Sunday, October 28, 2012

SPANK OR TREAT!

WELCOME TO SPANK OR TREAT!

PRESENTED BY THE SPANKING FICTION AUTHORS

WE'RE GIVING AWAY SOME WICKEDLY GOOD PRIZES FOR HALLOWEEN

  • $50 gift certificate to Blushing Books!
    (donated by
    Blushing Books)
  • $25 gift certificate to Eden Fantasy!
    (donated by Starla Kaye)
  • $10 gift certificate to Amazon!
    (donated by
    Stormy Night Publications)


  • HERE'S HOW TO ENTER THE CONTEST
     

    AND HERE'S MY TREAT (AND MY SPANK) FOR YOU--A  SPOOOKY STORY!

     
    GIVING HER WHAT SHE NEEDS
                A whirlwind of autumn leaves whipped around Jackson Hawes as he climbed out of his Jeep, momentarily filling his vision with orange, red, yellow, and brown.  Then with a sigh, the leaves floated to the ground, lifeless until the next gust.
                Jackson let out a sigh himself.  Another Halloween.  Another night of dealing with what was set loose by the ignorant.  He’d only taken a few steps up the walkway to the darkened house when the door burst open and two teenage girls with flashlights rushed out, both talking at once.  He picked out the words “scratched,” “ghost,” “Ouija board,” “freaked,” and numerous “OMG”s.
                “Shut up,” he commanded.  “I ask questions.  You answer them.  Inside.”
                As he led the way back into the house, the lights flicked on, as if in welcome.  Somebody wanted to play.  Fine with him.  Jackson always won.  “Anyone else home?” he asked the girls.
                “No,” the one dressed as a sexy Ernie answered.  “And the lights wouldn’t come on before.  They were completely dead.”
                “Typical,” he answered.  “So you two geniuses were playing with a Ouija board.  Did you ask to speak to a specific spirit?”
                “We were just asking questions,” the girl dressed as a sexy Bert said in a rush.  “Not to anybody.  Just to the board.”
                “You use the board, you’re trying to contact a spirit,” Jackson told them.  The lights flashed on and off as if in agreement.  Bert and Ernie squealed. “Did you get a message?” he continued.  The girls stared at him with eyes as blank as those of the puppets they’d decided to dress up as.  “Did the little pointer spell out anything?”  He spoke slowly and carefully, pretending they were kindergartners.
                “I thought she was moving it.”  Bert pointed to Ernie.
                “And I thought she was moving it.”  Ernie pointed to Bert.
                “Not what I asked.”  The lights agreed again.
                “Doom.  It spelled out doom,” Bert said.  Apparently, Ernie was still trying to figure out what the question actually was.
                “Original,” Jackson muttered.  The lights gave a rapid series of blinks, as if someone had been offended.  He had no problem with that.  “Anything else?” Jackson asked.  The girls shook their heads.
                “Just that, over and over.  Then the board flipped over, and something scratched me!  And I knew it was a ghost!” Ernie exclaimed.
                “That’s when we called you.  We saw your ad on TV,” Bert added.
                He always paid for a late-night ad on a local station the week before Halloween, and it always got him a lot of calls.  “Let’s see it,” he said to Ernie.  She held out her arm, and he saw that it was shaking.  He should probably have a little more patience with these two.  They had to be terrified.  But, they’d asked for it.
                The three long scratches on the girl’s arm looked as if they’d been caused by fingernails.  “You sure your friend didn’t accidentally do this?”
                “No way,” Bert protested.  “I was too busy screaming.  And anyway I wasn’t close enough.”
                He wasn’t going to get anything else useful from them.  “Give me an hour.  When you get back, whatever you called up will be gone.”  The lights gave their most rapid flicker yet.  Somebody thought he was being too cocky.  Somebody was wrong.
                Bert and Ernie didn’t need to be told twice.  They were out the door almost before he finished speaking.
                Showtime, Jackson thought.  He was encouraged by the scratches on the girl’s arm.  Not that he’d wanted her injured, but the scratches indicated the spirit was capable of a physical manifestation, and a being with a physical manifestation could be hurt physically.
                He walked over to the upended Ouija board.  “Don’t be shy, sweetheart.  Come out and show yourself,” he called loudly.  He didn’t know for sure if the spirit was male or female, but scratching, that was a woman thing.  Call him sexist, he didn’t care.  Men didn’t scratch.
                The lights flicked in reply.  “Come on.”  He switched into a coaxing tone.  Women liked coaxing.  “We’re all alone.  I want to see you.  You must be lonely.  I know I am.  Come keep me company.”
                He grinned as he heard the sound of high heels on the polished wooden stairs that led upstairs.  The spirit hadn’t taken on a form he could see, not yet, but she was coming toward him.
                The clicks stopped, and Jackson assumed the spirit woman had reached the carpet.  A whiff of perfume, something old-fashioned, honeysuckle maybe, indicated she was close.  Then he felt breath on his cheek.  Very, very close.
                His heart gave a kick in his chest.  This part always got him going, adrenalin whipping through him, not a fear response, but one of excitement.
                Close was good.  But he needed her corporeal.
                He decided to go with some flattery.  Women liked that too.  “You smell wonderful.”
                “Feed me some more applesauce,” came the whispered response in his ear.
                “Applesauce?”  What was she talking about.
                She giggled at his confusion, and as she did, the air in front of him began to ripple then solidify, taking the form of a woman in a flapper dress.  More of a girl than a woman.  She looked about eighteen under all that makeup.  She’d powdered her face almost while, colored her lips a deep crimson, and had on enough eye shadow he was surprised she could keep her eyelids open.
                “Annabelle,” he said.
                She raised her eyebrows, surprised.
                Jackson had done some quick research on the house before he’d come, and he’d discovered a young woman named Annabelle Patterson had died there in 1927.  She’d broken her neck in a fall down the stairs. She’d been just about to turn twenty-one.
                “And who are you, Father Time?” she asked.  She didn’t ask what he was doing there.  That was typical of spirits.  They somehow worked everything they saw into a reality that made sense to them.  “A friend of my papa’s, I suppose.”
                “That’s right.  Mr. Jackson Hawes.”  And who was she calling Father Time?  He was only thirty-two.
                She pulled a silver flask from the top of one of her rolled-down stockings, took a slug, then promptly choked.  “Bathtub gin wasn’t in the bathtub long enough,” she explained.  She took a cigarette out of a case in her bag, put it between her lips, and looked at him expectantly.
                Jackson lit it.  She was already dead.  It’s not like it could kill her.
                She took a puff and started coughing. 
                It was as if she’d never had a smoke or a drink before tonight.  She was an innocent little thing, and he reminded himself that she’d grown up—as much as she had—almost a hundred years ago.  And that let him know exactly how to handle her.  He plucked the cigarette out of her mouth and put it out on the bottom of his shoe. 
                “Wurp.”  She gave an exaggerated pout.
                He had no idea what that meant, but he had the idea it wasn’t a compliment.  “You and I are going to have a talk, young lady,” he told her.  “You terrified those girls, do you know that?”
                “I was just playing with the dumb doras,” she answered.  “I didn’t mean to scratch one of them.”
                “That’s only the first thing you and I have to discuss.  But before we move on, first I’m getting that gunk off your face.”  He took her by the elbow, marched her into the kitchen, grabbed a dishtowel, then wet it and began to scrub her face.  She wriggled and protested, but he didn’t stop until her face was clean and shining.
                “Much better.  Now sit.”  He pointed to one of the kitchen chairs.
                She quickly obeyed as if it didn’t occur to her to refuse.  It was like washing off her makeup had washed away most of her attitude.
                “What were you thinking wearing all that stuff on your face?” he asked sternly.  She dropped her eyes to the ground.  Yeah, he was on the right track.  “And carrying a flask.  What would your mother think?”
                “Don’t tell her!” Annabelle exclaimed, jerking her eyes up to him.  “It would break her heart.”
                Guilt.  That was what was keeping her here, on this plane.  Well, he knew exactly how to handle that.
                “And what about the rest of what you got up to tonight?”  He knew she’d died after midnight.  Looking at her, he knew she had to have been sneaking back into her house.
                “I didn’t do anything,” she said, raising her chin, with just a hint of defiance.
                “Don’t lie to me, Annabelle Patterson,” Jackson ordered. 
                “I went to a petting party at my friend Susan’s,” she mumbled.
                “Speak up,” he barked.
                “I went to a petting party at my friend Susan’s,” she said more loudly.  “Please don’t tell Mama.  Or Papa.  Please, please don’t tell Papa.”  She suddenly sounded like a little girl.
                “If I did, I’m sure he’d put you over his knee and warm your bottom, am I right?”
                Her face flushed, and she nodded.
                “Well, since papa isn’t here, I’m going to have to take care of that myself,” Jackson informed her.  Once she’d taken her punishment, he was pretty sure she’d be released from this plane and free to go on, to go to her parents and everyone else she loved.
                He pulled one of the kitchen chairs away from the table and sat down.  “Let’s get this done.”
                Tears started to roll down her face.  “I only wanted to have a little fun.  All I did was a little hugging.”
                “And a little sneaking out.  And a little smoking.  And a little drinking.  And a little lying to Mama and Papa.  And, let’s not forget, a little scaring of those girls.”  Jackson counted her sins on his fingers.  “You know you’ve earned a spanking.  Now come here and get yourself over my knee.”
                Annabelle stood and slowly approached him.  He held out his hand, and he took it.  All he had to do was give it a gentle tug and she was across his lap.  She knew she had this coming.
                Jackson place one hand on her back and used his other to pull the hem of her fringed dress up over her bottom.  She have a gasp when he took the top of her panties in his fingers, and planted her hands firmly over her fanny.
                “You better move those paws unless you want your spanking to last twice as long,” Jackson warned.
                She jerked her hands away almost as fast as she’d gotten them in place.  Jackson made quick work of getting her panties—with their wide, loose legs—down to her knees.  Her bottom was smooth and round and creamy.  You’re not here to ogle her, he reminded himself.  He raised his hand and gave her a sharp spank, sharp enough to leave a perfect red hand-print and to get a squeal from Miss Annabelle. 
                Jackson continued methodically, making each spank count, covering every inch of her bottom and the tops of her thighs.  Her flesh remained firm—well firm, but bouncy—under his hand.  Obviously, she thought she deserved something harsher.  He rained down a second round of spanks, these faster so there wasn’t even a few seconds between strikes for her to recover.  She squirmed and bucked, but didn’t begin to fade as he’d thought she would.
                Maybe a little lecture was in order.  Jackson planted his palm firmly on her bottom.  “You really have behaved horribly.  Smoking.  Drinking.  I know you weren’t raised that way.”
                “No, I w-wasn’t,” Annabelle stammered.  He could hear tears in her voice.
                “Do you have any explanation for yourself?” he demanded.
                “No.  I’ll never do it again.  Never!” she exclaimed.  But she remained solid.  Her guilt hadn’t left her.  Jackson began spanking again, turning her skin crimson.  “Please, stop.  Please, please.  I will never, ever do it again.”
                Jackson paused. Had he been wrong about a spanking being what she needed to free her?  “If it was your papa spanking you, would he stop now?”
                Annabelle didn’t reply.  Jackson gave her a sharp smack.  “Answer me!”
                “I won’t do it again!” Annabelle exclaimed.
                “That’s not what I asked.”  He gave her another spank.
                “I’m sorry.  I know I was bad.  But I’ll be good, I will.”
                “Not an an—“ Jackson began.
                Then a hairbrush materialized in thin air and fell to the ground at his feet.  He didn’t need to be told twice.  He picked it up.  Annabelle looked over her shoulder and began to struggle to get free when she saw what he held.  “Papa’s hairbrush!” she cried.
                Papa’s paddle was more like it, he thought.  The back was wide and thick.  It would deliver quite the wallop.
                Annabelle gave a hard jerk and almost broke free.  “Enough!” Jackson pushed her further forward on his lap, and looped one of his legs over both of his just as she began kicking.  She was no match for his strength.  He began applying the back of the brush to her already well-punished bottom and it only took three strokes before her shoulders began to shake with sobs.  He didn’t let that stop him.  He brought the brush down again and again.
                Finally he saw that she’d begun to turn translucent.  He paused with the brush raised to deliver another spank.  She twisted around and looked at him. 
                “You’re probably hating me right now,” he said.
                She shook her head.  “No, you were right.  I deserved a spanking.  I’ll be good from now on.”
                “I know you will.  I know you were always a good girl, most of the time. You can go now.”  He put the brush on the table, gave her bottom one last spank, this one more of a tap.  He could hardly feel her under his hand.  Her body was now feather-light over his lap.  As he began to pull her panties back up, the doorway leading to the living room began to glow.
                Jackson squinted into the light.  A man and woman, Annabelle’s parents going by their age and dress, stood there.  Her mama smiled at him.  Her father gave him an approving nod.
                Annabelle scrambled up from his lap and started toward them, then spun around and gave him a kiss on the cheek.  Then she ran toward her parents, toward the light, and disappeared.
                “Nothing like a good spanking,” Jackson said.  He decided that he’d give the same treatment to Bert and Ernie when they returned. They deserved it.  Playing with a Ouija board and on Halloween no less.
     
    THE END
     
    Answer this question in the comments section: 

    What monster would you like to be spanked by?

    and you'll have the chance to win my blog's prize:  3 Halloween-themed bath products.
    It's the same question you'll need to answer for the GRAND PRIZE.




    DON'T MISS STORIES FROM ANY OF THE SPANKING AUTHORS GROUP FOR A CHANCE TO WIN THE GRAND PRIZE!

    Claire Collinsgrove Cara Bristow Alice Dark Patty Devlin
    Emma K. Gardner Celeste Jones Starla Kaye
    Sue Lyndon Constance Masters Renee Rose
    Rollin Anatasia Vitsky


    BONUS--FREE BOOKS!!

  • Traditional Love by Alta Hensley
  • To Love a Woman by Jade Cary
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    • Underwear Probation by Celeste Jones
      Download free from Amazon (October 28-31)



     
     
               
     

    Tuesday, October 16, 2012

    TECHNICAL GLITCH WITH CHOOSE-YOUR-OWN-SPANKING

    Hi,

    The Choose-Your-Own-Spanking attraction is now open.  I believe all the glitches have been repaired and that you can now ride (read) it safely.

    I appologize for an inconvenience.

    Hope you have fun!

    Emma

    P.S.  I wonder if anyone who reads this blog will decide to choose the path of goodness and obey the agreement made with the Significant Other.

    CHOOSE-YOUR-OWN-SPANKING PATH C


    Remember those Choose-Your-Own-Adventure stories? I thought it would be fun to write one for grown-ups (who like spanking stories). Hope you enjoy!

     


    TO START THE CHOOSE-YOUR-OWN-SPANKING STORY GO HERE.

    If you confessed to wasting the day on the internet, continue.


    You can’t speak without stammering, but you manage to say that you set two timers, but that you didn’t listen to them. You apologize as he moves toward you, his face hard, eyes unreadable.  You swear that tomorrow you’ll use that software that turns the computer off for you.  He says that’s a very good idea, because he very much doubts you’ll want to receive a second spanking  tomorrow after the one he’s going to give you tonight.

     
    Continue HERE.

    DON'T FORGET TO CHECK OUT THE COOL (HOT!) HALLOWEEN SPANK OR TREAT CONTEST!! THERE ARE SO MANY GREAT TREATS FOR YOUR PILLOWCASE!! I'LL BE GIVING AWAY A TRIO OF HALLOWEEN-THEMED BATH PRODUCTS FROM LUSH! I KNOW THAT'S A LOT OF !!!!!!S, BUT THE CONTEST IS THAT EXCITING!!!



     

    CHOOSE-YOUR-OWN-SPANKING PATH D


    Remember those Choose-Your-Own-Adventure stories? I thought it would be fun to write one for grown-ups (who like spanking stories). Hope you enjoy!


    TO START THE CHOOSE-YOUR-OWN-SPANKING STORY GO HERE

    If you refused to get the hairbrush, continue.


    You refused, using the word bastard a few more times.  Mouth pressed into a grim line, he picks you up (why do you always forget he’s big enough and strong enough to just pick you up?), tosses you over his shoulder and heads for the bathroom off your bedroom.  You start to kick, and he simply keeps walking, spanking  your bare bottom as he does.  When he reaches the bathroom he grabs his brush.  (The brush you bought him.  Why oh why did you splurge on that hairbrush for his birthday? It cost more than a hundred dollars and is very well made.  It’s rectangular back is wide and thick.  It’s the perfect paddle.)

    Then it’s over to the bed.  He sits down and pulls you across his knees, then starts using that brush on your already flaming bottom.  You start crying almost immediately.  It hurts so bad.  You finally realize there’s no point in trying to get away.  He’ll just haul you right back into position. 

    He keeps spanking, and you begin to sob.  You can’t help it.  Each stroke of the brush—the paddle—sends a bolt of hot pain through you.  He’s never been able to stand to see you cry before, but now your shoulders are heaving with sobs and he keeps spanking.  All you can do is submit.  Until it’s over.

    He lets you lie there until your sobs turn to sniffles, then he helps you to your feet.  He takes your hand in his and leads you to the bathroom, where he turns you away from the large mirror, then tells you to look at yourself.  You don’t want to, but you now know it is better to obey.  You turn your head and take in the sight of your bottom.  It is crimson, and you can see a few spots were bruises have already started to form.  He tells you that if you had simply taken the spanking you’d earned it never would have come to this.  He sounds weary, and disappointed in you. 

    He fills up the tub.  For you, you wonder?  No.  He tells you he wants you to stand where you are, continue looking at that red bottom of yours, and think about what you’ve done.  Not just going online for more than an hour, which, he says, turns out to the least of it.  He strips and gets in the tub.  You return your gaze to the mirror.

    The moments tick by, and you find your anger and resentment at having been repeatedly spanked fading.  You find that you are genuinely sorry, and not just because of the way your bottom feels.  Yesterday the two of you had agreed that you’d get a spanking if you spent more than an hour online.  You agreed.  And he followed up on the agreement.

    And you acted like a brat, calling him a bastard and all but stomping your foot.  He was right.  You did throw a temper tantrum, and all because the two of you agreed on a punishment, you earned the punishment, and then didn’t want to take it.

    You apologize.  He accepts.  You want to go to him, climb in the tub with him, be as close to him as you can.  But he hasn’t given you permission to move, so you stay where you are. Being kept from him is almost more painful than being spanked with the brush.

    No, it is more painful.  Is he still angry?  Have you ruined everything between you? You get up the courage to ask.

    He climbs out of the tub and comes to you.  He says of course things aren’t ruined.  And he isn’t angry.  You’ve been punished for your behavior.  That’s it.  It’s over.  He kisses you.  You don’t even make it to the bed.  You have each other there on the bathroom floor, the tile cool against your throbbing bottom.  His cock hot inside you.

     THE END


    Unless you started the evening with some lies.  If you did, poor you, go HERE.







    DON'T FORGET TO CHECK OUT THE COOL (HOT!) HALLOWEEN SPANK OR TREAT CONTEST!!  THERE ARE SO MANY GREAT TREATS FOR YOUR PILLOWCASE!!  I'LL BE GIVING AWAY A TRIO OF HALLOWEEN-THEMED BATH PRODUCTS FROM LUSH!  I KNOW THAT'S A LOT OF !!!!!!S, BUT THE CONTEST IS THAT EXCITING!!!



     

    CHOOSE-YOUR-OWN-SPANKING PATH A

    Remember those Choose-Your-Own-Adventure stories? I thought it would be fun to write one for grown-ups (who like spanking stories). Hope you enjoy!


    TO START THE CHOOSE-YOUR-OWN-SPANKING STORY GO HERE.


    If you stopped reading the blog when your hour was up, continue.
     

    You used the time you’d usually have spent on the web making dinner, doing a bit of cleaning, and ended up having time to take a long bubble bath.  When your significant other comes home, he immediately asks for a report.  You happily tell him about your two-timer system and brag a bit about how you turned the computer off the second an hour was up.  He smiles, although he comments that it did take the threat of a spanking to get you to behave yourself. He gives you a couple light pats on the fanny for emphasis.

    The two of you eat dinner, do a little snuggling in front of the TV, and when you go to bed, you fall asleep easily, your conscience clear.  What a good girl you are!
     
    THE END


    DON'T FORGET TO CHECK OUT THE COOL (HOT!) HALLOWEEN SPANK OR TREAT CONTEST!! THERE ARE SO MANY GREAT TREATS FOR YOUR PILLOWCASE!! I'LL BE GIVING AWAY A TRIO OF HALLOWEEN-THEMED BATH PRODUCTS FROM LUSH! I KNOW THAT'S A LOT OF !!!!!!S, BUT THE CONTEST IS THAT EXCITING!!!

    CHOOSE-YOUR-OWN-SPANKING PATH E


    Remember those Choose-Your-Own-Adventure stories? I thought it would be fun to write one for grown-ups (who like spanking stories). Hope you enjoy!


    TO START THE CHOOSE-YOUR-OWN-SPANKING STORY GO HERE.


    If you’re lying across your significant other’s lap, waiting for your spanking to start, continue.


    You know he is staring down at your exposed bottom.  Why doesn’t he just start and get it over with?  Waiting is…it’s horrible.  You squirm a little.  He orders you to stay still.  You obey, but it’s hard.  He picks up the lecture again, asking how it feels to be your age and needing a spanking because you have so little control.  He actually waits for an answer.  You admit that you feel ashamed of yourself, and you really do.  How can you not, lying over his knee waiting for him to paddle you.  Why won’t he just do it already?

    Then he starts, and you wish he would have lectured longer, because it hurts, it really hurts.  You tell him that, and he, without stopping his firm, sharp spanks, says that that’s the point.  A spanking is supposed to hurt enough that it makes you change your behavior. 

    He spanks up and down your bottom, then spanks your thighs.  Yowch!  Tears come to your eyes, but you blink them away.  He plants his hand on your bottom and asks you if you’re going to remember to keep your promises to him from now on.  You swear you will, you swear, swear, swear.  He raises his hand—and gives you two more spanks, the hardest yet, hard enough to make you yelp.

    Then he runs his hand over your bottom, talking about how red it is, how naughty you were to need him to take you over his knee.  His tone is just the tinest bit teasing now, and you realize you’re the tinest bit wet, and getting wetter the more he rubs.  The rubbing feels good and bad at the same time.  You want him to stop, but you don’t.

    He moves his hands lower, and he begins roughly massaging your burning, stinging thighs.  Yowch-yum.  Then his hands move between your thighs.  Yum-yum. He starts to slide one finger into you, then pulls it out, chiding you for getting wet during a spanking.  Which is supposed to be punishment.  Maybe he didn’t do it right.  Maybe it wasn’t thorough enough.  You really do deserve a sound spanking, he says, after what you did.  You assure him it was most thorough and very sound.

    But he spanks your bottom some more anyway, making sure he doesn’t miss an inch.  This time when you squirm, he doesn’t order you to stop.  And you can feel that the spanking got him pretty excited too.  You don’t mention it, just in case that earns you more spanks. 

    You’re ready for his fingers—and more—to be back inside you.  And he's happy to oblige.

    THE END


    Unless you started the evening with some lies.  If you did, poor you, go HERE.


    DON'T FORGET TO CHECK OUT THE COOL (HOT!) HALLOWEEN SPANK OR TREAT CONTEST!! THERE ARE SO MANY GREAT TREATS FOR YOUR PILLOWCASE!! I'LL BE GIVING AWAY A TRIO OF HALLOWEEN-THEMED BATH PRODUCTS FROM LUSH! I KNOW THAT'S A LOT OF !!!!!!S, BUT THE CONTEST IS THAT EXCITING!!!

    CHOOSE-YOUR-OWN-SPANKING PATH F

    Remember those Choose-Your-Own-Adventure stories? I thought it would be fun to write one for grown-ups (who like spanking stories). Hope you enjoy!


    TO START THE CHOOSE-YOUR-OWN-SPANKING STORY GO HERE


    If you lied, lied, lied, continue.

     
    Your significant other raises and eyebrow and heads to the kitchen table where you have your laptop.  He touches it, comments that it feels warm.  Your face goes warm, but you’ve gone with lying, you aren’t going to stop now.  You tell him you just finished up your hour. 

    He nods, like that makes sense, and you smile, because you got away with something.  You think.  It turns out your sneaky significant other put a keystroke tracker on your laptop.  He quickly discovers exactly how long you were online and exactly what you were doing.  (You must have remembered that he said you’d be spanked if you stayed on more than an hour, he observes, since you seem to have done some research on the subject by reading a spanking blog.)

    You blurt out that you’ll go make dinner.  But it doesn’t work.  He moves toward you, and you’re pretty sure what he has in mind.

    Go HERE .


    DON'T FORGET TO CHECK OUT THE COOL (HOT!) HALLOWEEN SPANK OR TREAT CONTEST!! THERE ARE SO MANY GREAT TREATS FOR YOUR PILLOWCASE!! I'LL BE GIVING AWAY A TRIO OF HALLOWEEN-THEMED BATH PRODUCTS FROM LUSH! I KNOW THAT'S A LOT OF !!!!!!S, BUT THE CONTEST IS THAT EXCITING!!!

    CHOOSE-YOUR-OWN-SPANKING PATH G

    Remember those Choose-Your-Own-Adventure stories? I thought it would be fun to write one for grown-ups (who like spanking stories). Hope you enjoy!


    TO START THE CHOOSE-YOUR-OWN-SPANKING STORY GO HERE.




     
     If you’re in the middle of a temper tantrum, continue.

    Your significant other tells you that you are going to be spanked for going over your allotted time on the computer.  He adds that it’s up to you whether you will also be spanked for acting like a petulant, peevish little girl. (You hate it when he pulls out the SAT words on you.  And the alliteration—please.)  He says you have ten seconds to put yourself back over his knee or it’s two spankings for you.

    You’re waaay too caught up in your tantrum to even consider obeying the…bastard.  (Your vocabulary is as good as his, but it’s deserted you.  That’s how mad you are.  You’re so mad you’ve even forgotten your pajama bottoms fell to your ankles in your dash away from…the bastard.)  You tell him to go to hell and call him a bastard a few more times. 

    He doesn’t get angry.  He simply strides over to you.  You try to run, but those damn pajama bottoms tangled around your feet won’t let you.  He grabs you by the waist and drags you back toward the sofa.  He stops at the coffee table and plants one foot on it, then bends you over his thigh and starts spanking.  You try to get away again, but he keeps one arm wrapped over your back and around your waist.  It’s like a vise.  All you can do is balance on your tiptoes, your head hanging down so far your nose is almost on the floor as he spanks you.  And spanks you.  And spanks you some more, covering every inch of your fanny and even getting the tops of your thinghs.  You’re sure he’s going to stop any second.  Your whole bottom is on fire.  Instead, he picks one spot.  It’s on the fullest part of your left butt cheek.  He spanks that one spot until you start to scream.  Until you start to cry.  And you didn’t want to cry in front of the bastard-y him.  He proves he really is a bastard by moving his hand to a spot on the center of your bottom and giving it the same treatment. 

    Finally, it’s over.  He guides you into an upright position and lowers his foot to the floor.  Then he takes your chin between this thumb and forefinger and tilts your face up until you’re forced to look him in the eye.  He tells you now it’s time for you to be punished for not honoring your agreement about how long you would stay on the computer.

    But, but, but…that’s what he just did, you protest.  No, he just spanked you for throwing that temper tantrum, remember?  He tells you to go to the bathroom, get his hairbrush, and bring it to him.  You really don’t like the sound of that.


    If you decide there is no way he’s getting anywhere near you with any hairbrush and tell him so, go HERE.

    f you really don’t want him getting anywhere near you with any hairbrush, but are afraid to disobey now that you’ve seen how stern your sweetie can get, go HERE.


    DON'T FORGET TO CHECK OUT THE COOL (HOT!) HALLOWEEN SPANK OR TREAT CONTEST!! THERE ARE SO MANY GREAT TREATS FOR YOUR PILLOWCASE!! I'LL BE GIVING AWAY A TRIO OF HALLOWEEN-THEMED BATH PRODUCTS FROM LUSH! I KNOW THAT'S A LOT OF !!!!!!S, BUT THE CONTEST IS THAT EXCITING!!!

     

    CHOOSE-YOUR-OWN-SPANKING PATH K

    Remember those Choose-Your-Own-Adventure stories? I thought it would be fun to write one for grown-ups (who like spanking stories). Hope you enjoy!


    TO START THE CHOOSE-YOUR-OWN-SPANKING STORY GO HERE


    If you’re a liar, you’re in the right place.  Continue.

     

    You and your significant other have eaten dinner.  He laughed when you had to eat standing up, but you had no desire to call him a bastard.

     You are so ready for bed.  Spanking takes a lot out of a girl.  Your guy is so considerate.  He makes a pile of pillows near the middle of your side of the bed, and guides you over it, so you’re lying with your bottom high in the air.  That should make sleeping much more comfortable.  Your bottom is bare, of course.  It’s way too tender for P.J.s.

    He brushes your hair away from your face, gives you a kiss on the cheek.  He’s so sweet.  He sets the alarm. Then says there’s just one thing the two of you have to take care of.  He doesn’t want you to have to start a new day with a spanking. 

    What?

    He wants you to be able to start fresh, with a clear conscience, so he’s going to give you your punishment now.  You’ll both sleep better knowing it’s over with. 

    What?  What what what? 

     You’ve been punished, punished for everything, you protest,  alarm sending adrendaline racing through your body.

    Have you forgotten you lied to him?  That is absolutely not acceptable.  He’s sounding a little grim now, like he did when he was lecturing before.  Lying is something that will always earn you a spanking.

     That’s not fair, you say.  The two of you never talked about that.  His voice has more of an edge to it when he speaks next.  Does she think there is nothing wrong with lying to him? 

     Well, no.  Lying is lying.  She can’t come up with a case for it.

     He sits down on the edge of the bed, then picks up one of his slippers from the floor.  He twists around, and looking over your shoulder, you can see your raised bottom is perfectly positioned for another spanking.  He raises the slipper—Why did you have to buy him those super nice leather slippers from L.L. Bean?  Why did you have to shop online at all?—then brings it down with a sharp thwack on your already quite soundly punished bottom and on your already quite well-punished thighs. 

    These are no slow, deliberate spanks.  He’s giving you a volley of hard, stinging swats.  It’s like being attacked by bees, heat and pain everywhere at once.

    Then it’s over.  Really over.  He climbs into bed beside you, slides his arm around you, letting one hand give your bottom a few light, affectionate pats.  “I’m thinking you’ll be a good girl tomorrow,” he says.

    You’re thinking that too.  Although maybe, just maybe, in a few weeks, or at least a few days, you might want to be a tiny bit naughty.  Just the right amount.  Some fibbing, little bitty fibbing?  A few minutes over an hour on line?

    You’re still pondering as you drift off to sleep.


    THE END

    IF YOU’RE GOOD FROM NOW ON.


    DON'T FORGET TO CHECK OUT THE COOL (HOT!) HALLOWEEN SPANK OR TREAT CONTEST!! THERE ARE SO MANY GREAT TREATS FOR YOUR PILLOWCASE!! I'LL BE GIVING AWAY A TRIO OF HALLOWEEN-THEMED BATH PRODUCTS FROM LUSH! I KNOW THAT'S A LOT OF !!!!!!S, BUT THE CONTEST IS THAT EXCITING!!!