Ms. Dana Kane – Professional Disciplinarian
"Hold still long enough and I'll spank you, too."
..somebody tell me about your most recent spanking, that’s bound to return us all to a state of good cheer!
(Put it in the comments area here on the blog, as my inbox is stuffed. Besides, everyone else could probably use the diversion too.)
– Dana
PS. My most sincere thanks to everyone who’s commented and emailed this week. I’ll make sure to reply to each of you in time.
Well, can I?
Is it okay for me to grieve openly my loss, attend your bedside, and offer my condolences to your family? May I sign the guest register, and send flowers with a note of remembrance attached, signed ‘Love, Dana’?
(If you haven’t yet guessed, this is not a lighthearted note; and if you’re feeling like avoiding seriousness and emotion today, please turn back now.)
I’ve spent many hours trying to decide which words, statements, and feelings to use to express the events which have occurred, and even more trying to decide whether or not to share them here, with you. Yes, we talk about a lot of personal things here, and we have gotten to know one another pretty well over the years (for those of you who’re among my friends and playmates, those talks have been even deeper still), but I rarely talk openly with you all about my personal life unless it’s related to this thing we do. Otherwise, I’ve found that I prefer not to overshare anecdotes and occurrences for the most part – we all have parts of ourselves and our lives which we prefer to keep to ourselves, and that’s fine.
This time, however, I’ve decided that the subject is too important, too critical and painful, to avoid, regardless of how personal it is. So I’m going to talk to you all about it. Keep in mind that the following are my experiences, feelings, and actions. I don’t want any advice and am not asking for agreement or even support – I just want you to know.
My paul died a while ago. He’d been sick for a few months and we knew from the outset that there was little that could be done to intervene medically. It wasn’t fast and it wasn’t pretty, as these things rarely are.
Hold on.. I should back up several years and tell you a bit more about paul so that you understand why I’m taking the time and emotional energy to share..
I met paul less than a year after I arrived in Los Angeles, around 2009. He’d originally found me the same way most of you do – online – and emailed to request an appointment. His initial email was clear and respectful; he was not into spanking at all – in fact, far from it – he was a foot fetishist also interested in masochism and humiliation. This was back in the early years when I still occasionally considered playmates outside my main sphere of interest, and paul seemed like a nice enough guy, even though his thing wasn’t necessarily my thing. I agreed to meet him for a foot worship/sm playtime after making it abundantly clear that I would, in no uncertain terms, never ever humiliate anyone intentionally. This was agreeable to him and we planned our first meeting.
We got along splendidly; while I admit enjoying the hitting and stomping more than the foot worship (it takes a little getting used to), we had a great conversation after our playtime and he seemed to have a million really cool and interesting stories to tell. He asked whether he could see me again, I said I’d be delighted, and we planned another playtime for the following month.
As our second meeting approached, paul emailed to say that he was sorry to say that he would be unable to keep our appointment because he was on a fixed income and was, essentially, broke. (I should mention here that paul was 65 or 66 when we met.) I replied telling him that I expected him to report for our previously scheduled meeting, on time and ready to submit, regardless of how much money he had, and that he’d be punished for even attempting to get out of it again. After a little back and forth, he agreed. I told him after that, our second lovely playtime, that he’d never need to worry about budgeting for my time again. Using terms he was comfortable with, I told him that from now on he was my ‘personal slave’ – my foot puppy – and there would be no further discussion of finance, period, ever. That was the first of several times that I saw paul cry.
He’d been in the closet fully his entire life, having had fantasies of his fetish since his earliest memories of a particularly pretty yet stern schoolteacher who always wore shiny high-heeled shoes. He fantasized that she would step on his hands with those lovely shoes while telling him how very bad he was. It was a preoccupation which followed him fully into his adult life, and which he continued to keep secret for decades. It wasn’t until his late fifties that he even began to consider seeking out some sort of professional to help him make his fantasies reality, and even then, as he told me all those years later, it was a constant source of inner angst, guilt, and self-loathing. Why, he wanted to know, was he so fucked up? Why was he obsessed with women’s feet, of all things, instead of boobs and butts like everyone else? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about it? He was certain that no woman would ever love him enough to understand.
Eventually, he must’ve squared himself with these feelings enough to seek out a dominatrix. He told me about a few experiences he’d had with a handful of professional dommes before we met, and for the most part those stories were happy, if conflicted, memories for him – the earliest explorations of his lifelong wanting.
Then he found me, by some weird ‘that’s how things work’ combination of events, and we became fast friends almost immediately. He’d make a two hour drive each way to see me once a month, and we’d play, talk, eat, and laugh. I never treated paul like a slave (although I still, in respect of his wishes, never capitalize the first letter of his name), but did buy him a leather collar with my initials on, and even had him personalized ‘puppy tags’ made for our anniversary last year. During our playtimes, he was required to call me Mistress, and I was just as stern as you all know me capable. And paul was capable of taking quite a lot of physical discomfort (even though he barely tolerated the occasional spanking I insisted on foisting upon his unwilling backside)…we had fun. I got to wear lots of really sky-high heels and lead him around on a leash – it was absolutely silly and serious at the same time, in all the best ways.
After I moved to Las Vegas, paul’s drive became five-plus hours, each way, so his visits became less frequent. He’d drive here once every three months or so and stay with us a night or two before making the drive back home. We all – paul, Michael, and I – enjoyed these visits immensely. paul didn’t have much family to speak of, no wife, kids, or living close relatives – so we quickly became his family, and he ours. paul housesat for us when we took the rare but needed vacation, taking perfect care of the home and animals anytime we went away, and I’m still convinced that he hand fed the cats raw steak every time because when he was here they paid him more attention than me.
He also did a lot of little fix-it projects around the house for me. He took an old bumper sticker off my newly-bought used car, gouging a deep scratch in the bumper in the process – but still, thoroughly removing all signs of said bumper sticker; he spent several hours repairing a drippy faucet in my master bathtub only for the drip to return less than 24hours after he’d left to go home, and at a much more annoying rate of drip. Once, I almost missed the only bus leaving L.A. back to Las Vegas for the day (on a rare return visit of mine) because he got us lost in god-knows-where in the process of chauffeuring me to the terminal. paul had the best of intentions, but he rarely managed to ‘fix’ anything. I cannot stress enough how much I loved that about him – his constant enthusiasm and willingness to help even in the face of glaring inability to execute the task at hand. That’s tenacity, folks.
Fast forward back to more recent history:
One week, I didn’t receive an email from paul for nearly 48 hours. This was highly unusual as paul had a tendency to email three to five times a day, every day, and never less than once. He was constantly writing to tell me of his day, his thoughts, how much he loved me…and to send me his doodling; sketching out his fetish fantasies as quickly as they came. Over the years I received hundreds if not thousands of little pieces of art via email, and I always asked that he bring me the originals when he visited next. He always did, and I now have possession of what is quite possibly the most interesting and diverse collection of tiny foot fetish art ever compiled. I plan to build a dedication page from which to share many of these wonderful, quirky, excellent little treasures with the world at large. He deserves that much.
But I’m digressing.
Turned out paul had gotten short of breath while out with his guy pals one afternoon and ended up in ER. The assessed him lightning-fast, and eighteen or twenty hours later (note the sarcasm) gave him the verdict : inoperable cancer which was unlikely to respond to chemotherapy and/or radiation.
Did he want to go ahead with treatment anyway, they asked him? He said yes and began what was to be his final fight.
When I received an out-of-the-ordinary text message from him saying he was in hospital, I immediately picked up the phone to call him. He said that he’d be discharged in a day or two, then he’d have to have a bunch of follow-up appointments with various specialists in order to come up with a game plan for fighting the cancer. I asked if he wanted me to come and be with him in the hospital and he said no, he’d not be there long and that his pals were checking in on him periodically. Grudgingly, I agreed to stay home.
After having been released from the hospital, he did indeed follow up with all those doctors, precious weeks sliding by while everyone decided who was going to pay for what and sending him for blood work what seemed like about a million times. After a few weeks he finally started a round of chemotherapy, requiring him to drive or be driven to the treatment facility each time for several hours, then home again for several days of hardcore sickness. paul had lived alone for years, which is never a problem when you’re healthy and spry, but gets troublesome really quickly when you’re too weak to walk to the bathroom. Refusing my offer to come and stay with him at home, paul set about trying to go through the chemotherapy process by himself, with the occasional visit from previously-mentioned friends.
It was awful but not at all surprising when, after another somewhat long period of quiet, I received another text from him – back in the hospital. He’d gotten weak and short of breath at home and called the ambulance himself. He spent another few days in hospital, getting stabilized, only to be sent back home alone again.
I’m not trying to make a long story short, but it suffices that this was the basic routine for the next few weeks – hospital, home, hospital, home – interspersed with the completion of the first round of chemo and beginning of some kind of chemical radiation treatment. We were in touch as much as he could be, and I checked in on him often daily, always offering to hop on a plane and come take care of his old sick ass. He always said no, he was doing good. We both knew he was lying, but who was I to call him on it at such a time? Maybe his house was really messy and he was embarrassed or maybe he was in denial about how sick he really was – it certainly wasn’t, couldn’t possibly be, surely couldn’t be…
…that he was ashamed. Could it?
Then paul was told that the cancer had spread to his brain and would require it’s own, separate round of chemotherapy. Once more he said okay. And once more they set in motion the routine of home, hospital, home, hospital, which inevitably occurs when someone who is already dying is wracked with poison. This time, his stay in the hospital was longer, and the prospect of his release even more forbidding – how could he possibly care for himself? This time I did the pushy thing – I told paul that I was coming, was going to take care of him, cook for him, and make him comfortable.
He flat out refused. Wouldn’t explain, but flat out refused. That’s when I realized that my initial fears were correct; paul was ashamed. He was ashamed of himself, and thereby, me. He didn’t want to explain to the possible visitor who I was, or how he knew me. He didn’t want me to come to the hospital because he was afraid – terrified – that I’d run into one of his buddies, or the rare distant relative who’d come out of the blue since his illness had progressed so dramatically. If I looked back at his behavior, what he’d told me and – more importantly – what he hadn’t (he’d never shared with me which hospital he was in, which rehabilitation facility, or, in the end, which hospice), paul had decided that, even at the end of his life, he could not be himself. On top of the already near-paralyzing pain of impending loss, I now felt absolutely abandoned in my grief, and by the very person for whom I was grieving. I was a little pissed at him for that.
Selfish, yes. I’m human. Moving along.
I’m sure that by now you see where this is going. Because of his own fears and shame, paul took from all of us the ability to say goodbye. Neither I nor Michael were given the chance to hug him or properly express our love and immense gratitude for our time with him, and paul was sadly and sorely without the people who absolutely loved him most in this world at the end of his life.
His choice. A terrible one in my opinion, and having to live with it, I think, gives me the right to disagree with him. I would’ve never shown up uninvited, never ‘blown his cover’, so to speak; I’d never have disrespected his wishes in that way, no matter how much I wanted to shake the living hell out of him for it. I loved paul, so I let him be alone. That was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, and continues to be today. I still can’t figure out how to put a period at the end of this sentence – it’s dangling, like a season ending cliffhanger or half-told secret.
I can’t tell you how I’ll deal with it, because I have zero precedent. All the events in our lives are processes, and this is now one of mine.
I wish paul had given himself permission to be wantonly honest in his last days, but I know that’s unrealistic. Most people take their secrets to the grave, and my paul was no exception.
I promise to try not to begrudge his memory and his love, in spite of the glaring reality – I probably can’t come to your funeral, either.
– Dana
Rest in peace, puppy. -M
…I really want this damn spanking bench, and I don’t think my CPA’s gonna let me write it off as a business expense. Anyone want to make my month?
Boys and Girls,
After a great contest (and a bit of consternation related to the crummy voting system), I’m happy to announce the winners of the Spanking Wish Story Contest!
The three (actually five) stories with the most votes, below, each receive an unlimited 30 day membership to DanaKaneSpanks.com :
Sister Dana and The Leprechaun (#18)
The Resort (#20)
And TIED for third (thanks, Lei, I’m going with your democratic memory on this one, along with a few separate comments from other users):
Be Careful What You Wish For (#4) and Wish Upon a Star ( #19) and Big Bellied Buddha (#24)
( See how that works? MY software screws up and even more of YOU win – you should all hope this happens more often.~~ )
Every single one of the other winning entries will receive a spanking video download of their choice from my current catalog.
Thanks again to everyone who participated, and congratulations to ALL TWO DOZEN of our winners!
(All story entrants will receive an email containing details on prize redemption in the coming week.)
– Dana
Kiddos,
The lovely little plug-in that records votes for the Spanking Story Contest has gone kaput – just like *that*.
All the voting records are gone, and the damn thing won’t re-start, either, so here’s what we’re gonna do:
All you who have been paying attention, take a moment to use the comment feature to tell me what you remember the top three stories to be. I know that ‘Sister Dana’ was at number one the last time I looked, but am lost for data after that. I’m going to rely on you all and your honesty to help me determine who the top three stories were, so that I may give away a bunch of stuff in spite of the software glitch.
Help me out…
– Dana
Stripper Daughter Spanked and Slippered
500 Stroke Leather Discipline
This is, I believe, the first time Buddy’s ever been in water that didn’t have a bathtub wrapped around it.
Although it was a bit cool, and he was completely distracted by everything going on around him, he did manage to wade his old creaky butt out into the shallows a few times:
I’ve never visited Lake Havasu City before, and really had no idea that there was anything more there than a bunch of supposedly really nice water.
Imagine my surprise when I found out that it also contains LONDON BRIDGE…the real freaking London Bridge:
Pretty view from the hotel balcony. And lucky for everyone visiting, the whole London-Bridge-tarred-head-on-a-pike thing has been replaced by chi-chi restaurants and kayaking retirees:
One First Time Ever that was not accomplished : The kayak rental guy didn’t return my call to confirm the kayak delivery that would have likely freaked the dog totally out. Probably for the best…
– Dana
** This is a ‘sticky’ post, which means that it will remain at the top of the blog post area for a couple weeks. For new content after April 6, just scroll down past the poll. **
After several weeks of writing time, and a few more to get all the entries posted, it’s finally time to begin voting for your favorite Spanking Wish story entry. Each entry should contain only ONE choice, and each user should vote only ONE time – no cheating (the polling software records your info so it’s easy to see if you’ve voted more than once).
Special thanks to all two dozen hearty and creative spankos who took the time to write and enter their original spanking stories, and to anyone who’s taken the time to read and comment – you’re all awesome!
Now, the voting:
[poll id=”2″]
Good luck to everyone – although you scarcely need it, as you’ll ALL win something.
– Dana
Everyone,
This has been one helluva contest, and here’s the final entry for our ‘Spanking Wish’ contest …
Enjoy! We’ll begin voting soon.
– Dana
**********
“Big Bellied Buddha”
Mary was a young college student at the ripe age of nineteen. She attended a small out of state college which carried a high reputation in mathematics and science. Mary was an excellent student who studied hard and performed well on tests. Her favorite class was biochemistry. Which was taught by a tall and beautiful female professor named Professor Varney. Professor Varney was a sharp witty woman with a genuine liking towards Mary. Mary being the intelligent young lady that she was could definitely recognize the contrasting attention Professor Varney would give Mary verse the other students in her class. Mary took delight in this special attention and looked forward to the days of the week when she had her biochemistry class. Mary began sitting in the very front of the room. Choosing to sit right dead in front of Professor Varneys podium. And as the semester went by Professor Varney continued her unquestionable preference she had towards Mary. Mary began to dote more and more with this unusual type of attention. And in return she began fantasizing about Professor Varney on a consistent basis. Most of Mary’s fantasies of Professor Varney pertained to spanking. Being that Mary had been a spanko since the day she could remember. Mary longed for Professor Varney to put her over her knee and spank her for all the naughty things she had done in her past from the time she was a little girl.
One day as Mary was sitting outside on the campus lawn she was approached my Professor Varney. “Well look who it is, looking so sophisticated with her biochemistry textbook in one hand and her coffee in the other.” Mary was choked up and had no idea what to say. Professor Varney took notice of Mary’s reluctant vibe and continued on. “ Well Miss Mary I can see you are at a loss for words so I will continue on. Don’t you know how rude it is to just sit and stare when one is trying to make simple conversation? What has happened all of a sudden to my top student?” Mary just shrugged her shoulders and again was unable to think of anything to say. “Mary I would like to invite you out to dinner with me on Friday night. Would you be able to make it?” Ms. Varney said. Mary’s mouth dropped and she began to shake her head up and down acknowledging she would be able to attend the invitation. “Then it’s settled. I will meet you at the Golden Egg Roll at eight o’clock Friday night. Don’t be late young lady or I will have to put you across my knee after dinner.” Professor Varney said in a stern voice. Mary again shook her head and watched in awe as Professor Varney walked away. Mary couldn’t believe what Professor Varney had just mentioned about putting her over her knee after dinner if she was late. “Was Professor Varney a spanko as well?” Mary wondered. The final words Professor Varney stated about spanking kept reiterating in Mary’s mind over and over again until finally Friday night came.
Mary dressed in a classy tight black outfit and decided to leave her kinky hair down for once in a great while. Mary wanted to purposefully show up late to see if Professor Varney was actually being serious about spanking her for being tardy. But she just didn’t have the courage. Although Mary was a bonafide spanko since the beginning of her time, she unfortunately had not yet been spanked. As Mary reached the Golden Eggroll in the middle of Chinatown she immediately saw Professor Varney waiting outside the front door. Mary waved innocently as she approached the door. “Hello Mary. I’m glad to see that you took being on time seriously. But too bad for me. I was looking forward to having you over my knee.” Mary gulped and said absolutely nothing. Professor Varney then opened the door for Mary and they both went inside together.
That was it! Mary knew now for sure that this could actually be the first opportunity in her life to get spanked. Mary and Professor Varnney sat in a corner booth of the small restaurant away from all the shuffle and bustle. There Professor Varney did most of the talking. Mary was mummified by Professor Varneys presence. And the only thing she could think of was getting spanked by this ultimate fantastic women named Professor Varney. “Mary I want you to call me Suzanne from now on. Can you do that for me?” Professor Varney asked in a low sweet tone. Mary shook her head yes. Suzanne smiled. “Excuse me for my rudeness Suzanne but I must use the ladies room.” “You may go sweet girl.” Suzanne replied. Mary liked having that assurance. It made her feel safe. She smiled at Suzanne and stood up. “Don’t dottle for long little Miss. Or I will have to spank you.” Suzanne said in a smiling voice. “I won’t. I promise.” Mary said quickly. And off she went.
As Mary washed her hands she looked in the mirror and began thinking that all of this was too good to be true. Mary finally knew what she really wanted for the very first time in her young adult life. She wanted Suzanne. Mary wasn’t exactly sure how she wanted her. But what Mary did know for sure was that she wanted Suzanne to give her the spanking she always longed for. As Mary exited the bathroom and began hustling back to the table something shiny caught her eye. There, standing practically right in front of her, was a large golden Buddha. The Buddha statue was surrounded by shiny silver quarters and a basket of Asian fruit at its knees. Mary slowly walked up to the Buddha. She noticed the statues wide naked belly sticking straight out at her. A tall Chinese chef saw Mary standing in front of the Buddha. Suddenly the chef came out from behind the kitchen entry way and stood next to Mary. He told Mary to rub the Buddhas belly and make a wish. Mary looked at the Chinese chef in amazement. She then looked back down at the Buddha’s belly. Mary slowly brought one of her hands up from her right side. She began rubbing the Buddha’s smooth golden belly. Her fingers moved back and forth and round and round. As she rubbed the belly of the Buddha Mary made her wish. She wished for Suzanne to spank her. To spank her hard and thoroughly. In a way that would bring her to tears. The way she had always fantasized about.
That very same night Mary returned home from the the Chinese restaurant. She was sad and she lied in her bed all alone. Mary was disappointed that nothing further happened after dinner with Suzanne. Then Mary stared at the ceiling wondering if only the wish she had made at the Chinese restaurant would actually come true one day. Soon Mary began fantasizing about getting a really hard spanking from Suzanne until finally she fell fast asleep. The next morning Mary woke up. She looked around and noticed that her room and all her things were completely different. All of a sudden, she heard a very familiar voice. The voice was of a women talking in the hallway right outside the door from where Mary had awoken. Mary soon realized she recognized the woman’s voice. It was the voice of Professor Varney. Unexpectedly, Mary heard Suzanne,s voice again. But this time Suzanne’s voice was calling directly towards her. “Mary this is the last time I am going to tell you to get up from that bed. You are going to be late for class! If I have to come back in your room one more time young lady, I am going to yank you out of that bed and spank your bottom like I’ve never spanked it before!” Mary quickly jumped up from her unfamiliar bed with delight. “Coming Suzanne!” She promptly called back. Mary then rushed out of her bedroom and ran down the stairs as fast as her legs could carry her.
Readers,
Don’t give up now – we’re down to just a few more entries in the ‘Spanking Wish’ contest …
Read on~
– Dana
**********
“What Goes Around Comes Around”
Surrounded by friends gathered to celebrate her birthday, Lindsey closed her eyes, a serene expression taking over her features. Her face showed animation, the hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth revealing hope for the future. Opening her eyes, she took a deep breath and blew out the candles that covered her birthday cake, silently thanking Mr. Edwards, her band director, for continually reinforcing lessons in breath control throughout her years of playing the trumpet in the school band. As the last candle to gave up its flame, applause erupted from the onlookers.
“What did you wish for?” her best friend Sherry asked.
“If I tell you, it won’t come true,” Lindsey protested.
“Oh, come on, Lindsey,” Andrea cajoled. “You already made the wish. What you do now won’t affect it one way or the other.”
“Well . . . okay. That makes sense,” Lindsey agreed. “I wished that I would win this lawsuit.”
“Attagirl!” Sherry gripped her friend in a sideways hug, emphasized by gentle backslaps. “I could see you arming yourself with optimism just before you blew out the candles. We all wish that for you, too. Winning the first one was a major victory.”
“Yeah, you deserved to come out on top in that one. You fought hard to prove what they did was wrong,” Mindy echoed. “I’m so glad you beat out that—” she paused, searching for the right word.
“Temper, temper, Mindy,” Sherry chided.
“Well, I was gonna say ‘witch,’ ” Mindy defended herself.
“Oh, sure,” Sherry said skeptically. “We could hear what you were thinking.”
Everyone laughed. Though all the guests at the party were good friends, these four—Lindsey, Sherry, Andrea, and Mindy—had known each other since they were toddlers. Though they had different interests, their close friendship had endured through the years.
As Mindy removed the candles and Andrea brought paper plates, Lindsey busied herself cutting the cake, placing each portion on a plate Andrea held steady. “By tomorrow afternoon I should know the outcome. Mark will be in the courtroom for moral support. I’ll call Sherry as soon as I find out. We’ll get word to everyone.”
“Who wants ice cream?” Mindy asked the group.
“People always ask that, and it’s a very silly question. Everyone always wants ice cream.” Andrea’s pronouncement met with a chorus of affirmative comments.
“Bring your plates over here,” Mindy directed. “There’s room for a scoop or two next to the cake.”
“Good thinking,” Sherry complimented.
Later, after most of the guests had left and the party remains had been cleaned up, the hostesses relaxed in the living room. Indicating her concern, Andrea asked, “What’s your feeling about how the trial’s been going?”
“I’m optimistic,” Lindsey said, “but I know it’s not good to get my hopes up too high. I gave concise answers, but the other side didn’t. I actually saw one of the jurors fold her arms across her chest and frown when the “witch” testified. I’m thinking they were sympathetic to my side. Oh, and every time my attorney objected, his objection was sustained, but all of the other side’s objections were overruled, every one of them.
“Well, it’s about time to head home,” Sherry announced. “I’m really glad all of us could get together. It’s been a fun time. I just had a thought: If you win tomorrow, we’ll need to celebrate that, too! Anyway, I hope you can relax and get a good night’s sleep tonight.”
“I plan to do just that. I’m going over to see Mark in a little while. He’s taking me out to dinner for my birthday, and then we’ll go back to his house for dessert.”
“ ‘Dessert,’ huh?” Andrea teased.
“Well, you know, our favorite dessert.” Lindsey said. “ ‘Rump roast.’ ”
They all laughed. Lindsey’s friends moved toward the front door and hugged all around, amid comments of “Take care,” “I’ll be thinking about you,” and “I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”
When they had left, Lindsey went to her bedroom and opened the closet door to take out the clothes she had decided to wear to dinner. She went into the bathroom, undressed, and showered. When she was finished washing, brushing her teeth, dressing, and putting on makeup, she called her boyfriend to let him know she was about to leave.
She covered the five miles to Mark’s house at a moderate speed. She turned into his double driveway and parked next to his car. He greeted her at the door with a strong, comfortable hug and a kiss.
“So, where are you taking me for dinner?” Lindsey asked.
“It’s a surprise,” Mark answered with a smirk. “You’ll like it.”
“Okay, if you say so.”
Mark got his suit coat and put it on. “All set?” Lindsey smiled in reply and he walked her to the door and opened it for her. He walked with her to the passenger’s side and opened the door. When she was settled, he went to the driver’s side and got in.
As Mark backed out of the driveway, Lindsey asked, “How about a little hint?”
“There’s a blindfold in the glove compartment,” Mark countered. “It will help you stop asking questions, just in case you can’t stop by yourself.”
“I’ll hush,” she said.
A few minutes later, he turned into the parking lot of Jackson’s Restaurant. “Wow, Mark.” Lindsey exclaimed. “I’ve never been here, but this is supposed to be the ultimate dining experience.”
He parked and went to open her door, saying, “I thought it was appropriate for a celebration like this.”
“Oh, thank you. I feel like a queen just to be brought here.”
“I hope so,” he murmured as he put his arm around her shoulders.
They were seated in a secluded area and leisurely enjoyed an excellent prime rib dinner. After they had both finished their meal, Mark asked, “Are you ready for dessert?” Receiving Lindsey’s mischievous smile in answer, he signaled their waiter for the check. Walking back to the car, Mark put his arm around her and asked, “Are you nervous about tomorrow?”
“Yes,” she replied. “I’m pretty tense. I’m counting on you to help me with that.”
“I’ll do my best,” he promised.
“Your best has always been enough in the past,” she said, looking up at him and then laying her head against his chest.
He helped her into the passenger’s seat and took his place behind the wheel. They drove in silence to his house.
As he opened the front door for Lindsey, she asked, “Bedroom or den?”
“Bedroom, I think,” he answered.
She went to his bedroom and began taking off her clothes, while Mark hung up his suit, threw his shirt into a hamper, and put on a pair of pajama bottoms. He sat down on the bed and watched Lindsey remove everything but her panties. She walked to him and lay across his lap.
“I’m going to do something different,” he told her. He showed her a short paddle made of beautiful light-colored wood. “I’m going to use just paddles. It will be the warmup and the spanking.”
“Ouch, it hurts already,” she said.
“No, I’ll go easy at first, and you’ll be okay later when it’s harder.”
“Okay, if you say so,” she answered doubtfully.
He began with swats so light they could hardly be called spanks, moving to different areas of her bottom and the upper part of her thighs to make sure every spot received attention. She lay comfortably across his lap, finding a surprising level of enjoyment in the sensation. After two or three minutes, he stopped and began rubbing her bottom and thighs gently. Then he hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties and pulled them down to her knees, exposing the bare skin of her bottom.
“Hmm, not very pink yet. That’s okay; we’ve got plenty of time. How do you feel?”
She answered, “I feel great. What you’re doing feels really nice.”
He picked up the paddle again and resumed spanking her gently, making sure to spread his attention to all areas. “How does that feel?” he asked her, rubbing her skin gently.
“It’s wonderful. I didn’t know a paddle could feel like this. All this time I thought I was allergic to wood.”
Mark laughed out loud. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it, since this isn’t a naughty girl spanking.”
He rubbed her bottom a little longer and then began spanking again. Almost imperceptibly, he began to increase the force of the swats. He listened for verbal reactions from Lindsey and watched for flinching, relying on her indication of distress to guide the amount of force he used. A few minutes later, he paused and began rubbing her bottom again. “How are you doing,” he asked.
“It feels strange,” she replied. “It doesn’t hurt, but my bottom feels real hot.”
“Well, this could be a sample of what hot flashes will be like when you’re older.”
“On my butt?” she asked, looking around at him.
“Why not? Hot flashes affect a woman all over, don’t they? Your butt is part of ‘all over.’ ”
“That doesn’t make sense, but I can’t think of a witty reply.” She laid her head back down.
“I’m going to go a little harder,” Mark warned. “I hope it will feel good and not too painful. At least, that’s what I’m aiming for. You know the old story about the frog in the pan of cold water? The water gets gradually warmer and the frog doesn’t notice it, and soon the water is boiling. I’m not trying to boil your bottom, but I do want it to be gradual so it winds up being a hard spanking without the trauma. Or drama.”
“Are you calling me a ‘trauma queen’?”
Mark smacked her hard with the paddle.
“Owww,” she cried. “That was NOT gradual,” Lindsey complained.
“Oh, my goodness. That was involuntary. I think it’s the paddle’s way of groaning.”
“Very funny.”
“Well, your pun wasn’t.”
“Okay, I forgot. You don’t like puns.”
“Let’s get back to the matter at hand,” he said, patting her bottom. He started spanking her again, alternating sides and continuing to cover all areas. He gradually increased the intensity, always on the lookout for clues that Lindsey was experiencing more stress than he intended. As the minutes went by, the force increased. He again paused and began rubbing her bottom and thighs. “How does that feel?” he asked.
“It’s really weird. It feels about the same, but I know you’re hitting a lot harder. I haven’t been in this situation before.”
“All right. This is going to be a little change.” He reached over to the dresser and picked up a paddle that was longer but similar in weight. He swatted her sharply with it. She flinched slightly. He waited about 30 seconds and smacked her again, in a different place. She murmured “unh” but did not flinch. He hit in still another spot, and she breathed in deeply and then exhaled, but remained still. He continued in this fashion, with 30-second pauses, each swat slightly more forceful than the last. She continued to lie still, with only minimal reaction. After the seventh swat at the slow tempo, Lindsey’s back began to shudder, and she started whimpering. Mark laid the paddle down and reached for her shoulders. He pulled her to a sitting position on his lap and held her while she cried. He spoke to her softly, soothing her.
“I don’t know why I’m crying. It didn’t hurt that much.”
“You’re crying because you’ve been under such a strain. It’s tension relief, which is what I was trying to achieve. I think you’re going to be sore tomorrow. Your bottom looks like a couple of eggplants.
Lindsey burst out laughing, even as the tears flowed. “Eggplants? Let me see.”
Mark helped her off his lap, and she walked to the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. Looking around at her bottom, Lindsey exclaimed, “Jiminy Crickets! I didn’t even know skin could be this color. It’s eggplant, all right.” She reached back to touch her bottom cheeks with her hands. “Wow! That’s warm. It’s numb now, but I’ll bet you’re right about my being sore tomorrow.”
Mark handed Lindsey a box of tissues from the nightstand. “I want you to lie down on your back.” He heard her blow her nose as he went into the bathroom, reached into a cabinet, and got a large bath towel, which he took back into the bedroom. Lindsey was supine on the bed, and he draped the towel over her. “I’ll be right back,” he said, disappearing into the hallway.
When he returned, Mark had a kitchen towel and a freezer bag filled with crushed ice. “Here’s a cold pack for your face.”
Lindsey raised herself up on one elbow. “What the heck’s wrong with my face? You went out to dinner with this face,” She protested indignantly.
Mark sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed her arm. “Honey, nothing is wrong with your lovely face. It’s just that you’ve been crying, and I think that in the morning, the judge and the jury will be more impressed with your exquisitely beautiful face if your eyes aren’t puffy and you don’t look like you’ve been crying. Now lie down and relax.”
“Oh, okay. You’re right.” Acquiescing, she lay back down.
Mark laid the towel across her eyes and placed the ice pack on the towel. “How’s that? Is it on both eyes? It’s supposed to get colder, but only up to a point.”
“Yes, it’s on both eyes. It feels nice and cool.”
“Pretty soon the towel will get damp from condensation, and it may feel colder. I want it to stay on for 20 minutes unless it gets too cold. Frostbite isn’t our goal. I’ll be right here.” He gently caressed her thigh.
Lindsey squirmed and reached down to touch an area of her right buttock. “What’s the matter? Something bothering you?” Mark asked, chuckling.
“Just a little twinge,” she answered, smiling.
“Doesn’t it, though,” he agreed.
They were quiet for several minutes. Then Mark announced, “Ten more minutes.”
“Mm-hmm,” Lindsey replied. Then, anxiously, “Mark?”
“Yes?”
“You are going to be there tomorrow, aren’t you? In court, I mean.”
“Oh, yes. The Budweiser Clydesdales couldn’t keep me away.”
“Good. I was counting on it.” Lindsey relaxed visibly.
After another period of silence, Mark said, “Five more minutes. Are you warm enough?”
“Yes, I’m fine, and my eyes don’t feel too cold. What time is it?”
Mark looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand. “It’s 8:39. You probably want to get on the road pretty soon.”
“Yes, I would. I need to get home and get ready for court tomorrow and then get to bed on time.”
“What time do you have to be in bed?”
“Ten o’clock, or else.”
Mark chuckled. “Or else your Disciplinarian has something to say about it?”
Lindsey smiled. “Right. And she says it like I can understand it. Improvement came slowly for me, but I’ve gotten a lot better about it lately.”
“Good girl.”
“Thanks. I’m more alert and more effective when I’ve slept well and long enough. Mark?”
“Mmm?”
“Where did you get the idea for what you did tonight with the paddle?”
“I came up with it myself. There’s the frog analogy, and then I thought the hard smacks at the end should be spaced out. I figured if they were too close together, and built in intensity, the effect would be something else entirely. I was hoping you would cry, because I thought you needed the emotional release. I wasn’t sure it would work that way.”
“I’m glad it did. I do feel better, but kind of weak.”
“You should still be okay to drive, but I’ll take you home if you want me to. Time’s up.” Mark reached for the ice pack and removed it while bringing her hand toward her eyes to shield them from the light.
As her eyes adjusted, Lindsey gazed up at Mark. “You sure do take good care of me,” she said.
“I’m glad you think so,” he replied. “That’s the plan. Let’s get you up and see how you do.” He took her hands and gently pulled her to her feet.
“Whoa,” said Lindsey, swaying slightly. “I may have to get used to this.”
“You’ll be fine in a minute,” Mark assured her. “Remember, you’ve been horizontal for nearly an hour. And your body has been stressed. The nutritious dinner we had will help a lot. Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll bring your clothes.” He lowered her back down to sit on the bed and went to get her things from the chair where she’d left them.
She put on what she could while sitting down, and Mark knelt to put her trouser socks on. Lindsey moved in a gingerly fashion to get each leg into her slacks, balancing with Mark’s help when she stood to pull them up. “Wow, I’m gonna have a heck of a reminder of this tomorrow. These pants hurt! It feels good, though.” He then placed her shoes where she would be able to step into them.
“Let’s see if I still know how to walk.” She cautiously walked into the living room to the table where she had left her purse.
“You seem to have the hang of it, all right,” Mark said. “I’ll walk you to the car.”
Lindsey turned to him. “But first,” she said, hugging him to her, “Thank you for a wonderful evening. “I keep trusting you to know what’s good for me, and you keep knowing it.”
As he embraced her, smoothing her hair, Mark said, “You’re precious to me, Lindsey. This lawsuit is a big deal, and these people have caused you no end of turmoil, not only financially, but physically and emotionally, too. You’ve held up through it all, and things have started going your way. I hope the decision tomorrow also goes your way. Now, get going.” He gave her a final squeeze and turned her around to face the door. He opened it, and they walked to her car. He reached to open the door for her. When she was behind the wheel, he closed the door firmly as she lowered her window. He leaned down and kissed her through the window. “I’ll meet you at the courthouse.”
“Okay,” Lindsey said. “See you there.” She started the car and backed out of the driveway. As she changed gears from Reverse to Drive, she looked at him and he waved.
A short time later she was home and in the house. She locked the door and made her way to the bedroom. What she would wear to court the next morning was all prepared. She took off her clothes, put them in the hamper, and took her nightgown from the hook in the bathroom door. The garment felt cool as she put her arms through the sleeves and it slid over her head and down her body. She looked at her face in the mirror and saw that her eyes seemed normal. ‘Mark is such a genius,’ she thought. She splashed water on her face and then patted it dry with the hand towel. She brushed her teeth and went into the bedroom.
Lindsey pulled back the covers and sat down on her bed, unprepared for the sensation she experienced. “Jiminy Crickets!” she said aloud. It was as though her furniture had become petrified while she was gone from the house. The comfortable mattress she had bought a year ago was now more like a bed of stone. Admittedly, she relished the way it felt to her backside, because it proved that she had been soundly spanked, which was what she had wanted and needed. She checked the time—9:45—wrote it in her bedtime journal, and set her alarm. She lifted her legs onto the bed, turned off the bedside lamp, and promptly rolled over onto her stomach.
The next morning, Lindsey opened her eyes and looked at the clock. The alarm would sound in nine minutes. She closed her eyes again and lay still, remembering her wish. It seemed like everything should just fall into place and she should be victorious in this lawsuit. The other side had clearly invaded her privacy. Sometimes, though, things just don’t work out the way they “should,” or the way we have them planned. ‘Please let me win this case,’ she pleaded to whomever.
“RRRIIINNNGGGGGGGGGGGG,” went the alarm. It was definitely a sound not to be ignored. Lindsey swung her feet off the bed and sat up. That was her first mistake. “Oh, my heavens to Betsy,” she exclaimed. She reached for the clock to turn off the raucous sound. She turned on the lamp, stood up, and walked to the bathroom. As she eyed the toilet seat she thought, ‘maybe I can just tinkle in the shower.’ It sounded reasonable enough. But she needed coffee first. Resigning herself to the necessity, she gently lowered herself to the seat. At least it was cool. But it HURT. She breathed deeply, in and out, her eyes watering. This was going to get worse, too, as the day progressed. Finished with that task, she padded to the kitchen to make coffee. While it dripped, she added a bowl of wheat flakes, orange juice, and a vitamin tablet to her breakfast menu. She reached to pull a chair away from the table but changed her mind, thinking, ‘Forget it. I’ll eat standing up.’ She downed the vitamin tablet with a large swallow of orange juice and then as many small swallows as needed to polish off the juice. To Lindsey’s delight, her cereal seemed particularly flavorful this morning. She ate while looking out the window over the sink. It was barely dawn, and there was little to see. After spooning up the last of the cereal, she drank the remaining milk from the bowl, rinsed it and the juice glass, and put them into the dishwasher. By then the coffee was ready. She poured some into her favorite mug and added milk. Putting the milk back into the refrigerator, she picked up the mug and returned to the bathroom.
Lindsey turned on the shower, waited 15 seconds, and stuck her hand in to check the temperature. It was nice and warm. ‘Now comes the fun part,’ she thought. She stepped into the shower facing the stream of water. So far, so good. She let her face and hair get wet and then turned around. For a few seconds, she was paralyzed, it hurt so much. That was the worst part, though. She then shampooed her hair, washed, and got out of the shower and dried off. Between sips of coffee, she dried her hair, got dressed, and put on her makeup. She carried her coffee into the kitchen, drank the last of it, rinsed the mug, and put it in the dishwasher. She was ready to leave. She checked to make sure the bathroom light was off and the coffeemaker was turned off. She picked up her purse and went out the front door, locking it behind her.
Lindsey unlocked the door to her car and braced herself for the ordeal of getting in and sitting in the driver’s seat. ‘Man, oh man,’ she thought. Breathing deeply and evenly, she started the car and was on her way. Because she was early, traffic was lighter than what she usually encountered when leaving later. That made the drive time shorter and also lessened the typical stress she had to deal with when traffic was heavy. She also was able to find a convenient parking place easily. She waited patiently for several minutes and then heard the sound of a familiar car horn to her left. Mark was pulling into a parking space three cars away. He got out and came over to her window.
“Are you ready to go in?” he asked.
“Sure,” Lindsey answered. “We can go in the building. We can loiter a little while before going into the courtroom.”
Mark opened the door for her and she got out of the car. “I saw you wince when you swiveled toward the door. That bad, huh?”
She looked at him. “You really poured it on last night,” she said softly. “You sure know how to hurt a girl, you know that?” She smiled affectionately.
Mark smiled back at her. “It’s a talent, I guess. Too bad I can’t advertise.”
“I wouldn’t want you to do that,” she argued. “Then I’d have to fight off the competition. All the spanko girls would line up to sample your wares.”
Mark put his arm around her and they walked into the courthouse. “Do you want to find a place to sit and wait?” he asked.
“I want to find a place to stand and wait,” Lindsey replied, smiling.
He looked at his watch. “It’s ten minutes till nine. Maybe we should go in.” She nodded in agreement, and they entered the courtroom and found seats near the Plaintiff’s table. Several people were already present.
Lindsey’s attorney came down the aisle and greeted her, shaking hands with Mark. He escorted Lindsey to the Plaintiff’s table, where they both sat down. A minute later, the Defendant and her attorney came down the far aisle and sat at the Defendant’s table.
After 12 minutes, a door near the judge’s bench opened and the bailiff ushered in the jury. The jurors filed in and took their assigned seats. The bailiff closed the door and moved to his table. Two minutes later, he stood and announced loudly, “All rise.” Everyone in the room rose to his feet as the judge entered and took his place on the bench. Then everyone again sat.
The judge looked toward the jury and asked, “Madam Foreperson, has the jury reached a verdict?”
Juror number one, a middle-aged woman, stood and said, “We have, Your Honor.”
The judge indicated to the bailiff to get the piece of paper with the verdict written on it from the foreperson and bring it to the judge. The bailiff did so, the judge read it and handed it back, and the bailiff then returned the paper to the foreperson.
“Madam Foreperson will please read the verdict.”
The Plaintiff, the Defendant, and both attorneys stood for the reading of the verdict.
The Foreperson announced, “We, the Jury, find in favor of the Plaintiff.”
The Judge then asked, “Madam Foreperson, have you assessed damages in this case?”
The Foreperson replied, “We have, Your Honor. We, the Jury, assess damages in the amount of $50,000 to be awarded to the Plaintiff.”
“I thank the Jury for your service. You are dismissed,” said the Judge. “Court is adjourned.”
Lindsey shook her attorney’s hand and then walked to Mark. They left the courtroom and walked out of the courthouse toward their cars. Mark said, “This calls for a celebration, even more than your birthday. We ought to go out to dinner again, with Mindy, Andrea, and Sherry. Maybe even another celebration spanking.”
“Um, Mark?” Lindsey looked at him. “Can it wait a week?”
Readers,
Don’t give up now – we’re down to just a few more entries in the ‘Spanking Wish’ contest …
Read on~
– Dana
**********
“The Little Wooden Bridge”
I stood at the top of the little wooden bridge and looked down into the cold,
dark water below. A few leaves and branches slowly drifted beneath me, then
for a moment the surface of the water was calm and flat. I straightened up and
looked around for a sign that someone might be watching, but I was alone. So
very alone. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a shiny quarter which I had
been saving for this moment. Then I leaned over the wooden railing, letting my
arm dangle above the water’s surface, the coin still clutched in my fist.
It seemed a bit silly to me to be doing this. I don’t know how much I believed in
magic and wishful incantations, but I know I wanted a spanking. Besides, this
was Dana’s idea. I closed my eyes and imagined my desire, my burning need and
then dropped the coin gently from my hand into the deep pond below. With a
little splash, it sunk and was gone.
I didn’t know what to do next. How was it supposed to happen? Would I
magically receive a call, inviting me over for a spanking? Not likely. Now I felt
even sillier for thinking this would work. But at least, I tried.
* * * * *
Dana lived next door to my uncle Ed, only a short walk from my apartment. I
visited my uncle often, to help out with little fix-up jobs around the house and
to help stockpile the wood for the coming winter. Dana was often outdoors
working in her garden, painting the little wooden fence that divided her
property from Uncle Ed’s, or just relaxing on her deck, sipping iced tea and
reading her book. Many times I would be working in the yard, and I would look
over and dream about those beautiful, firm legs….
Whenever she was there, I would make a point of making small talk and try to
get to know her better. Sometimes, Ed would invite her over and we would sit on
the patio in large, comfortable wicker chairs, and chat about everything and
nothing.
That’s when I learned she could spank.
I almost choked on my julep when she mentioned it in passing. My world went
dark and I thought I might pass out. I couldn’t focus.
“Nothing that a good spanking couldn’t fix”, she said.
We all laughed at the humorous little remark and the conversation continued.
However I became suddenly very flushed. I wanted her to repeat it again. And
again. Maybe just a couple more times.
We had been talking about customer service, more or less in general, and Uncle
Ed had mentioned how rude some of the service people in town had become. We
all agreed that many folks here in our community had become bored with their
jobs, and that customer appreciation no longer mattered. Ed thought about
boycotting a few of the local shops but Dana seemed to have a better solution.
So that was when I learned she was into spanking. Or at least she could be into
spanking. Or maybe I could convince her to “be into” spanking. Hopefully
spanking me, of course.
Dana was definitely a woman to be respected. She had become an important
figure in the community, with her social causes and political savvy. She had
character, was well educated, well-spoken and generous to a fault. But she was
not to be trifled with, never to be ignored and certainly, not ever to be talked
down to. And I would have to add, disobeyed. When she had been a teacher, I
imagine her students behaved themselves quite regularly. I could only imagine
the consequences of her disapproval.
One lazy summer afternoon, I came by Uncle Ed’s place to mow the lawn and I
saw Dana was out, cleaning some rugs. She was using the back of a large wooden
scrub brush to beat the dust and sand from a small floor mat, which had been
pinned to the clothesline. She was wailing on it full force, her left arm swinging
higher and higher in the air, tirelessly slamming into the dusty ol’ rug. She was
spanking the rug!
I guess she saw me standing there, sort of awestruck, frozen, and silent. At last
she stopped swinging the brush. She smiled and waved and then retrieved the
rug from the line and went into the house. Now, I wanted a spanking from her
more than ever!
I imagined myself over her firm lap, with my bare bottom exposed to the
sunlight, as she smacked my reddening cheeks with her brush. Of course, in my
dream it didn’t hurt. I was just lying there, across her thighs, smiling and
ontent. The birds were chirping, the wind rustled through the trees, and I was
happily getting spanked.
I told myself that I needed to find a way to talk to her, to bring it up. She had
always been so kind and friendly, surely if I asked her to spank me it would be
her neighbourly duty to oblige. Sort of like borrowing a cup of sugar. No big
deal, perfectly normal.
In reality, I would probably be too embarrassed to even ask for a cup of sugar.
I could never say the word spanking in polite company and I knew there was no
way I could ask this woman, a real friend of the family, to spank me. Forget it.
Keep dreaming. But she was very friendly, and easy to talk to. I often found
myself staring into her big brown eyes, absorbing her wisdom about life and the
pursuit of happiness. Then one day, she offered me some advice about getting
spanked.
Well, she didn’t really put it that way. And actually, I never really mentioned
spanking in any way. But she did have some advice and possibly a tactic to get
what I wanted out of life. She told me to make a wish. She told me she had gone
to the wooden bridge in the park on several occasions, and would drop a coin into
the pond below. She said she would often make a wish for a solution to a
problem that had been particularly elusive, and those wishes most often came
true. She laughed because she figured there must be a fortune lying on the
sandy bottom of the pond, for all of the wishes she had made.
That is why I went there; to wish for a spanking from Dana.
I let me arm dangle over the water’s surface, gently swinging back and forth. I
stared in the black, cold water, and noticed my reflection staring back at me. I
focused on the image of what I wanted, and imagined the feel of her hand as it
spanked my bottom, her firm thighs holding me steady, and the cracking echo of
the sound of flesh upon flesh. The coin fell from my finger tips and made a
gentle splash below. It quickly sank from view and the water’s surface was once
again calm and flat. Now I felt silly to have believed this would bring me
happiness, but I was determined to try everything to make it happen.
* * * * * * *
Some time had passed since that day on the little wooden bridge, and I had all
but forgotten about scheming to get a spanking. It had sort of fallen away from
my immediate thoughts, and I had begun to focus on “more important” things in
my life, like working and studying. But it is when you least expect it, without
warning, that those wishes can come true.
Uncle Ed had asked me to help Dana chop down a little ol’ tree that was leaning
up against her shed. It hadn’t grown very big – not more than two or three
inches thick at the base – and it had been dead for nearly two summers now.
Dana wanted it out, so she could replant and use the wood for her little stove
this winter.
It was a warm afternoon and I had been working in her yard since early morning,
nearly without a break. The tree was down at this point, and I was breaking up
the branches and tying bundles for easy stacking. I needed to take a break, and
I looked longingly to my empty glass on the picnic table for refreshment.
Instead, I sat for a moment in the shade to catch my breath.
The big wooden brush Dana had used earlier was lying on the armchair beside
me. My eyes were drawn to its smooth, worn surface. The long handle had
certainly been gripped many times by someone who could wield it firmly. The
once shiny lacquer finish had long since flaked away, and now the natural wood
surface was exposed to the elements. I held it in my hand and felt its heft. It
was definitely balanced to swing with one hand, built to last. I couldn’t help but
imagine this work-brush doing its work on me. I held it in one hand and smacked
it on my thigh, to get a feel for its potential. Even through my jeans, it left a
mighty sting. Imagine on my bare cheeks…? I was awash with emotions, barely
able to focus, feeling flushed with the thoughts of spanking yet again. I through
the brush back onto the cushion of the arm chair, stood up and turned away. I
had to get a hold of myself.
Taking a big breath, I walked back towards the log pile. I felt a different kind
of aching now, most probably due to the three glasses of lemonade I had
chugged since this morning. It had been several hours since I had gone to the
bathroom and now there was no holding on. Dana had said she would be out for
the day and I didn’t feel like trekking across the big yard back to Uncle Ed’s
house, so I found an alternative. I crept around towards the back of the shed
and looked around. I was just about hidden from Dana’s house and, tucked
between the bushes and the shed, no one could see me from the street or
towards Uncle Ed’s.
I undid my jeans and let them fall to my ankles. A cool breeze tickled the back
of my exposed thighs as I stood there in my white cotton underwear. I lowered
y briefs in front and let nature take its course, while I supported myself on
the side of the shed with my right hand.
I was only there for a moment but a moment was long enough.
When I was done, I zipped up and turned back to work. Looking over the
branches and woodpile, I didn’t expect to have more than another hour of work.
Just about ten minutes later Dana suddenly came out of the house, carrying a
tall glass of lemonade. She asked me how the job was going and how much longer
I would need to finish. I replied that the job was progressing smoothly and that
I was nearly finished. She smiled and replied, “Good.” She set the glass of
lemonade down on the table.
“I thought you might like a refreshment,” she smiled. “Since you just emptied
yourself on the bushes over there.” She waved towards the shed and back
bushes where I had just relieved myself. I began to blush. She turned to me and
said, “Come in and see me when you are done. We need to have a talk.”
Busted! She saw me. What did she see? How much? Oh, no. This was very
awkward.
I busied myself finishing up the bundles of branches and restacked the wood up
against the fence, just like she wanted. I glanced over at the glass of lemonade,
glistening in the sunshine of the weaning hours of the afternoon. I wasn’t
thirsty.
About an hour later I looked around the yard and decided I was finished. I
brushed off the bits of earth and sawdust from my jeans and t-shirt, and
turned to leave. Then I noticed the brush was gone. I had left it on one of the
big, comfy armchairs and now it was gone. My eyes darted around the yard to
see if Dana had simply moved it, or returned it to the hook on the back wall. No,
it was definitely gone.
I grabbed the tall glass of lemonade and dumped it in the bushes. I couldn’t
even take a sip. Then, I knocked on the back patio door to Dana’s house. It
wasn’t long before she came through the kitchen and slid open the glass door in
front of me.
“All done?” She asked. “Yes, Ma’am”. I replied. She gestured for me to come in.
“Nice,” she continued. “Come in for a minute. I need to talk to you.”
I stepped inside and crouched down to untie my boots. She stood above me with
her arms crossed, waiting for me to step out of them. As I stood, I noticed the
ig brush had been brought inside. The long handled work-brush was on the
kitchen table, beside the empty lemonade glass I had handed to Dana earlier. I
gulped in trepidation. She gestured for me to have a seat. I pulled out a wooden,
straight-backed kitchen chair and did as I was told. She stood before me with
her arms crossed.
“Did you do what I think you did outside?” She glared at me waiting for a
response. I couldn’t think of a single word to say. My face went flush with
warmth. I feigned ignorance.
“Do what?” I asked.
Dana stepped closer to me and looked at me square in the face.
“Did you pee in the bushes?” She raised her voice and was looking at me,
perplexed and frustrated.
I could only nod in confession.
A flurry of words and expletives flew from her lips, and she became more angry
than I had ever seen her before. She was ashamed of me and absolutely beside
herself with frustration, as to why I had not simply gone inside to use the
bathroom. I was mortified and ashamed.
At last she had had enough and was about to storm out of the room, when
abruptly she reach for my arm and stood me up. In an instant she was sitting in
the chair I had vacated and she turned me around.
“Happy to lower your jeans in public, hmm?” She began to fumble with the
button on my jeans. In a flash it was undone, and she began to yank them down.
However, much to my surprise, as she jerked my jeans down, so came my
underwear, in one fell swoop, and both were soon bunched at my knees.
“We can’t have you peeing in public”, she scolded. “Maybe this will help you
remember”.
With that, she flung me over her knee.
It all happened in slow motion: My pants down; over her knee; her right arm
gripping me tightly; her left hand raining down on my bare cheeks. There was
that crack! that I had imagined; the sound of flesh on flesh smartly and firmly.
It definitely hurt a lot more than I expected. I don’t know how many she gave
me, but I sure know I couldn’t count. I could only think about the pain in my
ackside, as I tried to twist from her spanks. It was hopeless to try to avoid
those spanks, and I laid upon her lap, with my bare bum reddening under her
hand, apologizing and pleading.
Then suddenly, it stopped. I thought it was over and I tried to get up, but Dana
was not ready yet. From the corner of my eye, I saw her reach for the big
brush on the kitchen table. Now, I was very much doubting my ability to take a
spanking with that implement.
“You know,” she softly spoke to me… “You had better be careful what you wish
for…” I couldn’t understand. How did she…?
But then, Dana knows.
She just does.
Here we go!
The last handful of the ‘Spanking Wish’ contest entries.
Enjoy~
– Dana
**********
“One Wish”
This is a true story about a guy named Reed and his girlfriend, Amelie. I think it’s true. I heard it all from Reed, and why would he lie? It’s actually pretty hard to believe. Let’s just go with it’s a true story.
So Reed and Amelie were driving through Arizona on their way back to Southern California. Reed had a rusted blue Ford pickup he inherited from his old man, and on this particular day in July, somewhere between the desert and nowhere, it was getting low on gas.
“Get out the map, Am.” He turned his head to see his girlfriend looking straight ahead, arms folded against her chest. “I know you’re pissed, baby. Sulking isn’t going to get us home any faster.”
She didn’t move a muscle, but she cursed at him. I should explain here that Amelie was not the girl you’d bring home to mother. “Get it yourself.”
“I’m driving. It’s in the glove compartment.”
“So are your brains.”
“Come on, Baby, don’t be like that.” Such were their conversations. Knowing Reed at the time, he was looking and sounding apologetic. Trust me, he was really into this girl.
With a sudden movement, she raked open the glove compartment, grabbed the Rand McNally easy-fold, full-color map of the Western United States, and slapped it down onto Reed’s denimed thigh. With a sigh, he pulled the truck to a stop, still running, off the side of the highway.
As the long cloud of dust slowly dissipated behind them, he saw on the map it would be best if they turned up on 347. He told her he thought they could make it.
She kicked the dashboard. “Well, isn’t that special.” She finally turned to look at him. He noted the shine of sweat on her forehead under damp strands of pretty, multi-colored hair. “You mean we could be stuck out here? I told you we should have had your dad wire the money.” She cursed the truck again, its lack of air conditioning, and her poor luck in choosing boyfriends.
They had been over this before. “It’s not like going to the ATM.” He explained carefully. “I hate asking him for money, Am. You know how it is. The credit card? The speeding tickets?”
She cursed again. She was tired of him throwing that in her face.
“I know, baby, it’s not all your fault. We’ll be home soon, and everything’ll be cool, I promise.”
They did make it to a gas station, two pumps and a little gift shop off a road McNally must have missed. Reed wasn’t sure what he’d do if not for that luck, but maybe he was due. In the shop he went to pay for the gas while Amelie found the rest room. Behind the counter an old woman stood wearing a shawl, and around her dark head were pretty strings of beads. “Hello, Ma’am. Sure is a scorcher today,” he said, holding out a crisp B. Franklin extracted from his wallet. She didn’t take the money. She didn’t move. Was she made of wood? The woman was studying Reed’s face. He was a little spooked by it, but he thought he saw compassion in her eyes. She held up a finger then disappeared through a door behind the register.
When the woman returned, she held out her palm. “This is for you,” she said. He took the object from her as if it might break at his touch. “What is this?” he asked. “It is very old,” she said. “From the Navaho.”
He could see it was a silver and turquoise bracelet. “Sorry, it’s very nice.” He tried to give it back to her.
“It brings good luck,” she said, as if that should change his mind.
Did this sales pitch ever work? He wanted to ask her if he looked that stupid, but instead he smiled. He told her he would love to buy it, but that he just couldn’t afford it right then.
She reached for the money in his other hand. “One hundred. The gas and the charm,” she said, nodding at the bracelet. “It is worth far more, I assure you.”
Reed studied the piece of Indian jewelry. The silver needed polishing. Maybe it was only because the turquoise matched the color with which Amelie had streaked her hair, or that she would probably love the thing at least as soon as she got over her latest snit, but he wanted to buy it for her.
“You can make a single wish,” she said.
“Just one?” Reed smiled again at the old woman. He heard the sound of the door behind him. Am was cursing again. She wanted to know if Reed planned to spend the whole day in this hell hole.
He wished his girlfriend wasn’t such a spoiled brat.
As it turned out, Reed was right. Once they got home and settled, Amelie loved her new bracelet. In fact, she was wearing it a week later when she wanted to talk to him about something. It was strange, really. They were on the couch having just watched another rerun of Twilight. Reed was busy kissing his girlfriend on the neck, whispering in her ear, preparing to lead her to the bedroom. A typical night would involve her acting bored and hard to get before deigning to be the girl of his dreams. That night she was different. Reed was worried because the way she was acting could only be a sign of bad news. Her mouth said she wanted to tell him something, but her eyes clearly did not. He had never seen her so unsure of anything.
“I met someone online,” she said.
“Oh.” His heart felt like a bag of coal.
“It’s not what you think.” She pinched his leg reassuringly. Whatever it was, it was too hard for her to talk about.
“How about just telling me who you met?” She told him she had met a woman. An older woman. Disturbing images flashed before his eyes. He couldn’t make out what they were. “How did you meet?”
“I was curious about something. I googled around.”
He had no idea where she was going with this. He asked her what she was curious about.
“First I have to tell you something.” She was biting at the ring through her lower lip. She appeared to be studying the tattoos on her ankle and the one on the top of her milky foot. “I know I’m not always the best girlfriend.” He heard her mumble under her breath. “I know you’re pissed sometimes.”
He told her he loved her, that that was all that mattered.
“I know you do.” She glanced up at him quickly, then back to her feet. “Admit it, though. You’d change me if you could.”
He palmed her cheek to gently turn her face to his and assured her that she was the sweetest brat he’d ever known.
“What about the debt I got us in? The reckless shit I do?”
“We don’t need to get into this, baby.” He tried to kiss her.
“Reed, stop. I looked for someone online because I need to be punished.”
The room they were in was a vacuum. The two floated in the silence of space.
He asked her what she meant by punished.
“Ms K is a professional disciplinarian.”
“Huh?”
They continued to float, around them the universe spinning slowly.
“I can’t explain this so it makes sense to you,” she said. “I don’t really understand it. I got to thinking last week, and I knew what I had to do.”
“Is this safe, Am?” He was afraid to know what she was actually talking about.
She told him she was going to meet Ms K the next day at Starbucks so they could talk more.
Two days later they had an appointment for something crazy. Reed pulled the pickup to the curb in front of a well-manicured ranch house in the San Fernando Valley. Neither he nor his girlfriend had said much on the drive through the basin. Reed was on edge. Amelie could not seem to get comfortable on the worn seat on the passenger side, and she was looking more pale, if that was possible. Streaks of pink had been added to her hair.
“Reed, you have to promise me.” She pinned him to his spot with sober eyes. “Whatever happens in there,” she nodded at the ranch house, “you have to sit quiet and just watch. Can you do that?”
“I don’t know. You won’t tell me what’s really going on.”
“I can’t. Promise me.”
He sighed, rubbed his rough face with two hands. He hadn’t shaved in two days. She asked him if he trusted her. He felt he had no real choice in the matter.
So Reed played along. He shook the woman’s hand, partook in the introductions, and sat through the preliminary small talk. What do you say to a disciplinarian? Ushered into a room set up as a home office, they were asked to take two seats at a large desk. The scene reminded him of the time he and his girlfriend had tried getting a loan at their local bank. Despite her conservative retro-attire, Ms K looked younger than expected, tall and attractive. Reed had pictured a middle-aged woman. Still she was Amelie’s polar opposite. The contrast between the two females was strikingly evident. Head-to-head, one could believe they were a starchy PTA mom and her wild child teen.
“Is this how you dress for an important meeting?” Ms K had focused on Amelie, her tone shifting abruptly to scolding. “You’re not out for a night of clubbing.”
His girlfriend was gothic punk. Lip and septum rings were shining. Reed felt a moment of amusement. Had this all been staged? He was aware of the idea of role-playing. Now that he thought of it, Ms K was dressed rather odd. An apron with pictures of cupcakes all over it seemed a bit much. He had noticed the tattoos on her ankles. The 1950’s housewife look and attitude had to be affected.
“This is what I like to wear,” Amelie said. “You didn’t say anything about a dress code.”
“I assumed you were mature enough to know better, but then the choices you’ve been making in your life are what bring you here today, aren’t they?”
That was to become the topic for discussion. Ms K was cool, calm, and collected as she talked from a list of offenses that read like a rap sheet of adolescent rebellion and irresponsibility. Public indecency… Ecstasy… The party she threw in their rec room that got them thrown out of their condo. Reed knew full well that his girlfriend was a free spirit, but when actually confronted with an itemized accounting, he was suddenly struck by the fact that Amelie Jane Adams did have a problem. The sobering thought was that changes in her life were needed. Could this nice cupcake lady seated imperially across the desk from them help in any meaningful way? What were her qualifications?
If you think this story is strange so far, believe me, this is the part you’re going to be shaking your head. After discussing Amelie’s bad behavior, Ms K informed her that things were, indeed, going to change. It was time Amelie learned to be a proper young lady.
“There is a bathroom down that hall,” she said. “You will get out of those clothes, wash your face and come back here to this office when you are finished. Is that clear?”
He expected she would be laughing. Certainly she would have a suggestion for where Ms K could get psychiatric help, but what Amelie did was say, “This is stupid,” got up from her chair and walked to the door. With mouth open, Reed watched his obedient girlfriend leave the room, then listened to the echo of combat boots on wood flooring as they clattered down the hall.
“Are you okay?” Ms K’s attention was now on Reed. Her eyes had softened. “Amelie tells me you’re not sure about this.”
“About what?” He didn’t want to sound confrontational. “Are you guys playing some kind of game?”
“You can think of it that way if you like. It is not going to be a game for your friend.”
Reed didn’t understand. “Can I ask you something? Why did you get into… what you do?”
“I enjoy everything about it.”
He just wanted to be sure Am was going to be alright. Ms K assured him that she would be fine. She said, “Throughout history, countless boys and girls have not only survived this form of discipline, but were better off for having experienced it.”
His mind abuzz, he noticed that Amelie had slipped back into the room and was standing behind the chair next to him. Her silent entry was aided by the fact that she wore no clothes to rustle, no shoes to clatter. She had nothing on but a pair of small, white underpants and her silver and turquoise bracelet.
“Come with me, young lady.” Ms K had Amelie’s upper right arm firmly in grip and was marching her back out the door she had just entered. In a trance, Reed followed behind. Down the dim hall they went, silhouettes against the light ahead. Was his girlfriend resisting? He couldn’t tell for sure. Her feet were reluctant, as if she were being forced to keep up with the quicker pace Ms K was setting. The sight of Amelie under the control of this powerful woman stunned his senses. He saw a girl exposed and fragile. He was aroused.
His girlfriend had been marched into the kitchen, a clean, ordered room filled with yellow sunshine streaming through a large bay window. In the corner next to the stove was a thigh-high wooden stool that Ms K dragged scraping the floor into the center of the room. Resting on the seat of the stool was a hairbrush. Reed described it as old and worn. The bristles appeared to be backed by a substantial amount of dark, solid wood. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, so he sat at the small breakfast table facing the scene to be played out before him.
If you had seen Reed sitting at that kitchen table, I don’t know what you’d have been thinking. The best I can describe it is he looked confused, like all sound he heard was coming from an old radio, where everything around him had suddenly turned black, white, and grainy. As Ms K, seated on the stool, was guiding Amelie up and over her lap, and then tugging down the little white pants, pasted on Reed’s face was a bewildered smile. “Where do bad girls get punished?” Ms K asked. If Amelie knew, she did not care to answer. Reed knew. As you might expect, he was a big fan of his girl’s body. He loved her butt. Her ass… her booty… you know, the words used to identify that area of the anatomy. That wasn’t the word Ms K used. Reed could not help but grin because this girl’s discipline was going to be a spanking on her bottom. Her bare bottom.
A spanking? The more specific term for what Amelie was to receive that afternoon is a hairbrush spanking. Her boyfriend had no time to think about what that could mean before Ms K was in the process of administering the punishment. Before Reed could be fearful of the potential for pain, he recognized that Amelie’s disciplinarian was taking it easy. He was relieved to see that the inherent weight of that hard round object was being applied with only quick snaps of the wrist, what looked to be no more than a child’s punishment, though the reaction from Am indicated that she was feeling the effect, a stinging to inspire a string of breathy exclamations and some restless squirming. Reed was loving it. He thought she was just as cute as she could be, a naughty little girl over her Mommy’s cupcake decorated knee.
When the spanking stopped, Amelie was sporting two bright red spots on her white skin, each reflecting the shape of the hairbrush. Ms K scolded her again for her very bad behavior, making certain the reason for this old-fashioned lesson was clearly understood. Proper young ladies are well-mannered. They are modest. They do not use foul language. They are not excessively self-indulgent. They do not smoke or drink or ingest harmful substances. They respect other people’s property. They obey all laws, and above all, they are kind and considerate of others, especially their boyfriends.
Reed was enjoying this immensely. That was about to change. Amelie’s disciplinarian informed the room that when girls have been very bad, they lose their sitting privileges. The hairbrush was raised, and in the blink of an eye, a girl was getting her first real spanking, the one she would never forget. Reed was startled right out of his complacency, his notion that he was witness to a charming little game. The color in the kitchen had turned cooler. The sunflowers watching from the window sill were grim. Ms K had warned him. No game. She was entirely focused, peppering a spoiled brat’s upturned nakedness with snaps of wrist much sharper than before, the sound of hard wood to delicate flesh now lush with corporeal resonance. His girlfriend quickly wanted no part of what was happening to her as evidenced by the yelping, the kicking, and what appeared to be the sincere effort to wriggle and twist off of her disciplinarian’s apron. Ms K simply held fast, her assault on that raised behind relentless. Reed didn’t know what to do. He was being pushed and pulled by two opposing forces. One insisted that he yell for it to stop, and if that didn’t save his sweetheart from her agony, then he must get up from his chair and stop it. The other was Am’s own voice. Whatever happens, he must not interfere.
We can never read her mind, but Amelie was probably hoping her boyfriend had forgotten any promises made since leaving their apartment that day. She was acting like she needed to be rescued. The way it worked out is that the spanking ended without the need for heroics. Ms K was soon satisfied, and that was that. Reed watched his wet-faced girl helped down, two palms all consumed with rubbing as if they might smother a fire. The color inflicted could have inspired a Baskin-Robbins flavor of the month. Reed remembered to breathe. His heart was tripping, but all that remained were the hugs. Amelie was forgiven. Her slate was clean.
On the passenger side in Reed’s pickup, she was more uncomfortable on her seat going home than she had been on the way to see her disciplinarian, but that’s not to say she was unhappy. On the contrary, Am was giddy. Once they got over some initial embarrassment, an awkwardness they felt when finally alone after what had happened, she was more relaxed and talkative than he could remember her having been in a long time. I’m not saying she was a different person. I’m not saying that in the days ahead she would behave like Ms K’s proper young lady. Amelie was created by nature a brat, however, she was no longer an unaccountable one. She would make a better effort at being good. After all, there were consequences to consider because very naughty girls got taken back to see Ms K, who always had ways to induce sorrow and shame for misbehavior. It was during this time that the lightbulb came on for Reed. One evening in a fit of inspiration, he provided his cranky, ill-mannered girl with his own attempt at sound traditional discipline.
It was soon after that, I was standing as best man at their wedding. Aside from the groom himself, I would bet I was the only person in the over one hundred gathered who knew the whole story behind Amelie’s bracelet. The bride with neon pink hair and matching pink sneakers was the girl everyone expected, but I understood that the vows taken were more than just platitudes. You may not be buying it, but I watched the exchange of rings and the groom kissing the bride. I listened to the judge’s reading of the Navaho Wedding Blessing.
Now you have lit a fire and that fire should not go out.
The two of you now have a fire that represents love,
understanding and a philosophy of life.
It will give you heat, food, warmth and happiness.
The new fire represents a new beginning –
a new life and a new family.
The fire should keep burning; you should stay together.
You have lit the fire for life, until old age separates you.
I saw it in their eyes. Reed’s one wish had become the best of luck for both of them.
I took a few days off – and since most of you probably haven’t completed reading the first 20 yet, I figured that’d be okay.
I’ll get the ‘final four’ up later today, along with a few getaway photos if I have time.
– Dana