten. Ron selected a few small bottles and promised to start using them, and in turn I promised to be more creative in my gift selection.

That got me thinking about the implements we had scattered around the house. Were some being overlooked? Had we completely forgotten about others? Did we have some that had outlived their usefulness, or that we had outgrown?



The first place I looked was Ron's bedside table. I didn't see anything there that I wanted to part with, but I did notice a few implements that needed to come up to the top so that he would see them and perhaps become inspired to dust them off on my bottom.

Then I checked my bedside table. Unlike its counterpart on Ron's side, where the implements in regular use live, I have a few items that I would like to try but haven't yet found the courage to bring out of the darkness. A thick white rubber spatula on a plain wooden stick caught my eye. Yes, I still wanted to try that. I moved it to Ron's side. A wooden ruler. Too flimsy, and the metal edge was dangerous. A light hairbrush. Nope, it wouldn't make any impression on me. They both went into the give away bag.

Before I left the bedroom, I made sure that the implements we used regularly were arranged attractively, looked inviting and were easily accessible.




In the kitchen, I headed for the jar of wooden implements. I love picking up new, interesting pervertables in the houseware section of the supermarket, but I might have overdone it.




Some were actually used for cooking, so they could stay. But several wooden spoons and two spatulas were so light and cheap that they weren't up to much, either in the cooking pot or on my bottom. I removed them.




Decluttering is so much fun! Now if you'll excuse me, I must go sort out the slippers in the closet.

Wednesday WIN

Now you can have your spanking intentions delivered to some lucky recipient, and decorate the holiday table at the same time.

The Mixing Bowl Bouquet, complete with wooden spoons and cinnamon sticks, is available from Teleflora. Contact your local florist for details.




The Christmas Present Bouquet is a slightly less obvious arrangement that still sends the right signals to those in the know. Who wouldn't enjoy a cane at Christmas? Order it now from Sears.

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.

Happy Valentine's Day

Here's what I gave Ron for Valentine's Day two years ago, to celebrate our very recent return to spanking. I thought it was the perfect way to commemorate my introduction to wooden spoons outside the kitchen.

In one trip to a dollar store I bought all the components and assembled them secretly. I wrapped the arrangement in red basket wrap, tied a big bow on top and tucked a funny card inside.

Ron was surprised, to say the least. After he had admired it sufficiently he asked a practical question.

"Where should we put it?"

"In the bedroom!"

He had to ask?

Spanko Shopping Again

I was browsing for Christmas gifts last week, when I found myself in a store with some very interesting and unusual items. Not only was I able to pick up some presents for the people on my list, but my imagination ran wild when I saw these attractive spanking implements. I think the other shoppers were too busy to notice my blushes.


Shoehorns are always useful. This one seems to enjoy his work.



These cute flyswatters are so decorative! Very rigid, too. I pity the poor fly that gets in the way of one of these.


A heart for Hermione. How appropriate! I can't see using this for cooking or baking. Can you?

These would all make wonderful gifts that keep on giving, for the spanko in your life.

Salad Anyone?

We enjoy watching reruns of an American comedy show called Everybody Loves Raymond. In most episodes, whenever a scene takes place in the in-laws' kitchen, I always notice a large salad fork and spoon (aka spanking implements) hanging on the wall. In fact, they were featured in one episode, when it was revealed that they had been a wedding present and had hung on the wall for 40 years.

Recently I saw a very early episode, and immediately realized that the spoon and fork were different. I pointed this out, and from then on we watched for them. Ron finally agreed that they did indeed change over time.

"Who besides you would ever notice that?" he asked me.
"I know lots of people who would have noticed," I replied.

"Oh? Who?" Ron reached for a glass in front of him and took a sip.

"Anyone who thinks of them as spanking implements."

Ron choked and sputtered on his drink.

This site I found will prove that I'm not the only one who enjoyed watching the changing of the implements.