Dan and I have finally thrown off our colds and coughs, our sore throats and chills, and are slowly (it could, in my case, be said 'cautiously') sliding back into our dynamic. Spring is on its way and I am propelled into a fury of spring cleaning, gardening and challenging Dan at every opportunity. Did I tell you before that I am NOT submissive? Ha! There is nothing like springtime to bring out the "Go get him, gal!" in me.
I can almost hear the rapid intake of breath. Yet as I write this I keep grinning to myself. I am sitting typing on Dan's computer (because his has a 'proper' keyboard) and I am surrounded by clandestine crisp packets, small packets of Haribos, and half eaten Picnic bars. And this is the desk of someone who assures me that he is losing so much weight that his trousers require braces to hold them up! Good grief!
It is so good to know that my man is not without his faults. It would be SUCH a dull life if he was perfect.
I, of course, am far from perfect. I have a wicked sense of humour, coupled with a penchant for saying whatever comes into my head, which is invariably at an inappropriate time or place. Tact is not my forte. But on the plus side, what you see is what you get. There is no side to me, and it takes a good long time for that final straw to break the camel's back.
Mostly, this means that spanking for anything other than pleasure is a rare occurrence. It's not my smart mouth that causes Dan to narrow his eyes and growl "You'll be sorry later" under his breath, but when I spiral downwards into a sulky and argumentative mood. He simply hates it when I behave like a spoilt child. That is most definitely a no-go area, and luckily one which I try not to visit unless I am under a lot of stress.
With the sunshine and flowers of spring to look forward to, I am feeling energetic and full of bounce.
Having nestled spoon-fashion into Dan's warm front, it therefore came as quite a surprise to be rudely roused from my early morning snuggle-zone by the command "Go get an implement."
In fact, I was so snug and comfortable that I ignored the command completely. So it came again, only a bit louder.
"What implement do you want?" I muttered.
"The flappy paddle thing." (Interpretation: the leather rose-paddle)
I was pushed towards the side of the bed and had to swing my legs out or fall flat on my face. I did, at that moment, give a sotto voce growl.
"Come on. Hurry up. I don't know what you are messing around for."
By the time I had retrieved that blessed implement, Dan had rearranged the pillows and was sitting up, back against the headboard. I noticed at once that he intended business, as when we play he doesn't bother to cover himself. This time he had the duvet tucked firmly around his lower half, and a pillow placed for me to put my hands under. (ie no reaching back)
This is the person who just a few short years ago was so reluctant to even use his hand! Time certainly does change everything!
"You better close the window. We don't want to scare the early morning dog walkers."
"Good grief. Any more orders, your highness?"
Not a good comment when a paddle is being flexed in front of your eyes.
Usually I lie relatively flat across Dan's legs, but this time as I was manoeuvring into position I was requested to keep my knees more under me. In other words, to put my bottom more in the line of fire. Humph!
Dan started out as he meant to go on. There was no nice, gentle warm-up, no stroking or caressing, no bearable hand spanking. He simply stretched my skin taut and went to work.
"What about a warm-up?" I wailed.
"This is it" he replied.
"What about the nursery rhymes?" I croaked.
"I just played "Half a Pound of Tuppenny Rice. Weren't you paying attention? Here comes Baa Baa Black Sheep."
"Ow, ow ow!!!"
There was no way on this earth I could have concentrated enough to guess those nursery rhymes. It was as much as I could do to keep relatively still and not knock Dan's teeth out. In fact, as the spanking progressed, I wondered whether we would be paying a visit to the dentist later in the day.
Dan discovered a short time ago that a quick splat on my thigh is equal to half a dozen spanks on the bottom. He was taking advantage of it. But when he landed a spank on my right calf I nearly sailed straight off the bed and through the skylight.
"You aren't allowed to do that!"
"Who says? This is in lieu of the past six months of spanking withdrawal. I am catching up."
"But I haven't done anything!"
"I am sure you are about to. Spring has gone to your head. You are racing around like a maniac. Calm down. You'll give yourself a heart attack."
All the while he is spanking and spanking. Every now and then he lands a really swishy one on one thigh or another.
"But there is so much to do!" I shriek.
"The garden will be there when you're not."
He finally stops and at last rubs my bottom.
"Very hot and red. Just like two pancakes."
"What, all flat and wrinkled?!"
"No. All rosy and rounded."
I breathed a sigh of relief, which was cut off as he began again only harder this time.
I won't bore you, but this went on in the same fashion for some time. Even when I thought he had at last finished with a final painful flourish, he gave me another ten or so culminating in a crescendo where I tried to swim off the bed and gave up muffling my yells in the pillow.
"What a lot of noise over nothing."
"It's not your bottom. How would you know?"
"I wasn't spanking hard."
"Let me be the judge of that."
"Hmmm. I think I've got this spanking game sussed now."
I am standing in front of the mirror twisting my neck and assessing the damage. He was right. Two very scarlet circles. (They're not on this image - just imagine them!)
"Come back to bed and bring the cherry lube. We'll have some fun."
Now, could a girl in all honesty refuse such an invitation?
I don't think so.
