Sunday, September 30, 2007


Only Resting

My goodness, it does seem that time really does fly, even here in imaginary spanko land. It hardly seems possible that three entire weeks have passed since I last regaled you with tales of wondrous spanking. And yet, the calendar does not lie. I’d like to offer several reasons for the lack of activity here, but I’m afraid that you would find them all quite lame and so I shall not waste your time with them.

When last we met, I was discussing the grand finale of our family vacation. As you may remember, back in August, Angela’s parents, who reside in the great state of Florida, offered to entertain our offspring for a week before they started a new school year. Angela and I stayed home and spent the week naked.

Since this is now almost October, some of the memories of those fine few days have begun to get cloudy. So, before I publish the remaining details, I should like to make sure that I record events accurately. I wouldn’t want you to think that I make up these stories out of whole cloth.

Events will calm down in these environs within the next fortnight or so. Therefore, I have resolved set aside a few minutes each day to put some work into this little piece of the internet, As items take shape and are complete, I shall share them with you. I may perhaps also take some well-tested shortcuts in an effort to provide at least a little content, such as posting polls, memes, or pictures rather than content of a more textual nature.

For example, here is a photograph that I felt was worth sharing with my loyal readers.

I call it “I Heart Buns.”

Or, as Mae West once said, "Goodness had nothing to do with it."

Saturday, September 08, 2007


The Naked Truth (Or Dare), Part Deux

During the next few rounds, I had Angela:
  • Insert ice cubes into her rectal and vaginal regions,

  • Spank herself, and

  • Spread whipped cream on her breasts and have our dog, Wacky, lick it off. This failed to materialize because it turns out, curiously, that Wacky either does not like whipped cream or does not like Angela’s breasts.
In return, Angela Dared me to:
  • Shave my pubic hair off with an electric razor,

  • Insert my big toe into her rectum (she washed my foot and trimmed my toe nail first), and

  • Take ten stroked of a leather strap across my thighs (ouch).
We also offered a couple of Truths to questions such as what celebrity would she most like to spank, or would I have still married Angela if she were not a spanko. That last question is an interesting one which will perhaps be the subject of a subsequent blog entry.

As the day wore on, the Truths became few and far between, and the Dares became more, well daring. I decided to try an experiment, so I Dared her to take a frozen spanking. I took a couple of those ice packs that you use in your cooler, which filled with a substance that stays frozen much longer than ice cubes, and had her sit on them for five minutes. Then I took a paddle and gave her bare butt twenty-five swats. I’ve heard that this causes a delayed but very intense sting. Angela jumped around after the first few swats, but took the rest standing still as she dared me to “really make it hurt.” Afterwards, she confirmed that being paddled on a chilled tushie was “really stingy.”

My next dare was to take a “school girl spanking.” She made me dress in one of her white blouses, a knee-length skirt, knee-high stockings, a pair of her panties. Since I hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, I looked ridiculous. She went into my office and closed the door. Then she had me knock and enter, where she interrogated me as to the nature on my alleged crime. I told her that I had been caught running through the dorm hallway wearing nothing except a nightshirt, and that furthermore my boyfriend had spent the night in my room. Angela sentenced me to a “good, hard spanking on my bare bottom with a wooden paddle,” which she had me fetch. She then bent me over my own desk, flipped up my skirt, pulled down the panties that I was wearing, and methodically gave me twenty swats, which she made me count. It was all very amusing, and yet arousing.

For Angela’s next dare, I had her strip completely naked, which simply involved removing the t-shirt that she was wearing, and assume the position of being on her hands and knees on the bed. I removed a mirror that hangs on the wall and rested it against the headboard, then attached the plunger (mentioned in a previous post) to it. I took out Angela’s favorite electric clitoral stimulator and plugged it in. I applied a generous amount of lubricant to the plunger handle, and had Angela impale herself on it via her rear end. Then I handed her the stimulator.

“You’re going to ride that plunger,” I told her, “and use the stimulator on your clitoris while I take this riding crop and apply it to your butt, thighs, and anywhere else I think needs to be spanked. And you are not allowed to come until I say you can.”

Angela is not real keen on anal stimulation, but sometimes the “naughtyness” of it gets her really excited. She tentatively started to rock back and forth on the plunger handle (henceforth known as “the stick”), then fired up the stimulator. Once she pressed it against her clitoris, I began to apply the crop to her bottom in hard, sharp swats. I’d whack one spot four or five times quickly then move to a new location. After about three minutes, I heard Angela’s breathing increase and she started to moan with some gusto.

“You better not come,” I told her, “or you’re going to stay like this until you come again.” But Angela was beyond the point of retreat, and her orgasm racked her body and caused her to collapse on the bed.

“Get up and get back on that stick!” I ordered. She demurred, so I found a sensitive spot on her thighs and gave her a good number of hard thwacks with the crop. This motivated her to re-impale herself and begin riding the stick again. I resumed spanking her and, as soon as she could stand it, she placed the stimulator back on her clitoris. I was merciless with the crop, working on the sides of her bottom, her thighs, and I even tapped her vaginal region a couple of times, but not too hard.

It took her longer to achieve orgasm this time. A couple of times she tried to get me to stop, but it wouldn’t be a proper dare if I let her off of the hook too soon. I did try to use the crop strategically, in ways that would be likely to increase her arousal. Eventually, her breathing and moaning became more urgent, at which time I began to strike her hard and fast on the central part of her cheeks, trying to increase the burn as her orgasm neared. When it arrived, it was monumental, and it left her totally panting and spent. I laid down next to her and wrapped my arms around her so could share the final waves of her ecstacy.

The next installment of this tale shall detail the conclusion of our game.

Saturday, September 01, 2007


The Naked Truth (Or Dare)

Thursday and Friday were relatively uneventful, spanking-wise. Not that they were devoid of spankings, however the spankings were all short and not worth writing about. Saturday, though, was a day made in spanko heaven.

The weather that day was hot and stormy. Since yard work was out of the question, unless one enjoyed getting soaking wet, working in complete mud, and tempting the lightning gods with an easy target. The heat was so oppressive and the sky so gloomy that it seemed like staying in the safety and security of the barn, along with its brand-new, efficient, and quite wonderful air-conditioning, was the best way to spend the day. So that’s what we decided to do.

I cooked blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs, and slices of ham for breakfast in my pajamas while Angela enjoyed a bath. When the food was ready, she appeared, squeaky clean and radiant. She was also not wearing any pants. Naturally, I had to spank her for her impertinence, using our nice, heavy wooden spoon. Not wanting to be the only pantless one at the breakfast table, I removed my pajama bottoms, which incited Angela to take the afore-mentioned wooden spoon to my hiney for being a copycat. The day was getting off to a fine start.

After eating, we moved to the den where cuddled up on the couch, sipping tea, watching cartoons (one of my favorite guilty pleasures), and discussing how to occupy ourselves for the remainder of the day. We talked about some practical ways to spend the day, but quickly discarded those ideas since this was to be our last day with the house to ourselves. So the conversation switched to things spanking. After moving past a few ideas that were either not adventurous enough or physically impossible, we decided that we would engage in a rousing game of “Truth Or Dare.”

For those of you who never took part in the game during your youth, the rules are simple. Whoever’s turn it is has to choose “Truth” or “Dare.” If they chose “Truth” they had to truthfully answer a question posed by the other players. The questions would inevitably be embarrassing, uncomfortable, and intimate. If the person chose “Dare,” then they had to perform whatever activity the other players put forth to them. The activity was typically embarrassing, uncomfortable, and intimate. In other words, the game was perfect for a couple of horny spankos with an empty house and a rainy day to kill.

I went first. I opted to start slowly, so I chose “Truth.” Angela asked, “What is one way I could seriously punish you that I have never done to you before?” A very clever question. She was obviously trying to gather ideas for “dares” later in the day.

I responded with, “Whip my bare ass while I’m hanging upside down.” She asked for details, like where would I be tied up, what would I be whipped with, if I would be secured with ropes or chains, etc. Strictly speaking, follow-up questions were not allowed, but, since it was a friendly game, we went for a liberal interpretation of the rules.

When it was Angela’s time, she, being somewhat more adventurous chose “Dare.” With hardly a pause, I told her, “Go get the mail.”

“That’s no fun,” she responded. She got up and headed for the bedroom. “Where are you going?” I asked. “To get some clothes,” she said.

“Did I say you could get clothes? No, I didn’t. Go get the mail just as you are.”

“But it’s raining!” she said.

“I don’t care,” was my retort.

“But I’m not wearing any pants!”

“Well, it wouldn’t be a dare if I let you wear pants.”

“Can I at least wear a coat?”

“You can use an umbrella.”

Our mailbox is by the road, at the end of our driveway. There is a sidewalk from the barn toward the guest house, then it branches to the paved portion of the driveway. One cannot really see the walk from the road, until one gets to the driveway. Even then, you would have to be looking straight down the driveway since there trees and shrubs between the road and our lot. Except where the driveway opens to the road. The mailbox sits at the end of the drive, in full view of everyone who drives by in either direction.

I followed Angela to the back door, from where I could watch to make sure that she did not cheat. She grabbed her umbrella, looked back at me, then headed out into the rain. She scurried up the walk to the driveway, then paused. She checked to see if I was watching, which I was, enjoying the view. Rather than heading up the driveway, she hustled up to the bushes, then started watching to see if any cars were coming. From her vantage, her view of the road was limited. She crept forward, closer to the mailbox, and again spied for cars. She started for the mailbox, then quickly ducked back behind the bushes as a couple of cars cruised by.

She did this a couple more times, each time seeing more cars and having to dive back to safety. Finally, it appeared that she decided just to make a run for it. She quickly started for the mailbox, and, as she got to the driveway opening, she lowered the umbrella so that it was covering her from the waist on down. My wife is so smart! She reached the mailbox, opened it with her free hand, and peered inside. I then saw her stomp her foot, and then she ran as fast as she could, with the umbrella still covering her female region, through the rain back to the barn, apparently not concerned that anyone driving by, should they glance down our drive, would get a glimpse of her outstanding rear end.

When she reached the door, I opened it for her so that could get out of the rain. “You bastard!” she shouted at me. “The fucking mail doesn’t get here until later!” Then we both started to laugh. I knew that she would get revenge on me before long, but, after all, we were playing “Truth Or Dare.”

More details on our “Truth Or Dare” game will be revealed on our next installment.

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