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."

Sunday, March 4, 2018

Slap Happy

Sam not only likes to spank now, he likes to swat my behind at least 10 times a day lately.  He is totally unrecognizable from the Sam of just a few years ago who looked at me perplexed when I asked him for a ttwd relationship.  That man who maintained that
he was brought up to never hit a girl, no matter what.  Gone is the guy who gave a weak, pitiful spanking because he didn't really want it to hurt.  Picture instead, a confident, in-charge sort of fellow that walks through the house with just a bit of a swagger.  Who can give me the "look" without hesitation.  A man who has graduated from HOH Academy magna cum laude.

Most of these slaps to my behind are given in the privacy of our own home.  On my way out of the room.  Reaching over Sam to put away a coffee mug.  The ever popular bending over to load the dishwasher.  Searching for an item in the vegetable bins in the fridge.  Pulling clean clothes from the dryer.  Setting down bowls of kibble for the dogs.  Most of these are good natured spanks, a way to say hello, a way to say "I love you."

I just smile as I catch Sam out of the corner of my eye.  Oh, I love this man.  I love his touch on my bottom.  

"Love taps," he says.

Sometimes I even say, "Thank you, mister."

But my guy has also learned to deliver his swats with an element of surprise.  Totally loves it if he catches me off guard.  He practically chortles to hear me squeak or protest with an, "Oh, you!"

"Gotcha," he will laugh and head out to the garage.  Completely reinventing the concept of a "hit and run."  Whether he is cooking inside or out on the grill, I am suspicious of spatulas and big wooden spoons in his hand.  Beware the Spanky Chef.

But there are times when Sam goes over to the Dark Side.  

Suddenly the slaps aren't so happy.  Like several weeks ago when I
decided to take over preparing Sunday dinner.  The eyebrows went together and bam!  A swat to remind me that he can cook pasta as well as I can.  It actually caught me off guard, and I quickly scanned the family sitting at the table to see if they had noticed.

It also seems that lately these meetings of Sam's hand and my ass can happen not only at home but out and about and on our travels.  Always a surprise.  

"Sam, what are you doing!?  Someone might see!"

He shrugs, smiles, and takes my hand as we head into the hardware store.  Just a touch at the movie theater.  Just a little tap in a parking lot.  A brush of his palm while we wait for a table at a restaurant.  See what I mean?  A very slap happy man lives here!

But I will honestly confess that the little sense of danger becomes a bit titillating when it comes to company over for a visit.  Sam has become a master at seizing the moment when family or friends are over.  Instead of "carpe diem," it has become more like "carpe derriere."  He can be chatting away with a visitor about the pros and cons of the newest version of Turbo Tax, and his hand will find its way to my caboose without anyone the wiser.  I smile as if Turbo Tax is the most fascinating topic ever.  

I smile again and think to myself, "I can't wait for everyone to go home."

And he knows I am thinking that, and it makes him so happy.

And then there are always those good night taps on my cheeks as we spoon.  These are accompanied by whispers in my ear and kisses on my neck.  I answer in whispers, too, and maybe a tiny giggle.

                           "I love your hand on my bottom, Sam."

                                   "I love my hand on your bottom, too, Ella."

Thursday, February 22, 2018

Sitting Pretty

Why is it so easy to give a friend or family member a compliment and so hard to give ourselves the same kindness?  I know I am not the only one who does this.  I have heard so many women talk about what they hate about themselves when they look in the mirror.  Noses and muffin tops and wrinkles.  Sometimes I talk to myself in the mirror, and it is usually not nice things.  This isn't new for me.  I have struggled with this, and I know other women do, too.

The thing is Sam tells me I am pretty about 10 times a day.  I think he first told me back when we were 15 years old and falling in love.  For as long as I can remember, he has called me his "Pretty Lady."  Of course, I love that he tells me that.  But do I really believe him?  Rarely.  This does bother Sam sometimes and over the years we have talked about this insecurity of mine now and then.  He gets frustrated.

So there's a story here somewhere.  Sam has really made the move toward semi-retirement.  Hooray!  He will probably always keep his hand in the business, but he is very excited about traveling more, and he has started to volunteer his time at a cool science/history museum here where we live. 

I love seeing him take the time to do things that make him so happy.  He has been going to the museum several mornings a week for over a month now.  Although he is thoroughly enjoying himself, he has mentioned that people don't seem to be all that friendly.  I assured him that once he has been there for a little longer, folks would get to know him better and that would resolve.

Then this last week there was a Brown Bag Lunch Lecture being given by a retired scientist for the volunteers.  Sam asked if I could attend, and that was fine.  We picked up some Subway sandwiches on the way and found the classroom at the museum.  Sam introduced me to several people before we found a table.  The volunteer supervisor welcomed me warmly. 

The lecture was fascinating, and the presenter was well prepared and a good speaker, too.  After the man finished, Sam gave me a grand tour of the facilities.  We were both familiar with the museum already, but he took me to the back where the workshops and display preparation were located.  Then on to the administrative offices.  As we meandered through this maze of rooms with people working at their different tasks, Sam introduced me to everyone.  They were most welcoming and we chatted with many of them.

One of the men, who worked mostly on restoration of the science equipment, stopped and greeted us.  He shook both our hands and asked Sam to introduce me to him.  

"Jim, this is my wife, Ella," Sam said.

The man smiled at us, and questioned Sam, "This is your wife?"

"Yep, she's been my girl since we were both 15 years old."

"Well, Sam, I want to tell you that the day you met her, was your lucky day," Jim said.

I thought he was a really nice man, and we stopped at several more stations and talked to some other employees.  As we made our way through the last set of offices, one of the men I remembered from the lecture room came up and introduced himself to me.

"I'm the museum director here," he said, shaking my hand.  "We are so glad to have Sam coming to volunteer.  He's doing a wonderful job.  Thanks for coming to the lecture.  Please come next month.  They are usually quite good."

Sam went his way after this, and I had errands to do.  When he came home from work that night, we sat together over our evening beers.


"Well, you were surely popular today.  That is the most anyone has talked to me since I started there," Sam smiled.  "I am always so proud to have you with me anywhere we go.  You are so pretty and personable that people are just drawn to you."

"Oh, don't be silly, Sam.  People were just being polite," I said.

"It's true, Ella.  It happens everywhere we go," he continued as he started down the hallway to change into his comfy jeans.  I followed and was putting away some laundry as he took his shirt off.  Never like to miss an opportunity to rub my nose in the hair on his chest.  One of my favorite ways to say hello to my man.  I love his scent.  He pulled me close.

"God, you are such a pretty lady," and Sam's hands rested on my bottom.  "'s been a while since we've had a 'just because' spanking.  I love your pretty ass all pink."  

And with that he unbuttoned my jeans and pulled me across one knee as he sat on the edge of the bed.  

"Damn, Ella, I am not kidding you, you know.  You are beautiful," he said as he spanked.  Very - spank - Very - spank - Very - spank - pretty.

"And you are very, very full of it, mister," I protested.

"What?  Are you disagreeing with me?  This is not a good position to be in if you are going to argue with me.  Who's the boss?" and the spanks got a little faster and a little harder.

"You are!  You are!" I laughed.  "Ow, Sam!"

"Then say it, Ells.  Say, 'I am pretty' for me," Sam insisted.

"No, you know I am not going to say that," I answered.

Well, that was the wrong thing to say, and Sam's hand began to work over my bottom like there was no tomorrow.

"Say it, Ells," he repeated.

"I can't, honey."

"Say it," he demanded, and the spanking cranked up again.

"Say it for me," Sam laughed.

"Ok!  Ok!  I'm pretty," I finally gave in.  

"Again, louder this time," he said, and his hand never paused.

"I am pretty!  Damn you, I am pretty!"

Sam's hand rubbed my sore bottom softly, and said, "See, that wasn't that hard, was it?"  He pulled me up to sit on his lap a minute before we walked back to enjoy our happy hour together.  But when my very warm bottom hit the dining room chair, I could not help but think that Sam had had his way.  No matter what I thought of myself in the mirror, he had me "sitting pretty." 


Tuesday, February 13, 2018

The Ancient Chinese Art of ..........

Bet you expected to see the word "Spanking" at the end of the title.  Well, I will discuss spanking, but not until a bit further in this post.

When I was teaching years ago, I always felt the stress of the job.  It's just part of the profession.  Oh, there are a few teachers who would say with saccherine sweetness that just being around all those precious children was such a joy and that they felt relaxed and at ease as they filled those little minds with nuggets of wisdom.  But I only met a couple women like this who were so delusional that they farted rainbows.  And I will tell you honestly that they were not very good teachers.  The kids usually ran the classroom, and it was chaos.  The really good teachers I knew loved their kids and loved teaching despite working long hours at school and then taking work home at night and on the weekends. 

Then throw in a plethora of useless meetings, a few student behavior  problems, federal guidelines, state mandates, non-existent budgets for supplies, and I will stop there.  After I left teaching for a 9 to 5 job, I felt like I was on vacation. 

You get the idea.  Stress was a big deal for many years.  When you feel stress, there is actually a chemical reaction occurring in your body.  Your heart rate quickens, muscles tense, and your breathing becomes faster.  Too much to do and not enough time.  I never took this out on the children, but I carried the stress around looking for ways to unload the it.  Exercise helps.  But one day I read an article about how some people go to an acupuncturist to relieve their stress.  Traditional acupuncture involves the belief that a "life force" circulates within the body in lines called meridians.  It sounded a bit scary with the needles and all, but after several other teachers touted its benefits, I decided to take the plunge.

I made an appointment with a lovely Chinese doctor named Dr. Chen, who came recommended from a friend.  We talked a long time on the first visit.  She took a regular medical history, and we talked about what acupuncture is meant to do.  Dr. Chen also gave me some interesting things to read.  Then she had me remove or loosen some clothing and lay on the table.  She made me perfectly comfortable with pillows and her very soft and gentle voice.  Then she showed me what the needles look liked.  This first time I was very nervous when I saw how long they were. 

It was amazing to me that there was hardly any discomfort.  She would wipe a cotton ball moistened with alcohol on a spot before she deftly inserted the needle  There were a few places where she would tell me to take a deep breath and hold it for a second.  The needles were on my head, face, ears, arms, hands, stomach, legs, and feet.  Obviously I was laying perfectly still.  Dr. Chen made sure I was comfortable, dimmed the lights, and put on some very soft music.  Then she left, saying she would check on me soon.

Within a few minutes, I felt almost like I was having an out of body experience.  The relaxation became deeper and deeper until I felt like my mind had separated from my body.  Like you could hold it in your hands.  Had never had an episode like that before.  It was heavenly.  I was dimly aware that the doctor was back in the room.  She gently put her hand on my shoulder and asked in a murmur if everything was all right.  I made a soft little sound of assent, and she was gone again.

I was never sure of how much time was passing when she left me alone.  Probably close to 30 minutes, I think.  When it was time to end the session, she would bring the lights back up slowly and remove the needles, again using a cotton ball.  The first time I had this done, she spent time talking to me about how I felt and making sure it had been a positive experience.  It had been, and I felt like every bit of stress in my body had melted away.

Needless to say, I booked another appointment.  Although I had weekly appointments for the first month, I soon had the sessions scheduled for once every 4 weeks.  It was relatively expensive, even though my health insurance covered some of it.  I think I was paying about $75 per visit.  At that time I really couldn't afford more than once a month.

Dr. Chen was very helpful to me after my series of strokes.  Once I was able to drive, I went back to her.  She chose other sites for the needles depending what you told her was going on in your life.  I saw her on and off for many years.

Then, in the summer of 2014, I finally got the courage to tell Sam who I really was.  Of course it was several months before we were up and running in a sort of ttwd learning period.  It was even longer before Sam ever thought about spanking me when he saw me all worked up and heading toward a meltdown.  I really can't even remember (common for me) the exact circumstances, but he spanked me because I was stressed out.  And something magic happened.

                      Oh, my, I thought, All the stress is gone.

I felt that same peace and positive feeling that Dr. Chen provided with her needles and voice and restful lighting and music.  I didn't know whether to kiss Sam or write him a check for $75.  He had his own brand of aftercare.  He pulled me onto his lap and held me for as long as I wanted. 

                  "That was wonderful, honey.  Thanks so much.  
                             I feel worlds better,"  I said softly.

All my hard edges were gone, and I was smiling.  I even remembered that amazing feeling during the middle of a long, slow spanking where you kind of lose yourself.  Very much like that out of body feeling that gave me so much pleasure.

Again, I am sorry that I cannot say for sure if I went down on Sam after that first stress relief spanking.  Pretty sure I did.  I always think it is the very best way to say thank you to my guy.  He seems to think so, too.  I believe it was shortly after this wonderful spanking that I ordered a book titled:  

       Blow Him Away: How to Give Him Mind-Blowing Oral Sex.

Three important things came out of these chapters of our ttwd life.
  • Saved $75 a month - easy, peasy.
  • Ella became a much more relaxed woman.
  • Sam became a much more motivated spanker.

Thank you, Sam.  You take good care of me.