Rosie Jones Bites the Bullet

Hello! Welcome to my blog.

Now that's something I never thought I'd write. I've been reading in Blogland for around three years now, commenting here and there, writing some Fantasy Friday stories and even being a guest on the blogs of two good friends. But blogging myself? No way! Not on your nellie! I had the excuses ready - I didn't have time, I was much too busy and, anyway, my life is too uneventful to write about.

Have you ever had the feeling that resistance is futile? Oh, of course you have, silly question. Little by little, with patience, charm and much encouragement, my resistance was whittled away by a determined friend. I expect you can guess who. But what can I write? Where shall I start? The obvious answer is at the beginning, so here goes.

Spanking has always fascinated me; I think I was wired that way from birth. I can remember watching, goggle-eyed, as Miss Whitworth, the kindergarten teacher, applied a gym shoe to the seat of Ronnie Cox's grey shorts. That was in the 50s, when corporal punishment was commonplace and if you were spanked or caned at school you were likely to get another dose when your dad got home. I'm not speaking from experience, of course; I was an angel. I'm old enough to have watched the Bonanza episode where Ben Cartwright spanked a girl when it first aired. That fuelled many a fantasy, like a mini-series in my head, only the man of my dreams was Adam Cartwright, not his father. I was spanked playfully by a couple of boyfriends in my mid-teens and liked the way it made me feel. It wasn't until I was seventeen, when I was soundly spanked by an older boy, that I identified that feeling as a turn-on. Soon after that, Harry and I got together. We had met two years earlier but disliked each other on sight. Jupiter must have aligned with Mars or something later on because we fell madly in love. He was shocked when I asked him to spank me, totally repulsed by the idea. I persisted until, eventually, he forbade me from raising the subject ever again.

Fast forward 43 years to a bright January morning, the two of us entwined in a post-loving embrace. Harry eased away from me, reached into his bedside cabinet and pulled out a package that was to turn my world upside down. It contained a short, black, skating skirt and he told me, stumbling over his words, that if he ever saw me wearing it he would spank me. I was gobsmacked; that's an ugly word but it fits how I felt then. It turned out that a combination of the Fifty Shades phenomenon and Sheldon spanking Amy had opened his mind to the idea that spanking could be fun and he was willing to give it a try. But did I really want to? I'd stopped fantasising about it years ago and isn't there something, well, undignified about a sixty-something woman being upended over her husband's lap having her bottom smacked?

We tried role play the first time, naughty wife being chastised by loving husband. Harry delivered about twenty light smacks to my behind, with the ridiculous skirt flipped up round my waist, before moving me to the bed for other activities. The second time he spanked harder. I was like the cat that got the cream but Harry was concerned because I had a few light marks. That's how I found Blogland, using the Internet to find advice on how to spank without bruising. I told Harry the answer seemed to be a warm up spanking first; I didn't mention the blogs I had begun reading avidly.

I can't say Harry really enjoyed it but, once he accepted that spanking left no lasting effects, he soon gained confidence. Somewhere along the line we even acquired a paddle; leather of course, I had it on good authority that wood is no good. It's odd the way spanking can change a relationship. We had always been an affectionate couple but spanking added an extra layer of intimacy somehow and made us even closer. He learned surprisingly quickly to read me so well that he knew when I needed a spanking "just because."

Spanking was only for play, until a fun session to lift me out of a bad mood morphed into something more serious. We weren't sure what had happened but we both liked the result. That was the beginning of ttwd in our marriage.

And this is the end of my first post. Phew!

Thanks, M.

Rosie