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. 

TO ME

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.

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."

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."

 

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.  "Hmmm...it'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."