Sunday, May 24, 2009
The Story Unfinished
A long time ago, in an imaginary blogosphere far, far away, I told you about my friend, a lovely lady named Liz. To refresh your memory, Liz and I were coworkers for a while at my first job out of college. During a nasty snowstorm that winter, Liz found herself stranded at my house both by the weather and a dead car battery. With nothing better to do, we spent the weekend naked, and exchanged several fine spankings. Shortly after that, Liz took a new job and moved to Florida. I did not see Liz again until many years later, when Angela and I were married and our two children had been born. Liz' life had completely fallen apart, as she had made a great deal of money during the "dot com bubble," and had continued to live a life of extreme excess after the bubble burst, until she had found herself alone and virtually penniless.
After relating her sad tale to Angela and I, Liz confided that she had sought me out because she thought I would know what was required for her to get her life pointed back into a proper direction. It was Angela who felt that Liz' behavior had been childish and immature, and that the best course of action was to give Liz a good spanking. To my surprise, Liz agreed.
Now that you are caught up, please allow me to resume the account that my imaginary real life interrupted previously.
After some discussion, we agreed to some ground rules. Angela would be in charge, deciding how Liz was to be spanked and with what implement or implements. I would do the actual spanking. I suggested a safe word, but Liz said she didn't think that one was necessary. We agreed that Liz would be spanked only on her buttocks, she would not be struck anywhere else on her body. Otherwise, the length and severity of Liz' punishment would be determined by my darling wife, and Liz could agree to what Angela decided or she could leave.
That being determined, Angela wanted some time to decide just what she wanted Liz to get, so we asked Liz to stay for dinner and spend the night in the guest house. We enjoyed a pleasant evening together, eating turkey spaghetti with homemade garlic bread and a big salad. Liz got along well with my offspring and played computer games with them until it was time for them to go to bed. Then Angela, Liz, and I sat around until quite late getting caught up and talking about bygone days when we didn't have to act quite so much like adults.
The next day was Sunday. I usually rise first on Sunday, read the paper for a while, then make everyone a nice, big breakfast. As I was cooking, I saw Angela stick a note into a little bag that contained a couple of other items. She said that she was going to see if Liz needed anything and headed over to the guest house. Angela returned shortly.
As I was finishing breakfast, Liz made her way over to the main house. She had obviously showered and handled her other morning ablutions. She was also walking somewhat gingerly, and had a distinctly uncomfortable look on her face. I surmised that Angela has invoked the first part on Liz' punishment. Knowing Angela like I do, I guessed that the bag she took to Liz contained a tube of warming muscle rub cream and one of our trusty, gel toys commonly referred to as a "butt plug."
As an aside, I hate the term "butt plug." It sounds too crass. However, I have not been able to think of a better name for that particular item. Once I t
ried calling them "Rodney," but Angela felt that name was not appropriate.
In any event, I postulated that Liz' discomfort was caused because the note in the little bag told her to apply some of the warming cream to the butt plug and insert it into her butt. I grinned inwardly at my darling wife's evilness.
We enjoyed a pleasant breakfast of omelets with tomatoes, mushrooms, and swiss cheese, along with some tasty sausages and sweet rolls (from a can ... I can't make everything from scratch). After the children excused themselves, the three of us chatted for a while over tea. At last, Angela suggested that Liz retire to the guest house, and that we would be along in about 30 minutes. After Liz departed, I asked Angela if she would share some of the details of what she had in mind for Liz' chastisement, but Angela just replied with a slight smile, "You just do as I tell you and everything will be just fine."
To be continued......
After relating her sad tale to Angela and I, Liz confided that she had sought me out because she thought I would know what was required for her to get her life pointed back into a proper direction. It was Angela who felt that Liz' behavior had been childish and immature, and that the best course of action was to give Liz a good spanking. To my surprise, Liz agreed.
Now that you are caught up, please allow me to resume the account that my imaginary real life interrupted previously.
After some discussion, we agreed to some ground rules. Angela would be in charge, deciding how Liz was to be spanked and with what implement or implements. I would do the actual spanking. I suggested a safe word, but Liz said she didn't think that one was necessary. We agreed that Liz would be spanked only on her buttocks, she would not be struck anywhere else on her body. Otherwise, the length and severity of Liz' punishment would be determined by my darling wife, and Liz could agree to what Angela decided or she could leave.
That being determined, Angela wanted some time to decide just what she wanted Liz to get, so we asked Liz to stay for dinner and spend the night in the guest house. We enjoyed a pleasant evening together, eating turkey spaghetti with homemade garlic bread and a big salad. Liz got along well with my offspring and played computer games with them until it was time for them to go to bed. Then Angela, Liz, and I sat around until quite late getting caught up and talking about bygone days when we didn't have to act quite so much like adults.
The next day was Sunday. I usually rise first on Sunday, read the paper for a while, then make everyone a nice, big breakfast. As I was cooking, I saw Angela stick a note into a little bag that contained a couple of other items. She said that she was going to see if Liz needed anything and headed over to the guest house. Angela returned shortly.
As I was finishing breakfast, Liz made her way over to the main house. She had obviously showered and handled her other morning ablutions. She was also walking somewhat gingerly, and had a distinctly uncomfortable look on her face. I surmised that Angela has invoked the first part on Liz' punishment. Knowing Angela like I do, I guessed that the bag she took to Liz contained a tube of warming muscle rub cream and one of our trusty, gel toys commonly referred to as a "butt plug."
As an aside, I hate the term "butt plug." It sounds too crass. However, I have not been able to think of a better name for that particular item. Once I t
ried calling them "Rodney," but Angela felt that name was not appropriate.In any event, I postulated that Liz' discomfort was caused because the note in the little bag told her to apply some of the warming cream to the butt plug and insert it into her butt. I grinned inwardly at my darling wife's evilness.
We enjoyed a pleasant breakfast of omelets with tomatoes, mushrooms, and swiss cheese, along with some tasty sausages and sweet rolls (from a can ... I can't make everything from scratch). After the children excused themselves, the three of us chatted for a while over tea. At last, Angela suggested that Liz retire to the guest house, and that we would be along in about 30 minutes. After Liz departed, I asked Angela if she would share some of the details of what she had in mind for Liz' chastisement, but Angela just replied with a slight smile, "You just do as I tell you and everything will be just fine."
To be continued......
