The sunshine woke me early drifting across my pillow, doves cooing loudly in the trees outside. I rolled over on to my back and put my hand out to stroke my Starman's chest, but felt nothing but an empty place. I glanced at the clock and it said 6.45am. My eyelids drooped. When I woke up next time, it was to the sound of a mug of coffee being placed on my bedside table. I stretched blissfully and wriggled luxuriously.It was now 7.35am. Dan had woken early and had been chatting to Number One Son before he disappeared off to work.
We sat, propped up by pillows, idly discussing the next few days. If anyone thinks preparing houses for sale is easy, they need to move into the Starsong household for a bit. I'm not even going to try to describe the various stresses and strains involved, but I would like to say a very big thank you to those of you who have emailed or chatted to me and done your best to cheer me up!
A BIG THANK YOU!!!
Coupled with the fact that we haven't yet gotten a date for Dan's next hospital visit, a MIL who hasn't been too well lately and is having hospital visits herself, a daughter who is about to give birth in three weeks' time, and a son who is struggling to get a 'very old cottage' habitable before the winter (he'll never do it, we know it's going to be impossible, so it's making him very grumpy), we are past "exhaustion" and both feel like pieces of elastic without any stretch left in them.
So as we are chatting about this and that, my hand starts wandering, then my leg, then the other hand, and the other leg, and Dan sits there and says that his arm hurts and tells me how exhausted he is, and that he hasn't got any energy left and not to bother stroking him because nothing's going to happen.
I keep on, because I love a challenge. And pretty soon there is a result. So I stop, and I question him more closely about our week, and it becomes obvious that we only have this morning to ourselves without having to gallop up and rush around.
Dan shows me his arm, where a horsefly has bitten him. It is red and swollen. He says he hasn't enough energy to do any spanking, if that's what I am after. I immediately remind him of our dear friend Bas, who once told me all Dan had to do was "lift arm up, slap hand down, lift arm up, slap hand down - easy!"
I am sent to retrieve a couple of implements from their secret lair. I joyfully return with our lovely Rose paddle, and for some strange reason, entirely beyond me, the walnut salad server.
At this point, all I have in mind is play, and I happily scramble across Dan's lap. We are both chuckling and he sets to and spanks me with his hand, alternating with a stroke here, and a stroke there. I wriggle a bit. I can feel the warmth begin to flow over my butt cheeks. His hand rests lightly on my lower back and I feel very relaxed.
After a minute or two the warmth begins to feel more "tropical", and although I am still in seventh heaven, it is building enough to make me squirm.
Then the strokes change. A lot more slappy. A lot more stingy. I know without asking that the Rose paddle has come into the equation. I am beginning to say 'Ow!' and 'Ouch' and my wriggles are not quite as comfortable as they were. I begin to feel breathless, and conversation has become more one-sided - Dan is still talking, but I have enough to contend with. I wonder when it is going to stop. My rump is now burning somewhat fiercely.
The strokes change again. Only Dan's hand keeps me horizontal. I try to relax, but can't. I know the feel of wood, especially when it keeps hitting the same darned spot. I am becoming much more vocal. What happened to the fun?! My butt feels as if it's blazing. Dan is attacking my sit spots like they are going out of fashion. I start to howl. I am rolling my hips, trying to escape that vile implement. At one point I nearly scream.
In no uncertain words I am told to be quiet. I asked for this, and frankly, Dan feels that he should have done it days ago.
He is holding me firmly to him, his hand pressing me into his lap, giving me no room to manoeuvre. I try to tell him how much it hurts when he keeps spanking the same spot, but he simply repeats the famous line that "it's meant to hurt", and continues a rapid volley. I begin to sob. I am a little afraid. Not of Dan, but because I don't think I can do this. It's horrible. It's changed from something pleasant into something unendurable.
I can hardly get my breath. I am crying hard, and I am shouting "Please.."
"Please carry on, or please stop?" Dan asks me, and doesn't let up for a second.
I lie there biting the pillowcase in anguish, my shoulders heaving. I am very emotional. I cannot think for myself.
Then I realise Dan has stopped and is stroking my bottom. I am too worn out to lift my head and just lie there.
Eventually my breaths slow and I lever myself back up to sit next to him, but it hurts and I lie sprawled on my side with my head on his stomach. I am shell-shocked.
Dan has lost all his tiredness and miraculously feels rejuvenated. (I can see he is rejuvenated - the signs are a mere two inches away from me!)
He is reassuring me with his hands and with loving words. I feel like a timid deer, caught in headlights on full beam. We give our love to each other slowly, savouring each touch, not wanting to hurry, just cherish.
Dan tells me once again that he'll take spanking over the 'little blue pills' any day. I am still mulling over what has taken place between us.
All day Dan has been in a good mood. He has laughed, joked, teased me, like he hasn't for a week or more. It may not have completely cured his stress, but the levels are definitely considerably reduced.
For me, I have been calm; serene almost.
Something has changed. I am out of my comfort zone. I have never felt quite so vulnerable.
"I spanked you for a solid 15 minutes" Dan told me.
It felt like a "solid" 15 minutes!!! It is the end of the day and I still have big, dark red patches, but no purple bruises like other times. I still feel tender, but have had no trouble sitting on the wooden kitchen chairs, just a little discomfort initially.
It is how it has affected me mentally.
Our 'fun' spanking turned into something else. Dan has upped the ante, raised the bar, pushed my limits. But whilst it has helped him, and calmed me, I am wondering for the first time ever, whether I ought to have a safe word, or at least, a word to tell him that I can't cope. Do any of you do this? It has honestly never occurred to me. Now, I am not so sure. Would it be weak of me? Or would I use it when I didn't really need to?
Because this spanking must have been just what was needed for both of us.
He would never, ever harm me, even by mistake, but it is as if my every defence has been stripped away, as if my soul has been laid bare. I can't even believe I am writing this.
If any of you lot would like to give me an opinion, I hope you will do so. Does this 'pivotal moment' happen to everyone sooner or later? What do we do?
Answers on a postcard....