The 12 Days of Ouchmas

Rather than repeating all 12 verses, I’m only posting the last one.

On the twelfth day of Ouchmas
my true love sent to me:
12 Bums for Whipping
11 Thighs for striping
10 Boards a Whacking
9 Schoolgirl spankings
8 Blades a Cutting
7 Dawns for Flogging
6 Nieces Sobbing
5 Vicious Swings
4 Naughty Nerds
3 Bad Gwens
2 Studded Gloves
and a Red Bottom for my Knee

[Bums refers to buttocks]

When spanking meets the green-eyed monster

The neighborhood had changed, not gradually, but cataclysmically. Lauren had had to leave. Abandoning her husband, running from the birthday party for her best friend: driving aimlessly, yet urgently she fled. Her cell chirped and vibrated frantically. Lauren had withstood the temptation to fling it out the driver’s window. She was in shock, intellectually she understood her flight was problematic, yet, the primitive woman roared and snarled, demanding satisfaction. Yes it had been Ashleigh’s party, her twenty-fifth birthday. Yes the alcohol had flowed. Yes Lauren knew Ashleigh liked kinky sex. Yes Ashleigh had bent over, her ‘spank me’ panties flashing the guests. OK, Lauren admitted, she’d swatted her best friend more times than she could remember. It was a birthday party, they were all adults and clothes had stayed on. But, stumbling down the hall seeking the bathroom, hearing the smacks, opening the door to see her husband spanking the very naked Ashleigh, other guests patiently waiting their turn at the scarlet ass of her best friend: it was an earthquake. Somehow, she’d left, driving drunk, streets empty and dark, now, out of gas, out of range, red and blue lights quickly bathed her ashen face in pulsing color. When the officer tapped on the glass, Lauren was numb. Following her instructions, Lauren surrendered her identification, her cell and her dignity. At the station, Lauren was booked on charges of DUI and held upon payment of bail and arrival of her husband.

Waking in the morning to the frantic urgings of her bladder, the smell of stale urine and vomit caused Lauren to add her contribution to the detox cell. Dirty, tired and more miserable than she’d ever been in her life, when the matron called her name, Lauren shuffled to the door and was brought to a private room. Cuffed and seated on a steel chair bolted to the floor, Lauren stared at her chipped nails and dirty fingers. Tears fell unhindered. Images flashed untethered. When, finally, her husband and his lawyer arrived, the silence was thunderous. Lauren heard her husband dismiss the lawyer with details of her release, the clang of the heavy lock made her flinch. Unwilling to meet his eyes, she instead stared at his waist. The thick black leather belt, the holster, the chrome handcuffs; how often had they played bad cop and hard hooker. Lauren was terrified. She saw his legs move around the table, his arms yanking her to her feet then throwing her body across the hard surface. Restrained wrists dangling, Lauren murmured a feeble protest. He ignored her, pulling the jail issued pants down, followed by her soiled panties, he made a noise of utter disgust. That sound was quickly eclipsed by the harsh snap of leather meeting flesh. This was between her and him. Some of his brothers and sisters in blue may not have agreed with the actual punishment, but neither did they watch with cameras or eyes. By the time he was done strapping Lauren, her bottom was verging on purple and her throat hoarse from screaming.

Lying on her stomach, in her own bed, the jail lingering no matter the hour spent scrubbing under the hot shower, Lauren cried when she moved, cried when she remembered the silence after the spanking was done, cried when her apologies were ignored, cried and cried and cried until she fell asleep. Slowly waking to calloused hands gently rubbing her deep bruises, Lauren started violently, but a ‘shhhhh, let me take care of you’ allowed her to relax. His thick fingers kneaded, probed and tormented her until the events of the last twenty-four hours burst and Lauren commenced deep, guilty sobs. Heedless of her aching bottom, she squirmed over and fairly leapt into her husband’s embrace. He kissed her softly, but as her hands fumbled with his belt, he stood, quickly shedding his work uniform and entered her in one slamming thrust. Jealously had torn them apart, but thanks to their commitment to discipline, they could find the way back.

How to ask your man for a spanking*

[* Your man not ‘A’ man. Asking a stranger** for a spanking is a really bad idea.]
[** Stranger as in a random guy rather than someone in the scene***]
[*** Scene includes but not limited to clubs, gatherings, films etc.]

The following is fiction. I do not receive letters from women seeking advice.
They could.
Ask for advice.
But they don’t.
Because…
Well, this blog is a way for me to be creative and more importantly, force myself to keep writing.
Although if anyone does want to contact me they could.
I don’t have any contact on this blog however other than leaving a comment.

Dear Lurvspanking,

I hope it’s all right to leave this comment. I read all your posts and I wanted to ask you a question. How do I ask my husband to spank me? In your stories all the women are confident and the men all immediately understand the need for a good spanking. But I read many blogs written by married women and they all confide their husbands don’t understand them. There seems to be constant conflict over being submissive in today’s modern culture. What I want is what all the other women want: to be treated as someone precious and fragile while acknowledging our intelligence and passion. Is that too much to expect from a spanking?

Thanks

Confused wannabe sub in Middle America

Dear Wannbe,

Thank you for your comment and yes, it is all right to ask me for my advice. Let’s start with spanking shall we? You don’t mention how long you’ve been married or if you have children, but I’ll assume you have two kids and have been married for ten years. Is spanking something you want to spice up your sex life? Is it for punishment? Control? What are your expectations?

LS

Dear LS,

Thanks for replying. We have only one child and we’ve been together for fifteen years all told. I am very submissive, always have been, but with working full-time and my husband having his own interests, I’ve had to be independent. More independent than I’m comfortable being on a daily basis. I want my husband to spank me because I’m unhappy with me, with everything. I’m too fat, too tired, too lazy and have completely lost my way. Sex? What’s that? Maybe if he wanted to go out once in a while instead on lying on the couch watching sports. Sorry. Didn’t mean to vent.

Wannabe

Dear Wannabe,

You really do need a hard spanking! Such an attitude! Men are simple. When a woman is needy, they pull away. But, the one redeeming quality – besides a big cock – is that men love a problem to fix. Instead of coming right out and asking for a spanking, ask your husband for his advice. Be demure, not clingy and dress nice. Glance down as if shy and touch him gently. Tell him you’ve been thinking about stuff and he’s the only one who can solve your problems. He’ll puff right up and get all interested. Take it slow. Start with your weight. He’ll say right away you’re perfect and you’ll pout because he’s not taking you seriously. STOP! Stop right there. In his eyes you are perfect otherwise he wouldn’t be with you! Men are simple. Men need a good woman to take care of them. Stop resenting his needs and start anticipating how you can better serve him. That’s part of being submissive. Not a doormat, submissive. Ask him how you should go about losing some weight. Be prepared for graphs and flowcharts detailing calorie burn and watts/hour. Squeal and gush at his macho display, men love when their woman get all gooey when they flex their muscles. Repeat for all the issues you have. To show your gratitude, unzip his fly.

LS

Dear LS,

Wow! I never thought about any of that! Except the unzipping the fly, I can handle that part. But what about the spanking? I want a spanking!!!!!!!

Wannabe

Wannabe,

Don’t make me come over there! Be patient, you’ve waited fifteen years already what’s a few more weeks? Try to follow his schedule. Report to him every other day on your progress. Get him used to being in charge of you and your body. When you crash and burn, and you will, he will be hurt. Men do that when their women don’t follow their magnificent plan of action. Make it up to him. Bring a hairbrush/paddle/belt with you. Kneel at his feet. Tell him how sorry you are. Tell him you want to follow his wonderful plan, but you are too weak, you need his masculinity in order to stay on track. Tell him you’ve earned punishment, but not the cold shoulder, not his disgust. Tell him you’ve earned a spanking. Don’t let him have time to think. Raise your skirt and lay over his lap. Ask him to start with his hand and then use the hairbrush/paddle/belt on your naughty bottom until he’s satisfied you’ve been punished enough. No matter how little or how much he spanks you, do not COMPLAIN, but simple accept his dominance. There will be plenty of time later to discuss what happened. He’ll be guilty, trust me, especially if he bruises you, but thank him in both words and sex. The next day, discuss in a calm and rational conversation how you need regular spankings in order to maintain his plan. Do not accept any lessening of his plan. Men are simple. As long as he thinks he’s simply helping you follow his advice he’ll keep spanking you. Of course, at some point, you’ll be motivated to succeed instead of fail and then, spanking takes on a completely different tone. Let me know how it turns out.

LS

First try at spanking

There was something so soothing about being cradled in a man’s arms, especially after a nice session of loving. Ellen blushed, even though Franklin had been her husband for eleven months, she still felt constrained by her morals. The lights had to be off. She had to be wearing a nightgown. And she’d never done anything other than simply lying down and letting Franklin enter her with his thing. He was patient with her shyness though. He understood the fractured upbringing she suffered. By taking her away and beginning a new life together Ellen was realizing there was more to a marriage than drinking and yelling.

“Franklin?”
“Hum.”
“Do I please you?”
“In what way?”
“You know… in bed… when you love me.”
“Of course you do darling. You’re a wonderful partner and I love you very much. Now get some sleep.”

Ellen laid silently listening to her husband’s breathing and occasional snoring. She couldn’t sleep. Naïve as she was, the friends she’d made in this town all seemed happier and more satisfied with their marriages when it came to loving. Ellen blushed in the dark even thinking the word ‘sex’. To hear her friends gossip there were many things they did and had done to them that Ellen couldn’t even bring herself to acknowledge ever trying. Yet, in the quiet hours of the early morning, if she was honest with herself, she felt unfulfilled with the physical parts of her marriage. If only Franklin was…

After making breakfast for her husband and seeing him off to work, Ellen busied herself with domestic chores. She took pride in a clean house and good cooking. She’d asked Franklin after they were engaged if she would be required to continue her career. He’d firmly stated then it was his responsibility to support her and their children and her responsibility to keep house and be a mother. The mother part had yet to materialize but the doctor had assured Ellen she was normal ‘down there’. She’d been mortified by the exam, her first, but the doctor had been caring if a bit stern. Even Franklin had never seen her so intimately; Ellen frowned at the notion, it seemed wrong some how to deny her husband. The rest of the day passed in a blur until at a quarter to six Franklin returned home. It was Thursday, meatloaf and potato night. Serving him, refilling his glass and listening intently while he vented, Ellen felt very content.

In his den later Franklin was engrossed in reports when there was a timid knock on the door. Ellen entered his sanctum and stood without speaking in front of his desk. “Yes?”
“Franklin? I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone. It’s nothing.”
“Nonsense Ellen. Whatever is bothering you I would appreciate knowing. I am your husband.”
“I know. You deserve better from a wife.”
“What claptrap are you spouting Ellen? I am quite pleased with your efforts as my wife. You provide a pleasant home and good food, what more could a man want?”
“Maybe… I know you’re a man Franklin… you have needs… I’m not very good at, you know, sex.”

Franklin was stunned. His demure Ellen was apologizing for her lack of skills in the bedroom? It was true he had certain ‘needs’, however, demanding his wife provide them was… gauche. He was a gentleman, and gentlemen never took, only coaxed. The stories of fantastic and exotic sex were just that, stories and fables written by men too timid to seek out a real woman.
“I think you’re doing fine Ellen. I am quite satisfied by your efforts to please me. We’ll not discuss this further.”
“But…”
“Enough Ellen.”

She was clearly being dismissed and she obeyed, at first; then determinedly made up her mind. “No Franklin, it is not enough. I am not enough for you. If I am truly to be your wife then my body must also belong to you to use as you see fit. You need more. I want more. There has to more to sex than what we’ve had for the past eleven months. There has to be more Franklin.”
“Are you disobeying me Ellen? I said I was satisfied.”
“What if I am Franklin? I think you’re lying. I think you want to do all sorts of nasty things to me.”
“And how do you know about ‘nasty’ things Ellen? What have you been reading behind my back?”
“Nothing Franklin! My friends talk about their husbands all the time! I can’t help but overhear.”
“Overhear what precisely?”
Ellen was blushing profusely but Franklin’s scolding was melting some of her natural reserve. His dominance was making her squirm. “Susan said she loved to suck Tom’s ‘thing’ until he spurted in her mouth.”
“His thing?”
“You know… his manroot.”
“Ah. His penis. Go on.”
“Laura explained how Samuel licks her down there…”
“Down there Ellen?”
“Her pussy Franklin. Laura loves to have her pussy licked. How come you’ve never tried that with me?”

Franklin stood up and walked around the desk: Ellen instinctively backed-up against the closed door. He bent down and kissed his wife – hard – while gripping her firmly round the waist. He forced his tongue into her mouth, she responded with a faint moan. Releasing her lips he asked her, “What else wife did you overhear?”
Ellen shook her head to clear her thoughts. “Most of my friends are…”
“Yes?”
“Are spanked.”
“Spanked?”
“Yes Franklin, spanked; hard and often if their tales are to be believed.”
“By their husbands?”
“Evidentially.”
“Because?”
“I don’t know Franklin. I was too embarrassed to inquire.”

There was a wingless armchair in the corner of the den. Franklin led his unresisting wife and bent her over his seated knees. Raising her dress he was struck by the realization it was the first time he’d ever seen her bottom in daylight. “Down or up?”
“Down please Franklin. I’ve been a bad girl. I’ve neglected you so much. Spank me hard… please?”

Over the top

The blue spruces shuddered violently. Lightning danced rapidly from menacing flannel clouds approaching the homestead. Heather Parks wrung her hands thinking of her husband Josh driving home in this terrifying weather. He’d been gone a week this time on business and despite nightly calls she constantly worried about his health. Her concern was a constant source of friction. Josh hated being ‘babied’ and Heather had fled in tears after many an argument. If only he would see what she needed, what she craved: he was oblivious to her! As the storm grew harsher so did Heather’s thoughts until the crashing thunder shook dust from the rafters.

“Mom! Where’s my yellow shirt?”

“It’s in the wash! I’m trying to write, have Daddy help you!” Corrine Campos grimaced hearing the horde descending upon her unsuspecting husband. Carmelo was warm and loving, except when it came to women’s work. Old-fashioned to the extreme he would never even consider lifting a finger to help around the house. He supported Corrine and their three children by running his own consulting business and that was enough for him and his mother. She’d found his masculinity overwhelming when they were dating but after ten years of marriage the resentments were reaching the breaking point. When her phone rang; well, Corrine snapped out without checking ID.

“What!”
“My, my Corrine. Testy today?”
“Sorry Roxy. Bad day.”
“I understand. Hate to rain on your parade but ‘Over the top’ needs work, lots of work.”
“I know, I know, I know. I’m editing now Roxy, please give me a little more time.”
“I’m sorry Corrine, but the deadline is Wednesday and if you don’t have a publishable draft by tomorrow the magazine is going to cancel. There’s nothing more I can do. Give me something to sell and I’ll go to the mat for you.”
“Okay Roxy. Tomorrow, I promise. Gotta go, hubby is pounding on the door.”

“What are you doing? Your children are driving me crazy!”
“I’m sorry Carmelo. I was talking to a friend. I’ll be right there.”

Corrine put her computer to sleep and wasted two hours caring for her children before foisting them off on her sister for the rest of the day. Carmelo had left, to go and do who knew what, but Corrine was quite happy to see his BMW squealing out of the gate. Finally: Peace and quiet.

The blue spruces shuddered violently as if in the throes of orgasm. Lightning danced rapidly from the menacing flannel clouds approaching the homestead intent on rape. Heather Parks wrung her hands thinking of her horny husband Josh driving home in this terrifying weather. He’d been gone a week this time on business and despite nightly calls she constantly worried about the health of his penis. Her concern was a constant source of friction. Josh hated being ‘babied’ and Heather had fled in tears after many a blowjob. If only he would see what she needed, what she craved: he was oblivious to her! As the storm grew harsher so did Heather’s thoughts until the crashing thunder shook dust from the rafters. What if she never got a chance to suck on his hard cock ever again?

Josh pulled into the garage amidst hail as large as fists and rain so thick the wipers failed to keep up. He was trembling with fatigue and looked forward to a long, hot soapy shower – by himself. Heather was so needy lately! What was her problem? He was less than pleased to open the door and find Heather on her knees, warm mouth open and blue eyes pleading for his cock. He finally snapped. Grabbing her long blond hair in his calloused fingers he dragged her into the living room and threw her over the back of the couch. Whipping out his belt he proceeded to beat his wife on her rounded quivering bottom while she cried and begged the entire time. When her ass was covered with weals he threw down the belt, stalked to her head, yanked up her head and shoved his cock down her throat.

Heather was in shock. Where was the loving gentle man she’d married? Why was he doing this? Her ass was on fire and while it hurt, the pain was nothing compared to her broken heart. When he pulled out of her mouth she protested again but then he began to pound her pussy each thrust slapping her sore bottom. Heather felt her climax building, the storm continuing unabated, neither one noticing the lights failing or glass shattering. Rain driven by violent winds soaked them as Josh fucked Heather as hard as he could: not caring a whit for her needs. She screamed again, pain was creating pleasure and her soaking wet cunt flooded the cushions. She moaned and writhed until she felt Josh shooting his spunk deep inside.

“What the fuck? What the hell are you doing?”
“Carmelo! Stop that! You have no right! This is private!”
“The hell it is! No wife of mine is going to read this filth!”
“It’s not filth Carmelo! I wrote this for publication, for money!”
“You wrote this perverted trash for money? Money? You whore!”
Corrine slapped her angry husband. “How dare you call me a whore? I am the mother of your children and if I’m a whore then you’re a pimp!”
“You’ve gone too far this time Corrine. I’m the man in this house and I decide what my wife does.”
“Bullshit! I don’t have to take this crap from you! Let me go! I’ll call the police.”
“Fine Corrine, call, but first, I’m going to teach you some long overdue manners!”

Corrine felt herself rapidly thrown over her furious husband’s knees, dress tossed over her head and panties thrown on the floor. Carmelo’s large hand descended in rapid-fire order on her naked bottom punctuated by his stern lecture on proper behavior. Corrine squealed and bucked but her husband had little problems keeping her in her place. “I should have done this on our wedding night! You will obey me Corrine or I’ll spank you every day, twice a day for the rest of your life! Is that clear?”
“Yes sir!” Corrine choked out.

After more than half an hour of spanking, Carmelo threw his weeping wife on their bed and stalked out slamming the door behind him. Corrine reached back and gasped as she felt the heat pouring off her battered ass. Gingerly rolling over she swayed to the bathroom to observe the damage.

“Roxy? It’s Corrine. Don’t bother with ‘Over the top’. I’ve got a new story to write: ‘Disobedient and beaten wife’. Yeah, it’s personal, very personal.”

Sometimes I doubt my sanity

Listening to Pink is a mistake: when you’re in a bar at closing time. What she can sing about is not what I should say when I’ve been drinking since ten the previous night. Why drink? Hell, it’s not like I like the taste. But the freedom it offers. Haven’t you always wanted to say whatever the fuck you wanted to whomever you wanted whenever you wanted? Like it’s the buzz, the release of that nattering nanny – aka Mommy Dearest – who is always telling you to keep your knees together and your underwear clean. Hey bitch! I don’t wear underwear anymore! So there! I drink because I’m a powerful modern woman who takes no prisoners. Gurls rock! I LOVE YOU PINK! OK. Hangovers suck. Especially since all my BFFs have betrayed the code and gotten married to “He’s so sweet and nice and so romantic.” Fuck you! I don’t need you to hold my hair back. Rubber bands work just fine. I don’t need romance and flowers and hearts carved in trees. If I want sex, I take it. No man has ever turned me down I’ll have you know. I use them and toss them back into that cesspool known as dating. I don’t date. I fuck. I fuck in the day, at night; whenever and wherever I want. I can’t believe they busted me for public indecency! Are you fucking kidding me? I’ve blown over half the cops in this crappy town and now they suddenly get all righteous on my ass? WTF? Hey! I got a great ass if I do say so myself and I do say so myself even if it’s currently parked in the slammer between a hooker and a druggie. Excuse me? Alcohol is legal and so is sex: the last time I checked it was still a free country. Everyone has sex but everyone acts like the biggest frigging prudish hypocrite when they actually see something sexual going down. Did I mention I like going down? Please. Like any guy would turn down a blow job from a smoking hot chick like moi. That’s french for ‘me’ in case you were wondering. I am an international woman of mystery. But I wouldn’t blow Austin Powers on a dare. Five hundred? Maybe. Fine. I’m picky, so sue me. It’s not like I’m desperate or anything. We are way off the beaten path in this podunk excuse for a community, but there are still enough guys, married or otherwise to go around. Believe you me, they get around, I have the pictures to prove it. Did someone say pictures? I meant memories. I would never stoop to shooting a porno flick. I mean I could, I am a dynamic sex goddess even if my name isn’t Crystal Kneepads, but you know, making money off my body doesn’t seem right. Food and drinks are good, jewelry and gift cards are better, but straight cash seems tawdry and cheap. Sorry if that pisses you off honey but I like to choose my partners. Really? Judge Myers? He does what? That pervert! I can’t believe it! What? It beats a couple of years upstate? How many times have you… that many? Why do you keep coming back? You like it? WTF? Why would anyone like to be spanked? Cause it feels good? OK. If you say so. Damn. I have got to get outta here. Stuck in jail with bimbos who like to get spanked by a judge in lieu of prison time. That’s french for ‘you’re fucked so bend over and take what’s coming to you’. Oh well. I guess it’s better than being some dykes bitch. Maybe Judge Myers would accept a blow job instead. Haven’t done him yet. Always thought he was kinda creepy. Who knew?

Too many men want my bottom

You’d think she’d be happy. Men walked into walls as she sashayed by, hips twitching the short skirt tightly bunched around the best ass they’d ever seen. Teasing looks, double entendres and some not so subtle come-hither smiles usually resulted in all the wrong men for all the wrong reasons. Violet loved a good fucking now and then, but being bent over and sodomized lost its thrill after the fiftieth time or so. That’s all men wanted from her. No blowjobs, no cunt fucking, certainly no going down on her, just bend over and spread em. They were obviously watching too much Rocco. Didn’t they know a woman’s bottom was actually made for only one thing? A good hard spanking, preferably with a thick leather belt or paddle until the ass was fire engine red and so hot you could cook eggs on the surface. Then, after setting the stage, a good fucking became a great fucking. Too bad men were such dorks. What did Violet have to do? Wear a skirt saying ‘Spank Me’ across her bottom?

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