H is for Humor

Spanking is inherently humorous - and we spankos, in general, are noted for our good humored nature and outward going personalities.

And when writing spanko fiction, the urge to raise a laugh is always lingering near our fingertips.

But, by your leave, I would offer you counsel.   The standard spanking tale has its three classic stages:  the set up, the execution and the aftermath.   Most readers don't mind humor in the set up, and humor in the aftermath:  but are highly critical of humor in the execution.   The set up can easily be high slap stick, and the aftermath a kaleidoscope of wit:  but the spanking itself had better be told straight.   It would seem that for some readers (or to be more accurate, some of my readers) somethings are simply off limits for use as laugh material, and spankings themselves are tight inside that category.

Most of the time.

But from the comments it got, I got away with this one:

I looked at her buttocks.   The brush had created two large areas, one on each side, that were as bright a color as when I had completely finished yesterday.

I place the cool of the wood on top the angry red marks from that first swat.

I lifted my hand – and then a cell phone started to ring from somewhere in one of the pockets in her gingham dress.

“It’s my mother!” she gasped.  

She stood up, walked to and fro, while idly caressing her rump as she spoke.  “No, I didn't hear the phone.   I've just come out of the bathroom.   No, I'm OK.   Yes, I'd have phoned you if I'd thrown up again.  Yes, I promise.   Love you too.  Bye.”

She came back and lay over my lap again.

“Sorry about that.   It won’t happen again.”

I put my hand on to the far side of her waist, and pulled her in snug.   Skirt back up – two red oblong marks, one on each cheek.   The next stroke was going to land right on top of them…

“Ready?”

She nodded.

I lifted my arm – and then, downstairs, Sandy (our Airedale terrier) exploded into frantic barking and banging against the dining room French windows.

“Sheesh!” I said, as I stood Megan up.   “Don’t go away.”

I scampered down the stairs.   Sandy had spotted a squirrel on our lawn, and there would be no peace until he was let out to chase the intruder away.

When I got back, Megan had not moved from where I left her.

I smiled.   “No problem.   Let’s continue.”

She nodded and climbed back into position.

Skirt up, tap the target, lift the arm and … pause.

She looked up quizzically.

“Just making sure we are not going to get interrupted again.”

She smiled, nodded and dropped her head down.

I tensed up my forearm – and then, my desk phone started to ring.

“Jesus H Christ! “ I blasphemed.    Megan started to stand up.  “Don’t move!”  

I angled back and somehow got the phone to my ear.   “No!   I'm not sodding interested in new windows!   Sod off!”

I tried to slam the phone down, but it turned out to be harder than I thought when the cradle was at the limit of my arm’s reach.    After a short delay, I turned my attention back to Megan.

“Right!   I'll deliver the next four slaps come hell or high water.”

I was breathing heavily, and it dawned on me that my anger could result in Megan getting far more than she bargained for.

I waited just a few seconds, until my breathing had returned to normal, before resuming.

Her bare bottom still awaited my attention.   So - tap the target like this, and with no delay, swing back full stretch, and …. and then - the smoke alarm went off.

I jumped up and left Megan sprawled on the floor as I raced downstairs.   The kitchen was full of dark blue smoke and the smell of burnt milk was intense.   On the kitchen stove, a blacked saucepan was the source of it all.   Megan would have to do with cold milk with her cookies …

I filled the saucepan with cold water, with much sizzling and hissing.   Then, to stop the alarm, I used the simple old fashioned method of pulling out the batteries, and throwing them, with the alarm, into the trash can, with as much venom as I could muster.

I stormed back upstairs, and now Megan was visibly alarmed at my anger.

“Are you all right, Mister Brown?” she asked with some trepidation.

“Yes, yes.  I'm OK.   Don't worry.  I'll not vent my spleen on your rear.”

“If you want to vent your spleen, Mister Brown, I wouldn't want to stop you.”

“Just let’s get through the next four, and then we shall talk about it.”

She got back in position, skirt up, bottom bare, two red marks, and the brush lying on top of them.   I paused again to get my breath, and temper, under control.

A careful lift back to take aim – and then the front door bell rang.

“Ignore it, Mister Brown, they'll go away.”

I wasn’t just how far the loud crack would carry through the house, so lay the brush back on top of her bottom.   The bell rang again.

We waited.   More than long enough,   Whoever it was, they must have left by now.

I took careful aim again, and the bell rang again.

“They must know I'm here,” I said.   “I shall have to go and answer it.’

She nodded, stood up and pulled her panties up – in case my visitor, or visitors, had to come indoors.

I leaped casually down the stairs three at a time, and opened the front door, to find a young man and an elderly lady with bibles in one hand, leaflets in the other, and determined expressions on their faces.

“Sorry!” I blurted, “Family emergency!  Come back next week!”   Next week I would be many, many miles away from here.  Hah!  That would learn them.

Before they could respond, I slammed the door and raced back upstairs.

“Now – where were we?”

This time she pulled down her panties before climbing back over my lap.

“Ready?”

She nodded.

I took aim once more – and then she leaped off my knee, clutching her rump, and hopping from one foot to the other as she danced round the room.

“What is it?   What’s wrong?”

“Cramp.   I’ve got cramp in my butt!   I must have had it tensed up too tight for too long.”

I put the brush down.   After a couple of minutes she stopped the jogging around.

“Come on,” I said.   “The fates have got it in for us today.   I think you should trot off home.”

Sometimes we can smile at ourselves.   We just need to take care we do not do it all the time ...