by Peter Schwartz 

                                                  word count: 442

  Walter Filmore sat in front of his computer cursing God, the Internet, the Jews,

Jesus Christ, rocking chairs, and generally how cheap people were.  He checked

his listing on Ebay for the twentieth time that night.  His mother had died about

four months ago and still he couldn't sell the rocking chair she had left him.  His

other siblings had snatched up everything else shamelessly.  He was by far the

poorest of his three siblings but he had never really been a fighter and wasn't

about to start now, not over his mother's stuff.  The thought of it made him flush

with guilt.  He always had been the conscience of his family and look where it

had gotten him.  He was fifty-five, living in a basement apartment in Dayton,

Ohio.  It was going on 1:00am and  tomorrow was a week day so why the hell

was he still up?  Ah.  Click click click click, answered his Internet addiction.

Thank God it was only a few more days to Thanksgiving.  He had special plans

for that Thursday and had been looking forward to his private celebration for

months.

 He scrolled down in his favorites for a site that gave him a lot more pleasure  than that

damned Ebay.  He instinctively reached down and squeezed his penis through his boxers

as the red letters appeared on the black screen:

Spanksgiving 2006!

He clicked past the corny graphics of Indians spanking Pilgrims and turkeys

in black leather being led on leashes by women with ridiculously big breasts.

Fluffy stuff probably put in by the webmaster to hide how deeply devious this

event really would be.  Genius.

 All those years carrying around his heavy conscience had finally manifested in

Walter Filmore in the form a a fetish, a spanking fetish.  He had ordered leather

pants with metal studs embedded in them from www.extremeadultwear.com and

feeling impulsive, ordered a Spanksgiving t-shirt off the site of the club hosting

this event.  Luckily, he had been sorting mail for so many years it didn't really take much

concentration. Because for those last few days before Thanksgiving, he was truly in a fog.

That faithful night he took a cab to the club, The Red Dungeon.  He figured he

could play the mysterious stranger that way.  When he entered, well nothing can

really describe what he felt.  There were two young guys by the bar in baggy

clothes that immediately pointed to him, laughed, and called him a tool.  Even

worse though, the only other people in the place besides the bartender and

bored waitresses, were three fat middle-aged women, all sitting apart from each

other.  The first one, the ugliest and fattest of them, all but ran up to him and told

him she was soooo naughty and they just HAD to go to the Spanking Room

RIGHT NOW.  He mumbled something about getting a drink first but she

wouldn't hear of it as she dragged him in back.  One of the other women

snapped her fingers sarcastically as if she had missed her big chance.  “I

deserve this,” Walter thought as he steadied himself for what was to

come.

Last update : 04-05-2007 08:15

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