Thoroughly Topped

Recently I must confess I was having some doubts about Ron's commitment to spanking. In fact, I had started to wonder if he might actually be vanilla. Then last weekend he managed to convince me that he was an extremely proficient and committed Top.

It all started the day Ron cancelled our regular date; other matters were more pressing. I understood, but wondered why he hadn't scheduled an alternate day and time. The next day came and went - no spanking. I hinted at it the following evening, to no avail. I then sent another hint as part of an email reply to him. Still nothing, but I gave it yet another day to give him a chance to make it look like his idea. No luck. I started to wonder if he had lost interest in my bottom, and spent a night silently calling him every name under the sun, including the V-word.

The next morning while I was showering I remembered all the great advice that you, my dear friends, had given me. Tell him what you want. Men aren't at all intuitive. he can't read your mind. Well, I thought I had been pretty direct, but I'd give it one more try.

At breakfast Ron asked me if I had slept well.
 
"No."
"Why not?"

"I was awake fretting. I wanted a spanking last night and you didn't read my mind."

Ron smiled at that, and so did I as I continued.

"We missed our date last week and I'm overdue for one."

He thought a minute, then teased, "I don't know if I can fit you in. There's a lot of gardening to do."
We both laughed and I knew I had made my point.
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While we were fixing dinner together, Ron said, "I think I'd better get out the buggy whip."

"Dressage whip."
"Whatever. But I don't even know where it is."
"Behind the door in your study."

Aaargh! Why had I said that? I remembered that whip well and I dreaded it. My chest tightened and I struggled to breathe. I had lost my appetite. But I so wanted to feel it on my bare skin again.

Later that evening, Ron went on up ahead of me while I turned out the lights and tried to control the assorted fluttering things in my tummy. When I walked into the bedroom my husband was standing at the foot of the bed, dressage whip in hand. This was very different. I felt unsure of what to do next.

"Where do you want me?"

He motioned towards the bed, so I slipped off my robe, removed my panties and bent over the end of it.

"That will do nicely," Ron said. He didn't keep me waiting; the whip sizzled through the air and landed right on target. Ow! It was worse than I remembered. After three strokes I couldn't take any more needed him to stop now what was I doing there I must be crazy it hurts too much.

"is it all right?" Ron asked. I stupidly bravely replied, "Yes." Another stroke, and I squealed, "Ouch! It hurts!"

"Do you want the paddle instead?"

A reprieve. "Yes, the paddle, then finish with the whip." At least that would delay the inevitable for a while. I stayed in position while Ron put down the whip, opened the drawer and returned with a leather paddle. 

It was not much of a reprieve. He hit hard and fast. This was nothing like the sensuous spanking I usually got. The man meant business. The pauses for rubbing were brief, and the spanking in between them went on and on. I was intoxicated with the pain, inhaling it, absorbing it.

Ron put down the paddle, took my arm and pulled me upright. Then he placed his hands on my shoulders and guided me downward until I was kneeling in front of him, and I rewarded him for being so good to me. Then when he helped me to my feet I assumed it was my turn. I scrambled across the bed, stretched out and waited for him to join me. 

I had forgotten about the whip. But Ron hadn't. He stood beside me, raised his arm, and I lay flat on my tummy and took the strokes. They were still hard and biting, but now they felt very, very good. Several times the whip cracked across my bottom, then the tip tickled the top of my head. What was this? A playful whipping? I looked up and smiled. Ron continued the pattern; he gave me some hard, fast strokes, then ruffled my hair. I don't know how long it might have gone on, but when he saw that the whip had done some damage to the skin, it was over.

I was totally drained, and so contented. My bottom felt like it was on fire, and I was incapable of moving. I remained where I was while Ron put away the toys, locked up the house for the night and turned out the lights. I slept for a couple of hours, then woke up, felt the welts, and rummaged in my bedside drawer for the arnica. I'd have to wait till morning to inspect the damage.

The next day, I was very glad I didn't have to go to work and sit as a desk. My bottom was still burning, but I was able to keep myself busy and only sat down for meals. I had a few marks on each cheek where the whip had bitten, and applied arnica frequently. We spent a companionable day together doing things around the house, although I was walking a little stiffly.

I was also wondering if that was it for the weekend, or if Ron was going to keep our regular date the following day. I really didn't want to be spanked again so soon, but it was his call. I had to wait for my answer until the usual appointed hour. Then I heard "it's time." I guessed I was in for spanking number two.

This time, it was back to the usual, comfortable routine. Ron used the same leather paddle as before, but it was once again erotic and sensuous. He stayed well clear of the marks, aiming low on my buttocks and producing extremely pleasant sensations. He settled into a slow, steady rhythm and I rolled my hips to meet the paddle on each downward arc. There was leisurely rubbing in between, and Ron's fingers caressed other places, finally giving me the release I needed. 

As he held me close afterward, Ron murmured, "Your bum is so bruised."

"It's not so bad. I'm using arnica. They'll be gone in no time."

"You'll need Twenty Mule Team Borax to make those go away."

My funny Top.

P.S. The dressage whip is now kept in the bedroom, in plain sight.