As an Alabama gal, I'm no stranger to being spanked. Daddy turned me over his knee and tanned my tailfeathers when I was naughty up through my college years and passed the job of maintaining discipline to my husband after I got married.
As a proper Southern wife, I graciously submit to my husband's stewardship of our happy home and let him make decisions regarding finances, weekend activities, sex and the like. I content myself with keeping the house clean, clothes laundered and supper on the table, knowing full well that if I fail in the slightest in my household duties or ever come across as other than cheerfully obedient, Hubby will put me over his lap, lift my skirt, lower my panties and spank my bottom as red as the britches of our University of Alabama Crimsonettes majorettes.
So, after reading on your blog that your husband spanks you OTK during Chicago Blackhawks hockey games to celebrate home team's goals and wins, and swats you with the "naughty girl paddle" to express his frustration with visitor wins, Hubby decided to adopt the practice this season when we watch on TV the only sport that matters to us Southern folk: college football, specifically the University of Alabama Crimson Tide.
Here's our game routine: Just prior to kickoff, I change out of my cooking clothes of stockings, heels, pearls and a smart dress into my cheerleader outfit of a tight-fitting white halter top with a maroon "A" across the chest, maroon short shorts and white go-go boots. I fetch a big platter of pulled-pork barbecue sandwiches and a tub of cole slaw I made for Hubby to snack on, pop the top of his beer and position myself over his lap as he reclines on the couch.
There I stay, his firm hand resting atop my perky posterior ready to beat my bottom like a bongo drum whenever Alabama scores. Except when Hubby shouts "Beer. Wife, Fetch!" Then I roll off his knee and scamper into the kitchen as fast as my shapely legs will take me to bring him a malt beverage.
I'm also allowed to get up during halftime. As Alabama's "Million Dollar Band," accompanied by the Crimsonettes majorettes, perform on TV, I put on my own show for Hubby as I pop my top and jump up and down singing our fight song "Ramma Jamma, Yellowhamma, give 'em hell, Alabama."
After the inevitable Alabama win, I slide off Hubby's lap onto my knees, unzip his fly and give him a celebratory blow job. Hubby typically stays hard throughout the post-game interviews with players and coach, ejaculating into my mouth moaning "Roll Tide" just as the broadcast ends.
I put away Hubby's left-over barbecue in the fridge and toss his empty beer cans into recycling. Then I go upstairs to brush my teeth and change into sexy lingerie. I climb into bed with a romance novel to pass the time, as Hubby usually spends an hour post-game on the computer reading several sports blogs and posting opinions as to whether the margin of victory was sufficiently wide enough to uphold Alabama's honor and, if not, which players should be demoted to second-string and which assistant coaches fired as a result.
Once done, Hubby joins me in the bedroom for our customary Saturday night session of hours-long bed-shaking sex. (Though he could go longer, I ask him to stop at midnight, so I can get a good night's sleep prior to being up at 5:00 am to prepare a hearty breakfast of biscuits, grits, eggs, hamhocks and gravy for Hubby then attend to my beauty preparations for church.)
Naturally, Alabama won its first 11 games this season so I wasn't too worried when I put myself over my husband's lap to watch the regular season finale last Saturday against our arch-rival Auburn. Though Hubby's certainly enthusiastic when he spanks me with his hand to celebrate Alabama's big plays and scores, hand spanks don't hurt that much for a well-spanked wife such as me, particularly when I'm wearing my cheerleader-style booty shorts.
But after Auburn came back to tie the game 28-28 with just a few minutes left I started to get worried. You see, my husband decided it would be such a calamity should Alabama ever lose that he would have no choice but to express his dismay by paddling me with the "Master Blaster Bottom Blisterer."
That's the nickname Hubby gave this super-sized paddle that he only uses to punish me for extreme misbehavior like the time I didn't put enough lard in the collared greens I made when his parents came by supper and his mama said they tasted "stringy."
We bought the "Master Blaster Bottom Blisterer" at an estate sale after the high school principal passed away. It's got a two-handed grip with the spanking part being 16 inches long and four inches wide. "OUCH" is written in big block letters on the face of the paddle and the rest of it is filled with signatures from students who got whipped with it over the years including "Jimmy Joe," "Johnny Joe" and "Janey Jo."
The few times I've been spanked with it sure did leave me feeling sorry for those "Joe" kids because that paddle stings like the dickens. But I relaxed after Alabama moved the ball down the field.
With one second left, the Tide kicker came on the field for what I was sure was the winning field goal. I could tell Hubby was confident too because I felt his boner poking me in the stomach. As soon as the referee put his hands up signaling good, I'd slide off Hubby's lap, unzip his fly and give him the sort of blow job that an undefeated regular season record and entry in the college football national championship game for the third year in a row deserved.
Well I suppose you don't have to be a football fan to know what happened next. Such cries of agony my husband made. I don't think I ever yelled in pain that much even when Daddy whipped my hind parts with a peach tree switch when he caught me sneaking a cigarette as a teenager.
What made it worse is our next-door neighbors are Auburn fans. They went out on their driveway shooting off fireworks and making fun of our "Rammer Jammer" cheer by singing "Ramma Jamma, Alabama, we just beat the hell out of you!"
After my husband finished crying, he went into bathroom to wash his face. When he came out, he said he felt bad about doing it, but he knew I wouldn't respect him as a husband and a man if he didn't live up to his promise to properly paddle my posterior for an Alabama loss. (He's right.) So he led me by the hand out to our sound-proofed woodshed where we store the Master Blaster Bottom Blisterer.
I sure am glad we decided to soundproof the shed because I'd hate those obnoxious Auburn fans next door to hear me holler as Hubby heated my hiney. He gave me 34 swats, one for every Auburn point, as he scolded "Missed field goals. Dropped passes. Sloppy tackling. Missed blocks," etc...
I spent the rest of the night icing my bottom in the kitchen sink. Hubby said he'd make do with cereal in the morning so I could sleep in till 7:00 am. What a kind, thoughtful, caring man I have!
I could have done with a pillow sitting in the church pew for Sunday services, but other than that I wasn't too worse for wear.
We attend a mixed congregation and our pastor was very solicitatious of each side's feelings. He reminded we Alabama fans that in times of crisis we must turn to The Lord for comfort while encouraging both sides to love our neighbor as we would ourselves. To that end, Pastor preached, we would best further the cause of social justice by sending e-mails to sports editors of major newspapers arguing the fairest result would be to place one-loss Auburn, should it beat Missouri in the SEC championship game, and one-loss Alabama in a "do-over" for the national championship game come January, despite other teams finishing with undefeated regular-season records.
My husband doesn't allow me to use the computer except to read your blog, as he wisely realizes I'd waste time "Facebooking," "Twittering" and "You Tube-ing" when I should be cleaning house, cooking his meals and washing his clothes. So I wasn't able to send out e-mails to sports writers urging a "do-over" and I quickly put Saturday's disappointing loss and college football from my mind.
So imagine my surprise when my husband came home the other day with an Auburn football jersey on. He said one of the guys at work gave it to him as a joke, but, after pondering Pastor's sermon, he decided it was incumbent to show loyalty to his state and root for Auburn against Missouri.
My husband reminded me it's my wifely duty to support him by donning a slutty cheerleader outfit in Auburn colors and going over his lap for the big game against Missouri. I'm to be soundly spanked with Hubby's hand for every Auburn point. And, should the unthinkable happen and our beloved Auburn Tigers, aka War Eagles, aka Plainsmen, lose the game, I can expect a repeat session with Master Blaster Bottom Blisterer.
As a proper submissive wife, I know it's my duty to obey my husband without question. Still, I can't help but wrinkle up my nose as the thought of being spanked for Auburn's sake. Should I try to talk my husband out of it.
As a confirmed northerner, I can't help but be bemused by you southerners and your folksy ways, including your infatuation with something as silly as college football.
Still I must encourage you to graciously submit to your husband's will. For it is not up to us wives to question the decisions of our "superior officers." God intended man to rule over woman. That's why He gave us soft behinds and men strong arms and firm hands.
Besides you may luck out and Auburn win the game, thus sparing you a date with Master Blaster Bottom Blisterer.