Rules of Engagement

Over breakfast last weekend, Ron suddenly brought up the subject of our regularly scheduled weekly spanking.

"I'm changing the rules of engagement. You'll give me a Ben and Jerry's*, and if it's acceptable, you'll get a spanking. If it isn't, you won't."

*He didn't actually say Ben and Jerry's; he used a term that starts with the same letters. So let's just say I'm using Canadian rhyming slang or something when I refer to that particular intimate act as a Ben and Jerry's.

I had never had any complaints in the past, so I asked, "What would a bad Ben and Jerry's be? Would teeth be involved in an inappropriate way?"

"Could be. We'll see."

I persisted. I wasn't going to miss out on a spanking by being unprepared. "And what would qualify as a good Ben and Jerry's?"

"Google it," came the reply.

Maybe I will. Or maybe I should practise. There were carrots in the vegetable crisper, but we were out of bananas.  Maybe an empty wine bottle...

Besides enhancing my skills, I considered how to dress for success. Jeans and a tee didn't seem appropriate. I selected a sleeveless burgundy top with lace panels on the sides. It fell just below my waist and fit snugly enough to reveal my curves. To complement it I chose a pair of black lace panties. I didn't need any more layers to impede Ron's access.

When I entered the bedroom I saw that Ron had the toybox open and had already selected his arsenal. Most noticeable was the wooden pasta measurer.

I tried not to think about it and concentrated on other things.

We embraced and kissed. Ron's hands slid down the silky fabric of my top and came to rest on my lace-covered bottom. He pulled the fabric up so he could caress them, then slid the panties down and had full access to all intimate areas.

After a time I knelt and proceeded to show Ron that I had done my Ben and Jerry's homework. Judging from his final reaction, I thought I did pretty well.

"So, how was that?" As if I had to ask.

"No spanking," Ron declared.

"What? What was wrong with it?" I asked indignantly.

My husband laughed. "Just kidding. You'll get your spanking."

He helped me up and bent me over the end of the bed. My panties were still down around my knees so he got straight to work with the paddles; first wood, then leather. He saved the pasta measurer for the end. It's quite thick and packs quite a wallop.

Yet I didn't mind at all. My thoughts were on the erotic fun I anticipated once we were done, and each smack made me more excited than the last. A spanking for its own sake is great, but a spanking that's a prelude to other things - well, nothing beats it.

"You're done," Ron finally announced, and put the implements away. I waited impatiently, then finally blurted, "Aren't you going to finish what you started?"

"The dogs will want to be let out," he replied, and headed for the door. His playful sense of humour was in overdrive; I assumed he was joking.

I grabbed his arm. "The dogs can wait. This won't take long, I promise."

It didn't.

We both feel closer to one another than we have in some time, and we're both more cheerful and playful. There's nothing like a little Ben and Jerry's to put us both in a good mood.