Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Frank’s On The Hot Seat, or Vice Versa
Things are becoming quite chaotic here at the Spanko household. Maribel and I are preparing for our Olympic trip to China. Colette is finishing her summer softball league and getting ready for school to start (she’ll be a high school junior this year). I’m trying to get as much as possible done at work before I disappear for three weeks. And Angela has become the coordinator for the entire mess.
Angela takes her responsibilities as wife, mother, travel agent, secretary of the home, and runner of the house (for lack of a better term) very seriously. Yesterday she decided that I had stepped out of line, so I was paddled good and hard.
You see, I was traveling over the weekend. I met a friend in Detroit and we proceeded to Midland and Traverse City to see minor league baseball games. We do this every year. I returned home yesterday afternoon, and Angela immediately handed to me a list of things that I needed to complete before I retired for the night. I questioned the urgency of some of the tasks, and Angela responded that she would decide the priority and the list was it.
“Well,” I retorted, “if you would calm down and not worry so much, maybe you could finish some of these things yourself.”
I instantly regretted the comment.
I started to apologize. “No!” Angela interrupted. She finished what she was doing and went to the living room to see if there were any offspring located there. Finding none, she returned to me and, before I could react, grabbed me by the ear.
“You will NOT talk like that to me right now!” she hissed. “Go over to the guest house right now! I’ll be over in a couple minutes!”
I knew that we weren’t going there to talk. I gave her a pleading look, but it had no effect. So I put my head down and shuffled off. On my way over, I encountered Cat, the immortal orange feline that guards our property. Cat stopped on the walk in front of me and turned to face me in that was that cats do. If I didn’t know better, I could have sworn that she shook her head at me, sighed, and went “Tsk.”
I went into the guest house to wait for my darling wife. The air conditioning had not been turned on, so it was very warm inside. I tried to think of the right thing to say to mend her hurt feelings, but I had failed to come up with anything appropriate when she appeared.
“How DARE you insinuate that I’m not doing enough around here!” she began. “I’m busting my ass trying to get a million things ready before you and Maribel go jaunting off to China. The kids are all doing everything I ask and more. They have been more than cooperative. But you go away for the weekend and then come home and think that you’re above a little work. Well, your not buddy!”
I hung my head and looked at my feet. “You’re right, and I’m sorry,” I mumbled.
“Damn right I am! And you will be!”
She retrieved the best hairbrush, a good wooden one with a long handle and a generous surface. I was ordered to remove my pants completely, and then to drape myself over the kitchen table with my feel still on the floor. I was no sooner in position when Angela began to assault my bare butt.
I was indeed sorry. I was up on my toes, gritting my teeth, with my hands balled into tight fists, as she mercilessly pounded my sorry ass. She started on the fleshy center of each cheek, and worked her way outward in all directions. My seat sizzled more and more with each swat, and Angela made sure that the swats were swift and hard.
She worked me over for a good three or four minutes, then stopped and pulled up a chair. I started to rise, but she put her hand on the middle of my back and pushed me back down. She sat down and said, “So does the list look so hard to accomplish now?”
“No, dear,” I responded.
“Good. That’s a better attitude,” she replied. “It looks like the message is starting to get through.” And then she began walloping me again.
She continued her gradual procession around my now-flaming cheeks, working her way to the sides of my tush and down to the tops of my thighs. She clearly intended to have a wide swath of my backside burning considerably, and she was succeeding. I had stopped dancing around with my feet, but I had closed my eyes as the pain spread.
After maybe another five minutes, Angela decided that I’d had enough. I have been spanked harder and longer in the past, but perhaps never as effectively. I felt like the skin had been flayed from hip to hip on my buttocks, and down my thighs by a hand span or two. We were both panting. I stood up and carefully reached back to check out the damage.
“So, do you feel better now?” she asked.
Now, this might seem to be an odd thing for her to say. On the surface, it was I who had offended her, and I was being paddled as punishment. However, ours is not such a relationship. Indeed, I had had a long drive, and was hoping to use this last vacation day to relax a little. I was tense and was starting to get a headache. I knew there was a lot to do prior to leaving for China, but I was not quite ready to start in on it yet. I was a little tense and on edge. Angela recognized that and knew just how to relieve the tension. Yes, Angela was angry, but I was thrashed for my sake, not hers.
I examined the damage in a mirror and found it considerable. I would have some nice bruises on my butt and my thighs. Sitting would be a little uncomfortable for the rest of the day. But that was okay. I did indeed feel better, thanks to my darling wife.
Angela kissed me and returned to the main house. I used the shower in the guest house to refresh myself, then retrieved the list of chores and dove into them. It turns out that the list was not really substantial, and I was finished well before dinner. So Colette drive me to the local veggie stand where we picked up a dozen ears of corn, which we consumed along with a large veggie pizza with double cheese for dinner.
Preparations for the Olympic are proceeding rapidly. Maribel and I have received our plane tickets. We will be taking a chartered flight, arriving late in the day on August 8. We shall not be able to attend the Opening Ceremonies, we will be able to see lots of events. Traveling to China can be a bit tricky, but the Olympic Committee has been efficient in taking care of many issues and answering my questions.
So me and my sore butt await a most exciting adventure. Angela will make sure that everything gets accomplished that needs to, and I know what the consequences will be if they don’t. So Maribel and I count the days until we leave. I know that the trip will be fantastic.
Angela takes her responsibilities as wife, mother, travel agent, secretary of the home, and runner of the house (for lack of a better term) very seriously. Yesterday she decided that I had stepped out of line, so I was paddled good and hard.
You see, I was traveling over the weekend. I met a friend in Detroit and we proceeded to Midland and Traverse City to see minor league baseball games. We do this every year. I returned home yesterday afternoon, and Angela immediately handed to me a list of things that I needed to complete before I retired for the night. I questioned the urgency of some of the tasks, and Angela responded that she would decide the priority and the list was it.
“Well,” I retorted, “if you would calm down and not worry so much, maybe you could finish some of these things yourself.”
I instantly regretted the comment.
I started to apologize. “No!” Angela interrupted. She finished what she was doing and went to the living room to see if there were any offspring located there. Finding none, she returned to me and, before I could react, grabbed me by the ear.
“You will NOT talk like that to me right now!” she hissed. “Go over to the guest house right now! I’ll be over in a couple minutes!”
I knew that we weren’t going there to talk. I gave her a pleading look, but it had no effect. So I put my head down and shuffled off. On my way over, I encountered Cat, the immortal orange feline that guards our property. Cat stopped on the walk in front of me and turned to face me in that was that cats do. If I didn’t know better, I could have sworn that she shook her head at me, sighed, and went “Tsk.”
I went into the guest house to wait for my darling wife. The air conditioning had not been turned on, so it was very warm inside. I tried to think of the right thing to say to mend her hurt feelings, but I had failed to come up with anything appropriate when she appeared.
“How DARE you insinuate that I’m not doing enough around here!” she began. “I’m busting my ass trying to get a million things ready before you and Maribel go jaunting off to China. The kids are all doing everything I ask and more. They have been more than cooperative. But you go away for the weekend and then come home and think that you’re above a little work. Well, your not buddy!”
I hung my head and looked at my feet. “You’re right, and I’m sorry,” I mumbled.
“Damn right I am! And you will be!”
She retrieved the best hairbrush, a good wooden one with a long handle and a generous surface. I was ordered to remove my pants completely, and then to drape myself over the kitchen table with my feel still on the floor. I was no sooner in position when Angela began to assault my bare butt.I was indeed sorry. I was up on my toes, gritting my teeth, with my hands balled into tight fists, as she mercilessly pounded my sorry ass. She started on the fleshy center of each cheek, and worked her way outward in all directions. My seat sizzled more and more with each swat, and Angela made sure that the swats were swift and hard.
She worked me over for a good three or four minutes, then stopped and pulled up a chair. I started to rise, but she put her hand on the middle of my back and pushed me back down. She sat down and said, “So does the list look so hard to accomplish now?”
“No, dear,” I responded.
“Good. That’s a better attitude,” she replied. “It looks like the message is starting to get through.” And then she began walloping me again.
She continued her gradual procession around my now-flaming cheeks, working her way to the sides of my tush and down to the tops of my thighs. She clearly intended to have a wide swath of my backside burning considerably, and she was succeeding. I had stopped dancing around with my feet, but I had closed my eyes as the pain spread.
After maybe another five minutes, Angela decided that I’d had enough. I have been spanked harder and longer in the past, but perhaps never as effectively. I felt like the skin had been flayed from hip to hip on my buttocks, and down my thighs by a hand span or two. We were both panting. I stood up and carefully reached back to check out the damage.
“So, do you feel better now?” she asked.
Now, this might seem to be an odd thing for her to say. On the surface, it was I who had offended her, and I was being paddled as punishment. However, ours is not such a relationship. Indeed, I had had a long drive, and was hoping to use this last vacation day to relax a little. I was tense and was starting to get a headache. I knew there was a lot to do prior to leaving for China, but I was not quite ready to start in on it yet. I was a little tense and on edge. Angela recognized that and knew just how to relieve the tension. Yes, Angela was angry, but I was thrashed for my sake, not hers.
I examined the damage in a mirror and found it considerable. I would have some nice bruises on my butt and my thighs. Sitting would be a little uncomfortable for the rest of the day. But that was okay. I did indeed feel better, thanks to my darling wife.
Angela kissed me and returned to the main house. I used the shower in the guest house to refresh myself, then retrieved the list of chores and dove into them. It turns out that the list was not really substantial, and I was finished well before dinner. So Colette drive me to the local veggie stand where we picked up a dozen ears of corn, which we consumed along with a large veggie pizza with double cheese for dinner.
Preparations for the Olympic are proceeding rapidly. Maribel and I have received our plane tickets. We will be taking a chartered flight, arriving late in the day on August 8. We shall not be able to attend the Opening Ceremonies, we will be able to see lots of events. Traveling to China can be a bit tricky, but the Olympic Committee has been efficient in taking care of many issues and answering my questions.
So me and my sore butt await a most exciting adventure. Angela will make sure that everything gets accomplished that needs to, and I know what the consequences will be if they don’t. So Maribel and I count the days until we leave. I know that the trip will be fantastic.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Frank's Little Vacation
First, there is an apology in order to my loyal readers. I just now noticed that the previous entry to Fantastic Spanking was in fact a collation of the previous three entries. You see, I generally type up my little spanking tidbits using the standard computer word processing software. I usually save the last several entries in one document so I know what I have recently written. When I have finished an entry and proofread it, I then go to the Blogspot web site and “cut and paste” my latest entry into the appropriate window.
Unfortunately, for the last entry, I got a little carried away with my cutting and pasting. I managed to copy a little too much text, like what I had just created as well and the previous two posts. So if it seemed like I was adding some summer reruns to my last post, now you know the reason why. The problem has now been rectified, so rerun season is over.
Now that that little bit of unpleasantness is aside, allow me to return to matters at hand, namely my daughter,
Maribel, and her pre-Olympics game against the US Women’s National Team. I had mentioned that Maribel was being rewarded for participating and helping organize this game by being asked to accompany the National Team to China for the actual Olympics. Maribel recently discovered that she will be allowed to bring a guest with her. I suspected that Maribel would ask either the boyfriend, Bernie, her college coach, or perhaps her mother to accompany her.
Last evening she asked if I wished to go with her.
She explained that the boyfriend did not wish to be away from the country for over two weeks, that her coach was in the middle of recruiting season, and that her mother might not travel well with her bad back. Then she told me that, if it wasn’t for me being happy to shoot around with her when she was small, and then as she got bigger, she never would have grown to love basketball as much as she does.
It was all very touching.
Angela had no objections. I had a million questions. I do not have a current passport. Would I need a travel visa. What about plane flights. It is probably impossible to get to China with this short of notice. And where would we stay when we got to China.
The answers: The US Olympic Committee will take care of all of the travel details, including expediting my passport application. We will travel with the National Team. And our rooms have already been booked.
In the Olympic Village.
Wow.
We even get to see all of the basketball games for free, although if we wish to see any other events, we will have to pay the admission for them.
One of the things that I’ve always wanted to do before I die was to see the Olympic Games. I was planning on attending the next time the games reach the United States, whenever that may be. But now, my fantastic daughter has given me such a great gift. To see the Olympics, and in one of the oldest and most fascinating countries on Earth. I feel like an eight-year-old going to his first professional baseball game.
I am going to the Olympics in China.
Fantastic.
Unfortunately, for the last entry, I got a little carried away with my cutting and pasting. I managed to copy a little too much text, like what I had just created as well and the previous two posts. So if it seemed like I was adding some summer reruns to my last post, now you know the reason why. The problem has now been rectified, so rerun season is over.
Now that that little bit of unpleasantness is aside, allow me to return to matters at hand, namely my daughter,
Maribel, and her pre-Olympics game against the US Women’s National Team. I had mentioned that Maribel was being rewarded for participating and helping organize this game by being asked to accompany the National Team to China for the actual Olympics. Maribel recently discovered that she will be allowed to bring a guest with her. I suspected that Maribel would ask either the boyfriend, Bernie, her college coach, or perhaps her mother to accompany her.Last evening she asked if I wished to go with her.
She explained that the boyfriend did not wish to be away from the country for over two weeks, that her coach was in the middle of recruiting season, and that her mother might not travel well with her bad back. Then she told me that, if it wasn’t for me being happy to shoot around with her when she was small, and then as she got bigger, she never would have grown to love basketball as much as she does.
It was all very touching.
Angela had no objections. I had a million questions. I do not have a current passport. Would I need a travel visa. What about plane flights. It is probably impossible to get to China with this short of notice. And where would we stay when we got to China.
The answers: The US Olympic Committee will take care of all of the travel details, including expediting my passport application. We will travel with the National Team. And our rooms have already been booked.
In the Olympic Village.
Wow.
We even get to see all of the basketball games for free, although if we wish to see any other events, we will have to pay the admission for them.
One of the things that I’ve always wanted to do before I die was to see the Olympic Games. I was planning on attending the next time the games reach the United States, whenever that may be. But now, my fantastic daughter has given me such a great gift. To see the Olympics, and in one of the oldest and most fascinating countries on Earth. I feel like an eight-year-old going to his first professional baseball game.
I am going to the Olympics in China.
Fantastic.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
How A Friendship Restarted
It is quiet here at the Spanko homestead, something which is sure not to last. This does, though, give me an opportunity to elaborate on our ongoing relationship with our friend, Liz.
Back when I was recently graduated from college, Liz and I spent a nasty weekend, weatherwise, being, well, nasty. Less than a month later, Liz took a new job in Florida, where the weather is much less nasty, and least as long as there are no hurricanes around. I did not see or hear from Liz again until about 10 years ago. I was puttering around the yard one Saturday when a car pulled up in the driveway, and a very well-put-together lady got out. She looked vaguely familiar, and when she walked up to me and said, “Remember me?” I knew immediately that it was Liz.
We shared a brief hug and the usual pleasantries, and then I invited her inside for a glass of lemonade. I introduced her to Angela and Colette (Maribel was off visiting a friend at the time), poured beverages for all of us, and we then (minus Colette who was busy watching video tapes of The Muppetts) retired to the living room. I had long ago shared with Angela how I knew Liz, and that we had, shall we say, seen each other naked, so Angela did not appear snarky when meeting Liz, and actually seemed to take an instant liking to her.
Apparently, Liz had found an article on the internet (yes, the internet did exist ten years ago) from our local newspaper regarding our somewhat unique home that was build in an old apple barn. Sometime later, she decided to see if she could find me. It was what led her to seek me out that is the crux of today’s tale.
It seems that Liz’s life had become a sad story of extremes. A few years after moving to Florida, Liz had entered into a tech industry business venture with a gentleman whom she would later marry. When the economic period commonly referred to as the “dot com boom,” (a rather silly sobriquet if you ask me) arrived, Liz’s business exploded and she and her husband became quite successful. They sold their business, made an incredible sum of money, and settled down to live the “good life.”
Unfortunately, the “good life” isn’t always so good. Liz and her husband found themselves bored after working constantly for many years, so they used their money to try to find fulfillment. They build an extravagant house, they traveled extensively, they partied frequently. Everything they owned had to be the best and most trendy. The money began to disappear. The husband began to seek fulfillment in the arms of other women.
Suddenly, Liz found herself pregnant. Her husband swore to cease his promiscuity and they thought that the soon-to-be-baby would help them fill the holes in their lives. However, two months later, Liz miscarried. The miscarriage took a considerable physical toll on Liz and she was in the hospital for two weeks. When she returned home, her husband informed her that he was leaving her.
Liz responded by making the divorce as difficult as possible. When she wasn’t talking with her lawyer, Liz was either throwing lavish parties or buying expensive clothes. What was left of her money quickly disappeared. When her lawyer called to tell her that her latest check had bounced, Liz exploded. She broke everything breakable in the house and tried to kill herself by drinking an entire bottle of vodka.
Fortunately, the vodka was very expensive vodka, and very good. She decided if she was going to die, she was going to enjoy her last hours. She sat down, put her feet up, put on some music (she couldn’t bear to break the stereo), poured herself a large glass of booze, savored it, and proceeded to pass out. When she awoke, the rage and urge to end it all had rescinded. She said she got into her car and started driving, with no destination in mind. Several states later, she realized that she was in my state, remembered what city I lived in, drove there, found a phone book, found my address, and decided on a visit.
When she concluded her tale, we were all quiet for a moment. Then I asked, “So what made you decide to look me up?”
Liz replied, “I just thought you’d know what I need to get through this.”
Angela snorted. That in itself is enough to get my attention. Angela rarely snorts. When she does, it is usually because she believes that she has just encountered what one might commonly refer to as bullshit.
We both stared at Angela for what seemed like an eternity. Angela stared back, then got up and headed towards the kitchen.
“What she needs,” Angela said with barely concealed contempt as she walked away, “is a damn good spanking.”
“Now, my dear,” I responded, “I’m sure that there are better ways….”
Liz interrupted. “No, she’s right. That’s exactly what I need. I need someone to just beat my ass good!”
And here is where the tale must end for now. There will be time later to proceed with this recounting. However, for now, I have other fantastic activities to which I must attend.
Back when I was recently graduated from college, Liz and I spent a nasty weekend, weatherwise, being, well, nasty. Less than a month later, Liz took a new job in Florida, where the weather is much less nasty, and least as long as there are no hurricanes around. I did not see or hear from Liz again until about 10 years ago. I was puttering around the yard one Saturday when a car pulled up in the driveway, and a very well-put-together lady got out. She looked vaguely familiar, and when she walked up to me and said, “Remember me?” I knew immediately that it was Liz.
We shared a brief hug and the usual pleasantries, and then I invited her inside for a glass of lemonade. I introduced her to Angela and Colette (Maribel was off visiting a friend at the time), poured beverages for all of us, and we then (minus Colette who was busy watching video tapes of The Muppetts) retired to the living room. I had long ago shared with Angela how I knew Liz, and that we had, shall we say, seen each other naked, so Angela did not appear snarky when meeting Liz, and actually seemed to take an instant liking to her.
Apparently, Liz had found an article on the internet (yes, the internet did exist ten years ago) from our local newspaper regarding our somewhat unique home that was build in an old apple barn. Sometime later, she decided to see if she could find me. It was what led her to seek me out that is the crux of today’s tale.
It seems that Liz’s life had become a sad story of extremes. A few years after moving to Florida, Liz had entered into a tech industry business venture with a gentleman whom she would later marry. When the economic period commonly referred to as the “dot com boom,” (a rather silly sobriquet if you ask me) arrived, Liz’s business exploded and she and her husband became quite successful. They sold their business, made an incredible sum of money, and settled down to live the “good life.”
Unfortunately, the “good life” isn’t always so good. Liz and her husband found themselves bored after working constantly for many years, so they used their money to try to find fulfillment. They build an extravagant house, they traveled extensively, they partied frequently. Everything they owned had to be the best and most trendy. The money began to disappear. The husband began to seek fulfillment in the arms of other women.
Suddenly, Liz found herself pregnant. Her husband swore to cease his promiscuity and they thought that the soon-to-be-baby would help them fill the holes in their lives. However, two months later, Liz miscarried. The miscarriage took a considerable physical toll on Liz and she was in the hospital for two weeks. When she returned home, her husband informed her that he was leaving her.
Liz responded by making the divorce as difficult as possible. When she wasn’t talking with her lawyer, Liz was either throwing lavish parties or buying expensive clothes. What was left of her money quickly disappeared. When her lawyer called to tell her that her latest check had bounced, Liz exploded. She broke everything breakable in the house and tried to kill herself by drinking an entire bottle of vodka.
Fortunately, the vodka was very expensive vodka, and very good. She decided if she was going to die, she was going to enjoy her last hours. She sat down, put her feet up, put on some music (she couldn’t bear to break the stereo), poured herself a large glass of booze, savored it, and proceeded to pass out. When she awoke, the rage and urge to end it all had rescinded. She said she got into her car and started driving, with no destination in mind. Several states later, she realized that she was in my state, remembered what city I lived in, drove there, found a phone book, found my address, and decided on a visit.
When she concluded her tale, we were all quiet for a moment. Then I asked, “So what made you decide to look me up?”
Liz replied, “I just thought you’d know what I need to get through this.”
Angela snorted. That in itself is enough to get my attention. Angela rarely snorts. When she does, it is usually because she believes that she has just encountered what one might commonly refer to as bullshit.
We both stared at Angela for what seemed like an eternity. Angela stared back, then got up and headed towards the kitchen.
“What she needs,” Angela said with barely concealed contempt as she walked away, “is a damn good spanking.”
“Now, my dear,” I responded, “I’m sure that there are better ways….”
Liz interrupted. “No, she’s right. That’s exactly what I need. I need someone to just beat my ass good!”
And here is where the tale must end for now. There will be time later to proceed with this recounting. However, for now, I have other fantastic activities to which I must attend.
Monday, July 07, 2008
A Spanko Takes A Trip
The Fourth Of July weekend has just passed, and that can only mean one thing at the Spanko villa: basketball. Now, basketball is often played at our residence on a holiday, but today the game is the focus of our attention. There are two reasons for this.
Reason one is that Maribel’s game against the U.S. Women’s Olympic Basketball Team is less than two weeks away, and Maribel is spending all of her time training for the game. Her team met and practices Wednesday and Thursday, and now she is home and working on her game in the driveway. Against me. Maribel says she likes shooting against me because I’m taller than her so it gives her good practice against a bigger opponent. I think she’s just trying to show off.
Maribel also discovered that, although she will not be paid for her participation, she will receive compensation of a sort. Apparently, because of her help in organizing this warm-up game for the Lady Olympic Hoop Team, my daughter has been offered a chance to accompany them to China.
My daughter is going to the Olympics.
So she is even more intent in playing well when she plays the Olympians. So she is working even harder in preparing for the game. The harder she prepares, the harder she wants her training partners to work with her. And her primary training partner is me. Dear Old Dad. With emphasis in “Old.”
But I’ll do anything for my children. And I’ll do anything to help them go to the Olympics.
My daughter is going to the Olympics. Now, that is simply fantastic.
Reason one is that Maribel’s game against the U.S. Women’s Olympic Basketball Team is less than two weeks away, and Maribel is spending all of her time training for the game. Her team met and practices Wednesday and Thursday, and now she is home and working on her game in the driveway. Against me. Maribel says she likes shooting against me because I’m taller than her so it gives her good practice against a bigger opponent. I think she’s just trying to show off.
Maribel also discovered that, although she will not be paid for her participation, she will receive compensation of a sort. Apparently, because of her help in organizing this warm-up game for the Lady Olympic Hoop Team, my daughter has been offered a chance to accompany them to China.My daughter is going to the Olympics.
So she is even more intent in playing well when she plays the Olympians. So she is working even harder in preparing for the game. The harder she prepares, the harder she wants her training partners to work with her. And her primary training partner is me. Dear Old Dad. With emphasis in “Old.”
But I’ll do anything for my children. And I’ll do anything to help them go to the Olympics.
My daughter is going to the Olympics. Now, that is simply fantastic.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Return Of A Friend
Some weeks ago, I related a story from my younger days about a winter weekend that I spent, mostly naked, with a young lady named Liz. At the conclusion of that offering, I noted that, very soon after that, Liz took a new job, moved to Florida, and was never seen by yours truly again. I’ve decided that was not, in actuality, a true statement. Being imaginary, I have that prerogative.
The reason that I have decided this is that Liz recently contacted Angela and I and we have scheduled a social engagement with her. Indeed, Liz passes through town from time to time and we occasionally get together when she does. It’s been a couple of years since Liz has visited, so I am looking forward to seeing her again. A visit from Liz is never dull. Some of her visits have been quite pleasant.
Some of her visits have been, shall we say, memorable.
Whether or not this one will be worth remembering is impossible to say, but if it is I shall be sure to pass along the details to my loyal readers.
Although I cannot say for sure, it is always possible that a visit from Liz could mean what I can only refer to as a fantastic spanking.
The reason that I have decided this is that Liz recently contacted Angela and I and we have scheduled a social engagement with her. Indeed, Liz passes through town from time to time and we occasionally get together when she does. It’s been a couple of years since Liz has visited, so I am looking forward to seeing her again. A visit from Liz is never dull. Some of her visits have been quite pleasant.
Some of her visits have been, shall we say, memorable.
Whether or not this one will be worth remembering is impossible to say, but if it is I shall be sure to pass along the details to my loyal readers.
Although I cannot say for sure, it is always possible that a visit from Liz could mean what I can only refer to as a fantastic spanking.
