Thursday, November 30, 2006
The Gin Game, or Why I'm Not A Con Spanko
At the time that these events allegedly occurred, Angela and I had been together for several months, although not yet engaged. We were still exploring the spanking part of our relationship. We knew that we were both interested in the fine art of spanking, both giving and receiving, but we were still trying to find out the limit. Our spankings had increased moderately in length and intensity, and we had experimented with a couple of implements, but, otherwise, we were moving forward at quite a cautious pace.
It was a Saturday evening in the fall. We had spent the day watching football and playing basketball. Angela’s friend and roommate, Bernie, had gone out for the evening with her girlfriend, so we were lazing around the house that Angela and Bernie were renting. We decided that, to pass the time, we would play the card game commonly known as Gin Rummy.
During my younger days, it was something of a weekend tradition in my house that my Grandfather would visit (my Grandmother had passed away at this point) on Sunday. We would enjoy a nice dinner and some conversation, and them my dad, Grandfather, brother, and I would retire to a rousing game of Gin. So I always considered myself a somewhat advanced player. Angela had professed to little more to a passing familiarity with the game, so we thought it might be fun if I showed her some of the finer points.
I won the first few hands fairly easily, although Angela was rather proficient for a relative novice. When she was comfortable with the play, we decided to keep score. As an aside, I suggested that we put a small, non-monetary wager on the game, such as a back-rub or a homemade meal. Angela found the idea to be acceptable, but then she suggested that the stakes be in the form of a spanking. Naturally, I heartily agreed.
Angela played well, but my experience still led me to victory. So I took Angela over my lap and gave her a nice, firm spanking with my hand over her sweat pants. It wasn’t my hardest spanking, but I still used considerable vigor, and she wiggled and squealed pleasantly.
Upon dismounting my lap, Angela insisted on a rematch. I agreed, but suggested that we increase the stakes. The loser’s spanking would be on the bare bottom.
Again I was victorious, although it was a very close game, going down to the last hand. I briefly considered allowing her to win that hand, but my competitiveness overcame my desire to be spanked. Angela’s sweats came down to her ankles and I bent her over the table. Then I proceeded to thoroughly warm her fine fanny from stem to stern. If she came up from the table, I’d hit her harder. When I concluded, her bottom was quite red, but I could tell by her giggling that she had not found the experience unpleasant.
I inquired of Angela if she cared to continue playing. Somewhat surprisingly, she agreed. And she added that we would play for the same stakes. Indeed, since I had yet to lose, Angela suggested, that, should I fail to win, that my spanking could be over my pants so as to be somewhat less than what she would endure if she were to lose again. I had no problem with this plan.
The game was again a close one. We were nearing the end and the score was nearly tied. It would take one hand, two at the most, to determine the victor. As I was shuffling and preparing to deal the next hand, Angela had another thought.
“Why don’t we raise the stakes?” she suggested. I was interested, so Angela scurried off and quickly returned with a fine, wooden hair brush. The very sight of this classic implement set my loins atwitter. I began to imagine her terrific tushy over my lap with me holding the hairbrush. I would rub her already-tender buttocks with the flat of the brush and tease her by telling her how she had earned such a good spanking. Then I would hold forth and whack her buns to my hearts content. Naturally, I agreed to add the hairbrush to the game. In retrospect, this was the first bad decision I made that evening.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Revisiting The Interview
Imaginary Spanking Magazine Writer (ISMW): I’d like to return for a moment to a comment you made earlier. You said that you were enthralled by a spanking given by a woman to a little girl. Don’t you think that is rather, well, yucky?
Me: An excellent question. Let me first reiterate that, at the time I witnessed that particular spanking, I was all of 12 years old. So I was not much more than a little boy myself. Second, it was not the little girl that held my curiosity. It was the woman doing the spanking. You see, I began to think of what it would be like if it were me under that woman’s hand. In subsequent spanking fantasies of mine, the little girl was never involved. While I still have a vivid picture of what the woman looked like, I have very little recollection of the little girl.
ISMW: So what are your feelings on spanking children?
Me: Well, my wife and I have never spanked our children. This was a conscious decision. We were both afraid that, since we both derive considerable sexual pleasure from spankings, that it would be too easy to fall into dangerous habits, such as spanking the girls to make ourselves feel better rather than to properly discipline them.
I don’t necessarily feel that children should never be spanked. Depending on the parent, the child, and the offense, a spanking may be appropriate. I do think that there is a line between spanking and abuse, and parents must never cross that line. The only place a child should be spanked is on the bottom, not on the back or legs or anywhere else. I also think there is a risk of teaching children that the way to deal with someone with whom you are angry is the strike out at them. However, I think a small number of swats to the backside with the back your hand or even a paddle-like implement can be an effective way of driving home a point.
ISMW: Moving to adulthood, what is it that you enjoy about spankings?
Me: Well, just about everything. I enjoy the vulnerable positions in which one is spanked. I enjoy the anticipation of the first swat. I love the sound of an implement cracking the flesh on the buttocks. And I like buttocks.
ISMW: What about the pain. Isn’t being spanked painful.
Me: Well, yes, but pain releases endorphins. Furthermore, the human tuchas is also a major erogenous zone. So, for some people, that combination more than blocks out the unpleasantness that the spanking might cause.
ISMW: Have you ever spanked someone who didn’t want to be spanked?
Me: No. Well, there have been a couple of times when I swatted a well-formed bottom when it was being pointed at me for a considerable period of time, but one swat hardly constitutes a spanking, eh?
ISMW: So you’ve never spanked someone as a punishment rather than as foreplay?
Me: That would not be a true statement. As readers of my online journal know, I have, on one or two occasions, taken a board to the rear-end of someone who needed to be taught a lesson. But they knew that their actions were inappropriate and childish, and they agreed that being paddled was the proper way of making them accountable for their actions. You could say that didn’t want it, but deep down I think they felt that they needed to be spanked. I didn’t hold them down or anything, and were they to indicate that the pain was more than they had bargained for, I would have immediately ceased.
Friday, November 24, 2006
Turkey and Balls and Bottoms...Oh, My!
Maribel’s beau is a handsome fellow. He is not a college athlete like Maribel, but has reasonable athletic talent. Since we had also invited Bernie and her partner, and since it was a lovely, sunny day here in the Midwest, that naturally meant it was time for a game of driveway basketball. Bernie’s partner is a fair basketball player herself, so she and the boyfriend were on my team, making the other team Angela, Maribel, and Bernie. In a brief, private moment just prior to starting, Angela and I made a bet as to the outcome of the game. Not surprisingly, the wager was a spanking.
Despite the talent against us, I figured that my team had speed and size on our side, so I felt that we would be the likely winners. I was wrong.
Now, lest you think I might perhaps not play my best so that I would have the better chance of being on the receiving end of our bet, let me assure you that I take great pride in my basketball abilities. I played as hard as my old legs could, and I used every trick, except the dirty ones, that I have learned over my years of experience, but it did no good. I neglected to consider endurance in my outcome prediction. Maribel plays college basketball, and Bernie is a professional police officer who works out regularly. As the old saying goes, they ran circles around us. What was worse, Maribel wasn’t even playing hard because she did not want to risk getting hurt.
So I now have something to look forward to in the next couple of days.
There was one drawback to the game, besides the pain (in my legs, not my butt) that I will be in for the remainder of the weekend. I saw Maribel and her fellow have a brief, private meeting just before we began our contest. Since I am aware that she is a Spanko and a spanko (no, I’m not repeating myself), I have a feeling that their wager was along the same vein as the one as Angela and had. Well, I guess that she is an adult and therefore she has the right to take part in whatever adult pleasures she prefers. Still, an old dad still can’t help thinking of her as his little girl.
I hope you all had a fantastic Thanksgiving.
Because we’ve entered the season of giving, I’ve decided to give all of my esteemed readers a special bonus. Yes, my dear frields, I present to you, as a token of my love for all of you, a picture of my ass:
I become dangerous when I discover how to do something new.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Time To Give Thanks
Second, T and S mentioned that I do not post very many pictures. While that is true, there is a perfectly good reason for that. You see, the writer of this imaginary little journal was only recently able to figure out how to negotiate the picture-posting process built into the software provided by the Blogger company. Their software is somewhat buggy, but can be worked around. That has now been accomplished, and to prove as such, I shall provide you with a picture.
This being a short week, work-wise, Angela and I have both taken vacation time this week. Since Colette will be in school, and Maribel is not due back from university until Wednesday evening, we have the entire house to ourselves. For a couple of middle-aged spankos, nothing could be better than that.
My butt has been blessedly red pretty much since Monday morning. During the time alone, we have put to good use almost all of our standard spanking toys, as well as discovering a couple of new ones. We’ve played some of our favorite spanking games (Naughty Maid, Peeping Pool Boy, Trivial Pursuit For Whacks, etc.). I’ve spent more time this week bending over than standing up or sitting down. Angela has been wearing a skirt because it is easier to pull up (since she’s chosen not to wear panties during the day) than to pull pants down. We are such shameless souls!
Curiously, we have not engaged in sexual intercourse or similar activities. On Monday, our play took us too close to Colette’s return to properly enjoy a romp, and by the evening we were both too tired. Yesterday, we made a conscious decision to abstain to see how long we could go before one of us, shall we say, took matters into their own hands. I would suspect that either today, or tonight at bedtime, we will decide that we’ve reached the end of our endurance.
This being a spanking blog, and us being spankos, during the long weekend I shall have to perhaps detail one or two of the best spankings of the week. In the meantime, please enjoy your turkey and dressing or whatever fantastic culinary pleasures in which you may partake during this holiday of Thanksgiving. Take a moment to stop and give thanks to the good things, and, of course, give thanks to spanking.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Interview With A Spanko
Imaginary Spanking Magazine Writer: When did you first become interested in spanking?
Me: In imaginary life or real?
Me: Well, in real life it was about six months ago, when the author if this particular creation thought me up. In the imaginary world, it was probably as I was approaching puberty. I recall one day I was riding my bicycle, delivering newspapers, when I was about 12. I saw a lady chase a little girl, who was probably about 8, in front of her house. She (the lady) was very angry. When she caught the girl, she put her face down on the ground and gave her several strong swats to the girl’s backside with her hand. I was so fascinated that I almost fell off of my bike.
ISMW: What did you find so fascinating about it?
Me: I’m not sure. Now don’t think that I’m some sort of militant spanking parent. Remember that I was 12 at the time. The poor girl was crying mightily, which I did not find at all of interest. In fact I felt sorry for the girl. It was the lady and the whole scene that intrigued me.
ISMW: How so?
Me: Well, the lady was reasonably pretty. And, being 12, I was at the very early state of discovering sexuality. It seemed so, well, sexy. When the girl was hauled to her feet and I could see her crying, contorted face, the scene lost its intensity for me. I think later, when I discovered my interest in the female toches, it started to make sense.
ISMW: We’re you ever spanked as a child?
Me: Yes, but only when I was quite small, younger than 10, I think. It was always with the back of my mother or father’s hand, and always on the seat of my pants. I was never paddled or anything.
ISMW: We’re there any other instances of spanking from you childhood that were particularly memorable.
Me: Well, there was one other. When I was about 15, there was a family with a couple of daughters who lived next door. The oldest daughter was a couple of years younger than me. One summer afternoon, when I was sitting outside reading a book, I heard a commotion coming from their house. I heard the mom and oldest daughter shouting at each other. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, so I returned to my reading. Suddenly, clear as day, I heard the mom yell “Get across that bed, NOW!”
The daughter responded, “MOM, NO!!”
“NOW!!” the mom insisted. I heard more shouting, but not as loud. I figured the mom was just making the girl sit on her bed for a while as punishment. Abruptly, I heard CRACK! The girl shouted “OUCH!” The mom yelled something unintelligible, then CRACK again. This happened 4 or 5 more times. When they were done, I found myself sweating and my heart was racing. Other parts of me were taking notice, too, if you catch my drift.
ISMW (smiling): I believe I do. Please continue.
Me: Well, a the next day I asked the girl, who was very pretty but had lived next door for several years so she seemed more like a sister to me, what caused all the yelling. The girl had apparently wanted to go with friends on a shopping excursion, but the mom had nixed that. The girl became so mad she let the air out of all of the tires on her mom's car. She concluded her explanation with, “Boy, did my mom whip my ass for that!” I was so astonished at that admission, I was speechless. I wanted to ask all sorts of questions to get more details, but I didn’t want the girl to think I was weird, so I quickly changed the subject. Later that day, I believe I discovered how to masturbate.
I’ll pass along more details from the interview as time permits. If you have access to the imaginary internet (not the one invented by Al Gore), I will let you know when the article is published.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
With Apologies to Lillian Jackson Braun
Curiously, I noticed that the glass in the screen door was broken. I went in and turned on the porch light and investigated the scene. I found, laying in the grass, a hammer and a piece of cloth. Further, I saw on the walk a bit of fabric and a few drops of blood. Seeing as I keep some expensive audio and computer equipment in the guest house, along with many of our spanking toys, I became alarmed.
I headed to the main house and alerted Angela of the situation. Fortunately, my lovely wife is quite adept at making quick and sensible decisions. She immediately phoned her best friend, Bernie, who, as you may recall, was an office of the law.
Bernie came over and carefully examined the scene, taking several notes during the course of her investigation. Despite the fact that Bernie is quite good at her job, she seemed puzzled. She appeared ready to conclude when Cat, the ethereal feline that has apparently watched over this property since, well, forever, wandered up. In typical cat fashion, she sat down in the middle of the walk and began to lick her paws, paying no attention to those of us standing there. Bernie and Cat have a friendly relationship, so Bernie absently reached down and began to scratch Cat’s ears. It was at that point that Bernie noticed a bump on Cat’s head.
Angela, who has an excellent touch with animals, took a look over Cat and noticed a other odd things. First, one of her front legs seemed to be tender. Second, the paw that she was grooming was bloody and scabby, and one of her toes was hanging at an odd angle. Lastly, imbedded in the scab on Cat’s paw, was a bit of thread. Seeing these things on Cat, Bernie became very thoughtful and began to review the scene again.
With Bernie engrossed in her investigation, Angela and I went back to the house to start dinner, inviting Bernie to join us when she was finished. About one-half hour later, she did so. At that time, she informed us that the had concluded her examinations and had deduced what had occurred.
Apparently, someone had tried to break into the house. As a security measure, I keep the front door and the screen door locked. The burglar appeared to have broken the glass with the hammer, covered with the cloth to muffle the sound. Bernie found some gouges near the door knob of the main door, so apparently the burglar had used the claw of the hammer to attempt to gain entrance to the house.
At that point, Bernie deduced, Cat came upon the burglar. Based on the lump on Cat’s head, the location of where the hammer was found, and the proximity of the cloth to the hammer, it looked like that the burglar had thrown the hammer at Cat, trying to discourage her presence, grazing her head. This is where things got weird.
In Bernie’s opinion, rather than abandoning the scene, Cat instead took umbrage at the burglar and took steps to defend herself and her “property” (we’re quite sure that, in the cosmic scheme of things, Cat is the rightful owner of the property and we are just leasing it from her with her permission). From some of the indentations on the grass, the blood, and the bit of thread on Cat’s paw, it appeared that the burglar had attempted to kick the poor animal. However, Cat isn’t so poor.
Bernie had concluded that Cat dodged the kick and countered. Figuring that the burglar’s leg, having missed the kick, was somewhat off the ground, Bernie assumed that Cat had chosen as her target the burglar’s family jewels. For those of you who may not recognize that euphemism, I’m referring to the poor man’s balls. There appeared to be a brief struggle, at which time Cat likely dug her claws into the miscreant, and when the claw was dislodged, she tore the skin between two of her toes and took with it a small amount of the bad person’s trousers. The burglar then panicked and made a hasty retreat.
Bernie made a proper police report, and followed up the next day. She discovered that a man had appeared at a local hospital emergency room with pants torn in the crotch region, and nasty scratches in the general region of his scrotum. Although the man had given a false address, he had presented an insurance card, from which Bernie was able to ascertain the man’s true name and address. She paid the fellow a visit, and when she pointed out the injury to his genitalia was consistent with an encounter with an angry pussy (for those of you with perverted minds, I’m talking about the cat), the man offered a full confession and promised restitution.
Of course, cat modesty does not allow Cat to show any pride in her heroics. We have, however, rewarded her with as much tuna fish as she can eat. We still do not know the origin of Cat. The previous owners of this property, who built the house, swear that Cat has always been around. Further, the beast has been patrolling around as long as we’ve lived here. That would make her about sixty years old. She has allowed us to gather her up and take her to the vet to keep her shots up to date. The Vet swears that he cannot determine the age of the animal, she has clearly been spayed, and she is most healthy. We’ve decided that, either this cat’s nine lives are all quite long or that she is immortal. Whichever is the case, she appears to be most adept at guarding our homestead. She’s more than adept. She is ….. (wait for it) …. Fantastic!
Monday, November 13, 2006
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Saturday, November 11, 2006
The Third Spanko
It was the Christmas break of Maribel’s sophomore year at college, during that lull between Christmas and New Years. Both Angela and I did not have to work during the interval, so we were sitting in the living room in front of a roaring fire watching “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” for the umpteenth time on DVD (we also own two different versions of the movie on VHS as well as a couple copies taped during rare television broadcasts of this classic flick). Maribel wandered into the room and kind of hovered around the edges, seemingly in indecision. After a moment, she made her way to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. She seemed to contemplate what she wanted for quite a long time, but I paid it no mind as I am not one of those parents who is constantly whining to “close that damn refrigerator or you’ll let out all of the cold! It costs money to run the refrigerator!”
At last she made her selection, closed the fridge, and appeared to head back to her room. Then she paused, turned towards us, started to say something, then thought better of it and turned to leave again. Angela, being more in tune to female indecisiveness than I, put the movie on “pause” and called out to her, “Is there something that you’d like to talk about, hon?”
“Well….” Maribel replied. She thought a second and then came over to us and sat down. “Mom and Dad, I need to talk to you guys.”
Now, for those of you who have teenaged or college-aged daughters, what is the absolute most feared thing that you can hear your daughter utter? (No, it is not “I’m running away to Seattle to work for Microsoft!) While I hadn’t had official confirmation, I strongly suspected that my eldest daughter was sexual active, based on some of the quiet conversations she and Angela had when they knew that I was out of earshot. Angela and I, both having the same fear, blurted out in unison, “Oh my god, you’re pregnant!”
Maribel actually laughed at this. “Oh, pul-ease! No, I’m not pregnant!”
Angela and I both expressed considerable relief. Angela urged Maribel to continue.
“Well,” she started. “Now, you guys might think I’m weird.” I suppressed a chuckle. Wouldn’t it be funny, I thought, if my daughter turned out to be a spanko.
She continued. “You see, me and my boyfriend… well … he’s not hurting me, but, um, this was my idea. It was something that I’ve always wanted to try.”
“You’re not taking drugs, are you, Maribel?” Angela asked, sternly.
“Now, darling,” I said to my wife, “Maribel is and adult, and we’ve always trusted her judgment. I think we should let her finish. Go ahead, Maribel, tell us what you wanted to say.”
“Thanks, Daddy,” she said. “Okay. Well, you see, I guess, um, I kinda … gosh, this is really hard.”
Angela and I remained silent and allowed her to continue her confession.
“Well, I let my boyfriend spank me! And I really liked it!”
If you know what a spit-take is, you’ll be able to visualize my reaction. I somehow never expected to hear that!
“Oh my god!” Maribel exclaimed, “You guys think I’m a sicko!”
When I had regained my wits and wiped off my glasses, I gave my response. “My dear daughter,” I began, “We don’t think you’re sick or weird or anything like that. Some people have certain, er, shall we say, sexual interests. As long as it is consensual, discreet, and as long as you two have an understanding of what your limits are, then if you and your gentleman suitor enjoy spanking, you should feel free experiment. I’m sure your mother feels the same as I do.” Angela, somewhat red of face, nodded her assent.
Maribel naturally was quite relieved. She proceeded to pour out a whole string of questions, but before I could say anything more, Angela got up and guided our daughter into another room where they could share some “girl talk.”
When Angela returned about an hour later, I asked her if she had told Maribel of our spanking proclivities. “Fuck no,” she replied. “What, you want her to think that her parents are weird or something?”
“Well, my darling, for raising your daughter to be a spanko, when we have some quiet time, I’m going to have to give you a good spanking!”
Angela laughed and replied, “My daughter? You’re the father! The oldest daughter always belongs to the father!” Now we were both laughing.
The discussion of the subsequent spankings will have to wait for another day. For some reason, I was terribly relieved that Angela had not shared our preference for the corporal arts with our daughter. It took me a while to figure out why. I eventually decided that there are just some things, things that go on behind closed doors, in the dark, and most likely in the nude, that are best left untold to anyone, let alone ones offspring. I don’t share gory details of my sex life with friends, so I’m certainly not going to tell them to my children. I’d be afraid that knowing their parents had sex would give them nightmares!
I was, perhaps, somewhat more concerned about the fact that it was, by now, pretty obvious to me that Maribel was, indeed, engaging in sexual pleasures with the afore-mentioned boyfriend. One reads too many stories of how high-school and college males unscrupulously, and often dangerously, attempt to convince the young ladies to engage in intercourse with them. However, Maribel is a pretty assertive person, and has demonstrated in the past that she can handle difficult situations. She is not a tiny person, standing about 6 feet tall. And, from my experiences, it is nearly impossible to get Maribel to do anything in which she does not prefer.
Still, I continue to work through the fact that my oldest daughter is a spanko. I do not think it is a bad thing. Although I may one day, for now, I’m not quite sure if it is fantastic.
Monday, November 06, 2006
As a result of this investigation, I have discovered more fine spanking writers, and have taken the opportunity to add them to the list of Frank's Faves, located on the left margin.
The new links are:
These are all quite well done blogs and, as such, have been awarded the Frank Spanko Seal Of Approval.
I recommend that, if you have not done so already, that you take a moment to puruse these blogs, as they are all quite fantastic.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
The Baseball Spanking
In the meantime, I should like to return to a topic that I discussed approximately two weeks ago, that being the spanking that was due my dear wife, Angela, for thinking that my beloved Detroit Tigers would fail to reach the World Series. As you know by now, the Tigers did reach the Series, but failed to triumph, losing to the St. Louis Cardinals, 4 games to 1. The Cardinals are a fine franchise and are deserving of a championship, so losing to them was not an embarassment, but was nonetheless somewhat deflating.
But I digress. For not believing in my Tigers, I had promised Angela a baseball-related spanking, and on the date of the first World Series game, I made good my promise. Maribel is still away at school, and we bribed Colette to leave the house by allowing her to use the expensive stereo equipment in the guest house to play her favorite musical artists as loudly as she liked. She was so excited that we didn’t see her for hours.
As stated in an earlier post, I made the lovely Angela dress in nothing but a Detroit Tigers jersey. She looked mighty cute in that attire, with her fine legs on display and her pert little butt peeking out from beneath the tail of the jersey. Since this was supposed to be a “fun” spanking (but then all of our spankings are fun), we cuddled on the couch in front a lit fireplace on the sofa for a bit while I took pleasure in pressing the flesh on her derriere. When my hands were happy, it was time to get to the spanking.
I decided to make this a “baseball trivia spanking.” I retrieved the bath brush with the long handle, a nice leather strap, and a good, sturdy wooden paddle with holes in it. The game was simple: I would name each city in the Major Leagues with a baseball franchise. She had to tell me the team’s nickname, what league and division they were in, their manager’s name, and the year that they last won the World Series. For each item she got wrong, I would give her one swat. For each team, if she named one item wrong, she’d get whacked with the bath brush. If the missed two, it would be one with the brush and one with the strap. If she missed three or more, she’d get all three weapons. I laid her down on the sofa, pulled the tail of jersey out of the way of her fine behind, and the fun began.
Now Angela is not the baseball fanatic that I am, but she does casually follow the game. So I figured that she’d get enough correct to make this enjoyable, but would miss enough so that I would be able to redden her butt nicely.
I started out easy, as the first city that I named was Detroit. She knew that the Tigers (one right) played in the American League Central Division (two more right), and that they last won the World Series in 1984 (up to four right). She did not, however, know that Jim Leyland was their manager. So I picked up the bath brush and gave her a nice, firm swat to her right cheek. She squealed prettily for me.
The next city was Seattle, which was a little more difficult. She knew the team name, and was able to reason that they played in the American League West Division, but she didn’t know their manager (Mike Hargrove) or the last time they’d won the World Series (trick question, they’ve never won a series). It was two swats this time, one with the brush and one with the strap.
We continued this way for all thirty cities. She knew most of the nicknames (she didn’t know that Tampa was the Devil Rays, but who does?), all of the leagues, and about two-thirds of divisions. She struggled on the managers, although when she said Dusty Baker for the Chicago Cubs, I gave her credit because he was just recently given his walking papers by that organization. On the World Series topic, she knew very few, although, surprisingly, she did know that the Cubs haven’t won a World Series since 1917. She got all five items correct for the New York Yankees, which surprised but annoyed me because I hate the Yankees and I certainly don’t want my beloved spouse to follow them.
In total, she received 29 with the bath brush, twenty with the strap, and twelve with the paddle, for a total of 61 swats, a number that I deemed satisfactory. Her butt was nicely red and rather hot, just the way we both like it. I let her rub it for a few moments so that she could enjoy the heat.
Naturally, I decided that this was not the end of her punishment. I told her to stand up and touch her toes so that I could give her an additional ten with the paddle, very hard this time, for having the gall to pick against my heroes. Being a mean, old bastard, I made her ask me to paddle her, to count the swats, and to thank me after each swat. I added an additional five swats when she called me a mean, old bastard, which gave new meaning to the phrase, “the truth hurts.”
At this point, I deemed that the spanking had concluded. She turned around and gave me a big hug, and I grabbed two handfuls of red butt. I then told her that if she ran and got some lotion, I’d be happy to apply some to her burning buttocks so that her skin would remain soft and supple. To my surprise and delight, she returned with not just the lotion but with a wooden hairbrush as well, and asked for “just a little more spanking” before rubbing her down. I happily complied. Now you know why I love my wife.
We held off love-making until retiring for the night. At that time, I re-warmed her backside with one of those small, souvenir baseball bats (nice and stingy but quiet), and then we engaged in some pleasures that will remain private. Even an imaginary spanko needs some secrets in his life.
Knowing my darling wife as I do, I’m sure that Angela is now joyously scheming up a way to spank me for the poor performance that the Tigers showed during the Series. Can you imagine, punishing me for the ineptness of some baseball players? I guess that some people will use any excuse as a reason to give a spanking.
Which is perfectly fantastic by me.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Go Forth And Delurk
For example, on a typical day, Fantastic Spanking gets roughly 1,000 hits. Of these 1000, approximately 950 stay for less than 5 seconds. Of the remaining 50 people who do stay to actually read the content, I generally receive roughly 1 comment. Not that I'm complaining, however today is the day that you can show your appreciation by leaving a comment. It doesn't have to be long or detailed. Feel free to just say, "Hey!"
This day is, of course, sponsored by the lovely and talented Bonnie of My Bottom Smarts. Bonnie, is, of course, one of the best and most popular spanking bloggers in the real world. Naturally, in the imaginary world, I am the most fantastic, but that is a topic for another day. I'd like to thank Bonnie for leading the Delurk Day effort, as well as displaying the above graphic that I have stolen for the day.
I intend to do my part by leaving little nuggets of wisdom at the internet daybooks of all of my favorite authors, whose sites are listed on the left under Frank's Faves. I'm sure that my remarks will be the highlight of their day. And your little commentary left here will warm the cockles, if not the buns, of this old imaginary blogger.
So, proceed to Delurk! It's a fantastic idea!