Yesterday on Twitter, a fellow spanko posed this question: “How many spankos does it take to change a light bulb?” A handful of people participated, but I wanted to put it out there to the spankosphere. So, with her blessing, I’m asking my readers, and encouraging your feedback. Use your creative muse and give me your funniest answer. And please do post it here in the comments so everyone can see!
Here was mine, in a slightly longer version since I don’t have Twitter character limits.
How many spankos does it take to change a light bulb? Three.
Top: The light burned out. Go change the bulb. Bottom: No. You do it. Top: I asked you to do it. Bottom: You didn’t ask, and no, I don’t feel like it. Top: Young lady… Bottom: Change it yourself! Third spanko: Oh, for fuck’s sake, you two, it’s dark! (changes light bulb)
It had been, what, two years? Longer? I lost track. But it was so lovely to see him again. He had come straight from a work meeting, so he was in a coat and tie and looked spiffy as ever. We had a lot of catching up to do, so I broke out the cookies and Reese’s and we sat and chatted for an hour or more. Then at an appropriate ending point, he said, “Okay, let’s get you spanked!” Yes, let’s, shall we?
It had been a busy day, work and working out and getting ready. And of course, since I almost never wear makeup these days, and was feeling especially joyous, I wanted a picture. Once again, I’m reminded of just how much spanking takes me to my happiest place. Not just the act of it, but everything about it — the rituals, the anticipation, the camaraderie, the endorphin surges, the stress release, and so on. When I have dark times and depression, I need to remember that sometimes I feel like this.
Where was I? Oh, yeah.
We began on the couch with me OTK. He’d brought a toy bag this time — this was new! On previous visits, he’d just used his hand and his belt (and he’s wonderfully proficient with both). He said he’d bought some new things and wanted to try them out/break them in. (Thanks a lot…)
Even before we got to the implements, Mr. W commented that I was marking already, to which I scoffed. Please! He asked how I felt about being marked, was I okay with it, etc. I said I was — he asked how much marking was acceptable. I wouldn’t say this to just anyone, but I trust him, so… “I’m all yours.” “Okay, remember you said that!” he teased.
He remembered that I’m not fond of wood and prefer leather, so he brought out this very nifty little strap that I liked immediately. There were a few more things, I don’t remember the order, some I enjoyed more than others. “I need to put you over that ottoman,” he mused. “You can do that,” I answered. “Oh? Can I?” Oh, dear. “What — should I have said ‘you may do that’?” He laughed. “Yup, there she is!”
It was fun — I was giggling my head off. He was bantering with me, complimenting me (“I remember this ass! Ah, I could slap this all day long!”). We slipped right back into our comfortable groove. Once again, he mentioned that I was marking, and once again, I pooh-poohed it.
We moved to my ottoman, so he could “get a better swing.” gulp Once I was situated, he used the leather strap again and a few other things, and I was at that point where I was teetering between pain and the beautiful abyss of the sub zone. Then, reluctantly, he stopped.
“You are really marking,” he said. Nooo! Surely he’s exaggerating! I can’t be marking! I don’t mark! Not this soon, anyway! But he took my phone and snapped a picture, and showed it to me. Oh… my. (please forgive the extreme close-up)
But no way did I want to stop, so I told him it was okay and we continued for a little longer. And then… he said, “You know, I think you’re done.” While I didn’t want the scene to end, I fully appreciated how conscientious and caring he was. He didn’t want to cause harm. Every top needs to take a page from this man’s playbook. I asked if he would finish me off with his hand, and he happily did so.
He’d worked up a sweat, and I wanted to do something nice for him, so I sat in my recliner, had him sit on a pillow at my feet and I gave him a head and neck massage. I’ve been told I’m good at those, and I know he enjoys them. Then we relaxed on the couch for a while to talk and wind down. He asked if I was okay, did I need him to stay longer, and I said no, no, I’m fine, I feel great. And I did.
After he left, I wanted to get some more pictures while I still had color. My phone wouldn’t cut it, so I set up my trusty old digital camera with the timer.
It had faded a little, but you can still see the whitish spots in the center. (And for those of you who notice other things, that Beatles tumbler was a gift from my dear friend Jay.)
Of course, we can’t have Erica pictures without the Erica smirk.
Once done with that, I settled down to relax for the evening. I was deliciously sore and blissful.
Okay, so what’s with this marking nonsense? Pshaw… it would all be gone today, right?
Wrong. This is twenty-four hours later.
Well, kids… I hate to say it, but I think we need a moment of silence. The Bionic Bottom is no more. My once impervious flesh that faded immediately and self-healed is merely a memory. sniff Damn. Shocking, I know. I suppose if I went back to regular and constant play, I might toughen back up. But damned if I don’t have newbie butt again. Oh well… if this is my sole casualty from the pandemic, I should just shut up and deal.
Anyway — I received expression permission from Mr. W to post this; if any of you are on FetLife and would like to check him out, you can find him here. My friend, you are a gem and a gentleman. Thank you. Don’t be a stranger. ♥
Someone on Twitter called my attention to these shirts. I have no idea where they come from, but this is a real and available product. Too funny!
Check them out here. Although I really don’t want to handle anyone else’s problems, thanks. I have my own share of them!
You know, I’ve really been craving spanky talk and writing, but I can’t think of anything new to say right now. I mean, what hasn’t been talked about thousands of times? Hopefully I will have some new experiences soon — working on the local top thing. Fingers crossed! And Shadow Lodge will be here before you know it.
Have a great weekend, y’all. Be safe. Lots of crazies out there.
I was considering posting a Correspondence Hall of Shame today, but then I got this, part of a barrage of teasing emails I’ve been getting all day, and thought I’d rather focus on a future positive. How far in the future, I have no idea.
Nice long warm-up, bare bottom, over my knee, just enough to get you kicking and wiggling a bit. Red and warm. Then the strap or belt until you find your very happy place. Finally back over my knee for a nice cool down hand spanking. You will feel it for days…
Oh, my. Yes yes yes, please. And now, if you’ll pardon me while I very briefly slip into a rant….
(sigh) Okay. I’m done. We now return to gratitude for home and work and John and good health and blah blah blah.
So close now… just have to hang on a little longer.
I wanted to post something fun and playful and very much on topic this week. I had it all planned out. But after yesterday’s insanity, it seems frivolous to even think about posting it. So I will put it on hold.
I am sick down to my soul. Disgusted. Angry. Scared out of my freaking mind about the next two weeks. Shell-shocked and exhausted.
One thing I am not?
On that awful night in November 2016, when I wept all night in fear and dread, I had no clear idea of what would happen. But I knew something awful was coming.
I’d say God help us all, but you know, atheist.
Oh, BTW, the pandemic is still raging and the hospitals in L.A. are maxed out. The blame for that is on you-know-who as well. This could have been avoided.
Can be loving, affectionate, loyal, quick-witted, playful, sensitive, empathic, tenderhearted, mercurial, stubborn, sarcastic, impatient, perfectionistic, contrary, opinionated, cranky, antisocial, restless, kinky, exhibitionistic, rebellious, incurably flirtatious, or any combination of the above, depending on the day. Questions/comments/want to say hello? email@example.com