Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Summer Scenery
Earlier this evening I was forced to make a trip to the local grocery store. Well, grocery store is perhaps a misnomer. This establishment is actually one of those shopping monstrosities that actually combines the traditional grocery store with a clothing store, drug store, toy store, electronic store, and almost any other kind of store that you can think of, all enclosed in a building that is only slightly smaller in square footage than the city of Houston. It is called something like Hugeway. I was there to pick up some tomatoes and some milk, which, perhaps not coincidentally, are at complete opposite ends of the store. Even though I transported myself to and from the store via automobile, I believe that the little trip allowed me to get my daily exercise in the form of a two mile walk.
In any event, as I was walking into the store, I noticed a young lady walking out of it. She was a pretty girl, perhaps in her early twenties, age-wise. What made her noteworthy was her manner of dress. It was quite a warm day, and she was certainly dressed for the weather. She was attired in teenie, tiny shorts, one of those tight t-shirts what shows off one’s belly button, sun glasses, and three-inch high-heeled shoes.
My very first thought when I noticed this particular person was: This lady needs a good spanking.
I’m not sure what prompted this to enter my imaginary brain. Well, that is a lie. I am a spanko, after all. I shall rephrase. I’m not sure what prompted my to think that this particular girl needed a spanking. I’m not sure if it was her blatantly-sexy attire, her (probably fake) tan, or her pert little posterior. Despite the fact that I have never seen this woman before, and did not speak to her or even catch her eye, I am assuming that she is sassy, arrogant, and self-centered. Just the right type of person who could use a dose of the hairbrush or paddle on her bare butt to bring her down to size.
Or maybe it was the fact that she looked really good, nay, she looked fantastic, in her little summer outfit, whilst I am a balding, dumpy, graying, middle-aged man.
Whatever the reasoning, the one sure thing is that I shall never be spanking this woman. Darn. I shall have to make due with my lovely, balding, dumpy, graying, middle-aged wife. Okay, she’s not balding. And if I ever tell her that she is dumpy, graying, or even middle-aged, I shall be the one receiving correction in the form of a serious bun-warming.
Hmmm. I might be on to something there. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to find my darling Angela.
In any event, as I was walking into the store, I noticed a young lady walking out of it. She was a pretty girl, perhaps in her early twenties, age-wise. What made her noteworthy was her manner of dress. It was quite a warm day, and she was certainly dressed for the weather. She was attired in teenie, tiny shorts, one of those tight t-shirts what shows off one’s belly button, sun glasses, and three-inch high-heeled shoes.My very first thought when I noticed this particular person was: This lady needs a good spanking.
I’m not sure what prompted this to enter my imaginary brain. Well, that is a lie. I am a spanko, after all. I shall rephrase. I’m not sure what prompted my to think that this particular girl needed a spanking. I’m not sure if it was her blatantly-sexy attire, her (probably fake) tan, or her pert little posterior. Despite the fact that I have never seen this woman before, and did not speak to her or even catch her eye, I am assuming that she is sassy, arrogant, and self-centered. Just the right type of person who could use a dose of the hairbrush or paddle on her bare butt to bring her down to size.
Or maybe it was the fact that she looked really good, nay, she looked fantastic, in her little summer outfit, whilst I am a balding, dumpy, graying, middle-aged man.
Whatever the reasoning, the one sure thing is that I shall never be spanking this woman. Darn. I shall have to make due with my lovely, balding, dumpy, graying, middle-aged wife. Okay, she’s not balding. And if I ever tell her that she is dumpy, graying, or even middle-aged, I shall be the one receiving correction in the form of a serious bun-warming.
Hmmm. I might be on to something there. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to find my darling Angela.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Frank's Discomfort
I recently had a very unpleasant picture pop into my head. Please allow me to explain.
A short while ago, a fellow spanko blogger related that her young daughter had asked what all of the smacking noise was that was coming from their bedroom one evening. The lady and her husband explained that they were “playing a game” that involved “spanking.” After getting answers to some questions of clarification, the tike seemed satisfied.
Through a good deal of advanced planning and some sheer luck, neither of our daughters has ever barged in on my beautiful wife and myself engaging in marital entertainment. Nor have they ever heard us spanking each other, or at least that is what I assume since they have never inquired as to strange noises coming from the two of us.
I was reflecting on this as I read the item that I related in the opening paragraph. My thoughts wandered back to my youth, and I wondered what I would have done as a tot if I had heard my father spanking my mother, or vice versa. That caused the picture to arrive into my imagination (yes, even imaginary spankos have imaginations) of my parents engaged in a spanking. Not a playful swat on the seat of one’s pants or skirt, but a spanking like Angela and I usually prefer, which involves multiple implements, nakedness, and stimulation of erogenous zones big and small. So I saw, in my mind, my mother, in the nude, bent over and awaiting a good swat from a paddle from my also-nude father, and the playfulness that would likely ensue.
Eww.
Maybe it was that I was raised in the 60’s and 70’s to parents who missed the sexual revolution, but I find the thought of my parents having sex absolutely revolting. Now, I know they had sex at least three times as I have a brother and a sister. And we did, on occasion, with our parents, discuss the various aspects of sexual activity, from the physical to the emotional. My parents were openly fond of each other, frequently exchanging hugs and kisses or holding hands. And, once and a while, I would awake in the middle of the night with an urge to relieve myself and notice their bedroom door closed (it was normally about half-open when they were asleep). When I was old enough, I knew that the door wasn’t closed because they wanted to keep the exterior noise out, but because they wanted to keep the interior noise in.
But the thought of my parents groping, sweating, panting, groaning, etc., is not something I care to dwell on. They are my parents, after all.
As I’m sure by reading this little journal of mine you have ascertained, I am not a prude by any means. Consenting adults, even young ones, can have as much sex as they’d like. I do not object to the fact that my oldest daughter is sexually active, even though the thought of my little girl having sex makes me a little squeamish. Angela and I had sex before we were married, after we were married, and all of the time in between. We have openly discussed our sex lives with other people. We are practically liberated.
But I prefer to pretend that my parents never have sex. I guess I’m just funny that way.
When I related this to my far better half, she did not think that it was terribly awful. “They’re adults,” she responded. “They should have as much sex as they want, and have fun doing it.”
So I asked her to picture her parents engaged in coupling.
“I don’t need to,” she replied. “My parents never have sex.”
I left the discussion at that. I like believing that Angela was either artificially, or perhaps immaculately, conceived.
After all, she is pretty special. No, make that she is rather fantastic.
A short while ago, a fellow spanko blogger related that her young daughter had asked what all of the smacking noise was that was coming from their bedroom one evening. The lady and her husband explained that they were “playing a game” that involved “spanking.” After getting answers to some questions of clarification, the tike seemed satisfied.
Through a good deal of advanced planning and some sheer luck, neither of our daughters has ever barged in on my beautiful wife and myself engaging in marital entertainment. Nor have they ever heard us spanking each other, or at least that is what I assume since they have never inquired as to strange noises coming from the two of us.
I was reflecting on this as I read the item that I related in the opening paragraph. My thoughts wandered back to my youth, and I wondered what I would have done as a tot if I had heard my father spanking my mother, or vice versa. That caused the picture to arrive into my imagination (yes, even imaginary spankos have imaginations) of my parents engaged in a spanking. Not a playful swat on the seat of one’s pants or skirt, but a spanking like Angela and I usually prefer, which involves multiple implements, nakedness, and stimulation of erogenous zones big and small. So I saw, in my mind, my mother, in the nude, bent over and awaiting a good swat from a paddle from my also-nude father, and the playfulness that would likely ensue.
Eww.
Maybe it was that I was raised in the 60’s and 70’s to parents who missed the sexual revolution, but I find the thought of my parents having sex absolutely revolting. Now, I know they had sex at least three times as I have a brother and a sister. And we did, on occasion, with our parents, discuss the various aspects of sexual activity, from the physical to the emotional. My parents were openly fond of each other, frequently exchanging hugs and kisses or holding hands. And, once and a while, I would awake in the middle of the night with an urge to relieve myself and notice their bedroom door closed (it was normally about half-open when they were asleep). When I was old enough, I knew that the door wasn’t closed because they wanted to keep the exterior noise out, but because they wanted to keep the interior noise in.
But the thought of my parents groping, sweating, panting, groaning, etc., is not something I care to dwell on. They are my parents, after all.
As I’m sure by reading this little journal of mine you have ascertained, I am not a prude by any means. Consenting adults, even young ones, can have as much sex as they’d like. I do not object to the fact that my oldest daughter is sexually active, even though the thought of my little girl having sex makes me a little squeamish. Angela and I had sex before we were married, after we were married, and all of the time in between. We have openly discussed our sex lives with other people. We are practically liberated.
But I prefer to pretend that my parents never have sex. I guess I’m just funny that way.
When I related this to my far better half, she did not think that it was terribly awful. “They’re adults,” she responded. “They should have as much sex as they want, and have fun doing it.”
So I asked her to picture her parents engaged in coupling.
“I don’t need to,” she replied. “My parents never have sex.”
I left the discussion at that. I like believing that Angela was either artificially, or perhaps immaculately, conceived.
After all, she is pretty special. No, make that she is rather fantastic.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Frank Reveals Something Of Himself
As a way of having something mildly interesting on which to write without having to actually think up something original, today I have chosen one of the ubiquitous “memes” that are popular with bloggers in general. This particular segment involves supplying the answer to seven questions. Actually, not all seven are questions, although I shall, in proper Jeopardy fashion, attempt to rephrase them as such. Also, the last one is not actually a question, so I may perhaps substitute my own question. And now, without further ado……..
Question 1: What are three of the stupidest things you've done in your life?
1. At age 14, I followed the crowd and took a job in yard maintenance rather than continue my baseball career.
2. Getting stinking drunk and then driving home shortly after my youngest daughter was born.
3. In college, when the police broke up a rollicking block party which they said was “out of control”, I got into my friends car, started it up, and crashed it into a police vehicle.
Question 2: At the current moment, who has the most influence on your life?
Question 1: What are three of the stupidest things you've done in your life?
1. At age 14, I followed the crowd and took a job in yard maintenance rather than continue my baseball career.2. Getting stinking drunk and then driving home shortly after my youngest daughter was born.
3. In college, when the police broke up a rollicking block party which they said was “out of control”, I got into my friends car, started it up, and crashed it into a police vehicle.
Question 2: At the current moment, who has the most influence on your life?
In my world, my wife, Angela, and my two wonderful children. In your world, the guy who made me up and writes these missives.
Question 3: If you were given a time machine that functioned, and you were allowed to only pick five people to dine with, who would you pick?
1. Ben Franklin
2. Patrick, the Patron Saint of Ireland
3. Ernie Harwell (this is still possible since he still among the living, although I’m not sure that he would share a meal with an imaginary person, spanko or otherwise).
4. Jim Henson, creator of The Muppetts, the most truly creative person of our time.
5. My great, great, great grandmother, who, family legend has it, is where my spanko genes come from.
6. Should one of those people be otherwise engaged, H.G. Wells, since, after all, he did write The Time Machine.
Question 4: If you had three wishes that were not supernatural, what would they be?
Well, since wishes are, by definition, supernatural, this is an impossible question to answer. However, since I am imaginary, I am therefore allowed to do the impossible. So my wishes are:
1. That I could be a professional baseball player.
2. That World War II, the Plague, and AIDS all never happened.
3. That everyone was a spanko.
Question 5: Someone is visiting your hometown/place where you live at the moment. What two things do you regret your city not having, and what two things should people avoid?
Two things my city does not have:
1. A good place to get a beer and a burger at 1 am in the morning.
2. A decent science museum.
People should avoid:
1. The shopping district. All chain stores and chain restaurants.
2. The bars where the college students frequent in large numbers.
Question 6: Name one event that has changed your life.
Isn’t it obvious?
Question 7: Question seven, in previous versions that I have witnessed, is not a question but rather a request to tag five other people. Since imaginary people cannot tag real people, I will instead substitute my own question:
Question 7, substitute: What famous person, living or dead, do you think would make a good spanko, and would you prefer they be a spanker or a spankee?
I think that Joan Crawford would have made an excellent spanker. She certainly had a dominant personality, and one can imagine her wielding a paddle or a belt with glee. She would not, however, ever use a wire hanger, contrary to legend.
There. Now you know a little more about Francis Spakowiak. You are welcome to use these questions as a way of providing material for your own blog when you are having difficulty determining a fantastic original idea.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
The World According To Frank
It is not often that I comment on the goings on in the real world, including those involving spankos in the real world. Today, however, I feel compelled to lend my perspective to a particular happening that has somewhat shaken up the so-called “spanking community.”
It appears that one Katie Spades, the self-proclaimed “Princess of Spanking,” who hosted her own, entertaining blog, has starred in several self-made spanking videos, and was recently a guest on the Howard Stern Show, is not really a spanko. Furthermore, she appears to have adopted her spanking tendencies only to obtain publicity for a career in acting and modeling, and to make money.
To the first allegation, that she was not really a spanko, I say, “Hmmm…..”
To the second, my response would be, “Duh!”
And yet, there appears to be an outcry against this young lady, calling her a fraud, a scam artist, and a whore. It seems that many people are angry and betrayed that she told an interviewer from that culture-advancing web site, beer.com, that she only entered the spanking “scene” as a way to generate income, that she didn’t really like being spanked, and that she found the whole experience “foul.” She has deleted her spanking blog, and her spanking videos and pictures. Now, according to her web site, katiespades.com, Miss Spades is quite ill and has accumulated a considerable debt in medical bills. The young lady is asking for donations from her readers. Many are taking this to be yet another attempt to swindle an unsuspecting public out of their hard-earned cash.
We “true” spankos can be a fickle lot.
However, we really need to just get over ourselves.
First and foremost, who of us in the spanko blogging community is truly who we say we are? Take, for example, Fantastic Spanking, this particular little work of mine. It is a work of fiction, a total sham, completely made up, including yours truly. Why? Well, probably the author wishes for an outlet for his creativity and a vehicle for exploring his interest in spanking, yet does not care to make this interest known to those around him. He has chosen the internet as his tool primarily because of its potential for anonymity. How many of you share your spanking proclivity with your friends, your parents, your kids, even your spouses? Despite our open-mindedness, we are afraid that those who are less open-minded will judge us harshly, calling us sick, perverted, or worse. So we invent little spanking personas that we present on the internet. Depending on the person, that persona may bear a lot or a little likeness to the real person. However, they are all carefully tailored so that only items that the author wants to share are presented, leaving us to our imaginations to fill in the blanks. Was Katie Spades really any different than the rest of us? I think that her largest misjudgment was to perhaps be somewhat too forthcoming.
Second, why do we read spanking blogs? For entertainment, of course. It fills a void in our world. We choose not to share our hobby with most of those around us, yet we are able to still share our thoughts, our experiences, and our interests with those similarly inclined. So we read Katie’s blog for just that reason. She was pretty, she had a pleasant, breezy writing style, and she looked good with a red butt. If we were looking for more than that, people, we were looking in the wrong place.
Thirdly, why in the name of all of the gods and goddesses would anyone want to be captured in the video form whilst being spanked, and then have said recording sold to the general public? Well, for the money, of course. If they just want people to enjoy the videos for their aesthetic or artistic value, they wouldn’t charge for them. This is not a crime. It is called capitalism. Does this make all “spanking models” disingenuous whores or scam artists? Absolutely not. Allow me to pose the question somewhat differently. Why do I work for a large, multinational technology company who doesn’t really give a flying fart for their employees except insofar as they affect the bottom line? Well, for the money, of course. While I may hold an interest in making computers work for others, if I could quit tomorrow and be a teacher or centerfielder for a professional baseball team, with the same opportunity and the same pay and benefits, I would. Does that make me a disingenuous whore? Well, in all honesty, probably slightly more so than the afore-mentioned spanking models, but I’ll leave that for you to judge. If someone likes having their bottom struck repeatedly, and wants to make a little money at it, more power to them. No one is forcing anyone to pay for spanking videos. Was Katie Spades really wrong for allowing herself to be recorded being spanked, and then selling said recordings, even though she did not really find pleasure in those spankings? I, for one, think not. Are her spanking videos really any different now than they were when she first sold them? No. They still just show a pretty girl being spanked. People didn’t buy her videos because they thought Katie was such a great person, just like people didn’t buy the DVD of the movie Ishtar even though they were fans of Dustin Hoffman or Warren Beatty.
I fear that I have spent a smidge more time ranting than I should have, so I should now sum up. People, lighten up. Did any of you see the final episode of the television series, “Rosanne”? At the end of that show, after spending the entire season describing her life after she had won the lottery, the scene faded to Rosanne writing in a dimly-lit room. It turned out that the whole lottery thing was a fiction. What really happened was that her husband had died of a heart attack in the final episode from the previous season, and she was struggling to make ends meet while taking care of her three kids plus a grandchild. The final season reflected a book that she was writing. Of course, what is “real” and what is “fiction” in a situation comedy that is itself fictional? Obviously, it’s all fictional. Did I feel betrayed at the end of that final episode. No, I just thought it was a stupid way to end a pretty good show. But it was Rosanne’s show, and she could end it any way she wanted to.
Katie may have said some impolite things about us spankos, and she was wrong to do so. But is she really a fraud? The truth is that she probably is a young lady exploring her sexuality, something that we all do. She chose to combine that with a way to meet some of her life’s goals. She found that she didn’t really like being spanked, so she gave it up. She was embarrassed and afraid of what other people might think of her, so she deleted all traces of this from the internet. She used the beer.com interview to distance herself with that part of her life. How many of us have made some impulsive choices that seemed reasonable at the time but with which we are embarrassed now? Yours truly is holding his hand up high, as is his creator (the author, not God). Many, if not all, of you likely are, too. We are all not really that different from Katie Spades.
And what of her effort to collect money for her growing medical bills? Is this a fraudulent claim? I do not know. I do believe that she has a mental illness, probably a bi-polar disorder. Many of the symptoms appear to be there. This alone could account for considerable expense to treat. Will I be sending her a donation? No, I’m afraid not. I do not give money to people to defray personal debts unless I know them very well, and even then I am reluctant. I suspect most people feel the same way. My efforts to collect donations to offset my own, admittedly self-serving, expenses have met with exactly zero success. Besides, my money would do Katie no good because it is imaginary.
So please allow Miss Spades the right to be imperfect. And, my friends, please try to not be so quick to rush to judgment. We all have our faults and we all have our secrets, even I, and I don’t even exist. This is as it should be. And enjoy these blogs for what they are … a little relief to the dreariness of every day. If one of the writers turns out to not quite be what you thought they were, chalk it up to experience. Until, or if, you know the entire story, please give people the benefit of the doubt. If you enjoyed what Katie gave us, that’s all that really matters. My friends, for those of us who are now and forever spankos, is time to move on to our next spanking.
It appears that one Katie Spades, the self-proclaimed “Princess of Spanking,” who hosted her own, entertaining blog, has starred in several self-made spanking videos, and was recently a guest on the Howard Stern Show, is not really a spanko. Furthermore, she appears to have adopted her spanking tendencies only to obtain publicity for a career in acting and modeling, and to make money.To the first allegation, that she was not really a spanko, I say, “Hmmm…..”
To the second, my response would be, “Duh!”
And yet, there appears to be an outcry against this young lady, calling her a fraud, a scam artist, and a whore. It seems that many people are angry and betrayed that she told an interviewer from that culture-advancing web site, beer.com, that she only entered the spanking “scene” as a way to generate income, that she didn’t really like being spanked, and that she found the whole experience “foul.” She has deleted her spanking blog, and her spanking videos and pictures. Now, according to her web site, katiespades.com, Miss Spades is quite ill and has accumulated a considerable debt in medical bills. The young lady is asking for donations from her readers. Many are taking this to be yet another attempt to swindle an unsuspecting public out of their hard-earned cash.
We “true” spankos can be a fickle lot.
However, we really need to just get over ourselves.
First and foremost, who of us in the spanko blogging community is truly who we say we are? Take, for example, Fantastic Spanking, this particular little work of mine. It is a work of fiction, a total sham, completely made up, including yours truly. Why? Well, probably the author wishes for an outlet for his creativity and a vehicle for exploring his interest in spanking, yet does not care to make this interest known to those around him. He has chosen the internet as his tool primarily because of its potential for anonymity. How many of you share your spanking proclivity with your friends, your parents, your kids, even your spouses? Despite our open-mindedness, we are afraid that those who are less open-minded will judge us harshly, calling us sick, perverted, or worse. So we invent little spanking personas that we present on the internet. Depending on the person, that persona may bear a lot or a little likeness to the real person. However, they are all carefully tailored so that only items that the author wants to share are presented, leaving us to our imaginations to fill in the blanks. Was Katie Spades really any different than the rest of us? I think that her largest misjudgment was to perhaps be somewhat too forthcoming.
Second, why do we read spanking blogs? For entertainment, of course. It fills a void in our world. We choose not to share our hobby with most of those around us, yet we are able to still share our thoughts, our experiences, and our interests with those similarly inclined. So we read Katie’s blog for just that reason. She was pretty, she had a pleasant, breezy writing style, and she looked good with a red butt. If we were looking for more than that, people, we were looking in the wrong place.
Thirdly, why in the name of all of the gods and goddesses would anyone want to be captured in the video form whilst being spanked, and then have said recording sold to the general public? Well, for the money, of course. If they just want people to enjoy the videos for their aesthetic or artistic value, they wouldn’t charge for them. This is not a crime. It is called capitalism. Does this make all “spanking models” disingenuous whores or scam artists? Absolutely not. Allow me to pose the question somewhat differently. Why do I work for a large, multinational technology company who doesn’t really give a flying fart for their employees except insofar as they affect the bottom line? Well, for the money, of course. While I may hold an interest in making computers work for others, if I could quit tomorrow and be a teacher or centerfielder for a professional baseball team, with the same opportunity and the same pay and benefits, I would. Does that make me a disingenuous whore? Well, in all honesty, probably slightly more so than the afore-mentioned spanking models, but I’ll leave that for you to judge. If someone likes having their bottom struck repeatedly, and wants to make a little money at it, more power to them. No one is forcing anyone to pay for spanking videos. Was Katie Spades really wrong for allowing herself to be recorded being spanked, and then selling said recordings, even though she did not really find pleasure in those spankings? I, for one, think not. Are her spanking videos really any different now than they were when she first sold them? No. They still just show a pretty girl being spanked. People didn’t buy her videos because they thought Katie was such a great person, just like people didn’t buy the DVD of the movie Ishtar even though they were fans of Dustin Hoffman or Warren Beatty.
I fear that I have spent a smidge more time ranting than I should have, so I should now sum up. People, lighten up. Did any of you see the final episode of the television series, “Rosanne”? At the end of that show, after spending the entire season describing her life after she had won the lottery, the scene faded to Rosanne writing in a dimly-lit room. It turned out that the whole lottery thing was a fiction. What really happened was that her husband had died of a heart attack in the final episode from the previous season, and she was struggling to make ends meet while taking care of her three kids plus a grandchild. The final season reflected a book that she was writing. Of course, what is “real” and what is “fiction” in a situation comedy that is itself fictional? Obviously, it’s all fictional. Did I feel betrayed at the end of that final episode. No, I just thought it was a stupid way to end a pretty good show. But it was Rosanne’s show, and she could end it any way she wanted to.
Katie may have said some impolite things about us spankos, and she was wrong to do so. But is she really a fraud? The truth is that she probably is a young lady exploring her sexuality, something that we all do. She chose to combine that with a way to meet some of her life’s goals. She found that she didn’t really like being spanked, so she gave it up. She was embarrassed and afraid of what other people might think of her, so she deleted all traces of this from the internet. She used the beer.com interview to distance herself with that part of her life. How many of us have made some impulsive choices that seemed reasonable at the time but with which we are embarrassed now? Yours truly is holding his hand up high, as is his creator (the author, not God). Many, if not all, of you likely are, too. We are all not really that different from Katie Spades.
And what of her effort to collect money for her growing medical bills? Is this a fraudulent claim? I do not know. I do believe that she has a mental illness, probably a bi-polar disorder. Many of the symptoms appear to be there. This alone could account for considerable expense to treat. Will I be sending her a donation? No, I’m afraid not. I do not give money to people to defray personal debts unless I know them very well, and even then I am reluctant. I suspect most people feel the same way. My efforts to collect donations to offset my own, admittedly self-serving, expenses have met with exactly zero success. Besides, my money would do Katie no good because it is imaginary.
So please allow Miss Spades the right to be imperfect. And, my friends, please try to not be so quick to rush to judgment. We all have our faults and we all have our secrets, even I, and I don’t even exist. This is as it should be. And enjoy these blogs for what they are … a little relief to the dreariness of every day. If one of the writers turns out to not quite be what you thought they were, chalk it up to experience. Until, or if, you know the entire story, please give people the benefit of the doubt. If you enjoyed what Katie gave us, that’s all that really matters. My friends, for those of us who are now and forever spankos, is time to move on to our next spanking.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
One Way, Part 2
We played the game for an hour, then went to retrieve more drinks and implements. This time the fraternity-style paddle, a sturdy leather belt, and a riding crop were added to the mix. I took control and ordered Angela to remove what remained of her clothing. I then had her get onto all fours on a large ottoman, and I picked up the belt. I proceeded to methodically thrash her ass, while she moaned softly and thrust out her backside, silently begging for more. When I caught her massaging her clitoral region, I chastised her and told her that she needed to be more severely punished.
I took her shirt and tied her hands in front of her. Then I draped her back over the ottoman, making sure her hands were where I could see them. I then took the crop and lashed the harder-to-reach areas of her butt and the back of her legs, occasionally letting the tip of the crop get near, but not too near, her sexual areas. When I felt she was properly dealt with, I let up on the intensity and the frequency of the lashes, so increase her anticipation.
In short order, she began to demand that I properly whip her. Not wanting to disappoint, I picked up the strap and had her lay over the sofa, where I resumed her thrashing. After a couple dozen or so strokes, I untied her hands and allowed her to resume stimulating her clitoris while I spanked her quite hard. As her moans increased in volume, my lashes increased in intensity, until she was overcome by a highly intense orgasm.
After I had properly massaged her raging-red bottom, and she had recovered from her climax, it was time to switch places. Since Angela’s back is still ouchy, she decided to spank from a sitting position. I admit that I was concerned she would not be able to wield the implements of punishment properly, but my worry was for naught. She made herself comfortable on the sofa, and I moved the ottoman within her swinging range and draped myself over it.
First, Angela took a moment to inspect my buttocks to determine which areas needed the most attention. Then she took the hairbrush and delivered perhaps two dozen swats to the center of each cheek, to start the fire crackling nicely. Next she took the wooden spoon and proceeded to take care of the areas of my ass that were not sufficiently reddened. This wooden spoon was purchased at one of those country, Amish tourist stores, and is made out of real wood and nicely lacquered. It is long and quite heavy, and delivers the most delicious sting. She patiently worked over every square inch in skin on my backside, and with considerable enthusiasm. She kept a running commentary going throughout the spanking, letting me know what parts of my posterior she would concentrate on next, and then how red it looked when she had worked it over.
After a considerable amount of time, she decided that there was no part of my hiney that that was not bright red, and she called a break. I got off of the ottoman and laid over her lap, and she proceeded to caress my flaming flesh in a most soothing fashion. She even allowed her hands to wander over to … er … other areas in that general region that also wished attention.
When the nice rub ended, I got up and made us some tea while Angela planned the next event in our little spanking marathon. When I returned with the steaming mugs, she had me get on all fours on the ottoman, then she seated herself back on the sofa with the fraternity paddle. The highlight of the evening, for me at least, was now about to begin.
Angela proceeded to tan my hide with that paddle so perfectly that I hoped that it would never end. She knows the perfect pace to keep me anticipating but not impatient. And her technique is the finest. Each blow struck squarely across the fleshiest part of my rear end, and she increased the velocity by snapping her wrist at the end of each swat. She had asked me to count each whack, but after thirty I was so excited that I could only concentrate on awaiting the next swat. When she finished, another 30 or 40 swats later, I mounted her with such gusto that it is fortunate that the neighbors are well outside of earshot.
By now it was very late, so, after a period of recovery, we enjoyed a spot of dessert and retired to the bedroom. However, it was a considerable time before we actually slept, as there was still some unfinished business for us to take care of. After all, we did only have one night with the house all to ourselves.
We slept in the next morning and lazed around until Colette called asking for someone to come and bring her home. Angela and I were in exceptionally good spirits, so we both went to pick her up. Such was our spirit that we actually volunteered to take two teenage girls to the mall and then out for pizza afterwards. Colette is still trying to figure out what drugs we took to make us so pleasant. Alas, when she is older she will understand.
Time continues to fly by. Maribel will be returning from school for the summer in about a week, Colette’s school year will conclude shortly after, and our privacy will scarce indeed. So it was good to use up so much pent up spanking energy in one night, and perhaps enough to satisfy the itch for a little while longer. Yes, it was very good.
No, my friends, it was more than good.
It was ……… (wait for it)………
Fantastic.
I took her shirt and tied her hands in front of her. Then I draped her back over the ottoman, making sure her hands were where I could see them. I then took the crop and lashed the harder-to-reach areas of her butt and the back of her legs, occasionally letting the tip of the crop get near, but not too near, her sexual areas. When I felt she was properly dealt with, I let up on the intensity and the frequency of the lashes, so increase her anticipation.
In short order, she began to demand that I properly whip her. Not wanting to disappoint, I picked up the strap and had her lay over the sofa, where I resumed her thrashing. After a couple dozen or so strokes, I untied her hands and allowed her to resume stimulating her clitoris while I spanked her quite hard. As her moans increased in volume, my lashes increased in intensity, until she was overcome by a highly intense orgasm.
After I had properly massaged her raging-red bottom, and she had recovered from her climax, it was time to switch places. Since Angela’s back is still ouchy, she decided to spank from a sitting position. I admit that I was concerned she would not be able to wield the implements of punishment properly, but my worry was for naught. She made herself comfortable on the sofa, and I moved the ottoman within her swinging range and draped myself over it.
First, Angela took a moment to inspect my buttocks to determine which areas needed the most attention. Then she took the hairbrush and delivered perhaps two dozen swats to the center of each cheek, to start the fire crackling nicely. Next she took the wooden spoon and proceeded to take care of the areas of my ass that were not sufficiently reddened. This wooden spoon was purchased at one of those country, Amish tourist stores, and is made out of real wood and nicely lacquered. It is long and quite heavy, and delivers the most delicious sting. She patiently worked over every square inch in skin on my backside, and with considerable enthusiasm. She kept a running commentary going throughout the spanking, letting me know what parts of my posterior she would concentrate on next, and then how red it looked when she had worked it over.
After a considerable amount of time, she decided that there was no part of my hiney that that was not bright red, and she called a break. I got off of the ottoman and laid over her lap, and she proceeded to caress my flaming flesh in a most soothing fashion. She even allowed her hands to wander over to … er … other areas in that general region that also wished attention.
When the nice rub ended, I got up and made us some tea while Angela planned the next event in our little spanking marathon. When I returned with the steaming mugs, she had me get on all fours on the ottoman, then she seated herself back on the sofa with the fraternity paddle. The highlight of the evening, for me at least, was now about to begin.
Angela proceeded to tan my hide with that paddle so perfectly that I hoped that it would never end. She knows the perfect pace to keep me anticipating but not impatient. And her technique is the finest. Each blow struck squarely across the fleshiest part of my rear end, and she increased the velocity by snapping her wrist at the end of each swat. She had asked me to count each whack, but after thirty I was so excited that I could only concentrate on awaiting the next swat. When she finished, another 30 or 40 swats later, I mounted her with such gusto that it is fortunate that the neighbors are well outside of earshot.
By now it was very late, so, after a period of recovery, we enjoyed a spot of dessert and retired to the bedroom. However, it was a considerable time before we actually slept, as there was still some unfinished business for us to take care of. After all, we did only have one night with the house all to ourselves.
We slept in the next morning and lazed around until Colette called asking for someone to come and bring her home. Angela and I were in exceptionally good spirits, so we both went to pick her up. Such was our spirit that we actually volunteered to take two teenage girls to the mall and then out for pizza afterwards. Colette is still trying to figure out what drugs we took to make us so pleasant. Alas, when she is older she will understand.
Time continues to fly by. Maribel will be returning from school for the summer in about a week, Colette’s school year will conclude shortly after, and our privacy will scarce indeed. So it was good to use up so much pent up spanking energy in one night, and perhaps enough to satisfy the itch for a little while longer. Yes, it was very good.
No, my friends, it was more than good.
It was ……… (wait for it)………
Fantastic.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
One Way To Spend A Friday Night
My friends, the evening that Angela and I spent alone in this big, old house has come and gone. Colette returned Saturday afternoon, stating that she had the most wonderful time spending the night at the home of her friend, Michelle. They apparently spend the time chatting, eating junk food, and watching scary movies. I must admit that I was of a most elevated mood, having spent the evening engaging in my favorite hobby with my favorite wife. And I have a bruised tushie to show for it (although I did not share any of that with Colette).
When I returned to monitoring my little online diary, I was surprised to find an outpouring of curiosity from my loyal readers, wanting me to share the events of that most pleasant night. My comment box was inundated with requests for details. By inundated, I mean that one person asked for me to elaborate.
This put me into something of a quandary. Does that mean that the remaining thousands … er … hundreds … er … seven or eight readers did not care for me to describe more fully how Angela and I spent Friday night? Does it mean that those non-commenters simply assume that I will elaborate? Should I, therefore, choose not to share the details, thus leaving them to your imagination (since, after all, I am imaginary)?
I decided that, to be fair to the kind person who did opt to ask for more, that I would chronicle Friday's events and send them off via email. Unfortunately, I was not able to ascertain the person’s email address from their comment. Thus, as a reward to the gentle commenter, and a gift to the rest of you, I will now let all of you in on how what actually occurred Friday night.
Michelle and her mom picked Colette up a touch after 7 pm. No sooner had the door shut when Angela headed for the bedroom. “Let’s go, buster,” she called to me, grinning.
“But, my love, Colette has barely cleared the driveway. Perhaps we should wait a few minutes just in the off chance that she forgot something and feels the need to return.”
“Don’t worry. I told her if she forgot something, to call us on her cell phone and we’d bring it over.”
“Colette doesn’t have a cell phone.”
“I gave her yours.” Although I will likely not see my phone again until June, and may get a bill for it just slightly smaller than the national debt, I had to admire Angela’s planning.
When I reached the bedroom, Angela was holding a school-type paddle, one that I have fond memories of. She tapped it on her hand, expectantly. I returned her smile, rubbed my hands together in delight, and then turned around, dropped my drawers, and “assumed the position.” Angela wasted no time in heating up my seat.
After my initial warming, I chose a round, ping-pong-style paddle and returned the favor on Angela’s lovely behind.
We retired to the den, sans pants, and cuddled up on the sofa to watch some television. Angela had brought with her a nice, wooden hairbrush and a very heavy Amish wooden spoon. While perusing the rather weak television fare, we took turns crawling over each other’s lap and paddling each other’s buns. I should mention that there was also a considerable amount of rubbing and squeezing of buns. I should, but I won’t.
Around 9:30-ish, with our bottoms nicely glowing, Angela and I got up from the sofa. I went to fetch some refreshments. When I returned, Angela appeared with a couple of leather spanking implements (a strap and a paddle) and a deck of cards. For the next hour or so we played a rousing game of Spank The Middle. It is a simple game, where one player deals two cards face up on the table. The other player tries to guess whether the value of the next card is or is not between the first two. If that player is correct, they get to spank the dealer once for each point that the third is off from the closer of the first two. If the player is incorrect, they get spanked by the dealer. For example, let’s say that the dealer lays down a five and a jack, and the player feels that the next card will be between said five and jack. If the next card is, say, an eight, he would get to give the dealer three swats. If the card is a three, the dealer would spank the player two swats. There are other quaint rules that I shall not go into for the sake of time, such as what happens of the dealer turns up a pair.
At this point, I find myself tiring. Even an imaginary spanko needs his sleep, especially after such a delightful weekend. However, I will be most pleased to resume this commentary on the morrow.
When I returned to monitoring my little online diary, I was surprised to find an outpouring of curiosity from my loyal readers, wanting me to share the events of that most pleasant night. My comment box was inundated with requests for details. By inundated, I mean that one person asked for me to elaborate.
This put me into something of a quandary. Does that mean that the remaining thousands … er … hundreds … er … seven or eight readers did not care for me to describe more fully how Angela and I spent Friday night? Does it mean that those non-commenters simply assume that I will elaborate? Should I, therefore, choose not to share the details, thus leaving them to your imagination (since, after all, I am imaginary)?
I decided that, to be fair to the kind person who did opt to ask for more, that I would chronicle Friday's events and send them off via email. Unfortunately, I was not able to ascertain the person’s email address from their comment. Thus, as a reward to the gentle commenter, and a gift to the rest of you, I will now let all of you in on how what actually occurred Friday night.
Michelle and her mom picked Colette up a touch after 7 pm. No sooner had the door shut when Angela headed for the bedroom. “Let’s go, buster,” she called to me, grinning.
“But, my love, Colette has barely cleared the driveway. Perhaps we should wait a few minutes just in the off chance that she forgot something and feels the need to return.”
“Don’t worry. I told her if she forgot something, to call us on her cell phone and we’d bring it over.”
“Colette doesn’t have a cell phone.”
“I gave her yours.” Although I will likely not see my phone again until June, and may get a bill for it just slightly smaller than the national debt, I had to admire Angela’s planning.
When I reached the bedroom, Angela was holding a school-type paddle, one that I have fond memories of. She tapped it on her hand, expectantly. I returned her smile, rubbed my hands together in delight, and then turned around, dropped my drawers, and “assumed the position.” Angela wasted no time in heating up my seat.
After my initial warming, I chose a round, ping-pong-style paddle and returned the favor on Angela’s lovely behind.
We retired to the den, sans pants, and cuddled up on the sofa to watch some television. Angela had brought with her a nice, wooden hairbrush and a very heavy Amish wooden spoon. While perusing the rather weak television fare, we took turns crawling over each other’s lap and paddling each other’s buns. I should mention that there was also a considerable amount of rubbing and squeezing of buns. I should, but I won’t.
Around 9:30-ish, with our bottoms nicely glowing, Angela and I got up from the sofa. I went to fetch some refreshments. When I returned, Angela appeared with a couple of leather spanking implements (a strap and a paddle) and a deck of cards. For the next hour or so we played a rousing game of Spank The Middle. It is a simple game, where one player deals two cards face up on the table. The other player tries to guess whether the value of the next card is or is not between the first two. If that player is correct, they get to spank the dealer once for each point that the third is off from the closer of the first two. If the player is incorrect, they get spanked by the dealer. For example, let’s say that the dealer lays down a five and a jack, and the player feels that the next card will be between said five and jack. If the next card is, say, an eight, he would get to give the dealer three swats. If the card is a three, the dealer would spank the player two swats. There are other quaint rules that I shall not go into for the sake of time, such as what happens of the dealer turns up a pair.
At this point, I find myself tiring. Even an imaginary spanko needs his sleep, especially after such a delightful weekend. However, I will be most pleased to resume this commentary on the morrow.
Friday, May 04, 2007
Tonight's The Night
One of the important routines in the Spanko household is the evening family meal. No matter the situation, Angela and I have always tried to make sure that that the two of us, along with Colette and Maribel (before she left for school), eat dinner together. This was always a way to make sure that the girls were home at least for an hour or so each night. We also made sure that that there was plenty of food, and friends were always welcome. It also was a place where the family could discuss things with little distraction.
Thursday night, during our evening meal, Colette uttered the phrase that I had been hoping to hear for weeks, perhaps even months. With Maribel still off at university, there was one gift that our youngest daughter could give the two of us that would guarantee her parents’ happiness for the week to come, at the very least.
We had just sat down, and I had placed the spaghetti and the chicken alfredo sauce on the table. At that point, Colette asked, “Can I stay over at Michelle’s house tomorrow night?”
“Yes!” Angela and I replied, almost simultaneously.
So my darling wife and I will have the house to ourselves Friday night. No children. No guests. No parents or grandparents.
And, almost certainly, no clothes.
And, finally, we could both enjoy a nice, long, hard, delicious spanking.
So, as I write this, Colette is off the stay with her fast friend, and Angela is laying out her favorite spanking implements and planning their use. She is wearing her favorite oversized sweatshirt. No pants, so you’ll have to excuse me if seem distracted. Her exquisitely cute butt will do that to me.
I think it is time to remove her sweatshirt as well. And make sure those afore-mentioned tools are still in proper working order. I can already feel my bottom getting warm.
I do believe that it is going to be a fantastic night.
Thursday night, during our evening meal, Colette uttered the phrase that I had been hoping to hear for weeks, perhaps even months. With Maribel still off at university, there was one gift that our youngest daughter could give the two of us that would guarantee her parents’ happiness for the week to come, at the very least.
We had just sat down, and I had placed the spaghetti and the chicken alfredo sauce on the table. At that point, Colette asked, “Can I stay over at Michelle’s house tomorrow night?”
“Yes!” Angela and I replied, almost simultaneously.
So my darling wife and I will have the house to ourselves Friday night. No children. No guests. No parents or grandparents.
And, almost certainly, no clothes.
And, finally, we could both enjoy a nice, long, hard, delicious spanking.
So, as I write this, Colette is off the stay with her fast friend, and Angela is laying out her favorite spanking implements and planning their use. She is wearing her favorite oversized sweatshirt. No pants, so you’ll have to excuse me if seem distracted. Her exquisitely cute butt will do that to me.
I think it is time to remove her sweatshirt as well. And make sure those afore-mentioned tools are still in proper working order. I can already feel my bottom getting warm.
I do believe that it is going to be a fantastic night.
