The Record Collection

While most of her peers were into the latest technology, her entire floor-to-ceiling bookcase housed vinyl records. A woman in her late twenties should be all about iPods and surround sound, not scratchy relics from a bygone era. And yet there they were, alphabetized and preserved in plastic sleeves: ABBA, BeeGees, Carole King, the entire Grateful Dead collection, Louis Armstrong, Rolling Stones and ZZ Top. It was a diverse collection.

Even better, the record player — as compact a machine as they offered in the 80s — had a fresh needle and was ready to go.

Because she surprised him, he decided to return the favor.

“Pick a record. Put it on. And then I’m going to spank you to it,” he said as he marveled at the neat rows of record jackets. “Make it a good one, because we’ll be…listening…to the whole thing.”

“I assume you don’t want a single,” she said with a coy smile.

“Only if you want to play the same song twenty times. And fetch the paddle.” They both knew she didn’t want the paddle.

Picking one record out of the hundreds on any given night was always a challenge, but picking one to be spanked to was even more so. The songs should be varied and up-tempo, and care must be taken to avoid any musicians that might annoy him. Annoyed spankers aren’t good spankers, usually, and tonight she wanted a good spanking.

Keeping his age in mind, and ruling out anything resembling disco, she plucked Three Dog Night from its place on the shelf and didn’t wait for his approval. She dropped the record on the turntable, positioned the needle, and joined him near the couch.

The irony of the first song, “Try a Little Tenderness”, wasn’t lost on either, and, smilingly, that’s what he did. He began slowly but firmly, holding and squeezing her just as the song instructed. Her skirt was lifted, her panties straightened, her cheeks warmed by a hand straining to keep the beat.

By the third song, “Easy to be Hard”, the spanking was picking up. No longer comfortable, she began to kick her legs and meekly protest, fully aware that the record she chose was a long one. Nine minutes was nothing compared to what she would receive.

There were pauses, but brief ones, only to pull her panties down, to grab her cheeks, to trace his fingers down her thighs and rub her back. As the record played on, he spanked with a determination to see it to the end.

When the record finished, neither cared. The spanking went on as the record soundlessly turned. The spanking went on while they found their own melody: a hand against a cheek, a gasp, a reminder to stay in position.

They were lost in the lyrics of their own making.

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