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In line with the recent posts about the startling uses of ginger, I was struck by an evil spice-related thought today while eating my lunchtime supermarket sushi.
In a word: wasabi.
Imagine me laughing my most villainous laugh.
Bethie, who puts most of the joy in my life these days, is going to get a bath brush spanking. And she knows it.
She’s coming to visit soon. We’re both very excited. And of course, this means that spanking toys must be procured.
So, way back on the 5th of December, we were chatting on the phone and I threatened to buy her the infamous Vermont Country Store bath brush. I had the web page up on my screen and my credit card in my hand and everything. She does not think this is a good idea, for some odd reason. “You don’t need one of those!” quoths Bethie. “I have lots of bath brushes.”
By this time I am about to start typing in my credit card information. “So? What good does that do me?”
“I’ll send you one. I’ll send you two! In fact, I’ll go down to the post office on Monday and send them right to you. You don’t need to order one.”
Being the suspicious fellow that I am: “You’ll send them on Monday? Without fail? This isn’t just a ploy to keep me from making the order?” I’m teasing, I think.
“I’ll send them, I promise!”
“OK.” So I forbear from ordering.
Time passes. No bath brushes arrive.
Eventually I mention them. “Oh! I forgot! Don’t worry, I’ll send them next time I get to the post office! I have to mail your Christmas present anyway.”
I figure perhaps a bath brush will be included in or with that package, so I wait patiently. The Christmas package arrives. No sign of a bath brush, but there’s a wrapped present inside. Possibly, possibly. I hold my peace.
Christmas arrives. I unwrap a very nice gift. But you guessed it: still no bath brush.
“Oh! I forgot again! I was so busy with Christmas and all. Don’t worry, I’ll send them to you, I promise!”
“Uh, when?”
“As soon as I can, I guess….”
“You do realize that you’re getting a spanking for all these delays, one bath brush stroke for every day of difference between the December 8 date you promised to send them and the actual postmark on the package?”
Silence. Then: “Ulp….” An entertaining hour of discussion follows: mock outrage, professions of astonishment that I might be serious, heartfelt pleas for me to reconsider, earnest promises to post bath brushes forthwith, etc. I am unmoved.
This was on Christmas day. Yesterday, four (!) postal days later, after at least that many entertaining efforts to talk me out of my resolve, she finally put the bath brushes in the mail. December 30. 30 minus 8 equals 22.
And that’s only one of the spankings she’s got coming….
I got a nice letter from Luray, who wrote in to share her New Years
Eve spanking ritual:
Well, I’ve never written you before, but I do love your site. I discovered my
love for spanking at a young age, and a few years ago I found a loving man
who was willing to use it to keep me in line. (God do I love him.) When I read
the 12 days of spankings posted on the blog I thought I would share our New
Years Eve tradition.Through out the year I am required to keep a journal of
all the offenses I have been punished for. It is a rather detailed account of
each spanking, why I received it, what was used, how many swats I received,
and so on and so forth. Well, on new years eve I kneel before my love and read
each spanking story to him. When I have finished he takes me over my knee and
spanks me one last time for each offense. With each swat I am required not
only to count but to name the offense that it is for, to apologize for my
offense, and to thank him for the spanking.So far this year my journal has
almost a spanking for every week. I will receive 51 spankings as a final
payment for my offenses and then and only then will I be able to start the
new year with a clean slate, not to mention a red bottom. It is a loving
experience, but also shameful to have to remember all the things I did that
caused him disappointment. I love this “judgement” day.Feel free to post this. I think every one should do it. It really is a
freeing experience.
Thanks, Luray!
Ah, the dubious pleasures of agrarian life. Here we have a young farmer’s wife being birched over a barrel for shirking her labors at the cider press:
I can hear the lecture all too well: “What’s that? You don’t want to turn the cider press? Well, you like to drink the cider well enough….”
I’d say the art is probably by Paula Meadows.
See Also:
She explains:
Maybe it’s like Thomas Hardy said about the Titanic and the iceberg… when my ass was formed, the Immanent Will of the universe formed the cane to be its sinister mate. It certainly jars two hemispheres.
I’m pleased to discover that the last post inspired some serious holiday spanking. Majesty’s wench reports:
Majesty wore me out yesterday morning before He went to work. I had asked Him if He would beat me on New Years Eve (ringing in the New Year, setting the tone, you know?) and He asked if anyone was awake. When I said no, He told me He would beat me right then. Well, I wasn’t ready to be beaten right then, and told Him. Which only made Him more determined to do it. I didn’t protest over-much though (not enough to make Him angry with me), took my position on the bed and presented my bottom to Him. He used the tawse on me, and He was not nice with it. I asked Him the other day if He could make pretty stripes like those on the ‘well oiled girl’ on SpankBoss’s site, and He said then that I couldn’t take it, to which I replied that I thought I could. So, yesterday morning, He was of the mind to find out whether I could or not. I squirmed some, and moved some, and squealed some, but I took it. Then I told Him I was mad at Him for being mean. I was being petulant. But He fixed it, and I was OK. Now I can’t wait for Him to tear me up again, only worse this time. I seriously am confusing, I think.
All I can say is “Pictures! We want pictures!” {evil grin}
A hunting fantasy from IsisOasis:
I run away, but it is in vain, i am severely handicapped by being barefoot and bound, He knows i wont get far. He is teasing me. He wants it to last. My feet and legs get scratched by brambles and stones in my way, my feet become cold and numb, knees muddy. Each time i fall over, He waits for me to get up and stumble on. He is the predator with strength and arrogance to show no mercy.I am the prey of his desire, defenceless and vulnerable. In the end – exhausted – I want to be caught.
Then i am there on my knees and He has hold of my hair, pulling my head back, looking down into my face with superiority and lust. He drags me to a pile of damp leaves – his only concession to my welfare – and still up on my knees, makes me bend over with my forehead on the ground. Commands me not to move – i cannot see what He is doing.
He is getting something out of His belt and i make out that it is a horsewhip. I know that my buttocks and thighs shall be punished for running away. I shall be disciplined to make me obey and to give Him pleasure in watching me writhe in pain with each lash of the whip
Mmmm, now where did I park my horse?