A Spanking Well Deserved - After Thanksgiving

A Spanking Well Deserved 

29 November 2025

(M/F, Spanking, Nude, Good Girl Spanking, Thanksgiving)

I always joke that the real holiday celebration is the moment the front door clicks shut behind the last guest. Don’t get me wrong—our house thrives when it's full. But hosting 14 people for Thanksgiving—our little family of four plus ten of our favorite humans—was a master class in logistics, love, and caffeine.

By the time the final goodbye wave happened yesterday evening, the dishwasher had run roughly seventeen times, the guest towels had evolved into modern art, and my “to-do” list had aged like parchment. But we did it. The turkey was devoured, the pies barely survived, no one went home hungry, and most importantly, every seat at the table held laughter.

Tom told me three separate times last night how proud he was. The way he said it—with that warm half-smile that means I saw every effort you made—was sweeter than pumpkin spice.

This morning, the girls headed out for coffee, jackets on and secrets shared between sisters. The house exhaled into a soft silence: no footsteps overhead, no friendly debates in the living room, no extra mugs to refill. Just the hum of the heater and the milky November sun glowing through clean windows (yes, I actually cleaned those too).

Tom made us breakfast, which is code for “you sit, I serve.” I took one bite and sighed dramatically, like a woman who had completed a marathon without leaving her zip code.

Then came the part of our marriage language that has nothing to do with recipes or seating charts and everything to do with connection.

Tom has a way of appreciating me that feels both playful and grounding. Our “Good Girl” spankings fall into that space—fully amazing, always affectionate, never about hurt, always about heart. He said it was for being such a rock-star host, for making our home feel effortless even when it was anything but, for keeping everyone comfortable while running on adrenaline and devotion.

I won’t pretend I didn’t blush when he said it.

There was no drama, no tension—just a shared smile and the understanding that this was a celebration of intimacy of its own. The moment itself was brief, gentle, and full of laughter under our breath, more like punctuation in a love letter than anything else.

He led me upstairs into our room and started undressing me. I tried to undress him and he pushed my hands away and I pouted. “What about you?” I said. He ignored me and continued peeling my clothes away.

Once I stood before him in all my glory he looked me up and down with hunger, circling around me with desire in his lust. Once he was behind me a hand landed on my butt cheek and I jumped and yelped. He took my hand and led me to the bed where he sat and pulled me over his knee. 

There is an incredible feeling when this man is fully dressed and I am nude is intoxicating. The mixture of emotions comes from the power difference that comes just from the vulnerable feeling I get with him dressed and me not. And this is enhanced even more when I am over his knee and his rough jeans are a contrast against my smooth skin.

Once over his knee he adjusted me which also feels so good that he is the one in charge and the one that makes all the decisions. His hand lingers on my bottom slowly and smoothly and his breathing becomes labored as I feel his lustful eyes on my bottom. 

He squeezes my thigh and then runs his hand up my smooth tone bottom. It feels incredible to be desired so much. That desire he has for me sure does make a girl feel good. 

He taps my side and my hand reaches back toward his hand. His strong hand takes mine and holds it to the side of my waist. This feeling makes me feel secure and even better it makes me feel like I have no choice in this as now I am secure. 

His hand crashes down on my poor defenseless bottom over and over again and the sound that escapes my mouth is like a cross between a groan and moan. A sound that is a mixture of pain and desire. The sound of the smacks on my bottom are so loud to me echoing off the bedroom wall. 

As he continues my sounds evolve to squeals and cries. He is making sure my bottom is covered completely until my bottom resembles dark red tomatoes. By that time I am blubbering over his lap and it is a good cry. A cry that cleanses the soul. A cry that empties the stress bucket. 

His hand turns to velvet and rubs from the middle of my back slowly down to each thigh. The bliss I feel, the melting of my core and the desire to please him is overwhelming. My crying turns into moaning and I push my bottom up to meet his hand when it slides smoothly over it. 

“Oh baby” he says as his hand slips between my thighs and my legs naturally part. His fingers split my folds and rubbed downward toward my clit feeling my wetness. He pulls his fingers away with strands of my desire strung between my slit and his finger tips. “Someone got excited!” he says with a smile.

With hunger in his eyes he gently lifts me up, stands and gently pushes me back onto the bed. I lay on my back watching this amazing man undress almost in slow motion as his eyes drift back and forth between my sex and my breast. His shirt falls to the floor and then watching him unbuckle his belt makes me bite my lower lip. He is taking his time and despite my incredible desire I am loving watching this strong man strip his clothes away. 

Once there is a pile of clothes on the floor, he moves towards me and my eyes have shifted to his erection and three things happen. My eyes widened. Without thinking I lick my lips. And lastly my knees part, as I am splayed, creating a path for him. 

There is something about being penetrated by pure lust and desire. The visuals are incredible too as I love watching his face with each thrust. His strong shoulders and arms holding him up above me. His incredible chest and hearing his grunts as he takes what is his. I do wish there was a mirror on the ceiling because his back and butt are incredible too. 

What followed felt like the true prize of the morning: the kind of quiet, unhurried closeness that only happens when the kids are definitely not home, the house is ready for Christmas, and your spouse is looking at you like you hung every star in the night sky just by making stuffing for fourteen.

I’ll just say the morning didn’t stay silent for long—and that was kind of the point.

We talked in low voices like teenagers sneaking past curfew. We laughed. We found each other again after being in full-host-mode for a week. And yes, the connection deepened into that very married kind of morning that starts with affection and ends with the sheets needing a remake.

Afterwards, I lay there listening to nothing—literally nothing—and grinned into Tom’s shoulder.

Because love is shown in big dinners and empty houses. In clean guest bathrooms and playful celebrations. In pride whispered late at night and rekindled gently the next morning.

And if there’s a medal for holiday hosting, I’m pretty sure it comes in moments like this.

Next week, is back to school and getting ready for the craziness that comes with the end of the year. Today, I’ll savor him savoring me.

—Lisa 🧡