The Planning Stories

The Planning Stories, Fiction by Matt - October, 1998 - (very long, F/M, Erotic Domestic Discipline) - Matt’s fictional characters Julie and Steve act out a wicked story they each read on a spanking message board.

Copyright by Matt Anglen et. al. 1998 - please do not copy, distribute or re-post without permission

Planning - Tuesday Night Preliminaries


Surprise is a useful element in a good spanking and I try to use it often. But for a great spanking, I think a dreadful anticipation can allow both parties to truly savor the moment. It’s a little too bad it’s not easier to combine the two - anticipation and surprise - but I’ve given up my quest for perfection and replaced it with a hope of more frequent excellence.

Let’s get this clear. I spank my husband and he loves it. In fact, nothing turns him on more. But the idea of me dominating him is almost laughable. Not only am I not the type but neither is he. He’s far too strong-willed and, on top of hat, he’s too independent. If he doesn’t agree with you, the best you can hope for is that he’ll ignore you and he’s perfectly willing to do that. While I don’t dominate him, I do give him fairly frequent spankings suitable to a healthy adult male. Some are hard, some are long, many are both, and some are neither, although, surprisingly, those that are neither are his least favorite, instead of vice-versa. These spankings are usually directed at some specific behavior and are very effective in changing things I don’t like. That’s another benefit to me. Steve says it’s just a matter of communication, that he likes the spankings but they communicate things I don’t like and he avoids those behaviors out of consideration for me, not out of spanking-evasion. A final benefit is that I’ve seldom been jealous of another woman, since I always have as much of his attention, and sometimes more, whenever we’re together.

I decided recently that I would put together a spanking that would please him, I suppose, consisting of promises of dire circumstances, some kind of reason behind it, and a few short days of anticipation. In this instance, I was able to add an element that turns him on all the more. Something a little different to heighten the erotic element, combined with what he refers to as a “casual cruelty.” I know these things drive him wild and he deserves it, in that sense, because at other times, he’s always happy to accommodate me in my desires.

So it was that we found ourselves in bed one night. I was feeling receptive and moved over to him. After a few little hugs, I told him to lie on his tummy. As he complied, he asked if anything was wrong.

“Nothing specific,” I tell him, kneading his buns. Already I hear a note of excitement in his voice as I continue, “But we’ve been bickering a lot lately. You don’t seem to be trying very hard to avoid it and sometimes you’ve said some things that you didn’t really have to. I was thinking about doing something about it.” I love these vague problems. They give me such a range of options. But this was going to be beyond all bounds.

I continue to pat and massage his buns while I mentioned a few little instances that I’d been referring to. He listens very carefully, because he takes these things so seriously. And I know he’s getting very turned on.

Sliding over on top of him, I can press down into a full-body hug. Mmmm, I love this. It’s so - connected. Steve loves it, too. He loves the feel of the underside of my breasts on his back.

“Maybe Thursday night. Any problem with that?”

As I know he will, he readily agrees. He’s always up for a spanking, both emotionally and physically. Now, excited, I take it one more step.

Trying to sound casual, I ask him, “Have you been reading the Storyboard recently?” We both know that we both read it. Reading is our favorite activity, right after sex and spanking, so reading about spanking rates pretty high on the list.

He swallows hard and a twitch goes through him. Although it’s no secret that we read the stories there, and sometimes share our favorite parts, I think he’s embarrassed by the fact and we don’t often mention it.

“Well, um, yeah…” is his weak reply.

“Did you see one called Hellfire Church?” Now I’ve really got his attention. Hellfire Church was a multi-part series that came out in late March and was full of ritual female-spanks-male with associated sex. We are almost obsessively monogamous, making many of their rituals impractical in the strictest sense. In fact, he would die to have anyone know about his preference in spanking. But another reason I’ve got his attention is that the rituals in Hellfire Church were extremely severe, with parades of woman putting whipping after whipping on the poor bottom of the main character. Not a situation even the most obsessive man would want to find himself in in real life.

“I did read it,” he admitted carefully. “It was largely satirical, I’m sure.” This is true. It poked a little fun at religious extremists, while being pretty extreme itself. But if he means we can’t do something like that in real life, it’s just wishful thinking.

“There was something in there that caught my interest,” I drawl, slowly. “It was called the Stick of Fire.” The jump he makes tells me I’ve hit paydirt. “They described it as being pretty fearsome.”

“Umm…yes,” was all he could muster.

“They used a little switch, they said only eighteen inches long, about as thick as a pencil.” In a minute he was going to be eighteen inches long, or explode in the effort. “Do you think,” I tried to sound doubtful, “do you think that could be effective?” Effective is our code word for very painful. I’ve spanked him to tears before and then some. He doesn’t like to remind me that these spankings are painful, so we always go by the euphemism.

His buns were clenching pretty impressively, in a minute they’d be plucking my pubic hair and I knew he was worrying. “Yes, ah, pretty effective,” he admitted.

“This was just a young boy, in the story. Would it have an effect on a full-grown man?” I massage his cheeks some more to make my point. I slap him lightly, very lightly, and he jumps.

“I think it would be plenty,” he promises me.

“Hmmmm,” I gave him, pretending to think it over. He’s panting, he’s so turned on. I’m trying to keep my cool and make him think I’m just dispassionately trying to find the best technique. It’s really working, too. Reaching my decision, I slide off with an “Okay, we’ll try that.”

I have him roll up on his side so that I can handle him in front. From behind him, I slide my hand down his tummy and get him in the vee between my thumb and forefinger. My fingertips dance off of the sensitive skin below and he’s about as big as he ever gets, which is plenty. I keep my other hand on his backside.

I try to gauge his excitement. With the plans I’ve got, I don’t want to have an accident. I’ve got a desperate need for him but I’d like to wait a minute or two. He’s so nervous he’s going up and down with every thought. I know I can almost read his mind. He’s wondering if he should tell me how bad this is likely to be, thinking that I don’t know. He’s thrilled at the prospect of such serious treatment. And I’ll bet he’s trying to remember the details of one short part of a very memorable but lengthy series. The part that was easy to remember was repeated references to the terror of the Stick of Fire.

“Sooo,” I bait him, “do you think I can make my point that way?” Ever the innocent, as if I don’t know my own strength.

“Yeah…. oh yeah. It’ll really make your point.” He can barely breathe. I stroke him some more, carefully.

Silence, then I whisper in his ear, “You know, they wet your bottom for it.”

“Who does?” comes his tense, automatic reply.

“In this case, I do, of course. There’s suppose to be another woman involved, with her top off, holding your hands, but we’ll have to figure something else out. You can pick one of my friends to pretend she’s joining us.” Okay, I said I don’t get jealous but I do get envious sometimes, since some of my friends have busts to really be proud of. Or at least to really get noticed by Steve, since it’s his favorite feature on a woman, even though he says it’s her smile. The idea of him choosing one of them, whoever she is, will give me a little more inspiration and he knows it. But back to the subject at hand. I lick my fingertips and trace them over his cheeks. “They use a sponge, I guess. To wet your bottom. It’s supposed to help it sting more. Do you think that’s true?”

“I don’t know. I’ve always heard that. I guess it must.”

“Well, now you can find out, because it has to be wet for this. I’ll have to remember to buy a sponge. Though I guess you won’t be able to compare it, since it’ll be wet from the start. I wonder why it makes it worse? You’d think it might cool it off,” I speculate carelessly.

Steve hates to hold anything back. “Actually, it lowers the resistance of the skin and lets the nerves pick up sensations more clearly. Umm, I read that in an article about swimming, or something,” he admits.

“Oooohh,” I coo, grabbing a big bunch of cheek, “this should be good, then.” He shudders in reply. “You don’t happen to remember,” I ask, drawing it out, “how long this little ritual is supposed to take?”

“Ah, no. I’m sure they said a long time.”

“Twenty minutes, it just so happens. Though the boy in the story could only take ten. They still had to finish, of course.”

“Of course,” Steve says with a note of sarcasm. I continue to rub. I’ve got to hurry, I can’t keep this up much longer. I need some action, fast.

“It’s only moderately hard but very fast. Do you think you can take twenty minutes?” We’ve discussed this before. Steve’s always telling me that you can get a lot of sizzlers in in a minute, and if I’d just take another minute of my time, I could move a spanking from hard to extreme, that it’s so little extra effort for me and what an effect on him!

“I think,” he replies cautiously, “that, you know, it’s a fiction story. That would be a lot. I don’t think it could really take that long. Not if it’s fast, especially.”

“Okay,” I finally concede to him, “Maybe that is too long. But I want it to be like on the Storyboard.” I know this will turn him on. “So think about what I said, I’m going to show you how much I mean it, if you think eighteen inches is long enough. And think about who you’d like to have holding your hands. As bad as you’re going to get it, it might as well be for that, too. Though maybe a little harder, on that part.”

With that, I pull him onto his back and climb back on top of him. I am so ready. As I’m slipping over him, trying to grip him, I lean forward and whisper through my hair, “that’s not till Thursday. We can do a lot before then.”

“Don’t you want me to…” he starts to offer.

“Not tonight, sweetie. That can wait.”

Thursday Night Semi-Finals


It’s Thursday evening and I’ve decided to give my husband a real thrill, a severe spanking just like one we read about on the Storyboard in Hellfire Church, by Marcia. In the story, this Stick of Fire ritual was mentioned as especially fearful and I’m sure Steve is likewise. We both enjoyed reading about it and we’ve enjoyed anticipating it, though I don’t think he will actually be able to enjoy getting it.

It’s been a great couple of days since Tuesday night when I told him what I was going to do. My husband’s never so attentive as he is between when I tell him he’s getting it and when he does. And in a case like this, oh boy! He was more than happy to bring me off both Wednesday morning and this morning, though we couldn’t make love this morning because he needs to be horny to appreciate a good spanking. Even so, I’m feeling well taken care of and soon he will be, too.

Diner is an interesting proposition, with him so preoccupied he can barely think about anything beside how to kill off the hours until bedtime. His mouth must be dry, because he’s having trouble swallowing, speaking, or looking me in the eye. His attention is further drawn to the switch I’ve put on the middle of the table. According to specifications, it’s eighteen inches long (I measured it), thin as a pencil, and it’s the greenest, whippiest branch I could find. April is a good time for whippy branches in our yard, so I didn’t have to look far. We have some tree-sized shrubs that put out growth that you can’t believe, so it wasn’t a problem. I soaked it, too, to make sure it would be flexible. It doesn’t look like much, just lying there but I guess when you’re facing 20 minutes of it on a wet bottom, it captures your attention. Hidden in the bedroom, I have a sponge, among other things.

Trying to make dinner conversation, I ask him, “Did you look up that story on the Storyboard?” I know he has, who wouldn’t have? But he’s still embarrassed, though he’s not going to lie about it.

“Ah, yes, as a matter of fact I did.” Bringing the subject up is not going to decrease his preoccupation with it.

“Did I get it all right? I’m not leaving anything out, am I?” I pick up the little switch and swish it back and forth. He pales like he’s made of wax.

“Did you, did you get the sponge?” He’s really cringing on this one.

“Oh, yes. Had to buy one but I’ve got it now.” I pause for dramatic effect. This is going to be an amusing conversation. “Did you decide who we’ll pretend is joining us?” You see, in the real ritual, another woman should be holding his hands. I told him to choose someone, just for pretend. Oh, yes, and this woman is topless and he’s a big breast fan. I’m sure this is killing him. He knows who I’m a little envious of, who’s drawn more than their share of his attention. “It’s Beth, I suppose. Shall I call her?” I ask, reaching for the phone.

A look of utter mortification comes over his face. Beth is more his friend than mine, she’s got a double dose on a slender frame and the subject of her figure has come up before. But he respects Beth, she seems intelligent and even though she’s the one most likely to be sympathetic to his unusual interest and take it seriously, it would kill him for her to know about it. That’s one reason I don’t really get jealous. He could never really cheat on me, because he couldn’t bear to let anyone else know.

“Not Beth, huh? Who, then? Cindy?” Cindy is a bubbleheaded friend of mine, opposite from Beth in every way, including bust development. Though she’s fun and might actually go for it, she’s not really what the situation calls for. For one thing, she’d laugh at the suggestion. Laugh loud.

Maybe he figures it’s time he better offer a suggestion. “I don’t know. Maybe… Kim?”

“Kim?” I am surprised. “You don’t even like her.” I can see his point, though. Kim’s got some big breasts, because she’s a little overweight, though not much. And he doesn’t know her that well, so his embarrassment would be less. And she’s not pretty enough for him, or smart, or thin, so how jealous would I be? An interesting choice but I think I’m letting him off too easy. “Nah,” I tell him, “Get real.”

There’s a long silence while he thinks about it and I let him. He’s obviously very uncomfortable and squirmy, though nothing like he will be later, I assure you. Finally, he looks at me.

“Just pretend, right?”

“Just for pretend,” I assure him. Who, a movie star? My sister?

“Ummm, how about Glenda?” He finally admits. An interesting choice. I hadn’t thought of her, because we’re not really close friends. But it is in keeping with the story, for several reasons. She’s tall, a foot taller than me, maybe, and even taller than him. And she’s proportioned big but she’s an apple, not a pear. If she was swinging a paddle, he might never sit down again and she’d have no trouble holding him wherever she wanted to. She’s pretty enough and she’s got boobs just like bowling balls, though lighter, I hope. But what’s more, she’s seriously religious and would not think much of our little game. If she got involved, there’s no question that she’d be in it to teach him a lesson and a ritual would be just her thing. I wonder how long, and how deeply, he’s been thinking about this. More than two days? He better not have been!

I think I’ve made a little mistake and I exercise my prerogative to change my mind. After all, I have to enjoy this a little, too, so I decide I’ll have a little fun at his expense. “Okay, Glenda it is. She’ll hold your hands and keep an eye on the clock and make sure you get enough. But I’m going to spank you for wishing it was Beth and boy, are you going to be sorry. Agreed?” Like it’s a question. He just nods and tries to swallow. You know all these stories where the master says, “Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to?” I don’t ever say that, we don’t do things that way but I don’t need to. You never heard anyone so quiet as he was while he waited for nightfall.

At 7:30, as he leaves the room for a moment, I quickly shed my blouse and bra. I’m in a skirt, hose, and low heels, with my hair pinned up and I scoop up the switch off the table. When he returns, one look at my bare breasts and what I’m holding and his jaw drops open. I mean really.

“It’s time,” is all I say.

He thought he had another hour and a half, at least, but he doesn’t say a word. He just stands there, paralyzed. He can’t bear the sight of me half-dressed like this, it’s always driven him wild.

“Take all of your clothes off, please,” I ask politely. Wordlessly, his clothes fall to the floor, and quickly. He’s actually embarrassed to be nude in front of me, which is kinda cute. What he’s most embarrassed about is the fact that, having checked the Storyboard, he knows I’m going to spank him to tears, probably as a halfway point. Like I said, I’ve done it before but not very often and we’ve never mentioned it before or afterward, that’s for sure.

“And into the bedroom?” I prod. He scampers to comply in his disrobed state. His manhood is excited but true fear is keeping him from getting too far in that department. He doesn’t really know which way to turn.

Once we’re in the bedroom, he can see my preparations. I have a chair up against the side of the bed, a bowl of water with a sponge on the nightstand, and a pillow on the bed for him to bury his face in, the companion bosom being absent. The little switch is in my hand, making ominous noises and a copy of our reference story, Hellfire Church, Part II, is on the bed near the chair. Three strips of a bath towel lay across the chair and I pick them up.

“These will have to substitute for Glenda, I suppose. I’m going to wrap them around your wrists, then around the bedpost, then you can hold them. You know you can’t let go, right? Or I’ll have to start over. Unless you want that?”

He silently shakes his head “no.” He’s pretty self-conscious about not being able to take the spanking he’s about to get. With that we begin the manipulations to maneuver him into place. We take care of his hands, first, as I said, and then I sit down, with a small towel over my lap. I couldn’t really care about getting wet, it’s just for the effect. My husband’s silence and his slow, careful movements tell me just how nervous he is. It’s a lot of effort, getting a man his size across my lap, and the bed, especially with his hands practically tied to the headboard but with some shifting about, we manage.

With the switch in my left hand, resting on his back, I pick up the sponge in my right.

“It didn’t say anything about a reason in the story. Maybe they didn’t even have one. But you know what my reason is, don’t you?” He nods vigorously but I continue anyway. “It’s not that there’s been anything wrong with your behavior, exactly but sometimes I feel like you’re picking at me.” I pat his wet bottom with my hand, then squeeze a rivulet of water down the furrow between his cheeks. They shiver more than you would expect and gooseflesh appears across them.

“You’re just not trying hard enough to say nice things to me and I don’t like that. I don’t like it at all. Now I’m going to show you how much and I expect this to be memorable.” The poor man is trying so hard not to beg, I honestly feel sorry for him but the memory of this spanking will turn him on for months into the future. I must remain firm.

The copy of Marcia’s super-hot story is within easy reach and I pick out the most important passage, paraphrasing a bit.

“His bottom was sponged wet and Glenda held his wrists in grips of steel. The Stick itself was a narrow straight switch, 18 inches long, stiff and whippy. The procedure was the apply to Stick rapidly, at about one to two blows per second, all over Steve’s bottom, with moderate force, the wet skin making it sting like blazes. As soon as Julie began, Steve began bawling like a two-year-old, tears running down his face.”

“Julie smiled at Glenda,” I read on, “knowing that a full 20 minutes of "buzzing" was going to visit Steve’s naked, wet behind. At about the halfway mark, Steve’s tears changed to sobs, deep sobs that shook his whole body, and he pressed his face into Glenda's breasts, wailing out his complete surrender. Steve gave up, surrendered to the two women and poured out his emotions of remorse and obedience. But this was only after 10 minutes and the ritual required a full 20 minutes' ordeal, so Steve was kept in this state, while the switch whizzed and snapped on his bare wet behind for ten long minutes more.” Whew! If he wasn’t so scared, I’d be surprised if that hadn’t gotten him off all ready.

“Shall we begin?” I asked rhetorically, setting down the story. I’m holding him across the back with my left arm, pressing my breast into his back, which he loves. I dab his bottom once more, almost sympathetically, since once I started I did not intend to stop. “Glenda will watch the clock and let us know when you’ve had enough. If it gets hard, that’s when I think you’re wishing it was Beth.” He’s already squirming and I haven’t even started yet, so it’s not a big change a second later when I land the first swift smack. I have to admit, that little switch on his poor wet bottom sure had him hopping. I've never seen him move so much.

At first I stick with the tried-and-true, parallel lines across the buns, on the lower half of the cheeks. The lines aren’t too bad, I’m not smacking him that hard but they must really sting because he’s not just squirming, he seems to be reacting to each little stroke and even with the pillow I can hear him gasping and clenching his teeth. So I start moving around a lot more unpredictably and he’s trying to jump this way one second and that way the next.

I can see where a second person would come in handy, because I normally like to give a lot of little talk, in a kindergarten-teacher type sympathetic way, with a “Are we learning to watch what we say?” and “Will this help you remember what I said?” and “When you’re good, I won’t have to spank you like this, will I?” But this ritual requires a lot of concentration, more that a big paddle you can just swing in a mindless way.

I’m covering as much ground as I can, trying to stretch it out without slowing down. I continue to work fast, getting high, low, and underneath, all to good effect. He seems so sore on the upper parts that I start in on the tops of his legs, not because they’re sensitive but just because they haven’t gotten it yet. I don’t focus there, I keep a lot of them higher up but quite a few do end up down there and he seems to hate it, so I include them more and more. Maybe it was all the build-up but I get him in tears in no time, which is no small feat with him.

My wrist is starting to feel the strain and, as they say, we’ve only just started. Isn’t it funny, me complaining, while he suffocates his cries into a pillow, as his bottom gets redder and redder? With this thought, I figure that I can take it longer than he can.

This is where I change my angle. Call me a wild and crazy gal but instead of nice straight lines that I’ve always been taught to make, I add some slant. Still parallel, though, can’t get too radical here. I start high and slant down and away which is even harder on my wrist but oh! What an effect! Then I go low, with the lines coming up. Not only is this easier on my wrist but he’s making sounds I never heard before, so close together that they’re all getting garbled. So I do a lot of this, before I start on some up, some down.

Next I start using the tip of the switch instead of the whole long side. First I track down the last little remaining glistens of water, so he’s completely dry. Then the outside of his right cheek gets a whole line of them, followed by each side of the furrow between his cheeks. I don’t have to be on the receiving end to figure out these are really doing it. His voice takes on a higher pitch, about four octaves higher.

Once again I wish Glenda, or someone, was actually here. I’d love to have him hear me saying, “He’s turning pink now,” when he’s bright red, “We’re certainly off to a good start, aren’t we?” “He doesn’t take these very well, does he?” or “Do you think he needs to squirm this much?” I give him a few little warnings about how he needs to calm down, having so far to go but that’s about it.

I don’t want to start a big feud with the Storyboard authors but we’re no wimps and we didn’t make it anywhere near ten minutes. Before too long, his backside looks like he fell asleep nude in a wicker chair and he is really wailing. I figure that’s the halfway point and hope my arm holds out and keep going. He’s trying to pound his captured hands, without much success and I try to keep up my pace.

I won’t bore you with the details of the second half, except to say that when I use the tip, first it’s to take out the little white spots left by all the crossing lines and then to try to point out where all the lines cross. This is really mean, because when I hit one of these spots, not only does it leave a purple mark but he rears like the stallion I’m going to make out of him in a few minutes. My only saving grace is that he’s moving around so much the switch doesn’t quite come down where I intend it too, so he can live through most of them.

He gets plenty more of the straight and angle ones, too, since I want the second half to be as long as the first, though I’m slowing down a little. I’ve always been very proud of my husband but I have to admit that he’s not taking this very well at all. As I near the end, I try to make them a little harder, like I promised, but I don’t know that he can really tell the difference.

I did use the tip some more, well, a lot, to get him between the buns and he really hated that. In fact, I think he’s got a spanking coming up with nothing but that, he hates it so much. The next time I’m mad at him, pretty soon.

Another thing the story was right about, once I finished, I had to hold him a long, long time while he continued to buck about. When I finally let him let go and get up, he danced around like they always say! I thought that was just a figure of speech but now I know better. He’s doing what look like deep-knee bends, with his penis bobbing up and down on every squat.

But I had other things on my mind. I didn’t even take my skirt off, I just shucked off my hose and shoes and pulled him into me. He was still bucking some, even, and that gave us a pretty strange rhythm.

Now I’m looking forward to a long time of whispering in his ear, “Do I need to use the Stick of Fire?” Thank you, Marcia, and believe me, your story’s been put to good use around our house.

P.S. there was nothing “little-boyish” about it!

A Plan - The Addendum


I hope some of you read my story, A Plan, that I posted last weekend. I described in great detail a spanking that I gave my husband, that was probably the worse spanking he’d ever had, delivered with a short switch on a wet bottom for a long, long time. It was an idea we got from the story Hellfire Church, by Marcia. Some of you may have realized that, although I wrote in the present tense, this spanking actually occurred some weeks ago.

I know that at least one person read the story. That person is my husband. I knew he would and he did. And he came to the dinner table Monday night very much in the present tense.

“I, um, saw your story on the Storyboard.”

“Yes, wasn’t it hot? Did you know that’s why I wanted you so bad last night?”

“It was about me.”

“Relax. It was fictional,” I assured him.

“I didn’t come off sounding very good. You told them you gave me a little boy’s spanking and that I cried like a baby the whole time.”

I looked at him with a glance I hoped was smoky. “That wasn’t a little boy’s spanking, was it?”

“No, no, not at all. But that’s how it sounded.”

I listened attentively. My husband is very forceful and usually speaks quite directly. Tonight he was beating around the bush and choosing his words with care. I was afraid I had really hurt his feelings.

“Sweetheart,” I consoled him, “I only did it to turn us on. Wasn’t it exciting, seeing your name on there?”

“My real name, by the way.”

“Just to make it more exciting,” I promised him. “No one will know it’s you. Who would ever suspect? You’re so self-confident and…”

“That’s another thing. You kept saying I was so embarrassed.”

“You do get so embarrassed,” I countered.

“But what will your readers think? It’s… it’s…”

He wanted to say “its embarrassing” but realized that it would sound too silly.

“Oh, honey. They understand. They’ve all been in the situation. It’s embarrassing to ask for a spanking, and to want to get one, and to be turned on by a spanking that makes you cry. They’ve all felt that way, they don’t think any less of you for it.”
“I suppose,” was all he would say.

“One thing you said in your story?”

“Yeeesss?” I drawl.

“You said that you were going to spank me again? Not like before but, um, in a special way? If you got mad at me, do you remember? Pretty soon?”

I nod with a sardonic smile. Suddenly, tonight’s meekness on his part became perfectly clear.

“Were you, um, really going to do that?”

“You bet I am,” I told him. “It won’t take so long but it’ll be plenty.” I paused for a moment and he looked like he had something he wanted to say but I beat him to it, “Pull down your pants,” I asked him.

“Now?” he replied. There was panic in his voice but he immediately started to comply. I turned him to face the table and slowly bent him over. My hands ran around inside his Jockeys and pulled them down with a caress.

“When I decide to spank you, and I will decide to spank you” I patiently explained, “I’m going to use the very same type of switch but I’m not going to do your buns at all. I’m just going to give you those hard little tippy-type of swats that land right in here.” I ran the tips of my fingers up and down the furrow between his cheeks. He was bright red with embarrassment, even before I pulled one, then the other, cheek apart so that I could rub him all the more. “These are the spots I never get at in a regular spanking so you’re going to need a lot of them. Maybe four dozen?” He exhales rather obviously, thinking he can take four dozen. “Four dozen,” I repeat with a smile, “on each side. And you sure seemed to hate it. I bet it will be very effective.”

By the way he swallows hard, I know he wants to say something. “What is it?” I ask sympathetically, bending close to hear him.

“Are you going to, um, going to use the water?”

“Oh yes. Our friend the sponge. It wouldn’t be the same without it, now would it? Which part do you hate worse? Is it the sting?” He nods vigorously. “Or the embarrassment? Aren’t you embarrassed to have me wet you with a sponge back there?”

A shudder runs through him to tell me I’m right. My hands pass around in front of him, as I press my skirt against his buns. I squeeze, I tease, I pull a little. Then I break away.

“Buckle up, big boy, I don’t want to do it right here on the dirty dishes. You’ll get your special spanking soon enough, believe me. Just don’t let me get annoyed.” With this, I lead him by the hand into the bedroom. A blissful interlude follows.

What he doesn’t know is, I am already a little annoyed. We were at a barbecue on Sunday and some of his comments about my family were completely uncalled for. He’ll say that it should be okay, since all the stories were true, and he’ll claim that it’s unfair, because I started it, but it’s my family, I get to say some of these things, he doesn’t.

So Stevie, sweetheart? You’re about to be spanked. I know you’re going to read this and when you went in to get on the computer, I went into the bedroom to take off my blouse and wait for you. When you get to the end of this post, you’re going to take your clothes off. All of them. In the cupboard right behind your chair, there’s a new green switch, a sponge, and a bowl. Get some water for the bowl and bring it into the bedroom, because you’re about to get it just like I told you. Except, do you know what? I just now decided to make it a little longer. Okay, not just a little, a lot. A whole lot, you poor boy. Don’t worry, though, it won’t interfere when you sit down tomorrow.

See you soon, sweetie. I love you!