immemorially I pulled my gold fabric up over my ass, opting to not remove my toga. I had intricately placed my two pieces of long fabric and didn’t want to try to rearrange them. My diadem stayed put fine. My sandals and chainmail belt were not an issue. My golden wing earrings dangled from my ears. My outfit garnered multiple compliments throughout the evening.
The group had provided a chair for the spankees to lean on. Hoop had already had her licks. Her birthday was the day before mine, so it seemed fitting. I had waited patiently on some stairs above, ushering people down in the room for the show.
And then it was my turn.
But my spanking could not be simple. Is my life ever simple?
There was the tradition set the year before: DeepEnd’s hockey stick enjoyed the honor of #29 and the one for good luck. LadyAisha wanted to get a comparison from me with her pool cue stick, so she claimed #27 & #28. N3rddom brought his cricket bat and wanted equal treatment; he would swing #25 & #26. Big Sis wanted to go first; she would be #1-#3.
The room was dark, save for the two lamps at opposite ends shining blue light, and the porn I’d set up on a projector at the far end of the entertainment area. The positioning was a brilliant idea; you could look into the room and see the fucking all the way from kitchen.
It seemed fitting that my ass was about to get abused in our Family Room.
Big Sis started, smacking each side once and finishing with both hands on her third. After her a stream of friends, new and old, stepped up for their turn. I was thankful SkinnyBitch gave me a reprieve; she merely punched my ass, a bit of thuddy pleasure in an ocean of stingy pain. Others, however, enjoyed their lashing, enjoyed my yelps, enjoyed making me hurt. My ass was thoroughly warmed up before the experiment started.
Throughout the love fest, I was very happy I was leaning on a chair, but never so much as when the big boy toys came out.
N3rddom stepped up holding his godawful cricket bat. His first blow utilized the stingy side. I counted out the number, 25, a tear gliding down my cheek. His next blow switched to the thuddy side, but my ass was too raw to register the difference, 26.
LadyAisha stepped up, her pool cue in hand. She swung, connecting mostly on my right cheek. It was thuddy burny, a sensation I had not felt before. Again I collapsed into the chair and called out the count, 27. She repeated her swing, now with my knowledge of how much it would hurt; 28.
As the affair had gone on, DeepEnd had loomed at the top of the small set of stairs leading down to the Family Room, observing our revelry. Now it was his turn.
The crowd parted as he stepped down and approached my ass. I braced myself, assuming he’d follow his normal pattern: 1, 2, 3Hit! Instead he took a back swing and landed his blow, no countdown. I screamed out my count, 29!, and then pipped about keeping to pattern.
“Everyone, on the count of three, yell Happy Birthday to Kristen. One, Two, Three. Happy Birthday!” At least he stuck to pattern on the last one.
My ass was more than warm. When I glided my fingertips over my rump, I could feel the bruises and bumps that had formed from my abuse.
There were hugs, and later photos (check my Tumblr or Twitter feed), my analysis of the comparison of the big boy toys, a conversation about odd impact implements, and my dumb ass volunteering to be a demo bottom for their uses, eventually.
Happy Belated 29th to me.
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