Stressed? Who's Stressed?

Like many other people, our lives have a certain amount of stress in them. Lately that level has risen rather dramatically. Ron and I both need to cope with it, but the nurturer in me says that I need to help him manage his stress level as well as my own. So I do all I can to support him and ease his burden. Sometimes that doesn't work too well.

Last weekend we had company. It was pleasant, but was an additional source of tension. In the busyness of having guests, our weekly spanking date was overlooked. I hadn't forgotten about it and I suspect Ron hadn't either. But I didn't say anything because I figured he had enough on his plate and didn't need me making demands on him too.
It might have been better for both of us if I had spoken up. Without my much-needed stress-buster, I wasn't quite so considerate and understanding in the following days, and we both let our stress get the better of us.

Luckily, another weekend rolled around, and I tactfully made sure that Ron had included some plans for spanking among his other activities. We agreed on a time that fit in around the first football game of the season.

Ron had thoughtfully chosen two wooden implements: a light, stingy one and a heavier, thuddy one. He picked up the thuddy one and started off with brisk strokes.

Slow down, take it easy, I screamed silently inside my head. Not wanting to give him any actual direction, I didn't say the words aloud, but I did a fair amount of squealing and dancing that made him switch to the lighter implement. That was much better. Relatively speaking, you understand. It still hurt, but it didn't HURT.

After a bit, Ron changed to the heavier implement, but he could tell I still couldn't take it gracefully, so resumed his attention with Mr Stingy. I settled into the rhythm, although Ron decided to be clever and intersperse the steady swats with periodic rapid-fire bursts aimed directly at my sweet spot.

"You never know when to expect it," he enthused as he delivered a volley of shots and I protested loudly.

All too soon, Ron asked if I had had enough.

"No," I replied. Foolishly? Perhaps. "Go back to the heavy one, but slowly."

Ron proceeded to swat my cheeks with the thuddy paddle; slow, steady whacks that hurt, but not so much. I relaxed and absorbed the impact gratefully. He increased the speed of the swats and they still felt good. I was silent.

"That's enough. Your bum is purple." And it ended.

When I had checked my bottom in the mirror and arranged my clothing, I gave Ron a big hug and told him, "I feel better now." And I did.

The following week was as stressful as the one prior to it, but I felt restored and calm. I was able to get us both through the next seven days with patience, good humour and gentleness. Smiles came readily, and I smoothed over any potentially tense situations. But I think Ron was more relaxed as well. The spanking did him good too, whether he will admit it or not.


Spankings? Keep them coming!