Thursday, September 28, 2006
Spankus Interuptus, Act Three
In our story so far, our hero, me, had celebrated the birth of my second child entirely too excessively. I had passed out in the car on the way home and was found by my dear wife's best friend, Bernie, who was now a police officer. Bernie took me home to Angela, who cleaned me up and put me to bed. As she left me to sleep off my excess, she left me with a warning.
I shant describe my next-day hangover. Suffice to say I suffered greatly the following day, although I did make it to work.
Fast forward two weekends, to a nice Saturday afternoon. Angela had invited over her sister and her two children, and they were all happily playing in the living room of the main house. I indicated that I was going to wander over to the guest house to watch some baseball and tinker a bit. Angela mentioned that she might be by shortly to join me. This made my heart flutter since usually when she meets me in the guest house we engage in corporal and marital relations, and since Angela’s sister was there, she could look after the kiddies for an hour or so.
When Angela did join me at the guest house, she entered sporting a wicked grin and holding the most nasty leather strap that I had ever seen. “It is time,” she said, “for you to receive your punishment for that major bender of yours.” I smiled seductively at her (at least I thought it was a seductive smile) and rose (to my feet, that is), awaiting orders.
Now, Angela and I do not have the kind of relationship where we truly “punish” each other for actual behavior. The “punishments” are usually for perceived slights, like me not noticing enough how nice her butt is, or her not making a meal tasty enough (Angela is, truthfully, a fabulous cook). We try to work out real differences in more mundane ways. So I suspected that I was in for some Saturday afternoon fun.
In the guest house, we keep what is often referred to as a “horse” for which to drape someone over, giving an excellent view of the spanking target. Angela arranged that with some furniture and cushions so that the spankee would be bent over but with the torso laying flat on the cushions. She then ordered me to don my birthday suit, which I did most readily. At that point, she had be bend over the horse with my feel off of the ground. She then secured my hands, feet, and waist so that I had virtually no range of motion. Then she stood back and admired her work.
At that moment, the door to the guest house opened and in walked Officer Bernie, although she was not on duty and thus in street clothes. She had a very satisfied look on her face, and so I was doubly puzzled. I knew that Bernie was of the homosexual persuasion, and that she was happily partnered. Angela and I had never discussed bringing another person into our sexual encounters, and Bernie had, to my knowledge, never expressed interest in a threesome with us. I did know that, since Bernie was Angela’s best friend, she knew of our spanking proclivities. But why was Bernie here now, and why did she look so pleased?
I gave Bernie the most cordial greeting that I could muster for a person who was naked, tied up in a very exposed position, and looking forward to an afternoon romp with their spouse. “What the hell are you doing here?” I pleasantly inquired.
“Well,” she said, “When I found you passed out in your car, I didn’t take your drunken, puke-covered ass to jail as a favor to Angela. So, in return, she asked me to sit in on your punishment!”
I thought this odd, but who was I to question the devious plans of my dearly beloved? I was, after all, a card carrying spanko. It looked like a new spanking adventure.
Angela gave me the standard, loving lecture about responsibility, recklessness, the dangers of drunk driving, et cetera. I listened politely and gave the appropriate responses where required. When she completed her speech, she turned to Bernie and said, “Would you do the honors?”
Bernie agreed, a little too enthusiastically. She picked up the afore-mentioned nasty strap. It was one of those so-called “prison straps,” that was a good six inches wide, at least two feet long, sturdy, and heavy. Bernie, being one who works out regularly, handled it like it was made of paper. “How hard should I hit him?” she asked Angela.
“As hard as you can,” replied Angela. Before I had the chance to consider the consequences of that remark, Bernie had brought the strap forward, making contact with my bare butt with goodly force.
When it comes to spanking, I have a mighty tolerance for pain. The harder the swat, the more pleasure I get out of it. I never shout out with pain or shock. Well, almost never.
The yelp that escaped my lips startled even me. My poor bottom simply exploded in pain. The strap had wrapped around somewhat, taking a nasty bite out of my hip as well. I issued forth a couple of words that are best left to the imagination.
I braced myself for stroke number two. While the pain was considerable, I am a spanko who likes a challenge. If I could become acclimated to the pain, this had the potential to be quite a sexual experience. I also trusted that Angela knew my tolerance for pain and would not exceed it. If I indicated that I was truly in discomfort, she would stop. However, my dear readers, Angela was not interested in pushing my pain envelope.
She and Bernie decided to inspect the damage. “Impressive,” Angela said. “You blistered his butt very well with just one stroke.” Bernie was pleased at the complement.
I girded myself for the expected onslaught. Instead, Bernie laid the strap down on the cushion that was supporting my head. Then she and Angela headed for the exit.
“We’ll be back in an hour or so,” Angela remarked. I inquired as to her intentions, but she and Bernie just walked out and closed the door behind them.
This brings to the end of Act Three. In the next act, we find out what Bernie and Angela did upon their return.
I shant describe my next-day hangover. Suffice to say I suffered greatly the following day, although I did make it to work.
Fast forward two weekends, to a nice Saturday afternoon. Angela had invited over her sister and her two children, and they were all happily playing in the living room of the main house. I indicated that I was going to wander over to the guest house to watch some baseball and tinker a bit. Angela mentioned that she might be by shortly to join me. This made my heart flutter since usually when she meets me in the guest house we engage in corporal and marital relations, and since Angela’s sister was there, she could look after the kiddies for an hour or so.
When Angela did join me at the guest house, she entered sporting a wicked grin and holding the most nasty leather strap that I had ever seen. “It is time,” she said, “for you to receive your punishment for that major bender of yours.” I smiled seductively at her (at least I thought it was a seductive smile) and rose (to my feet, that is), awaiting orders.
Now, Angela and I do not have the kind of relationship where we truly “punish” each other for actual behavior. The “punishments” are usually for perceived slights, like me not noticing enough how nice her butt is, or her not making a meal tasty enough (Angela is, truthfully, a fabulous cook). We try to work out real differences in more mundane ways. So I suspected that I was in for some Saturday afternoon fun.
In the guest house, we keep what is often referred to as a “horse” for which to drape someone over, giving an excellent view of the spanking target. Angela arranged that with some furniture and cushions so that the spankee would be bent over but with the torso laying flat on the cushions. She then ordered me to don my birthday suit, which I did most readily. At that point, she had be bend over the horse with my feel off of the ground. She then secured my hands, feet, and waist so that I had virtually no range of motion. Then she stood back and admired her work.
At that moment, the door to the guest house opened and in walked Officer Bernie, although she was not on duty and thus in street clothes. She had a very satisfied look on her face, and so I was doubly puzzled. I knew that Bernie was of the homosexual persuasion, and that she was happily partnered. Angela and I had never discussed bringing another person into our sexual encounters, and Bernie had, to my knowledge, never expressed interest in a threesome with us. I did know that, since Bernie was Angela’s best friend, she knew of our spanking proclivities. But why was Bernie here now, and why did she look so pleased?
I gave Bernie the most cordial greeting that I could muster for a person who was naked, tied up in a very exposed position, and looking forward to an afternoon romp with their spouse. “What the hell are you doing here?” I pleasantly inquired.
“Well,” she said, “When I found you passed out in your car, I didn’t take your drunken, puke-covered ass to jail as a favor to Angela. So, in return, she asked me to sit in on your punishment!”
I thought this odd, but who was I to question the devious plans of my dearly beloved? I was, after all, a card carrying spanko. It looked like a new spanking adventure.
Angela gave me the standard, loving lecture about responsibility, recklessness, the dangers of drunk driving, et cetera. I listened politely and gave the appropriate responses where required. When she completed her speech, she turned to Bernie and said, “Would you do the honors?”
Bernie agreed, a little too enthusiastically. She picked up the afore-mentioned nasty strap. It was one of those so-called “prison straps,” that was a good six inches wide, at least two feet long, sturdy, and heavy. Bernie, being one who works out regularly, handled it like it was made of paper. “How hard should I hit him?” she asked Angela.
“As hard as you can,” replied Angela. Before I had the chance to consider the consequences of that remark, Bernie had brought the strap forward, making contact with my bare butt with goodly force.
When it comes to spanking, I have a mighty tolerance for pain. The harder the swat, the more pleasure I get out of it. I never shout out with pain or shock. Well, almost never.
The yelp that escaped my lips startled even me. My poor bottom simply exploded in pain. The strap had wrapped around somewhat, taking a nasty bite out of my hip as well. I issued forth a couple of words that are best left to the imagination.
I braced myself for stroke number two. While the pain was considerable, I am a spanko who likes a challenge. If I could become acclimated to the pain, this had the potential to be quite a sexual experience. I also trusted that Angela knew my tolerance for pain and would not exceed it. If I indicated that I was truly in discomfort, she would stop. However, my dear readers, Angela was not interested in pushing my pain envelope.
She and Bernie decided to inspect the damage. “Impressive,” Angela said. “You blistered his butt very well with just one stroke.” Bernie was pleased at the complement.
I girded myself for the expected onslaught. Instead, Bernie laid the strap down on the cushion that was supporting my head. Then she and Angela headed for the exit.
“We’ll be back in an hour or so,” Angela remarked. I inquired as to her intentions, but she and Bernie just walked out and closed the door behind them.
This brings to the end of Act Three. In the next act, we find out what Bernie and Angela did upon their return.
