Sunday, December 17, 2006
Angela Gets A Spanking, As Promised
In my previous post, I promised to discuss an incident that took place between Angela and I during the past week. My darling wife was working from home while she convalesced from a cranky back, or a banky crack, depending on what mood you are in. I, of course, regularly work from home because it would make me feel bad to have this nice, big house and have to leave it every day.
Last week, my lovely wife started to get into the habit of visiting me in my office in a state of, shall we say, partial nudity. For example, mid-morning last Monday she popped in and asked me if I wanted another cup of tea. She was wearing no pants. No undies, no thong, not even a jock strap. I thought perhaps that she had decided that the day was to be another “no pants day,” but when I asked her about it, she acted as if she had not the faintest notion of what I was talking about.
The next day at midday, she appeared to ask if I wanted to partake in some lunch. She was decidedly topless. Now, I don’t mind gazing upon the lovely breasts of my wife, but I was again taken aback. She acted as if nothing were different. When she returned with the noon meal, she had donned a shirt.
This occurred regularly for the next couple of days. She’d appear topless, then bottomless, and once she wore just a brassiere. If I inquired as to the reason for her states of undress, she continued to insist that she was in no such state. I began to get entirely distracted.
At last, on Thursday, when she brought me a nice, steaming cup of oolong (that’s a kind of tea for those of you who are strictly coffee drinkers), she was attired in nothing except a tiny red bow tie. She wasn’t even wearing stockings. It was at this point that I became entirely exasperated and decided that it was time to take action.
I took a sip of my tea (excellently brewed, I might add), and put down my cup. Then I said, “My dear, why exactly do you insist on visiting me this week missing various sections of you clothing?”
“Why,” she responded coyly, “whatever are you referring to?”
“I’m referring to your current attire, or lack thereof. Monday it was no pants. Tuesday it was no shirt. Wednesday it was no pants, then no shirt, then nothing but a bra. And now, except for that silly bow tie, you are completely naked. I’d like to know what prompted this bizarre behavior.”
She pouted. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “You don’t like the bow tie? I thought it was cute!”
At this point I felt that a specific action on my part was definitely required. I keep a wooden hairbrush in one of my desk drawers for just such an occasion. I took the brush out of the drawer, swung my chair around so that I was directly facing her, and told her, “That does it, young lady. Come here and get over my lap!”
Her reaction was entirely too enthusiastic for my tastes. Then again, she is a Spanko, so I should have expected nothing less. She hopped up and down, clapped her hands, and squealed, “Oh, goodie!” She scurried over to me and plopped herself over my legs.
Naturally, I took the opportunity to admire her excellent posterior, which, despite being in it’s mid-forties (as it she, and I, for that matter) is still in fine shape. I brandished the hairbrush and told her, “I’m serious, young lady. I’m going to paddle you good and hard for your recalcitrance.”
“If you insist,” she responded, so I insisted several hard swats to her waiting cheeks. She was startled and yelped, but when I stopped to let her get her bearings, she was giggling like a schoolgirl. I got right down to the business of spanking her.
I methodically hammered each cheek, switching back and forth after a few swats. I made sure to get the entire surface, including sides, both inside and out. I even ventured a couple swats on her upper thighs, although not too hard so that there would be no marks for our daughter to accidentally catch sight of. I showed no mercy, making sure each swat had considerable velocity behind it. I took my time until her entire butt was a very nice, deep shade of red, slightly darker than Santa Claus’ standard suit.
When I was done, Angela was not giggling any more. Instead, she stood up and planted a very long, deep kiss upon my lips, complete with an exploring tongue. “It’s about fucking time you spanked me,” she said.
“Well, darling, I was making the excitement build so that you’d enjoy it all that much more.” That was, in fact, a true statement. She responded with a big smile and another massive lip lock.
Afterward, Angela donned a set of comfy sweats, although every time I saw her from that point until Colette came home she made sure to bare her bottom and asked me how red she was. We otherwise behaved ourselves for the remainder of the day and into the evening. Sometime after dinner, we informed Colette that we were both tired from a busy day and were heading for an early bedtime. Colette was occupied with discussing “homework” on the phone with one of her girl friends so she paid us little attention. I needn’t go into details as to why we actually retired early. Let’s just way that we attended to each other’s needs, and I’m not just referring to the massage that I gave to my darling’s aching back.
I’m sure that, at this moment, Angela is think up a new way to torment me this week. I’m trying to determine how long I should wait before I again apply the wood to her backside. Such a tough decision. Tough, but fantastic.
Last week, my lovely wife started to get into the habit of visiting me in my office in a state of, shall we say, partial nudity. For example, mid-morning last Monday she popped in and asked me if I wanted another cup of tea. She was wearing no pants. No undies, no thong, not even a jock strap. I thought perhaps that she had decided that the day was to be another “no pants day,” but when I asked her about it, she acted as if she had not the faintest notion of what I was talking about.
The next day at midday, she appeared to ask if I wanted to partake in some lunch. She was decidedly topless. Now, I don’t mind gazing upon the lovely breasts of my wife, but I was again taken aback. She acted as if nothing were different. When she returned with the noon meal, she had donned a shirt.
This occurred regularly for the next couple of days. She’d appear topless, then bottomless, and once she wore just a brassiere. If I inquired as to the reason for her states of undress, she continued to insist that she was in no such state. I began to get entirely distracted.
At last, on Thursday, when she brought me a nice, steaming cup of oolong (that’s a kind of tea for those of you who are strictly coffee drinkers), she was attired in nothing except a tiny red bow tie. She wasn’t even wearing stockings. It was at this point that I became entirely exasperated and decided that it was time to take action.
I took a sip of my tea (excellently brewed, I might add), and put down my cup. Then I said, “My dear, why exactly do you insist on visiting me this week missing various sections of you clothing?”
“Why,” she responded coyly, “whatever are you referring to?”
“I’m referring to your current attire, or lack thereof. Monday it was no pants. Tuesday it was no shirt. Wednesday it was no pants, then no shirt, then nothing but a bra. And now, except for that silly bow tie, you are completely naked. I’d like to know what prompted this bizarre behavior.”
She pouted. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “You don’t like the bow tie? I thought it was cute!”
At this point I felt that a specific action on my part was definitely required. I keep a wooden hairbrush in one of my desk drawers for just such an occasion. I took the brush out of the drawer, swung my chair around so that I was directly facing her, and told her, “That does it, young lady. Come here and get over my lap!”
Her reaction was entirely too enthusiastic for my tastes. Then again, she is a Spanko, so I should have expected nothing less. She hopped up and down, clapped her hands, and squealed, “Oh, goodie!” She scurried over to me and plopped herself over my legs.
Naturally, I took the opportunity to admire her excellent posterior, which, despite being in it’s mid-forties (as it she, and I, for that matter) is still in fine shape. I brandished the hairbrush and told her, “I’m serious, young lady. I’m going to paddle you good and hard for your recalcitrance.”
“If you insist,” she responded, so I insisted several hard swats to her waiting cheeks. She was startled and yelped, but when I stopped to let her get her bearings, she was giggling like a schoolgirl. I got right down to the business of spanking her.
I methodically hammered each cheek, switching back and forth after a few swats. I made sure to get the entire surface, including sides, both inside and out. I even ventured a couple swats on her upper thighs, although not too hard so that there would be no marks for our daughter to accidentally catch sight of. I showed no mercy, making sure each swat had considerable velocity behind it. I took my time until her entire butt was a very nice, deep shade of red, slightly darker than Santa Claus’ standard suit.
When I was done, Angela was not giggling any more. Instead, she stood up and planted a very long, deep kiss upon my lips, complete with an exploring tongue. “It’s about fucking time you spanked me,” she said.
“Well, darling, I was making the excitement build so that you’d enjoy it all that much more.” That was, in fact, a true statement. She responded with a big smile and another massive lip lock.
Afterward, Angela donned a set of comfy sweats, although every time I saw her from that point until Colette came home she made sure to bare her bottom and asked me how red she was. We otherwise behaved ourselves for the remainder of the day and into the evening. Sometime after dinner, we informed Colette that we were both tired from a busy day and were heading for an early bedtime. Colette was occupied with discussing “homework” on the phone with one of her girl friends so she paid us little attention. I needn’t go into details as to why we actually retired early. Let’s just way that we attended to each other’s needs, and I’m not just referring to the massage that I gave to my darling’s aching back.
I’m sure that, at this moment, Angela is think up a new way to torment me this week. I’m trying to determine how long I should wait before I again apply the wood to her backside. Such a tough decision. Tough, but fantastic.
Comments:
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Wow, this would have been sooooo kewl if it were real! Your imaginary wife certainly has a devilish side to her. I would think, if it were real, her bottom would be extremely tender after such a lesson.
[deep sigh] If only it were real!
Dave
[deep sigh] If only it were real!
Dave
The imaginary wife also looks pretty hot in that pic!
:)
~Todd & Suzy
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:)
~Todd & Suzy
# posted by 
: December 19, 2006 10:41 PM
: December 19, 2006 10:41 PM << Home
