Friday, October 31, 2008
Number Four: What's The Title Of This Blog?
Why, you may ask, am I draped over an ottoman, completely naked, wearing a blindfold, with my hands tied behind by back?
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.
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.
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Great post--I hope Angela is feeling better about the situation by now. Just think of the great experiences your daughter will have the opportunity to enjoy...
Kallisto
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Kallisto
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