Six Months and Counting…and Counting…

© HotBottoms

© HotBottoms

“But I wasn’t being bad…” She said peering intently outside where absolutely nothing was happening on the decrepit tennis courts…

“I know that honey” I said gently.

“Then why….?”

“Just come over here please…” I said from my seat at the bottom of the bed. My voice wasn’t menacing-certainly not threatening-it was soft, as I recall. Cajoling…

After a moment she turned reluctantly from the window and walked toward me. Backlit as she was, I couldn’t see her face but could clearly-or all I remember now- as she approached were her legs-long, strong and smooth.

It was our six month wedding anniversary and would be her first spanking.

Not long ago we were driving the back way to one of our favorite hiking spots in the mountains when we passed the Mountain Top Inn. It was freshly painted and the roof was new, but it looked about the same as it did those many years ago. It wouldn’t be at the top of anyone’s “go-to” lists but for a young couple with not much, it was 5-Star.

We talked about the walks we had taken that weekend, the antiques and some of the fall flowers we had picked and preserved. We were into that then. And of course we talked about the…

She said what she often said when reminded of the first time: “I thought it was a phase you would grow out of…” It would have been easier to grow out of being right-handed. It would have been easier for me to grow out of my stocky, swarthy body type into a sleeker Nordic model better suited to my taste in clothes. It would have been easier to… get the idea.

For me, the question always was-why had it taken so long for me to invite my beloved vanilla over my lap? We had been together four months-then married six. Ten months? Hell, my prom date ended up over my lap in the backseat of my buddy’s Catalina while everyone-including my date-laughed like hell. (God, how I wanted to lift her dress and pull her panties down. Wanted it so badly I think my hands were shaking. It might have eased the memory of never really having gotten past first base with her. Damn cheerleaders! Dick-teases all of them!…But I digress).

I blame our whirlwind courtship fraught with nasty family drama coming at us from all sides. Our rush to be married just two short months after deciding that we would, consumed us. We had a short time to get to know each other-plan some kind of wedding-juggle what seemed to be a tribe of supportive friends and, times being what they were, there was a seemingly endless parade of parties, drinking and general revelry. And the sex was what you would hope it to be in your twenties: fresh, new, mysterious and continuous. Maybe her first spanking had to wait for a routine to develop; for the first hint of “sameness” to poke its gray head into what we were doing.

For that first one we hadn’t yet instituted the practice of kissing when heads passed on the way over the lap so she settled herself hesitantly and cautiously on her belly. She thought I was going to swat her a few times on her panties and waited nervously. Instead I slipped my fingers into the elastic of her waistband and slipped them slowly and oh so s-l-o-w-l-y down: the first bottom reveal of our marriage. She lifted up to allow them to come down but said…”Oh man…” sort of breathlessly.

Me, as I recall, made that hissing sound that Hannibal Lecter made when he first smelled Clarice Starling. Can’t swear to it, but with the first swat I laid on her bare bottom, I’m sure my eyes rolled back in my head like a great white chomping a seal.

The spanking didn’t last too long. Probably no more than fifteen or sixteen smacks-mostly soft with ample cupping and rubbing and a lot of-no that is not a banana in my pants I am indeed happy to see you. Her bum was a sweet cotton-candy pink when I helped her back onto her feet and I wondered about the look in her eyes. Until she pushed me back on the bed with her panties still binding her at mid-thigh.

The chest thumping, sweat flying sex we had after the spanking left us so spent we dispensed with the planned afternoon hike and lounged instead in the green pool. Seriously. It was green. Come on, I said, it will be like swimming in a pond.

It took us a while to work out the complete ground rules of what we were doing when we realized this wasn’t going to be a once in a while type thing. A few weeks later we were playing racket ball and she missed a shot. Fierce competitor that she is, she slammed the ball off four walls sending me ducking then, to further impress anyone watching with how pissed off she really was, threw her racket.

I waited for her to regain composure before picking up the ball to serve. She picked up her racket, took a couple of breaths then popped me lightly in the chest with it. “See”, she said. “This is when you should spank me. When I deserve it, not just because.” Duly noted. But let the record show, I didn’t discard the “just because” option entirely.

Now as we were driving off into the mountains reflecting on a marriage of decades and literally countless spankings: birthday-spankings, punishment spankings, maintenance spankings, foreplay spankings (line blurs on that one) she, the converted vanilla, allows that it was probably spanking that saved our marriage. Or at least kept it from getting to a place where it would have needed saving.

Through up times, down times, jobs, no jobs, big money, no money, strong sex drive; no sex drive we have this thing, this one through-line to our marriage that grounds us as it binds us. Like a weird religion that we practice in private. No matter how distant we become from one another, which happens now and again, how often one of us might slip into that window staring ennui, we have something that will pull us back together.

As she explained to one of her vanilla friends who just didn’t get it “No matter how much we don’t like each other at times-there’s always this thing that we know we are going to do with each other that will break the ice and bring us close again. Plus it ends up with him rubbing lotion on my bare butt.”

And what could be wrong with that?

A Day In The Life


My wife Shelly and I run a small non-profit catering operation on the side (not to be confused with the For-Profit catering we do to keep the lights on that sometimes turns into a non-profit situation.  Shit happens). This non- profit thing is not a big production-just occasional dinners to raise operating funds for organizations we support.

During the last dinner, my wife and I had to leave for an hour or so to attend a funeral service for an old friend’s father. The kitchen was handled, servers were all in place and we enlisted our friend Theresa to take the money at the door. Not a complex job and she had sat in to spell either of us previously, but we had never left her alone to run the show.  The thing about Theresa is that she is our only vanilla friend who knows what goes on behind closed doors at our house. Some expect, I’m sure, but she knows. My dear wife, fueled by Vodka tonics, spilled the beans during a heart-to-heart with her a couple of years ago about keeping marriages strong, what we did, yadda-yadda.

Shelly had told me about it afraid I’d be angry but it was sort of a kick. Something to add to a flirty overlay that Theresa and I are always playing with. And she’s quick-like the time I came up beside her at a bar and she offered me a stool. “That’s OK”, I said. “I’d rather stand…” She gives me the look: “Were you really bad today?”

So when we left her at the door heading out-“OK, I counted the till and I know we’re straight. You know what happens if you’re off when I get back, right?”

“I guess I get spanked”, she said with a smile and twinkle that gave me a southerly buzz, funeral home trip or not. She laughed, I laughed and winked saying something like “As long as you know…” Shelly smiling led me out of the room asking, “How long will that exchange stick with you?”

As a natural vanilla, this stuff will roll off of my wife. Theresa, who talks a lot, probably wouldn’t remember by the time we got back. As a spanko though, this is the kind of thing that I can wrap a whole day’s worth of fantasies around.

So we get back about an hour later and the hall is packed-sold more dinners than we had in six months. Good for all concerned, but I ducked into the kitchen to help and Shelly did her thing, and we were at it hard for the next three hours or so. “Assholes and elbows” as my Gramma used to say. No time to fraternize or commiserate.

The next day Theresa and I had the text exchange you see here. All nudge, nudge, wink, wink; showed it to Shelly, she gave me the “you’re incorrigible” look and that was that. Then, this past weekend I’m in the garage tuning my lawnmower-it’s that time in my corner of the realm-when my phone buzzed. I assumed it was Shelly telling me when she’d be home but nope. “Theresa” said the phone.

“Hi Babe”, says I. She’s been “Babe” to me for years…as is my wife and most woman friends. (If it makes me an asshole, so be it.)

“What are you up to?” she asked.

I told her. She asked about our garden-had I tilled yet. Stuff like that. Small talk that I knew she really didn’t give a shit about but I kept the conversation going. Then she asked-

“Did you ever recount?”

Of course I knew what she was talking about. “Sure”, I lied. “The next day.”

“How did we do?”

“Good, real good…over 250 dinners.”

“Was the money straight?”

“Well, yeah”, I said slowly-as if reluctantly. “We were off a bit-not so you’d notice.”

“How much?”

“Around fifty bucks-cost of five dinners. Well within the ‘close-enough’ range.”

“It got really busy for a while there”, she said.

“I know…great job by you…”

“Still”, she said….”I feel like I should make up that money.”

“Get the hell out of here! No way…”

The phone was silent but there was still a connection….

“Still….” She said finally.

“Still nothing,” I said. “We’re good. And besides….we already worked out a penalty if you were off.”

I’d offered to spank her before-most famously when she was complaining about not being able to stick to a workout regimen. I’d offered the same service to her that I provided my wife-which had earned me a severe punch in the shoulder from Shelly who was sitting next to me. But this seemed to be different. It was just she and I on the phone.

The silence earlier had nothing on this. The birds stopped singing, there was no wind, I do believe my heart paused so that I wouldn’t miss anything Theresa might say.

Finally, “Is Shelly home?”

“No. I mean, not yet. She’s on her way. I thought you were her, on the phone. ”

“Okay…” she said, stretching it out…”I’ll swing by your house on the way home. If I see both cars, I’ll stop.” Good-she didn’t trust herself alone here either.

“Ok, Trece-maybe I’ll see you later…”

“Maybe you will…”

I didn’t. Shelly got home about twenty minutes later and I didn’t mention anything. Really nothing to mention yet. That’s bullshit-OK-I know that’s bullshit. But I’m waiting, see what happens at the next dinner….