Carolyn was putting away some of her husband's freshly-cleaned shirts when she spotted a cardboard box at the back of his wardrobe. She frowned – she'd never noticed it before, but it looked old and worn, so he probably didn't acquire it recently. Maybe he'd kept it somewhere else, and had just moved it? But what in the world could he want to keep in a cardboard box in his wardrobe? Unable to quell her curiosity, she picked it up, carried it to the bed, opened it, and peeked inside.
Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. The box contained wooden paddles, leather straps, and spanking magazines.
Carylon blushed a fiery red as she tried to process this new side of her gentle giant. With burning curiosity, she picked up one of the magazines, which featured young women in schoolgirl uniforms being spanked over the laps of strict men. Was this what Nathan was secretly into? He'd never hinted at anything like this before.
She took a deep breath, trying to merge this new information with the wonderful husband she thought she knew. It was definitely proof that after years of marriage, you could still be surprised. She looked at the box again. It was a few years old, at least. Had he kept it secret since before they were married? Was this something he'd fantasized about, but never dared to bring up? She hoped he knew her well enough to know that regardless of whether or not she was willing to participate in these perverted games, she certainly wouldn't think less of him for admitting it.
A dreadful thought struck her. Was she so certain that he'd kept these feelings bottled up in secret? Maybe he'd found someone else to fulfil them. Maybe he was seeing other women. He HAD worked a lot of overtime lately… She shook her head in disgust, forcefully rejecting the suggestion. No, she wouldn't think such thoughts. He was her husband, and she would trust him until she had a very good reason not to, and this cardboard box wasn't anywhere near enough.
Carolyn sat down with a cup of tea to reflect on what she'd discovered, and the more she thought about it, the more she felt sorry for the man she loved, having this secret side that he didn't dare speak of, even to her. Her initial revulsion had faded completely, and at the back of her mind, she began to wonder if she still had the uniform from her school days…
Sunday, 30 June 2024
Monday, 24 June 2024
One year
Hello. Sorry for the infrequency of stories the last few weeks, but I've been busy and haven't had as much time to write and edit as I would have liked. I uploaded a story yesterday, which has received some positive responses.
I don't usually write much about myself here - it's a blog for my stories, not for my life. However, I decided I should write something today, because it's been one year since the first time I actually gave someone a spanking. I've been a part of the spanko community for decades, but until then, it was only in theory - as a reader, writer, and consumer.
I'd wondered how it would be once I finally spanked someone. Would I be any good at it? Would I enjoy it as much as I thought? Would THEY enjoy it? (The answers are yes, yes, and yes). Afterwards, I've also wondered how my stories have been affected - are my stories before June 2023 less realistic than the ones after? Is there anything of value added after the momentous event? I don't know, and would be curious what my readers think.
Sadly, there isn't much of a spanko community in Norway. There is an active and thriving BDSM community, but I've never felt truly at home in it - most of it is too far from my own narrow interests to make me comfortable. Lately, I've seen some positive signs in the growth of the spanko community, though.
I'd originally planned to more than this, but I have a cold and I am not feeling up to it. I considered postponing it, but this is the anniversary, so I'm writing it now.
Hope you all have a wonderful day!
Sunday, 23 June 2024
IT support (m/F story)
"Hi, Ethan. It's Cassie. My computer's acting up again. Could you have a look?"
The eighteen-year-old nodded, before realizing that she couldn't see him over the phone. "Sure. I'll just save my game, and I'll be right over."
Cassie lived next door to Ethan's parents. The 35-year-old woman was famously clueless with technology, and growing up, Ethan had often been asked to come over and help her. Even now, when he'd moved into his own apartment, she still called him when she needed help. He didn't mind, and she also paid quite well. Ethan liked being helpful, and he would probably have aided her for free, but he wasn't going to tell her that.
About half an hour later, Ethan rang the doorbell, and Cassie let him in a thankful smile. It was a warm summer day, so she was wearing a nice sundress, while the teenager was clad in shorts and a worn t-shirt. She fetched him a glass of soda while he sat down at the desk to examine her computer.
"Yeah, it's a virus," he told her as she returned. "Quite nasty. I can't remove it with the regular anti-virus, but I'm booting it in safe mode, which should help. If it doesn't, I might have to do a factory reset, or I could try restoring from an old backup – one from before the virus, of course."
She nodded eagerly, doing her best to try to seem like she knew what he was going on about, and hoping he could have it solved soon.
Ethan tapped away at the keyboard, doing something that seemed like magic to tech-illiterate Cassie, who was watching over his shoulder. Finally, he leaned back in his chair with a grin on his face. "I think that solved it." He booted the computer again, his face radiating satisfaction. "Looks like it."
"Thank you," she said with a relieved sigh. "You've really earned your pay today."
He frowned. "Do you know how the virus got in? I know you have anti-virus – I installed it last time we had an issue like this."
"Ah." She seemed ill at ease. "I think I disabled it. I was trying to download some files…"
He raised an eyebrow. "Really? What files were you downloading that your antivirus protested against?"
And to her horror, he opened the browser. Before she could summon the presence of mind to stop him, her history covered the screen. Most of it involved spanking. "Oh," he said quietly.
Cassie buried her face in her hands, wanting to sink through the floor. Having the boy next door see what sort of porn she was into was fairly high on the list of the worst things that had ever happened to her. Not that she expected to corrupt him, of course – he was eighteen, and had probably seen worse things already.
After a few seconds, she peeked through her fingers at him, hoping that the boy had been gentleman enough to close the browser and find something else to focus on. He hadn't. Instead, he'd opened a few of the websites he found, so her computer now showed pictures of bare-bottomed women being soundly spanked by stern men. Cassie was blushing scarlet – almost as red as the backside of the woman Ethan was currently looking at.
For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then, Ethan glanced over at her, and a wry grin appeared on his face. "You know, it's very naughty of you to visit websites like this. And disabling the anti-virus? Not a good idea." He tutted.
Cassie stared at him, breathless. Was he proposing what she thought he was proposing? And if he was, how should she respond?
The eighteen-year-old nodded, before realizing that she couldn't see him over the phone. "Sure. I'll just save my game, and I'll be right over."
Cassie lived next door to Ethan's parents. The 35-year-old woman was famously clueless with technology, and growing up, Ethan had often been asked to come over and help her. Even now, when he'd moved into his own apartment, she still called him when she needed help. He didn't mind, and she also paid quite well. Ethan liked being helpful, and he would probably have aided her for free, but he wasn't going to tell her that.
About half an hour later, Ethan rang the doorbell, and Cassie let him in a thankful smile. It was a warm summer day, so she was wearing a nice sundress, while the teenager was clad in shorts and a worn t-shirt. She fetched him a glass of soda while he sat down at the desk to examine her computer.
"Yeah, it's a virus," he told her as she returned. "Quite nasty. I can't remove it with the regular anti-virus, but I'm booting it in safe mode, which should help. If it doesn't, I might have to do a factory reset, or I could try restoring from an old backup – one from before the virus, of course."
She nodded eagerly, doing her best to try to seem like she knew what he was going on about, and hoping he could have it solved soon.
Ethan tapped away at the keyboard, doing something that seemed like magic to tech-illiterate Cassie, who was watching over his shoulder. Finally, he leaned back in his chair with a grin on his face. "I think that solved it." He booted the computer again, his face radiating satisfaction. "Looks like it."
"Thank you," she said with a relieved sigh. "You've really earned your pay today."
He frowned. "Do you know how the virus got in? I know you have anti-virus – I installed it last time we had an issue like this."
"Ah." She seemed ill at ease. "I think I disabled it. I was trying to download some files…"
He raised an eyebrow. "Really? What files were you downloading that your antivirus protested against?"
And to her horror, he opened the browser. Before she could summon the presence of mind to stop him, her history covered the screen. Most of it involved spanking. "Oh," he said quietly.
Cassie buried her face in her hands, wanting to sink through the floor. Having the boy next door see what sort of porn she was into was fairly high on the list of the worst things that had ever happened to her. Not that she expected to corrupt him, of course – he was eighteen, and had probably seen worse things already.
After a few seconds, she peeked through her fingers at him, hoping that the boy had been gentleman enough to close the browser and find something else to focus on. He hadn't. Instead, he'd opened a few of the websites he found, so her computer now showed pictures of bare-bottomed women being soundly spanked by stern men. Cassie was blushing scarlet – almost as red as the backside of the woman Ethan was currently looking at.
For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then, Ethan glanced over at her, and a wry grin appeared on his face. "You know, it's very naughty of you to visit websites like this. And disabling the anti-virus? Not a good idea." He tutted.
Cassie stared at him, breathless. Was he proposing what she thought he was proposing? And if he was, how should she respond?
Sunday, 2 June 2024
The house-cleaner (M/F story)
I was sitting at my desk, trying to begin work on my next novel, when the doorbell rang. I opened to find a grinning, peppy redhead in her early twenties. I smiled back at her. "Hello, Lizzie. Is it noon already?"
"Hello, Richard! Yes, I'm afraid so, so you'll have to suffer my presence for the next hour or two." She shrugged. "At least you'll have a cleaner house at the end of it."
When I'd first hired Lizzie as a weekly cleaner, she'd been very meek and quiet, and had insisted on calling me 'sir'. I'd nipped that in the bud and told her to refer to me by my first name. I had no problem being called 'sir' – in fact, in some circumstances, I insisted upon it – but I did not want to hear it from someone I had hired. It made the interaction too formal and stiff, and I couldn't live like that. Over the months, the young woman had begun to relax around me, and it was wonderful to see her overcome her shyness and watch her real personality emerge.
I returned to my desk and continued to stare at the empty screen, wondering how to begin, while Lizzie retrieved her cleaning supplies and hummed quietly to herself as she started to work. Turning my head, I caught her glancing at the locked cupboard under stairs.
When I'd hired her, she'd said the cupboard was perfect for her supplies, and asked if she could use it. I'd told her that she was welcome to use any other cupboard she wanted, but that one was mine, and I did not want her opening it. She'd asked what was in it, and I told her it was private. She'd taken the hint, and while she never asked me again, I had a vague sense that she was still curious.
Half an hour after her arrival, I still hadn't written a single word, and when Lizzie fetched the vacuum cleaner, I decided to take a break. Some writers prefer silence, while others put on music or have a movie in the background, but I've yet to meet one that does their best work while listening to a running vacuum cleaner. "I'm heading to the store," I told her. "I forgot to buy milk yesterday." I also hoped the walk would get the creative juices flowing. "Back in half an hour."
She nodded, and as I left, I heard her turn the vacuum cleaner on.
I'd walked about five minutes when I suddenly realized I'd forgotten my wallet. Quickly patting my jacket to make sure I hadn't left it in another pocket, I turned around and headed back. When I opened the door, I was about to call out to Lizzie, but wondered why I couldn't hear the vacuum cleaner. She liked to do all the vacuuming in one go, and that would take her far more than the ten minutes I'd been gone.
I found her outside the now-open cupboard – she must have found the key in my desk drawer. She was holding my favourite leather paddle, staring in wonder at some of the magazines I kept there. The pictures of bare-bottomed women bent over stern men's laps, or standing in the corner with their red behinds on display, were certainly eye-catching.
I cleared my throat, and Lizzie jumped a foot in the air. When she turned to look at me, she was white as a sheet, and she was quivering slightly. It was clear that the sight of my spanking implements had made quite an impression on her.
I looked at the paddle in her hand. Following my gaze, she suddenly realized she was still holding it, and dropped it in shock. The thud of the paddle striking the wooden floor rang out in the quiet room. She looked down at the dropped paddle as if it was a snake about to bite her. With a trembling hand, she lifted the paddle and handed it to me. I checked it was undamaged, and hung it back on its hook, and heard Lizzie give a sigh of relief. Or possibly something else…
"Hello, Richard! Yes, I'm afraid so, so you'll have to suffer my presence for the next hour or two." She shrugged. "At least you'll have a cleaner house at the end of it."
When I'd first hired Lizzie as a weekly cleaner, she'd been very meek and quiet, and had insisted on calling me 'sir'. I'd nipped that in the bud and told her to refer to me by my first name. I had no problem being called 'sir' – in fact, in some circumstances, I insisted upon it – but I did not want to hear it from someone I had hired. It made the interaction too formal and stiff, and I couldn't live like that. Over the months, the young woman had begun to relax around me, and it was wonderful to see her overcome her shyness and watch her real personality emerge.
I returned to my desk and continued to stare at the empty screen, wondering how to begin, while Lizzie retrieved her cleaning supplies and hummed quietly to herself as she started to work. Turning my head, I caught her glancing at the locked cupboard under stairs.
When I'd hired her, she'd said the cupboard was perfect for her supplies, and asked if she could use it. I'd told her that she was welcome to use any other cupboard she wanted, but that one was mine, and I did not want her opening it. She'd asked what was in it, and I told her it was private. She'd taken the hint, and while she never asked me again, I had a vague sense that she was still curious.
Half an hour after her arrival, I still hadn't written a single word, and when Lizzie fetched the vacuum cleaner, I decided to take a break. Some writers prefer silence, while others put on music or have a movie in the background, but I've yet to meet one that does their best work while listening to a running vacuum cleaner. "I'm heading to the store," I told her. "I forgot to buy milk yesterday." I also hoped the walk would get the creative juices flowing. "Back in half an hour."
She nodded, and as I left, I heard her turn the vacuum cleaner on.
I'd walked about five minutes when I suddenly realized I'd forgotten my wallet. Quickly patting my jacket to make sure I hadn't left it in another pocket, I turned around and headed back. When I opened the door, I was about to call out to Lizzie, but wondered why I couldn't hear the vacuum cleaner. She liked to do all the vacuuming in one go, and that would take her far more than the ten minutes I'd been gone.
I found her outside the now-open cupboard – she must have found the key in my desk drawer. She was holding my favourite leather paddle, staring in wonder at some of the magazines I kept there. The pictures of bare-bottomed women bent over stern men's laps, or standing in the corner with their red behinds on display, were certainly eye-catching.
I cleared my throat, and Lizzie jumped a foot in the air. When she turned to look at me, she was white as a sheet, and she was quivering slightly. It was clear that the sight of my spanking implements had made quite an impression on her.
I looked at the paddle in her hand. Following my gaze, she suddenly realized she was still holding it, and dropped it in shock. The thud of the paddle striking the wooden floor rang out in the quiet room. She looked down at the dropped paddle as if it was a snake about to bite her. With a trembling hand, she lifted the paddle and handed it to me. I checked it was undamaged, and hung it back on its hook, and heard Lizzie give a sigh of relief. Or possibly something else…
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