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.
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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