Wednesday, November 6, 2019

How Easy We Forget

There haven't been many serious spankings at Sam and Ella's house lately.  I'm trying to think.  It was so long ago, I don't even remember. So it had to be quite a while.  If this has happened to you, you probably know how easy it is to get used to receiving only happy spankings or sexy spankings or I love you spankings.   All of which are gladly accepted and appreciated.  

Now you are probably thinking that I have been pretty much a perfect ttwd wife, and that is why the spankings have been light and funny, or hard and sexy, or sweet and romantic.  I guess maybe I was pretty good, but I think part of it was that I didn't feel well for a long, long time.  Sam took good care of me.  Any spankings I received were really more like love taps on the derrière accompanied by some sweet talk from my guy. 

But even when I finally started to feel better, I really was pretty much being a wonderful wife.  I always greet Sam at the door with a kiss.  (I have done this ever since Meredith wrote a post long ago about how she thought this was such an important thing to do.  Lipstick too.  She was right, damn straight!  Perhaps she will repost it someday.  But I digress.)  I was eating healthy, thinking before I spoke, temper in check, and really listening when Sam was speaking.

When we got to our "weekend adjustment" (which others might call maintenance), instead of listing the things that needed improvement, Sam would list all the places where I was right on track.  All the while smacking my bottom with his hand and just the right amount of sting.  Don't you think that is just about heaven for a ttwd wife?

I think this lovely interlude went to my head.  In fact, maybe I got a swelled head.  Wasn't I the perfect little woman?  Just go ahead and pin that blue ribbon on my chest.  Mr. Paddle hadn't made an appearance in months.  Some of the implements actually needed dusting.  I started planning where I would put all my ttwd trophies since I certainly deserved some.  And I started to think about my acceptance speech at the TTWD Oscar Ceremony.

"I'd like to thank PK and Sunny for all their wonderful and inspiring books.  Such a good example.  I'd like to thank Meredith for being such a devoted mentor.  I wouldn't be standing here today without her insight and guidance.  And, most of all, I'd like to thank every one of my readers for their helpful and heartfelt comments.  Finally I would turn to Sam with love in my eyes and....." 

I think that's about enough, don't you?  There's a powerful "barf factor" creeping in here, and I don't want to do that to you, my friends.

Let's get back to the story of the perfect Ella and how it all fell apart.  First of all I started sneaking candy (mostly Whoppers) into the house.  For those international readers, "Whoppers" are chocolate covered malted milk balls.  I SO love letting them melt in my mouth.  I wasn't gaining weight for a while so I rather got into the bad habit of eating some every night.  Then I started eating more of them every night.  Then I bought Cadbury's Halloween Creme Eggs.  They are the same as their Easter eggs except they have a green gooey filling.  And they are "monstrously" good. Then I bought Tootsie Roll Midgees and hid them in the pantry.

I was sinking fast and up two pounds on the scale. Should have known this was a slippery slope, but I was in denial.  I deserved these treats, after all.  Wasn't I doing so well in Sam's eyes?

We had trick or treaters on Halloween night, and Sam had such a good time handing out candy.  He loves to load them down with sweets.  But then he realized that he hadn't bought enough this year, as last year we only had about 4 kids.  I rushed to the rescue with my bag of Tootsie Rolls.  Sam did not ask me where they came from, and I did not offer any explanation.  I guess they were just placed there behind the soup cans in the pantry by the Halloween Fairy, who, by the way, is big and green and hairy with no wings.

So once the trick or treaters were done and the porch light turned off, I retrieved my bag of Tootsie Roll Midgees from the front entry.  There was something ghoulish on the TV, and Sam was busy on the computer in his office.  Considering how careful I was to hide them in the beginning, I was not careful at all eating them in the living room.  Suddenly Sam was standing in the doorway with his eyebrows furrowed.  Then he came in and looked at the pile of empty wrappers.  It was substantial.  I could tell you a fib that I only ate about 10 of them.  They are so small, after all.  But the truth is there had to be more like 30 or 40 wrappers, and it was a ponderous pile of evidence.

"What the hell are you doing, Ella?  Give me the rest of that candy." 

For those of you that do not know my diet history, I willingly put my husband in charge of keeping me on the straight and narrow.  My weight had gone gone up and down my entire life until 5 years ago when we agreed to make it part of our ttwd life.  Everyone at Weight Watchers thinks I am an amazing woman.  It's such a sham, but I can't really explain to them how Sam is my "diet coach" and enforcer.


Anyway he headed back to his office while I picked up all the wrappers.  I placed them beneath some other trash so they wouldn't be right on top.  The damage was done, however.

Sam called out to me, "If you have any other candy hidden, I want you to get it right now."

I could have tried to act hurt that he would think such a thing about me, but I didn't think it was the right time.  I went and got the carton of Whoppers that was behind the cereal and handed them over.

"We will talk about this Saturday morning," he said and I kind of knew that I wasn't going to need that acceptance speech.

Then to make things even worse, I effed up again on Friday night.  We met my brother for dinner as my sweet SIL was out of town.  He was bemoaning the fact that Halloween wasn't like the good old days when you would have at least a hundred kids coming to the door, and he asked Sam how many trick or treaters we had the night before.  

Sam answered, "I don't know.  Probably about 12."

Without missing a beat, I piped up, "No, it was 16."

It was like there was no one else at the table.  Sam took my hand, and said pointedly, "What did we say about correcting each other when it doesn't make any difference?  Hmmmm?"  My brother didn't seem to notice a thing.

Saturday morning dawned, and I was up way before Sam, showered and dressed.  I also checked the scale and groaned.  I had planned to weigh-in at Weight Watchers, but that wasn't happening.  I am Lifetime, so I just have to weigh-in once a month.  Even when Sam got up, I kept busy doing laundry and a little cleaning.  

                    Never ask for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.
                                Loosely translated by Ella from John Donne's famous poem.


Sam took my hand, and walked me to the bedroom.  There wasn't any light or playful mood, and he went into the "used to be a sweater drawer" and plucked out Mr. Paddle.  Then I was OTKOTB.  This means that Sam sits on the bed with one knee up on the bed and one foot still on the floor.  It's a very tall antique bed.  Then he pulls me over his knee.  So over the knee, over the bed. 

While he paddled, he kept up a running commentary on why I was in the position I was in.  As if I didn't know.  It hurt like hell because I was way out of practice, but I didn't wuss out.  I knew I had screwed up.  Besides, maybe it would spank away all those Tootsie Rolls and Whoppers that ended up on my ass.     
                            Oh, How the Mighty Have Fallen -

 And all of you friends and readers out there, can relax.  You don't have to worry about what to wear to my awards ceremony.


Wednesday, October 2, 2019

Pay It Forward

My mother was quite a funny and dear woman and had a gift for making everyone laugh.  It has been almost 20 years since she passed, and I still miss her each and every day.  Mom did so much for me as I grew to adulthood, but there was one important thing she wouldn't help me with.  Wouldn't even discuss.  Would pretend didn't exist.  That thing was sex.

When I was 9 years old, I saw an advertisement in a magazine from the grocery store.  It urged mothers to send away for a box of assorted free products from a company called "Kimberly Clark."

                 "Do you have a little girl who will mature soon?" 

I showed my mom.  She frowned but said she would give the dollar for shipping and handling and I could fill in the form.  The whole thing was a mystery to me, but whatever it was, it sounded grown up. 

When the box arrived, Mom left it on my bed and didn't say a word.  Since I knew that what was hidden in there was somewhat secretive, I waited until after dinner and closed my bedroom door.  There were some packages with thick white paper things called "napkins."  They did not look like the napkins in our kitchen.  There was also a little box that said "Miss Deb" on it.  Inside was a strange bunch of elastic pieces with no purpose I could figure.  Finally, I picked up a pink pamphlet that was titled....

                                   "You're a Young Lady Now."

Now what did that mean?  Sounded really stupid to me.  I was not a lady and wasn't going to be one for a long, long time.  I kept reading.  Instead of things making more sense, they became more muddled.

"Somewhere between the ages of 9 and 17 you'll discover that the inside of you has grown up."

What?  I don't get it.  

"One special day you'll notice a stain in your panties."

Like poop?

"To be sure of daintiness at all times, it would help to have two sanitary belts."

Oh, that must be the stretchy thing.

"Naturally, your mother will tell you where to dispose of used napkins at home."

I seriously doubt that my mother will discuss any of this.

I did, in fact, take the book to my mother and asked her if we could talk about the stuff I didn't understand in the pamphlet.

She lowered her voice, "No, we can't talk about this.  Don't ask me again."

Well, that's that.  I threw the box in the back of my closet and didn't think about it again for several years.

At the age of 12, I finally learned the basics of sexual intercourse and how babies were made from a girlfriend who was younger than I was.  Not really the best way to be introduced to something so important.  My friend had a long talk with her mother about the "birds and the bees."  I knew after she told me everything that my mother would never speak of such of thing with me.

When I was 13 and in the eighth grade, my family went to pick out pumpkins and go to a haunted house.  My youngest sister was determined to go with me and my other siblings.  She was too little, and she was petrified by the time we saw the first bloody axe.  I carried her the rest of the way through the haunted house with her head tucked so she wouldn't see anything.  I talked in her ear to drown out all the scary noises. 

All the while though, I was having horrible pain in my abdomen.  I didn't know why, but it got worse and worse.  Could it be from carrying my little sister?  When we were out of the haunted house, I told my mom that my stomach hurt really bad.  She was worried and said she was afraid that I was getting sick.  We drove to my grandma's house for dinner.

By the time we arrived at Grandma's, I was bent over with pain and went to the bathroom.  You probably already know how this part turns out.  There was blood everywhere and not the fake kind in the haunted house.  I screamed for my mom to come to the bathroom.  Not at any time did I remember that stupid pink pamphlet from 4 years before.  When Mom saw the mess, she told me to get myself cleaned up and left.  I was crying by that time, and soon my grandmother knocked gently on the bathroom door.

                                     "Can I come in, honey?  Are you alright?"

Grandma helped me get cleaned up, and she put a small towel in my pants.  She also gave me 2 aspirin and told me to pull out the Kotex box at the back of my closet when I got home.  Her hug was so comforting, and I managed to eat a little dinner.

I taught myself how to use the sanitary napkins.  Every month the cramps would be so bad that I would lay in a fetal position on my bed and cry.  It was my dad who first brought me some pills called Midol.  They hardly helped at all, but it touched me that Dad was so concerned.  A heating pad helped more than anything.  When I asked my mother for anything that might help, she told me that it was a woman's "cross to bear."

After having terrible cramps on a camping trip, it was my father that took me to the doctor's office for a check-up and waited in the lobby while I had my first pelvic exam.  When we were finished, Dad came into the room and told the doctor that I needed some kind of medicine to help with the pain every month.  The doctor prescribed something, and it was the first time in years that I was up and around at "that time of month."

On a vacation to Florida one year, I got my period the first morning when my parents and siblings were leaving for the beach in their swimsuits.  I had bought some things called "tampons" but I didn't have a clue as how to use them.  My mother came into the bathroom answering my call.

"Mom, please show me what to do with these things.  I tried to put them up there, but I don't think I am doing it right.  It really hurts."

She was surprised that I would even ask her for such a thing and very uncomfortable as well.

"Well, I can't help you.  Maybe you will figure it out.  We have to go now."

And they did.  They all left for the beach and were gone several hours.  I sat there on the toilet crying and trying to insert that awful cardboard tube for a very long time.  I honestly don't remember when I finally figured out how to angle the thing properly, but I did eventually get to go swimming the next day.

Over my teenage years, I tried many times to ask a question.  Not only wouldn't she talk to me, she made it plain that she thought those kind of questions were disgusting.  If there was anyone who explained things to me, it was Sam.  We did indeed meet when we were 15, so I had lots of questions.  He was a good teacher in so many ways.

When I was 19, my mother found birth control pills in my purse.  She wasn't being nosy, just needed my keys to move a car.  At first I was scared.  What would she say?  Would she tell my father?  I needn't have worried.

She turned to me and asked a bit sarcastically, "Well, do you like it?"

"What?" I said because I truly didn't understand her question.

"You know."

Suddenly I knew she was talking about sex, but she didn't even want to say it!

"Yes, I do like sex, Mom."

"Well, you won't."

And that is the last thing she ever said to me concerning sex.

When my sisters started puberty, I was there for them.  Yep, everything from menstruation to explaining sexual intercourse.  And how nice it could be as well.  I even remember helping them the first time they wanted to use a tampon.  We laughed together, but they didn't sit on a toilet in a hotel crying.

 As the years went by, I often wondered how my siblings and I were ever conceived!  And I thanked my lucky stars that Sam was patient with me and I was a good student.  Too bad I didn't trust him to ask about spanking.

Our children were both boys, but I made sure as they grew that I was there to answer any questions and give them a good start on a healthy perception of sex.  I wanted them to feel confident about themselves and accepting of other people's sexual leanings.  In fact, the older I got, the more outspoken I was about sex and how I hated that it wasn't treated with more ease and acceptance between healthy adults.

I remember sitting at a table eating lunch with a bunch of my teacher friends, and one of them was talking about the first time she smoked pot.  There were lots of funny stories shared, and finally someone asked had I smoked pot in college.

"No, I was really more into sex," I said.  And the table went silent.  These were my friends, and I had answered honestly.  They were good eggs about this and even teased me about it over the years, but I was discovering that there were other women like my mother.

I have several wonderful nieces with whom I am close.  Although it was never really a topic of conversation before, perhaps my sweet Jenna remembered a frank comment I had made.  I don't know why she chose me to ask about having an orgasm.  She was single, and we were alone relaxing on her porch.  We talked seriously, but she knew I was giving her the facts and that I wasn't shocked or disgusted.

"You can talk about an orgasm until you are blue in the face, honey, but I think you need to experiment with giving yourself an orgasm before trying to tell a partner how to please you.  Do you have a vibrator?"

She didn't, and I told her we would take care of that pronto.  When I got home from my trip, I promptly sent her a good old Rabbit model vibrator.  Can't go wrong with a tried and true staple pleasure product.  Along with that I found a copy of a book that I thought had good advice for a young woman or any woman for that matter.  It was called The Good Girl's Guide to Bad Girl Sex.  Great gift by the way.

Anyway I was thinking lately that I am proud about the way I turned out, considering the really sketchy picture of sex I received, courtesy of my mother.  Also, maybe I've helped enough other people to feel like I have made up for Mom's sad and inadequate attitude toward one of life's most wonderful gifts.  I surely treat it like a gift every time.

If you have a story like this or hopefully a better one, tell us about it or how you helped someone else.

Wednesday, July 24, 2019

What's the Difference?

Back in June, Amy, over at her blog Eric51Amy49, wrote a serious post on the subject of Submission and Obedience.  If you would like to read it, you can find it HERE.  It was a very thought-provoking topic, and Amy's response made me think about where I am currently with both submission and obedience.  I don't feel confident with telling you that I am where I want to be.  So maybe it's time for me to write about it too.  To take on a little self-examination.  Perhaps a bit overdue.

                   Here is the statement that started me thinking.

What does it mean to submit?  
Submission is a matter of attitude, a matter of spirit.  
What does it mean to obey?  
Obedience is a matter of conscience, a matter of outward behavior.  
Submission is inward, whereas obedience is outward.

Well, here are some of my understandings.  Submission is something that you choose to give.  With a ttwd or DD relationship, it is the crux of the whole "consensual" question between the couple in a long-term relationship.  A wife agrees that her husband will be the leader and she will follow.  He has the option of using a spanking or other deterrent when he feels she has acted in some way that has a negative impact on the couple's well being.

There is no force exerted by either party.  The woman freely submits, both to his leadership and any spanking, if it happens.  There is a high level of trust between the husband and wife.  An important thing to understand is that both people are committed to each other and to making each other happy and fulfilled.


I become "His" both by the way I submit and the way I obey.  I think I am at my most submissive when I remain silent.  And for me, it takes constant monitoring to stay in this mindset.  As soon as my mind moves on to going out to dinner or cleaning out drawers or my volunteering responsibilities, I can lose that good place in my head and in my heart that makes submission feel so natural.  That's why I confessed that I am not where I want to be.  I yearn for that to be as easy as smiling or nodding my head.  Oh, I wish.

In fact, submission can be both easy and difficult.  If I am concentrating, I can easily listen when Sam speaks and give him my full attention.  Active listening.  I am engaged, but I know in my head that my opinion isn't needed for this interaction.  In fact any words coming out of my mouth would be extraneous in that moment.  What is needed is my silence.  That is my gift to him.  I don't need to have a sign on my forehead that says, "I am submissive."  He will know and appreciate it without it being consciously acknowledged.

When I fail, it is as obvious and ugly as a wart on my nose.  Sam makes a statement and, instead of submission, I deliver, "No, you are forgetting.  That happened after we got off the plane."  There listening to the heart of the matter.  There is only...just let me correct you, mister.  Submission crawls away to hide its head.  In fact I believe that almost always, when I do this, my response is absolutely without meaning.  It does not serve any purpose other than to make me feel smarter than Sam in a useless and harmful way.

I still try to reinforce the submissive behavior in myself by a specific physical movement that is meaningful only to me.  If I did something that was understood by Sam, it would defeat the purpose.  Perhaps it is a silly thing, but it helps me remain in a submissive state of mind more often. 


Obedience is sometimes easier because I am given a prompt that brings me back from wherever my mind is wandering (perhaps about shoes.)  It also requires some type of response from me.  Either in a verbal agreement to take this direction or even just a nod or a kiss.  He knows I heard him and plan to carry out something as he wishes. 

"Ella, don't forget to use the Lowes charge card when you go to buy your flowers," Sam says.

I hear it as a direction or even a command.  It is much easier to remember to simply say, "Thanks, I will," or even "Yessir."  It is NOT pure obedience when I come back with the word, "Why?"  Then I am questioning his leadership and forcing him to defend himself.  Even when this is done with no rancor, I am still doubting his authority to ask me to obey.

In the best of times, there is both submission and obedience in our ttwd marriage.  At the worst of times there is neither, although that happens much less often than it used to.

As I was thinking through my feelings on the subjects in this post, something else became apparent to me.  We all are well aware of the fact that there are very few posts going up in blogland these days.  Me included.  People have moved on to other interests or just giving in to the feeling that they have said all they have to say.  I totally understand because I can identify with both those reasons.

The thing is that I think the very act of writing a post like this one or reading someone else's post about a facet of ttwd keeps me sharp.  Many times a phone conversation or a visit with one or many blogger friends does the same thing.  By "sharp" I mean it keeps me in the zone I want to be in.  I am renewed.  I am conscious of living this lifestyle.  It makes me watch and listen to Sam with patience and love.  Without the reading, the writing, or the discussion, I lose my edge, and ttwd becomes just a little bit mundane.  

                      And that is something I never want to happen. 


Monday, July 8, 2019

Funny Old Meme

This is quite an old meme, probably from last fall.  I've held on to it because I thought it was such a good one and enjoyed reading all of yours.  Thanks to whoever introduced it!  I can't even remember.  Goodness only knows when I will get around to PK's new meme!

1.  I give you money and send you into the grocery store to pick 
up 5 items.  You can only pick one thing from the following departments.  What do you choose?

Produce - Pineapple
Frozen - Healthy Choice Fudge Bars
Dairy - Whole Milk (for baking)
Meat - Steak
Canned Goods - Chili Beans

Note: I think there has been an error here.  Where is Bakery?  And what about the Liquor department?  My answer is Beer! 

2.  Let's say you're heading out for a weekend getaway.  You're only allowed 3 articles of clothing with you.  So, what's in your bag?

Oh, this is a hard one for Ella, folks!  If I am assuming that shoes and underthings don't count, I would pick ...

                                    Jeans, Tee shirt, and Jacket.

3.  If  I were to listen in on one of your conversations throughout the day, what 4 phrases or words would I be most likely to hear?

a.  "I love you, mister"

b.  "What did I come into this room for?"

c.  "Ding, ding, ding.  It's Happy Hour!"

d.  "Please clean up the kitchen counter."

4.  So, what 4 things do you find yourself doing every single day, and if you didn't get to do them, you probably wouldn't be in the best mood?

a.  Swiffer all the bare floors.

b.  Put on my makeup.

c.  Love on my dog.

d.  Sit on Sam's lap.

5.  You're driving down the road, and suddenly you're hit with this sense of road rage.  What 3 factors probably contributed to it?

Oh, this is such a real thing for me.  In fact, my temper in the car is something Sam has helped me work on (the ttwd way.)  Things that drive me crazy would be:

a.  People that can't get completely over into a left hand turn bay and block the traffic behind them!!!

b.  People that keep turning left even after their green arrow is gone!!!

c.   Two cars going exactly the same speed next to each other so that nobody can pass them!!!

6.  You just scored a whole afternoon to yourself.  We're talking a 3 hour block with nobody around.  What 5 activities might we find you doing.

a.  Out tending plants in the garden.
b.  Reading a Cassie book with a bag of Tootsie Rolls.
c.  Baking bread to surprise Sam.
d.  Checking out the sale wall at Loft.
e.  Movie with a jumbo buttered popcorn.

7.  We're going to the zoo.  But it looks like it could start storming so it'll have to be a quick visit.  What 3 exhibits do we have to get to.

a.  Monkeys, for sure.  Can watch them for hours.
b.  Giraffes are such gentle, graceful animals.
c.  Polar bears always look like they are having fun!

8.  You just scored tickets to the taping of any television show of your choice.  You can pick 4, so what are you going to see?

a.  Fixer Upper on HGTV, although they are not taping anymore.
b.  Judge Judy (She gets paid millions to be bossy!)
c.  American Pickers
d.  Project Runway

9.  You're hungry for ice cream.  I'll give you a triple dipper ice cream cone.  What flavors can I pile on for ya?

a.  Chocolate Fudge Brownie
b.  New York Super Fudge Chunk
c.  Death by Chocolate

                                   Do you see a pattern here?

10.  Somebody stole your purse/wallet.  In order to get it back, you have to name 5 things you know are inside to claim it.  So, what's in there?

a.  Sunglasses
b.  Tissues
c.  Phone
d.  Pen
e.  Gum

11.  You are at a job fair and are asked in what areas you are interested in pursuing a career.  Let's pretend you have every talent and ability to be whatever you wanted, so what 4 careers would be fun for you?

Well, I am liking retirement just fine, thank you.  But for the sake of the meme, here's what I would say.

a.  Lawyer or Judge
b.  Research Scientist
c.  Interior Designer
d.  Drama Teacher

12.  If you could go back and talk to the old you when you were in high school and inform yourself of 4 things, what would you say?

a.  "Spend as much time as you can with Dad.  
      He's not going to be here very long."

b.  "Sam's the one."
c.  "Trust that you can tell Sam any secret."
d.  "You're not the only girl in the world who wants to be spanked."

Thursday, June 20, 2019

When Sam Says, "Come Along"

I just don't think it's my imagination. Things are Dead around "the Land" as one friend christened this blog neighborhood I like to visit.  

                                             How Dead?

  • Dead man walking Dead
  • Dead as a door nail Dead
  • In the Dead of the night Dead
  • Catch your Death of cold Dead
  • Belly up Dead
  • Rest in Peace Dead
  • Better off Dead
  • Bored to death Dead
  • Give me liberty or give me death Dead
  • Dead of winter Dead
  • Dead on arrival Dead
I could go on ad infinitum until you all wished you were Dead because I found a website with Dead phrases, and I have barely touched the surface of the list.  But I won't because I am Dead tired of it now, and you are probably sick to Death of it as well.

Walking Dead Dead

Anyway for god's sake, please do your very best to piss off your HOH somehow, some way, and let's generate some good post material.

So, here's my contribution.  Serious spankings have not been happening very often around here either.  As I have told Sam for years, 

                       "I am practically perfect in every way." 

(Apologies to any Mary Poppins fans out there.)  Lots of little swats on the ass in passing.  Seems like that happens in the kitchen more than any other room in the house.  Sam says my work in the kitchen presents so many opportunities to keep his right arm in shape.  It would be interesting to hear from some of you that have golfers for husbands.  Do you notice a change in his swing when you are over his knee during golf season? 

                                   Curious people want to know.

                      (Also because we are so bored in blogland.)

There is almost always a "weekend adjustment" on a Saturday morning.  It's purpose is to discuss the behaviors, well, my behaviors that can creep back into our day to day living. Things like bossiness, interrupting, and impatience.  Oh, there is usually a cautionary 5 to 10 spanks about temper too.  I am a whole lot better with controlling my temper, but Sam says that is probably because we continue to "discuss" it.  When under the paddle, so to speak, I do not argue this point.  Even when he holds out his hand, palm up, I put my hand in his and listen as he says, "Come along."

Sam's favorite implement is the one he made out in his wood shop the very month we started ttwd/dd about 5 years ago now.  Mr. Paddle was born from a piece of poplar wood.  It has an overall length of eleven and a half inches with a handle of 4 inches long.  It is only 3/8 of an inch thick, so it can't do any permanent damage.  It's like "safe sex" except it's a "safe paddle."  Sam sanded it smooth and finished it with Danish oil.

There is no doubt at all that he picks Mr. Paddle out of the toy box/sweater drawer close to 80% of the time.  It's fast and effective.  Sam does not golf, but it is a similar fondness to the affection a golfer has for a favorite driver or a favorite putter.  Why mess with something that works and does its job every time?

 It stings like hell.  I will agree with any point Sam is making as he talks his way through a spanking.
  • the sun rises in the west.  Yessir, it does.
  • the best pizza has Canadian bacon and pineapple.  Yessir!
  • you should be driving the speed limit.  You are so right.
  • you have enough shoes.  I surely do, sir.
  • the dog does not bark just to annoy you.  Yes, I know that.
A few weeks ago, I had a reason to be packing a suitcase.  Just a friendly visit to two, very dear, friendly women , but I was crazy excited.  My knee finally felt almost back to normal, and I was keen to kick up my heels a bit and enjoy some girl time.   And maybe shop.  Who knows?

The night before my flight, I had finished all the pre-trip tasks and was sitting pretty.  Well, at least until Sam decided to add his finish to my To-Do list.  "Come along, you," he said and reached out his hand waiting for me to submit and follow.

"I was thinking that we need to do our own TSA Pre-check," he said as he arranged me over his knee.  Mr. Paddle was in his hand, and Sam started listing the things I should remember when I was away from home.  And him.  By the time he was done, I really felt like the security line at the airport was kindergarten play.  Sure thing.  I will take out my quart bag of liquids.  I will remove my shoes.  My laptop will be placed in the bin...... You know the drill.

He talked about staying safe and calling to let him know where I was during the travel days in airports. He talked about not lifting anything that might mess up my surgery.  Did I have the 25 single dollar bills ready for tips?  Did I have some snacks that weren't all sugar?  He told me he would miss me very much.  Here the spanking was done with his hand.  There was also some exploratory stuff going on down there.  Fine with me.  I was a happy little traveler sitting in seat 34D thinking about that spanking.

The days away flew by and such a good time was had by all.  Over way too quick, but we made promises to see each other again.

Back home Sam and I settled back into our regular schedule, and I got caught up on laundry and appointments and errands.  We had our happy hour chats, and I had all of the experiences and chatter
of the week before to share with him.

Mr. Paddle was glad to see me too.  I wasn't as glad to see him.  There were a few spankings, all short and to the point.

Then just yesterday I really messed up.  Well, the first part was not as bad as the second part.  So first, I made a left turn on a familiar corner near our house.  The way was clear before I ever moved out into the intersection.  I was coming out of the turn when I glanced in the rear view mirror and, in that split second, thought there was a blue car speeding up close on my left.  I jerked the steering wheel to the right and hit the curb with the right front wheel.  I hit it HARD.  It wasn't just flat.  It was destroyed.  I felt terrible.


When Sam came to help, he wasn't mad or anything.  I apologized about 15 times, and he kept telling me it was okay.  He got the spare tire on so that we could get to the Firestone dealer, although he was not much impressed by the quality of it.  Our vehicle was going to need a new tire for sure.  He climbed into the passenger seat and told me to take it slow and to turn into the strip mall up at the corner and cut across to get to the tire place.  This is where I really blew it.

"Oh, Sam, you can't get to the Firestone dealer across that parking lot.  We have to go around on the street," and I pulled into the left hand turn lane ignoring what he had said.  My big mouth had done it again, but Sam didn't say a thing.  After I pulled our small SUV up to the front of Firestone Tires, I saw the little access road that led right back to the strip mall parking lot.  Just like Sam had said.

When we finally got home much later, he knew I was still shaken from what had happened.  We had an abbreviated happy hour, and I mostly talked about how scared I had been in those few seconds where I thought I was about to be hit from the blue car and the impact of hitting the curb so hard.  Sam assured me that he was just glad that there had not been an accident.  The new tire was no big deal.

By the next morning I felt more like myself.  The adrenaline level was back to normal.  I was on the computer dashing off a quick note when Sam was suddenly standing in the doorway to the office with his hand extended, palm up.

"Come along," was all he said with a very grim look on his face, and he waited for me to give him my hand.  I knew what was going to happen, but Dumb Me couldn't figure out why I was about to be spanked.  After all he wasn't mad about the tire.  That was an accident.

Dumb Me

"But why, Honey?  Why are you spanking me?"

Mr. Paddle was lying on the foot of the bed; the bedroom window was closed.  After he pulled up my summer gown and arranged me over one knee, he told me that the only thing I did the day before that angered him was not obeying his directions.  Like he was too stupid to know the way to the tire place.

"Boy, oh, boy," he said, "that really made me mad, Els.  I didn't spank you last night because you were still upset about what had happened.  Now we will talk about that."

And we did.  As I said before, that paddle is something else.  It wasn't a long spanking, but damn, it was long enough.  Then Mr. Paddle was tossed back in the sweater drawer with no more sweaters in it, and Sam went to pour a cup of coffee.  Like he says,

                                       "Fast and effective."