This one is going to be short…but I had to write it down, because it’s a new one (that’s the thing about the fetish Biz–you think you’ve seen it all, but you never have, and presumably never will).
It’s also sweet and funny, in its way.
Old guy comes to see me. Had a hearing aid and dentures, because nobody that old has perfect refrigerator-white teeth (huh? Don’t dentists “age” dentures to match?) Clearly on Social Security, maybe a pension–he seemed poor to me, but, believe me, you can never be sure. Scrubs would come to the dungeon in sweatshirts that looked older than me with holes in them and velcro sneakers with the mesh on top about worn through, and I’d find out later that they were millionaires.
Anyway, the man was a spanko: all that he wanted was a bare-bottom spanking over my knee, while lying on the couch. He didn’t even want to undress (most true spankos, I’ve found, keep all or most of their clothes on. I guess it keeps the experience more true to the domestic discipline childhood experience).
Easy-peasy, and one of my favorite types of sessions. I really enjoy going to town on hardcore masochists with a variety of implements–and I’m good at it, because I’m a very experienced maso myself–but old-fashioned spankings and domestic discipline scenarios are tons of fun (always do it in stockings, old-fashioned heeled “slippers” with downed muff on top, and a satin robe, and ALWAYS wash the mouth out with Ivory soap. No other soap will do!).
The guy is a gent and reaches into his backpack to pay me, presumably to get his wallet…
…instead, he pulls out a Jiffy peanut butter jar, full of money, and hands it to me.
I opened it and took out a handful.
It was full of $1 bills. Some crushed, some folded. They all look like he had taken them out of his pockets at the end of the day and put them in the jar.
Well, you know the rule: Always get the money up front.
I thanked him, kept a pleasant smile on my face, sat down on the edge of the bed, and started counting the money. In order to do this, I had to unfold it and straighten it out. I started making little stacks of 10 $1-bills so that I could keep track of it.
This was tedious and time-consuming and I began to feel rather embarrassed and self-conscious.
I got to about $50-something and said something I’ve never said to a client (or practically any man, for that matter) before: “You know what? I’ll just take your word for it.”
I put his money back in the Jiffy jar, which I am positive is his “session jar,” in which he saves, say, a dollar a day or something until he can afford a session. Only 38 days more and I can get my ass spanked! he thinks, as he adds another dollar.
We did the session. He was great. It was only a half-hour and easy as pie. He was nice and clean and in a great mood and left happy.
I finally counted the money (I really wish I’d taken a picture of it for you, because it looked hilarious, all those crumpled $1s in a peanut butter jar) and he was as good as gold: it was all there.
And now, the Story of the Spanko and the Session Jar is told.