White is All Right

It snowed last night! I guess that's why they call it the Great White North. But still, enough already! It's spring. We had more snow in December and January than we've had during the whole winter in previous years.

One weekend in particular was especially memorable. The snow started falling on Saturday afternoon, continued throughout the night, and was still coming down on Sunday morning. We wouldn't be going anywhere for several hours at least. Ron did a bit of necessary clearing as soon as he got up. Then after breakfast we bundled up and went to work clearing the driveway, paths and the front walk.

While we worked, a thought buzzed inside my mind. Would Ron be too tired from all the shovelling to spank me? Would I be too tired to care? Sunday is our day for spanking fun, and I had good reason to be concerned this weekend. I had had a rough week at work, full of ups and downs, and Monday morning threatened to bring on a crisis of sorts. I desperately needed some stress relief. And my spanko senses were telling me that the chances weren't good.

We did as much as we could, then went inside to warm up and rest. After making several trips to the front window, the weather channel on TV, and weather websites, Ron announced that we wouldn't be shovelling any more that day. As long as the snow was still falling, we would wait until the next morning before we did any more. My inner spanko child cheered! That was his way of telling me we were on for our regular date.

Then I started to ponder what implement I needed to eradicate my stress and prepare me for the next day. I slipped upstairs and opened the implement drawer. The dogleg brush would do it, I was sure. It has proven its usefulness more than once. But then I noticed the white paddle nearly hidden at the bottom. It produced a very significant sting, and I hadn't felt it for quite a long time. I picked it up and laid it on Ron's bedside table, then hurried out before I changed my mind.

Later, I waited for Ron in the bedroom. He came in and saw the implement I had left for him.

"I see you've chosen your weapon."

"Uh, yeah."

I wanted to remind him to give me a generous warmup. I wanted to tell him to use it to finish, after first spanking me with a kinder implement. But the words wouldn't come out. Something inside me cried out for everything the paddle had to offer.

The first three or four swats were sharp, and I squirmed. Then I held my breath and let the rest come. When Ron paused and put the paddle down to rub my cheeks, I exhaled and struggled to breathe normally again. I actually felt my lungs deflate, and along with air went stress and anxiety. As he picked up the paddle to resume, I inhaled deeply, gripped the metal rails in front of me, and braced myself.

The second series of swats was more endurable because my bottom was warm enough to accept them, although I did my share of wriggling and squeaking. Again came the rest and rubbing, and more tension left my body. After the third paddling--which ended with a flurry of sharp, fast strokes that left me gasping--my bottom was hot and stinging and the rest of me was more than ready for whatever amorous adventure Ron chose to take me on. Trouble at the office was the last thing on my mind right then.

The next morning we shovelled more snow, then I got into the car. I sighed with relief as my tender posterior came in contact with the cold car seat, and drove to work with a light heart. My good mood lasted through the meeting I had been dreading, and--by smiling but otherwise keeping my mouth shut--I was able to get through it remarkably well.

When I got home that evening I told Ron about my day, and ended by saying, "So you really didn't have to spank me that hard after all."

"Oh yes I did."

Yes, he did.