Monday, April 7, 2014


Marty walked in the door and saw Karen sitting at the table, laptop open and fingers moving along the keyboard.

“I guess you finally ran out of things to do,” he said to her.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve been procrastinating for weeks now.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“I think you do.”

“Well, you’ll have to explain it to me, because I don’t.”

“Lord, you are being dense. You are finally on the computer doing something other than blogging or playing games.  I assume you are finally getting ready to write again.”

“Oh, that.  No, I was just going over some of my files.  Nevertheless, you are right; I have been procrastinating because I just haven’t had anything running around in my head.  You know how I am.  I get on a kick, it consumes me and then it leaves as quickly as it started. You always tell me you’re glad I don’t feel that way about you.  Truthfully, sometimes I do but luckily for you I get over it,” I laughed.

By the look on his face, I knew that if I wasn’t sitting down he would be swatting my ass.  I wish he would pull me up out of the chair and do just that, but knew it wouldn’t happen.  Why is that after all this time he can read some things so well, and others not at all?

Marty went off to do other things, leaving me sitting there and thinking about how and when my fascination with spanking started. I remember only receiving three spankings when I was little, there may have been more considering my personality, but obviously, they weren’t memorable enough.  The first time I spied someone receiving a spanking, I was about seven or eight. I was playing with John Flynn who lived across the street from school. I remember going over and being on the swing set when his grandmother called him inside. I heard his grandmother lecturing him that he was supposed to be doing homework, not playing and the next thing I knew he was leaning over the back of the chair, pants down, getting spanked with the hairbrush he had to retrieve. I could hear him crying but was too fascinated to leave and just watched as he continued receiving those spanks.  His grandmother, realizing I was still there came to the door and told me he would not be coming back outside. John never played with me again, he was probably too embarrassed.

After that, anytime there was a TV show or a movie that contained spanking, I was glued to the scene and kept reliving it time and again.  I devoured books then, as now, and if it contained a spanking, the page would be dog-eared and would be read and re-read.

Through the teenage years, the fascination continued and I always seemed to choose my dates (boyfriends) on whether or not I thought they might deliver a real honest to goodness spanking.  I was threatened a couple of times and even received an occasional swat here and there but never did I receive the spanking I desired. 

When I met Marty, I thought sure I had met the man of my fantasy.  He was a natural dominant and I figured it would only be a matter of time before I ended up over his knee. I remember one time biting him,  sure that would get me the spanking I not only wanted but also deserved.  The poor guy had bite marks and a bruise for weeks but much to my disappointment, my fanny remained lily white.

Occasionally, I would get a couple of swats, or he would pull me across his hip and his hand would meet my bottom, but that was it.  Nothing like what I imagined or wanted.  A couple of years into marriage, I found the words and told him about my desire to be spanked.  He never blanched and that night he took me over his knee. I was thrilled and he seemed to enjoy it for a time but I kept directing the situation and when it was over, I was totally dissatisfied that the actual happening did not begin to match my fantasy and obviously I tamped down whatever excitement he initially felt because it didn't happen again.  After that, I lived in my fantasy world of books and movies, and neither one of us brought it up again until years later.

My fantasies lived on but my hopes of Marty being the dominant partner in our marriage dwindled.  Don’t get me wrong, he was strong but I knew how to get my way in every way but one.  And you know what, it’s a good thing. He was much wiser than me.  As I found the spanking blog community and read all that some domestic discipline relationships entailed,  I realized I only wanted a domestic discipline lifestyle in my head.  I would have balked at every turn and chances are we would have not made our forty plus years. Not that I wouldn’t mind and even still fantasize about having a relationship much like some bloggers whose partners will occasionally deliver a discipline spanking in amongst the sexual ones, but it isn’t what I really wanted on a full time basis.

For us, spankings are purely sexual and through the years I have learned to voice my wants more freely. I buy most of the implements and initiate most of the spankings but he is the buyer of the other sex toys.  He has benefited too as I have fulfilled some of his fantasies.  Others will remain fantasies and our sex life now includes things that would once upon a time have made me blush and/or cringe. Occasionally when I have really been able to get under his skin, either intentionally or accidently, he will spank a little harder than I anticipated, but it is rare and on those occasions our ‘dancing’ is hotter than ever, in more ways than one.

I hear the door open and footsteps coming into the room and it breaks my reverie.

“Hi honey, glad you see you’re still at the table.  It must mean your writing block is over.”  He comes to look over my shoulder.  “I guess not,” he says as he sees the blank page.

“You could help you know, a little inspiration would be welcome,” I tell him.

“Not now, sweetie, I’m in the middle of something, maybe later,” is his response.

A girl can hope can’t she.  Maybe later, hope springs eternal. Maybe eventually you'll have another story to read.  Right now there’s a red barn in the next pasture that’s been catching my eye for a while.  I guess I’ll dig out my water colors.