A proficient gambler, my friend Josh is always looking to raise the stakes. So naturally, at the bar after dodgeball last Wednesday, he suggested spankings as an added incentive – along with mass drunkenness – to winning each round of flip cup.
Yes, spankings. And not just the standard hand-to-ass slap one might normally see exchanged between athletes. Not even close.
While we all enjoy the post game beer binges as much as the sport that brings us together, we dodgeballers are a horde of aggressively competitive and borderline sexually deviant freaks. Thus, each time victory was secured, the losing side would bend over as the winners picked up the collection of metal spatulas that Happy Endings normally allocates for the safe and easy distribution of their discounted pizza and pitcher combo.
Squeals, squeaks, and yelps mingled with the unforgiving SMACK of stainless steel against thinly veiled flesh. Yet, I myself did not contribute to the cacophony. I didn’t even flinch.
“I’m sorry?” I glanced back over my shoulder, grinning devilishly, “Was that supposed to be painful?”
No one was really surprised. It doesn’t take more than one glance to infer that this pert ‘n’ plump ass o’ mine can handle some heat. Although, let me be clear, boiz: S&M; is NOT a fetish to which I subscribe. About an unnamed friend of mine, however, the same cannot be said.
Boy? Girl? I won’t spill. But they were also present. And had anyone been playing close enough attention, the soundless smirk that tugged at their lips as paddle met cheek would have come as a shock.
Just goes to show, that it really is the quiet ones with the riding crops under their beds.