Monday, January 22, 2007
Consequences, Part One
Now, my friends, I ask you: What is a few dollars amongst friends? Isn’t it better to hand out some of my wealth to my poker friends in the course of a debaucherous evening than to do with out the night of camaraderie? Yes, even an imaginary spanko has limits to his wealth, and mine are no different than yours. But doesn’t it engender goodwill and good feelings if I spread said wealth amongst one’s friends?
If you are confused, please allow me to explain. Six of my friends, some of whom I have known since high school or college, gathered at my abode last Friday to enjoy an evening of good food, good drink, and good times whilst playing poker. We partook in a couple of bottles of excellent wine, 8 or 9 bottles of a very fine, refreshing brew, and night caps of drambouie. I made hor d’oerves of crab, turkey sausage, and several kinds of cheese. And we ordered pizza. The stakes in the game were not high, as we play for nickels, dimes, and quarters. Sometimes one wins a few bucks, sometimes one loses.
Suffice to say, I lost. Badly. Despite winning the last pot of the evening, which was considerable, I donated about $25 to the good fortunes of my friends. Needless to say, Angela was not pleased.
No, that is a lie. When I lose, she gets to spank me. Therefore, she was pleased. Very pleased indeed.
On Sunday morning, after breakfast, I usually retire to the guest house, ostensibly to work on one of my woodworking projects but in reality to read the newspaper and take a nap in peace. So, when Angela came strolling in, smiling, in the middle of the sports section, I knew that it was time.
Angela had me remove my trousers and under-trousers and lay over the back of an arm chair. She had brought with her a finely-crafted wooden spoon, smooth and heavy, that we had obtained at a touristy-type store at a one of those quaint Midwestern ethnic towns. As a cooking utensil, it was truly not very useful. As a spanking utensil, however, it stung like a mother-fucker. Actually, I do not believe that we have ever used it as a cooking utensil.
Angela pulled up a chair and took a seat facing my exposed rear end. Then she began to vigorously toast my buns (sorry, but it was still just after breakfast). She would concentrate 5 or 10 swats on one small spot on my poor butt, then move on to a different spot. I started to wiggle and writhe as she applied the heat. Each spot that she worked on felt like she had left a red-hot brand on my flesh. After about 200 sizzling whacks, she stopped.
She told me not to move and got up from her chair. I dangled there, feeling the sting ease from my arse, replaced by considerable warmth. When she returned, I glanced back and noticed that she was carrying a device commonly known as the butt plug. It was clearly glistening with lubricant, and thus was ready to, well, plug my butt. I felt Angela spread my cheeks and press the device in. She informed me that this would “help increase the heat,” which I thought was a curious statement.
Here ends the first part. Tune in tomorrow for the dramatic conclusion, where we find out just how Angela increases the heat.
If you are confused, please allow me to explain. Six of my friends, some of whom I have known since high school or college, gathered at my abode last Friday to enjoy an evening of good food, good drink, and good times whilst playing poker. We partook in a couple of bottles of excellent wine, 8 or 9 bottles of a very fine, refreshing brew, and night caps of drambouie. I made hor d’oerves of crab, turkey sausage, and several kinds of cheese. And we ordered pizza. The stakes in the game were not high, as we play for nickels, dimes, and quarters. Sometimes one wins a few bucks, sometimes one loses.
Suffice to say, I lost. Badly. Despite winning the last pot of the evening, which was considerable, I donated about $25 to the good fortunes of my friends. Needless to say, Angela was not pleased.
No, that is a lie. When I lose, she gets to spank me. Therefore, she was pleased. Very pleased indeed.
On Sunday morning, after breakfast, I usually retire to the guest house, ostensibly to work on one of my woodworking projects but in reality to read the newspaper and take a nap in peace. So, when Angela came strolling in, smiling, in the middle of the sports section, I knew that it was time.
Angela had me remove my trousers and under-trousers and lay over the back of an arm chair. She had brought with her a finely-crafted wooden spoon, smooth and heavy, that we had obtained at a touristy-type store at a one of those quaint Midwestern ethnic towns. As a cooking utensil, it was truly not very useful. As a spanking utensil, however, it stung like a mother-fucker. Actually, I do not believe that we have ever used it as a cooking utensil.Angela pulled up a chair and took a seat facing my exposed rear end. Then she began to vigorously toast my buns (sorry, but it was still just after breakfast). She would concentrate 5 or 10 swats on one small spot on my poor butt, then move on to a different spot. I started to wiggle and writhe as she applied the heat. Each spot that she worked on felt like she had left a red-hot brand on my flesh. After about 200 sizzling whacks, she stopped.
She told me not to move and got up from her chair. I dangled there, feeling the sting ease from my arse, replaced by considerable warmth. When she returned, I glanced back and noticed that she was carrying a device commonly known as the butt plug. It was clearly glistening with lubricant, and thus was ready to, well, plug my butt. I felt Angela spread my cheeks and press the device in. She informed me that this would “help increase the heat,” which I thought was a curious statement.
Here ends the first part. Tune in tomorrow for the dramatic conclusion, where we find out just how Angela increases the heat.
