Poll on Panty Position

When pulling down a spankees panties, what's your preference:

A. Just enough to expose the bottom

B. Down to mid-thigh

C. Down to her knees

D. Down to her ankles

E. Pull them completely off

F.  All of the above, one at a time

G. Have her take them off.

Jealousy

Jealousy did not make it as one of the Seven Deadly Sins. Perhaps it's included under Lust or Envy?  [I think wrath is the only one of the seven that I have violated - all too frequently desiring to smite some folks. Lots of folks need great vengeance rained down on them with furious rebuke.]

You have all seen a woman get jealous of "her" man looking at another woman. Just looking, mind you. I hope that is not "your" woman. [Men can be just as jealous]

I would not have a relationship with a woman who is so insecure.

If Bacall sees a woman she thinks would interest me, she draws my attention to her.

I am a damn poor judge of what makes a man look interesting to women, so I can not reciprocate. If I ask Bacall, "What about him"? Her response is usually non-comital.

We were parked in our RV in a remote area. Another RV parked close by. We were lounging inside and reading. Bacall kept calling my name and pointing at the other RV. I saw nothing of interest until I sat up and there was a most attractive woman sunbathing on the roof of her RV - naked.

We have skinny-dipped with people we know and total strangers

That's the way we roll. 

I guess that's why it was no big deal for us to be naked with another man or woman behind closed doors at spanking parties. We never asked the other what happened behind those Green Doors. It was of no interest.

I think I may have shared this before. At a party, she was being flogged bare-breasted in front of the rest of the group. Every so often, her eyes would light up like a quasar. I could not imagine why. After a while, her friend Bill sat next to me and shared that he had put a vibrator on her, and the remote control was in his coat pocket.

I suppose most would brand us as sunken and depraved.

What's For Breakfast?

Forgive my low motivation to post. I never thought my lifelong fascination with spanking would plummet.

Red Jeeps Are Sexy and She Has Eyeballs

She is attractive, he is doing a good job, but his coat and tie are out of place, and the rusty gate is off-putting.

Three's Company

Reader George sent us this:

This picture reminded me of something that happened years ago.

My ex-wife went through a phase after her hysterectomy where "everything" was a spanking implement and "everyone" wanted a spanking. And the story that follows comes from that. Honestly, it was both a good and a bad time. She enjoyed her spankings still, but really embraced spanking others during that time. She even explored finding spanking couples on the internet, but it wasn't our cup of tea. However, I was surprised by how many friends were up for a try once she became forward with asking. Some good times there. [Bogey agrees]

So let me begin with some background. I had bought an old dresser because it was American Chestnut wood to use to repair a rocking chair that had been my grandmother's. At some point, someone had replaced one of the drawer fronts with one from what I would assume was a piece of Mexican furniture. It was oak and crudely carved with sunbursts and moons in a medallion pattern. Of course, Mrs. Spanko thought it would make a good paddle. So I made one out of it. We used it once or twice, and it wasn't particularly remarkable in use or painful to receive, except I noticed the side with the carvings seemed to break a lot of blood vessels and leave terrible bruises even with moderate force. Of course, the other side was just flat, and although it was kind of heavy for play, it worked OK. We had a little shack near the lake, and the paddle ended up there, hidden on top of the kitchen cabinet, for emergency purposes. 

At that time, my wife had befriended our housekeeper, who was a half-Mexican girl who was kind of cute and about five years younger than her. The third one in the trio was a redhead from Georgia that we called "Peaches," who was also younger than her and always in some kind of mess, relationship-wise. Both of the "girls" hung around the house on the weekends, and I had my suspicions that Mrs. Spanko was at the very least being spanked by these girls because there were always a lot of winks between them and a fair amount of blushing for no real good reason. In fact, the thought crossed my mind that she might be getting sexual with them, but both of the young ladies denied it after the ex had left them and me behind.

So Mrs. Spanko and her sidekicks decided they were going to have a lingerie party at the lake house, and they invited about half a dozen other women over for drinks and rubber dick sales or whatever women do at those things. And I'm sure some clothed play spanking with the little ping pong type paddles painted pink with hearts and all that jazz went on. The two younger girls and Mrs. Spanko were going to stay the night, and I would swing out on Saturday morning and take them all for a little boat ride before we made a late lunch and then headed back to town. 

I roll up a little late that morning, and Mrs. Spanko is sitting on the porch with a cup of coffee. I ask her where the girls are, and she informs me that those "girls" drank a whole bottle of tequila last night and she couldn't wake them this morning. She said all this with a little smirk on her face, like she was privy to something I was not and wasn't going to be. Sort of relieved I didn't have to ass with the boat. I grabbed a beer to help with my slight bourbon hangover and flopped down in the chair next to her. Some time after she went in to check on the girls, and shortly after, Peaches came wandering out wearing one of my T-shirts for a nightshirt and carrying a cup of coffee. She looked pretty green around the gills and went directly to the edge of the porch and leaned on the railing. A few sips of coffee, and she began to heave and leaned over the rail to vomit. When she did, the T-shirt slipped up enough that I could see her butt cheeks. She had fair skin and her cheeks were just absolutely covered with those deep red bruises that I knew came from that "furniture" paddle. I kept quiet and changed my position before my wife came outside again, acting like I didn't see anything. In fact, I went in and started to make some breakfast for myself, toast, and some chicken noodle soup I found in the cabinet for the hangover crew. 

I did not see the housekeeper's bottom (that day). But she was all over the wooden kitchen chair while eating, and I suppose that answered my question. That evening, when I got home, Mrs. Spanko was washing the dishes I had left the night before, and I walked up behind her and pulled her sweat pants down enough to see what I needed to. She spun around, and her face wasn't as red as her buttocks, but close. Later, while she slept after sex, I examined her posterior a little closer and noticed a moon in its first quarter on her right cheek. Kind of wrapped around, like an amateur spanker might have misjudged and struck that area with the end of the paddle. Maybe even a little harder than normal, being fueled by alcohol.  

I bet that person regretted it when it was her turn.😅 Not one of the three ever spoke a word about the whole ordeal to me. And I guess that's probably why it's such a vivid memory.   

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hopefully, you are feeling a little better. I hope your bride is recovering well also.  

For Those in Social Insolation

 For Openers

Think She Runs Track?

Ideal Office Wear

Bet her skirt is tight also

The Double Mint Twins?

A White Lab

I want to share the weirdest thing that ever happened to us. I have never been able to express my feelings about it. It happened.

I was raking the blanket of acorns in our front yard. We had a massive oak tree that produced a prolific crop of acorns each year. I was taking a break, sitting on the front steps with Bacall. Our neighborhood did not have any outside dogs, but a white lab appeared and walked directly towards us. He did not solicit petting. He looked at Bacall and put a paw on her breast. The one that had been cut and radiated. He held his eyelock with her for a few seconds, then turned and walked away.

We watched him for a few seconds, looked away, and when we looked again, he was gone.

We asked all our neighbors if they had ever seen a white lab in the neighborhood. No one had.

20 years later, Bacall is cancer-free.

Make of it what you will.

Mid Week Follies

 For Openers

Bright Eyed and Bushy Tailed