The Life and Trials of Ami Starsong

Just when you think it's safe to sit down again....along comes Dan and moves the goalposts.

"Right, I need to get up and get on. The sun is shining and you are lounging around and looking far too comfortable."

I try to hide under the duvet and block my ears. For two pins I would start to sing 'La la la la la' as well.

I grumpily put out a hand and press the light-up button on the clock on my side of the bed. It informs me that it is 7 o'clock.

"Dan, it is Sunday morning, I have been awake since 6 tossing and turning and listening to you snore, and now you have woken up you think I should be awake as well. Why do you always do this?" 

I risk a quick glance and he is grinning at me in a very smug fashion.

"Tea?" he asks.

Humph! 

I flounce up and open the bedroom door meaning to weave my way (I am not yet properly awake) down the corridor. 

"You're not going downstairs like that are you?" Dan calls to my back. 

"Oh for goodness sake!"

I weave my way back and retrieve my robe, shrugging into it as I retrace my steps again along to the top of the stairs.

It's barely light and the sun is only just creeping above the tops of the cypresses that line the back boundary. I yawn as I am waiting for the kettle to boil.

I love this ritual of ours of sitting in bed chatting with each other and drinking hot morning drinks. Dan says it is good to be able to relax and communicate at the same time. It's just that when I am still sleepy I find the communication a bit tiresome as my eyelids will keep falling closed.

Dan is stroking my left thigh meditatively and I wonder whether it might be a prelude to something more. But not the 'more' I had in mind apparently.

As I start to snuggle more into him he gives me a couple of quick, slappy swats and says

"Time for a spanking I think. Just fetch me the Little Nipper."

I glare. "Can't you fetch it? Other husbands go fetch their own implements?"

Another swat.

"I am not other husbands." Swat. "Hurry up, I've got to get the leaf blower out."

"What? On a Sunday?

"Well, with S over the road already pressure-washing his horsebox, I don't think they will be worried about a bit of noise."

I reluctantly get up and fetch the wretched wooden spatula and hand it to him. Then as I am about to climb over his lap he says

"Oh no. Today you can lean over the footboard. I haven't got time for hanky panky this morning. We used to use the footboard a lot. Somehow it's escaped my notice that we no longer seem to use it."

"The wood isn't very comfortable to lean over" I remind him.

He folds the patchwork quilt in half and hands it to me. 

"Put this over the footboard."

This was not the type of Sunday morning I had hoped for.

Dan stands to one side and waits for me to lean over the end of the bed. He starts to raise the spatula and I leap up and go and collect a pillow which I place strategically - I place my hands under it and bury my face in it. Something tells me that I am going to need it, although fortunately Dan starts by rubbing my bottom, which feels quite soothing.

Then he starts to spank with his hand, not the spatula. It is not very hard and I lean into it feeling frissons of excitement. Hmmm. This isn't so bad.

SWAT!

SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT!

Okay! So that's not so soothing! He has changed to the spatula and the swats are coming fast and furious.

I am very glad my hands are under the pillow and I do my best to keep quiet, but it doesn't work. I go up on my toes, determined to keep my feet on the floor, but not very hopeful of succeeding.

"Do you realise that this is three times in a week?" Dan asks conversationally.

"Oh, shit, ow!" is my reply. "Dan!"

I crane my neck round and Dan grins evilly.

"I seem to remember you mentioning once or twice that you thought I was spanking too high?"

"Ye'ouch!" 

My feet are still on the floor - my toes at any rate, but my body hinges at the waist and I try to shoot upright.

"Oh no you don't" Dan pushes me back down, swatting for England.

"Can you feel it?"

"Of course I can bloody feel it!" I spring up again.

He pushes me down again.

"Is this low enough for you?"

I don't have very much padding on my behind, stomach yes, but behind no. 

SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT!

It becomes a battle between me trying to stand up and Dan trying to keep me back down.

We are both exhausted, and my sit spots feel like they are getting ready to emigrate to safer climes.

In the end Dan is laughing too much to continue. I stand up warily and go to survey the damage in the full length mirror. 

This part of me isn't used to such energy being directed at it. My sit spots and the very tops of my thighs are a brilliant red and there are little dime (10p) sized spots that are much darker and look suspiciously like small bruises. 

I stand and rub vigorously and look at Dan accusingly.

"Do the other women you talk to on your blog act like Jack-in-a-boxes?" he asks. The evil grin is still there.

He exits the bedroom and I follow him with my robe still lifted where I am continuing to rub.

If anyone ever dares to mention chickens coming home to roost, I will have a tantrum on the spot!