You would think after 37 years of marriage I would be an expert. That I would know every trick in the book.
I think this last couple of weeks I have been spanked for my difficulties with communication skills more times than I would care to own up to. I most assuredly have been guilty of not making known or giving information unreservedly.
Nearly every spanking has resulted in tears, or very wet eyes, plus a searingly hot bottom.
I had previously been warned, and spanked, for my negativity. I had thought all was well.
I tried and tried to keep it in, bottle it up, tamp it down - ignore ignore ignore.
After tossing and turning in bed for hours, I ended up retreating to the spare room where I read my Kindle for most of the night, and hence both looked and felt like something that had crawled out from under a stone the next morning.
Dan was not amused. Even though I arrived first thing with a cup of tea and not one but two Gingernuts for him.
When I eventually managed to control myself, Dan told me in no uncertain words that if I don't communicate my thoughts and worries to him, he cannot do anything to help. He asked me how I would feel if I knew something was worrying him and he wouldn't tell me what it was. He told me that in future he will be watching for signs of pressure building up, and will vigorously use every possible means to release that pressure. (Every possible means = as many of our implements as it takes.) Not a happy thought.
When you are married to a man like my Dan, deception is not wise. I now know that for a fact. Far better to own up to my feelings of stress and knots in my neck, and brave the wolf's lair, than end up having my bottom massaged liberally with one or more implements. Where has the gentle, careful, consideration of my bottom gone?
His hand is now so hard and sure, that I twisted my neck around in horror thinking he was using the paddle from the start. These days I don't seem to get a warm-up so much as a sample of things to come.
Dan rarely spanks for long. He prefers the short, sharp, painful imparting of a principle to long drawn out conversations. Hence my bottom often feeling like a vibrating drum, but without the vibration. All I can say is that my skin is soft, clear and supple due to the changes in beat!
I would also like to impart that I have been out and purchased several brightly coloured cushions to dot along our pine settle and benches around our kitchen table, because most mornings I am no longer able to sit comfortably before midday! I am extremely grateful that Dan has not yet arrived at the point of issuing spankings out of the blue at all hours, as I really don't think I would be able to survive them. I applaud those of you who do.
And just to end on a more Ami-like note - on Friday morning at 8.30am I was downstairs vacuuming the drawing room carpet, minus knickers. I had previously laughed at a friend who admitted she found wearing her pretty, lacy knickers very uncomfortable after a spanking. Believe me, it was so much more soothing to let the air caress my burning backside, than to struggle into a previously snazzy little number.