Join Shamrock as he uncovers the details of the real-life spanking heard but not witnessed of his buxom future wife. “Did he take your panties down?” “He took them . . . off,” she said softly, “and everything else.” “He spanked you naked in front of Ken and Jan?” “Ah,” I said, “you got a trifle turned on?” “God, yes,” she replied.
The most memorable spanking I ever saw, I really didn’t see. Hold on; I’ll explain. It was back in our college day and Mary Anne, my buxom girl friend (and now my wife) was on one of her zany sprees. She had picked up the keys to her brother-in-law’s Frank’s Mercedes and took it for a spin on icy New York roads with predictable results. No insurance in those days. I paid two hundred and Frank paid two hundred, which was big money for students. Frank grimly remarked that we had paid and Mary Anne hadn’t; and what she needed was a spanking. I readily agreed and he looked at me strangely. “I spoke figuratively,” he said. “I spoke literally,” said I. And so it came to pass that I approached a contrite Mary Anne who, to my amazement, agreed. Frank could dictate the conditions and time as he pleased. She attached two provisions: that after the punishment there should be no mention of the accident or the spanking in perpetuity and that I should not witness the punishment. The actual time of payment was left open.
That same bitter New York winter, we had a New Year’s Eve party at Frank and Barbara’s attended by Mary Anne, myself, and another couple, Kenneth and Jan, who would have their eyes opened before the New Year rung in. The wine flowed freely and, after desert, Frank announced that the destined hour had arrived. The third couple were puzzled but Mary Anne correctly assessed the situation and rose gamely, if a trifle unsteadily and proceeded to the next room, unlit save by a roaring fire in the hearth before which was a large sofa and a few side chairs. Frank followed and invited the third party, still without a clue, to witness the ‘settlement of a contractual obligation.’ Barbara sat by the door where she could see all and I, alas, sat at the far end of the kitchen, proscribed. I could, however, listen.
There came no sound for a while except for a muffled girlish giggling, which I took for Mary Anne. There followed a resounding slap which could only be a hard male hand (Frank was an ex-Marine) on a female derriere. I arched my eyebrows and asked Barbara, who was watching with interest, “Jeans down?” She nodded and replied, “and much more.” I expected a fusillade of spanks but no, they came slowly with long intervals between. After a full half hour there was a pronounced groan, a shuffling of chairs and other activities. Frank, Jan and Ken came back into the kitchen. Barbara was looking at her husband with a mixed air of disapproval and admiration. I must sadly relate that the two lads were in an obvious state of sexual arousal. A few minutes later, Mary Anne entered as pink as only a Scandinavian blonde can get. She was buttoning her blouse, which I thought strange.
The dishes were attended too, the apartment tidied up and Mary Anne and I started the long drive home. I noted she sat down with circumspection; Frank had done his job (and much more as I learned). She said nothing for a while other than a slight ‘ouch’ when we hit a bump. Finally I hazarded, “What took so long?” After a long pause she said “Well, after each spank, Frank’s hand remained on my . . . bottom and sort of . . . explored.” She glanced at me sideways and I noted a peculiar gleam in her sky-blue eyes. I pressed on. “When you say ‘explored,’ do you mean your ass?” She nodded vigorously and added, “and other places.” Now I was intrigued. “Did he take your panties down?” I again got that strange sideways glance. “He took them . . . off,” she said softly, “and everything else.” I whistled. “He spanked you naked in front of Ken and Jan?” She nodded again and after a bit said, “That was part of the problem.” I waited. “What problem?” A long, long pause. “Well,” she said, “you will find out anyway. What with the wine, the warmth of the fire, my complete exposure, those other people watching . . .”
Mary Anne, be it known, had a slight streak of the exhibitionist in her. “Ah, “I said, “you got a trifle turned on?” “God, yes,” she replied. I filled in the blanks. “Did he ‘explore’ in front?” She nodded. “Would it have been evident to him that you were aroused?” She nodded. “Did his fingers . . . ah, penetrate?” She nodded. I remembered the groan. “And you . . . responded?” “As much as a girl can respond,” she said ruefully, “and in front of three people.” She stretched, sighed (not unhappily) and fell sound asleep.
