Friday, October 31, 2008
Number Four: What's The Title Of This Blog?
That was a question that I was asking myself recently.
The story actually begins where the last one left off. It seems that my dear wife, Angela, was quite distressed that her oldest daughter was jetting off to Israel to play professional basketball. It wasn’t so much that Maribel was leaving home, it was that she would be so far away, and in a potentially dangerous part of the world. But Maribel was incredibly excited, and she was an adult and a college graduate who was now making her own decisions about her future. Angela was having trouble coming to terms with this.
Whenever Angela finds something distressing that is out of her control, it is always my fault. And whenever something is my fault, I get my ass spanked for it.
For a spanko, this is not the worst eventuality.
Angela had just returned home from taking Maribel to the airport. I was just finishing up my work day, and Colette was in the living room with a pair of friends, working on an assignment that they had been given earlier that day at school. Our evening meal was more than an hour away, and was to consist of pasta made with sauce that Angela and I had prepared and frozen previously, salad from a bag, and garlic bread.
I could tell that something was on Angela’s mind because the corners of her eyes were twitching. She motioned to me and said, “Let’s let these girls alone and go over to the guest house to watch some baseball.” As the girls had gotten older, it was not unusual for Angela and I to retire to the guest house to watch some television, especially now that we had purchased a 45-inch big screen flat panel LCD television and put it there. However, it was 5:30 in the afternoon and there was no baseball on, so I knew that Angela had plans other than sports viewing.
So we retired to the guest house across the yard whilst the girls worked on their school project. Once we were inside, Angela pointed at me and said, “This is your fault!”
“Of course, darling,” I responded. “However, could you please remind me just what exactly what I did to raise your ire?”
“You let Maribel go to Israel!” she responded.
I know better than to argue. Besides, arguing simply means that it will be that much longer until I get spanked. I graciously accepted responsibility for my sins and apologized profusely.
“You’re not getting off that easy, buster!” she said. Buster was another of those spanko trigger words for me. “I’m going to whip your butt until you can’t sit down for a month!” I immediately began to look forward to the next month.
“Get your pants off and get over the back of that chair!” she ordered. We had an old, overstuffed easy chair in the guest house living room that has a padded back. If one puts a pillow under ones waist and a couple on the seat of the chair, it is quite comfortable to lay across when one is having one’s butt pummeled. I removed my trousers and laid over the chair as directed.
Before I was finished positioning myself, Angela decided that it would be more appropriate if I was not wearing quite so many clothes. So I got naked and returned to the chair, making sure that my bottom was pointed in the direction where she could do the most damage. Angela took the belt off of my pants, doubled it over, and swung it a couple of times to get the feel of it. As I was settling in and preparing myself for the first strike, Angela had me stand up again. She then went over to our toy closet, which is behind a cleverly hidden door that is at the back of the coat closed, and took out a blindfold that she had once concocted out of a scrap of fabric from an old pair of blue jeans and a piece of elastic sewed onto each end.
She came back to me and ordered me to turn around, and then reached up and pulled the blindfold over my face. I am not overly fond of being blindfolded during a spanking, and, knowing this, Angela rarely uses it. However, this was her spanking so it was not my place to question. With her assistance, since I could not see, I was again positioned comfortably over the back of the chair, with my butt positioned and awaiting her lashing.
“You’re really gonna get it this time, Francis!” Angela began. “You let my little girl run off to the other side of the world just to play basketball!”
“Professional basketball,” I interjected. This was a bad idea. Angela cracked me good with my belt. Startled, I instinctively yelped and reached back to rub the stripe of flame that she had left across by rear end. This turned out to be mistake number two.
Angela stood me up again, and I heard her again rummaging through our toy closed. When she returned, she told be to put my hands behind my back. This only meant one thing, that my hands would be tied. This is starting to get pretty fun, I thought. I later discovered that she had used a couple of my old neckties, one of which she used to securely tie my wrists together, and the other she tied around my waist and looped through the tie on my wrists. This effectively kept me from putting my bound hands over my butt. Finally, Angela replaced the blindfold and guided my back into position over the chair.
After a pause, I heard Angela pick up my belt and take a couple of breaths. After what seemed like an eternity but was probably only about ten seconds, I felt the belt slash against by backside. Again I yelped, more because I was startled than because of the pain. Not that it wasn’t painful.
My dear wife slowly, carefully, and thoroughly lashed by buttocks, taking out all of her fears, worries, and stress. The strokes became harder as she went on. Angela made sure she hit all of the good spots, including allowing the looped end to occasionally wrap around to catch the side of my bottom cheek. She even gave me a few good smacks across the upper thigh. With my hands bound and my eyes covered, I allowed my other senses to take over, relishing the feel, the sound, yes, even the smell of the spanking. My fanny was practically sizzling.
Eventually, Angela stopped the lashing and tossed the belt aside. There was silence for a bit, then I heard Angela fetching something from the closet. I assumed that it was another implement for beating my backside, and I was correct. With no other warning than telling me to “Get ready,” Angela slammed a big, heavy paddle into my butt.
I do so love being paddled. Having a fine piece of wood crash into my ass, covering most of its area, exciting so many nerve ending at once, brings me exquisite pleasure. Nonetheless, I was initially surprised to feel the board swung with so much gusto. Once again I yelped, and I strained against by bonds. No sooner had the first swat registered when she brought the paddle down again. I normally take spankings stoically, with little movement. I take pride in my restraint. However, with my hands secured and my feel barely touching the floor, I allowed myself to struggle and buck, since I was not able to really move much. I arched my back, gritted my teeth, allowed the breath to come out of my lungs in raspy gasps (or gaspy rasps, depending on your point of view).
The paddling went on until we were both pretty much worn out. My butt was blazing, feeling sore from the surface of the skin to deeper within the muscles. Angela untied my hands, helped me stand, and took each bottom cheek in one of her hands, giving them good, healthy squeezed. My buns throbbed deliciously. Finally, Angela removed the blindfold.
Having had my eyes covered and placed in a position with my ass higher than my head, I suddenly found myself a little unsteady on my feet. Since I was still nude, I also was beginning to feel a bit chill everywhere except on my rear end, which I figured wouldn’t feel cool for many days. I walked over to the sofa and sat down, pulling an afghan over me as I did so. I looked over and saw Angela, nearing tears. I suggested that she come over and sit next to me.
We snuggled up together, and I asked Angela why she seemed so sad.
“My baby’s gone,” she replied.
“Your baby is on an adventure,” I responded. “One that she has spent all of her life preparing for. And not just the basketball part. She’s sensible. She’s friendly, and she makes friends easily. She’s assertive, so no one will be able to take advantage of her. And she’s really, really smart. These are all things that she learned from her mother. And she had a really great mother.”
“Had a great mother?”
“I beg your pardon. She HAS a great mother!”
“That’s better,” Angela said, smiling.
“Except for the basketball part. That she learned from me.”
Angela playfully punched my arm, then snuggled in closer. We talked about all of the things Maribel had been through in her life, from her first day in kindergarten, to her basketball championship, to her college graduation. We even laughed about all of the strange situations that she managed to get herself into in high school, but those I shall share some other time.
We snuggled and talked until Colette called and reminded us that we had not had dinner. So I ordered an extra-large deep dish pizza, Angela made a huge Greek salad, we invited Colette’s friends to stay for supper, and we gorged ourselves. Angela and I saved the love making until bedtime, when Angela massaged lotion into my buttocks, and then into other places, at which point … well, I’m sure you can ascertain the rest.
The next morning, before starting work, I again sat down to chronicle my life for my wonderful readers, when Angela came in. Her eyes were again starting to tear, but this time she did not look wistful, but worried. Our family was soon to become smaller. This shall be the subject of my next tale.
Sometime life is good. Sometimes life is bad. A wise man once said that what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. Through it all, we strive for the brief moments when everything is perfect. Those moments, fleeting as they may be, are what make life fantastic.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Number Three: A Journey
When her college career ended, however, everyone, Maribel included, felt that she would now enter a new phase in her life that did not include competitive basketball. Maribel was not entirely sure of what she wanted to do after school, but she had several options in mind. She had thought about going into coaching, and she was working as a graduate assistant for her college coach. She thought about augmenting that with teaching, facilitating coaching on a junior or senior high school level. She’s also considered a career in law enforcement, since she admires the work that Bernie does.
One career that she did not consider, at least initially, was as a professional basketball player.
So when Maribel unexpectedly came charging into the house the evening following Angela’s parents departure screaming, “I’M GOING TO BE A PROFESSIONAL BASKETBALL PLAYER!” both of her parents were rather surprised.
When Maribel had calmed down somewhat, we all gathered in the living room so that she could elaborate. I had known that she had made several basketball-related contacts whilst at the Olympics, and that, in general, these contacts were impressed with her basketball acumen. Since we had traveled to China courtesy of the Women’s Basketball Team, Maribel had spent some time practicing with them. During some of those practices, it appears that there were scouts present. One of those scouts was so impressed she had called Maribel earlier in the day and invited her to the team’s training camp, which was to begin in three days.
“Wow!” Colette exclaimed. “Who will you be playing for?”
“Tel-Aviv!” responded Maribel.
Angela asked, “Isn’t that in Israel?”
“YES!!” screamed Maribel.
My immediate thought was that Maribel was not old enough to be living so far from home and that there was no way that I was going to allow this.
Then I remembered what year it was.
Maribel was no longer a teenager. She was a 23-year-old adult. She’d been primarily living away from home, at school, for the last four years. She had traveled extensively with her college team. She was the one who basically guided me during or China trip.
But mostly, this was the fulfillment of a childhood dream.
I would have given up spanking for a chance to play center field for the Detroit Tigers (that’s professional baseball for those of you who are not familiar with that particular organization). Unfortunately, my skills were never adequate enough to get that opportunity. Maribel apparently had the skills. Besides, she would probably go regardless of how I felt about it. That’s what I would have done were I in her shoes.
“Are you CRAZY?” was my darling wife’s response, however. “People get blown up in Israel!” Angela did not appear to share my view, at least at first.
“Things have calmed down there, Mom,” was Maribel’s thoughtful reply. “Besides, they told me that basketball players never get blown up.”
Naturally, there were a thousand questions. The answers were reasonable. This was to be a tryout, there was no guarantee that Maribel would actually make the team. If she did qualify, there was a strong possibility that her playing time would be limited since she would be the youngest player on the team. The league would pay for her plane fare to Israel, give her a place to stay during the camp, and fly her home if she failed to make the team. There was considerable security provided both at the practice facility and the place where she would stay.
Two days later, my little girl, my champion daughter, was on a plane headed almost half-way around the globe. There were no guarantees, but Maribel had kept in shape and was able to work on her game against the Olympians over the summer. In addition, she was not just showing up to try out for a team that had never seen her play before. She had been scouted and she had been invited, so they must have liked something about what they saw. Still, even though Maribel had spent most of her time away at college for the last four years, the house seemed too quiet with her so far away.
To make a long story, well, not so long, two weeks later Colette received a text message from her sister saying, “I MADE THE TEAM.” At least that’s what Colette said it meant since I don’t speak “text” very well. So Maribel is now a professional basketball player in Israel. Thus far, she’s averaged about eight minutes of playing time per game. She is not scoring very much, but she seems to be getting a lot of rebounds and assists. She told me that she needs to work more on her defense. Her salary, although nothing compared to NBA standards, allows her to live decently and perhaps even save a little.
While I have been philosophical about Maribel’s new adventure, Angela has been more emotional. It is hard for her to accept that our first-born is now on her own, that she doesn’t need our support any more. I’ve tried to explain that she’ll always need our support, just that the support now must come in different forms. She understands, but she is still sad. Apparently, that is a “mom thing.”
Of course, her discomfort is my fault. This was to lead inevitably to my own discomfort, in the form of a sore bottom. But that, too, is a story for later.
First a champion, then a professional. My daughter, Maribel, is fantastic.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Number Two: A Spanking For Angela
I sent Angela up to the third floor guest room. As she was climbing the stairs, I retrieved my favorite paddle, a nice, sturdy, wooden, school-style paddle. Then I went to meet her. The third floor of the barn horseshoes around the perimeter of the house, with a stout wooden railing running around the inside of the walkway, and the rooms on the other side, between the walkway and the exterior wall of the barn. I stood at the top of the stairs and called Angela. She came out of the guest room, pretending to pout.
“Now, young lady (she loves to be called “young lady” before a spanking), you know the rules about allowing your parents to visit, don’t you?” I demanded of her.
“Yes, sir,” she responded in a small, childlike voice. She was trying to hold her pout, but it was starting morph into a smirk.
“What is the rule?” I asked.
“No visits for at least a month after trips to China.”
“And what is the punishment for breaking this rule?”
“What kind of a spanking?”
“On my bare butt,” she replied, “with the paddle,” she added as I slapped the blade of the paddle on my palm. She lost the battle to maintain her pout and started to giggle.
“Is something funny, young lady?” I roared at her. Angela covered her mouth and tried to look contrite. She failed, but I gave her points for trying.
“I’ll be sure to remember that giggle as I’m paddling you,” I told her, trying to suppress a smile myself. “Now take down your pants and bend over the railing. “All the way to your ankles,” I added as she lowered her jeans. Angela did as I told her, putting her wonderful little fanny perfectly on display for me.
I patted her butt with my paddle, and then rubbed the blade across her skin a few times, dragging things out slightly. As I readied for the spanking to begin, I told her, “Now count these out.” “Yes, sir,” she answered, and braced herself for the onslaught.
I cracked her good across her cheeks. “One,” she gasped. Wood is not Angela’s favorite material to be spanked with, primarily because the first few swats can be especially painful. It does, however, turn her bottom a luscious shade of red quite quickly. Crack! “Two!” she cried.
I gave her ten swats, in a fairly deliberate cadence. She had no problems keeping up the count, but her voice seemed to rise slightly after each stroke, until “Ten!” was almost a squeak. When I stopped, she stood up, turned around, and began to vigorously rub her tush.
“Did I say you could rub your butt?” I demanded. She gave me a fake contrite look and dropped her hands. “Now get those pants out of the way, young lady. You’re not going to be needing them for a while. Then get back over that railing. This spanking has a long way to go.”
I briefly examined my handiwork, admiring the lovely pink shade that her butt was becoming. Then I resumed by work. This time I gave her twenty. I started out at about the pace and force that she received the first ten, but then, for the last ten swats of this set, I made each one slightly harder and paused a bit more after each whack.
When I completed this set, Angela remained in position until I told her to stand up and turn around. I took her chin in my hand and lifted her face up until she was looking me in the face. “Does that hurt?” I asked her sternly. She nodded. “Good,” I said. “Now, do you remember when I said that I’d remember that smirk you had on your face earlier?” Angela nodded again, trying to hide the dreaded smirk. “Well, here’s what we’re going to do about it. You’re going to spend the rest of this spanking completely naked!”
“Oh, no! Not naked!” she exclaimed, this time completely losing any pretense of contriteness. “Please, don’t make me get naked!”
“Yes, young lady, you WILL get naked NOW!” By now I was smiling, too.
Angela again returned to her position over the railing. This time I gave her thirty whacks, good and hard. I made the first ten slow and methodical, then the next ten were a little faster. The final ten were crisply paced. When I stopped, it was my turn to rub her butt.
“You’re not finished yet,” I said to her. “I intend to give you an even one hundred whacks. You have forty to go. And these are going to be really hard.”
“Yummy…” she started, then stopped and tried to get back into character. “…I mean, no, please, not forty more, please!” There was laughter in her voice as she tried to plead.
Since the little roll play was pretty much shot to hell, I laughed as well, and squeezed her cheeks to sample the effect that the paddle was having. Her butt was warm and firm, and I could tell there were some bruises starting. Angela never lets a few bruises get in the way of a good spanking, and since I didn’t think she’d be wearing a bikini any time soon (she hasn’t worn a bikini since 1992), I didn’t think she’d mind.
I wanted to maximize the burn for the last set, so I set a brisk pace and gave each swat a good snap in the downstroke. It had the desired effect, as Angela was dancing around a bit and emitting some very cute little peeps. After twenty I had to stop and rest my arm, then I gave her ten more a little faster. For the last ten, I slowed down and swung harder. The crack as the paddle made contact with her ass echoed loudly around the house, so it was a good thing that we don’t have any neighbors close by. After each swat, Angela lifted her rump up to make sure that I had a perfect target, so I knew that she was enjoying this as much as I was.
After the final swat, I stood back and heaved a big breath. I realized that I my heart was pounding and I had begun to perspire. Angela remained in position for a few moments, then, as she stood up, reached back to test the damage. She put her hands on her hindquarters and sighed. “Nice work there, Francis,” she complemented. “Only the best for my wife,” I replied.
“Are we finished,” Angela asked coyly, “or do you have some more wood that you would like to use on me?”
“Use in you,” I corrected, as I began to disrobe. Angela bent over the railing again. However, due to our respective heights and builds, this is not the most convenient sexual position for us, so we quickly retired to the bed in the guest room where we could be more comfortable. We did need to change the sheets on that bed, anyway.
After a pleasant romp and a brief nap, Colette and company returned home and Angela cooked chicken fettuccine for dinner. Angela and I were rather affectionate during dinner, which caused curious and somewhat disgusted looks from Colette. I found Colette’s reaction satisfactory since a) I enjoy embarrassing Colette in front of her friends (but not too much) and b) they told me that Colette had not yet engaged in any sexual activities with her boyfriend.
You know the rest of the story. I retired to my office with a cup of tea when Maribel burst into the house with news of her newest adventure. But that is a story for another day, or at least until tomorrow.
Suffice to say, it had been nice to have a quiet house for a few hours, and it was simply fantastic to use that time to paddle Angela’s butt.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Number One: The In-Laws
I was informed of an impending visit from my in-laws, specifically Angela’s parents.
Now, Mr. and Mrs. Angela are fine people. They have always accepted me as part of their family, are civil to me, and have been very generous to Angela and me. Indeed, we probably could not have afforded our current residence were it not for some monetary gifts that they were kind enough to shower upon us. I sincerely enjoy spending time with them.
However, they live in Florida. Annually, they plan a visit to us. Not to our part of the country. Not a trip that includes visiting us. They come to visit us. We are the sole item on their itinerary. They stay with us. They wish to be entertained by us. They wish to entertain us.
All of this really isn’t so terrible, either. The problem is that they usually give us about four days notice of their intent to visit. Having just returned from China, I had considerable items piled up at work waiting for me to attend to, as well as much house and yard maintenance to catch up on. I did not have time to be constantly attending to my in-laws. Angela insisted that this was all okay, that they were her parents and she would be responsible for seeing to them.
This was easier said than done. Angela’s parents wanted me to tell them all about the trip to China. Her mother kept calling on me to help with this or that, because she, “didn’t want her baby to her back any more.” Her father wanted to chat about sports and house repairs, probably so that he did not have to spend too much time with Angela’s mom. They wanted to go out to breakfast. They wanted to go out to lunch. They wanted me to cook dinner because, “they just love my wonderful cooking.” I finally had to actually go in to the three times in one week just so I could get a little work done. On the first Saturday that they were here, I made them chaperone Colette and her new boyfriend (whom you shall meet later) on a shopping-and-movie outing so I could have a couple of hours to cut the lawn, which had grown so tall that Cat could walk through it and not be seen. This trip did not go so well, but that is fodder for another story.
The last weekend that they were here, I was able to convince them that I really needed to do some major yard maintenance. They were kind enough to offer their assistance. We made a plan to get everything that I needed done, and with everyone pitching in, there would be time for a picnic afterwards. So, naturally, that was the weekend that Hurricane Ike decided to attempt to completely flood seven states. We received 10 inches of rain that weekend, which meant that there would be on yard work and no picnic. Angela’s mother complained that they never had weather like that in Florida until Angela reminded her that, on more than one occasion in the past, they had opted to pay visits to us to avoid impending hurricanes. So Angela’s mother then complained about how much she hated hurricanes.
Now that I have bored you with my problems, I shall attempt to conclude this chapter. During Angela’s parent’s visit, I was hardly able to accomplish anything, so posting updates to this little piece of the internet was right out. As we were collapsing into slumber on their last night here, I promised Angela that, as soon as her parents were on the plane to return them to Florida, I would take her home and give her a good, long paddling on her bare butt for allowing her parents to disrupt my happy life. That, too, will be discussed in an upcoming story.
After said paddling, I made myself a cup of hot Oolong tea with just a touch of lemon. Sighing contentedly in my now-quiet house, I sat down in my office to begin to record my thoughts. I had no sooner typed the first words when Maribel came charging into the house screaming, “I’M GONNA BE A PRO!!”
So writing had to be postponed because Maribel had been offered a tryout with a professional women’s basketball team. In Israel. Preparations had to be made. All of which I shall share with you soon. Having a professional basketball player in the family is fantastic, even though it causes me to neglect Fantastic Spanking.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Pining For The Fjords
Indeed, an unusually large number of things have happened to the Spanko household. Our home has been in such an uproar that every time I have sat down to do a bit of journaling, another crisis occurs to pull me away.
If you do not believe that things have been completely preposterous around here, allow me to list the major occurrences from the last six weeks:
1. Angela’s parents visited from Florida
2. Angela received a good spanking
3. Maribel moved to Israel
4. Frank received a good spanking
5. Angela’s cat died
6. Colette’s new boyfriend was arrested for possession of narcotics
7. My dog died
8. I quit my job
9. I got my job back
10. Colette’s boyfriend moved in with us
Each of these events has a story behind it. Some even involve spanking. I believe that things have begun to quiet down, so over the next several days I shall attempt to bring you up to date on all of the upheaval. In addition, there are one or two other items for which I owe my loyal readers an update, such as how I resumed my acquaintance with Liz.
For now, there is a baseball game on television, a cup of Assam tea steeping on the table next to me, and, thankfully, the house is quiet. So I shall take this opportunity to allow some of the pent up stress to ease out of my pores, to gather my thoughts, and to perhaps even spend some quality time with my favorite pillow. On the morrow, I shall begin to chronicle, in my unique and engaging way, the changes that have occurred here in the world that I like to refer to as Fantastic Spanking.