Halloween musings

I had done a post with a couple of video clips. You Tube then decided that it did not approve of my clips so I took the post down. Sorry for the confusion. They weren't particularly exotic so I don't know why they got their knickers in a knot.

We didn't used to do Halloween in the UK when I was growing up but we did have Mischief Night on the 4th November. I reckon this was more fun. You didn't ask any householder if they wanted to be involved. You just went out and got up to mischief. More authentic I guess, but you could get into trouble, depending on what you did. 

My wife is pretty good about Halloween. She does the pumpkin thing so the miniature ghouls know they can come and ring our doorbell. They invariably opt for the Treat.

Wouldn't it be nice if a couple could ask each other "Trick or Treat" ? 

If I said Treat to my wife and she turned up looking like this in the bedroom I would be more than pleased with my Halloween.

Sorted out

I trust that all is OK with readers on the East Coast. 

I guess that some of you may be dealing with damage and that others are just having a day at home, perhaps  because work has been closed. Either way,  I hope the storm clouds clear to sunshine soon.

I had a different reason to be at home yesterday, a bit more mundane than a storm. We were waiting for a delivery of a new washing machine and I agreed to take the morning off work and my wife was going to take the afternoon off. That way we had the whole day covered for the delivery, with not too much holiday taken.

As it turned out the van arrived at about 11 and the whole thing was done and dusted by noon.I called my wife to say that she could stay at work but instead she said she would be home for lunch and I should stay put for the moment.

When I greeted her at the door I got “the look” and she brushed past me to inspect the new machine. I had no idea what the look was for until she came back to the hall.

“Well at least you have done one thing right.”

“How do you mean?”

“What I mean is, I’ve been thinking about that whole DVD thing and your lies and your disobedience and instead of waiting I am going to punish you right now. I need to get it out of my system..”

I just stood there, getting a bit flushed. She hasn’t scolded me like this for a long time and my blood was tingling. I felt a bit of a churn coming on in my stomach and a tingle in my head – partly in trepidation and partly with excitement.

“Take a kitchen chair up to the bedroom and get naked. I will be up in a minute. And give yourself a wash.”

I lifted one of the heavy wooden chairs and she ignored me as I struggled to take it up the stairs. I placed it in the centre of the room and then shed my clothes and made a speedy trip to the bathroom. By the time I walked naked back into the room she was already there..

“ Stand here,” she said, pointing at a spot on the carpet. “ And hold the end of your prick up so I can see it.”

She took off her suit jacket and placed it carefully on a hangar. She was not in a rush it seemed.

“Is the key in the usual place?”

“Yes ma’am”

My wife came back from the blanket chest on the landing holding the riding crop. This is definitely not one of those toy ones. It is a long professional whip with a very flexible rod encased in nylon braid with a leather bound handle and double tab at the end.

As I held the head of my penis in the tips of my fingers it grew a little in length and stiffness as I watched and, more to the point heard, the swish of the crop through the air as she practised her swing.

“First I am going to teach you to keep your hands off this,” she tapped my prick with end of the crop. “And then I’m going to remind you not to lie and not to sit about wanking when I m out. Close your eyes.”

I spread my legs apart for balance and did  as I was told. The hard stem of the crop slashed across my prick and I flinched. As she whipped me she spoke in a crisp manner to match each lash of the crop.

“Don’t”, zip, “ touch”, swish, “this”, crack, “without”, zip, “asking”, zap, “my”, zing,
 “permission”. Smack.

I was biting my lip in agony as that last stroke landed. My prick had engorged and reddened with each stroke. The whipping was as much a stimulant as a punishment. 

Then she turned onto my balls. As the tab landed hard up and under into the soft skin, I got that stomach churning pain which is linked directly to smacked testicles. She slapped relentlessly and all I could think of at first was getting her to stop, and then as the pain warmed up my groin, getting her not to stop. Such is the masochism of a spanko.

Finally,with another swoop of the crop across my prick ,she told me to bend over the chair. The hard wood of the chair back cut into my waist and she made me climb further over it so that my groin and penis were on the bar. The resulting discomfort on my front was only a taster of what was to happen to my rear.

"Get up on your toes and lie right over the chair. Do not move or we start again."

"Yes ma´am."

"I didn´t ask you to speak, so don´t."

She stood by my side at a good distance away for a very effective  swing and started to whip my bare cheeks. She gave no pause in the proceedings and just whipped away with relentless stroke after stroke.

I was jumping and wriggling but managed to hold my place. She scolded as she whipped, telling me not to disobey her in the future and to pay more attention to my responsibilities.

In my head I counted up to maybe 30 strokes but she did not stop for a long time and I lost count.

I wanted to plead that I was sorry and would not do it again but that would have been foolish, given the instruction to take my strokes in silence.

When I thought I could take no more, on my flaming bottom and backs of my legs, she tossed the crop on to the floor and left the room, telling me tidy up and stand in the corner until she told me otherwise.

A half hour later, after she had lunched, she came back upstairs to retrieve her jacket and go back to the office. She came up behind me and rubbed my still hot bottom with a cool hand.

"Learned your lesson have you?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good - in that case call the office and say you are working from home. You can clean upstairs and get on making the dinner. I expect to come home to a well behaved boy, now that the naughty one has been dealt with."

She ran her hand in front of my waist and grasped my stiffening prick. The word naughty gets me going every time.

"And leave this alone, do you hear!"

Forgetfullness brings a demerit

When my wife went to play a DVD yesterday afternoon, for some aerobic exercise that she wanted to perform in the quiet of our living room, she discovered there was already a disc in the player and she was not best pleased when she saw what it was. 

I have been awarded 30 demerits to go in the punishment book.

What she had found was a DVD of  Exit to Eden, that I had watched on Thursday night when she was out with some friends after work. 

She knows the film because a few  years ago we had seen it together and although she thought it was rather a silly movie ,she is only too aware that the spanking scenes excited me.

I was supposed to have ditched the DVD in the trash, in case someone found it in the house, but I could not part with it and from time to time I have taken it with me on work trips, to watch in some hotel room on my laptop.

When she brought it through to the kitchen I knew my goose was cooked so to speak and I could not deny that I had sat and played with myself on the settee when she was out.

In addition to wasting  time when I could have been doing chores,  she was mad that I had orgasmed  without her knowledge and consent, and that I had obviously lied about getting rid of the DVD.

I deserve the demerits and there is no doubt she will make me suffer as a consequence. 

She says that  is not sure that I am sorry I did it or sorry I got found out, but when the time comes she will make me sorry that I am bent over in front of her.

  (p.s.  this scene gets me every time)

Sunday spanklet - It could only be

Spanklet  (n.) - definition - a very short story where an individual is spanked or caned.
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The schoolboy, in his mind, was bent tightly at the waist

As the cane made its inexorably descent

Onto the small target of his bottom, which quivered

But did not flinch or move.

The timorous smack on the bare bottom of the teenage girl

Who lay beside him in the  bedroom  of a house, whose parent owners

Were away on holiday, leaving their daughter to the responsibilities

Of adulthood for the first time, and who had  chosen sex over studies..

That smack was returned quickly and when, again, he chose not to  move

She delivered another, until he climbed over her lap and seemed  to invite

A great many more single-minded slaps, on his bare cheeks.

The red-lipped woman in Amsterdam with whom he had faied to get

An erection, asked him for the money,  but then relented a little

And inquired about his fantasies, before taking the whip,

Down from the hook on the wall and leaving a memory of pleasure in thin red lines.

The young woman, who became his wife , took all these memories

And burnished them into molten gold which secures him in a chain.

Home from work

Below are 2 scenes which I am unlikely to encounter when I arrive home from work and one that I did, on Friday.

Sometimes you just never know what is around the corner.

Remaining tale of last Saturday night

Dinner over I knelt at her feet

Carefully I washed each toe and

Layered cream on the heel, before kissing

The soft underbelly of skin that curved in the arch.

At her command I rose and fetched the switch.

Then back on my knees and down on my palms.

I looked back and upwards into her eyes as the birch

Soared in a high arc and  drifted into my bottom.

The strokes were slow and the pain spread in a slow pool

Across the bare cheeks and down my thighs.

The pleasure rushed up through my waist and chest and shoulders

Into my head where it sat like a soft white cloud of mist.

For too short a time she flailed and swung, flailed and swung.

I dipped my head in obedience and she read my signal.

Her toes that I had so lovingly caressed were at my lips and

The birch took a new direction between my cheeks.

Stanton renditions

In those far off days, before the internet provided us with a deluge of images, I had to depend on only the odd image from a magazine to stimulate my thoughts on spanking.

Many of these were drawings and those of Eric Stanton were a particularly good “find” although they were rare in the 70’s.

As spanking materials became more widely available in the Soho area of London during the early 80’then complete books of Stanton images came on to the shelves.

Nowadays this imagery is available at the click of a mouse but I can still remember when you had to hold something titillating in your spare hand.

This pretty much tells you where I have got to now. (and enjoying it.)

Oh to be twenty odd, with the internet at my fingers. All those spankos out there that I will never get to meet.

Thank you Bonnie

Like many others I thank Bonnie for her consistent blog, interesting tales and loveable links.

Last Saturday night

About an hour after I had blogged on Saturday my wife arrived home. Judging by the bags, she and her friend had hit the credit cards quite hard. I made her a coffee and we stood in the kitchen talking about each other’s day. The bundle of thin branches lay on the kitchen island in a prominent position. I had tied a small ribbon around the holding end and whilst she made no direct mention of it, I saw her glance over once or twice.

 The red bow made it look a little less of a menacing instrument, but not by much. I had made it with 6 lengths of field maple branches. These are stringy in thickness,  maybe  6 mm diameter at one end and 3 mm at the other and they grow very straight. Cut to about 3 feet long they send a powerful message to a bare bottom and they do not splinter or wear out. They will also last maybe 5 days before they dry out and longer if they are left in a bath of water.

Anyway, that’s enough of the technicalities of switch making.

 As we talked my wife asked me what I had achieved on the jobs front. I went through the list but I could see she was not impressed. When she asked about the ironing I said I had not finished it, but would do so on Sunday. She then went off to the utility room and came back with a frown across her face. She scolded that I had not even started on the laundry and as she spoke she reached for a wooden spoon from the utensil holder. This was the long one, which is designed more for making jam. Smiling in a stern sort of way, she came round to my side of the island and pushed  my back to make me lean forward. Even over some jeans that spoon spanks hard and she laid ten smacks on in quick succession. She told me that was for telling stories about the ironing. I stayed put waiting for something else to happen but instead my wife  put the spoon back in the holder and picked up the switch. She complimented me on my craft and said she was really looking forward to using it later on.

I followed her upstairs and then ran the bath with lots of bath salts. She got undressed in the bedroom and came through stark naked. She looked fabulous and I told her so. She thanked me for the compliment but said that I could not get out of trouble so easily and took the bath-brush off the hook in the shower cubicle. 

Holding it in one hand and smacking the palm of her hand gently with the other she told me to strip and bend over the vanity unit. 

Those of you who have already met the bath-brush will know how very evil it can be. The broad head of the brush at the end of a longish handle, which in turn is pivoted at the elbow, develops momentum as it swings in a low arc and the energy of that momentum is transferred to bare skin in  a stinging blow across a small area, which quite takes ones breath away.

I jumped around for a dozen smacks with the brush and said sorry, sorry, sorry, many times.

When she became satisfied that I meant it and I was dismissed to get on with dinner. 

It was  suggested that a T shirt and thong pants were all I would require for the rest of the evening, about which I hope to tell in another day or so.

Sunday Spanklet - Fresh buns

Spanklet  (n.) - definition - a very short story where an individual is spanked or caned.
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Robert stood on the worn step staring at the hard cold wood of the door waiting for it to open, after he had pulled the chime.

His stomach was churning, he felt hot and cold at the same time and his mind was in a spin. He did not know whether to turn and run but felt that his feet were welded to the floor so he was obliged to stay put.

After a minute or so, he heard the lock turn and the woman of his fantasy greeted him, not so much with a smile but certainly with a welcome in her  eyes.

They both looked each other up and down. He saw a tall lady in her thirties wearing a mid length black skirt, overhanging low heeled plain boots and on top, a white blouse, fastened at the neck with a black shoelace tie.

She admired his thin frame and good looks. It had been a long time since such a handsome boy had arrived at her house. At nineteen he wasn’t quite a boy but he certainly wasn’t a man as yet.

The Mistress stepped back and Robert walked into the long hallway. The house was Edwardian with high ceilings and a coolness that came from the solid construction of stone. Without either exchanging a word he closed the door behind him and followed her down the corridor. The long cane swung gently in her hand, like an extension of her arm. When she stopped and pointed at a panelled door he knew what do. Everything had been explained in the e mail.

After a few minutes he had cleaned himself in the small downstairs lavatory and fastened his trousers back up. Washing his hands thoroughly he glanced in the mirror and smoothed his hair tidy. This was it, he thought.

This was how  he had decided to spend that small bursary he had won in his first year of college. He had dreamed of this for months and had finally decided that he should turn his dream into a reality. There was just enough money for maybe one such visit, leaving a little over to pay off a small debt. Money well spent he hoped.

Across the hallway he knocked on the study door.

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You’re a virgin I take it?

Yes, Miss.

A virgin with the cane and with sex?

Yes, both Miss.

We  will do something about the one but not the other. Do you understand?

He nodded.

Speak up boy and drop the Miss. You address me as Ma’am.

Miss is for young girls or waitresses and I am neither.

Yes Ma’am.

So why are you here?

To be punished Ma’am

And for what do you think you should be punished?

For cheating at an exam last year Maam, and also for being rude to my Mother during the vacation.

Both are unacceptable and you will suffer under my cane to make amends. But first I will spank you. You might think it is erotic to start with, you may get an erection, but I can assure you by the time I have finished with the hairbrush you will wish you were anywhere but over my knee.

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As he stood by her side he watched her quick hands unfasten his belt and unzip his trousers. As the Mistress quickly lowered his pants his erection sprang out and she traced her her fingernail sharply down its lengths. She looked into his eyes and could see the longing, the lust that rushed through his shivering body. The split in her skirt had opened as she sat down on the chair and her long legs were exposed from thigh to boot top. 

She knew he would come so the nylons would get messy, but that was small price to pay for the delight of spanking two such fine buns. As he stretched over her knees and wriggled his penis into a comfortable position, she did not resist the urge to stroke and squeeze the smooth white skin. This was going to be a pleasure she thought, an afternoon delight. 

If he took the cane well she might consider not charging. She would love to have Robert return at some future date and students were always so hard up for money.

With a smile she raised the long wood hairbrush in a high arc above her shoulder and brought it crashing down with a wonderfully satisfying crack.

He was still hard up in another place, but it would not last. It was going to be long and rewarding afternoon.

Autumnal activities

Well summer is coming to end now. The leaves are yellowing and some are falling. I noticed the change this morning as I explored the nearby woods looking for three or four suitable branches with which to make  a switch or mini- birch.

As my wife left the house with one of her friends, to spend the day shopping, she had patted my bottom and told me to “cut a switch or two” as she was feeling frisky and wanted to have some fun this evening.

I was left to get on with the jobs and prepare a meal.

The branches are trimmed and are lying on the table in front of me as I write this. 

I have cut them neatly and tied them together tightly with cord. They sound menacingly swishy when I whip them through the air and onto a cushion.

She will not be long now. Then I can run a bath for her, maybe give her a pedicure and then leave her to watch a film whilst I get on with the meal. 

Hopefully she will give me some instructions as to what I should wear. Something tight would be nice.

Winter draws on, as they say,but it is good to know I will be warned up in certain places by the end of tonight. 

And I may get the chance to give my love some pleasure to boot. Giving cunnilingus with a well roasted bottom is a treat . Beats going to the movies any day.

PS to Spanklet

I am now in the hotel ready for work tomorrow about 200 miles from home. This morning's spanklet was a a rapid post before I left home. My journey went quickly as I sat on a well marked and still vaguely sore bottom.

I have just got myself sorted put in the room and gave myself a quick self-spank with the hairbrush to keep the tingle in my bottom before I go down for a drink. 

I checked in the bathroom mirror and there are some good weals and a general redness thanks to the caning I got last night. It was a long session and I am now fully maintained and focused.

I will be calling my wife after a meal and may ask for a spell of phone sex if she is in the mood.

Afore ye sleep

The other night in bed, after I had given her a foot rub and we were preparing to sleep, my wife suggested that  I could come if I wished. 

After applying some lube to my enthusiastic appendage, she began a story, where she was the  new bride who had discovered a stash of spanking magazines in my wardrobe after moving into our apartment. She had been puzzled at first but as she flicked through the pages she began to get excited.

The story developed as the bride tested her husband's reaction to various prompts such as "do that again and you will get a spanking". 

When the bride finally received her husband home one night, wearing not a lot, but holding a paddle, I could not hold back on my orgasm any longer.

My wife complained that she had barely gotten started on the story.

No matter I said, perhaps we could have the next chapter tomorrow.

We often speculate how our marriage might have gone if my wife had spanked me from the start. 

It was only after 20 years that I finally admitted I wanted to be submissive to her.

Hey ho.

DD video suggestion

There are not many videos on Spanking Tube which are of a Domestic Discipline nature, where the female partner takes the lead, but I came across Belinda and Barry from South Africa.

This couple have  entertaining videos to watch, where she controls and excites him with a cane.

Go take a look at their playlists on The Spockings if you have some time to spare or directly to a video where belinda-canes-barry.

Shamed and caned

My wife returned home yesterday afternoon from a brief shopping trip and tea out with a friend. 

I had done my chores and was attending to some last minute tidying up in the garden. She decided on a bath before getting into something casual for an evening in front of the TV. I was due to make some pizza and salad and everything was set for a quiet night.

After about an hour I went upstairs to shower and the first thing I noticed on the bed was a rolled up pair of tights (pantyhose). My heart stopped and my stomach churned as I thought how stupid I had been. 

I had worn these tights that afternoon whilst I had been cleaning the bathroom. I enjoy the sexy feeling of the material against my bare skin and I had stripped off, selected a pair from my wife’s drawer and got on with my work. Every now and then I had picked up the wooden hairbrush from the dresser and given myself a hard self spanking – just for motivation.

When I went into her bathroom my wife asked me to explain why she had found the tights behind the bedroom door when she went to get her dressing gown. I related my antics with a red face of shame. 

I was told to go and hand-wash them and then come back with the cane.

The thrashing she delivered was brisk and purposeful. 12 strokes on the bare whilst bent over trying to touch my toes, which had me dancing form one foot to the other in short order.

That evening once she was settled in front of the TV, with a glass of wine in hand, I made off to the study to leave her watching Downton. I was called back and told to give her a pedicure and foot massage and  generally be a useful servant. 

Just like the old days she murmured , nothing like have a maid to do the boring stuff.