Tag: spanking blog

Readers,

While I should likely be hard at work on some more interesting blog post, video editing project, or email back-up, my mind is still on east coast time and there’s not much brilliance sparking upstairs this very early Las Vegas morning.

So.

Since it’s nearly my birthday, I think I’ll allow myself a few minutes of mindless self-involvement – although it should be noted that I have been asked about my height and musical preferences more often than not.

So here’s one of those “Things you don’t know about me” things…

1. I am 5’8″ tall. (This comes as a surprise to many of my playmates upon our first meeting, and I’m not sure why. Do I look short?)

2.  I wear a size 8 shoe.

3. Jeans and sneakers are my preferred everyday wardrobe.

4. While most of them are usually covered, I have a LOT of tattoos – and I love every single one of them.

5.  I am the crazy cat lady.

6. Good books make me very happy. I’ve avoided the Kindle craze thus far, as printed pages are a large part of the joy of reading for me.

7.  I’m from Texas. Ya’ll.

8.  I usually cut my own hair. That’s why it looks the way it does. Ha!

9.  Believe it or not, I absolutely HATE to fly.

10.  I don’t wake up well.

11.  Talking on the telephone is not on my list of favorite things to do.

12.  I love to sing, although I am decidedly not good at it. Most all music has the capacity to charm me.

13.  I also love to dance. (See above)

14.  Shopping malls make me claustrophobic.

15.  Most embarrassingly, I buy People magazine nearly every week.


Now, back to spanking…

–  Dana

Now, go off and write a great, original spanking story, including all the details above – and use your imagination!


As is custom, the winning author will receive a spanking session with me – his or her ‘prize’.
The winner will be announced at the end of the month, and all qualifying story entries posted throughout the month of November for your reading pleasure.


And remember, Good Boys and Girls follow The Rules:

* NO references to characters under 18 years of age.
*NO overtly sexual situations or foul language.

Spanking scenes may be of any genre – F/M, F/F, M/F, M/M, etc.

Feel free to include as many or as few additional characters as you like, so long as the primary characters and characteristics are there.

By entering the contest, you agree to allow me to share, edit/excerpt your story, here and in other publishing platforms.

Send your entry to DanaKaneSpanks@gmail.com.

Good writing, and Good luck!

–  Dana

“They are passing, posthaste, posthaste, the gliding years – to use a soul-rending Horatian inflection. The years are passing, my dear, and presently nobody will know what you and I know.” – Vladimir Nabokov


October is my birthday month, and this year I am turning forty. 

Surprisingly, I do not find this even remotely intimidating (although forty-one may bring on a whole other group of emotions), and am looking forward to the myriad interesting things which the world and my body have in store for me in this second half of life.

This year, like every other, I am grateful for my (ever-so-small but fierce) family, and for my iron ring of loving and thoroughly-loved friends. I am also grateful every day for the wonderful playmates I’ve made through the years, and for all the cool and intelligent people with whom I have had the pleasure of communicating online and through this blog. You all enrich my life in ways that I cannot properly express. 

Thus far, this blog contains somewhere around 390 posts, over 100 original, reader-submitted spanking stories, nearly a dozen writing and photo contests, and many thousand of my own spanking-centered, rambling words.

I hope that each of you, kind enough to spend a little time participating in this blog, is aware of my genuine affection for you, and my gratitude. Thank you all.

– Dana

If you are interested in celebrating the impending birthday of a quite-possibly-virtual stranger, I humbly suggest the following two options, in order of importance:

Donate to Foreclosed Upon Pets, a Las Vegas animal rescue organization committed to saving the thousands of pets that are being abandoned in Las Vegas when homeowners lose their mortgages. These people are doing absolutely amazing work. (Or donate to your local animal charity instead.)

Or, peruse my Amazon wish list.

Readers,

As severe as The Very Bad Boy’s delrin punishment may have been, within just a couple hours he was asking for more. And just when you might be thinking that I am too severe…his Wonderful Wife takes over and administers quite a hard spanking on his somewhat unmarked right cheek (since the left was out of commission) with wooden implements and even more delrin! Then she invites me back in to help her finish off the VBB’s bottom – again.

Of course, with this level of silliness on his part, we had to film it. And we had to share it with you. Believe it or not…he ASKED for this.

We all had a whole lot of fun, in spite of the somewhat serious infractions on his part, and we all hope you enjoy watching the videos.

–  Dana

Since the ‘Pic Your Bum’ contest generated several fun photo entries, and many, many votes – let’s have another, shall we?

The winner of the ‘Marital Discipline’ photo contest will receive a Dana Kane Marital Discipline DVD, via US Mail.

* Your photo MUST BE post-spanking. While severe marks are not required (or recommended), some noticeable level of pinkness, at the least, must be visible.

* Self-spanking is allowed, if you are not one of the fortunate few who has a regular spanking playmate.

* Entrants may be of any gender.

*As in the previous ‘Pic Your Bum’ contest, all photo entries must contain a written statement – in this case, ‘Marital Discipline’ or some variation, so that it’s obvious that your entry photo was taken specifically for this contest.

* Be creative! The voting will be done by other blog readers, so use your imagination.

* The contest will last two weeks, after which I will post up the qualifying entries (anonymously, of course). Then readers will be given one week to vote on their favorite photo entry.

Have fun!

– Dana

Readers,

The Very Bad Boy has now received his Delrin punishment. As you know, Angel received hers weeks ago, so it was about time to get VBB’s out of the way, too. I honestly hope that this is the final punishment that either of them receives from me.

He wasn’t allowed to roll the fuzzy dice, as Angel was kind (cruel) enough to leave a dry-erase die that I could write my own chosen numbers on. So, the lowest number of strokes that the VBB could possibly receive from each of my eleven (yes, I found another in the closet) Delrin implements was 12. The highest was 25. 

During the entire duration, his Wonderful Wife stood just out of camera range, keeping a close eye on him.

The VBB managed to bite his tongue throughout the ordeal, keeping back his usual bratty talk. This allowed him to slip somewhat sneakily into a very large bottomspace where likely nothing could’ve reached his limits. Much aftercare was provided him immediately afterward.

This is a very hard corporal punishment session. During the last round of strokes – with a particularly evil and painful Delrin cane – skin breaking does occur. 

With all this said, it is likely that the punishment will result in somewhat-cooperative behavior on the part of the Very Bad Boy – for at least a day or two.

– Dana

Click the screenshot above to open the picasa video viewer in a new tab.

I must admit, I’m pretty chuffed with the ‘Pic Your Bum’ photo contest.

While there may have been only a small number of brave entrants, the voting response was surprisingly robust. Each entrant received a respectable number of votes, but three managed to pull well ahead of the rest.
Of those three, two ‘Bums’ were in a near-dead heat up until the last minutes of the contest.

Total number of votes: 174


And the winner of the ‘Pic Your Bum’ photo contest – and a DVD copy of Sternwood Academy (featuring lots of great actors, spanking models…and me)  is:

Congratulations to the winner – he’ll be receiving his Sternwood Academy DVD via US mail.

I will be making a return visit to Rochester, NY, on Friday and Saturday, September 28 & 29, 2012.

Those interested in disciplinary consideration should email danakanespanks@gmail.com.

My sweet friend Sarah Gregory was here recently, and we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to show our enthusiasm for our friends at Caneiac.com. And what better way than a fun little spanking video featuring a few of their implements?

Three leather implements, and two wood – mind you, Sarah’s not a fan of hard play, so a couple of these were a little tough for her. She’s SUCH a good sport!

We hope you enjoy watching

– Dana

Readers,

Here’s your chance to help me (and your fellow spanking fans) out with a little contest. A few weeks ago, I requested that readers take a photo of their bum, along with the words “Pic Your Bum” to show that the photo was taken specifically for the contest. 

Now I’m asking you all to vote on your favorite Bum Pic. The photos are in random order, and all entrants will remain anonymous, of course. I’ll accept votes for a week, then announce the winner here.

The winner will receive the new spanking DVD release ‘Sternwood Academy’.

* Please only vote once. Cheaters will be publicly shamed.

* Comments will be moderated.

(Good luck to the ‘Bums’!)

– Dana

I think you’ll all agree that the ‘Fantasy Island’ Person, Place, and Thing spanking story contest has generated some very detailed, thoughtful, and imaginative tales. I will post up all entries throughout the month of September, and you’ll be delighted at the island spankings taking place in each. 

While all of the entries were really quite remarkable, I was particularly taken with one titled “Tropical Island” – this month’s winner. Twisty and magical, this is a spanking story with a literary imagination of it’s own. 

You’ll be happy to read that the author will receive, for his hard work and creativity, a very sound spanking.

Enjoy!

PS. My sincerest thanks to the wonderful writers who continue to populate these contests.  Even though not everyone can win every contest, these talented people take the time to imagine, write, edit, and share their spanking fantasy stories with us all. 

–  Dana

It was all very strange – she couldn’t remember getting here – wherever ‘here’ was, or indeed anything that had gone before, yet she knew she was wearing an exclusive yellow shantung dress and £275 Christian Louboutin shoes. She also knew, without knowing how, that she was wearing a matching set of What Katie Did lingerie and a pair of almost colourless – and extremely expensive – seven denier Gerbe Voile stockings.  

In front of her, the sea was that wonderful Mediterranean blue that only ever seemed to exist in films, while spotless white sands disappeared into the horizon both left and right. Behind her were palm trees and a narrow road leading to a large, white, colonial-style building, which she just knew she was staying in.  
Quite why she was here, at the beach, in such unsuitable clothes, she couldn’t begin to imagine – and why, despite all she did know, she couldn’t even remember her own name. ‘This is curiouser than Alice,’ she thought – or perhaps even said out aloud. It was difficult to tell as everything felt so unreal. She didn’t feel any pain or discomfort and couldn’t remember being in any kind of accident that might have caused amnesia – and if she had been in one, why was she here, rather than at home – assuming, of course this wasn’t her home …?  

Her thoughts were interrupted when a middle-aged man appeared, almost like a Demon King in a pantomime, at her side. He, like her was not really dressed for the beach, although his white linen suit, his Sea-Island cotton shirt and his panama hat (Did anyone wear panama hats any more? she wondered) were of the very best and his sandals, while not new, looked beautifully-made  – and probably hand-lasted. He carried a walking-cane of yellowish-brown bamboo but didn’t seem to need its help – it just went with the whole picture so well.  

‘Good day, young lady,’ he said, doffing his hat to her and bowing ever so slightly from the waist, ‘How nice it is to see you again.’  

‘I’m sorry,’ she replied, ‘but I don’t seem to remember you – or anything else very much, to be honest. Are you sure we’ve met before?’  

‘Oh, yes, Miss, indeed we have – on several occasions. We don’t always look the way we do today, however, and that’s probably confusing you somewhat.’  

‘Well – who did we look like? The last time we met, I mean.’  

‘Hmmm – let me think …. It’s more than just looks, to be quite honest with you; we are sometimes quite different people, yet underneath all that, always the same people, if you follow … but I can see you don’t, Shall we sit down on this nice little bench seat here and I’ll see what I can do about telling you all there is to know.’  

She hadn’t noticed the delicate, wrought-iron and painted wood bench seat – or the little table, along with two glasses and a jug of something that looked deliciously cold. Was she going mad – or had she been out in this lovely sunlight for too long? Oh, well ….  

He poured a drink for them both and settled back, saying, ‘Now let me see – the last time we met – you were a schoolgirl – your name, if I remember correctly, was Erica Bradshaw, and I was Miss Helen Byrne-Jones, the head teacher of a 1950s English girls boarding school called St Walpurga’s – and I had just given you twelve strokes of the senior cane on your pretty little bare bottom, with your knickers around your knees.’  

‘Y-you were a woman – a teacher …?’  
‘Yes, my dear – and you were a naughty, eighteen-year-old minx who had pushed her luck once too often and a little too hard. I can remember it as if it were yesterday. The time before that, I was an over-worked and overwrought business woman and you were my lazy Lesbian lover. I had to give you six good ones with the Lochgelly tawse to encourage you to pull your weight around the house instead of spending all your time reading BDSM fiction on the internet and -er – playing naughty games, if you get my – anyway, happy days.’  

‘Hmmph – for you, no doubt. Do you always get to whack girls? Are you some kind of pervert who gets his kicks from another’s pain?’  

‘As a matter of fact, I don’t – always whack girls, that is. Now, that’s taken you aback, hasn’t it? I was once – no, twice – a fearsome lady, a Head of Household by the name of Mistress Karen, who kept her husband Ron very firmly in his place with frequent application of a Lexan paddle to his bare backside. You were, of course, Ron – in those particular cases and I – well, I’ll leave that to you to work out.  

‘So – you are telling me ….’  
‘Yes – that I am Spanker and you, my dear, are Spankee; those are our fixed roles which can be moulded as our creator thinks fit.’  

‘Our C-creator?’ she said, involuntarily looking skyward as if to catch a glimpse of the same.  
‘Oh, no – not ‘Creator’ with a big ‘C’, just creator – our author, as he likes to think of himself; others might disagree with the term.’  

‘W-we are characters in a story?’  
‘That’s right. May I get you another drink – it will stay at this amount and perfect temperature until our creator remembers to do something with it, so we may as well enjoy it while we can.’  

‘Er – thank you, I will have another. W-where are we – and why are we here, do you think?’  
‘I would say we are on some idealised tropical island, probably a semi-prepared scenario for a competition of some sort; this isn’t his usual kind of thing, and I am assuming he is setting the scene with us. That’s probably why you are dressed for a night at the opera when a swimsuit, a sarong and a sun-hat would have been much more suitable attire.’  

‘Swimsuit, sarong and sun-hat – lazy Lesbian lover … they are both examples of  – what is it – alliteration, aren’t they? A writer’s trick?’  

‘Quite so, my dear – O.C considers himself very literate and loves to indulge in a little wordplay; sometimes he even drags in some portentous but often not quite appropriate Latin phrase to show how smart he is; he can’t seem to help himself. Sadly, these little tricks often displace much idea of a good story, apart from when we get to a list of “Whack!”s, followed quickly by “Ouch!”es, which is what all of his stories are about, really. That, and a half-hour in the corner with your bare, bruised bottom on display.’ He almost winced as he trotted out yet another clumsy alliteration.  

‘And I – I am here to be whacked – is that it?’  

‘You have it in one, my dear – spanked, caned, tawsed or paddled – or any combination of the four. He did have a minor flirtation with dressage whips, but that was a long while ago – in fact, he hasn’t written anything at all in quite some time, although what he calls “impact play” occupies his thoughts an awful lot.’  

‘So, what will happen, then – if you don’t mind telling me. Will you just put me over your knee and spank me – is that it? Will you be using that wicked-looking walking cane on me?’  

‘Oh, no, my dear, I wouldn’t think so for a minute. Our creator isn’t very good, but he isn’t a brute; this cane is merely a prop, and almost certainly part of the scene he is setting. And even he has to have some kind of reason for me to spank you.  

‘What kind of reason?’  
‘My, you do ask a lot of questions, young lady – you are making me quite thirsty again,’ he said, pouring another drink from the jug; the level of liquid didn’t change by as much as a millimetre.  

‘Essentially, there are only a few distinct stories in all literature. Some authorities – if that is a suitable word – claim there are twenty. Others, Booker, for instance, maintain there are only seven, while there are those who have identified – or at least claim to have identified, thirty-six. It seems to be very much a case of “paying your money and taking your choice”, but there are generally acknowledged to be nine sub-plots involving spanking, if that’s any help to you.’  

‘Well, it’s a good job we have somewhere to sit and a seemingly endless supply of this delicious drink to get through while you tell me about them – do go on – I am intrigued.’  
‘Before I begin, may I ask your name, Miss? It would make things much easier if I didn’t have to keep calling you “Miss”, “young lady” or “my dear”.’  
‘Why, of course – I should have said earlier. My name is … now that’s odd – all I can think of is [a].’  
‘Oh, the lazy bugger! He calls himself a writer? – why, he hasn’t even given us proper names yet and is still using place-markers – how ever he hopes to get this published, even on-line, is quite beyond me. It would appear that I am [b], by the way.’  
‘You were saying, Mr [b] ….’  
‘Oh, yes, the plots. Well, we aren’t in an office situation, so you probably haven’t been dipping in to the petty cash or using the company ‘phone to chat to your aunt in Saskatchewan in company time. Nor are you a schoolgirl – this time, at any rate, nor a frustrated but horny lady who just fancies getting her bottom warmed for the fun of it.’  

‘Well, that’s three out of the way!’  
‘Yes, so on we go. You haven’t been abducted by some whip-wielding wacko to be a plaything for his perverted pleasure – oh, my, here we go again! – yet more shoddy alliteration. We really must try to get a better author, or at least improve the one we have. Where did we get to?’  

‘Five’  

‘Oh, yes. Well, we don’t appear to be part of “the family that spanks together” or the blushing bride being “instructed in her new duties”. I may just be an uncle you have been sent to spend some time with in order for him to “adjust your attitude”, or your boss – “if you want to keep your job, Miss [a] …”. That leaves us with only one more option, the “professional spanking service”, but I think that one is best left alone, don’t you?’  

‘Yes – but I’m not crazy about any of them, to be honest. Then again, I suppose we have to be here for something – a competition, you said you thought it might be?’  
‘I think that’s the most likely reason, and that the wayward rich girl being sent to spend some time with an older relative, in a place she can’t easily leave, in order to “learn some respect” is probably the best we can speculate upon at pre ….  

***  

Ken Thompson closed the file named ‘Story 11 – Notes’, opened a new window on his laptop and typed in:  
‘Tropical Island Competition Entry’  
by saucy_scribe  

Part One – Coming to the Island  
The Cessna Caravan, belonging to the ABG Group of Companies, had been adapted from its normal, freight-only role to carry four passengers in addition to its monthly payload of supplies for the small tropical isle owned and inhabited by Raymond Gardner, among the richest men on The Times rich-list, and his hand-picked staff.  

Today, his niece, Caroline Andrews, was flying in to spend some time with her uncle Ray – not that this would have been her choice of holiday, however; her parents, scandalised by Caroline’s dropping-out of University and her subsequent wild partying that had cost a lot of money to keep out of the papers and away from the beady eyes of the police, had decided to send her to live with her mother’s brother for a month.  

He was a well-known businessman and had a no-nonsense reputation; if anyone could bring Caroline around on to the right track, it was Raymond Gardner – and, for a month, Caroline would have  nowhere else to go ….  

The Captain announced the narrow runway was in sight and that the passengers, Caroline and Norah Phillips, her governess/nanny/minder/prison-guard – Caroline was never quite certain which of these hats she was wearing at any particular moment – should fasten their seat-belts and prepare for landing.



Norah touched Caroline’s arm gently, saying ‘Wake up, Caroline – we are almost at your uncle’s island. Did you have a nice little snooze?’  

‘Er – yes, thank you, Norah, but I had the strangest dream ….’  

The chunky little turbo-prop with its large, soft tyres, came to a stop on the white, sandy runway and suddenly hands were quickly unloading the supplies and refuelling the small aircraft. A middle-aged man wearing a white linen suit, a Sea-Island cotton shirt and hand-made sandals was waiting, just outside the landing-area, for the two women who would be his guests for the next month. He waved to them with an ornate bamboo walking-cane ….  

‘Now come along, Caroline, and stop day-dreaming! We have to see about getting our things taken up to the house and then I think we could both do with a good long soak and a rest before dinner. Why don’t you wear your lovely new yellow dress and those fabulous CL shoes and wow your uncle Raymond? Tomorrow, we’ll put on our swimsuits, sun-hats and sarongs and hit that gorgeous beach! Caroline – Caroline …?’  

END  

I will be revisiting my lovely playmates in New York City on Nobember 12-14, followed by Albany, NY, and Toronto. 

Also, I’ve added a return trip to Memphis, TN, on October 12-13.

For disciplinary consideration, please read the Appointments page, then email me directly at:

danakanespanks@gmail.com.

The August Person, Place, and Thing writing contest – ‘Fantasy Island’ – will end on August 31. The winner will be announced first of September. Story writing winners will win a spanking session with me, and all qualifying entries will be posted for your reading enjoyment during the month of September.

The ‘Pic Your Bum’ photo contest will end September 3. I will then post up all qualifying entries and give readers one week to vote on the winner. The ‘Pic Your Bum’ winning photo will receive a DVD copy of ‘Sternwood Academy’ via US mail.

If participation in the ‘Bum’ contest warrants, I will continue holding non-writing-type contests, with the next winner to receive a Dana Kane Custom DVD.

This is a fun, strict scene shot with Pandora Blake and Mike Stryker. 
From Pandora, on Dreams of Spanking:

I will be visiting my friends and playmates in Texas in October: San Antonio on Saturday the 20th, and Houston on Saturday the 27th.


Please read the Appointments page before emailing:
danakanespanks@gmail.com

Since the writing contests are so much fun, and I’ve had an enormous amount of positive feedback from them, it seems only right to continue the trend.

While I receive many excellent entries to each story writing contest, I’ve also received many emails from readers who just aren’t confident enough in their writing skills to enter. So I’ve decided to host a new set of contests, for those of you who aren’t natural writers, and to give away some fun spanking-related prizes to the winners. 

The first new contest will be:

This one should be a LOT of fun:

Take a self-shot photo of your bottom. Your photo may be either pre- or post-spanking, clothed or nude, and funny, interesting, sexy, or whatever else you come up with.

Include in your photo a piece of paper on which you’ve written “Pic Your Bum” (so I know that the photo is you, and taken specifically for the contest).

All entries will be posted here on my blog, and other readers will choose the winner.

Please, no overtly sexual or obscene imagery.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

This is a fantastic new project on which I’ve been working with my friends at Alpine Sierra Studios. In it, several naughty schoolgirls are taught how to be proper ladies, and to comport themselves with dignity and respect. When they do not, serious discipline is in order.

Watch as Coach Michaels, Feenix, and I take these young ladies in hand:
(Featuring Cali Cutie, Alex Reynolds, Cheyenne Jewel, Ela Darling, Heather Michaels, and Lucky Sky.)

Tuesday through Friday, October 9-12, I will be re-visiting  my playmates in Chicago, Detroit, and St. Louis. 

Please read the Appointments page before emailing:
danakanespanks@gmail.com

Angel has been bratting, publicly, for the past few months, on social networking sites like Twitter. 

After allowing both Angel and The VBB enough rope to hang themselves, so to speak, I decided it was time for punishment.

The following video is Angel’s Delrin Punishment:

(What follows is real punishment – not brutal, but certainly not for the squeamish. And Angel’s tears are real, too…)

–  Dana

Anthony has sent along another excellent story for the Brief Encounter story contest, and, although he wasn’t eligible for the prize – it’s a great read. Thanks, Anthony!


– Dana

The Gambler


by Anthony


It was finally Ryan’s stop. There was a prolonged screech then he had
to nudge a pregnant woman and three tourists out of the way with his
knee to get out the train doors. The thing is, he thought, if you
didn’t work in the City, you bet your nattiest bermuda shorts that you
didn’t belong on the commuter train during rush hour.


The train wooshed its goodbye, hurtling away to its next destination.


Uh-oh, wait! He turned and beckoned to the almost vanished train.
Something was wrong here. Really wrong.


What should have been a bustling train station, his station, the
station he frequented each work day for better or worse, was
completely empty. Empty as in not a living body within sight.


A white painted sign on the pitted and tagged concrete wall adjacent
to the tracks exclaimed: Nowhere Station.


Nowhere Station?


What the hell had he stepped into now? Furthermore, what deranged
person put graffiti on the wall of Nowhere Station?


That was when he heard the sound. Sound was a charitable word for what
was most certainly a guitar in great pain somewhere down the tunnel:


And the sons of Pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their fathers’ magic carpets made of steel.
Mothers with their babes asleep,
Are rockin’ to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.


Good God. His day was worsening by the second. Against better
instincts he started walking toward the noise, apologizing to Arlo
Guthrie for what he’d find.


Rounding a bend in the tunnel, he saw a upper-middle-aged man in a
worn herringbone sport coat seated on a concrete step, picking at the
guitar.


“You know, if you don’t practice, it plays hell on your fingers to
start up,” the man said, focusing on his strings and not looking
Ryan’s way. “Kind sir,” the man finally looked up at Ryan, “I broke a
string – would you have five bucks so I can get a replacement?”


Ryan considered offering him a twenty to take up a different
instrument, but said “Where am I? Please tell me you’re a figment of
my imagination.”


“You have arrived at Nowhere. Don’t you think I’m real?”


Ryan just shook his head.


“Are you comin’ or are you going?”


“I take that train every day,” Ryan said. “I’ve never had this happen.”


“I gave up the smokes,” the man said, strumming absentmindedly, almost
pleasantly. “That’s what killed him, you know?”


Nowhere Station was humid this day, and the man was sweating
profusely. He slid his pick between a couple strings in the neck of
the guitar and reached for an accent of red color in his coat’s breast
pocket. Ryan considered offering him a clean handkerchief but quickly
recanted.


“He told me a lotta stuff beforehand though, and you know at the time
it always sounds good.”


Suprisingly Ryan saw that instead of the expected handkerchief, the
man had pulled out a clean and folded pair of red panties and was
ready to wipe his brow with them. The man caught the mistake and shook
his head. “I been doing that more, lately. Like to say it’s because I
gave up whiskey, but there’s a small chance it might also be age
related.”


He laughed and pulled muddied linen from some other crevice that Ryan
didn’t want to know about, wiped his brow and returned the
handkerchief. The man waved the red panties in the air, “I keep these
laundered. They have sentimental value for me.”


Ryan was transfixed by the panties, estimating that they didn’t really
appear to fit the man. The man asked “Ever been on the other side,
young fella?”


Ryan looked from the gyrating panties, directly into the man’s eyes.
Back to the panties. Back to the man’s eyes.


“I’m not sure who you are,” Ryan said slowly. “I don’t even know where
I’m at. I never thought I’d say this…but all I really want at this
point in the worst way is to see the gray walls of cubeland and the
world’s most boring financial spreadsheet on the dismal flat panel
display on my desk.”


“The other side,” the man continued. “You know what I mean? You don’t
always have to give, you know? You can also be a winner on the
receiving end.”


“After I met him on the train coming here and we parted company,
abruptly,” the man reflected, “I thought I’d turn good overnight. Just
like magic.” He laughed. “You know, old man meets young man. A taste
of some advice and then I’m a shark too.”


“Well, I started hanging out here more often, and I met a lot of good
people.” The old man looked at Ryan. “People like yourself that would
drop in for a bit, then leave for Somewhere Else Station.” He added,
“You won’t be staying long here either, my friend.”


Ryan nodded agreement on the first thing the man had said that made sense.


“I didn’t play the guitar so well then, but I always had a deck of
cards with me. So, when they came to the station, always a little out
of sorts, I’d be the Welcome Wagon, the Greeter, and somehow no matter
who it was, we always ended up playing a single hand of poker. For
some small wager.”


“Of course I still got the cards,” the man said, laying the panties
over his leg temporarily and pulling out a boxed deck from his sport
coat pocket, handing them to Ryan.


“I didn’t get good overnight, but I got passable, especially with more
practice. And more confident. I started winning more than I lost.
Anyway, one day a fine young woman dropped in. I remember her
distinctly ’cause she was wearing a bright red dress. Well, and ’cause
of the rest.” He laughed.


Ryan leaned forward, interested despite himself. “Red? You mean red
like the panties?”


That man nodded and continued, “She had short black hair and a lean
frame. Confused like the others, but it wasn’t gettin the best of her.
When I first saw her, she looked short, but then standing next to me,
nose to nose, she musta been at least five and a half, probably three
or four more than that. She was young, but she held herself up in
conversation.”


The man paused his story, scratching at his chin. “I don’t wanna say
bossy, ’cause it wasn’t that exactly. She did have a certain air about
her, though, that made it look like she was used to bein’ listened
to.’


“Anyway, like the others, I friendly-talked for awhile, then when it
felt good I suggested we do a quick, single game of five card draw. I
asked her, I said ‘You do know how to play five card draw, right?'”


“Well, she’d nodded and smiled and told me that where she was from
they played a lot of cards and that it sounded like fun.”


“And get this, my young friend,” the guitar man leaned in toward Ryan.
“She says to me: ‘I’m sure you’ll want to have some type of stakes
involved. I’m afraid I don’t carry much cash, but I do have an idea of
what we could play for.'”


“Well, then she nearly knocked my socks off with a proposition for the
winner. If I won, she said, she’d stand in front of me, and slowly
strip off the exquisite–that was her word, exquisite–silky red
panties she was wearing under her red dress. And that those panties
would be mine for all of time.”


“But get this,” the man continued. “She said the flip side of it was
that if she somehow got lucky and won, and she figured there wasn’t
much chance of that, that I’d have a sore bottom for a week,
guaranteed. Cause she’d take off her black shoe (‘This one right
here’) and bend me over the concrete we’re sitting on right now. Then
she’d lower my trousers and paddle my behind with the sole of that
shoe.”


The man asked Ryan, “Now does that sound like a wager or what?”


Listening to the story, Ryan wondered if guitar man was putting him
on. It was the strangest thing he’d ever heard of and if he ever got
out of Nowhere Station, the happy hour crowd was going to love this
one. Truth or not be damned.


“Honestly, I wanted those red panties bad. I wanted to watch her slide
them down her thighs and over those tight little calves. And to see
her lift each high heel, one at a time, to step out. I wanted to see
how that beautiful red dress clung to her tight bottom as she bent
over to pick up the panties and hand them to me.”


The man reached in his sport coat, retrieved the handkerchief, and
wiped his brow again.


“I know what you’re thinking and you’re wrong. You’re thinking that
this proves that every so often the good guys do win and that life
does have a few happy stories.”


“Well I let her deal, and it sure started right. I was anything but
out of aces – in fact, she’d dealt me not two of them, but three. And
all that before the draw.”


“Well, of course we weren’t playing draw the way it’s normally done,
with an opportunity to add to the pot, bluff, and so on. And I don’t
know why I did it, but when I saw the three of a kind, I leaned over
to her and said, ‘I much would like to see those panties, but if you
want to fold now, we’ll call it off and forget we ever started this
game.'”


Ryan saw humor flare in the man’s eyes as he continued. “Well,” he
said, “she wanted nothing to do with that. She was going to start what
needed to be finished, and she wanted just one card.”


“To make a long story short, when we flipped ’em I still had those
beautiful three aces, but she had something better. She had a lot of
hearts. Lots and lots of them. Enough that it made my stomach churn.”


“I’ve thought about it since. She wasn’t much surprised about the
outcome, but she did mention how those hearts almost matched her
dress, and the panties that I couldn’t see. But then she said that
what the cards were going to match most would be my red hot bottom
when was done spanking me.”


The man stopped for a bit, cocking an eye at Ryan. “I’ve always kept
my word. And I did so on that day as well. She spanked hard and fast
and I squirmed like a little boy. And the shoes off those dainty
little feet put a lot of hurt in my backside. The only thing she
really said as she paddled me was ‘I’ve done a little bit of this
too.'”


“Well, my friend, the story does have a happier ending.”


Ryan noticed that train tracks below were starting to vibrate, only
slightly now, but the man noticed as well. He nodded at Ryan.


“Happy, just like your story’s gonna end. Anyway, when she was done,
she gave me one last hard smack on the behind, this time with her
hand, which hurt nearly as bad as the shoe, and then she almost had to
scrape me out of a ball. My eyes were running. True to her word, I
couldn’t sit comfortable for a long time. But what she did, as I knelt
there looking at her, she slid out of those silky red panties in the
most graceful way, she lifted them up in front of my eyes, then she
slid them into my pocket as slick as all get out. And I’ve had ’em
ever since.” The man smiled and nodded at Ryan.


The tracks were rattling noticeably and Ryan saw an opportunity. “I’m
late for work,” he told the man, rising to his feet and starting back
where he had departed the train.


As he turned back over his shoulder and yelled “Thanks, but I don’t
believe you!” Ryan heard the terrible guitar burst back into action
and somewhere among the screeching he picked up a few of the words:


…
if you’re gonna play the game, boy, you gotta learn to play it right.
You got to know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em
Know when to walk away and know when to run.


before the rest was lost in the roar of the approaching train.

This week finds me revisiting Pittsburgh and Richmond, and making my first trips to Washington D.C. and Raleigh, North Carolina – Tuesday through Saturday, September 25-29th, 2012.


Disciplinary consideration in these cities is limited. Please read the Appointments page before emailing:
danakanespanks@gmail.com.

I had only a short time to spend with this wonderful group of people – a few hours on Saturday night – but am so grateful that I was able to attend. From the minute I walked in, Chicago’s Crimson Moon family welcomed me warmly and made me feel right at home at my first large gathering of spanking enthusiasts. 
Yoni and Mike were both friendly, funny, and obviously dedicated to their members and friends. Each gave a heartfelt speech to the assembled spankos at dinnertime, and it was obvious that the love in the room was 100% real.


I met many of the people with whom I’ve corresponded online, both through email and social networking sites like FetLife. It was cool (and a bit overwhelming) to finally shake hands with so many online friends.


While my visit was short, I did manage to get in a bit of spanking, and boy, was it worth it! The absolutely lovely and hilarious Sarah Gregory was kind enough to ask me to give her a spanking, so I giddily pulled her over my knee for a nice little bare-hand swatting. Sarah is just as sweet and friendly as I knew she would be, and I was tickled to have the opportunity to play with her.


During the first annual Miss OTK USA pageant, I assisted my stellar friend Alex Reynolds for the talent portion, by giving her a short hairbrush spanking while she managed to be painfully cute in her schoolgirl outfit. (I also ended up lending my hairbrush to Yoni for a couple minutes’ use on a pretty lady’s bottom.)


I cannot say enough about this group of people, and am so happy to have had the opportunity to join them in celebrating this thing we do so joyfully.


– Dana

Readers,


The Person, Place, and Thing spanking story contest for August is:

Imagine two well-dressed people…

• No characters under the age of 18 years of age.
• Avoid overtly sexual language, situations, and excessive coarse language.
• Spankings may be F/M, F/F, M/M, or M/F. 
• You may include as many other characters as you like, so long as the story is based on your two main characters.
• Plagiarism is unacceptable.
• By submitting your story, you agree to allow me to share it, here an on other publishing platforms.

The winner will receive a free spanking session with me in any of the cities which I visit, or in my home city of Las Vegas. If you do not reside in an area that makes it convenient to receive the prize, please enter as a non-contestant so that the winner may actually collect the prize.

I will be making another visit to my friends and playmates in Seattle and Vancouver on Wednesday through Friday, September 19-21, 2012.


For disciplinary consideration, please read the Appointments page before emailing:
danakanespanks@gmail.com.