Tuesday, May 22, 2018

A Warm Bottom Welcome

Just a few weeks ago, I was off to spend some lovely time with my youngest sister out east.  Sam knows that, every so often, she and I need to be together for some SSS (Silly Sister Stuff.)  I do love that girl just like when she was 5 years old.

The weather was not cooperative most of the time, but there were bits where spring broke through even though winter fought hard to maintain its bleak grip.  It didn't matter a jot to us.  There was laughter and hugs - good food and happy memories.

But I was surely missing Sam.  I couldn't wait to be home with his arms around me.  To fall asleep next to him in bed.  There were other things I couldn't wait to do with my husband, too.  Our wedding anniversary fell on one of my last days away, and I knew how I wanted to celebrate 2 days late.  When I sent Sam a provocative email describing all the things I wanted him to do to me when I arrived home, this was his short response:

                     "Think a warm bottom welcome comes first."

That only added fuel to my fire.  The very idea of that sort of welcome home spanking made me quiver a bit in my nether regions.  I visualized us leaving the luggage by the front door and teasing each other down the hall and to the bedroom.  Strip frantically and get down to business.  No foreplay necessary.  That was the plan.

When we walked in the front door, I turned the corner into the dining room.  There, on the dark wood pub table, was a vase with a dozen red roses.

"Aww, Hon, they are just beautiful.  I love the.....," and I stopped abruptly when I saw that the vase was circled with a blue satin ribbon.

The ribbon was strung off the vase and continued up toward the ceiling of the room.  My eyes followed the ribbon up and then over and above the front closet door and on down the hall.  I smiled at Sam with a questioning look.

"What's this, Sam?" I asked softly.

"Don't know," and he returned the smile a bit smugly.

I could have run down the hallway just following the ribbon with my eyes, but there was something in Sam's face that made me take my time; he had obviously worked hard on this treasure hunt.  Thought we should savor the surprise together.

Following the ribbon with my fingertips, I felt Sam's hands on my shoulders and waist almost guiding me toward something.  I was sure we were heading to our bedroom.  I wondered.  Would it be red lingerie or some wicked new implement?  Nope.  I was so surprised when the ribbon changed direction and led me into the spare room.

There on the table was a big, bright shiny new color printer - something I had asked for more times than I could remember.  Wireless even!

"Cartridges are too damn expensive," he would growl.  "We are just fine with the black and white one."

I really was stunned and delighted.  I oohed and ahhed and said thank you over and over.  I hugged and kissed that wonderful Sam until it dawned on both of us how very horny we both were.  Clothes were being shed as we led each other back to our bedroom.  The man lived up to his promise, and the "warm bottom welcome" was something to remember.  Sam doesn't always let me see the weapons he chooses from the toy box, but I know there were 3 that afternoon.  When he got to the razor strap, I was already knocking on heaven's door.  The orgasm that followed was one for the record books.  It felt like the spasms would never end, and my body jerked like I had electricity running from head to toe.  Holy hell!

          Really, how could the homecoming have been any better?

                         "Well," says Ella, "the story continues."

We finally dragged ourselves from bed, and later we eventually ended up back at my new printer.  Sam urged me to print something, just to see how true the colors were.  Since I had been planning a redecoration of our guest room, I asked my nifty toy to print a picture of a blue India batik wall hanging.  Then, totally amazed at the lack of wires, I rushed down the hall once again to retrieve my first color copy.  Except it wasn't the first copy.  There was another page sitting warm on the humming machine.

Sam saw me look a little confused as I started to read from the page.  Then I realized the words on the sheet were his.  It was a letter.  It was a love letter.  Printed in a script font with an old clock in the bottom right corner.  Could practically hear it ticking.

I took Sam's hand and pulled him to me.

"Can I read this out loud?  Read it with you?" I asked.

"Of course you can, Ella."

Once I was seated on his knee, I began to read again, this time aloud.  And here is the letter I found.  The following are Sam's words.


It was what seems a long time ago.  But then I think about it, and it seems to have passed too quickly.

I had finally arrived in "High School" and was on the track to I didn't know where.  Just knew that things were getting serious from now on.  There were weird politics, civil rights, there was a war, there was the draft coming up, and there was me.  What was I going to do with my life?  Didn't have the faintest idea about any of it.

I was walking down the hall one day, don't remember from where or to where or even what time of day it was.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw a girl, somehow a girl like I had never seen before.  Obviously, I had thought about girls being a hormone-driven teenager but never like this before.  There was something really magic about this girl.  The way she smiled, the way she talked, the way she walked, how she carried herself and something else.  It was like the little pebble at the top of the mountain that rolls down the hill and starts an avalanche.  And that avalanche lasted the rest of my life.

My casual glance became a full-fledged look.  She took a quick glance at me and I thought, 'Not coming up to the mark, oh well,' with a great degree of disappointment.  And then, just like that, the glance returned as a total look with a gorgeous smile attached.  Across the hall, I heard another little pebble start a journey down the mountain.

After knowing you through all those years and all our married years, I am still ecstatic that you returned that look.  I am so happy that I found you.  And the avalanche continues.

                          Loved you then, love you now and always will.


After I finally stopped blubbering, I told Sam it was the most wonderful present he'd ever given to me.  This combination of a homecoming and an anniversary gift was something I will never forget.  Sam was right, though, about the avalanche.  It's our love story, and there are still some chapters to write.

Wednesday, May 16, 2018

What Does Love Look Like?

Talk about a lucky woman.  In the month of April, I was able to visit two blog friends who live in opposite directions across the wide USA.  Yes, I have met them both in person on girls' trips in the last few years, but I had never visited them in their homes or met their spouses.  It was a new experience for me, and I was so excited to see each woman in her own domain.

Although one lives in a small town and the other lives in a large city, their homes were both warm and inviting.  Just different scenery out the windows.  Both friends were so generous with their time and the unique locations close by that we explored together.  I always love to share the sights special to my region of the country when people come to stay, and I sincerely hope both friends come to visit Sam and I one day soon.  Husbands, too, of course!

Most times our homes are a reflection of who we really are.  We put our stamp on it more than any other place in our world.  I loved seeing each friend's style personality in the rooms of their house.  The colors, the furniture, and especially the comfy places where they relax and write.  One of my favorite discoveries!  Now whenever I read a post they put up, I can picture them having their coffee or juice as they type and turn those spankings into stories.

And I think I examined every picture in each house, except for the ones in the master bedrooms.  Art usually has a story, and it was such a treat for me to hear those stories from my friends and their dear men, too.  

Visiting local restaurants or enjoying the cooking in friends' kitchens always seem to bring people together, even those meeting for the first time.  A favorite Italian restaurant, a market full of fresh food, goodies from a special bakery.  And it was something past wonderful to sample the local microbreweries.

So, I suppose the suspense has gone on long enough, readers.  With pleasure I will let you know that my visits took me first to PK and Nick's house.  When I returned home, there was barely time to get the laundry caught up before a second visit had Sam and I traveling to the home of Meredith and Jack.  New airports and introductions, lots of talk, settling in, and presents, too. 

Everything I have shared with you so far made these trips delightful and memorable.  I couldn't thank these couples enough.  But there was something else that made me smile to myself throughout both visits.  It was seeing the relationship between each friend and her husband.   Up until last month, I mostly knew about their relationships through the dozens and dozens of posts on these two friends' blogs.  PK and her Nick.  Meredith and her Jack.  Actually, I think it was PK who once wrote that ttwd wives appreciate their guys in a way you don't see often in this big world.  No trash talking our husbands.

So what does love look like in a ttwd home?  Remember that old song, "The Look of Love" by Burt Bacharach?  Here's a few of the lyrics to help you recall.  It was a very pretty song, and watching each couple together made me think of it again.

                               The look of love
                               Is in your eyes
                               The look your smile can't disguise
                               The look of love
                               Is saying so much more
                               Than just words could ever say....

So here's a peek at the love I saw in these two homes.

  • Heard a voice that was softer when her man was in the room.  
  • Watched her eyes glued on him when he was talking.
  • Her hand on his knee.  His hand on hers.
  • Saw her smile when she read his text.
  • His quick touch of her hair. 
  • Felt his protectiveness when he insisted she drive his car for a longer outing.
  • Standing close in the kitchen and working together.
  • Smiled to myself when she literally "leaned in" when he was telling a story. 
  • Her appreciating him opening doors for her.
  • A hand reaching for a hand as they walked ahead.
  • Noticing how each partner listened actively to the other.
  • A kiss before he left the house.
  • An arm around her shoulders as they sat together.
  • His hand on the small of her back.
  • Genuine laughter when he was funny.
  • A smile across the room.
  • Her showing concern for his parent.
  • Stopping herself when she began to interrupt.
  • Showing off something he built.
  • The sweet and sexual tension between a husband and a wife.

If I had sat with a notebook in my lap, there were probably many more words, gestures, and examples of positive body language between the couples.  Even so, one of the most wonderful things about these trips was to watch This Thing We Do in action.  There were no spankings that I know about, but I surely did get to witness the love about which I have so often read when I visit New Beginnings online or check out any "new twists" at Meredith and Jack's house.

  Thanks, my friends, for two lovely trips with two lovely couples.




Thursday, April 12, 2018

Ella's Lucky Gamble

So much has changed for me in the last several years, and this month is 3 years since I published my first post.   Three candles on my Blog Cake!  But it was the summer of 2014, almost a year before, when I told Sam who I really was on an August morning.  It was scary, but I had made the decision to "play the game."  To take a chance when the cards were dealt.  To hope for the best.

When we come to an anniversary, it seems natural to look back at how far we've come and then to look forward to what we hope will happen in the future.

An anniversary is really any date that we celebrate annually.  If it is the first day of a new year, we might want to make a resolution.  Something we want to accomplish or a bad habit we want to eliminate.  If it is a birthday, ours or that of a loved one, we blow out candles and eat cake and sing.  As we get older, we wonder where the hell the years have gone and thank our lucky stars for the gift of health.  We pick up the cards in front of us and make the choice of what to keep and what to throw away.

When I thought about Ella turning 3 years old, I felt humbled by all the wonderful life experiences that have come my way since I took that first big gamble.  That "First Hello."  I have to think there was some fate involved; otherwise, how could plain, old me have ever been so lucky.  I am not a person who hits the jackpot when I visit Vegas, but somehow ttwd dealt me a Royal Flush.  For those of you who don't know your poker hands, that's a ten, Jack, Queen, King, and Ace, all of the same suit.  Make it hearts, I think, for all the love and happiness that has come my way.

The Ace of Hearts gave me the gift of spanking.  For those of us that have ached for that to be in our lives since we were old enough to have memories, it is a precious gift.  It took a basic love story between a man and a woman and set it on a higher plane.  Something so special between us that I would never have dreamed it could happen to me.

The King of Hearts is Sam, of course.  He is my king and the love of my life.  He listened and learned and he did it even though he couldn't understand why it was so important to me.  Sometimes just thinking of the affection and the selflessness that takes just leaves me in awe.  It brings me such joy to see how Sam has embraced his new role and how much personal satisfaction it brings him.  That was a wild card I never expected.

If Sam is my king, then I am his queen.  He treats me that way now, and he makes me feel cherished.  I will never know why I have this need to be spanked, but I can tell you that, for me, it has so much to do with feeling loved.  When he puts me over his knee or over the bed and makes it known that he is in charge, I am overwhelmed by the feeling that I am his, that I am safe, that I am fulfilled.  The rest of the world falls away.

"If you're gonna play the game, boy, ya gotta learn to play it right."

                                     And Sam surely did. 

If you are playing straight Draw Poker, you really shouldn't have but 5 cards in your hand, but my blog has really stacked the deck when it comes to friends.  The Jack of Hearts is a generous and funny soul and has dealt me some of the loveliest friendships of my entire life.  Before that first post, I was just so happy to know there were other women out there like me.  Never dreamed I would hold all those cards so close to my heart.  All of you who read or comment here add up to the biggest center pot I have ever won.  You make me feel like a very rich woman.

   There's just one more card I need to mention.  The ten of Hearts.  

          "It's knowin' what to throw away and knowing what to keep." 

For me, the final card has to be the joy I have found in writing.  It had been so many years since I had written for pleasure, that I think I forgot how good it makes me feel.  Good for my head and my heart and my soul.  It's a way to communicate concretely with people.  It leaves a record of the love and the sorrow, the good days and bad.  Sometimes you're a winner; sometimes you're a loser.  

                       But it's how you play the game that counts. 


Tuesday, March 27, 2018

Feel the Burn

Exercise happens first thing in the morning or otherwise Ella blows it off.  I think I have exercised pretty consistently, though, for most of my adult life.  Don't go to a gym usually, but since I am getting rid of my treadmill to make space for a nice guest room, I just may join one next winter.  When I was working, I almost always put in 10,000 steps a day.  The medical facility and campus was massive.  All I had to do was walk instead of taking the shuttle, and I made my goal.

On top of walking, though, I still do a routine that takes me about 30 minutes before getting into the shower.  Now that I am retired, I still strive to exercise daily but do not have to rise and shine quite so early.  There is some cardio, some weights, core-strengthening, resistance, and agility/stretching.  There are also some exercises that I learned from physical therapists that target an injury or condition.

My routine starts in the kitchen with some old ballet stretches on the counter and several others that utilize stretchy resistance bands.  Then on to the living room with
something to drink and the television news or weather.  I keep weights in a copper fireplace bin intended for logs.  Besides some lifts, I also use them to stretch the muscles in my upper back to alleviate fibromyalgia pain.  Next I bring out a large blue core ball for exercises designed to strengthen the core muscles.

I was right at this point in my routine last week, sitting on the core ball, when Sam walked in with his coffee and a smile on his face.  He set the mug on the end table and came toward me.  

"I feel like I have been remiss in my husbandly duties this week.  Think I need to address some attention to your bottom before our day starts." 

Sam always likes to take my hand when there is a spanking imminent, just like he is asking me to dance.  Later, some dancing on my part is possible, depending on the implement in his hand.  This particular morning, he had nothing in his hand, so I was hoping for some happy spanks.  


I do not own  any fancy yoga wear; old gray, baggy sweatpants and a big tee shirt are fine for me.  Sam led me to a chair and pulled me across his knee.  From his voice, I could tell that he was in a fine mood.  He likes an elastic waistband when he is spanking me.  Easy and quick.  He started to spank, and I wondered again how he can make his hand hurt as much as it does.  When asked, he will always expound on how it is all in the wrist.

"Sorry to interrupt your exercising, but it was time for me to give your bottom some love."

"This isn't in my regular routine, but I feel like you are giving my ass a workout as well," I said breathlessly.
"It's good for my arm, too," he laughed.  

When Sam was sure that my bottom was the perfect shade of pink, he pulled me up to sit on his lap.  Some nice kissing, but this spanking was not going to turn into sex.  In a minute, he pushed me off and stood up.  He had to be somewhere by 8:00 am. 

 With a swat to my glowing behind, he told me to get back to my exercises.  I could definitely feel the burn as I sat back down on the core ball.  It is such a wonder to me how that kind of spanking can make me smile.  Usually I am only fond of exercising when I am done and feel good about putting in the effort.  That day, however, I was conscious of the warmth in my bottom through the rest of my routine and again when I stepped under a hot shower.  I really don't have any exercises that target the gluteus maximus, but I would love to add Sam's workout to my daily efforts.  It was a lot more fun.

Monday, March 19, 2018

Little Ella's Pin Money

I have been so sick the last few weeks, that there has been very little spanking happening at Sam and Ella's house.  I needed to write a personal narrative for a writing group in which I participate.

                                                     Here's hoping you all enjoy it, too.

Most kids find some way to earn spending money.  You know - mowing lawns, babysitting, washing the car.  It was very special that I could work for my father in the family business from the age of eight years old.  It was a wonderful little job for 4 hours a week, and I got to spend time alone with my dad, which I treasured. 

But I was an ambitious and clever little girl, and I like to think I was innovative, too.  There were markets out there just waiting for a gutsy 11 year old entrepreneur named Ella with a ponytail and a bicycle.

We had lived in the same subdivision of new houses since I was six years old.  Tons of children with whom to play.  In the winter all the kids built snow forts and had snowball wars.  We dragged sleds and toboggans to the top of the highest hill at the park by the railroad tracks.  In the summer, we played hardball in an empty field across the street.  Our dads helped us lay out a regulation baseball diamond and even built us a backstop.  We rode our bikes to the city swimming pool in the afternoons.  We were neighbors and friends.

I stumbled on the idea for my business on a summer day when I discovered my brother and a group of the neighborhood boys
poring over a dirty magazine that they found in a garbage bin.  At first, they tried to hide what they were doing, but I soon reminded them that I was not a girl who tattled.  I checked out the magazine for myself.  Lots of boobs and butts and arty cover ups for the genital area.  Not really racy by today's standards, but the guys were very motivated .  I listened to them bemoan the fact that this kind of magazine was kept behind the counter at every news agency and drugstore in town.  Besides, they were all petrified that parents would find out if they tried to buy one.

So a totally amazing marketing opportunity dropped from the sky right into my lap.  The deal was that I would purchase any magazine they wanted with a 100% markup.  Money was required up front.  I started my business small - just the boys on the block.  I was the sole proprietor and purposely did not confide in any of my girlfriends.  Some of them were a little "goody two shoes," if you know what I mean, and I didn't want any parents involved.

The first time I went to the little news agency in our town, I was a bit nervous.  I knew the man who owned it because I bought comic books and fountain drinks there.  Looking as cute and smiley as I could, I put my Little Lulu comic book and a candy bar on the counter and politely asked for about 4 or 5 of the clear-wrapped magazines I could see on a rack behind the cash register.  He hesitated, so I smiled even bigger and said, "They're for my big brother.  Could you please put them in a bag for me, Glenn?"

                                            And he did!

Soon I was shopping at about 6 locations in our town and the village next door.  My clientele grew by leaps and bounds.  There were adolescent boys who lived up to a half mile away who made orders through the guys I knew, my "preferred" customers.  Then the boy cousins in the family got wind of my business, and
suddenly I was tapping into such a bigger market.  The profits were phenomenal, and I didn't even have time to spend the income that was rolling in.  Practically on the Fortune 500 annual list.  I had orders for Playboy, of course.  But to keep the guys interested, I found copies of magazines like Gent, Stud, and Bachelor.  Penthouse was another standard.  Once, when on a trip to downtown Chicago, I found a real prize right in Union Station; I think it was called Stag or Stag Party.  As CEO of this little company, I decided there would be a surcharge for that particular issue.  Highly prized and shared among the guys.


I never really worried about my parents.  I figured even if they found out, my mother would ignore it completely if it had anything to do with sex.  She wouldn't even say the word.  My dad?  Well, he might even turn out to be another customer.

Alas, this lucrative enterprise was doomed to hit the rocks sooner or later.  I was actually surprised that it lasted as long as it did.  Little Ella kept thinking how dumb the boys were not to figure out they could buy their own magazines.  And then, one of them finally did.  The business tanked within a week.

Back to babysitting.  Damn, but it did pay the bills.  I did not enjoy it, though.  Much preferred working for Dad, and he gave me more hours at the store as I got older, too.  With raises along the way.  Once we were all grown up, the secret came out.  As I predicted, my mother refused to even speak about it.  Dad just laughed his ass off.  To this day, when my older male cousin and my brother get together, someone always mentions my dirty magazine business.  I like to remember it as an early venture into the world of finance.


Monday, March 12, 2018

Diary of a Spanked Housewife

It seems to me that several posts I have written in the last 6 months all start out with me busy cleaning.  As I have explained before, one of my goals upon retirement was to turn this house upside down.  To purge all our belongings, large and small.  To discard and donate.  To polish every piece of furniture.  To empty, wash down, and organize every closet and cabinet.  I can see a light at the end of the tunnel, and my spirits seem to lift with every corner I finish.

Right now, I am working in the middle of the living room.  Sam has been by my side to move pieces of furniture out from the wall.  Doctor's orders after my last surgery cautioned me not to lift more than 10-12 pounds.  That's really not very much.  A gallon of milk is 8 pounds.  I remember Sam's words as I was recuperating over 3 years ago.

                       "There's a new sheriff in town, little lady, 
               and he better not catch you lifting anything heavy."

I laughed at the time, but he meant what he said.  Besides, you know how much I appreciate a dominant cowboy story, badge and all.

Sam Elliott Has Always Done It For Me

When I was still working, I had a rolling cart to carry medical supplies that needed to transported for patient procedures.  At home Sam has always been attentive, no matter what task or project I am tackling.  In the garden, I leave bags of debris and weeds on the pathways for Sam to tote to the bins.  If I purchase a heavy item such as wild birdseed, I have a store employee put it in the truck and leave it there until a time when the sheriff can bring it in the house or garage.

But I do cheat occasionally when not under the watchful eyes of the law.  Sometime last week, Sam realized I had moved his big leather armchair in the living room.  His eyebrows came together and he gave me a good talking-to.  I kept telling him I just pushed and swiveled the chair out of the way.  I did not lift.

"Don't care," he said emphatically.    He reminded me of what the doctors had said after the surgery.  That he would move or lift  whatever I wanted.  That if I screwed up, all our plans could come to a halt.  There was not to be ANY lifting, pushing, pulling, dragging, and so on.  He made me promise, and I did.

Then yesterday I was marching on with the cleaning pogrom, and Sam wasn't due home for several hours.  I decided that it was OK if I sat down on the floor and pushed the bookcases back into place using my leg muscles.  When he got home later in the afternoon, he was hanging up his coat in the hall closet.  When he looked up and glanced into the living room, he erupted like a volcano.

                            "What did I say?!  
                     What did you promise me?!  
               I told you specifically what not to do, 
                          and you did it anyway.  
                    You deliberately disobeyed me!" 

                          Oh, he was on a roll, for sure.  And loud.

Disobeyed? I thought.  I was so surprised that I didn't know what to say.  My mouth was open, but nothing was coming out.  Sam, though, had plenty more to say as he took me by the wrist toward the kitchen. 

"Did you think I didn't mean what I said?  Is there a reason you misinterpreted when I explained my wishes last week?   Mmmm, Ella?  You are not answering me."

And I was still not talking.  Don't think I have ever seen him like that.  Think I was in awe.  Sam was doing plenty of talking by now as he made me face him while he undid my belt and jeans.  Once he had me over the counter, he started to spank with no holding back.  He stopped once to lower my jeans a bit more, but it didn't break his rhythm one bit.

                              Who was this dominant man?

                     Was this the sheriff he joked about long ago?

                    Why couldn't I think of one damn thing to say?

When he was finished with the spanking, he let me pull up my pants.  Although his "little lady" apologized, Sam kept giving me that "look" the whole evening and warned me several times more.

OK, now for the strangest thing of all.  Don't think I have ever seen Sam so dominant, and to be blatantly honest, I was so turned on that I couldn't think of anything else.  When he came to bed, I curled in next to him, and tried to explain how this whole incident had left me feeling quite horny.  He wasn't having any of it.  Just went back to warning me about ever disobeying him again and what would happen.  He did give me a kiss and one more smack on the bottom and told me to go to sleep. 

                      Ella was hoping for a little more "Ever After."