The Silent Treatment gets spanked

Cross posted to ‘New Beginnings’ on 7/29/16 Thanks PK so if you’ve already read the post you can wait until the next post. On her blog she filled in the names.

This is a fill in the blank story. The names of the guilty you can select and punish.


Husband #1. “Dude! What’s wrong with your wife?”
Husband #2. “She’s giving me the silent treatment. Who knows.”
Husband #3. “Wouldn’t happen in my house.”
Husband #4. “Why not?”
Husbands #1,#3. “Because our wives would be over our knees for a long hard spanking until they started talking. That’s why!”
Husbands #2,#4. “WTF?”

___ was getting fed up with ___ and her silent treatment. He had no idea what set her off this time only that she hadn’t exchanged more than ‘I’m fine’ and ‘I have a headache’ all weekend. Hanging out with the guys watching sports on Sunday was an ordeal when ___ asked him what was wrong with her? That time of the month was greeted with sighs and snickers. [Not the chocolate bar-men being assholes] ___ overheard their derision and stormed out of the house with mayhem on her mind. She went next door to ___ house and vented over margaritas. ___ noticed ___ was squirming every time she sat down. Are you OK? Not that time of the month is it? [sarcastic tipsy] No, ___ spanked me this morning for back talk. WTF? ___ spanks you? Yes for cursing, speeding, overspending, overeating, being drunk… all sorts of things. Rarely a day goes past without my panties down and my bottom reddened. I can’t believe this! I’m not the only one, ___ and ___ and ___ also get spanked. Don’t you? ___ would never spank me! Is that a good thing? You just told me you’re giving him the silent treatment. In my house, that calls for the paddle and a long blowjob to atone. Doesn’t that make you feel degraded? ___ honey the only thing that makes me feel degraded is when ___ doesn’t spank me for something I did wrong. Being ignored hurts way more than a session with the cane. I don’t know if I could let ___ spank me, it seems so medieval and uncaring. No ___ you’re wrong, being spanked is empowering, it shows me that ___ cares about me as a person and wants me to succeed in my goals. Spanking allows me to be a better wife, a better mother and a better person.

___ went home after dark. ___ had come over to ___ house and the three of them had discussed children, work and spanking husbands. [husbands spanking wives- not spanking husbands- oh never mind] ___ was waiting for her alone, the guys having given him some rather explicit advice. Could he do it? Could he be a superhero to his wife? Spankoman! ___ was tired and confused and brushed past him wanting to take a shower. When she finished, she curled up in bed and cried. ___ tiptoed into the bedroom listening to her venting her frustration. Behind his back he hid the implement. Standing over her back he raised it up and swung down. A soft thunk as the down pillow thudded against her bottom. What are you doing? He swung again hitting her torso with a pop. What does it look like? I’m having a one-sided pillow fight. ___ grabbed a pillow and rose to her knees, her nude body still damp from the shower. She swung her pillow and hit his legs. Back and forth they went until she fell back laughing and gasping for breath. ___ sat down on the bed, leaned over and kissed her. Welcome back, are you going to talk to me now? She apologized for her behavior and he accepted. You’re still dressed and her hands went to his belt buckle. That’s because I’m not finished with you yet. What are you going to do to me? ___ you know I love you but your treatment of me is unacceptable at times. There is only one way for me express my dissatisfaction and that is to put you over my knee and spank you for your silent treatment.

___ looked at ___ with wide eyes and did not resist when he drew her up and over his lap. Her unblemished beautiful bounteous bare bottom beckoned for a beating. This is for not speaking with me as his hand rose and fell. This is for running away and drinking all afternoon as her bottom turned pink. This is for cursing when you don’t think I hear as she begged him to stop. And this is for believing I’m a selfish bastard who doesn’t care enough about your well-being that I wouldn’t spank you as he turned her bottom a lovely shade of red. He rubbed and prodded as she wept out the last of her tension and fears. Still over his knees, ___ used his fingers inside her weeping core and thrummed her aching clit until she came begging him not to stop. So ___ did not stop, but threw ___ on her back and licked deep inside as she convulsed again and again. When ___ opened her eyes, she saw ___ was still dressed. He told her she was not done with her punishment. Kneel. She knelt and unbuckled his belt, lowered the zipper and reached inside pulling out the concealed treasure. It was at that stage of rock hard firmness and throbbing hot as she wrapped her hands around the shaft. Clear sweet liquid oozed from the round tip gleaming in the light. Before ___ could open her mouth and begin her discipline, ___ informed her that spankings would be forthcoming whenever she earned them. Do you agree ___?

___ looked up at her husband. My mother told me it was rude to talk with my mouth full.



The problem with reading archives

How do you highlight your blogging past? You can’t open a photo album or leaf through a book. Blogging is a linear and one-dimensional ripple in the infinite sea of the internet. You can try an about page, a sticky post, a sidebar list even an index, but the gone in a flash nature of today’s online community waits for no post. Here is my attempt to list six-of-the-best – with an extra penalty stroke – short fiction stories that I am most proud of writing.

P.S. My favorite piece of writing is #4, the post with the most all-time views at 2,400 is #2

#1 My very first post Sept, 6 2009 called “An Office Thrashing”
#2 “You May now Spank the Bride” Sept, 19 2009
#3 “Why do I crave Spanking” Sept. 22, 2009
#4 “Exchanging spanking vows” Oct. 10, 2009
#5 “Fear of pain” Nov 7, 2009
#6 “Armistice Day” Nov. 11, 2009
#7 “The hand does not make you down” Nov. 29, 2009

Read none, read them all, but always know that as a spanko you are not alone.


Because a poem was wanted in the moonlight :)

rising above
if I were there
her full moon
parted eclipse
your taste
remembered now
faintly gleaming
pearlescent shimmer
mixture of lust
falling slowly from
reddened lips
on my back
my sticky hand
around you
I open my mouth
begging to be fed

Ina-Morata requested a poem as a comment on a post. I chose ‘The Mating of Love Birds’ and this is the response I wrote.

A story of sex in erotic haiku

A series of erotic haiku depicting a women’s first intercourse, #8 is based on actual events as related to me by a friend. I am the original author, some were posted elsewhere at various times.

Haiku is a Japanese poem of seventeen syllables, in three lines of five, seven, and five, traditionally evoking images of the natural world. English versions are not quite the same.

cool breeze nipples taut
twirling tongues kiss frantic dance
clothes fall as ripe fruit


black lace wisp teases
hands fondle legs gripping thighs
eyes desire close look


an aroused woman
wafting scent making cock hard
warm mouth lapping juice

lovely rosy hue
blushing cheeks warming quickly
harder strokes needed

tears flow swollen lips
spanking fast pink turns to red
shimmering heat burns


licking sweat off cheeks
parted globe pucker winking
beast growls deep in throat


fuck me her first time
you man enough to take this
do you need a pill

wet flower opens
throbbing clit metal gleaming
hard thrust breaks bondage


nails scrape lines down back
penetrated deep thrusting
screaming orgasm


bronzed by sun flex arms
red fingernails touching hair
quick strokes sperm arcing


Ruined for Billy Joel

Friday Flash #6 monthly prompt ‘Leaving an Italian restaurant’ based on this picture


He had an appartamento near the docks where he worked as a stivatore, run by the Mafia, slipping cargo past customs, cigarettes and girls from the Balkans. He met her there, an investigatore rescuing slaves, ben educato, he illiterate, but sly. The gutters defined him, grab what you can before it washes downstream. Muscled the waterfront, never saw anything kept his banconota in battered olive oil tins. She sought him out. Informazioni per favore. sì. In exchange, what he wanted. Her posteriore. Laughter, she left him, always leaving and coming back for more. Over the table, plates pushed aside. Thick leather pulled from loops, doubled and swung. Always raised buttocks meeting lash, driving and parted: a yowling aria, neighbors silenzio! Sometimes inside, after the spanking. Belt, hand. Red welts and blue bruises. Orgasmo he’d eat sometimes, southern dishes, fiery passione before frozen ghiaccio stole his breath. Slipped away, dirty dishes, wine dripping, dripping spreading: Vergine Maria in vino! Miracolo! Miracolo! He would be famous. No, it is only Mussolini. It was upside down hanging meat. Last time beating leaving for Napoli, Vesuvius he was. She leaves, his camera too late, striding away, always away never his, no amore, no Romeo. She was never his, only used for her desires, the contani spilling from olive oil tins, gifts always the gifts, never her pulsing heart. If she had one at all. So he’s here, to forget, our Italian restaurant, a bottle of red, a bottle of white…

He hated that song. Chianti bottle empty even turned upside down, drops hovering above white linen bleeding, always bleeding the craving to pulverize silica and why the stupid candles? What’s with the fucking candles!? Do you see her? The sepia legs once enveloped, mounted and rode pink glistening notes shattering goblets that once held pale nectar drunk toasts of forever. Took the image, here on the threshold, granite steps when ascended pesto and garlic, men in dark silk suits women: don’t forget the women. Sweeping dress a gift, bag gift, bracelet gift, shoes a gift, gift, gift! Always giving… always weeping. She was spaghetti alle vongole, a hot sirocco, sand abrading flesh, slithering and writhing, doused with rosé; she liked rosé the color of her bottom after, always after the session. Walked away, every… single…time she walked away! Bicep, you see? Feel. Hard, strong, hand of steel. He hated that song. She’d call, weeks months, she’d always call, again, another round. Drop the bag, the bracelets, slip the shoes, dress flung to floor, pulsed artery in neck. Empty, even upside down, denim thighs bulging lifting bales of Egyptian cotton watered by Hapi: empty as hand turned pale Riesling to purple Burgundy. She loved wine, spanking… she walked away. Used, recycled glass, maybe this one: empty Chianti bleeding on white linen. She wanted – craved – desired – used by laborer, sweaty, strong you doubt? Took that image, on the wall. Momento last time. Cutting shards, fingers tease print from frame. Mine, always mine. Polizia here, lire soak up the blood.


Spanks for Dinner

I am the original author. Posted elsewhere 3/8/08

“Logan,” she said, “I am so excited about tonight. Where are you taking me for dinner?”

Logan continued to smile at Hillary saying nothing. He moved his eyes up and down her body nodding slowly. He raised a finger and slowly twirled it in the air.

Hillary took a trembling breath and spun in place causing her short skirt to flare to the top of her stockings. Again he raised his hand and motioned her to lean forward so that her dress revealed her cleavage. Her nipples grew even tighter in the caress of her silken bra that lifted her breasts in offering to her lover, now Master.

Logan moved closer and gazed down at her blond hair spilling over her shoulders as she waited with bowed head and firmly grasping her chin he raised her up to look into her green eyes.

“Do you have everything I asked you to prepare?”

“Yes Logan, and I can’t wait…”

Logan swiftly turned her around and bent her over. Two hard spanks, one to each cheek echoed in the entryway.

“What is my name, pet?”

Hillary moaned in his firm embrace, “Master, sir.”

Logan spanked her several more times, Hillary squealing at each blow and then he released her and stepped back.

“No!” he stated as Hillary started to stand up. “Stay bent over, show me your bottom.”

Hillary looked back through her bangs. “I’m sorry Master, what?”

Logan narrowed his eyes, “A simple request pet. Show… me… your… bottom. Now!”

Hillary was embarrassed but so incredibly turned on that her pussy was free flowing with her fluids and she could feel her panties already soaked. She reached back and grabbed the hem of her skirt and drew it up to her waist exposing her cheeks snugged tight on the sides by the boyshort style. Logan could see faint pink marks from the previous smacks. He could also see the damp center of her sex encased by black silk.

“Are you turned on pet?”

Hillary could only nod.

“And how many times did you come when dressing?” Logan asked.

“Twice sir.”

“Is that allowed? Whom do you belong to?”

Hillary swallowed, “I belong to you sir. I am sorry I came without your permission.”

Logan waited while Hillary’s legs started to tremble with the strain of being bent over. Her thoughts were wild with anticipation, what would he do now.

“Remove your panties,” he said.

This time she did not hesitate, but quickly lowered them to the floor and waited for his next command.

“Pick them up and hand them to me,” he ordered.

Logan received her sodden silk and turned them inside out then walked over and grabbed a chair. Sitting down he said to her, “Come here and stand next to me.”

Hillary obeyed and looked down at the floor.

“You must be punished before we go out to dinner. I want you to have a nice red bottom to sit on tonight. Open your mouth.” Logan pressed her panties onto her tongue and scrubbed vigorously. “Close your mouth and suck them while I spank you.”

He grasped her waist and bent her over his knee, then raised her dress baring her pristine flesh. Raising his hand he brought it down with force on her bottom. Smack, smack, the spanks rang out with sharp crisp sounds. Hillary was even more aroused as she writhed on his lap. The tart and sweet taste of her pussy was filling her mouth as she sucked the silk frantically while the pain radiating from her sore bottom was going directly to her clit that was aching with need. All too soon Logan stopped after delivering nearly 100 hard spanks that had turned her bottom a lovely shade of pink. Logan raised her up and lowered her dress. Reaching up he caressed her ruby lips and removed the panties from her mouth.

“You no longer need these. Now we are ready to go out to dinner.” Offering his arm to her, “Shall we?”

Hillary nodded and they walked out the door the cool night air wafting up her legs and fanning her overheated and throbbing bare pussy. It was going to be a long night. She couldn’t wait to see what else he had planned.

Jousting for the Golden Paddle and the hand of the fair Princess

A spanking fairy tale poem. I am the original author written and posted elsewhere 7/31/08

“The Princess and the Paddle”

the banners waved all over town
proclaiming the duel about to go down
dressed in their finest with nary a frown
all shoved and hit to see her fine gown
in truth none really cared
it was the knights who dared
and if they weren’t prepared
to be snared
oh well, they still stared
to see such virile hunks of men
riding by again and again
jousting and prancing
many a matron thought of dancing
comparing her spouse
who frankly was a mouse
in bed
lust in her head
bulging thighs
what splendid guys
soft cries
deep sighs
if only we had what the princess will get
a strong, faithful, fairly tasty bit
ours ain’t worth spit
we’ll admit
but don’t ask and don’t tell
he never makes me yell
just yawn
look at that brawn
mine’s all bluster
my what luster
when he’s done he snores
off to my chores
face it ladies, we married bores
loud cheers there’s a winner
if only we were thinner
look at the prize he’s claiming
that’s something needs taming
a paddle made of gold
to have and to hold
my he’s so cold
a blush to behold
if later from the tower
within her royal bower
from a window not shut
hear loud smacks on bare butt
then a mighty shriek
do not cheat and peek
it’s not what you think
all quivering and pink
for the knights who were bold
had never been told
that the Golden Paddle
and the lap to straddle
was not theirs, no indeed
not to mislead
or allow him to plead
but the Princess had a need
to do the deed
with all due speed
to proceed
and thrash
not bash
or slash
but spank that tight ass
it’s not made of glass
so she’ll make it last
until it’s bright red
and his legs nice and spread
then we’ll be wed
and you may plow me instead
make sure I’m bred
what say you fine knight can you think ahead
down came his britches
my, what riches
off with his shirt
oh my, you I want to hurt
good thing I’m a pervert
naked he stood
this will be good
do you agree
to lay over my knee
and be spanked by your bride
can you give up your pride
the knight gave a bow
said this I do allow
for now
for I vow
although I am brave
and promise to behave
to be your willing slave
I too crave
the crack of the paddle
lying over a saddle
I’ll turn the tables
over in the stables
alone together
scent of leather
bent over my knee
for pleasure you’ll plea
it’s the crop I decree
thus she was gushing
and without rushing
gave the first spanking of many
both received plenty
and they lived happily ever after.

A long overdue birthday spanking

“This is so romantic darling. Just you and I, alone, together, by ourselves, all is quiet…”

“Except for the bug zapper.”

“The stars shining brightly.”

“Washed out by streetlight’s glare.”

“The moon rising over the horizon.”

“That’s the ball field.”

“The gentle songs of nature going to bed.”

“The roar of the highway.”

“What is wrong with you!? I’ve got your favorite wine, the pastries and the fresh fruit. We’re on the porch swing, it’s warm and the kids are at your parents for the weekend. I gave you new lingerie, an iPhone and a gift certificate to the spa. What else can I do?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

The heavy Tennessee air lay on my skin like a lover. July 4th weekend, her birthday and instead of kissing and fondling leading to hot sex, there were salty tears. She’d given me children, passion, meals and she was the center of my heart. I’d given her love, a safe home and security. After fifteen years together I thought I knew everything about her. But these tears, this distress, this, I did not understand.

“Understand what?”

She swiped her eyes and stared blankly out into the night.


I listened. The sounds of the neighborhood: barking dogs, music, car doors slamming, teens splashing pool water, arguments, television and fireworks. All normal sounds barely noticed.

“I don’t hear anything abnormal.”

“There is something missing.”


“It’s my birthday. There is something missing.”

“You want me to sing happy birthday?”


“What’s missing then? I don’t understand.”

She smiled sadly at me and gently touched my face.

“There’s no sounds of spanking my love. There should be sounds of spankings on my birthday.”

My mouth dropped open in shock. My wife, my beautiful wife, mother of our children, school volunteer, part-time bank teller was telling me… she wanted a spanking?

“I’ve never even thought. I mean we have a great sex life. I never even thought…”

“I know.”

“How long?”


“Why didn’t you?”

She put her finger over my lips and gently shook her head.

“I couldn’t… before.”

We sat together quietly in the gathering darkness, fireflies flashing, frogs croaking and never, ever, had I felt so distant. Before? Before what? My thoughts tumbled like puppies. She wanted a spanking. She wanted a birthday spanking!

“Is that what you really want for your birthday?”

I felt her nod against my shoulder.

“All right. Let’s go inside.”

I stared at her ass as she walked up the stairs. The thought of spanking it seemed so surreal. She asked me wait on the bed while she changed. When she returned from the bathroom, she was dressed in my gift, a long red silk gown slit up the side. In her hand, a wooden short-handled bath brush. In her eyes, a plea for understanding and compassion and mercy. I rose to meet her, my lips crushing hers, my hands capturing her rounded bottom and squeezing tightly with passionate possession. This woman, my wife, was mine and having come this far, I refused to disappoint her.

“How do you want me to do this?”

“I thought… bending over the bed… maybe?”

“Not over my knee?”

“Well… that way… after… you can take me. Anyway you want.”

I took the brush. She bent over, raised her gown, and laid down on the duvet. Her bottom, widened with childbirth, was all womanly curves; funny how I’d never thought of spanking before, but now, spread out before me like a pagan sacrifice, I could think of nothing else but the need to punish.

“I know you want this darling, but how hard do y…”

“Hard please. Thirty six hard spanks. Ooohhhh!”

I smacked the bath brush down onto her bare bottom, the impact rippling, the noise shockingly loud. One, two, three… ten, eleven.

“Slower please! Slower. Let me catch my breath.”

I slowly gave her another ten spanks, alternating between cheeks. I stopped to rub the back of the brush across her pink flesh. I was enthralled by the contrast in colors. I wondered if I should spank all over or concentrate in the same area. So I asked.

“Only fifteen left? Then I want the next ten in my sit spots, five per side. Then, give me the last five where my butt meets my thighs. And honey? I want those last five super hard and super fast.”

Methodically I spanked her over and over again, pink getting darker and darker. I paused and asked her to raise her bottom up high for the last five.

“You asked for it.”

I drew my arm back and fired the brush, one, two, three, four, five right at the base of her untouched bottom. It was over before she could even yell. But yell she did and lunged forward onto the bed, her hands flying back to grab her flaming flesh. I lunged forward as well, pants dropped, hands gripped hips, I rammed deep; the need to dominate, to punish, to take her for my pleasure alone, this would definitely not be her last spanking. I spilled convulsively into her clinging depths and slumped over her back. The silk was cool, her bottom was hot and I softly licked her salty neck.

“Happy birthday.”