Kinky Kansas

Mistress and slave are driving west to our SW hideaway. We crossed Indiana, Ill and MO yesterday, coming to ground at about the halfway point in Abilene, KS.  That's the home of Dwight Eisenhower, who is doing back flips in his grave, on the grounds of the Presidential library here in Abilene, over the shenanigans of the current POTUS.

After checking into our rather rustic but very cheap local motel, we headed into town to find a place for dinner.  Just look for the grain elevator if you're looking for "downtown" in these parts.  But as we were rubbernecking through the town's historic district, I caught the dreaded sign of a flashing red light in my rear view mirror.

Busted.

The officer took his time to amble up to my car, with the "alien" license plates. After asking for my driver's license and registration, he informed me that I had been clocked going 31 in a 20 mph zone.

"Really?  I thought I saw a 30 mph sign...."

"A lot of people get confused because there's a sign back there reducing the limit to 20 mph in the downtown...."

Oops.  He asked what we were doing in "these parts". And I explained our mission and that we were looking for a place to eat.

After running my license to confirm I was not a terrorist on the lam, he showed us some Kansas nice mercy, giving us only a warning.  Then he upped the courtesy.

"If you're looking for somewhere to eat, The best place is the "Farmhouse" out  west of town.  It's where all of us in the Department go for lunch."

I asked for directions, but he said "just follow me." We both took u turns on the wide downtown avenue, and he led us out of town, and right up the drive of this funky old restaurant. The officer said Dwight and Mamie dined there when they visited town (back in the day).

It turned out we were late diners - the only guests there at 7:30 pm.  Our very courteous waitress pointed out the chairs autographed by Dwight and Mamie, and served us some tasty chicken fried chicken with mashed potatoes. (I didn't question the redundancy -- isn't "chicken fried chicken" the same as "fried chicken"?)

But the odd thing I did have to ask about was all the paddles hanging from the wall.

"It's a tradition. If you eat here on your birthday, you get a discount and a paddling."

She  explained that even  Ike got paddled when he stopped by, by the original owner, "Aunt Lena". Ike must have had a very tolerant Secret Service detail!

As we checked out, Mistress noted the paddle on the counter, with several autographs.  Our waitress(the only waitress), a 20 something country girl with a pleasing smile, explained that when a guest gets paddled he/she signs the paddle. She pointed out several buckets stuffed with paddles covered with autographs.

So it seems there are a surprising number of Kansans who indulge in public displays of corporal punishment.

"Now that Lena's not around, who does the paddling?"

She gave me a little quirky smile.

"Your waitress, of course."

As I paid our very reasonable tab, I mentioned that Mistress's birthday is coming up in a few weeks.
"I won't ask for the discount, but maybe you could give my wife her birthday paddling?"

She seemed willing, but Mistress gave me that "are you crazy, slave" look.

Ah well, it would have made a good story, particularly if Mistress was required to pull up her dress and pull down her panties.

Ouch!

Mistress was definitely in a feisty mood when Slave emerged from the early October gloom at the end of the work day.

I was allowed to shower off the detritus of my bike ride home through a mix of blustery wind and mist. But after that, the agenda was hers. And, very conveniently, our daughter had just left the house for the evening.

"It's been a very long time since I fucked you in the ass, slave....go fetch our supplies...."

It had been a while. So it took me some time to gather up her "tools" : the leather strap-on harness. It's plastic "business end". And of course the lubricant.

But, sadly, that was not all the equipment needed.

"And get the riding crop too, slave.... be quick about it."

Maybe it was Freudian, but I had absolutely no recall where the riding crop was. It's clearly been gathering dust somewhere.  When I made that confession, she had a substitute in mind. And I quickly came to regret my lack of preparation.

She emerged from the closet with her strap-on in place and a wicked wooden "back scratcher" in hand.  About 15 inches long, and very, very hard.

Slave obediently assumed the position, and proceeded to endure Mistress's wacking on my back side, with a good deal of squirming involved. I guess this is when some restraints would come in handy, because my inability to stay in one place had me enduring some extra wacks as Mistress ordered me to get back into position.

"So what is this punishment for?", I had the temerity to ask between whines of pain.

"You've not been paying enough attention to me, slave...."

Sadly, that's probably true.  I have been a little distracted at work and with some civic activity these last few weeks. Mistress deserves more. And she taught me that lesson very, very effectively.

When the whacks stopped falling, slave was shuddering a bit, and very relieved.  Mistress decided to take a photo to commemorate the occasion.

"This is for sharing with our readers, slave....."

Clearly, she's still appeasing the rabble. Although I have a feeling most of you will find my pale, blotchy ass less than appealing. Wouldn't you much rather see Mistress's bottom? With or without crop marks?

Rest assured that my butt is now back to normal, and that Mistress seemed to take much pleasure in deploying her strap-on. She always cums with mucho gusto when she gets to do all that thrusting.

And slave was allowed to take his own pleasure too after Mistress had done her "worst" on my aging ass.

After the dust settled, we settled down to watch a kinky Australian movie ("My Mistress"), culminating a night of excess that was too long in the cumming.

"We need to do this more often, slave", she murmurred, snuggling against me as I massaged her feet.

We am I to disagree.