Thursday, March 31, 2016

If you're just starting to exploring your spanking side

To my friends who have read here for a long time, you don’t need to read all of
today’s post. But I would ask you to head to Ella’s and read her post later today. She does me a great honor and I thank her.

But today’s post is for those who haven’t read here that long. Maybe you are just finding spanking blogs and you’re doing a bit of exploring. Maybe you want to read more but you’re not sure exactly where to go. If you’re here you probably enjoy spanking fiction. Maybe you’ve noticed my books on the sidebar or heard me mention Cassie, but let me tell you a little more.

I too am a fan of spanking fiction. They were hard to come by when I was younger, but thankfully you can find many, many books now! I have enjoyed book from science fiction spanking stories, some yummy cowboy spankings books and excellent regent works. I’ve enjoyed them all, but that’s not what I write.

The Cassie books are the stories I wanted to find when I was first looking for Spanking fiction.

Cassie and Tom have an active and enjoyable sex life and they make no secret of it – but you’ll find no graphic sex scenes in the books. They are an older couple and I’m sure that makes some younger reader pause – but I say this with all sincerity, if you enjoy spanking fiction, you’re going to enjoy Cassie and Tom.

Yes, Cassie does get herself in some interesting predicaments – but she gets there in reasonable ways. Cassie and Tom are ordinary people (perhaps a bit wealthier than most) – Tom goes to work, Cassie goes shopping, the adore their friends and family and their life on the river. Cassie swims, skis, shoots and always lives life to the fullest.

So this post is for those readers who have heard of Cassie, but not 
given her much thought. I’m asking you to do two things for me. The first is to go read Ella’spost today – I couldn’t have asked for a better review to the latest book. And the second thing would be to go to Amazon and read the first few chapters of the first book to see if you want to read more. You can find that here, just click on the cover. If you do like it, it’s only 99 cents at the moment.

I sometimes talk to my real life friends about my writing. If I say I write, of course everyone what to know what I write. I send them to read the first few chapters of the first book. They always say they’ll let me know what they think. I laugh and tell them, “No you won’t. If you find it disturbing, you won’t ever say anything to me about it and if you like it and find it interesting you’ll never says anything to me about it.” But that’s okay with real life friends. If you’re here you already know your interested in spanking and I would love to know what you think.

Written by PK at 6:00 PM

19 comments

Tuesday, March 29, 2016

Do all women do this?

No, I’m not talking about some exciting sex act. I’m talking about worrying about their personal appearance. On a day to day basic I don’t. But it’s nearly always a problem that crops up when I go shopping. And that’s what Mollie and I did last Friday. There was definite good news. I’d gone down one pant size. That made me very happy.

But I didn’t stop there – I tried on a bathing suits. Why do I do such things? Nick and I are heading to the beach later this week. But I’m not worried about Nick. For better or worse nothing about my looks has scared him off this far, I think he’s here for the duration. But later this summer I’m going to the beach with some girl friends. They know what I look like too, they’re my friends – why does the thought of getting together with them make me worry about my appearance?

It may be my hair. I’m trying to go natural – which is gray. I’m excited about that, being my true self. My hair dresser toned down the brown and now I’m looking blonde. But I’m not a blonde and it feels uncomfortable. I don’t have time for the gray to come in fully, so I feel two toned.

It's not quite this bad.

I need to stop this. Just as I’m looking forward to visiting with my friends, they are looking forward to visiting with me – they are not going to worry about the color of my hair or how I look in a bathing suit. I keep repeating this in my head.

I’m afraid too many women do this to themselves. Maybe I should really think about what I tell my students, “No one is going to notice the spot on your shirt, they’re just worried they might have a spot on their shirt.”

Written by PK at 8:30 AM

27 comments

Friday, March 25, 2016

Fantasy Friday - Resisting the Dive



What a wonderful day - I'm off school and I don't go back for ten whole days! It's not retirement, but it's as close as I'm going to get this week! We have a great story this week. It's from about 2009 and was written by Kaylynn. As you begin your holiday weekend I hope you'll enjoy...





Resisting the Dive



As her toes gripped the edge of the diving board, she used her imagination to visually bind and toss her family members off the high dive. They landed in various places, contingent on how pissed off they had made her. Their bullshit had no room in her brain as she focused on her intended movements mid air. She saw her brother taking another hit on his two foot bong – splat – throw him on the pool deck. She saw her dad glancing at her desperate text messages and replacing the cell in his pocket with no response – ashes in a bonfire. She saw her mom driving away from their dinnerless house to yet another AA meeting – liquefying mom she allowed her lame ass to trickle into the shower drain. Coach T’s dying….. She pictured hugging away his cancer. She swallowed hard. This was it, their last practice together came down to their simple favorite, a reverse layout.

She moved each foot individually, meticulously readjusting. It looked like she was crushing a cigarette butt on the edge of the board. The balls of her feet barely touching the fiberglass rough edge where her toes supported her 120 pounds of pure muscle. Her hair in a jet black pony tail looked like a severe line down her back. Her blue eyes shot through the concrete wall across the street as she stood in perfect stillness. Then with knees slightly bent… one… two …. three. She jumped high. Her waist bent with her feet pointed toward the ceiling. Jackknifing her body, her finger tips grazed the tips of her toes. She then laid back poker straight with plenty of time until her finger tips found the water. Barely making a splash her dive was enough to make a grown man cry.

Coach T was sitting on the bleachers, something he never did before his diagnosis. He did in fact shed a tear. Pancreatic cancer was going to bring an end to a career that would have otherwise ended with a possible Olympic contender. Rachael Villarubia was his pride and joy. He and his wife Cindy had never had children of their own. And now Cindy at 35 and Thomas age 47 were going to be parted by death after 17 years of a great marriage. Rachael knew he was headed to the hospital immediately afterward and wanted to make him smile.

“How’s that?” She beamed? She tried not to let her emotions find their way to the edges of her lips as she wiped away the slick water.

“You make me a prideful man Rach!”

“That’s my job!” She felt every bit the confident young woman he had helped her become.

Later that week she sat with him; she tried her best to be strong. It was beyond her how he plummeted so quickly. She felt she was living in a fog. She practiced at the pool going through the motions. One of the things Coach T insisted on was choosing for her the best replacement possible. He refused to let her fail her goals because of him. He was very weird and private about his decision which made Rachael have to trust. She hated the vulnerability associated with that issue. After her parent’s divorce and her mom’s trip to the ER she learned not to trust. It was easier that way. Depending on yourself came natural to her. But Coach T had been different. He was so dependable, so forgiving, so encouraging.

Sitting with him in the hospice part of the hospital she felt like she was under water. Her sense of hearing was shot and she could barely see in front of her. He kept trying to tell her everything would be OK. She kept looking through him like she was about to dive. Mentally she was feeling like she was diving into an empty pool. They had said their official goodbyes and she was numb to the core. Cindy handed her a tissue but she couldn’t even cry.

“Rach your new coach will meet you at the… at my funeral.” Rachael shook her head like he was speaking an entirely different language. She was furious that he was making this more real, more painful than it possibly could be.

“I want your word that you’ll respect him like you have me.” This couldn’t possibly be so fucking wrong. She wanted to spontaneously combust right there beside the hospital bed. She looked around and saw the nurse’s call button for emergencies and thought about requesting a straight jacket, a 250 pound escort and a room in the psyche ward with a bottle of Jack waiting for her. Her 22 year old mind wasn’t equipped to take this next connecting flight. She barely remembered kissing his cheek and turning slowly where she sat outside the door on the floor. Her head in her hands she watched the spots in the floor dance in front of her eyes.

ooooo000000OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO000000ooooo

The funeral itself was a wonderful tribute to Thomas Leonard McGuire’s 47 years of life. He was honored in a simple and touching mass that packed the echoing stone walls unlike any other parishioner before him. The country club seemed an unlikely and maybe to some irreverent choice to celebrate his life. But Cindy McGuire insisted his life represent just that, even after its unnatural end. And so there was an American version of a wake.

Rachael found herself in unfamiliar territory. For the past five days she refused to go back to the pool. Instead she ran miles and miles trying to clear her head and heart. It just didn’t feel right without Coach T. She could barely stand to face the facts, which stood before her with their wicked truths. For the first time in years she was seeing through the eyes of a sensitive young woman. She much preferred the familiar and comfortable view offered by an angry hyper focused post teen. But she entered the church and then country club feeling raw. She wanted to shake off the pain but couldn’t. Complicating matters she felt the eyes upon her. Outside of Thomas’ painfully early departure from earth and leaving Cindy the love of his life a widow, everyone talked quietly of Rachel’s tragedy. In typical fashion no one wanted to broach the obvious, at least not with her.

The mass had started at 2pm and the wake was well underway by 4 pm. Rachael had easily downed two long island ice teas and was feeling no pain given she had eaten practically nothing in days. Taking her third one with her she walked outside; she was tired of polite hellos and condolences. The unusually hot spring day allowed the outdoor patios to be in use giving way to the healing sunshine everyone needed. She didn’t know how she would have survived if it had been a cloudy or rainy day. Finding a private corner at the side of the patio, she welcomed the inability to not to hold back a huge stretch. She was alone and stretched long and hard like a waking cat with no worries. She like, Cindy, appreciated their kind words but needed some solitude to physically release the unbearable tension. This week had been a veritable hell. She felt herself walking through the days knowing a new definition of the word ‘tired’.

She tried not to guess who was to be her future coach. But she couldn’t help herself. There were several obvious choices. There was John Haughton who had been in semi retirement since last year. There was Rob Broadmore who in her opinion spread himself too thin. There were coaches she only knew of. She needed solid ground. She wanted to know but didn’t. She dreaded getting back to the pool but understood it was all the she lived for. Barely audible she groaned in frustration as she released down her from her last stretch. And with a child of an alcoholic’s reflex, she went to reach for her third long island iced tea that she had brought with her to keep her company. She closed her eyes relishing the taste of the insidious alcohol when she felt his eyes on her. Counter intuitively she kept her eyes closed as if he would go away given her deserved moment alone with her drink. God she was starting to feel like her mother!

She heard only the last step descend upon her as the leather sole ground into the slate patio. She opened her eyes only to see a hand about the size of her face pull her tea glass firmly from her slippery fingers. As she spun around to see who had the balls to be such a dick she heard the glass bottom hit the stone wall a bit too forcefully, just escaping breaking. She winced from seeing him as much as from the assumed breaking of the glass. While it never broke – what little composure she had left did.

Only a coach would be so presumptuous to treat someone like they owned them. Only a coach at his limits would sneak up and pull alcohol from her mouth unprovoked. Only a coach would stare you down like an assistant principal from military middle school. Except he wasn’t a coach – he was -in her mind, and by all acceptable standards - a dick.

Mark Rocca had been was coached by Coach T’s good friend who lived in London. Rachael had learned to detest his name by the age of 15. It was only brought up under the guise of Rachael’s need to correct her attitude. What she gleaned was that Mark was the ideal, the consummate, the fuckin’ perfect golden boy. Rachael let Coach put the idea in her head to strive for Mark’s sense of self control and maturity. He was always a step ahead of her, like an annoying older brother. Furthermore, how could she compete with centuries of overly proper English civility?

Now at age 29 he lived with the frustration of knowing he would and should have taken the gold had it not been for the drunk driver that had ruined his life. Two crushed discs at the L5 and S1 level ended his dreams. Great, just fucking great, now he could come back via Rachael to fulfill his angry uncompleted life. She promised herself she would visualize catapulting him off the spring dive and through the cinder blocks before she did her reverse 2 ½ somersault pike.

Spinning around refusing to look him again in the eyes, she began to walk away. And it wasn’t just some slinking out of the scenery exit. She took giant angry strides directly into the area of the patio where she had no clue was closed in with an iron gate. They gated it in hopes of keeping the drunkest of patrons from wandering from the patio into the governor’s drive, obstructing the flow of Jaguar traffic.

Watching her walk from where she had trapped herself back to the patio he studied her carefully. Not a word had been spoken between them. And yet he knew all he needed to know after watching her throughout the day. The one thing he hadn’t realized was her intense anger and impulsivity. She stomped away under the wisteria. It blossomed off ancient branches over the wide trellis. Mark saw dedication and commitment for the purpose of beauty. He was aware of his reluctance to take in the intent – the relaxation part of beauty. His hand went to his shirt collar and he swiped it down with his index finger hoping to relieve the sudden awareness of the pressure that choked his neck. The problem was that the source of the pressure couldn’t be relieved from the outside in.

She was in the parking lot fighting through the gleam off the car surfaces trying to remember where she had parked hers. He watched her but followed quietly. Even though she had had too much to drink she moved with jerky motions as if she’d taken amphetamines, not alcohol. Mark marveled at her energy level. It was presently directed toward escape. He sprinted across the lot at the sound of her car engine. She let the heat billow out of her lowered windows and sunroof. The air conditioning was blasting almost as loudly as the rock music. He gained advantage by her not hearing his approach. He reached in from the passenger’s side removed the keys from the ignition. The sound of silence was deafening to Rachael and she sat there trapped.

“Are your feelings of ……… I’ll say “surprise” overriding your obligation to say a proper goodbye to Cindy and Coach T’s family?” His English accent sent shivers down her spine. Foreign accents had always made her hot. But it was that and is intense green eyes that sent her over the visual edge. But she quickly looked away from him and sat still as if her presence would only be detected by movement. She stared ahead into the white washed stucco wall. Mark was underwhelmed with her 22 year old maturity. He knew she’d been through so much, but felt she should be accountable for so much more. She had honestly planned to compose herself and not drive. But she knew he would never believe her – not with his issues. Then she was pissed at herself for realizing she wanted to assure him she wasn’t behaving rudely and didn’t plan on driving drunk. He didn’t own her…. Not exactly.

“Think Rachael!!” his voice was firm and angry and too quiet. “Why would Coach T wait until now for you to know I’m your coach? You obviously have some control issues. Coach obviously thought your anger over his choice to make me your coach was going to cost him energy he didn’t have to give. Otherwise he would have told you before he died!” With teeth gritted he walked around to the driver’s side of the car.

Rachael blinked tears back that flooded and flowed through her eyes. She honestly didn’t have a clue as to why he’d not told her while he lived. She thought he hadn’t yet worked things out and didn’t want her to know that. Realizing that Coach T considered her unable to deal with and respect his choice, she attempted a futile grip in response to her remorse on the steering wheel. She was headed for a destination all right, but it was not a place she’d ever been before.

He crouched down to the driver’s side and rested both forearms on the window’s edge while he leaned into the car putting his lips close to her ear. His voice was very quiet. Had Rachael not been so hypervigilant she would have not been able to make out his almost inhuman growl that formulated words.

“Get your little ass out of the car…..Now. Say your goodbyes. Then you and I have some control issues to deal with.” Standing up he opened her door. Offering her his hand like some Victorian fop offering his arm for entrance onto the ballroom floor, Rachael peeled her eyes from the windshield. She stared at Mark like a girl who had strapped on some brass balls! Her looks didn’t quite match with her slowing tears falling off her chin and cheeks. Perhaps that is why Mark miraculously maintained his gentlemanly behavior despite her inability to reign herself in with her “I’ll kill-you-where-you-stand” looks. Foolishly she stayed in the front seat seated and glaring at him.

Mark was the oldest. He had three younger sisters with whom he remained quite close. He knew how to be gentle and directive. Sighing heavily he carefully gripped her left arm with his right hand and with his left he placed it under her same elbow. Lifting her out carefully, Rachael was smart enough to exit her car. Standing she used the excuse of smoothing out her dress in order to get Mark to release her arm. Breathing in she attempted deep calming breathes but managed only short crisp ones as she squared her shoulders and started her walk back to the wake. Once inside Mark deceptively placed his hand on her shoulder with a look of kindness. He had dug deep within himself to convince and assure the family that his physical closeness came from a place of comfort and kindness. But the unconscious and occasional squeezing of his fingertips kept Rachael exceedingly aware of her recalcitrant heart.

He had to hand it to her. She could easily run for political office or join a community theatre because she was on her best behavior. Apparently she did have some ability to act her age. Rachael would come to understand that he was in charge of getting her to the Olympics. There would be no acting if she expected to learn under his instruction. He knew tonight would be the beginning of some very long lifetime lessons. He wondered if she had a clue how such behavior would be handled in England. He highly doubted it.

“I need to use the restroom” she announced, giving him scant acknowledgement. She didn’t wait for any reaction. She veered away from the exit and hurrying up the stairs she managed to lose his hand from her shoulder shrugging it off at last. She hated him with every fiber in her being. Her teeth were clenched and she swung the door open to the restroom with such force, she surprised herself. She cared for herself then rested upon the couch with the intent of napping. She was even more tired if that was humanly possible. Her eyes closed as she settled into a goose down pillow with the softest scarlet silk.

At least she knew better than to ignore him completely Mark thought, sensing a win. She was at least explaining where she was headed. If she had true insight she’d escape out the window he outwardly chuckled. Out in the shining marble foyer the mood was somber compared to the room with the bar, where most were gathered. A shocked small boy hearing Mark dare to chuckle, craned his head backward while walking with his dad to see who dared laugh. He’d obviously been schooled severely before entering the country club about proper behavior.

Mark sat on the cushioned and tasseled pillows. He chuckled again. She’d need a pillow for awhile after he was done with her. Funny he’d only spanked during sex, never having time to develop relationships to the next level. But he longed to use his natural commanding skills for a true disciplinary spanking. He rehearsed exactly the steps he’d take once she walked down the stairs. He looked up and frowned, she was obviously taking her time.

He almost felt guilty agreeing with Tom that he was the perfect guy to coach Rachael. Tom had explained to Mark her constant need to challenge authority. While he could lovingly redirect her, she was getting too old to be so challenging. And she may not move quickly enough to the next level needed to make the Olympic cut. Tom had known she had the skills, she was just afraid to use them all. It was almost as if she held back purposefully thinking she didn’t deserve to achieve. She made it clear she didn’t trust life itself.

Mark quickly realized her personality would totally benefit from his almost military autocratic mindset. He leaned back and his body language exuded ownership and dominance. He was a welcomed visual to the women exiting the occasion who were ready to think again about the living. What a better confirmation of life than to consider procreation. Mark definitely had that look about him that inspired women to consider such thoughts. And the smiles he received while sitting there the fifteen minutes awaiting Rachael’s passive aggressive tantrum proved it. He had a fleeting visual of her using the fire escape with her dress hiked well above her thighs for mobility. Soon he thought, soon. He almost wanted to see how long she thought she could keep him waiting.

His heart beat a little faster as he walked up the stairs to the elaborate women’s restroom. He waltzed right in and sat down next to Rachael on the extra long coach meant for a diva with one sided pillows.  Rachael was curled into a fetal position and looked like an angel sleeping. Mark’s dominant heart wanted to soar. Opportunities like this never came so easy. He listened for anyone using the room for its original design. One woman was washing her hands in the adjoining section and looked confused and amused at his presence upon her leaving. He guessed it wasn’t the first time she’d seen a young man and woman using that couch for its intended design. Of course she would’ve shown Rachael an entirely sympathetic look had she known Mark’s intent for the couch.

Rachael quickly woke from her very brief rest when she heard the deadbolt click loudly. Her eyes bolted open very wide and she whipped her head to see her danger. She quickly sat tucking her knees up under her and leaned back into the couch for protection.

Leave it up to a country club to think of everything for the convenience of its hedonistic patrons. He doubted Rachael knew her ears and her bottom were about to “get a beating”. Standing over her he loved this feeling. It was almost predatory in nature. He put his hands on his hips and stared at her thinking. Rachael was completely on edge wondering what cutting words he’d have for her next. Obviously some private lecture about her “control issues” she heard his sexy English accent run through her memory.

“This is actually a better place than the back of your small car.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Better for WHAT!” She was confused and pissed. And as he saw her overconfident nature concerning their communication, he knew it was time.

“This.” And with one quick movement he unceremoniously pushed her over his lap and with much strength and skill he began to offer her unsolicited and unwavering verbal and physical “facts” about exactly who was in control. He reminded her to use some of her own control; otherwise she’d be very embarrassed. As her shock began to wear off due to the ever increasing pain, she had the self preservation skills to try to push herself off his lap. He surprised her by standing her up. She was almost more shocked that he allowed her to rise when she pushed, than the fact that the spanking occurred. She had endured about eight very hard whacks with his very muscular arms and large hands. She hurt bad and rubbed herself while trying to back away toward the door.

She looked completely out of her element and he relished it. She opened her mouth because she wanted to flood his ears with creative and lasting swear words that would cause him to never ever touch her again. Maybe she hoped he would leave her like everyone else had, proving she wasn’t worth sticking around for. But all that happened was Rachael’s mouth opened seeking words that couldn’t describe her shock and anger. Mark couldn’t wait for the next phase of his lesson. Before she found sound to accompany her opened mouth he commanded the unthinkable.

“Lift your dress up and back over my lap NOW. It’s time you learn a little respect!” Her self-preservation was as scrambled as her composure. Brushing aside her hair from her eyes, she was caught between running immediately or feigning cooperation and then running. Never for a second did she consider listening to his demands! Mark infuriated her, especially after putting her over his knee. She closed her eyes for a second longer than a normal blink then turned away from Mark.

Needing time to think which he wouldn’t give her, she felt steam rolled and trapped. Really nothing had changed for her these last two months. Except now she had to accept Mark as her fuckin’ disciplinarian and coach. She felt her anger tipping the scales again against her situation. She had to do something. She could scream and then he’d tell everyone he spanked her ass. That would be an Enquirer article waiting to happen. They could post it along with all the other coaches who’ve spanked their gymnasts – fucking perfect. She could be the brat of the spring board! Last minute female thinking launched her into high level manipulative pleading and sympathy. It was her only chance. Slim given his off-the-charts arrogance but it was all she had.

“Why are you doing this to me? I’ve been through so much. I don’t deserve this. You’re being so mean and unfair. And you never even gave me a chance. You just ripped the drink from my hand. Nobody from my family even stayed after the service. And I don’t even know you.” It was then that she should’ve stopped because her eyes narrowed after the word “you”. They both knew she lied. She knew all she needed to know about Mark. Coach T had made her promise she would give him carte blanche respect knowing he was able to take her to her goals. She knew him to be stellar in his diving career. She understood that he was intense and worthy especially after his recovery. She thought of why his career was cut short and she understood how she’d really screwed up walking to her car two ice teas in a half hour.

She quickly flashed to her mother’s continuous warnings of her family’s ability to produce addicts. Hell she was addicted to her sport truth be told! All these thoughts echoed quickly through her head as she heard her whiny voice echoing through the bathroom.

He never changed his impatient expression. Bargaining was not ever going to happen. What was going to happen was what he had in his head. And if he saw her going to the Olympics, she knew it would happen. But first she knew they had to get through this moment.

“It’s time to give it up Rachael. All of it, your insecurity, your anger, your fear of failure, your inability to accept change, the thoughts that life’s unfair – and most importantly any thoughts that I’m not in control! Believe me you’ll feel better after this is over with. It’s time.”

“But I don’t want….” Her pleading sounded so sad.

“Now means now, dress up and you over, if you’re not doing what I asked before I finish this sentence than you don’t deserve any medal and have wasted years of your life.” Mark’s smile was broad as she thrust her dress up and flung herself back on top of his lap and covered her face with her hands well before he finished his sentence. Almost as important was his success in having her obey him, was the fact that her ass was beyond gorgeous and framed in a black lace thong. He had never spanked another athlete. He had no idea how he would ever keep from falling for this girl. There were definitely occurrences of athletes and coaches dating and married to each other. Who else did they have the chance to meet? The intimacy level was off the charts with this level of training. Tom knew exactly what he was doing, Mark could see that now. And admired him even more knowing he’d had Rachael under his wings for years.

“What?” Mark said leaning his head closer to hers responding to the tiniest sound he thought possible to detect.

“Please don’t spank me too hard” he could barely make out the second time it made its debut from her lips.

“Rachael, what’s going to happen is going to happen. You’ve got control over only so much and this isn’t one of those things. I suggest you spend your efforts thinking about how to avoid this happening again before the week’s over with!”

“What!!” she shrieked at the audacity. It was timed perfectly with the palm of his hand beginning his coaching career with Rachael. She didn’t have but two seconds to think about how exposed, embarrassed and totally flaming hot her ass felt before he started to deliver with hideous precision and geographical repetition, the spanking of a lifetime which fell like cinders resting on the bottom of her cheeks. Her hands no longer covered her face but reached backwards as she twisted her body to stop him about stroke number five.

“No honey, you’re not even close to being finished.” SMACK!!! “You’d better adjust quickly because the more you struggle the longer you stay!” SMACK!!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!!!! ….. This continued for over five very painful minutes, until she finally gave over to him. And he had to hand it to her, she could take it. His hand was out of practice and was feeling the heat as she gave it up. He lightened up just a bit for the last ten that had her bright pink and tender hearted. It was all he could do not to guide her over to the sinks and take her from behind! He would get what he wanted, eventually. He would have to work for it first! For now he’d settle for seeing her marks and watching her wince as her suit rode up and down at practice tomorrow!

Rachael couldn’t believe how she felt about Mark now. Protected and his. She could feel the heavy wetness on the bottom of her thong that made her wish he’d do her right there on the couch. Her ass was so hot and it made her totally want him inside her. She had never felt like this before and was wishing she could use his handkerchief to wipe herself because her thong was never going to absorb all that moisture. Her thin dress would give her away and she felt more panic knowing Mark would see her wet than Mark seeing her ass! She felt this when shifting on his thighs hoping he’d get the hint it was time to let her up. He had to see how wet she was! She couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t letting her up. She just laid there unable to do anything but wait on his next move. His right hand was heavy and hot pressed into the small of her back. His left hand was comforting holding her in place on her left shoulder. It was then that she caught just a glimpse of an unexpected freedom. And she felt content for the first time in a long time. Her peaceful sighs were comfort and contrast to the sexually charged moment. Both wondered how they could resist one another tomorrow.


~~~oo0oo~~~

Kaylynn, once again you've written a terrific story. If you're out there, be in touch.

I love hosting Fantasy Friday – it allows me to meet and get to know so many people but I am not getting many stories. At this moment the cupboard is bare and I am just hoping there are some of you out there that are writing. Fantasy Friday is up to all of you. Please send any stories to elisspeaks@yahoo.com

Written by PK at 6:30 PM

6 comments

Wednesday, March 23, 2016

What do we really want?

I guess different women want different things from their husband. Some want diamonds and jewels, some want candy or flowers. We know what we all want – but there are so many times that’s just not possible. I keep trying to convince Nick that it’s the connection I want more than anything. And for me the little things count enormously.



I love it when he takes my hand in public. I love it when a vanilla friend makes a comment that a spanko could take the wrong way and he’ll grin at me. I love it when we walk through stores and he points out possible pervertibles – even better if he buys one of them.

I love all those words and phrases that Ella’s pointed out lately, although they are not Nick’s strong suit. But I guess my favorite things is a quick text when I’m not expecting one. Something simple is just fine – “Are you behaving?” or “You know what happens to naughty wives.” I think it’s just the fact that he stopped during his day and thought of me. Like many things he’ll think of it for a time and then it fades away for a while.

But it must have come to his mind the other day and right around three o’clock we had the following exchange by email:

Nick: Is a ‘good girl’ able to follow instructions without complaining.”

PK: I’m sure they are. Do you know any?

Nick:  Remains to be determined.

And we had such a fun time when I got home. He wanted to sit and talk a while – but he wanted me without clothes. I think this is a fantasy for men to have their wives sitting in the living room nude. Company coming to the door is such a rarity it didn’t worry me any. So I complied and we talked a while – there was some spanking fun and even some sweet loving right there in the living room! Ahhh… the joys of an empty nest.

Afterwards we got dressed, just like respectable people and maybe five minutes later there was a knock on the door. It was the man who took some trees down for us coming by for payment. Had he been a minute or two earlier and he would have definitely gotten more than he bargained for.

I don’t need diamonds or jewels, and I sure don’t need any candy. But a little text, a little attention, now that’s what I want.

Written by PK at 5:30 PM

28 comments

Monday, March 21, 2016

What do spanko’s talk about?

That was the question Nick asked me the other day. Of course I’ve gotten together with spanko friends before – several times, in fact. I love visiting with blogging friends and I have every intention of doing it as much as possible in the future. Nick doesn’t mind, he goes on the occasional golf weekend and I go off every now and then to visit with spankos.

But the other day he asked, “What do you all talk about?” And I answered him immediately, “Everything.” That of course was the 100% truth. But he was still curious. “What everything?” he wanted to know.

I stopped to think about it. We talked about our families, our kids, our jobs, our childhoods, how we met our husband, our favorite foods and drink, you name it. But we also talk about spanking. We talk about how long we’ve had our interest in spanking, how we got out husbands to spank us, our favorite implements, how to get them to spank more, how to get them to spank less – usually not one of our problems.


It such a freeing feeling. We write a lot about spanking and all the feelings that go with it, but it’s so seldom that we can talk about it. Not to our families or real life vanilla friends. You need a spanko friend for real life conversation. It’s not that I feel I’m hiding who I am from my real friends – you don’t feel like you’re hiding anything until you get with the people who have read your words, who already know your deepest, darkest, most long held secrets. And it feels really, really good.

I could assure him that there was one thing never heard in our conversations and that was husband bashing. I get some of that with nearly every other group of women I talk with. Not everyone, but there will be one or two it seems in every group. But it's something I've never heard my spanko friends do. We may wish they spanked more or understood where we're coming from to a better degree. But husband bashing - you'll never hear it from us.

Nick grinned and shook his head at me when I was telling him all this. He said “I sure would love a recording of all this.” Hmmm… as hard as it is for me to ‘talk’ in actual words to him I might like him hear a recording of a conversation with a bunch of spankees. He would find out I’m not the only one who wants to be submissive, the not the only one who is interested in discipline, not the only one who desires consistencies. The next time I get together with by blogging friends maybe I'll make a recording for Nick. I think he’d like that.

Written by PK at 7:00 PM

22 comments

Friday, March 18, 2016

Fantasy Friday - Guys story

I've had several friends ask if I'm still out here because I haven't been around that much lately. I am definitely here - lurking quite a bit. It's crazy at school. We desperately need out Easter break. I'm scared I'm going to hurt some one - kid, parents, fellow teachers or administrators, I guess it depends on who's the closest when I snap. Even our resource officer is getting on my last nerve.  But today is Friday so if I can hold it together today, I'll only have 4 1/2 days next week and then ten full days off! 


And the other wonderful thing about today? Another story from Rosie! Now it you didn't read last week's story you should pop back here and read it. That was Lizzie's Story and today you can enjoy ...





Guy’s story

The day started off so well. I had planned to spend the morning at my desk, working on a new project, while Lizzie, my wife, took her mother shopping in the nearby town. As she was leaving, I reminded her not to be late back and she smiled as she promised to be on time. At two o’clock this afternoon Lizzie would lay herself over my lap, presenting her beautiful bare bottom for a spanking.
  
If anyone had told me two years ago that I’d soon be spanking my wife, I’d have sent for the men in white coats to take them away. I was brought up to believe that boys shouldn’t hit girls and that men who hit women were the lowest of the low. It would never have occurred to me to hit Lizzie and I was shocked to the core when she asked me to spank her. We had been watching an old movie when a scene came up where the guy spanked the girl.  Lizzie turned to me and asked, “Would you spank me?” The very idea was repugnant to me but she said she’d always wanted to be spanked, she just hadn’t known how to bring it up. I flatly refused but my wife is nothing if not tenacious. She chipped away at me and, eventually, I caved in and agreed to give it a try. She assured me she wasn’t asking me to beat her, just to make her bottom sting enough to turn her on.  

Foolishly, I thought that, whilst the idea of being spanked might appeal to her, she wouldn’t like the reality. I was wrong, the evidence was right there, between her thighs. It certainly livened up our sex life and, over time, I began to relax and enjoy it. Lizzie says that once I got over my squeamishness I became a real bossy boots. If that’s so, it wasn’t consciously, nor was it a conscious action the day I first spanked her for real. She’d been giving me grief about a decision that hadn’t gone her way and she was seriously trying my patience. Before I knew what I was doing, I had hauled her over my knee, spanking her hard over her jeans. I thought she’d come up spitting tacks but, instead, she was soft and contrite, murmuring her apologies into my neck. I told her I should spank her more often. And I do. She’s always been headstrong but, nowadays, if a discussion gets heated so does her bottom.

Being spanked seems to keep her centred, so every few days she goes across my knee, supposedly for a reminder of who’s the boss but, really, just because it makes her happy. I don’t get it but there’s no denying it works.

After waving Lizzie off, I went into our office and sat at my desk. Lizzie runs our home like clockwork and attends to all the household paperwork. She had left me a couple of letters to sign. I reached for the handsome fountain pen she bought me some years ago and remembered I was running low on ink. I’d call her and ask her to get some.

That’s where it all went pear-shaped.

Lizzie doesn’t use her phone in the car, though there’s an integrated system installed. She says she needs all her concentration for driving and I can’t argue with that. I sent a text for her to pick up later. To my annoyance, I heard it arrive on her phone, which she’d left on her desk. We have a rule that she takes it with her every time she leaves the house, not so I can keep tabs on her but so I know that she is safe.

The rule was made some time ago, when I had business in town and we arranged to meet for lunch afterwards. I wasn’t unduly worried when she didn’t turn up on time, punctuality is not her strong suit, but after fifteen minutes I became concerned. I called her phone but after ringing for a while it went to voicemail. I checked the traffic app on my phone and saw a long red line on the route towards the town. What was worse was the little icon that showed the hold up was caused by an accident. My instinct was to go out and look for her but I knew that, logically, the best thing to do was to stay put. I love Lizzie more than life and the thought that she might be the one at the front of that queue, injured or worse, tormented me until she came through the door thirty-five minutes later. She was full of apologies for not being able to contact me; she’d forgotten her phone. That night in bed, I rolled her over onto her stomach and laid several hard spanks on her bottom. She knew what it was for.

We don’t have many rules but she seems to have trouble with this one. I have paddled her a few times and this is the last straw. She’ll get more than a sting in her tail today.

I call her mother. “Hello Lizzie,” she says “are you running late?”
“Mary, it’s Guy here. Lizzie’s on her way but she’s left her phone at home. Would you ask her to call me when she arrives?”
“Of course dear, anything else?”
“Yes, tell her she’s in big trouble.”
Mary giggles, “Oh Guy, you’re such a tease.”

I open my laptop and start to work. The minutes tick by and I drum my fingers on the desk; she should be there by now. I tap the traffic app with a feeling of déjà vu. The red line shows a hold-up but no indication of the cause. I call Mary again, telling her traffic is bad so that she doesn’t worry. She is a widow and Lizzie is her only child.

A long while later my phone rings and Lizzie’s face flashes on the screen.
“Lizzie,” I say, my voice flat.
“Oh, darling, I’m so sorry I forgot my phone again. Where did I leave it?”
“On your desk. I sent you a text and heard it arrive.”
“I’m really sorry. Mum will have her phone with her, you can get me on that if you need to and I’ll call you from her house before I come home.”
“Lizzie, you’re not going to wriggle out of this, we’ve been here too many times.”
We say our goodbyes, then I realise I’ve forgotten the ink.

I’ve just finished lunch when Lizzie phones to say she’s on her way back home. I go up to our bedroom, take the large bolster from the armchair and put it in the middle of the bed. It elevates her bottom to just the right angle. Then I pull out the toy box and take out the wooden paddle that I made myself. That was another of my unconscious decisions. I was buying timber for new shelving and happened to see an offcut of cherry wood. I don’t know what made the idea come into my head but I took it home and fashioned it into a paddle in my workshop, also known as the shed at the bottom of the garden. Lizzie hates it; it hurts more than the leather paddle and the effect lasts much longer. I recall my angry thought from this morning, that I’d put more than a sting in her tail, and also take out a butt plug and a tube of lubricant.

Her car pulls up on the drive and I go to the door to greet her. That’s another rule, neither of us goes in or out without kissing the other hello or goodbye at the door. She comes into the hall and I take her bags from her before pulling her into my arms for a kiss. She hugs me and apologises again for forgetting her phone.

“We’ll be discussing that soon enough. Right now, I want you to leave your parcels here and go upstairs. You know the drill.”

It is half an hour before the time I set for the reset spanking but the game plan for today has changed. This isn’t going to be the fun afternoon we envisaged when Lizzie left this morning. I intend to leave her to her thoughts until two o’clock. She’s a clever woman, she’ll work that out for herself.

The sight of Lizzie over the bolster never fails to take my breath away. I pat her bottom and tell her to come to the other side of the bed, where I stand her between my knees, holding her hands. She looks like a child waiting for a scolding and for a moment my heart melts. “You’ve always been a handful, you know that don’t you?”
She raises her head and smiles, “Guilty as charged, but you’ve always known that.”
I think back to all the flouncing, pouting and door slamming that could have been avoided if only I’d known the answer was there in my hands all along. “I should have spanked you long ago.”

Then I tell her I am going to spank her twice, first the reset and then for her carelessness with her phone.  I pat my lap and she lays herself over my knees. I rub and squeeze her bottom for a moment, before landing the first smack. When her bottom is a uniform shade of dark pink, I up the ante and switch to the leather paddle. She begins making little squawks of protest as I turn the paddle over to the heavy side. Soon she is wriggling and twisting away and I tighten my arm around her waist, pulling her closer. I turn my attention to her sit spots and tops of her thighs and her protests turn to pleas to stop. “That’s not how it works Lizzie, I decide when to stop.” After a quick volley up and down each cheek I toss the paddle aside and sit her on my lap. I hold her for a while, rubbing her back and telling her how much I love her. When her breathing slows to normal I tell her it’s time for the second round and lead her back over the bolster. “I’m going to give you twelve with the wooden paddle.” I hear her breath catch. That paddle hurts and even twelve will be a challenge for her.

I catch sight of her phone on the dresser and, on impulse, put it in her hand, “That’s what got you into trouble, think about that.” I hope the link between the phone in her hand and the pain in her behind will reinforce the message.

I tap her bottom with the paddle before bringing it down hard on her left cheek. She cries out in pain and continues to howl, as the rapid fire of eleven more strikes turns her bottom a deep crimson. She lies spent across the bolster, her breathing ragged. I give her time to recover a little, but I haven’t finished yet.

“Part your cheeks for me.”

She doesn’t move until I give her a warning smack. The lubricant is cold and she winces at its chill, resisting as I guide the butt plug towards its target. I pat her lightly and tell her not to fight it. When it is in place, I tell her she may come downstairs when she is ready but she is not to remove the plug until I give her permission. 

I return to the office, where I slump at my desk. I won’t claim that punishing Lizzie hurts me as much it hurts her, that’s an old cliché, but it makes my heart sore. I open my laptop and stare at the screen. It will be a while before she stirs so I load a game of Solitaire to pass the time.

I hear her footfall on the stairs and look up as she hesitates in the doorway. “Oh, darling, I’m so sorry,” she says, before her voice breaks and sobs fill her throat. I gather her into my arms and hold her tightly, “It’s okay baby, I’ve got you, it’s all over now.”

~o~

Rosie you did a wonderful job with this story. I really enjoyed it from both sides. I'm so happy you are blogging now. If you haven't been by to welcome Rosie to bogland you can find her at Rosie's are Red. Come on everyone - you know you can write one. Give it a try and sent it to elisspeaks@yahoo.com

Written by PK at 8:00 PM

9 comments

Wednesday, March 16, 2016

A few more answers

Here are a few more question I got from Maggie Jordan. I really enjoyed answering these. If there are any more questions, especially from those who are fairly new, I’d sure love to hear from you.

Hi PK! I just started reading your blog a short while ago so I do have some questions that many people probably know the answers to.

How did you start doing TTWD - was it your request?

Hey Maggie,
I’ve know I was a spanko since I was three or four. I instinctively knew it should be a deep dark secret so I told no one, not even my husband. But finally, after a brief, scary (but thankfully short-lived) medical problem I decided I wasn’t going to waste anymore time. Twenty-three years into our marriage I told Nick about my desires. He was stunned to say the least, but he jumped right in and our sex life and our closeness grew quickly. He was always in it for fun or sex, but he’s never grasped the concept of a real DD relationship. I wish he had, but I’m satisfied with what we have.

Did you start writing before or after TTWD began?

It depends on what you mean by writing. Cassie came to me when I was about eleven and began telling me her stories (she was grown then). I used them as day dream fodder for the next thirty-eight years. I was forty-nine when I actually typed up and posted my first Cassie story.

First I found and began devouring blogs, the we had began playing with TTWD and a few months later I was blogging away and writing stories.

What do you miss the most now that your children are a little older?

I really thought a lot about this question. I don’t think I’d want to go back to them being little again. But there are some wonderful memories. I remember when they would nurse and suddenly they would stop and smile at me. Talk about melting my heart!

But I guess the best thing about when they were little was that for a short time I was their whole world. They would see me and just light up and run into my arms – there was no problem I couldn’t solve with a good hug. I do miss that.


Written by PK at 5:30 PM

14 comments

Monday, March 14, 2016

Question and answers

I do enjoy March and the questions that come with it. I thank those of you who asked some questions here. I'm getting most of them today, but Maggie - I hope you don't mind, I'm saving yours for the next post. I thought you had some good questions and I wanted to give them their own posts. If there are any other question out there, just ask away.


Jan asked: Hi PK, have you ever been to England? Where is the strangest place you have been spanked?


Hey Jan, no I’ve never made it to England – my parents were the world travelers and they brought back lovely pictures. Dad was there for part of the war. He said he love the English people. He mentioned how everyone tried to get coffee for the soldiers and would invite soldiers to their homes and serve this precious commode knowing Americans loved it. He said it was always strong and black and he would have much preferred English tea, but they had gone to such trouble he always drank the coffee.

Strangest place… I’d say once when we went to the mountains we climbed up into a pasture above the road and found a nice place behind a big rock for a spanking and some other fun things.



Lindy asked: Hi PK when you retire are you and Nick going to travel, if so which countries? Are you going to branch out into other books? I really love Cassie and feel she has become part of my family but think I remember you saying something about writing other stories.



Hey Lindy, we do plan to travel but I have a feeling we’ll probably stay in the US with some trips to Canada. There are so many places in our own country we haven’t seen.

I am branching out in my writing, but it’s slow going. Cassie is easy, she writes her own stories – I just type. This is fun, but harder and slower. And just this week a new character popped up in the book I’m working on. Don’t know where he came from, but now I’m going to have to deal with him.
         
How did you choose you beta reader or whatever the correct term is?


My beta reader began correcting my work the moment I began to write – and I mean my A B C’s. She is my sister and is definitely not a spanko! She despises Tom and Cassie annoys her to no end. But sisters help one another. Perhaps I should get a spanko friend to do it now. When I first began writing I didn’t feel like I trusted the content to a non-family member, but that’s been a long time ago.

         
Ronnie asked: Why do you like being spanked with the belt?
One item on your bucket/wish list.




Hey Ronnie, I think the belt is so personal. I watched Nick remove his belt for years, watched, stared – it was his and he handled it daily. I love the idea of him taking it off just to use on me. I love the feel of the leather, even the wraparound quality is to my liking because it causes a sting that will linger. Not to knock the cane, because I know you love it, but it’s a stick and it’s impersonal and it doesn’t conform to your behind with it’s being used.

I’ve always fantasied about the belt and my first really hard, ‘for real’ spanking was done with one. Nick said I seems to wonder what a real spanking would be like so he gave me one. It was the first time I bruised an I couldn’t get the smile off my face for days.

My bucket list?  My # 1 thing on it would be to have grandchildren.
         
Minelle asked: Hi PK, my question is actually to do with Nick. Has he made any friendships with others in connection to TTWD? It can be because you have made a friendship and he shares that one or on his own.




Nick did make some friends in the early days. Eve and her husband Adam visited here and we went to their home several times as well as making several trips with them. I think Nick liked Adam a lot. Then we went to CA and met Grace and Bossman and Ceeci and her fellow. All the men got along surprisingly well, but as these lovely ladies drifted from blogland the men didn’t keep in touch.


Leigh asked: Great questions above. The only question I can think of has to do with Nick's parents. Does your MIL still do those terrific Sunday dinners for the whole family?




Nope age has finally caught up. She did cook for us all up until Christmas, but not sense. The whole family still get’s together however and different ones of the five children makes the main course. Our turn next week.


Cat asked:If I remember correctly, you gave Mollie a copy of the first Cassie book to read. If I am correct, what is her opinion? Has she asked if you wrote more and if so, has she asked to read? If you haven't shared any with her, do you think you will? How about with the boys?



         
I ask LJ to read one and he did. He said he like the character but that all he could see was his mom in her writing room writing it. But like I said I'm happy that I'm not hiding what I write about.

Mollie is funny about the books. She is not a big reader, and I can’t say if she’s read any of they in it’s entirety, but she does know the just of the stories. She does not approve of the spanking parts. “No man has the right to tell a woman what to do and spank her if she doesn’t do it.” is her take on the whole thing. Fair enough, I think she should feel that way at her age.

Also Mollie is a closed book about many thing and my stories are not something she wants to discuss with me, so we don’t. I’m content that I feel comfortable for her to know what they are about and that’s all that matters. Having said all that I was surprised a while back when she asked about something that occurred in the fourth or fifth book. I asked her, how did you know about that, I never gave you that book. Her answer, “Well mom, just because I don’t want to read them doesn’t mean I’m not going to support you. I always buy each new one.” Gotta love that kid.

Written by PK at 5:30 PM

21 comments

Friday, March 11, 2016

Fantasy Friday - Lizzie's Story


Thank you Friday for finally getting here! You sure did take your time.  

Today I'm happy to let everyone know that between Meredith and the rest of us who pestered Rosie to begin her own blog - she has! You can find her at Rosie's are Red, I really love that title. To welcome her I'm posting two of her previous Fantasy Friday stories. The wife's side this week and the husband's take on it next week.

Please enjoy, Lizzie's Story and come back tomorrow for a special Saturday Fantasy Friday - this story from 'the other side of the paddle', Guy's story.


Lizzie’s story
How did he get this good?


I knew I was going to be spanked today; I had an appointment for two o’clock sharp. I wasn’t in trouble; it was a regular reminder of who is in charge in our house. Before I left home this morning my husband, Guy, warned me not to be late. Lateness incurs extra spanks.

I was taking my mother shopping and headed off with a light heart, looking forward to a spot of retail therapy. I hadn’t gone far when I came to a halt; traffic was at a standstill and I could see flashing blue lights ahead. My mother is a worrier, so I reached into my bag for my phone to warn her I was held up. To my horror, I realised I had left it at home and my stomach turned a few flip-flops. Guy is pretty easy-going but he is very hot on personal safety. One of our few rules is that I have my phone with me whenever I leave the house.  I’ve had several trips over his lap for being careless with this rule and didn’t relish the thought of going there again. I’d only be out for a few hours; maybe I’d get away with it. Oh, who was I kidding? My bottom was tingling already. I’d call him from Mum’s and confess, then maybe he’d be lenient with me.

It took a while for the traffic to clear and I arrived at my mother’s house too distracted to notice she didn’t seem fazed by the delay. I told her I’d left my phone at home and must ring Guy to let him know we’d have hers with us, otherwise I’d be in trouble. The corners of her mouth twitched in an attempt to keep a straight face, as she remembered she had a message for me. “Oh, you’re already in trouble dear, Guy phoned and told me to tell you that.” Mum loves Guy. He’s a wind-up merchant, always joking and teasing. She probably pictured him wagging his finger at me, scolding me with mock severity. Little does she know.

She left me alone to make my apologies to Guy, who swiftly dashed any hope of clemency. Of all the places I could have left my phone why, oh why, did it have to be on my desk? My desk in the office Guy and I share. He’d sent me a text soon after I left and heard the telltale trill of its arrival, revealing my guilt from a few feet away. He’d had plenty of time to stew and my bottom was going to pay the price. In my heart I know it’s no more than I deserve. His anger stems from his fear for my safety, not simply that I’ve broken a rule.

Mum and I had a pleasant morning in the mall. We both had our nails done and made a few purchases without denting our finances too much. I was particularly pleased with a pair of skyscraper heels, reduced in a sale. I’d tried to keep thoughts of the afternoon at bay but, as we sat down to an early lunch, I couldn’t help wondering when I would next be able to sit comfortably.

I am home now, half an hour before the appointed time, and have been sent straight upstairs. I am relieved; it will be over sooner than I thought. I like waiting for a fun spanking, the anticipation excites me, but waiting for a punishment makes me nervous. As I open the door, I see that Guy has prepared the room. The fat bolster is positioned on the bed with the wooden paddle next to it. 

I take off my skirt and knickers and lay over the bolster, my bottom mooning the ceiling, and I wait. And I wait. And I wait some more.

I glance sideways at the clock on the nightstand and see that nearly fifteen minutes have passed. It finally dawns on me that we are not starting early; he is leaving me here to contemplate the error of my ways. We don’t do corner time but this is a very effective alternative. How did he get this good?

Guy used to be a dyed-in-the-wool spank-no and took a lot of persuading to try erotic spanking. He didn’t like it much at first but he liked the effect it had in the bedroom. It took him a while to overcome his natural instincts but, eventually, he began to enjoy it, not least because it makes me happy. I don’t know why it does; I think I’m just wired that way.

He had never been a pushover but, unless he felt strongly, he usually went along with what I wanted. As he gained confidence in turning my bottom red, a subtle shift occurred in our dynamic. He became more assertive and less likely to let me have my own way. That didn’t always sit well with me and I would make my displeasure known. One memorable day, I was giving him a really hard time when, by some sleight of hand, I found myself upended over his knee receiving some very sound spanks on the seat of my jeans. It’s hard to say which of us was the more shocked but there was no going back, the genie was out of the bottle, discipline had entered the mix.

Discipline makes me happy, punishment not so much. Since we started this thing I get a bit cranky if I’m not spanked for more than a few days. Guy prefers a contented wife, so over his lap I go for a good spanking, punctuated by some rubbing and fondling and a fair bit of laughter. Afterwards, all is right with my world and my equilibrium is restored. He’s also adept at delivering a short, sharp, shock to quell rebellion or a warning swat or two when I’m getting too close to a line.

Thankfully, punishment is rare. If I could only remember my phone every time I go out, it would be pretty much extinct. I hate punishment, not just because it hurts but also because I don’t like Guy to be disappointed in me. To top it off, it means a date with the cherry wood paddle. 

I have a love/hate relationship with that thing. I love it because Guy made it himself.  It’s beautifully crafted, smooth and polished. I hate it for obvious reasons.  

The first time I made its acquaintance my bottom was simmering nicely, when a heavy thud made me squeal in shock.

“Yikes, what was that?”

‘What, this?” The other cheek received a similar blast.

“Owww, yes! What is that?”

He leant down and held it in front of my face.

“You bought a wooden paddle?”

“No, I didn’t buy it, I made it specially for you.”

“Ouch! It hurts!”

“Then be a good girl and you won’t feel it again.”

As I said, if only I could remember my phone every time I go out...

I hear his footsteps on the stairs and glance again at the time.  It is exactly two o’clock. The door opens and he comes to stand beside me. “Come round to the other side of the bed,” he says, patting my bottom. I stand up stiffly and do as I am told. Butterflies dance in my tummy as he stands me between his knees, taking my hands in his. I think I am in for a stern dressing down but, to my surprise, he says with a smile, “You’re a real handful, you know that don’t you?”

I smile back, “Guilty as charged, but you’ve always known that.”

“I have, and to think the remedy was in my own hands all the time. I should have spanked you long ago.”

He gives my hands a little shake, all levity gone. “I’m going to spank you twice. The first time for our arranged reset and the second to address your continuing carelessness with your phone.” He shifts backwards, patting his lap, and I lay myself obediently across his knees. He rubs and kneads my bottom for a while and then I jump as the first smack lands on my right cheek. When he has peppered every inch of my behind with his hand, I feel the coolness of the leather paddle as it glides over my well-warmed skin, before he raises it and brings it down with a loud crack. He spanks steadily, alternating cheeks, building up the heat. The paddle is double-sided, with different weights of leather on each side and, not for the first time, I wonder how the two sides deliver a different level of pain when the overall weight is the same. I always know when he switches to the heavier side, it has me wriggling and squirming in no time. I protest loudly as he wields the heavy side on my sit spots and the tops of my thighs, and before long I am begging him to stop. After a final flurry to remind me who decides when a spanking is over, he discards the paddle and sits me carefully on his lap. He rubs my back and tells me how much he loves me, but the respite is all too short.

“Time for the second round Lizzie, let’s get it over with.” He leads me back to the bolster. “I’m going to give you twelve with the wooden paddle.” In truth, I expected more; we’ve revisited this infraction more than once. It won’t be a walk in the park though, that thing hurts like the devil and my bottom is already throbbing from the reset. He takes my phone from the dresser and puts it in my hand. “This is what got you into trouble, think about that.” I feel a light tap, then yelp as an explosion of pain erupts in my left cheek. He delivers the remainder in quick succession, leaving me limp and gasping for breath as I wait for permission to rise.

“Part your cheeks for me.”

“What!” I am bewildered and don’t move. A sharp smack prompts me to do as I am told, tensing, as I feel the cold lubricant at my rear entrance and realise what is coming next. “Please, Guy, don’t,” I beg. I’m no stranger to a butt plug for play but he’s never used one for punishment before. “Relax, don’t fight it.” He inserts the plug fully and tells me I can remove my hands. 

His voice is quiet but firm, “You may come downstairs when you are ready but you are not to remove the plug until I give you permission.” Then he is gone, leaving me thoroughly chastened and utterly submissive. 

I ask myself again, “How did he get this good?”

~o~

Rosie, you did a great job and I thank you for sharing with us! Now don't forget to go by Rosie's are Red and welcome Rosie to the neighborhood.  If you're willing to write for us send you story to elisspeaks@yahoo.com

If you have any questions I'm still opened, you can leave a question here or go back to this post.

Written by PK at 5:30 PM

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