Tuesday, June 27, 2006
A Little Something
Angela asked if our room would be nice and quiet since we intended to leave early the next morning and wanted to be able to sleep well. The desk lady assured us that there were very few people staying at the hotel that evening and she'd make sure that she put us in a room with several empty rooms all around us.
Angela lies well. We had no intentions of leaving early. That is why we made half of the drive that evening, so that we could sleep in, have a leisurely breakfast, and then complete our trip home. I suspected that Angela wanted an isolated room so as to not bother those staying near us, not the other way around. And I know my Angela.
After checking out the room, I went back to the car to fetch my suitcase (the size of a briefcase) and her suitcase (the size of a Buick) and brought them up. My angel's eyes lit up when she saw me. Naturally, I became immediately suspicious.
"Why don't you go into the bathroom and freshen up a little?" she told me. I supposed that, since we had been driving for four hours, I could use a little freshening. So I freshened, and when I emerged from the bathroom, there stood my lovely wife, stark naked, holding a short leather strap. She had apparently hidden it in her suitcase in case an appropriate occasion came along. This particular toy was handy for travel because it was tightly wound so it was round, solid, and quiet. When swung expertly, it also stung like a bitch.
Angela flipped the afore-mentioned implement to me, and then turned around and stuck out her cute little posterior at me. Grinning, I swung the strap with gusto, connecting right across the fleshy part of her cheeks. She jumped up and grabbed her rump, giggling. She then returned to her previous position, and I let loose again. She jumped and giggled again. We repeated this circuit a few more times, and then Angela bent over the bed. I gave her five more, and then gave her tushie a nice rub to enjoy its warmth.
I proceeded to bend her over pretty much all of the furniture in our little room. She even let me give her a swat in the hallway before quickly retreating back to the room (we didn't want to have any young children catch us as they might need years of therapy to recover). I finally laid her over the bed for a dozen good strokes. Then I laid her.
When we finished our love-making, I treated her to a nice ice massage on her flaming fundaments. When the flames were down to a simple smolder, we traded positions and repeated the entire process. We did forego the ice massage on me, due to the fact that I had retired to the land of nod.
When we awoke, we gave each other a few more, quick swats to make sure our bun warmth accompanied us on the remaining drive home. When we arrived home, we were still smiling. When our youngest, Colette, asked why we were sporting such silly grins, we told her that the wedding was a great deal of fun. Maribel, her older sister, rolled her eyes and then gave us a conspiratorial smile, although I can't imagine why (insert another grin here). Well, we did have fun. Indeed, the entire weekend was fantastic.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Whenever I go to a nuptial rite, I harken back to Angela's and my honeymoon. Due to financial and logistical concerns, we did not take a honeymoon immediately following our wedding, but rather waited until the following summer. We rented a lovely cabin in a wooded area near a lake in a small mountainous region (small mountains, not a small region). We had planned only two activities for the entire trip: spanking and loving, as much as we could fit into the alloted time. And that's pretty much all we accomplished, although we did take some time to sample some excellent local eating establishments.
The two best spankings I received during the trip were:
- The first one. When we got there, we took our bags out of the car and proceeded to get naked as fast as we could. Angela wanted to check out the furniture in our cabin, so she took our nice shower brush and proceeded to paddle me while I was draped over pretty much every piece. Never has my butt stung so exquisitely.
- The morning when we hiked, naked, deep into the woods at sunrise. We had wanted to perform this act late at night, but the indigenous insects made the woods pretty much uninhabitable to naked people at that time. Fortunately, the bugs were satiated by dawn. We started out with flashlights before the sun rose and took a path that we were familiar with. After hiking a sufficient distance, as the first halo of the sunrise was appearing over the horizon, I was laid across a fallen tree and given a good deal of swift, warm, utterly delicious swats with a polished wooden rod that I had made just for Angela. When I had been sufficiently chastised, my darling wife insisted on having the tables turned, and wanted me to deliver her spanking with a fresh switch from the woods. Fortunately, she had her backpack which had a small knife inside, which I used to cut a fine sapling. I proceeded to leave cute red stripes all up and down her stupendous back side while she dangled from the tree trunk, squealling and giggling. We then made love right there in the woods as the sun finished its ascent.
At this time, I shant go into the goodly number of other spankings exchanged during that week in the woods. Suffice to say, our butts were glowing red pretty much the entire time. As I remember, the ride back in the car was somewhat less than comfortable, which we hadn't considered when we planned our spanky-moon (or would it be honey-spank?). We actually had to find a store when we got back to civilization so that we could purchase pillows for sitting on during the rest of the drive.
I doubt that my soon-to-be-married relative and his lovely bride will engage in similiar recreation during their post-wedding vacation. I do hope, however, that their honeymoon is as fantastic as ours.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
This And That
Next, I’ve made a permanent section for terms that are frequently put to use by those of us in the so-called “spanko community.” So far, the list contains words synonymous with the human buttocks. I have included several terms that I omitted in my original discussion, including a number that have been brought to my attention by attentive readers.
I’d like to make mention of a couple of people out there that have been especially kind to me recently.
The esteemed Patty from Creative Spanko Wench, who was good enough to include my remembrance of an embarrassing camping event with the amazing Angela, even though I submitted the essay quite past the stated deadline. Thank-you, Patty, your contest has drawn some fantastic prose and poetry.
The aptly-named Angel from Dangerous Curves Ahead, who has assigned to me the sobriquet of “Mr. Existential.” I am flattered by your choice of phrase, and I believe I may hang on to that for future use. In my humble opinion, I think the label is fantastic.
Finally, as I peruse the spanking community’s subspace in the web log universe, I’ve come across a few exchanges that have been, shall we say, less than harmonious. Seeing this makes me sad. Whether we like it or not, we in the spanking community are one big family. All families have their share of bumps, but, in most cases, there is a common bond that holds them together, allows everyone to eventually settle their differences, and find common ground. If this doesn’t happen, the whole family suffers.
I’m not trying to make anyone feel guilty or accuse anyone. Goodness knows that the author of this journal has hurt a few feelings (since I am fictional, I am, of course, perfect, but most people don’t have the good fortune to live in an imaginary world). Rather, I’d ask that you focus on your common ground. Over the years, I’ve learned, not without some of my own pain, to keep in mind a few pointers:
- Assume that people are operating with good intentions until you are sure otherwise.
- Remember that no one can control their feelings, only how they act on their feelings.
- If something written by another member of our family makes you feel bad, explain to them how you feel, don’t tell them that they are wrong.
- Don’t beat the poor dead horse. If someone indicates that something you wrote made them feel bad, don’t try to explain “what you meant.” It will still make them feel bad. Express empathy and move on.
In the words of the great actor, Harvey Firestein, “Why can’t we all just get along?”
Hope your day is simply fantastic.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Every Picture Tells A Story
When the children were still little ones, Angela and I had dropped them off for a festive weekend with her parents (who, at the beginning of the weekend were excited to spend time wonderful grandchildren, and at the end of the weekend were so frazzled that they still haven't forgiven us) and taken off to spend a couple of days of communing with nature, if you know what I mean. I had a friend who owned some land in a remote area up north a little ways. It was a wooded parcel that he used for hunting in the fall. Since this was July, there were plenty of deer in the woods and no firearms.
We hiked into the woods a considerable distance, and then stopped for a nice spanking (there are priorities in life, you know). When we were both sufficiently warmed, we resumed our hike until we discovered a clearing. At this point, we pitched our small tent and proceeded to get naked. There is nothing like feeling a warm breeze, and ones loving spouse, caressing ones genitals. After caressing ones genitals for a considerable amount of time, we proceeded to get down to some serious spanking. Angela had cleverly stowed several fine objects de spank in our backpacks, and we figured there was no one around for miles. We spend the rest of the afternoon discovering a number of different ways to deliver succulent swats to each others fundaments (thank you kind reader for that term).
As the sun began to wane, we made a campfire and cooked ourselves some dinner. Still lacking clothing of any sort, we used the fire warm our buns in a different way. Then we doused our fire, retired to our tent, snuggled up nicely in our two-person sleeping bag (actually two sleeping bags zipped into one), and spend the rest of the night making sweet love and snoozing.
I awoke just after sunrise. Angela was still dozing, so I donned a pair of shorts and some sandals and went out to wander in the woods. I was enjoying the mild morning air and the perfectly clear sky, so I lost track of time and was gone for perhaps an hour. I had started to make my way back to camp. All of a sudden, I heard shouted, loudly, clearly, and urgently, one word:
Now, my dear wife almost never uses the formal version of my given name. She only uses it when she is very, very mad, or when feigning anger while preparing me for a paddling. Since we were not within spanking distance, I assumed the former was true, and began to hurry back to the campsite. As I was arriving, I realized what was the subject of her call.
There was Angela, the dear girl, laying naked on a blanket next to our now-extinguished camp fire. Standing in a semi-circle on one side of our campsite were about a dozen children, probably aged between 5 and 7 or so. They were quite still, gawking at my lovely wife and her somewhat purpling posterior, the result of our previous days recreational activities. Angela's face had a look of abject terror and seething rage on it.
"Where the fuck did these kids come from?" Angela exclaimed to me, somewhat rhetorically.
I decided it was best if I took charge of the situation, lest Angela offend the young ears further. "Angela, my dear," I responded, "Perhaps you should wrap yourself in that blanket and retire into the tent." In her shock, she had frozen in place, so she was still pretty much completely exposed. At my suggestion, she realized her unclothed state and quickly complied. The children began to giggle.
At that point, an adult couple and four or five more youngsters came upon our campsite. The couple looked confused, as was I at the appearance of them and their herd of tikes. Fortunately, the couple, who turned out to be quite nice, had not seen Angela in her birthday suit, so they were happy to provide me with an explanation.
Apparently, the parcel of land owned by my friend was adjacent to some property owned by the county and used as a nature preserve. In our hiking the previous day, we had wandered too far and left my friend's land. The clearing that we were camping on was actually on the preserve. The group of children was associated with a local church and were on an early-morning nature walk. The couple were employed by the county and were, on this day, acting as guides for the group.
Even though we were trespassing on their land, they were very understanding and offered to let us continue to camp where we were, provided we showed proper respect for nature. At about this time, Angela emerged from the tent and indicated that we had just planned to camp overnight (although this was not the plan) and would be leaving soon.
Later, I was able to ask Angela why she happened to be laying outside of the tent au natural. She said that when she woke, she found that I was not there and went out to see if she could find me. Since the air was so pleasant and felt so sensuous on her bare skin, she decided to lay under the sky and enjoy the climate for a few minutes. She had dozed off, and was likely wakened by hearing the approach of the group of children. Not seeing them right away, she as laying on her stomach and languorously stretching by pushing herself up onto her arms. It was a that point that she noticed the gaggle of boys and girls staring at her, and called for me.
We bade farewell to the nature walkers, made a quick breakfast, cleaned up our campsite, and hiked out of the woods. During the walk back, I attempted to make light of the unfortunate event by pointing out that the youngsters were given a rare treat by seeing the naked repose of a beautiful woman. Unfortunately for me, my brilliant wife was having none of it and was very quiet the entire way home.
When we arrived home, Angela sent me to the guest house and told me that I was going to be punished severely for subjecting her to the gawking kiddies. I begged to protest, but since it was my friend who allowed us use of the land, in her opinion the entire affair was my fault. So I paid the penalty. I was stripped down, secured to a piece of furniture, and beaten about the buttocks with a variety of flat, wooden, spanking implements for the rest of the day. And, of course, I enjoyed every minute of it.
We neglected to tell Angela's parents that we had cut our camping trip short, so after my beating we went out for a nice, late dinner and then laid in bed the rest of the evening.
Angela has since forgiven me for subjecting her to such an embarrassment, even though I had been assured that there would be no people around for miles. So, naturally, I remind her about it from time to time when I want to embarrass her, or when I'm angling for a paddling. And, even though I get to gaze upon my lover's naked flesh regularly, I envy those youngster for the glance that were blessed with. My wife has a body that is simply fantastic.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Angela, Part Two
This continued for about a month. I would show up every day, hoping that the lovely Angela and her friend, Bernie, would be there. The three of us developed something of a camaraderie, as I usually made it a point to team with the ladies. I discovered that Angela and Bernie were roommates, and were both I.T. professionals like myself. I never heard either one indicate that there was a significant other in Angela's life. I very much wanted to request if Angela would like to have dinner with me one evening. However, there was one thing that was holding me back.
You see, Bernie appeared, to my still young eyes, to be somewhat, I believe the term is - butch. Since these two ladies shared the same abode, always showed up together, and appeared to be rather fond of each other, I began to question Angela's preferences in terms of a lifetime companion. I thought that, perhaps, the woman with whom I was smitten may have not been as interested in gentlemen, preferring to couple with those of the softer sex like herself. My dear readers, I was afraid that this wondrous beauty was of the homosexual persuasion, that she may have, in fact, been gay.
Now, I have no objection to those who have a homosexual bent. In my experience, this is not something that one opts for, like one might choose dogs over cats or blue over green. Rather, from discussions with the gay people that I have had the good fortune to associate with over the years, it seems to be that homosexuality is part on the fabric of ones being. In other words, you're born that way. And if Angela was born that way, she would never be more to me than a good friend. The thought broke my heart.
However, I needed to verify my suspicion. It was, though, difficult to find the right way to ascertain her sexuality. Fortunately, one afternoon, Angela showed up at the courts alone. After playing a couple of games, I went to an adjacent court to work on my jump shot. To my delight, Angela chose to join me. I determined that this was my opportunity to discover if she would ever have feelings for me. We shot and chatted for a few minutes, during which time I was developing a tactful, gentle, intelligent-sounding way for me to inquire of her.
Now, I need to mention a particular malady that I seem to be afflicted with. There are times when my brain becomes temporarily disconnected from my mouth. It may perhaps be referred to the human version to the bovine disease called hoof-in-mouth disease. In my case, I had permanent teeth-marks on my ankles.
There was a break in the conversation, so I knew it was the time to ask. I prepared to deliver my adroitly-phrased question. However, when I opened my mouth, out blurted:
"Hey, Angela. Are you a dyke or what?"
I was immediately mortified. Angela's eyes because as wide as saucers. I thought that I had lost any opportunity that I had of being able to spend time with her. I prepared to offer a desperate apology when Angela chuckled. Then she giggled. Then she started to laugh.
She became positively apoplectic. Her face got red, tears began to stream from her eyes, and she was bent over double, such was her mirth. She actually even snorted. I thought I was going to have to summon a paramedic. At last she regained enough composure so that she could speak.
"You think I'm a lesbian?" she managed to ask. "Why, because I play basketball and hang out with Bernie? Or because I'm 26 and not married?"
In my humiliated state, I tried to form a response. I managed to say, "Well, you know.... And you don't seem to have a boyfriend...."
She tried to look indignant because I could be so presumptuous and so tactless. She tried, but she failed miserably, and started laughing again. I just stood there with a hurt look on my face.
Finally, she said, "Well, I'm not. So there! So why do you ask, anyway?"
"Well," I responded, "I thought that ... umm ... well, I guess I'd like to ask you out and I wanted to make sure that there was a chance that you'd say yes."
"So, why the hell do you think I keep coming here to play basketball?"
"Well, I thought that you were looking for a good game ...." Clong! Realization of what she was saying finally clonked me on the head. I suddenly had another Sally Fields moment ("You like me! You really, really like me"). This perfect being, this beautiful woman, who was everything that I always wanted in female companionship, was as interested in me as I was in her. And, thus, we had the beginning of a wonderful romance.
We went out for a beer afterwards, where I discovered that Bernie had been her best friend since middle school. Bernie had played basketball for a midsized state college with some success. Angela didn't play, but attended the school and was a frequent one-on-one opponent. And, yes, Bernie was a lesbian. I was not the first person to think that Angela preferred girls, she told me, because she occasionally got curious looks from passersby when she'd be out with Bernie. And, strangely, the beautiful Angela didn't get asked out on many dates.
I, therefore, proceeded to ask her to dinner. We went out that weekend and had a wonderful time, and the rest is history. I didn't know at first that she was a connoisseur of spanking (that will be the subject of another story), but I didn't care. I just knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. That winter we became engaged, and were married the following summer.
So, more than twenty years, two kids, and a few thousand spankings later, we're still together. My darling has softened somewhat and put on a few pounds because back problems have limited her activity. But she is still beautiful, still has a fine derriere, and she still can deliver a great whack on the posterior. What can I say, we have a fantastic relationship.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
More Fantastic Terms
Snowy Prominences (from The Englishwoman's Converzatione)
My undying thanks to Mr. Hardwood for his inclusions. That brings the total of "bottom alternatives" to thirty-three, plus three translations from languages other than English.
By the way, I took the Spanish, French, and German translations from a useful internet destination, Altavista's Babel Fish Translation. I had requested a translation to the term "buttocks." According to Babel Fish, when I reversed the translation, the literal translations were:
Nalgas (Spanish) - Rumps
Fesses (French) - Buttocks (nothing surprising there)
Hinterteile(German) - Back Parts
Pretty fantastic, eh?
If anyone else has any other non-English euphimisms to offer, I'll happily add them to my collection.
Friday, June 09, 2006
1. My ex is: I’m afraid that I haven’t an ex-anything, except maybe a chromosome, and I don’t really even have that.
2. I am listening to: music
3. Maybe I should: tell you what artist I am listening to. It is Steely Dan.
4. I love: getting a nice, long, bare-bottom spanking with a good, solid, wooden paddle.
5. My best friend: has no idea that I am a spanko, even though he is pretty open-minded. He just thinks I fall on my ass a lot….
6. I don't understand: conservatives, religious fanatics, and Adam Carolla
7. I lose: my mind when I think about conservatives, religious fanatics, or Adam Carolla.
8. People say: all sorts of stuff they don’t really mean.
9. The meaning of my screen name is: My name is Frank and I’m a spanko. Duh.
10. Love is: knowing when your partner really needs a nice, long, fantastic spanking.
11. Somewhere, someone is: a conservative, a religious fanatic, or Adam Carolla (is it possible to be all three at once?)
12. I will always: bite my tongue when I try to talk when I’m chewing.
13. Forever seems: like the time between when Angela says she’s going to spank me and when she actually spanks me.
14. I never want to: be a real person. Too boring.
15. My cell phone is: hiding in my briefcase somewhere. Its battery is probably dead anyway.
16. When I wake in the morning: I check my butt in the mirror to see if the bruises are still visible. Then I check Angela’s……
17. I get annoyed when: people talk about conservatism, religious fanatics, or Jimmy Kimmel.
18. Parties are: For the young. Us old people (okay, middle aged but sometimes I feel like I’m 100) would rather stay home and spank each other.
19. My dog is: A cat. Well, actually a whole houseful of them. Angela loves cats.
20. Kisses are the worst when: they miss.
21. Today I did: not get a spanking. Of course, the day is still young…..
22. Tonight I will: Wager with Angela 100 swats with a paddle that Dallas will prevail over Miami in the NBA championship (either way I’m a winner).
23. Tomorrow I will be: still living the curious life of an imaginary spanko.
24. I really want: refer to number 4 above.
There you have it. Everything you've wanted to know about Master Spakowiak. Since I feel that I'm too new to this universe, I have chosen not to "tag" any specific person, real or otherwise. Rather, I'll offer this to anyone who wishes to expose ... er ... discuss themselves.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Here is part one of the story of how I met the love of my life. As it happens, there are no spankings in this accounting. Those will appear, just a bit later.
My wife is the most beautiful person in the world.
Now, you may say that if I don't say that, I can expect the bedroom to be rather chilly for a lengthy period. However, my loyal readers, I firmly believe that no one looks more wonderful than Angela. To me, anyway. I may gaze appreciatively at the young, slender ladies when I stroll past them in a store or on the street, with their perky breasts and tight little bottoms. I may marvel at how the ladies on television and in the movies can be just so damn georgous. But when I look at Angela, I am filled wtih wonder and awe.
I met Angela on a basketball court at a local playground in the town was living in at the time. I fancied myself something of a hoopster, and near my apartment was a nice court that attracted players with some amount of skill. We were warming up one afternoon when two ladies approached and expressed interest in joining the game. One of the ladies was a shade over six feet tall, skinny as a rail, and had a mass of curly locks adorning her head. She looked a little like a palm tree.
It was not this person who attracted my gaze, however. My eyes were drawn to the lady with her. She was 3 or 4 inches shorter, had straight, shiny, jet-black hair, a fantastic butt, and she moved wtih the grace and confidence of a jungle cat. She had muscular but very shapely legs that led to a fantastic butt, and breasts that perfectly filled out her t-shirt. And did I mention that she had a fantastic butt?
I determined that the tall girl was named Bernie, and the shorter one was Angela. Such a perfect name, I thought, for someone who looked like an angel.
These two became teammates wtih me and two other gentlemen. We were playing against a group of fellows who had a reputation of great success, and great arrogance, on this particular court. They were big, fast, and could shoot from long distances as well as owning the area nearer the basket. I enjoyed playing against them because they were quite a challange, but I'd mever been on a tean that had defeated them. Although it was obvious by their demeanor that Bernie and Angela had some familiarity with the hardwood, or asphalt in this case, our opponent chose to give us grief for having two "pretty little girls" on our team.
That day, as it turned out, my team owned the court. Angela and Bernie played like anything but "pretty little girls." Bernie was as tough as the big guys on the post, grabbing every rebound against bigger, taller men. And Angela could shoot from absolutely anywhere. She also had hands so quick she could steal the ball away from the best dribbler. Us three gentlemen basically played defense, cleaned up the garbage, and took long passes for layups after an Angela steal or a Bernie Rebound. We played the playground hot-shots three times and beat them three times.
In the last game, I took a pass, drove towards the basket, and then fed Angela who proceeded to knock down the winning shot. She followed her sweet shot with her eyes, and when it swished through the hoop, she pumped her fist and exclaimed "YES! We really spanked their asses!"
Right then, I knew I was in love.
I discovered that my angel and her friend appeared at this particular playground about once a week, but the day varied. So I vowed to come every day so that I didn't miss their reappearance. After two weeks of not seeing them, I began to despair. But, finally, my patience paid off. Angela and Bernie arrived, ready to play. I manipulated the situation so that they were on the same team as me, and again we played very well.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Call It What You May, It's Still Fantastic
You see, when one frequently discusses spanking, one must refer regularly to the portion of the anatomy commonly known as the butt. While the word "butt" brings visions of lovliness to the minds of many, if that word becomes overused, it rapidly loses its appeal. Therefore, it becomes necessary to make use of a goodly number of synonyms for "butt."
And so, as a public service, today I shall endeavor to list all of the different ways that one can refer to the human butt. Okay, perhaps not all of the ways, but as many as my vast and imaginary imagination can come up with. So here I present to you, my loyal readers, a list that I shall call Bottom Language.
|Rear or Rear End||Rump||Fanny|
|Tail or Tail End||Back End||Ass|
|Tush (or tushie)||Derriere||Can|
|Seat of one's pants||Where one sits||Posterior|
|Hiney||Globes||Mounds of Flesh|
|Toches (from Yiddish))||Permanent Vertical Smile||Where the Good Lord Split You|
|Nalgas (Spanish)||Fesses (French)||Hinterteile(German)|
I'm sure that this list is not all-inclusive. If you'd like to suggest a name for one's posterior, feel free to pass it along to me and I'll add it to the collection.
Note: The items listed in blue have been added since the original post.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Power: A Story, Third and Final Part
In case you missed them, here are links to the first two sections of this story:
I made the first swat firm and square, but not too hard. She let out a cute little peep, straightened up, and grabbed her butt. Then, to her credit, and with a slightly guilty look, she quickly reassumed her proper position. She apparently decided that she would take my rules to heart. The second swat was not quite as hard as I knew that it would hurt more than the first. She let out a whistling breath, but held her position. I made the next two swats about as hard as that last one, and made the fifth about as hard as the first. She jerked up a little after that last swat, but gritted her teeth and stayed down.
I decided that five was a good start. I told Amber that she could stand up and rub her butt if she wanted to, knowing how cute that would look. Then I handed the paddle to Karl so he could deliver the first five swats to Kelly. He looked startled at first, but then confidently took the paddle and ordered Kelly to pull up her extra-long night shirt and assume the position. As she lifted the night shirt up far enough so that it would stay when she bent over, I realized that, except for the night shirt, she was completely naked. I began to have distinctly ungentlemanly thoughts as blood again rushed to my sexual organ, but quickly suppressed them. I did not want these little ladies to think that I was being disingenuous.
Karl delivered five fine swats to Kelly’s pert posterior. She danced around a little and whimpered a bit, but otherwise behaved herself admirably. When she rose, there was a noticeable strain on her face, meaning that the punishment was beginning to sink in.
Amber replaced Kelly as the spankee. I informed both girls that that the next set would consist of ten swats. They both looked considerably worried with this upping of the ante. I figured that I would make these swats somewhat harder than the first five, but not too much. I gave her a good swat, and she flinched but made no sound and held her position. I paused for about five seconds and then followed it up with a slightly harder swat. That elicited a whimper and a cringe, but no other response. After three swats of about the same intensity, I decided that she was becoming acclimated to the pain. Swat number six I delivered with somewhat more force, but still not anywhere near maximum.
Upon feeling the more intense swat, Amber emitted a sound that indicated I definitely had her attention now. I could see her stiffen her back and knees, trying to keep relative still. I slowed the pace a bit, and delivered swats seven and eight, then again increased intensity for swats nine and ten. Then I stood back to briefly admire my handiwork.
Her butt was no longer pale, but a very bright red. Since I had withheld somewhat, I didn’t see any signs of bruises, although I guessed that there might be some light ones in the morning. I had promised that she would not be groped, so I just visualized myself rubbing the sting out of her warm, firm buttocks, and tried to suppress a lecherous smile.
Karl did an equally fine job on Kelly’s butt. She was somewhat louder than Amber and danced around more, but, nonetheless, behaved herself to my satisfaction. After a break of two or three minutes to allow for some, but not too much, recovery, it was time for the final ten. While I still didn’t want to send the girls into painful hysterics, I resolved to make these ten significantly more painful to fully drive the point home.
But first, Kelly had to cross me up a little. “How come you’re always spanking Amber and not spanking me?” she asked me. I reflected, then decided that it was a legitimate question. So I suggested that Karl would complete Amber’s spanking, and I would handle Kelly.
“Okay,” Kelly said, “but I’ll go first this time.” Since it was not my nature to argue, I agreed, and bent her over so I could properly finish her paddling. Kelly’s butt, though slightly larger than Amber’s, was just as beautiful. Karl had done an excellent job of paddling her, as her backside was glowing a nice, healthy shade of red, and it looked pretty tender.
With her butt properly positioned, I informed Kelly that she was to count these final ten swats out loud. I was still planning on making this portion of the spanking harder than what I had previously given Amber. I also decided on a greater pause, at least 10 seconds, between swats, to allow Kelly some time to reflect. I tapped her fanny, pulled back the paddle, and let fly.
WHACK! “One!,” cried Kelly, obviously in distress. It appeared that she had realized we wouldn’t be quite so merciful with these last swats.
I firmly whacked her again. “Two!” she cried, her voice cracking slightly, undoubtedly due to the pain in her tender tushie. WHACK! “Three!” That one caused her to jerk upward, but she quickly bent back over. I was glad to see that both girls were taking this paddling seriously.
WHACK! “Four!” WHACK! “FIVE!” I was turning up the heat, and it was clear that Kelly felt it, but she made no complaint. In fact, by her posture and her voice, it seemed like she was determined to take these swats well. I deliberately delivered four more good cracks to her ass, deepening the shade of red. Maybe I’d leave a couple of bruises after all. But these ladies had to learn. They were very lucky that they were getting another chance, and Karl would keep his bargain to make sure that these two stayed on path to complete the semester successfully.
The strain on Kelly was obvious, but she determined to keep her butt pointed at me. I decided that the last swat would attempt to change that. I pulled the paddle back for a twenty-fifth time, and brought my hardest swat yet down across her bare butt. This time she yelped, stood straight up, and reached both hands back to grab her backside. After rubbing some of the sting out, she gave me a worried glance, but I immediately forgave her since her paddling was now complete and she had not carried on one bit, but rather taken her punishment properly.
“So, Kelly, did that hurt a little bit?” I asked, somewhat rhetorically.
“Gawd!” Kelly replied. “It hurt a lot! You’re a pretty tough spanker!”
“Well, you’re a pretty tough spankee.”
One last time they changed positions. Amber pointed her posterior at Karl, and Karl reminded her that she was to count these last ten swats. Amber indicated that she understood, and so Karl wasted no time in getting to work. His swats were perhaps more consistently hard than mine, making each swat about the same velocity rather than increasing the intensity as he went along. In addition, he showed more patients than me, waiting what must have seemed like an interminable amount of time between swats. Amber struggled to stay in position, and I could tell by her increased breathing that she was really hurting.
When Karl finished, Amber stayed bent over to catch her breath. That gave us a chance to gaze at her marvelously red rump, quivering slightly and clearly tender. I began to become almost jealous, and briefly thought of offering her the opportunity to get her revenge on my rear. What can I say … I’m incurable. However, good sense got the better of my hormones, and I refrained.
After Amber had pulled up her jammie pants, Karl gave them the usual lecture about rules and drinking laws and the other obligatory bullshit. Kelly and Amber stood there, eyes downcast, nodding at Karl and looking appropriately shamed. When Karl finished, he gestured towards the door to indicate it was time to end this particular adventure. As Kelly was making her way past me on the way out, she stopped and gave me, much to my everlasting astonishment, a nice sincere hug. “Thanks for not letting us get kicked out of the dorm,” she said, and I definitely saw a hint of tears in her beautiful eyes. Amber also hugged me, and did the same to Karl. As we were making our way back to the girls’ room, Karl held me back and indicated that the entire event seemed a little surreal. I must admit, I had a similar feeling.
Karl went through their room to make sure they had no more hidden liquor. Then they agreed on a the times that they would be meeting, starting the following weekend.
As we were walking back to our dorm, Karl directed several original and colorful epithets at me. He was not happy, because he felt that I was risking his reputation, abusing our position, and generally taking advantage of two naïve young ladies.
“Bullshit,” I responded. “Ten bucks says those girls will be at your room at precisely the time that you agreed upon. They’ll never mention the incident because they don’t want to get kicked out of the dorm. But they genuinely appreciate the fact that you didn’t escalate this to higher authorities. They’ll tell everyone how nice you are and what a good R.A. you are. Your reputation will only improve.
“Furthermore, those girls are about as naïve as a bunch of hardened soldiers. If they were so cute and innocent, they wouldn’t have been blaring the stereo and getting hammered. They’d already been busted twice, and yet they continued their disobedience, like a couple of little girls who wanted daddy’s attention. Well, they got more attention than they bargained for. Verbal warnings and letters don’t mean shit to them. But this got their attention. I’ll bet they’ll actually get their act together and end up with good, solid grades at the end of the semester.”
Karl mellowed, and admitted that the naughtiness of the whole situation had left him pretty excited. It was sort of like screwing someone in an alley just off a busy street … the risk of getting caught was half of the rush. He also admitted that it made a boring night before Easter much more interesting.
Indeed, the two young miscreants did mend their ways. They made all of their scheduled confabs with Karl, and stayed clean and sober the remainder of the semester, at least until after finals. Of course, where I went to school, absolutely nobody stayed sober the night after finals. The next year, I ran into Kelly as I was moving in. She pulled me aside and told me that, had Karl and I not chastised them in such a painful fashion, they would have probably just spent the remainder of the term imbibing and carousing and would have risked flunking out of school. Instead, they both finished with impressive grades and discovered the proper balance between work and play. She then surprised me with a quick kiss on the cheek, and then hurried off to get her room set up.
Spankings are wasted on children. They are much more effective when practices on adults, especially young adults who want to continue behaving like children. Those two fine ladies needed something to jolt them into some semblance of maturity, and a paddling was just the thing to accomplish that.
I’m not sure which was more memorable, seeing those two cute little bottoms paddled into such a lovely shade of crimson, or being a part of their growing up. Either way, it was an evening that I’ll always remember as Fantastic.