The Egg Spanking Story

Some of you may have read this tale on my now defunct web site, and a bit of it – the Spoons game – appears in Volume 1 of the ‘Maid’ books, as told to Lisa by her sister. But here, in four-part harmony and with full orchestration, is the absolutely true story, embellished only slightly by retrospection, of the Egg Spanking.

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A Devlin’d Egg

In a land far away at the tag end of the dim-bright era some call The Sixties dwelt a post-pubescent lad who would one day grow up to be Devlin O’Neill. He worked very hard in the theater at his high school and earned many coolness points by starring in a number of student productions. His girlfriend of the moment was a comely lass called Karen, a highly skilled ballerina with elfin eyes and a bright, naughty smile, long dancer’s legs, and a tightly toned fanny that swelled the seat of her leotard admirably, as if skin had been molded over half a basketball and then cleft by the delicate hand of a Rodin or Michelangelo. They met and fell in teenaged lust at rehearsals for ‘My Fair Lady’ – he as Alfie, she in the chorus – and would repair to the school parking lot and her 1965 Beetle for a bit of groping and snogging as often as possible when they weren’t needed on-stage.

When Karen turned 17 her Junior year in high school she had a birthday party at her parents’ large upper-middle class house in the suburbs and invited six of her friends, all comely lasses of 16 or 17, as well as our hero, who was more than a year older and a Senior. How Karen convinced her mother to let a boy attend an all-girl party – even for a couple of hours – is a matter of conjecture, but no doubt there was whining and wheedling involved. His arrival at the house on a shiny Honda motorcycle likely added to her mother’s trepidation, but racked up more coolness points with the girls.

Used as he was to the limelight, to be the only male amongst seven delectable females in a basement rumpus room made him almost giddy with pleasure, and pumped testosterone through his veins at a rate alarming even for a lad his age. One of the girls suggested a card game called Spoons. He didn’t know the game but it is quite simple to play – so simple in fact that it’s very easy to become distracted and miss the finale, the grabbing of the spoons. Since there are one fewer spoons than players, whoever misses grabbing one loses the hand and must pay a forfeit. In the first round our hero became more than distracted, surrounded as he was by nubile maidens, his brain besotted with glandular secretions, his nose and other organs a-tingle in a cloud of highly charged pheromones, and suddenly all the spoons were gone.

A good sport by nature but a bit grumpy at having lost the game to a bunch of girls, he put on the best face he could even as the naughty young women huddled to decide his forfeit. His heart rate increased even further when the giggly girls blindfolded him with a scarf, held his hands at his back and splashed a bit of water on his face, and told him he had to take a knife off the plate in front of him with his teeth. Suspicions aroused by the seemingly innocuous instruction, he nevertheless bent his neck and lowered his nose … into a bowl of pus.

He never did find the knife hidden beneath the mound of Pillsbury’s Best Baking Flour because the mere touch of his flesh to the soft, slimy, unseen substance triggered pent-up hormones, and he bellowed and exploded like a Brahma bull out of an arena chute – exactly as the devious damsels anticipated. Flour flew as he broke free and yanked off the blindfold, then shook his head and grumbled at the uproarious laughter while Karen grinned and wiped pasty whiteness from his face and brushed it from his clothes. Sometimes being the center of attention is not all it’s cracked up to be, as will become even more apparent farther on.

Then it was our hero’s turn to name the forfeit. The reader may have guessed by now that an incipient Devlin O’Neill would only have one forfeit in mind, especially at a birthday party, and this is indeed the case. He had spanked Karen several times already, usually on her magnificently bare behind, and had promised for weeks to give her a birthday spanking. This however was an opportunity of a whole other sort – to have one of her delectably naughty friends across his lap – so he proclaimed that whoever lost the next round would receive Karen’s birthday spanking, and that if Karen lost she would have a double dose. The grins and giggles took on a nervous tinge but the girls finally agreed, and he didn’t even have to use his ‘but I was a good sport about it’ card.

Play resumed, but the hapless Karen was forced to deal with her bothersome brother, a ten-year-old fiend who delighted in opening the door at the top of the stairs to spy on the activities below. Our hero tried to keep her focused on the game, but grabbed a spoon when everyone else did – except Karen.

Perhaps she lost on purpose, so as to keep his hot, lascivious hand away from any bottom save her own, or simply to turn the spotlight upon herself. This writer has reason to doubt those conjectures because she had not one selfish or self-serving thought in her head, but we can never be certain. Had she known what the nefarious friends had in mind for her, no doubt she would have paid more attention to the game.

He told her to go to the sofa, bend over and put her hands on the cushion, in the classic schoolroom paddling position. Such punishment still took place in their high school, though rarely and never to either of them. He had the idea that the posture would be less embarrassing for her – a lighthearted hazing rather than their usual romantic bottom-warming ritual– and he also wanted to try something different, since his oh-so-clever scheme to smack an unfamiliar fanny had been thwarted. But once more he reckoned without the singularly twisted pubescent mentality of her alleged friends.

“No!” A petite blonde named Becky blushed and put a fingertip between tiny sharp teeth. “Take her over your lap … like a baby.” The final syllables oozed from her lips as her dark eyes flashed joyous anticipation.

The other girls heartily seconded, and he sat on the sofa. Karen stretched into place, while they both wondered if the move looked too sure, too practiced. He settled her across his thighs, patting her up-thrust behind to move her this way and that, milking his first ever public spanking performance for all it was worth. She wore a sun-suit – a sort of loose leotard of yellow seersucker – cut full around the hips but tight nonetheless across high, firm cheeks. His first few swats, not overly sharp, to the rubbery-taut mounds drew perfunctory ows from Karen, and appreciative oohs from their audience.

But then Zoot – naughty, wicked, evil Zoot, whose real name may have been Vicky – returned from a quick trip upstairs with … an egg. His jaw dropped and Karen squealed at the horrid, nasty implications of the white spheroid.

“Here … put this down her pants and then spank her.”

Appalled at the suggestion, he demurred and Karen scowled, but she made much less of a fuss than one might expect in the circumstances. Still Zoot insisted, and her horrid, nasty, evil sisters concurred, and Karen hid her face in her hands. Our hero reluctantly unzipped the back of the sun-suit, apparently so dazed and befuddled that he lost the ability to say no to these demons in tight shorts and snug t-shirts. Or what is more likely, he felt eager to expose his lover’s gorgeous sit-upon to admiring gazes and knew Karen wouldn’t mind too much since all theater people are exhibitionists at heart, and thought he could somehow get round actually breaking the egg. The zipper ended a few inches past the waistband of demure white panties, but the suit’s elastic yoke gave him plenty of leeway to draw both seersucker and cotton down to show off most of her adorable bare heinie before he placed the egg gently at the center of her delightful ambery cleft and replaced the clothing.

Younger brother chose that moment to put his head in once more, but her friends clustered in front of them to mask the scene, and Karen drove him away with a loud, harsh promise to ‘tell Mom’ if he failed to leave immediately and never return. He left and one of the girls stalked up the stairs to guard the door, while our hero took a deep breath and wondered how he ever got the idea that girls were sweet, kind, gentle creatures. But the show must go on, so he raised his hand and smacked. The egg felt like a cold rock beneath his palm, but cushioned in its warm, cozy nest it gave no sign of cracking. After a couple more painful – to him – swats he shook his head.

“This does hurt me more than it does you. I’ll just take it out and ….”

“No … try this.” Zoot handed him a hardbound volume of Reader’s Digest Condensed Books.

Disappointed at the vicious turn the game had taken, he decided to end it and clapped the book onto the egg. It shattered and Karen screamed and leapt to her feet. Becky followed her to the bathroom while he berated Zoot and her evil sisters for such wickedness, to their utter amusement. Karen returned a few minutes later, her clothes changed, her hair combed, a smile on her face, none the worse for her ordeal. Still it seemed a good time to make his exit, and with her farewell kiss warm on his lips, he rode into the sunset.

At school the following Monday they met backstage in the auditorium. Her worrisome expression said clearly that something was amiss.

“Mom says to tell you I’m not a toy for you to play with.”

“What? Karen!”

Her giggle gave him moderate reassurance as she looked up into his fretful blue eyes. “It’s OK. She said she found um … evidence … in the bathroom hamper … that you got too amorous with me.”

“Oh good grief. She thought the egg in your undies was …? Didn’t you rinse them out?”

“Sorta … not very well, I guess.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Just what happened … but not all of it. I said the girls dropped the egg down the back of my suit.”

He sighed, his heart still pounding. “And not that I pulled your panties down to put it in?”

“I’m not that stupid.” She moaned when he fervently kissed her. “She wants to meet you sometime.”

“Yeah … sure … no problem.”

But it was, and he somehow missed meeting Mom, or Dad for that matter, which may be one reason he lived to become Devlin O’Neill, who will never ever mix foodstuffs and spanking – not in a public performance anyhow.