Tuesday, February 27, 2007
For The Record
A few posts ago, I made reference to the NCAA Division II Women’s Basketball Tournament. I mentioned that the winner of my daughter’s conference tournament was NOT guaranteed a place in the tournament. Whilst I was speaking to my daughter’s coach last weekend, it was pointed out to me that this was an incorrect statement.
You see, my friends, it appears that the Division II tournament is run in much the same fashion as the Division I basketball tournaments. There are 64 teams competing for the championship, and each conference gets one guaranteed spot in the tournament. Thus, should Maribel and her mates win their conference tournament, she will indeed get a chance to complete for a national championship. Further, since her team is tied with another for the top spot in their conference, the likelihood seems very high that they will be granted an at-large bid should they fail to secure the guaranteed one. This is quite fantastic indeed. Our entire family is excited at the prospect of seeing Maribel ply her skills at a higher level.
Please forgive me for my error. I am guilty of making a bad assumption. For that, I deserve a spanking. I believe that I shall have Angela take care of that detail forthwith.
You see, my friends, it appears that the Division II tournament is run in much the same fashion as the Division I basketball tournaments. There are 64 teams competing for the championship, and each conference gets one guaranteed spot in the tournament. Thus, should Maribel and her mates win their conference tournament, she will indeed get a chance to complete for a national championship. Further, since her team is tied with another for the top spot in their conference, the likelihood seems very high that they will be granted an at-large bid should they fail to secure the guaranteed one. This is quite fantastic indeed. Our entire family is excited at the prospect of seeing Maribel ply her skills at a higher level.
Please forgive me for my error. I am guilty of making a bad assumption. For that, I deserve a spanking. I believe that I shall have Angela take care of that detail forthwith.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Champion Spanko
It is official. Maribel’s basketball team is the first place team in her conference! Or, at least one of the first place teams.
You see, her teams school and another school in her conference finished with the same conference record – 14 wins against 4 losses. The two schools played each other twice, with each team winning on their home court. So, from that standpoint, they are tied.
Of course, for their conference tournament, to be played next weekend, for the purpose of “seeding,” there can be only one first place team. So the “tiebreaker” is for the team with the best non-conference record. Both teams had the same number of non-conference losses, but Maribel’s school had one game cancelled because of that legendary snowstorm that blew through part of the country around Christmas. This was the snowstorm that dropped something line 87 feet of snow on Denver. Now, Maribel’s game was no where near Colorado. In fact, it was to be on her home court. However, the opposing team was to be flying in, and, due to the fabulous aircraft control system in this country and the large number of flight cancellations at that time, was unable to negotiate their way here. They were unable to reschedule the game, so it was cancelled. So Maribel’s team has one fewer wins than the team with which they are tied, which makes them, according to the rules, an inferior team.
This rule must have been made by a lawyer.
This is not to disparage lawyers. Only those who make basketball tiebreaker rules.
In any event, the family, as well as Angela’s friend Bernie, a legendary collegiate basketball player herself, drove down to watch Maribel’s first-place-tie-clinching game yesterday. They were playing a difficult team, one they had lost to earlier. The last home game of the season is typically known as “senior day,” as it is the last regular-season home game for seniors. On “senior day,” the home team is usually especially inspired, and this game was no different. Maribel’s team was dominant from the start, playing crisply and aggressively, and they won by nearly thirty points.
We took Maribel and one of her teammates (whose parents were unable to attend because they live in France) out for a celebratory meal at a very fine restaurant following the game. I told Maribel and her teammate that the sky was the limit and they could order anything they wanted and as much as they wanted. This led to an interesting discovery.
Six foot tall women’s college basketball players can consume a great deal of expensive food.
Fortunately, Maribel’s basketball prowess allows her to attend school on scholarship, so I considered the meal an investment in her education.
What does any of this have to do with spanking, you may ask. Well, later that night, back at the homestead, after our youngest daughter had retired for the evening, Angela and I were celebrating Maribel’s successful season in the way we celebrate many things – with some comfortable spanking and sexual activity. We have determined that, if we are careful and use the proper instruments, we can give quite satisfactory spankings without Colette being able to hear from her bedroom.
Following our festivities, Angela and I were snuggling comfortably and preparing to doze off when I chanced to comment, “I’ll bet that Maribel and her boyfriend are celebrating in the same fashion that we just did.”
Angela sat bolt upright. “Oh my fucking god!” she replied. “Thanks a lot, Frank. Now every time we have sex, I’m going to think about Maribel being spanked! We can never have sex again.”
“My dearest,” I responded, trying to preserve my sex life, “Maribel is a Spanko. She’ll most likely be doing the spanking most of the time.”
“Well….”. Angela thought for a second. “Maybe when she gets married we can have sex again.”
So now, although I would never pressure Maribel on the subject of who or when to marry, I’m trying to convince Angela that her current beau is her husband-to-be. Perhaps if she thinks in those terms, I won’t have to put an indefinite hold my sex life.
And I certainly don’t want to hurt my shoulder again whilst spanking myself. But that is a story for another time, one that, hopefully, you’ll find fantastic.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Updates On The Spanko Household
Whence last we spoke, things were a bit chilly at the Spakowiak residence. Our heating system had, as the saying goes, taken a crap. We were forced to move into the guest house. Since that time, the system has been partially repaired, at considerable distress to my wallet. The main house is once again habitable, but we have had to restrict occupancy to only the first floor. With Maribel at school, the primary rooms on the second floor are Colette's bedroom and Angela's office. I have purchased radiating space heaters for those rooms and closed off the rest. Apparently, an electrical transformer that manages the power used to heat the individual rooms needed to be replaced, and the repair firm was only able to secure a smaller transformer. They have assured us that a larger unit has been ordered and will be available ... in the spring, when the weather improves. Ah, well. We are spankos, we shall endure.
Speaking of Maribel, her conference basketball tournament is next week. Her team is currently tied for first place with two regular-season games remaining. Being a Division Two school, they are not assured a place in the national tournament if they win their conference tournament, but their conference winner has never missed being selected. Maribel currently leads the conference in rebounds, and is one of the top five scorers. Daddy is quite proud!
During my spare time, when I should be doing more constructive things like fixing the lawn mower or replacing the kitchen floor, I have been trolling the internet in search of reading material of a spanking nature. I have come across a site that warms the heart of an imaginary spanko like myself. Lowewood Academy is an accounting of the daily activities of a fictional British boarding school. It follows "traditional ways," which is another way of saying that it deals with those who do not follow it's rules by inflicting discomfort on said miscreants backside, often with a strap or cane. Were I a fictional Brit and not a fictional American, I'm sure that I would have sent my offspring to the Lowewood Academy for their education. It is ably run by it's headmaster, the aptly-named Mr Archibald Shaftebotham. It is cleverly written, and, of course, the main student characters are frequently running afoul of the faculty and thus finding their rumps reddenned. It has been added to the links in my sidebar. As such, I hearby grant Lowewood Academy the Frank Spanko Seal Of Approval.
Just toss him a fish occasionally and he'll be your best friend.
Speaking of Maribel, her conference basketball tournament is next week. Her team is currently tied for first place with two regular-season games remaining. Being a Division Two school, they are not assured a place in the national tournament if they win their conference tournament, but their conference winner has never missed being selected. Maribel currently leads the conference in rebounds, and is one of the top five scorers. Daddy is quite proud!
During my spare time, when I should be doing more constructive things like fixing the lawn mower or replacing the kitchen floor, I have been trolling the internet in search of reading material of a spanking nature. I have come across a site that warms the heart of an imaginary spanko like myself. Lowewood Academy is an accounting of the daily activities of a fictional British boarding school. It follows "traditional ways," which is another way of saying that it deals with those who do not follow it's rules by inflicting discomfort on said miscreants backside, often with a strap or cane. Were I a fictional Brit and not a fictional American, I'm sure that I would have sent my offspring to the Lowewood Academy for their education. It is ably run by it's headmaster, the aptly-named Mr Archibald Shaftebotham. It is cleverly written, and, of course, the main student characters are frequently running afoul of the faculty and thus finding their rumps reddenned. It has been added to the links in my sidebar. As such, I hearby grant Lowewood Academy the Frank Spanko Seal Of Approval.
Just toss him a fish occasionally and he'll be your best friend.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Spanko Meeting Spanko, Conclusion
Herein lies the dramatic conclusion of the story of an evening that Angela and I spent with another spanko couple. If the prose is slightly awkward, it is because I finished this little story in rather a hurry and very late at night. Despite that, I hope you enjoy the story's climax.
We redrew for teams, and, once again, it turned out to be boys-versus-girls. After seeing how well Billie took her previous swats, I wasn’t worried about paddling her bare butt. With all of her challenges to my skills as both a card-player and a spanko, I felt that some serious swats were appropriate punishment for her. So, naturally, Ben and I lost.
It wasn’t often that I bared my bottom for someone other than my wonderful wife or my proctologist. But here I found myself with my pants at my ankles and my butt presented to our guests. I let Billie use the smaller paddle so she could take a pair of swats. She handled it quite competently, and left my ass nicely sizzling.
We kept the same teams for the next game. Ben and I quickly dispatched the ladies, card-wise, which allowed us to take our time and admire their very nice, pink rumps before we reddened them up a little more. We made them both bend over at the same time, which gave us the advantage of doubling our pleasure.
It was now very late. We had played a goodly number of games, and it was time to consider retiring for the evening. I expressed my fatigue, so Angela suggested that we play one more game. That seemed acceptable to me. Then Billie offered her suggestions for slightly modifying the rules at the end of the evening.
“It’s time that we start using these paddles for real,” she began. “Let’s play for one swat per point per hand. So, after a hand, whoever wins the hand gives the losers one whack for each point that their team has in the game so far. The team that loses the game gets that plus an additional ten. This way, when you lose, “she said, looking straight at me, “you’ll have a seriously sore butt.”
I was somewhat annoyed at what Billie was implying. “If you want a seriously sore butt,” I responded, “why don’t you just let me take you over my knee and use that small paddle on you until my arm gets tired!”
I wasn’t really serious, just irked. I would have been satisfied with the extra ten swats, but Billie surprised me.
“You’re on!” she challenged.
Being the good host, it would have been rude to for me to go back on my offer. Besides, my ire was up, and I looked forward to giving Billie’s behind a good working-over.
Again, I shall spare you all but a few details. It was a close game, so both teams took their fair share of swats during the competition. In the last hand, trailing 9 points to 8 in a game to ten, Ben called trump which meshed perfectly with my hand. We took all five tricks, earning us two points for the hand and victory for the game. I leered at Billie with delight, ready to take her over my lap and paddle the impertinence right out of her.
I rose, picked up the small paddle, pulled a chair into the middle of the room, and indicated that I was waiting for Billie to assume the position across my knees. Angela gave me the “be careful, we don’t know these people’s limits” look. I responded with my “I don’t give a shit, this woman pissed me off” look. Throughout this all, Ben looked completely non-plussed, which I found somewhat curious.
I decided that some caution was proper. “Do you have a preferred safe word?” I asked of Billie as she was draping herself over my lap.
Before she could respond, Ben said, “That’s okay, she doesn’t need one.”
Billie just laughed at that, so I decided to give her something to laugh at. I brought the paddle down across her bare bottom. She yelped but kept giggling, so I figured that she was ready to endure. I cracked her other cheek, tapped her once or twice, and smacked each cheek again.
I slowly and methodically paddled her ass, making sure that no spot was left un-reddened. I would whack one cheek two or three times in the same spot, then repeat the process on the other cheek. I gradually increased the intensity, making sure that I snapped my wrist on the downswing for maximum sting. Her butt grew a deeper and deeper shade of red. When I decided that she had had enough, my arm wasn’t worn out although her bottom certainly was.
I did not know how many times I struck her naughty little bottom (Angela later told me that it was 68), but I knew that her rear end would remember my spanking for a while. She was still smiling when she dismounted my lap, but it was a little strained. Ben looked quietly pleased, probably figuring that I had saved his arm the effort of properly punishing her when they arrived home. Like a good husband, Ben rubbed some of the sting out of Billie’s fanny before she put on her pants. Shortly after that, we said our farewells and Ben and Billie departed for the evening.
Having taken my stress out on Billie’s butt, by now I was rather spent and was looking forward to crawling into my comfortable bed with my beautiful wife cuddling next to me. I told Angela that I was going to have a quick look in on the offspring in the guest house, but Angela had other ideas. She had deftly gone to work on my zipper, and before I realized her intent (I did say that I was tired), she had released my male appendage and had begun to perform fellatio upon it.
She quickly stripped me, pulled me to the floor, and took me right there in foyer. I do not even remember her removing her own clothing. With animal desire, she rode me, grunting and moaning, until we were both completely spent.
When I had regained my breath, I got up, quickly dressed, and went to make sure the kids were behaving themselves. They were safely asleep, so I left them and returned to the main house. I fell into bed where I found Angela, naked, waiting for me. We made love again, this time more slowly and thoroughly.
I had never seen Angela quite so desirous for sex as I did that night. Although I had found the evening generally pleasantly arousing, she later confided to me that the entire experience had excited her more than she could remember. Apparently, Billie had had a similar reaction. The following Monday, Angela related to me that Billie had told her she had made Ben pull into an empty lot so she could experience her sexual release as she felt she could not wait through the entire drive home without exploding.
We enjoyed a few more evenings with this spanko couple. Although they have since moved away, we still keep in touch, spanko-wise. We have even talked of vacationing together. Imagine, a four-person spanko vacation. Wouldn’t that be fantastic!
We redrew for teams, and, once again, it turned out to be boys-versus-girls. After seeing how well Billie took her previous swats, I wasn’t worried about paddling her bare butt. With all of her challenges to my skills as both a card-player and a spanko, I felt that some serious swats were appropriate punishment for her. So, naturally, Ben and I lost.
It wasn’t often that I bared my bottom for someone other than my wonderful wife or my proctologist. But here I found myself with my pants at my ankles and my butt presented to our guests. I let Billie use the smaller paddle so she could take a pair of swats. She handled it quite competently, and left my ass nicely sizzling.
We kept the same teams for the next game. Ben and I quickly dispatched the ladies, card-wise, which allowed us to take our time and admire their very nice, pink rumps before we reddened them up a little more. We made them both bend over at the same time, which gave us the advantage of doubling our pleasure.
It was now very late. We had played a goodly number of games, and it was time to consider retiring for the evening. I expressed my fatigue, so Angela suggested that we play one more game. That seemed acceptable to me. Then Billie offered her suggestions for slightly modifying the rules at the end of the evening.
“It’s time that we start using these paddles for real,” she began. “Let’s play for one swat per point per hand. So, after a hand, whoever wins the hand gives the losers one whack for each point that their team has in the game so far. The team that loses the game gets that plus an additional ten. This way, when you lose, “she said, looking straight at me, “you’ll have a seriously sore butt.”
I was somewhat annoyed at what Billie was implying. “If you want a seriously sore butt,” I responded, “why don’t you just let me take you over my knee and use that small paddle on you until my arm gets tired!”
I wasn’t really serious, just irked. I would have been satisfied with the extra ten swats, but Billie surprised me.
“You’re on!” she challenged.
Being the good host, it would have been rude to for me to go back on my offer. Besides, my ire was up, and I looked forward to giving Billie’s behind a good working-over.
Again, I shall spare you all but a few details. It was a close game, so both teams took their fair share of swats during the competition. In the last hand, trailing 9 points to 8 in a game to ten, Ben called trump which meshed perfectly with my hand. We took all five tricks, earning us two points for the hand and victory for the game. I leered at Billie with delight, ready to take her over my lap and paddle the impertinence right out of her.
I rose, picked up the small paddle, pulled a chair into the middle of the room, and indicated that I was waiting for Billie to assume the position across my knees. Angela gave me the “be careful, we don’t know these people’s limits” look. I responded with my “I don’t give a shit, this woman pissed me off” look. Throughout this all, Ben looked completely non-plussed, which I found somewhat curious.
I decided that some caution was proper. “Do you have a preferred safe word?” I asked of Billie as she was draping herself over my lap.
Before she could respond, Ben said, “That’s okay, she doesn’t need one.”
Billie just laughed at that, so I decided to give her something to laugh at. I brought the paddle down across her bare bottom. She yelped but kept giggling, so I figured that she was ready to endure. I cracked her other cheek, tapped her once or twice, and smacked each cheek again.
I slowly and methodically paddled her ass, making sure that no spot was left un-reddened. I would whack one cheek two or three times in the same spot, then repeat the process on the other cheek. I gradually increased the intensity, making sure that I snapped my wrist on the downswing for maximum sting. Her butt grew a deeper and deeper shade of red. When I decided that she had had enough, my arm wasn’t worn out although her bottom certainly was.
I did not know how many times I struck her naughty little bottom (Angela later told me that it was 68), but I knew that her rear end would remember my spanking for a while. She was still smiling when she dismounted my lap, but it was a little strained. Ben looked quietly pleased, probably figuring that I had saved his arm the effort of properly punishing her when they arrived home. Like a good husband, Ben rubbed some of the sting out of Billie’s fanny before she put on her pants. Shortly after that, we said our farewells and Ben and Billie departed for the evening.
Having taken my stress out on Billie’s butt, by now I was rather spent and was looking forward to crawling into my comfortable bed with my beautiful wife cuddling next to me. I told Angela that I was going to have a quick look in on the offspring in the guest house, but Angela had other ideas. She had deftly gone to work on my zipper, and before I realized her intent (I did say that I was tired), she had released my male appendage and had begun to perform fellatio upon it.
She quickly stripped me, pulled me to the floor, and took me right there in foyer. I do not even remember her removing her own clothing. With animal desire, she rode me, grunting and moaning, until we were both completely spent.
When I had regained my breath, I got up, quickly dressed, and went to make sure the kids were behaving themselves. They were safely asleep, so I left them and returned to the main house. I fell into bed where I found Angela, naked, waiting for me. We made love again, this time more slowly and thoroughly.
I had never seen Angela quite so desirous for sex as I did that night. Although I had found the evening generally pleasantly arousing, she later confided to me that the entire experience had excited her more than she could remember. Apparently, Billie had had a similar reaction. The following Monday, Angela related to me that Billie had told her she had made Ben pull into an empty lot so she could experience her sexual release as she felt she could not wait through the entire drive home without exploding.
We enjoyed a few more evenings with this spanko couple. Although they have since moved away, we still keep in touch, spanko-wise. We have even talked of vacationing together. Imagine, a four-person spanko vacation. Wouldn’t that be fantastic!
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Spanko Meeting Spanko, Chapter Three
We now resume our tale of an evening of spankings with another couple that I had just met. Belinda, or Billie, was a co-worker and friend of my wonder wife, and Ben was her husband. In the last installment, we began to play a contest of euchre, and were wagering a spanking on each game.
We rotated teams for the next game, with Angela partnering with Ben and Billie with me. This allowed basically the same arrangement as the last game, with spouse spanking spouse. Angela’s string of loners continued, and Billie and I found ourselves on the receiving end of the paddle. We both chose the larger paddle. Ben delivered another significant swat to Billie’s behind, and Angela took her revenge with a fine whack to my derriere.
Things then got a little more complicated. The next team rotation was to play with one’s spouse. That meant that we would no longer be spanking someone familiar. I started getting pretty nervous thinking about the consequences of spanking Billie or Ben. Should Angela and I be victorious, I didn’t want to hit too hard for fear of spoiling the night and hurting a guest. Yet, being a long-time spanko, and proud of it, if I hit too softly, I didn’t want to be thought of as a poser.
I had decided that perhaps it might be best if Angela and I were to lose. I felt safer allowing our guests to paddle us. But then Billie threw down the gauntlet. “How do you like your swats?” she asked me.
“I beg your pardon?” I responded, raising my eyebrows.
“Ben and I never lose in euchre,” she responded. “When we win, how do you want your swats? Good and hard, or do you prefer little pitty-pats?”
For those of you who follow this blog, you probably know that there are two things on which I most pride myself. One is my euchre-playing acumen, especially when teamed with my darling spouse. The other is my ability to take a swat. When it comes to whacking my butt, I’ve always preferred the harder the better. And this woman, this stranger, this guest in my house, had challenged both. There would be no throwing this game. And when Ben added, “I’m sure Angela’s butt is pretty strong, but we’d better take it easy on Frank!” the game was afoot.
Since this is primarily a spanking blog and not a card player’s blog, I shall spare you the boring details of the game. Suffice to say, Angela and I were equal to the challenge. Billie insisted on being paddled by your’s truly, which, considering her friendly insult, I was perfectly agreeable with. She again opted for the large paddle. I bent her over the table, hitched up her pants, took up the paddle, and gave her one of my finest. She jumped up and grabbed her sizzling seat, but she was smiling, and she saluted me on the quality of my delivery.
After Ben took her swat from Angela, we opted for a rematch with the same teams. We also doubled the stakes, so each person on the winning team would get to swat both members of the losing. And, proving our championship euchre caliber, Angela and I were again winners, and Ben and Billie were again rewarded with sore backsides. At this point, Billie excused herself to find the rest room, and Angela offered to refresh our beverages. Ben and I made small talk for a bit, discussing whether his accounting firm or my IT firm had more incompetent management.
When the ladies returned, Billie insisted on showing us the effects of my paddling on her butt. She lowered her jeans, displaying a fine bottom in a cute shade of pink. Not to be outdone, Angela also gave us a view of her tushie, although she had not taken as many swats as Billie.
We rotated teams, going back to boys-versus-girls. This time the girls won, and Ben and I received our swats from the ladies. By mutual agreement, we increased the swats to two each and switched partners again. We played a couple more games in this fashion, with the swats evenly distributed, and then took another break. Once again, the ladies found it necessary to model their warm fannies for us gentlemen. This time we were allowed to feel how effective our paddlings were on them.
After the display of pink bottoms, Angela brought warm brownies with french vanilla ice cream for all to enjoy. We all agreed that Angela makes the best brownies in the world, real or imaginary. Although the hour was growing late, at least for people who were pushing forty (at the time), we decided to continue playing at least a couple of more games. Also, since the brownies were clearly affecting our brains, we mutually decided that, henceforth and for the remainder of the night, spankings for the losers would be on the bare bottom.
The next chapter will detail the afore-mentioned bare bottom spankings, and reveal just how slowly our brains were working.
We rotated teams for the next game, with Angela partnering with Ben and Billie with me. This allowed basically the same arrangement as the last game, with spouse spanking spouse. Angela’s string of loners continued, and Billie and I found ourselves on the receiving end of the paddle. We both chose the larger paddle. Ben delivered another significant swat to Billie’s behind, and Angela took her revenge with a fine whack to my derriere.
Things then got a little more complicated. The next team rotation was to play with one’s spouse. That meant that we would no longer be spanking someone familiar. I started getting pretty nervous thinking about the consequences of spanking Billie or Ben. Should Angela and I be victorious, I didn’t want to hit too hard for fear of spoiling the night and hurting a guest. Yet, being a long-time spanko, and proud of it, if I hit too softly, I didn’t want to be thought of as a poser.
I had decided that perhaps it might be best if Angela and I were to lose. I felt safer allowing our guests to paddle us. But then Billie threw down the gauntlet. “How do you like your swats?” she asked me.
“I beg your pardon?” I responded, raising my eyebrows.
“Ben and I never lose in euchre,” she responded. “When we win, how do you want your swats? Good and hard, or do you prefer little pitty-pats?”
For those of you who follow this blog, you probably know that there are two things on which I most pride myself. One is my euchre-playing acumen, especially when teamed with my darling spouse. The other is my ability to take a swat. When it comes to whacking my butt, I’ve always preferred the harder the better. And this woman, this stranger, this guest in my house, had challenged both. There would be no throwing this game. And when Ben added, “I’m sure Angela’s butt is pretty strong, but we’d better take it easy on Frank!” the game was afoot.
Since this is primarily a spanking blog and not a card player’s blog, I shall spare you the boring details of the game. Suffice to say, Angela and I were equal to the challenge. Billie insisted on being paddled by your’s truly, which, considering her friendly insult, I was perfectly agreeable with. She again opted for the large paddle. I bent her over the table, hitched up her pants, took up the paddle, and gave her one of my finest. She jumped up and grabbed her sizzling seat, but she was smiling, and she saluted me on the quality of my delivery.
After Ben took her swat from Angela, we opted for a rematch with the same teams. We also doubled the stakes, so each person on the winning team would get to swat both members of the losing. And, proving our championship euchre caliber, Angela and I were again winners, and Ben and Billie were again rewarded with sore backsides. At this point, Billie excused herself to find the rest room, and Angela offered to refresh our beverages. Ben and I made small talk for a bit, discussing whether his accounting firm or my IT firm had more incompetent management.
When the ladies returned, Billie insisted on showing us the effects of my paddling on her butt. She lowered her jeans, displaying a fine bottom in a cute shade of pink. Not to be outdone, Angela also gave us a view of her tushie, although she had not taken as many swats as Billie.
We rotated teams, going back to boys-versus-girls. This time the girls won, and Ben and I received our swats from the ladies. By mutual agreement, we increased the swats to two each and switched partners again. We played a couple more games in this fashion, with the swats evenly distributed, and then took another break. Once again, the ladies found it necessary to model their warm fannies for us gentlemen. This time we were allowed to feel how effective our paddlings were on them.
After the display of pink bottoms, Angela brought warm brownies with french vanilla ice cream for all to enjoy. We all agreed that Angela makes the best brownies in the world, real or imaginary. Although the hour was growing late, at least for people who were pushing forty (at the time), we decided to continue playing at least a couple of more games. Also, since the brownies were clearly affecting our brains, we mutually decided that, henceforth and for the remainder of the night, spankings for the losers would be on the bare bottom.
The next chapter will detail the afore-mentioned bare bottom spankings, and reveal just how slowly our brains were working.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Spanko Meeting Spanko, Chapter Two
We now return to the story of my introduction to another couple who, unbeknownst to me at first, were also spankos.
Angela returned with two of my favorite paddles. One was a smaller, oval shaped paddle that nicely covered one bottom cheeks and left a most delightful sting. The other was the larger, “fraternity” type paddle, about fifteen inches long plus the handle. This was not our heaviest paddle, but still could pack quite a wallop. These were serious paddles.
I was hoping that Angela knew what she was doing. Billie was a somewhat petite person. I could picture her getting a good swat and clutching her little butt, screaming in agony. Her husband would then attempt to be chivalrous by threatening me with bodily harm. They would report us to the police, we would be arrested, the extent of our spanking hobby exposed for community ridicule. We would have to quit our jobs, move to a new town, change our names in an attempt to avoid the taunts and threats of those who did not approve or did not understand.
What can I say. When I worry, I worry big time.
Belinda and Ben did not seem concerned, however. In fact, Billie seemed delighted with Angela’s choice of implement. Billie examined each instrument and complemented us on their looks and workmanship. She seemed genuinely anxious to feel their effects, so I relaxed a little.
We agreed that we would initially play for one swat with the with the large paddle or two with the small (spankee’s choice), and not on the bare bottom, for each person on the losing team. We drew for partners for the first game, and it became the guys against the gals. This was something of a relief to me. Should we win, I could see how Ben paddled his wife, and I could spank Angela, who’s limits I knew quite well. Should we lose, same thing in reverse.
I considered playing poorly because I thought it might be safer if the boys were paddled first. However, my wife, the cut-throat card player, scored a four-point loner on the first hand, so I decided that my pride in my excellent euchre skills was more important than my fears. Besides, I was not going to allow my wife to spank me without a fight.
We did not lose, so the girls were the first to be paddled. Since we were the hosts, I allowed Ben to whack his lovely wife first. Billie chose one swat with the larger paddle, and, without pause, stood up and bent over her chair. Ben took the paddle, walked around behind his wife, took aim, and delivered one considerable whack to her backside. Billie stood straight up and clutched her bottom, squealing. I immediately became concerned for her, fearing that she had not realized how much a large wooden paddle would hurt, even over her jeans. But she was smiling, and complemented her hubby on the efficacy of his spanking.
It was now time to deal with Angela. She opted for the smaller board. My dear spouse was not wearing jeans, but a pair of cotton slacks that offered somewhat less protection. I also knew that, underneath, she was wearing a pair of thong panties, offering no protection at all. She leaned over the table, presenting her lovely bottom to me. Since this evening was her idea, and since she had apparently withheld her friends spanko leanings from me, I decided that she would be properly chastised for her omission. I took aim at her left cheek, delivered a nice, punishing blow to it, then repeated the process on her right cheek. She hardly flinched after each swat, as I knew that she wouldn’t, but when I finished and she rose, she did not give me a completely satisfied look.
Angela returned with two of my favorite paddles. One was a smaller, oval shaped paddle that nicely covered one bottom cheeks and left a most delightful sting. The other was the larger, “fraternity” type paddle, about fifteen inches long plus the handle. This was not our heaviest paddle, but still could pack quite a wallop. These were serious paddles.
I was hoping that Angela knew what she was doing. Billie was a somewhat petite person. I could picture her getting a good swat and clutching her little butt, screaming in agony. Her husband would then attempt to be chivalrous by threatening me with bodily harm. They would report us to the police, we would be arrested, the extent of our spanking hobby exposed for community ridicule. We would have to quit our jobs, move to a new town, change our names in an attempt to avoid the taunts and threats of those who did not approve or did not understand.
What can I say. When I worry, I worry big time.
Belinda and Ben did not seem concerned, however. In fact, Billie seemed delighted with Angela’s choice of implement. Billie examined each instrument and complemented us on their looks and workmanship. She seemed genuinely anxious to feel their effects, so I relaxed a little.
We agreed that we would initially play for one swat with the with the large paddle or two with the small (spankee’s choice), and not on the bare bottom, for each person on the losing team. We drew for partners for the first game, and it became the guys against the gals. This was something of a relief to me. Should we win, I could see how Ben paddled his wife, and I could spank Angela, who’s limits I knew quite well. Should we lose, same thing in reverse.
I considered playing poorly because I thought it might be safer if the boys were paddled first. However, my wife, the cut-throat card player, scored a four-point loner on the first hand, so I decided that my pride in my excellent euchre skills was more important than my fears. Besides, I was not going to allow my wife to spank me without a fight.
We did not lose, so the girls were the first to be paddled. Since we were the hosts, I allowed Ben to whack his lovely wife first. Billie chose one swat with the larger paddle, and, without pause, stood up and bent over her chair. Ben took the paddle, walked around behind his wife, took aim, and delivered one considerable whack to her backside. Billie stood straight up and clutched her bottom, squealing. I immediately became concerned for her, fearing that she had not realized how much a large wooden paddle would hurt, even over her jeans. But she was smiling, and complemented her hubby on the efficacy of his spanking.It was now time to deal with Angela. She opted for the smaller board. My dear spouse was not wearing jeans, but a pair of cotton slacks that offered somewhat less protection. I also knew that, underneath, she was wearing a pair of thong panties, offering no protection at all. She leaned over the table, presenting her lovely bottom to me. Since this evening was her idea, and since she had apparently withheld her friends spanko leanings from me, I decided that she would be properly chastised for her omission. I took aim at her left cheek, delivered a nice, punishing blow to it, then repeated the process on her right cheek. She hardly flinched after each swat, as I knew that she wouldn’t, but when I finished and she rose, she did not give me a completely satisfied look.
Stay tuned for Chapter Three, to see how the game progresses.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Spankos Meeting Spankos, Chapter One
The story begins like any ordinary dinner party. It was about seven years ago, so Maribel had just started high school and Colette was about seven. We bribed the girls to spend the evening in the guest house with pizza, cookies, ice cream, and a selection of movies that I would not watch even if it were my job. Since I consider myself a competent cook, Angela made the evening meal so that, in her words, “Billie and Ben won’t be poisoned.” Sometimes I can truly relate to Rodney Dangerfield. The couple arrived, we enjoyed some excellent food (fortunately, Angela is quite talented in the kitchen, too), and engaged in lively conversation. After dinner, we retired to the living room in front of the fire place to enjoy a nice bottle of wine that our guests were considerate enough to bring.
After finishing our wine, we moved to the game room on the third floor of the converted barn that we call home to commence the card game. We decided to play euchre because I hate playing hearts and no one felt smart enough to play anything more difficult. We decided that we would rotate partners after each game, and then, to make the game a little more interesting, I suggested a small wager. That was my first mistake.
Now, I did not make this suggestion so that I could earn some extra college cash for the girls, or to pay for a Caribbean cruise. Rather, I figured that perhaps we could toss in a penny for each point that a team lost, and maybe a nickel if you were set. I also floated the idea of some sort of non-monetary stakes, such as a pizza dinner or a car wash. Billie indicated that she had a good idea for something we could play for. Being a good host, I allowed my guest to put forth her suggestion. That was my second mistake.
Billie said, “Why don’t we play for spankings?”
If I would have had a mouthful of wine at the time, I would have grossly sprayed it all over my lovely wife and her friends. Firstly, why did this woman make such an outrageous offer? Second, did Angela confide our spanko affiliation with this lady whom I had just met? Was this person, as a guest in our house, making fun of us? I was simply aghast. I glanced over at Ben, expecting a similarly shocked countenance.
Ben’s expression had hardly changed. He just shrugged, like this was a pretty ordinary statement to come out of his wife’s mouth. Now I was really confused? Could it be that … but no, I was allowing my imagination to get carried away. I could not believe that my darling wife would invite another couple over without telling me that they were spankos, and then be willing to engage in the practice with them socially. That was mistake number three. However, in this game, after three strikes at least you were not out.
Angela, without hesitation, responded, “Sounds good to me!” She looked at me with a smile and asked, “How about you, honey?” What could I say? Despite my startlement, I was still, after all, a Spanko. I assented.
Angela rose and said, “I’ll go get a paddle.”
Billie shouted back at her, “Bring a real one! None of that sissy leather crap or wussy ping pong paddles. I want real wood!” Either this woman was a hard-core spanko or she was completely nuts.
In the next installment, we find out just how nuts Billie and Ben are.
After finishing our wine, we moved to the game room on the third floor of the converted barn that we call home to commence the card game. We decided to play euchre because I hate playing hearts and no one felt smart enough to play anything more difficult. We decided that we would rotate partners after each game, and then, to make the game a little more interesting, I suggested a small wager. That was my first mistake.
Now, I did not make this suggestion so that I could earn some extra college cash for the girls, or to pay for a Caribbean cruise. Rather, I figured that perhaps we could toss in a penny for each point that a team lost, and maybe a nickel if you were set. I also floated the idea of some sort of non-monetary stakes, such as a pizza dinner or a car wash. Billie indicated that she had a good idea for something we could play for. Being a good host, I allowed my guest to put forth her suggestion. That was my second mistake.
Billie said, “Why don’t we play for spankings?”
If I would have had a mouthful of wine at the time, I would have grossly sprayed it all over my lovely wife and her friends. Firstly, why did this woman make such an outrageous offer? Second, did Angela confide our spanko affiliation with this lady whom I had just met? Was this person, as a guest in our house, making fun of us? I was simply aghast. I glanced over at Ben, expecting a similarly shocked countenance.
Ben’s expression had hardly changed. He just shrugged, like this was a pretty ordinary statement to come out of his wife’s mouth. Now I was really confused? Could it be that … but no, I was allowing my imagination to get carried away. I could not believe that my darling wife would invite another couple over without telling me that they were spankos, and then be willing to engage in the practice with them socially. That was mistake number three. However, in this game, after three strikes at least you were not out.
Angela, without hesitation, responded, “Sounds good to me!” She looked at me with a smile and asked, “How about you, honey?” What could I say? Despite my startlement, I was still, after all, a Spanko. I assented.
Angela rose and said, “I’ll go get a paddle.”
Billie shouted back at her, “Bring a real one! None of that sissy leather crap or wussy ping pong paddles. I want real wood!” Either this woman was a hard-core spanko or she was completely nuts.
In the next installment, we find out just how nuts Billie and Ben are.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Frozen Out
Some days ago, I presented the preamble to a story where Angela introduced me to a spanko friend of hers and her husband. I had intended on posting chapters of the story every day or two throughout the past week. However, mother nature opted to intervene.You see, like much of the country, our town has been lifted from it’s normal location in the Midwest and transported someplace above the Arctic Circle. It has been more than a week since we’ve seen a temperature above 10 degrees. Now, our house, the converted apple barn, has a somewhat complex heating system that combines natural gas, electricity, and solar panels in an attempt at efficiency. Please do not ask me to explain further because I cannot. Suffice to say, we are able to keep our home at an even, comfy 66 degrees and keep our heating bills below a million dollars per month.
Thanks to the brutal cold, one of the solar panels cracked. This caused the electric system to be over-stressed. Were the temperatures closer to the refrigerator than the deep freeze, this would have blow a fuse or two. However, the system was running so hard that the computer unit that regulates the whole mess shorted out, and some of the motors on the fans that help to maintain even temperature became overloaded and thus died horrible, screaming deaths. Basically, during the coldest week of the year, we were left without heat.
Fortunately, we were able to retreat to the guest house, which has a more conventional gas, forced-air furnace that works fine. Unfortunately, after living in a big, old barn, a 1200-square-foot house makes it seem like we are living in greyhound bus. Furthermore, before we could take up residence there, I had to remove all of my tools, since I often use the guest house as a workshop. We also had to make all of the spanking toys stored there scarce so as not to allow them to be seen by Colette. Having a pair of house cats, I’ve also had to make sure that their feeding, watering, and toilet needs are taken care of. Naturally, Wacky, the dog, has decided that it is too cold to go outside to do his business, so I have to drag him out on a leash and wait for him to finish several times a day. The worst thing about the whole ordeal is that I have had to (gasp!) drive in to work every day for a week since the guest house does not have a suitable office. I even had to miss Maribel’s basketball game last Saturday, which made me quite cranky indeed.
Since Angela and I frequently use the guest house as a spanking retreat, we have been forced to put a kibosh on such activities. So my authoring time has been limited due to a lack of time (as I attempt to secure repairs to our heating system) and a lack of privacy (Colette has decided that, to save heat, she will spend all of her time at home wrapped up in blankets with her mother and myself).
Fear not, my loyal readers. Relief is not far off. Repairs will commence tomorrow, so I will have to stay home to supervise. After the electrical system in the house is bolstered (which I am assured will be completed in the morning), I shall be allowed to run a small space heater, so I will be able to return to my home office. I’ll be able to catch up on my journaling, at least when the repairmen are not looking. So it will be not more than another day or two before you will be able to enjoy yourself as I regale you with yet another fantastic spanking tale.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Spanko Meeting Spankos, Introduction
Men like to watch porn.
Now that may sound like an overly-broad generalization, and it probably is. However, it is not meant to refer to all men, rather it is meant to compare men to women. Now, there are women who like to watch porn, but, at least in my experience, as a proportion to the population, more men like to watch porn than women.
Women like to write porn.
This opinion comes from my internet meandering. I have found a number of interesting sites that merit my periodic review, mostly revolving around spanking. Some are written by men, some are written by women. The men often give detailed descriptions of their spanking sessions. They rarely give detailed descriptions of what happens afterward. Nothing about taking their lover, plunging deeply, thrusting mightily, et cetera. They usually conclude with a simple sentence such as, “Afterwards, we had really great sex.” Or else they will use something cagier, less blunt, such as “What we did afterwards I shall leave to your imagination.” I call this the Spanko technique.
Blogs written by women, however, often seem to have long, detailed, comprehensive portrayals of their sexual encounters. They will tell what parts of their body that their lover’s touched, how it felt, how good their orgasm was, how good their lover’s was, and copious other intimate details. They often describe every kiss, every moan, every pant, every thrust, and every scream.
Sometimes it is enough to give this poor imaginary spanko the willies.
I’ve always wondered why this is so. Perhaps it is because women seem to love the romantic aspect. Perhaps it is related to the way that they orgasm. Perhaps it is because men blow their wad and immediately fall asleep, forgetting everything that just happened. Perhaps I’m just full of shit.
Where am I going with this odd rambling? I’m glad you asked. My darling wife, Angela, has a friend whom she met at her job whom she has confided her spanking preferences to. I also have a couple friends who are aware of my idiosyncrasies. The difference is that my friends and I will occasionally joke about spanking, but never dwell on the subject. Angela, in contrast, will discuss spanking sessions with her friend in gory detail, even to the point of allowing her friend to inspect her tushie.
This all leads up to the story of the first time I met Angela’s friend and her husband. Her name, by the way, is Belinda, but everyone calls her Billie. One evening, Angela came home and asked if I would like to have Billie and her husband, Ben, over for dinner some evening and to play some cards. It seemed like a good idea, so I agreed. What I didn’t know, but was soon to find out, was that Billie and Ben were, in fact, like Angela and myself, spankos.
Now that may sound like an overly-broad generalization, and it probably is. However, it is not meant to refer to all men, rather it is meant to compare men to women. Now, there are women who like to watch porn, but, at least in my experience, as a proportion to the population, more men like to watch porn than women.
Women like to write porn.
This opinion comes from my internet meandering. I have found a number of interesting sites that merit my periodic review, mostly revolving around spanking. Some are written by men, some are written by women. The men often give detailed descriptions of their spanking sessions. They rarely give detailed descriptions of what happens afterward. Nothing about taking their lover, plunging deeply, thrusting mightily, et cetera. They usually conclude with a simple sentence such as, “Afterwards, we had really great sex.” Or else they will use something cagier, less blunt, such as “What we did afterwards I shall leave to your imagination.” I call this the Spanko technique.
Blogs written by women, however, often seem to have long, detailed, comprehensive portrayals of their sexual encounters. They will tell what parts of their body that their lover’s touched, how it felt, how good their orgasm was, how good their lover’s was, and copious other intimate details. They often describe every kiss, every moan, every pant, every thrust, and every scream.
Sometimes it is enough to give this poor imaginary spanko the willies.
I’ve always wondered why this is so. Perhaps it is because women seem to love the romantic aspect. Perhaps it is related to the way that they orgasm. Perhaps it is because men blow their wad and immediately fall asleep, forgetting everything that just happened. Perhaps I’m just full of shit.
Where am I going with this odd rambling? I’m glad you asked. My darling wife, Angela, has a friend whom she met at her job whom she has confided her spanking preferences to. I also have a couple friends who are aware of my idiosyncrasies. The difference is that my friends and I will occasionally joke about spanking, but never dwell on the subject. Angela, in contrast, will discuss spanking sessions with her friend in gory detail, even to the point of allowing her friend to inspect her tushie.
This all leads up to the story of the first time I met Angela’s friend and her husband. Her name, by the way, is Belinda, but everyone calls her Billie. One evening, Angela came home and asked if I would like to have Billie and her husband, Ben, over for dinner some evening and to play some cards. It seemed like a good idea, so I agreed. What I didn’t know, but was soon to find out, was that Billie and Ben were, in fact, like Angela and myself, spankos.
Chapter One of this story will explain how Angela broke to me the news of her friends' and our shared interests.
