Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Ye Olde Naked Weekend, Resumed
To recap, I had invited a co-worker, Liz, out to dinner, however, she arrived late due to car problems encountered on the way. To make matters worse, the weather was awful. We decided to stay in and get naked. Liz discovered my spanking implement collection and asked to be spanked. What follows is a continuation of how we spent that night.
Due to the deteriorating state of the weather, as well as the increasing interest in bun warming, it became clear that Liz would not be returning to her domicile that night. Being a poor bachelor and extremely recent college grad, my bed was a mere twin, large enough for two to fool around on, but not large enough for two to sleep comfortably on. Fortunately, my sofa folded out into a bed large enough for two to canoodle on pleasantly.
We laid there under all of my blankets, cuddling, for it was a cold night, and watching television. After a while, I suggested an alternative way to keep warm. I rose and went back to my bedroom, where I retrieved the rest of my spanking implements. In for a dime, figured I, in for a dollar. I laid most of them aside but brought a nice, wooden hairbrush back to the sofa with me.
I crawled back onto the sofa, suggested to Liz that she become comfortable by laying across my lap, and showed her the brush. She was only too happy to comply. With her butt placed well within my sights, I re-warmed her. Figuring I had all night, I took my time and covered all of her fine, fleshy fanny with swats. I hit her hard enough to keep her squirming and giggling, but not hard enough to make her cry out.
When her entire rear end was a very attractive shade of crimson, I stopped to admire my handiwork, and to warm my hands on her hindquarters. We snuggled up for a while, then it was my turn to spend some time across her lap.
Liz handled the hairbrush with proficiency. Since I was many swats behind her (so to speak), I had her paddle me faster and harder. It was a most remarkable spanking. I laid there, moaning and wriggling with pleasure, and she covered my bare butt with whack after wonderful whack. The pain and heat spread to my loins, and since my loins were in close proximity to her loins, she was immediately aware of my reaction. She trusted her spanko instincts, though, and continued spanking me, with increased intensity. My backside became hotter and hotter, like cement in the sunshine.
When it was deemed that my rear end had been sufficiently spanked, or Liz’s arm became tired, she discarded the hairbrush. I rolled off her lap and into a semi-seated position on the sofa bed. Liz reached for her purse and pulled out a handy condom, and then she crawled on top of me, and we made love again, with lots of laughing and giggling and silliness. When we were both satiated, we pulled the quilts and blankets over ourselves while still naked and entwined, and, as we listened to the wind howling outside, we fell asleep.
I awoke before dawn, freezing. Liz had managed to appropriate all of the covers for herself, leaving me. Not wanting to wake her, for she seemed so warm and content, I instead rose and went into my bedroom. I donned a big sweatshirt, pulled out my flannel bed sheets, and sunk into my own bed, warm and comfy and happy.
I awoke a while later and saw Liz standing over my bed, glowering. “What the fuck are you doing here?” she angrily asked me.
“Sleeping,” I replied, groggily.
“In here, all nice and warm, leaving me alone in the living room to freeze?”
“Freeze?” I responded. “But you had all of the blankets. I came in here because you had stolen them all!” I began to get irritated until I saw that she was holding one of my spanking implements, and old, worn leather belt that I had found at a thrift store. Then I understood that perhaps her anger was feigned, and, in any event, she had planned on warming me up.
“Roll over, buster,” she said as she swept the covers off of me. She was pretty good at this spanko stuff, I thought. I rolled onto my stomach, and she reached down and pulled my sweatshirt up a ways, making sure that my butt would not be afforded any protection. Liz then straightened up, doubled the belt over, raised her arm and brought the belt down in a mighty arc.
“Yowch!” I shouted. The end of the belt had missed my bottom and wrapped around, catching me further down on my hip. I swore ferociously as I rubbed the spot vigorously with my hand. I got no sympathy from Liz. “Move your hand or I’ll whip that, too!” she said.
Liz did take the hint, however, and her next stroke hit me square in the middle of my cheeks. I had never actually been spanked with this belt, and I was surprised at how painful it was. But since I was at this time an irrevocable spanko, the pain quickly subsided and was replaced by a wonderful warmth. And since Liz’s aim was, except for the first lash, exceptional, my derriere was quickly burning delightfully.
When Liz completed my much deserved, and much appreciated, punishment, I dragged my sorry ass out of bed and peered out the window at the conditions. They were deplorable. The world was covered with at least six inches of snow with an icy crust on top. Even worse, when I turned on the local television station to see if they were broadcasting the weather, it informed us that the roads were close to impassable, and that the storm that was upon us would deposit another foot of snow before the day was out.
Liz was very disappointed. “I have things to do today,” she said.
“Well,” I responded, “unless you were going to do them around your place, they ain’t going to get done. If you were planning on driving around, those plans are shot now. We may as well stay here and watch more basketball.”
This solution did not seem to please Liz, so I first offered to make breakfast. I cracked some eggs, cut up a green pepper (I always keep a well-stocked refrigerator), added some mushrooms, swiss cheese and parsley, and made omelets. They were yummy. Liz went to the powder rooms while I was cleaning up, and she returned dressed and wearing her coat.
“I really have to go,” she said. I was crestfallen. I was at least looking forward to maybe one more spanking. But, being a gentleman, I told her that I would help her clean off her car and see her on her way.
In the next installment, we find out if Liz really does leave.
Due to the deteriorating state of the weather, as well as the increasing interest in bun warming, it became clear that Liz would not be returning to her domicile that night. Being a poor bachelor and extremely recent college grad, my bed was a mere twin, large enough for two to fool around on, but not large enough for two to sleep comfortably on. Fortunately, my sofa folded out into a bed large enough for two to canoodle on pleasantly.
We laid there under all of my blankets, cuddling, for it was a cold night, and watching television. After a while, I suggested an alternative way to keep warm. I rose and went back to my bedroom, where I retrieved the rest of my spanking implements. In for a dime, figured I, in for a dollar. I laid most of them aside but brought a nice, wooden hairbrush back to the sofa with me.
I crawled back onto the sofa, suggested to Liz that she become comfortable by laying across my lap, and showed her the brush. She was only too happy to comply. With her butt placed well within my sights, I re-warmed her. Figuring I had all night, I took my time and covered all of her fine, fleshy fanny with swats. I hit her hard enough to keep her squirming and giggling, but not hard enough to make her cry out.
When her entire rear end was a very attractive shade of crimson, I stopped to admire my handiwork, and to warm my hands on her hindquarters. We snuggled up for a while, then it was my turn to spend some time across her lap.
Liz handled the hairbrush with proficiency. Since I was many swats behind her (so to speak), I had her paddle me faster and harder. It was a most remarkable spanking. I laid there, moaning and wriggling with pleasure, and she covered my bare butt with whack after wonderful whack. The pain and heat spread to my loins, and since my loins were in close proximity to her loins, she was immediately aware of my reaction. She trusted her spanko instincts, though, and continued spanking me, with increased intensity. My backside became hotter and hotter, like cement in the sunshine.
When it was deemed that my rear end had been sufficiently spanked, or Liz’s arm became tired, she discarded the hairbrush. I rolled off her lap and into a semi-seated position on the sofa bed. Liz reached for her purse and pulled out a handy condom, and then she crawled on top of me, and we made love again, with lots of laughing and giggling and silliness. When we were both satiated, we pulled the quilts and blankets over ourselves while still naked and entwined, and, as we listened to the wind howling outside, we fell asleep.
I awoke before dawn, freezing. Liz had managed to appropriate all of the covers for herself, leaving me. Not wanting to wake her, for she seemed so warm and content, I instead rose and went into my bedroom. I donned a big sweatshirt, pulled out my flannel bed sheets, and sunk into my own bed, warm and comfy and happy.
I awoke a while later and saw Liz standing over my bed, glowering. “What the fuck are you doing here?” she angrily asked me.
“Sleeping,” I replied, groggily.
“In here, all nice and warm, leaving me alone in the living room to freeze?”
“Freeze?” I responded. “But you had all of the blankets. I came in here because you had stolen them all!” I began to get irritated until I saw that she was holding one of my spanking implements, and old, worn leather belt that I had found at a thrift store. Then I understood that perhaps her anger was feigned, and, in any event, she had planned on warming me up.
“Roll over, buster,” she said as she swept the covers off of me. She was pretty good at this spanko stuff, I thought. I rolled onto my stomach, and she reached down and pulled my sweatshirt up a ways, making sure that my butt would not be afforded any protection. Liz then straightened up, doubled the belt over, raised her arm and brought the belt down in a mighty arc.
“Yowch!” I shouted. The end of the belt had missed my bottom and wrapped around, catching me further down on my hip. I swore ferociously as I rubbed the spot vigorously with my hand. I got no sympathy from Liz. “Move your hand or I’ll whip that, too!” she said.
Liz did take the hint, however, and her next stroke hit me square in the middle of my cheeks. I had never actually been spanked with this belt, and I was surprised at how painful it was. But since I was at this time an irrevocable spanko, the pain quickly subsided and was replaced by a wonderful warmth. And since Liz’s aim was, except for the first lash, exceptional, my derriere was quickly burning delightfully.
When Liz completed my much deserved, and much appreciated, punishment, I dragged my sorry ass out of bed and peered out the window at the conditions. They were deplorable. The world was covered with at least six inches of snow with an icy crust on top. Even worse, when I turned on the local television station to see if they were broadcasting the weather, it informed us that the roads were close to impassable, and that the storm that was upon us would deposit another foot of snow before the day was out.
Liz was very disappointed. “I have things to do today,” she said.
“Well,” I responded, “unless you were going to do them around your place, they ain’t going to get done. If you were planning on driving around, those plans are shot now. We may as well stay here and watch more basketball.”
This solution did not seem to please Liz, so I first offered to make breakfast. I cracked some eggs, cut up a green pepper (I always keep a well-stocked refrigerator), added some mushrooms, swiss cheese and parsley, and made omelets. They were yummy. Liz went to the powder rooms while I was cleaning up, and she returned dressed and wearing her coat.
“I really have to go,” she said. I was crestfallen. I was at least looking forward to maybe one more spanking. But, being a gentleman, I told her that I would help her clean off her car and see her on her way.
In the next installment, we find out if Liz really does leave.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Almost Back To Normal
After a long weekend of basketball and driving, the Spakowiak family is back home, ready to return to the mundane business of everyday life. As you know, our eldest, Maribel, and her college basketball team were participating in an holiday (yes, an holiday) tournament in the great state of South Dakota. We opted to drive since it would probably have taken longer to get there by airplane, given the state of today’s airlines.
After handily winning their first game, in which my daughter the star played brilliantly, on Friday Maribel picked up two fouls in the first four minutes of the second game and went to the bench for the next ten minutes, during which time her team fell behind by 16 points. Maribel returned and promptly scored seven points, but then picked up her third foul. She encountered more foul issues in the second half, fouled out with 8 minutes to go, and her team lost 68-60. After the game Maribel went into the locker room and kicked over a table. She gets that from her mother.
The following day Maribel’s team played for third place, which they succeeded in taking, 86 - 69. Maribel only had 12 points, but she had 8 assists, 12 rebounds, and basically made the other team look bad. And she had no fouls.
Immediately after the tournament championship, Maribel and her mates had to catch their chartered plane back to school, so we decided that, since we had a long drive ahead of us, we’d get a head start and find a motel to stop at after four or five hours on the road. We ended up staying on Iowa, which is not the worst place in the world to spend a Saturday night, even if all of the college kids were still gone for the holiday and even if it is 20 degrees.
We finished the drive on Sunday, travelling through unrelenting slush. There is nothing that I can think of doing that is more fun than driving through Iowa on a gray, crappy day. That is, if nothing means everything. But we made it home, and now I am ensconced in my warm, dry office, doing what I do best, and that is typing.
Okay, I’m doing what I do second best. With luck, I might get to do what I do best tomorrow whilst Colette is at school. And I’ll get to do it to Angela’s butt. And maybe have it done to mine. Which, as far as I’m concerned, is fantastic.
The next entry to this here site will be a resumption of my latest tall tale regarding the weekend I spent with a young lady who was discovering her spanko preferences.
After handily winning their first game, in which my daughter the star played brilliantly, on Friday Maribel picked up two fouls in the first four minutes of the second game and went to the bench for the next ten minutes, during which time her team fell behind by 16 points. Maribel returned and promptly scored seven points, but then picked up her third foul. She encountered more foul issues in the second half, fouled out with 8 minutes to go, and her team lost 68-60. After the game Maribel went into the locker room and kicked over a table. She gets that from her mother.
The following day Maribel’s team played for third place, which they succeeded in taking, 86 - 69. Maribel only had 12 points, but she had 8 assists, 12 rebounds, and basically made the other team look bad. And she had no fouls.
Immediately after the tournament championship, Maribel and her mates had to catch their chartered plane back to school, so we decided that, since we had a long drive ahead of us, we’d get a head start and find a motel to stop at after four or five hours on the road. We ended up staying on Iowa, which is not the worst place in the world to spend a Saturday night, even if all of the college kids were still gone for the holiday and even if it is 20 degrees.
We finished the drive on Sunday, travelling through unrelenting slush. There is nothing that I can think of doing that is more fun than driving through Iowa on a gray, crappy day. That is, if nothing means everything. But we made it home, and now I am ensconced in my warm, dry office, doing what I do best, and that is typing.
Okay, I’m doing what I do second best. With luck, I might get to do what I do best tomorrow whilst Colette is at school. And I’ll get to do it to Angela’s butt. And maybe have it done to mine. Which, as far as I’m concerned, is fantastic.
The next entry to this here site will be a resumption of my latest tall tale regarding the weekend I spent with a young lady who was discovering her spanko preferences.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Home For The Holidays, Not
My dear readers, I know that I promised to publish updates to my latest tale with no more than one day between installments. However, at this time, I am not at my place of residence.
The story goes like this: As you know if you are a loyal reader of this little piece of the internet, my eldest
daughter, Maribel, attends college where she is a basketball player of some prowess. Basketball season is upon us, and, quite often, the season starts with some sort of invitational tournament, with four or eight teams descending on one school. Each season, Maribel’s schools has taken part in one of these tournaments, and each season, we have attended.
In past years, these tournaments have been held at school sites. Since Maribel’s school competes at the Division II level, these are usually smaller, albeit very nice and very friendly schools.
Due to their success the past couple of seasons, Maribel’s team this year has been invited to a more prestigious holiday event. Now, when I heard “more prestigious,” I thought that we might be invited to someplace warm, or perhaps to a large city such as New York, Washington DC, or Boston.
This event is being held in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.
Now, for those of you who live in Sioux Falls, please do not think that I am insulting your fair metropolis. We arrived today, found the city to be modern and friendly, and our treatment is first-class.
However, getting here sucked.
When we first discovered where this tournament was to be held, we began to look at plane flights to get there. Maribel and her team were taking a direct, chartered flight that the school was nice enough to provide. Unfortunately, there was not enough room on the plane for parents.
A check of airline flights showed that, being the holiday weekend, there weren’t too many seats available. We would have had to fly to Cincinnati, then Minneapolis, and then to Sioux Falls. When taking into consideration the time to drive to the airport, get through security during a busy time, layovers, and the inevitable flight delays, it would be at least a 10 hour trip. Since we figured we could drive there in about 10 hours, we decided to travel by automobile.
We wanted to get an early start, but that was difficult because our other daughter, Colette, didn’t seem interested in getting out of bed, despite the fact that she was getting out of school and could sleep the entire time in the car. The weather was cold and rainy, but at least there was no snow. We lost some time early in the drive because we had to pass through a major metropolitan area and, due to the weather, traffic was pathetically slow. We also had to make roughly 2,700 potty stops. First, Angela had to pee. Then Colette had to pee. Then Angela had to pee. For the record, I peed twice during the entire trip, once when we stopped for lunch.
Perhaps the worst part is that there is absolutely nothing between the major metro area we passed in the morning and Sioux Falls except lots of flat. Even the billboards were scarce.
We pulled into Sioux Falls at about 7 pm local time, which meant we were just in time for Maribel’s game. The good news was that Maribel scored 23 points and her team won by 21.
So now we are safe and warm in our hotel room. There will be no spanking on this trip. Although Colette has her own room, it is adjacent to ours and the walls are paper thin. The tournament organizers have promised us a spectacular Thanksgiving feast. Friday and Saturday will be more basketball, followed by the long drive back. It will be nice to spend some time with Maribel and her teammates. I’m planning on catching all of the games, while Colette and her mom check out the Black Friday shopping, since Maribel’s game is the last of the day.
So the story will have to wait a bit. Perhaps I will get to write a smidge tomorrow. I promise that it will be worth the wait. After all, everything I write actually happened to me.
To bad that I haven’t actually happened. That’s okay. It’s still fantastic.
The story goes like this: As you know if you are a loyal reader of this little piece of the internet, my eldest
daughter, Maribel, attends college where she is a basketball player of some prowess. Basketball season is upon us, and, quite often, the season starts with some sort of invitational tournament, with four or eight teams descending on one school. Each season, Maribel’s schools has taken part in one of these tournaments, and each season, we have attended.In past years, these tournaments have been held at school sites. Since Maribel’s school competes at the Division II level, these are usually smaller, albeit very nice and very friendly schools.
Due to their success the past couple of seasons, Maribel’s team this year has been invited to a more prestigious holiday event. Now, when I heard “more prestigious,” I thought that we might be invited to someplace warm, or perhaps to a large city such as New York, Washington DC, or Boston.
This event is being held in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.
Now, for those of you who live in Sioux Falls, please do not think that I am insulting your fair metropolis. We arrived today, found the city to be modern and friendly, and our treatment is first-class.
However, getting here sucked.
When we first discovered where this tournament was to be held, we began to look at plane flights to get there. Maribel and her team were taking a direct, chartered flight that the school was nice enough to provide. Unfortunately, there was not enough room on the plane for parents.
A check of airline flights showed that, being the holiday weekend, there weren’t too many seats available. We would have had to fly to Cincinnati, then Minneapolis, and then to Sioux Falls. When taking into consideration the time to drive to the airport, get through security during a busy time, layovers, and the inevitable flight delays, it would be at least a 10 hour trip. Since we figured we could drive there in about 10 hours, we decided to travel by automobile.
We wanted to get an early start, but that was difficult because our other daughter, Colette, didn’t seem interested in getting out of bed, despite the fact that she was getting out of school and could sleep the entire time in the car. The weather was cold and rainy, but at least there was no snow. We lost some time early in the drive because we had to pass through a major metropolitan area and, due to the weather, traffic was pathetically slow. We also had to make roughly 2,700 potty stops. First, Angela had to pee. Then Colette had to pee. Then Angela had to pee. For the record, I peed twice during the entire trip, once when we stopped for lunch.
Perhaps the worst part is that there is absolutely nothing between the major metro area we passed in the morning and Sioux Falls except lots of flat. Even the billboards were scarce.
We pulled into Sioux Falls at about 7 pm local time, which meant we were just in time for Maribel’s game. The good news was that Maribel scored 23 points and her team won by 21.
So now we are safe and warm in our hotel room. There will be no spanking on this trip. Although Colette has her own room, it is adjacent to ours and the walls are paper thin. The tournament organizers have promised us a spectacular Thanksgiving feast. Friday and Saturday will be more basketball, followed by the long drive back. It will be nice to spend some time with Maribel and her teammates. I’m planning on catching all of the games, while Colette and her mom check out the Black Friday shopping, since Maribel’s game is the last of the day.
So the story will have to wait a bit. Perhaps I will get to write a smidge tomorrow. I promise that it will be worth the wait. After all, everything I write actually happened to me.
To bad that I haven’t actually happened. That’s okay. It’s still fantastic.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Still More Ye Olde Naked Weekend
We finished our meal and enjoyed some ice cream for afters. After I cleaned up, we retire to my modest living room. Since we were both barely dressed (and preferred to stay that way), I went and got out all of the blankets and quilts that I had in the house (which was three, one of which I took off of my bed). When I returned, Liz was standing in the middle of the room, completely naked and holding the paddle.
She smiled and said, “You promised me an after dinner spanking. This time I want you to spank me nice and hard!”
Well, I thought I had paddled her hard earlier, but who am I to disagree with a naked woman. “All right,” I responded. “But let’s try it this way: This time I’ll give you ten whacks. I’ll make each whack a little harder than the last one. After each whack, I want you to tell me if I hit you too hard, and then tell me when you are ready for your next whack.”
Liz agreed to these conditions, assumed the position (and looked most lovely doing so), and the spanking began. The first swat made her stand up and clutch her butt, but she laughed and, after a few delicious rubs, bent over again and asked for her second swat. That one made her straighten again, but this time there was no butt clutching and she bent back over, although she did allow something of a pause before requesting swat three.
As the swats got harder, the pauses got shorter. I could tell by her breathing and her voice that my swats did indeed sting considerably, but Liz seemed determined to endure. When I delivered the tenth whack. Liz let out a long sigh, and remained bent over, with her hands on her knees, her bottom very red, until I became concerned. “Liz,” I asked, “are you okay?”
Slowly, she responded, “That was so amazing!” Then she deliberately stood up, turned around, embraced me, and gave me a very long, deep kiss. Her skin was glistening slightly with perspiration, and I detected an ever-so-slight quiver. I allowed my hands to slide down until they came to rest on her blazing buttocks.
When she disengaged from my lips, the words came from her like water from a firehose. “That was so cool!” she said, animatedly. “Each whack hurt so much, but I couldn’t wait until you hit me again. I wanted it to hurt more!”
My goodness, I thought to myself, this girl might be a genuine spanko. And here she was, naked in my living room, after having asked me to spank her. It was if all of my fantasies were suddenly coming true, which is ironic considering that I am imaginary.
“Spank me some more!” she demanded.
“Slow down,” I replied. I handed the paddle back to her. “Do you think I keep that paddle here as a table decoration? It’s my turn to be spanked!” I removed my pajama pants, turned around, and presented my bottom to her. Liz proved to be as good of a spanker as she was a spankee.
We exchanged places again, and Liz received ten more. She was clearly becoming accustomed to the pain, as she took those with barely a sign of strain. That does not mean that she was silent, by any means. She laughed frequently, and made sure I knew just how good my paddle was making her feel.
We traded places once more, then decided to give our rear ends a break. I fired up the television, found a channel with a good game, and snuggled down on the sofa with Liz. While we watched, we took turns rubbing the sting out of our poor, paddled posteriors. It was perfectly pleasant.
Thus ends this chapter of the story of my naughty weekend. In the next installment, I promise to refrain from any alliterations.
She smiled and said, “You promised me an after dinner spanking. This time I want you to spank me nice and hard!”
Well, I thought I had paddled her hard earlier, but who am I to disagree with a naked woman. “All right,” I responded. “But let’s try it this way: This time I’ll give you ten whacks. I’ll make each whack a little harder than the last one. After each whack, I want you to tell me if I hit you too hard, and then tell me when you are ready for your next whack.”
Liz agreed to these conditions, assumed the position (and looked most lovely doing so), and the spanking began. The first swat made her stand up and clutch her butt, but she laughed and, after a few delicious rubs, bent over again and asked for her second swat. That one made her straighten again, but this time there was no butt clutching and she bent back over, although she did allow something of a pause before requesting swat three.
As the swats got harder, the pauses got shorter. I could tell by her breathing and her voice that my swats did indeed sting considerably, but Liz seemed determined to endure. When I delivered the tenth whack. Liz let out a long sigh, and remained bent over, with her hands on her knees, her bottom very red, until I became concerned. “Liz,” I asked, “are you okay?”
Slowly, she responded, “That was so amazing!” Then she deliberately stood up, turned around, embraced me, and gave me a very long, deep kiss. Her skin was glistening slightly with perspiration, and I detected an ever-so-slight quiver. I allowed my hands to slide down until they came to rest on her blazing buttocks.
When she disengaged from my lips, the words came from her like water from a firehose. “That was so cool!” she said, animatedly. “Each whack hurt so much, but I couldn’t wait until you hit me again. I wanted it to hurt more!”
My goodness, I thought to myself, this girl might be a genuine spanko. And here she was, naked in my living room, after having asked me to spank her. It was if all of my fantasies were suddenly coming true, which is ironic considering that I am imaginary.
“Spank me some more!” she demanded.
“Slow down,” I replied. I handed the paddle back to her. “Do you think I keep that paddle here as a table decoration? It’s my turn to be spanked!” I removed my pajama pants, turned around, and presented my bottom to her. Liz proved to be as good of a spanker as she was a spankee.
We exchanged places again, and Liz received ten more. She was clearly becoming accustomed to the pain, as she took those with barely a sign of strain. That does not mean that she was silent, by any means. She laughed frequently, and made sure I knew just how good my paddle was making her feel.
We traded places once more, then decided to give our rear ends a break. I fired up the television, found a channel with a good game, and snuggled down on the sofa with Liz. While we watched, we took turns rubbing the sting out of our poor, paddled posteriors. It was perfectly pleasant.
Thus ends this chapter of the story of my naughty weekend. In the next installment, I promise to refrain from any alliterations.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Ye Olde Naked Weekend, Continued, Continued
Right on schedule, here is the next installment of how I spent a cold, wet weekend many years ago.
Still giggling, she pointed at the paddle on the counter. “No, you goof,” she said. “I mean spank me with that thing!”
Had I not been wearing pants, Liz would have been able to notice instantly my reaction to her latest invitation. As it was, I was wearing a pair of pajama bottoms, so it was difficult to disguise my interest. I picked up the board.
“This thing might hurt,” I told her.
“Duh!” was her response. “What good is a spanking if it doesn’t hurt.”
I didn’t need another invitation. She stuck her butt out again and I gave her a couple of quick, back-handed whacks. She laughed harder and jumped up and rubbed her butt with both hands. She looked so good that I wanted to put her on a plate, cover her with chocolate sauce, and eat her all up.
“I told you it would hurt,” I said.
“It didn’t hurt. I just like feeling my butt when it’s warm!”
I decide to swing for the fences. “Well, if you think it’s warm now, wait until I properly paddle you.” I pointed towards my living room. “Go out there and bend over!”
Liz seemed unfazed. Without hesitation, she did as directed. Perhaps she had experience at this sort of thing. Maybe she was in a sorority that initiated recruits with the paddle. Maybe she had been paddled at some point as a youngster. Maybe she was, like you and I, a proper spanko.
I moved into position behind and beside her, and patted her rump with the paddle a couple of times. I figured I’d give her about five good, but not terribly hard, swats, and fairly slowly, so that I could judge her reaction and stop if she was in too much discomfort. I heard Liz’s breathing quicken. I took aim and said, “Get ready, here we go!” And then I spanked her.
WHACK! Liz let out a little “Oooo” and half-straightened, but immediately got back into position. I hit her a little harder and heard her sharply pull in her breath, but she didn’t move, so I gave her another one about the same strength. This time it sounded like she was holding her breath, and she had stiffened considerably. She was, however, still presenting her butt to me, which was turning a nice shade of pink.
When I saw that she had relaxed, I gave her another swat. I saw her stiffen again, and she appeared to be in genuine discomfort. I thought about calling a halt to the spanking after four swats, but then Liz said, “Come on, let’s have it! My butt is waiting!” so I gave her one more swat, hard enough to get her to straighten up again. She did, and jumped up and turned around, vigorously rubbing her glorious globes.
“So, did that hurt?” I said.
Liz did not seem too distressed. “That wasn’t too bad,” she said. “And, wow, my butt feels yummy!” This surprised me, because I did not think that Liz had ever been paddled before, and I never thought that I would hear her utter the word “yummy.” I had her turn back around so that I could inspect her buttocks to make sure there was no damage to the skin, but her dermis was intact. She insisted that I feel how warm her cheeks were, and, I do admit, they did feel yummy.
“Spank me some more!” she said.
“No,” I responded. “I haven’t had my evening meal yet, and I’m starving. Let’s have something to eat first.”
Upon reflection, Liz realized that she, too, was quite hungry.
I had prepared a concoction of diced potatoes, onions, green peppers, and sausages, which I tossed into a frying pan and mixed with some parsley and pepper, then topped with some shredded cheddar. I served it with a couple of cold beers. It was a perfect post-coital meal for a wintry night. As we ate we chatted. Not surprisingly, the topic of conversation found its way towards spanking.
Liz related to me that, growing up, her mother was the primary disciplinarian. She said that her mom would employ a wooden paddle on occasion. She would only give one or two swats, and always with a covered bottom. Liz, who was the youngest of three girls, mentioned that, when they reached their teens, each of her sisters had committed two or three sins that her mother considered particular egregious. On those occasions, her sisters were given longer, harder paddlings, perhaps ten or more swats, although still over the seats of their pants. Liz admitted to observing some of those punishments, and feeling an odd curiosity as to what it might feel like should it be her on the receiving end of the paddle. Alas, it was not to be. Liz said that, when her eldest sister graduated high school, her mom apparently decided to put the paddle away. Even though Liz tried on numerous times to provoke her mom into paddling her the way she had paddled Liz’s sisters, her mom always opted for non-corporal punishments.
Had I not been wearing pants, Liz would have been able to notice instantly my reaction to her latest invitation. As it was, I was wearing a pair of pajama bottoms, so it was difficult to disguise my interest. I picked up the board.
“This thing might hurt,” I told her.
“Duh!” was her response. “What good is a spanking if it doesn’t hurt.”
I didn’t need another invitation. She stuck her butt out again and I gave her a couple of quick, back-handed whacks. She laughed harder and jumped up and rubbed her butt with both hands. She looked so good that I wanted to put her on a plate, cover her with chocolate sauce, and eat her all up.
“I told you it would hurt,” I said.
“It didn’t hurt. I just like feeling my butt when it’s warm!”
I decide to swing for the fences. “Well, if you think it’s warm now, wait until I properly paddle you.” I pointed towards my living room. “Go out there and bend over!”
Liz seemed unfazed. Without hesitation, she did as directed. Perhaps she had experience at this sort of thing. Maybe she was in a sorority that initiated recruits with the paddle. Maybe she had been paddled at some point as a youngster. Maybe she was, like you and I, a proper spanko.I moved into position behind and beside her, and patted her rump with the paddle a couple of times. I figured I’d give her about five good, but not terribly hard, swats, and fairly slowly, so that I could judge her reaction and stop if she was in too much discomfort. I heard Liz’s breathing quicken. I took aim and said, “Get ready, here we go!” And then I spanked her.
WHACK! Liz let out a little “Oooo” and half-straightened, but immediately got back into position. I hit her a little harder and heard her sharply pull in her breath, but she didn’t move, so I gave her another one about the same strength. This time it sounded like she was holding her breath, and she had stiffened considerably. She was, however, still presenting her butt to me, which was turning a nice shade of pink.
When I saw that she had relaxed, I gave her another swat. I saw her stiffen again, and she appeared to be in genuine discomfort. I thought about calling a halt to the spanking after four swats, but then Liz said, “Come on, let’s have it! My butt is waiting!” so I gave her one more swat, hard enough to get her to straighten up again. She did, and jumped up and turned around, vigorously rubbing her glorious globes.
“So, did that hurt?” I said.
Liz did not seem too distressed. “That wasn’t too bad,” she said. “And, wow, my butt feels yummy!” This surprised me, because I did not think that Liz had ever been paddled before, and I never thought that I would hear her utter the word “yummy.” I had her turn back around so that I could inspect her buttocks to make sure there was no damage to the skin, but her dermis was intact. She insisted that I feel how warm her cheeks were, and, I do admit, they did feel yummy.
“Spank me some more!” she said.
“No,” I responded. “I haven’t had my evening meal yet, and I’m starving. Let’s have something to eat first.”
Upon reflection, Liz realized that she, too, was quite hungry.
I had prepared a concoction of diced potatoes, onions, green peppers, and sausages, which I tossed into a frying pan and mixed with some parsley and pepper, then topped with some shredded cheddar. I served it with a couple of cold beers. It was a perfect post-coital meal for a wintry night. As we ate we chatted. Not surprisingly, the topic of conversation found its way towards spanking.
Liz related to me that, growing up, her mother was the primary disciplinarian. She said that her mom would employ a wooden paddle on occasion. She would only give one or two swats, and always with a covered bottom. Liz, who was the youngest of three girls, mentioned that, when they reached their teens, each of her sisters had committed two or three sins that her mother considered particular egregious. On those occasions, her sisters were given longer, harder paddlings, perhaps ten or more swats, although still over the seats of their pants. Liz admitted to observing some of those punishments, and feeling an odd curiosity as to what it might feel like should it be her on the receiving end of the paddle. Alas, it was not to be. Liz said that, when her eldest sister graduated high school, her mom apparently decided to put the paddle away. Even though Liz tried on numerous times to provoke her mom into paddling her the way she had paddled Liz’s sisters, her mom always opted for non-corporal punishments.
The next installment will continue to detail the exploits of that noteworthy weekend.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Ye Olde Naked Weekend, Continued
I promised a reader that I would publish installments to this story every other day so that he does not die of anticipation. A Spanko always keeps his promises.
At last she turned around. Her arms fell to her sides, and she shoulders slumped. Then, with a sigh, she said to me, “Can we maybe just skip dinner and just stay here?” Since the weather was so frightful, and I had plenty of beer in the refrigerator, that didn’t seem like such a bad idea.
“Sure,” I said. Her face brightened. I turned to fetch more beer. “You want to just watch some basketball, then?” I asked.
She smiled. “Well … that really wasn’t what I had in mind,” she said.
It took a minute for my frozen brain to thaw before I realized exactly what she was referring to. When my brain clicked in, I forgot about the beer.
We retired to my bedroom, undressed, and engaged in some friendly, noisy, athletic sex. It was an excellent opportunity to unleash some of the pent-up stress of the previous couple of weeks.
After our romp, Liz felt it would be prudent if, between changing tires and rolling around on my bed, she indulged herself in a shower. I was more than happy to let her use my facilities (I had even cleaned them that month). I decided that, whilst she was washing, I would take the opportunity to prepare something to eat. We had, after all, skipped dinner.
I heard the water stop running in the bathroom. I wandered over to its door and called out to Liz that if she did not feel like re-donning the clothes she arrived in, that she could find a bathrobe in the closet in my bedroom.
A few minutes, Liz appeared in my kitchen. She was attired not in a bathrobe, but in the more traditional attire for a female that has just had a romp at the home of her male suitor, that is, she was wearing one of my shirts, a flannel one. And nothing more. She was also holding one of my trusty paddles. I flushed deeply. I had forgotten that, since I lived alone and really was not used to entertaining guests, that I stored my spanking implements , all four of them, on the shelf within my closet.
“What is this used for?” she asked playfully.
“What do you think it is used for?” I responded in kind, taking the proffered paddle and setting it aside. Liz giggled. I was hoping that the site of food would make her forget about the paddle. Instead, she stuck that afore-mentioned nice butt in my direction.
“Spank me!” she said
“I beg your pardon?” I responded, feigning ignorance.
“Spank me!” she repeated.
Not wanting to disappoint the young lady, I gave that fine fanny a nice, playful swat with my hand. She made no effort to avoid my hand, and then yipped cutely and straightened up after contact.
When our story resumes, we will discover if this was the entirity of Liz's spanking, or if there was to be more.
At last she turned around. Her arms fell to her sides, and she shoulders slumped. Then, with a sigh, she said to me, “Can we maybe just skip dinner and just stay here?” Since the weather was so frightful, and I had plenty of beer in the refrigerator, that didn’t seem like such a bad idea.
“Sure,” I said. Her face brightened. I turned to fetch more beer. “You want to just watch some basketball, then?” I asked.
She smiled. “Well … that really wasn’t what I had in mind,” she said.
It took a minute for my frozen brain to thaw before I realized exactly what she was referring to. When my brain clicked in, I forgot about the beer.
We retired to my bedroom, undressed, and engaged in some friendly, noisy, athletic sex. It was an excellent opportunity to unleash some of the pent-up stress of the previous couple of weeks.
After our romp, Liz felt it would be prudent if, between changing tires and rolling around on my bed, she indulged herself in a shower. I was more than happy to let her use my facilities (I had even cleaned them that month). I decided that, whilst she was washing, I would take the opportunity to prepare something to eat. We had, after all, skipped dinner.
I heard the water stop running in the bathroom. I wandered over to its door and called out to Liz that if she did not feel like re-donning the clothes she arrived in, that she could find a bathrobe in the closet in my bedroom.
A few minutes, Liz appeared in my kitchen. She was attired not in a bathrobe, but in the more traditional attire for a female that has just had a romp at the home of her male suitor, that is, she was wearing one of my shirts, a flannel one. And nothing more. She was also holding one of my trusty paddles. I flushed deeply. I had forgotten that, since I lived alone and really was not used to entertaining guests, that I stored my spanking implements , all four of them, on the shelf within my closet.
“What is this used for?” she asked playfully.
“What do you think it is used for?” I responded in kind, taking the proffered paddle and setting it aside. Liz giggled. I was hoping that the site of food would make her forget about the paddle. Instead, she stuck that afore-mentioned nice butt in my direction.
“Spank me!” she said
“I beg your pardon?” I responded, feigning ignorance.
“Spank me!” she repeated.
Not wanting to disappoint the young lady, I gave that fine fanny a nice, playful swat with my hand. She made no effort to avoid my hand, and then yipped cutely and straightened up after contact.
When our story resumes, we will discover if this was the entirity of Liz's spanking, or if there was to be more.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Ye Olde Naked Weekend, Introduction
I’d like to tell you all about a very nice weekend I once spent with a young lady when I was much younger.
This was well before I met Angela. As you’ll recall, for a year after graduating university, I worked at my alma mater on a large computer project that they were undertaking. It was early January, before the students had returned. The team that I was on was feverishly working to meet an upcoming deadline. Since the school was willing to pay for overtime, it wasn’t hard to encourage people still paying off college loans to put in extra hours, but 12 hour days and six or seven day work weeks get old really fast. To make things worse, it was one of those winter where the weather was cold and gray enough to make one miserable, but just warm enough so that, rather than snow, the ground was covered with mud and slush.
Fortunately, on this weekend, we were given a reprieve. The college computer system was to be offline for the weekend as the system administrators needed to install some new hardware and re-gen the terminal and printer nodes (if you are a large computer system networking person, you will understand what that means; if not, it is not really relevant to the story, I just included it to show how smart I am). So we were told that at 5 pm on Friday, we would get to have the entire weekend to ourselves.
There was a lady on my team named Liz that had graduated at the same time as I. She was dark-haired, tall, handsome, athletic, and friendly. She also had a nice butt, and being a spanko, this was no small thing for me. I had known her casually during my undergraduate days since we were both majoring in the computer sciences. She, like I, had taken the opportunity to get some much-needed experience in the field by taking a position on this project. She had been on my team for about three months. In that time, we had been out socially a few times, usually as part of a larger group. We were friends, nothing more.
To celebrate an actual weekend off, I had asked her if I could buy her dinner in a nice restaurant, and then head back to my place to burrow under some blankets and watch some basketball. “Watching basketball” was not a euphemism for anything as we were both rather avid basketball fans. I was not averse to the evening leading to other adventures, but, honestly, they were not foremost on my mind. Since the place I had chosen an establishment that had an excellent selection of liquor, and since I was more than willing to pay for the evening, Liz graciously accepted.
Friday night came, and the weather was especially crappy. The wind was howling, and an unholy mixture of rain, sleet, and snow was falling copiously from the sky. No matter how many layers of clothing one was wearing, the cold and damp seemed to find a way through to soak and chill one to the bone. Liz and I left our place of employment and headed to our own residences to get out of our worn-out work clothes and into something more fresh. The plan, since I lived between Liz and our destination, as that she would rendezvous at my place and we would take my vehicle and continue on from there.
Forty-five minutes she was due to arrive, Liz still had not showed. I was beginning to despair when I saw her car pull up. She was sharply attired in bright red slacks and a slick, stylish white blouse. However, she was also soaking wet and shivering. It seemed that her less-than-trusty vehicle had developed a flat tire on the way over. She was able to pull to the side of the road and attempt to make repairs, but as she was changing the recalcitrant wheel, a multitude of cars had driven by her at excessive speeds, each one splashing her with a considerable amount of miserable road slush. The entire experience had left her in less than a celebratory mood.
Being the gentleman, I immediately fetched her a towel so that she could dry off. I then offered her dry sweat pants and sweatshirt, and suggested that she put her wet clothes in my dryer for a few minutes to allow them to become refreshed. At first she refused, thinking that she would dry quickly. However, when she flopped into a chair and went “squish,” she changed her mind.
As Liz changed out of her saturated attire, I retrieved a pair of bottled alcoholic beverages from my fridge. We then stood in my tiny, dusty basement drinking our beer whilst the clothes dried. We wanted to make sure that they were pulled from the dryer before they wrinkled, so we checked them every few minutes. When they had dried, we gently removed them and headed up to the main floor of my modest abode.
I suggested that we finish our beer quickly so that Liz could get back into her own clothing while they were still warm. Liz thought that was a good idea, so she downed the remainder of her beverage in one swig, and headed off to my one bedroom change. Before she reached the bedroom, however, she paused, like she was trying to come to a decision. Considering her ordeal, I thought she might be thinking of calling off our date and going home to bed. Although I couldn’t blame her for feeling that way, I silently prayed that wasn’t the case.
This was well before I met Angela. As you’ll recall, for a year after graduating university, I worked at my alma mater on a large computer project that they were undertaking. It was early January, before the students had returned. The team that I was on was feverishly working to meet an upcoming deadline. Since the school was willing to pay for overtime, it wasn’t hard to encourage people still paying off college loans to put in extra hours, but 12 hour days and six or seven day work weeks get old really fast. To make things worse, it was one of those winter where the weather was cold and gray enough to make one miserable, but just warm enough so that, rather than snow, the ground was covered with mud and slush.
Fortunately, on this weekend, we were given a reprieve. The college computer system was to be offline for the weekend as the system administrators needed to install some new hardware and re-gen the terminal and printer nodes (if you are a large computer system networking person, you will understand what that means; if not, it is not really relevant to the story, I just included it to show how smart I am). So we were told that at 5 pm on Friday, we would get to have the entire weekend to ourselves.
There was a lady on my team named Liz that had graduated at the same time as I. She was dark-haired, tall, handsome, athletic, and friendly. She also had a nice butt, and being a spanko, this was no small thing for me. I had known her casually during my undergraduate days since we were both majoring in the computer sciences. She, like I, had taken the opportunity to get some much-needed experience in the field by taking a position on this project. She had been on my team for about three months. In that time, we had been out socially a few times, usually as part of a larger group. We were friends, nothing more.
To celebrate an actual weekend off, I had asked her if I could buy her dinner in a nice restaurant, and then head back to my place to burrow under some blankets and watch some basketball. “Watching basketball” was not a euphemism for anything as we were both rather avid basketball fans. I was not averse to the evening leading to other adventures, but, honestly, they were not foremost on my mind. Since the place I had chosen an establishment that had an excellent selection of liquor, and since I was more than willing to pay for the evening, Liz graciously accepted.
Friday night came, and the weather was especially crappy. The wind was howling, and an unholy mixture of rain, sleet, and snow was falling copiously from the sky. No matter how many layers of clothing one was wearing, the cold and damp seemed to find a way through to soak and chill one to the bone. Liz and I left our place of employment and headed to our own residences to get out of our worn-out work clothes and into something more fresh. The plan, since I lived between Liz and our destination, as that she would rendezvous at my place and we would take my vehicle and continue on from there.Forty-five minutes she was due to arrive, Liz still had not showed. I was beginning to despair when I saw her car pull up. She was sharply attired in bright red slacks and a slick, stylish white blouse. However, she was also soaking wet and shivering. It seemed that her less-than-trusty vehicle had developed a flat tire on the way over. She was able to pull to the side of the road and attempt to make repairs, but as she was changing the recalcitrant wheel, a multitude of cars had driven by her at excessive speeds, each one splashing her with a considerable amount of miserable road slush. The entire experience had left her in less than a celebratory mood.
Being the gentleman, I immediately fetched her a towel so that she could dry off. I then offered her dry sweat pants and sweatshirt, and suggested that she put her wet clothes in my dryer for a few minutes to allow them to become refreshed. At first she refused, thinking that she would dry quickly. However, when she flopped into a chair and went “squish,” she changed her mind.
As Liz changed out of her saturated attire, I retrieved a pair of bottled alcoholic beverages from my fridge. We then stood in my tiny, dusty basement drinking our beer whilst the clothes dried. We wanted to make sure that they were pulled from the dryer before they wrinkled, so we checked them every few minutes. When they had dried, we gently removed them and headed up to the main floor of my modest abode.
I suggested that we finish our beer quickly so that Liz could get back into her own clothing while they were still warm. Liz thought that was a good idea, so she downed the remainder of her beverage in one swig, and headed off to my one bedroom change. Before she reached the bedroom, however, she paused, like she was trying to come to a decision. Considering her ordeal, I thought she might be thinking of calling off our date and going home to bed. Although I couldn’t blame her for feeling that way, I silently prayed that wasn’t the case.
The next installment will discuss what really was the case.
Monday, November 05, 2007
Married To A Spanko
Some time ago, I mentioned that, due to the poor finances of a newly-married couple, we did not take a honeymoon directly after our nuptials. We did, however, convince my parents to free up enough cash so that we could spend a couple of nights in an expensive hotel in The Big City. The first night we spent watching pay-per-view movies (DVDs had not yet been invented and, I am ashamed to admit, video cassettes were still somewhat of a novelty (my god, am I old!)) whilst we waited for our friends to tire themselves out with their pranks. Angela had told her maid-of-honor the “secret” of where we were staying. We figured that if we let them harass us for a night, they might be nice enough to leave us alone for the second evening. We made sure to ply our friends with considerable alcohol during the reception, so, at about 3 am, after knocking on our door about a million times delivering such things as sexy underwear, condoms, champagne, and beer, and calling us another million or so times, exhaustion overcame them and they went off to find a much cheaper hotel at which to sleep off their inebriation. When we felt sure that we would be assured privacy, Angela and I consummated our marriage and fell into blissful slumber.
Being the observant spankos that I know you are, your probably asking if there was something missing on my wedding day.
Go ahead, I’ll wait.
“Frank, is there something missing from your wedding day?”
I’m glad you asked.
As I’m quite certain that you’ve ascertained by now, neither Angela nor I were spanked on the day we were married.
Fear not, my good friends. This was entirely by design. You see, as I’ve just mentioned, we anticipated frequent interruptions from our so-called friends, and we didn’t want anything as important as our first married spanking to be disturbed. So that first day was completely spank free, which for a couple of young spankos was quite unusual indeed.
Day two, however, featured no such omission.
Our friends were nice enough to give us a wake-up call at about 7 am that morning. We pretended to be bright and cheery, which annoyed them tremendously because they were barely awake and quite hung over. After hanging up to phone, Angela took the opportunity to pad over to our suitcase and fetch a nice, wooden hairbrush that we just happened to bring along with us. I sat up in bed as Angela sidled over. Smiling broadly, my wonderful new wife, soul-mate, lover, and fellow spanko said to me:
“Do you, Frank Spanko, take me, Angela, to be your lawfully spanked wife, to love, honor, cherish, and spank, on her pants, panties, or on the bare, with paddle, hairbrush, strap, rod, or just your hand, for better or for worse, for richer and poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part.”
I returned her grin and replied, “Fuck yes!” I was still a little weak in the romanticness department then.
Angela laughed and handed me the hairbrush. Then, still naked from the nights pleasures (as was I), as she threw herself over my lap, she said, “Well, then, you may now spank the bride!” After such an eloquent invitation, I was beyond pleased to comply. I gave her a long, leisurely spanking, being thorough and loving. I finished off with about a dozen very firm swats, and left Angela with the first of what would be a considerable number of red butts of our marriage.
I fumbled my way through my own version of spanking vows and then Angela returned the favor on my hiney. Then, since we had not gotten much sleep, we snuggled up with our wonderfully hot bottoms and fell back to sleep. We woke much later, enjoyed a quickie, showered, and went out to a shopping excursion. And we had specific items in mind that we were shopping for. We were looking for the best spanking implements that the city had to offer. And we found three, two of which we still enjoy to this day.
Thankfully, our marriage has been long and happy. We have shared many wonderful moments, we have two great kids, and, despite our advancing age, are still enthusiastic spankos. There are still challenges, and there always will be, but one thing is for sure. Being married to a spanko is indeed fantastic.
Being the observant spankos that I know you are, your probably asking if there was something missing on my wedding day.
Go ahead, I’ll wait.
“Frank, is there something missing from your wedding day?”
I’m glad you asked.
As I’m quite certain that you’ve ascertained by now, neither Angela nor I were spanked on the day we were married.
Fear not, my good friends. This was entirely by design. You see, as I’ve just mentioned, we anticipated frequent interruptions from our so-called friends, and we didn’t want anything as important as our first married spanking to be disturbed. So that first day was completely spank free, which for a couple of young spankos was quite unusual indeed.
Day two, however, featured no such omission.
Our friends were nice enough to give us a wake-up call at about 7 am that morning. We pretended to be bright and cheery, which annoyed them tremendously because they were barely awake and quite hung over. After hanging up to phone, Angela took the opportunity to pad over to our suitcase and fetch a nice, wooden hairbrush that we just happened to bring along with us. I sat up in bed as Angela sidled over. Smiling broadly, my wonderful new wife, soul-mate, lover, and fellow spanko said to me:“Do you, Frank Spanko, take me, Angela, to be your lawfully spanked wife, to love, honor, cherish, and spank, on her pants, panties, or on the bare, with paddle, hairbrush, strap, rod, or just your hand, for better or for worse, for richer and poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part.”
I returned her grin and replied, “Fuck yes!” I was still a little weak in the romanticness department then.
Angela laughed and handed me the hairbrush. Then, still naked from the nights pleasures (as was I), as she threw herself over my lap, she said, “Well, then, you may now spank the bride!” After such an eloquent invitation, I was beyond pleased to comply. I gave her a long, leisurely spanking, being thorough and loving. I finished off with about a dozen very firm swats, and left Angela with the first of what would be a considerable number of red butts of our marriage.
I fumbled my way through my own version of spanking vows and then Angela returned the favor on my hiney. Then, since we had not gotten much sleep, we snuggled up with our wonderfully hot bottoms and fell back to sleep. We woke much later, enjoyed a quickie, showered, and went out to a shopping excursion. And we had specific items in mind that we were shopping for. We were looking for the best spanking implements that the city had to offer. And we found three, two of which we still enjoy to this day.
Thankfully, our marriage has been long and happy. We have shared many wonderful moments, we have two great kids, and, despite our advancing age, are still enthusiastic spankos. There are still challenges, and there always will be, but one thing is for sure. Being married to a spanko is indeed fantastic.
