(Not) Sparing the Rod

On our trip back home on Wednesday, Mistress got a text from M – a photo of a dangerous looking black paddle, the kind with the holes drilled in it. (Sort of like the one in the picture, but black and a little longer).

“Man…. That looks pretty nasty, Slave….He says that B was tired of his grousing about her new work schedule, and how he had to do more kid driving now. So she used this on him in the morning….”

“Ouch…. I’ve seen those before…. Must have hurt big time.”

“Yeah, he says his bottom is bruised… he thinks he got almost a hundred thwacks from it….”

Well, I had a little trouble believing that she administered quite so many …. B’s arm would be sore after that many strokes. Not to mention M’s ass.

Back in the early days of my career, when I dealt with lots of school teachers, most of them had paddles. It was the day when “spare the rod and spoil the child” was still an accepted rule of thumb, and most school boards had a policy that prohibited the EXCESSIVE use of force.

In some communities, parents actually encouraged teachers to clobber their little darlings when they got out of line. Those phone calls from teachers asking them to do something about little Johnny’s behavior wer more irritating than listening to their kid whine about his 10 strokes from Mr. Miller’s paddle.

But there were rules: no more than 10 strokes at a time; not on bare skin; a witness had to be present (i.e., another teacher, or administrator), and no holes in the paddle.  Apparently the holes reduced aerodynamic drag, and could leave more distinct marks of bruises. 

And there were some sadistic teachers out there who enjoyed playing the game.

I do wonder whether a whole generation of spanking fetishists were spawned from these in school paddling rituals, which have long since been confined to the dust bin of history.

Of course, there are some teachers and parents who claim that once unilateral disarmament was imposed on teachers, discipline in schools deteriorated severely.

I don’t know the answer to that one, though I do know I would not want a teacher to lay a hand on my daughters.

On the drive home last night, M and Mistress chatted a bit as I chaufered.  It had been a busy day for both of us as we re-merged from our odyssey out west,   so they had little time to chat during the day.

Mistress had those black tights with the little opening in, and those high, tie-up black boots, her legs stretched onto the dash.  And as she talked to M, I noticed that tell-tale squirm of her shapely ass against the seat, and the way her free hand finds its way between her thighs.

He does bring out the horny in her.

Mistress sometimes acts as a sort of family counselor to M, and she shared some of our experiences in balancing work and family schedules, to help ease the transition from B working part time to full time.

“You need a plan M…. I’d be happy to come out there and help you and B work one up…. But you’d have to fuck me silly in return….”

From this I could imagine the birth of a new reality series: “Super Nanny with Benefits”.

Of course, I could not hear M’s response.

But by the time we arrived home, with some bags full of Deli food for dinner in honor of the Jewish Holiday, I could tell Mistress was in need of some attention.

“Would you like me to worship, Mistress…”

“That would be good, Slave.”

She settled onto the bed, hiked up her dress, and spread those wondrous thighs, her boots still on, the opening of her tights giving me ample access to her damp and wanton parts. And she let me build her to a nice throbbing climax, her hips lifting off the bed as my lips clung to her, leaving my face nice and juicy. It was a lovely appetizer in advance of latkes and Ruben sandwiches.

The surly teens actually seemed glad to have us home (or maybe it was glad to have us put a meal on the table), and lingered with us, filling us in on at least some of their activities over the weekend.

(I didn’t cross examine them about the bottle of spiked lemonade I’d found in the garbage).

Then Mistress watched an episode of Dexter before retiring to bed.

It had been almost 36 hours for Slave…. A seeming lifetime of denial of you live in the Collins household, so I was more than anxious to have at my Loving Mistress.

“Go put in your device, Slave (our aneros)…. I still think you deserve a spanking for forgetting it to bring it on our trip.”

I already was hard for her, so when I lubed up the little sucker and pressed it out, Slave’s work-a-day cock was suddenly supersized.

Youch.

I slid back into bed, sidling up against Mistress, who still had those hot, peek-aboo tights on…. The friction of that fabric against my thigh and balls brought me all the closer to critical cock mass.

I did not want to advertise my desperation, so used my fingers to slide and glide a bit to give Mistress a little intro orgasm…. But her own fingers found my hard and needy cock.

“Wow…. Slave…. Miss me or something?”

“It’s been since yesterday morning, Mistress….. that’s a whole lot of abstinence.”

AS she used her hand to fondle and caress I was getting all too close to the edge….I pulled away…thinking of the faltering Irish economy as a hedge against an accidental explosion.

“Mistress you may want to elt me fuck you now….”

“If you must Slave….”

“Ohhhh …. I must…. Believe me.”

Mistress takes a certain perverse pleasure in such desperation, giggled a bit at me, then rolled onto her back, spreading those thighs, helping me pry open the “hatch” in he tights, as I pressed home with more determination and skill.

And as I fucked her hard, long and with abandon, I think she got some reasonable return on her investment in her Slave’s frustration.

In this case, she was not spared the rod….