Priorities

Sometimes I wonder about Ron's priorities.

Take last weekend, for instance. I was bent over the bed and he was giving my bottom some very emphatic attention with a thick leather paddle. I was past the initial, ouchy stage and was settling in to enjoy the thuddy slap of leather on flesh.

All of a sudden it stopped. "Sonofabitch!" I heard Ron exclaim.

"What's the matter?" Was my bum turning a strange colour? Had the paddle broken? Was someone watching through the window?

"The other light's out." I looked up and saw that the bedside table lamp on Ron's side was off, while the one on my side was on. Let me give you a bit of background here. A week earlier, the bulb in my lamp burned out. Ron had taken the lamp apart in order to replace the bulb and had spent a good half hour trying to put it back together again. It was only after I came to his rescue that together we succeeded in reassembling the lamp.

"Never mind about that. We'll fix it later."

He then said some unprintable words, followed by "That makes me mad!" He illustrated his point with a rapid flurry of swats on my bare bottom. Then he tossed the paddle aside and headed over to the lamp.

"Well, I guess we're finished," I said to myself. As I rubbed my bottom Ron rushed past me and headed to the basement to get a new bulb. I had to rub soothing lotion on my own bottom and put the implements away.

I dressed, went downstairs and busied myself in the kitchen. A few minutes later Ron appeared and proudly announced that the crisis was over and the bulb had successfully been replaced.

"It didn't even take you an hour and a half this time. I'm impressed." This last remark earned me a couple of hard swats. It was the least he could do after so rudely interrupting our session.

The Wow Spot

Ron has become quite adventurous lately. Take last Saturday, for example. He was waiting for me in the bedroom, the dressage whip on the bed beside him and the open toybox on the floor at his feet.

"Take your pick," he offered magnanimously.

I found it hard to take my eyes off the whip; obviously he had already made his choice for the afternoon's activities. After rummaging through the contents of the box, I selected a wooden spoon and my favourite leather paddle. Ron nodded his approval and took them from me so I could prepare my bottom for the inevitable.

When I was suitably unclothed and in position over the end of the bed, the fireworks began. First the wooden spoon, administered in a rapid staccato pattern of left, right, left, right. Too fast, too hard, I thought, as I always do at the beginning of a spanking, but I said nothing except "ow!" and kept still.

Ron picked up the dressage whip next, but I quickly said, "Not yet. I'm not warmed up enough," so he relinquished his hold on it and took up the paddle instead. I waited for the hard thud of the flat surface on my bottom. And waited. And waited. I looked back and saw Ron smiling at me. He was messing with my mind.

Finally he got down to business, and a new and different pattern emerged. Instead of left, right, left, right, it was left, right, centre, left, right, centre - the centre being the middle of the spot where my bottomcheeks meet my thighs. The sweet spot? It was the ouch spot to me, and I told him so repeatedly. Every third swat elicited at least one loud "Ow!" and sometimes more.

"What did you say?" Ron asked. not pausing for an answer.

"Ow! I said 'ow!' Ow!"

"Was that 'Ow' or 'Wow'?"

"Not 'Wow', 'Ow'."

Ron wasn't listening. "I found your Wow spot!" he said delightedly, and made sure he gave it a lot of extra but quite unnecessary attention.

By the time my husband switched to the dressage whip that had been postponed earlier, I was almost glad. Anything to give my Wow spot some relief.The whip is such a stingy implement that although I had been able to hold my position earlier, I couldn't avoid displaying my displeasure at the force and speed of the strokes. I cautiously inched my way sideways along the foot of the bed, trying to get out of range. Ron had to reach farther, and then started to follow me in my futile escape attempt. We both stopped when I reached the far edge, and I had to stand up and walk back to my starting position.

The whip was too slender and flexible to connect with the Wow spot, so it danced on my bottom, thighs and calves, with intermittent whooshings as Ron swished it back and forth through the air near my head, enjoying the characteristic sound it made. I stoically endured its harsh caress, and became silent, struggling for control. Ron noticed, and tickled my ear with the tip of the implement. I exhaled and giggled. To my great relief we finished off with more of the spoon and the paddle.

"I'm glad I found your Wow spot," Ron said as he hugged me. He couldn't get enough of his new joke.

"I'll bet you are," I grumbled as I accepted his and returned his embrace.

I wonder whether Ron has been studying my spanking reference books in his spare time.

The Wrong Colour

Last weekend we took a break from household chores to enjoy some spanking activities. True to form, Ron was handling the implements in his usual skilled fashion.

There was the riding crop for the warmup. You wouldn't think it, but the crop is quite mild compared to some of his other weapons. The little purple hand on the end is just right to start things off.

Then there was the large bamboo spatula. It's very pretty, with stripes of various shades of light and dark brown, but that innocent pervertable packs a wallop!

The leather paddle came next, and the first set of smacks took my breath away. I knew that over the next several minutes I would come to enjoy it, but the first set is the hardest to take.

Ron rotated through the assortment of implements several times, keeping me on my toes and unable to settle into any single sensation for too long. Then he stopped and put down the weapon he held.

"Your bum is white," he observed.

"Really? How could that be?" I was still white after all that? There must be something wrong with the lighting in the room. "Use the paddle. that'll make me pink."

"Your wish is my command." Ron applied the leather paddle to try to correct the situation. It didn't work. My bottom stubbornly remained pale despite his best efforts.

"I give up." Ron put his arsenal away and I got up to inspect the damage (or lack thereof) in the mirror. He was right; my bottom was sore, but anemic. Why it failed to take on the usual colour remains a mystery. Perhaps I need to keep some cosmetics on hand to enhance the effects of a good paddling.

24 / 7

One weekend not so long ago we decided to try spanking 24/7. It's not what you're thinking; it wasn't all spanking, all the time. (A girl's gotta eat and sleep too!)

What we did was this. Ron selected seven implements, then spanked me twenty-four times with each one. He lined up his favourites on the bed: the dogging bat, black leather strap, round leather paddle, riding crop, wooden spoon, shoehorn and wooden paddle. Then he invited me to bend over the end of the bed after removing the clothing covering the lower half of my body.

Ron picked up the riding crop and asked, "Who's going to count? You or me?"

"I will," I volunteered. Do you want me to count out loud?"

"No, just count" and we were off. The crop provided a nice sting, just right for a warmup. Twenty-four came, and Ron didn't stop, so I thought I'd let him carry on while I enjoyed the sensation. He noticed eventually.

"Where are we?"

"Thirty-five."

"Never mind. I'll count. Somebody's got to do it right." Ron tossed the riding crop into the corner behind me. It hit the wall with a crash.

The next implement was the black leather strap. That packed a good wallop, and I was in a hurry for it to be over as soon as I felt the first four blows.

"Twenty-three, twenty-four," I gasped.

"No, no, I'm counting," Ron argued, then carried on for twenty more hard strokes. Oh well, it was worth a try.

And so it went, through the remaining implements in the stack. Some, like the shoehorn, were applied quickly and lightly. For others, the rhythm was slow, the impacts solid. And always, the clatter of the implement landing on its mates in an ever-increasing pile.

The round leather paddle did its job admirably as the seventh and final  implement to roughly caress my bottom. Then I was allowed to stand up, and Ron smiled and gave me a big hug. He hadn't tossed the paddle aside, and used the opportunity to administer a few extra taps on my throbbing bottom. I jumped away, then laughed.

"I enjoyed that."

"Good. How about another round of each?"

"No, that's okay. Maybe next time."

Ron and I both thoroughly enjoyed this special session, and he has promised we would do it again soon. For the next time, I asked him to use a completely different selection of implements. Yes, we have that many!

I can't wait. 

Ten to Two

Last week Ron decided to give me a really memorable spanking. His chosen implement - the black leather paddle - was one he seldom uses, although it hangs from the bedpost as a constant reminder. He finds it a little hard to control because it is quite supple; he prefers implements that are more rigid, with just a little flexibility. So why did he decide on Black Beauty? Who knows?

What I do know is, once I was in position, bent over the end of the bed, the first few swats were agony. I squirmed and kicked as I struggled to stay in position while trying to avoid the worst of the impact. If I had to rate that pain on a scale of one to ten, it would have been ten, or pretty close to it.




I exhaled loudly when Ron stopped for a brief intermission and some gentle rubbing. But all too soon, the break was over, and I clenched my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut as the evil black strap connected with my bare bottom. each stroke was still very sharp, although the worst of it had passed. Even after a few more sets, with pauses in between, the severity was only slightly lessened, and I echoed each loud swat with an equally loud vocal response.

Then it all changed. The strokes were still as hard as before, and as loud as before, but I stopped minding them. They hurt, but in a good way. I stayed silent and drank them in.




I would like to say I stopped thinking about them and drifted away, but there was that tiny objective part of my mind that was asking, "Is this subspace?" Probably not, but I could tell that I was relaxed and still, breathing deeply and calmly. Pain? What pain? A two, at most.




Ron stopped. His work was done, and he had done it well. And he swore that he hadn't decreased the intensity whatsoever near the end.

So tell me, readers, have you experienced this sort of reversal of the amount of pain a spanking causes you? (No, I'm not going to ask you if this is "normal" :-) Do you go from a lot of pain to only a little? Or does a spanking hurt more and more as it progresses?

I'm curious.

We Heart Leather

Ron and I have probably stayed together for as long as we have because we have so much in common. We both enjoy pasta, mussels, folk music, gardening and reading. We both dislike rap music, cats that yowl at three a.m. and neighbours that howl at any hour.

We also like leather. We are smart enough not to have leather furniture. There are too many sharp nails and claws in our house. But leather seems to be our mutual choice when it comes to spanking. We have a plentiful collection of implements made of wood, leather and other substances, so we have lots to choose from. But nine times out of ten, Ron will reach for something leather. He likes the special sound that cured skin makes against fresh skin, and I enjoy the feel. Leather hurts just as much as wood, but there's a certain give to it; a flexibility that makes it mold to my bottom before it bounces off.

Just last week, I was treated to a double spanking with two paddles: one made of leather and the other of wood. After some serious attention with the leather implement, Ron thoughtfully rubbed my bottom for a minute or two, then he put the paddle down and picked up the second one from where it lay beside me. He applied it energetically but briefly, then stopped and said, "It doesn't make much of a sound."

"No, it doesn't," I mumbled, my voice muffled by the bedclothes, not making much sound either just then.

He put down the wooden paddle and resumed the session with his first choice. I had no complaints. The wood had felt unfriendly and stiff, bouncing off my taut bottom. (Not taut in the sense of toned or muscular; it was taut because it was tightly stretched as I lay bent over the end of the bed.) The leather seemed friendlier somehow. I moaned, partly in welcome, partly in pain.

Ron has also become very adept at wielding a belt. He shared the secret of his technique with me after an intense session last Sunday. (Should Tops do that?) Anyway, what he said was, at first he found the belt hard to control, because of its lack of stiffness. It wasn't going where he wanted it to. So, in addition to holding it at the buckle end with one hand, he uses his other hand to steady the folded "business" end, in order to control his aim. On the downward swing, he lets go of the tip at the last moment, and the belt lands right on target every time. (Oh, goody!)



We




leather

Try a Dogging Bat

What is a dogging bat used for? It gets its name from a Western rodeo event involving horses and steers and lots of dust, and I suppose it's used to urge the horse to gallop faster, or maybe for whacking the steer. It's great for spanking, or course. But it has other uses too.

The other day I came home from work and went up to our bedroom to change out of my office clothes into something more comfortable. Fluffy and Fang came in to watch. While Fluffy checked my pockets for the possibility of a forgotten treat, Fang examined the selection of toys on the floor. (No, not spanking toys. Dog toys.) Dissatisfied with the choices, he started trying to fish one out from under the bed. He lay flat on his tummy and wiggled under as far as he could, but couldn't reach it. He got up, sat down, and looked pleadingly at me.

"Can't you play with Teddy? Here," and I tossed a sheepskin bear at him. Fang ignored it and started to dig at the carpet.

I was halfway through my clothing change and was wearing only a bra and panties, but I'm a well-trained doggy servant. I knelt down and peered under the bed. There was only one toy, and it was exactly under the centre of our king-size bed. There was no way I could reach it.

I stood up and looked around for something to use to pull the toy out. My lack of clothing ruled out going downstairs in search of a broom. As I scanned the room, the implements hanging on the bedpost caught my attention. The black leather strap was too floppy, the red leather slapper was too short, but the dogging bat was just right!

I separated it from its companions, knelt beside the bed again, and easily pushed the toy toward Fang, who snatched it up and began chewing contentedly on it.

After blowing the dust bunnies off the bat I returned it to its home and thought what a versatile implement it was. No wonder it's our favourite.

The Proof of the Paddling

When I posted this picture, I was in no condition to elaborate. Now that the glow has passed I thought you might like to know the details about that particular spanking.

The weather wasn't quite as hot as it had been, but even with air conditioning the bedroom was still too warm. We discussed how close we wanted to be to one another, and Ron decided he wanted me bent over the foot of the bed. While I stacked the pillows he opened the implement drawer.

"What would you like?" then he held up the maple paddle. I shivered and nodded. It was one of the ouchier weapons in the arsenal.

"Something else?" Ron looked at me. "Something in leather?" He reached toward the group of leather implements hanging from the bedpost.

"The black one." The long black strap also imparted considerable sting. Black Beauty joined the maple paddle on the bed.

Ron wasn't in a hurry to start spanking. He kissed me gently, then placed his hands on my shoulders and pushed me down onto my knees for a little of what Spanky calls toast buttering. I eagerly complied until Ron pushed me away and helped me to my feet. He picked up the wooden paddle, held it up for me to see, and waved it in the direction of the pillows, gesturing for me to assume the position.

I did so, and felt wood lightly brush my right cheek, then whack! The paddle connected with my bare skin, and a second swat quickly seared my left cheek. The swats continued, alternating left and right, and I squeaked and gasped after each one.

I got a brief moment of relief when Ron paused to stroke my stinging bottom, then returned to paddling. I was getting pretty uncomfortable and was glad of another brief hiatus, until I heard him change implements. It was time for the strap. I was already quite sore, and when the leather connected with my flesh I knew Ron was in one of his no-nonsense moods. During the pauses in between sets, he gently stroked and rubbed my posterior, but made no move to tease my intimate area. He was focused on the job at hand, and was very thorough, making up for the length of time since my last spanking.

At last Ron decided I had had enough.

"Now finish what you started," he ordered, and before I had a chance to rub my sore bottom, I found myself on my knees again, for another round of buttering the toast. After a few minutes of that I was lifted to my feet as my husband had another idea.

"Over the bed. Without the pillows," and with one hand Ron bent me forward while with the other he moved the pillows out of the way. Then he entered me from behind, and we both quickly reached a happy ending, then collapsed on the bed.

After we had recovered somewhat, I kissed Ron and gave him my assessment.

"That was a nine and a half."

"Oh? Why not a ten?"

"Ten was the dressage whip."

"Oh, okay... where did I put that anyway?"

I recalled what had happened the last time he asked me that question, and had to think quickly. Should I tell him, or pretend I didn't know?

"It's behind the door in your study."

Paddling for Canada

Found in the sports section of a national newspaper:

IOC shakes up paddling program


More women and fewer men will paddle at the 2012 Olympics, the IOC announced yesterday.

The shakeup drew both cheers and groans from the athletes, trainers and organizers.

"That's great," K.F. said. "The more events for women, the better."

Not everyone was as thrilled. Revisions were announced on the IOC website. In 2012, all men's 500-stroke events will be switched to 200 strokes; a women's 200-stroke will be added. Women will compete in five events and men in 11.

M.O., one of Canada's premier paddlers, predicted the changes will dramatically alter the sport. Some men now paddle in both the 500-stroke and 1,000-stroke events. That will end, he said, because the training required for 200 stroke is different from the training needed to prepare for a 1,000-stroke event.

"You are going to see a lot of specialists in one or the other," O. said after winning his heat in the 500-stroke preliminary. "Maybe it will mean better sessions. I'm not sure. I will have to decide whether to concentrate on one or the other. I don't want to be mediocre in both."

This was part of an actual news item about the canoeing and kayaking events. Oh, I might have replaced the word 'metre' with 'stroke' in a few places. A sort of reverse censorship.

Red Reward

For my birthday spanking I had made up my mind that I was going to ask for something a little bit special. We still have implements that didn't get used during New Implement Month and I had plans. I even asked Ron if I could choose what he used and what position I would assume when he used it.

"Sure you can."

But that weekend Ron was under the weather and no spanking happened. He promised to reschedule it for the following day.

"Come home early and we'll make the four o'clock deadline," he joked. But the next day there was no mention of it, and I could tell he still wasn't feeling on top of his form.

The day after that, I debated whether I should just wait and see, or be proactive. I decided to act, and sent Ron an email that said:

Am I going to get a spanking tonight?
 
His reply was ambiguous:

I'm not sure. If not tonight, tomorrow for certain.

So that had to satisfy me. When I got home, Ron explained that although he was feeling much better, he'd take care of my bottom the next day. To prove it, he rubbed it, squeezed it, patted it and even swatted it from time to time throughout the evening. I enjoyed it immensely and my anticipation soared.

The next morning I wasn't so excited. Apprehension had taken over. I don't know why, but that usually happens when a spanking is close to happening. It was hard to concentrate at work that day; I kept imagining what we would be doing in just a few short hours. I was excited, aroused and fearful in turn. Did I really want a spanking? I wasn't sure.

Finally the day was over and I drove home. After I had come in and hung up my coat, Ron said, "We'll have a drink and you can read your mail. Then I'll give you your spanking." My tummy lurched pleasantly. While I sifted through the junk mail, we watched a comedy show on TV. When it ended, we exchanged looks, got up and headed for the bedroom.

After the day of mood swings, I was no longer concerned with making it a special spanking, so after we had both undressed I was surprised that Ron remembered my request from a few days before.

"Did you choose the implement you want?"

"Oh, right" I scurried out of the bedroom and across the hall to what Ron calls "the implement room" where I chose the red leather slapper. It was one of the Terrible Trio but now my secret is out. We had never used it.

Ron laughed when he saw it, and said it was kind of small. I handed it to him, stretched out over some pillows on the bed, and waited. It was small, because it was designed to be used OTK, but I had used up all my courage and would postpone asking him to put me across his lap for another time.

SMACK! SMACK! What an enormous sound from such a small paddle! It was louder than the dogging bat, which is designed to make noise too. I waited for the sting, but it didn't come. That red slapper simply didn't hurt much. I did my best but couldn't suppress my laughter; It just made so darned much racket!

Ron turned it into a beautifully erotic spanking by giving my bottom a lot of gentle rubbing and caressing in between sets of spanks, so I was very happy with the way things turned out after all. It was an extra-long and very pleasurable spanking, and I enjoyed the lovemaking that followed even more.

The following day I was in a pleasant haze, and was surprised to find that sitting down actually hurt. That evening I told Ron how much I had enjoyed having a tingling bottom in the middle of the week.

"I'm surprised I'm sore, because that slapper didn't hurt very much."

"I thought so. It was too small."

"So why didn't you spank me harder?"

"Too much effort for too little gain."

"Even so, I felt relaxed all day. When I need a spanking, I get so tense. And I really needed that. Thank you."

We'll try the slapper again, and next time I will be OTK. You're my witnesses.

The View from Here - Who Decides?

Lately, while roaming through the blogosphere, I've enjoyed reading about creative husbands who come up with imaginative ways to spank their wives. Although I always enjoy the spanking I do get, I think it's time that I too am surprised by some innovative position, implement, clothing or dialogue.

Ron doesn't read spanking blogs so he isn't aware of the many possibilities. Furthermore, he isn't a mind-reader. So it's up to me to come up with some ideas, and I can either tell him about them or show him. Somehow, I think that showing him might be much more fun.

Last week, I thought long and hard about what I really did want. Then when our time for play was imminent, I was prepared. I slipped into some lacy lingerie, and piled the bed pillows on top of each other at the foot of the bed. When Ron came in, his eyes widened when he saw what I was--or wasn't--wearing, and glanced at the pillows. Clearly this was something different, and he was all for it.

He quickly disrobed then proceeded to help me out of my outfit, taking an amazingly long time to do so. Eventually it was done, and he motioned me to bend over the pillows.

"Which one do you want," he asked as he started to untangle the terrible trio.
"The black one," I replied, my voice a bit muffled from the bedding. This was really easy after all.

The black leather paddle stings a good deal more than the gentler dogging bat, and Ron seldom uses it because it isn't as stiff and he can't control it as well when I'm lying in my usual position. But since we were both standing (sort of) he had room to swing and it was much better. Actually it hurt like **** as the swats landed on the upper part of my bottom. Ouch! I buried my face in the blanket and squeaked each time the leather connected. After a breather, when my sore posterior got a gentle massage, Ron resumed his attack, and this time the swats were lower down. They were still hard enough to make me say "Ow!" but somehow easier to take.

Luckily, this spanking was a short one. Ron soon decided he needed to give my bottom and other intimate areas a different kind of attention while I was still in the same position, and I enthusiastically agreed with his decision.

Later that evening I asked him how he felt about the black paddle, and he said it was much better that way. I agreed that I had liked it too. Then quite unexpectedly, Ron asked, "Did it really turn you on, doing it that way?"

"Oh, yes! The position, the pillows, the paddle, it was perfect!"

"Good to know."

Fast forward to the following week, when I was summoned to the bedroom for a spanking. Ron stood at the door, grinning. Pillows were piled at the foot of the bed, and the belt lay beside them, ready for use.

It was my turn to look wide-eyed. What a surprise!

"Oh." It was all I could manage to say.

"You're in for a treat. I'm going to use the buckle end."

He wouldn't, of course. I burst out laughing and gave him a hug. And I was very glad that I had taken the trouble to show him exactly what I wanted the week before. He's a quick study, and this occasion was even nicer than the preceding one because he added his own variations to it.

Ron first positioned me on my knees in front of him so that I could show my enthusiasm for his new-found creativity. After a few minutes he pushed my head away. "We'll come back to this later." He helped me to my feet and motioned for me to bend over the foot of the bed.

Ron is an expert the belt. I think he practises when I'm not around. He has perfected his technique so that he no longer leaves marks on my backside. I found myself standing on tiptoe, arching my back and thrusting my bottom up to meet the leather on its decent. Each time he stopped to rub my reddened cheeks, my heels returned to earth.

When Ron decided my bottom had had enough entertainment, I once more knelt in front of him and finished what I had started earlier. Then we snuggled under the covers and I was well rewarded for my efforts. It was an afternoon to remember.

I now feel more comfortable introducing something new that I'm longing to try, and plan to do it again soon, so stay tuned for the next addition to our repertoire.

Knock, Knock

Some weekends are pretty busy. On Saturday we shopped for groceries, did some housework, and I helped Ron connect an new electrical contraption to the TV. Then on Sunday we had to disconnect the contraption because it didn't work as expected, and get the TV and assorted accessories back into working order before the football game started. We were also planning an early dinner that day because I would be going out for the evening.

While I was putting in another load of laundry, Ron suggested we go upstairs for a while. That sounded like just the kind of break I needed, and much more fun than laundry! We shut the dogs in their crates and headed up to the bedroom.

Once there, we undressed, climbed into bed, and began to make the most of our limited time. We kissed passionately, and Ron's hands slowly crept down my back until they came to rest on my bottom. I held my breath in anticipation as he rubbed and squeezed my cheeks. I didn't have to wait long. The first slap always takes my breath away, and the second wasn't far behind. After giving me a few swats, Ron turned me over onto my tummy so he could do a better job of reddening my bottom. Ouch! It must have been the cold weather that had made my cheeks so sensitive.

Ron stopped and reached for an implement to make the job easier for him. I glanced up to see what he had chosen. It was "Black Beauty", the black leather paddle. He hadn't used it more than a time or two, and I had forgotten what a sting it could induce. I squeaked involuntarily each time it connected, and flinched as I felt it burn. It was so good, I wanted all he could give me.

I suddenly came back to earth as the dogs erupted in a frenzy of barks and yelps. That could only mean one thing. Someone was knocking on the front door.

"Who's that?" Ron grumbled, as he put Black Beauty down.

I had a pretty good idea. We were keeping an eye on our neighbour's house for a few days, and she was due back sometime that day.

"It's Patty. She's come for her key."

"What'll we do?"

"Ignore her and she'll go away." I was anxious to get back to the job at hand.
The dogs eventually quieted down, and Ron remembered he had some unfinished business with my backside. A few hard swats later, the dogs' voices again almost drowned out the sound of leather meeting flesh.

"She's still there. She knows we're here." Ron stopped again. "This isn't going to work." He was clearly uncomfortable and I was a bit flustered. We waited until all was quiet once more, then tried a third time. But we were both listening for other sounds in between swats. In view of our time constraints, we decided to call it a day.

As we dressed, I took a quick peek in the mirror. My tingling bottom was a dark shade of red. Ron fretted about what to do next.

"This is so embarrassing. What do we say to her? I suppose we could've been out for a walk," he suggested.

"I'm sure she couldn't hear us, or know what we were doing," I soothed. "A walk without the dogs? I don't think so. But we could have been out. We might have been feeding Martin's cat." As it happened, Martin--our neighbour on the other side--was also away for a few days and we were minding his house as well, so it was quite plausible.

"Okay, that's what we were doing." Ron finished dressing and turned to me. "And I tell you what. Tomorrow morning, before you leave for work..." Was he going to suggest an early morning spanking? Some pre-commute cuddling? I held my breath.

"Take Patty's key over to her house."

Oh.

"Sure, I'll do that."

"And tell her we were feeding Martin's cat."

"If it comes up. You know, this doesn't happen very often. Do you remember the last time we were interrupted?" I gave Ron a quick hug. "And I want a repeat performance with that black strap before too long. It hurts so much. I like that."
Even though the spanking hadn't been long, my bottom was quite sore, so I couldn't complain. I was performing in a concert that evening, and when I wasn't standing, had only a hard wooden bench to sit on. Each time I sat down, I felt the burn, and couldn't help smiling at our earlier predicament. These things happen.

To make a long story short, the next day all keys were returned, all neighbours were present and accounted for, and we had an early night and finished what we had started the day before. Ron and I both agreed that it was much nicer when we weren't being interrupted.

Benched!

The past few weeks have been hectic, and the weather certainly complicated matters. Often, spankings took a back seat to snow shoveling, which used up all our energy. By the time the weather had settled down--albeit briefly--I was very much overdue for some attention. Ron chose my favourite leather paddle and, while explaining and then demonstrating to me exactly why it was his favourite too, he made up for the delay and then some. When he was finally finished, I had a smile on my face and a bottom that stayed red for several hours.

I was still feeling the afterglow when some friends arrived to spend the evening. Once coats and boots had been stored away and everyone was seated in the living room, I looked for a place to sit. Wouldn't you know it, the only vacant place was the piano bench. The hard, unpadded, wooden bench. I perched on the edge and my cheeks winced in protest. After a few minutes of polite conversation I got up to get snacks from the kitchen, and managed to avoid sitting by being a very attentive hostess.

Dinner was no easier. The dining room chairs are also wooden, and unadorned with any sort of cushion. The meal took my mind off my predicament, and I found reasons to be up and about fairly often, clearing plates, refilling glasses, or whatever else I could think of doing.

Once the table had been cleared, I had to return to the bench for the rest of the evening. While on a brief trip outdoors to supervise the dogs on a biological break, I looked at the large snowbanks and thought how good the cold snow would feel on my stinging bottom. I was very tempted, but thought of the very obvious impression my posterior would leave in the snow and resisted the impulse.

So, note to self: no spanking allowed less than 24 hours before we have company look for a piano bench cushion in the January sales.

The Terrible Trio

Just for fun, here's a look inside our bedroom, and the triumvirate of leather paddles, ready for action. they're on Ron's side, of course.
Ouch!

The Planets are Aligned

In a previous post I described the positions we use for spanking. I'll admit it - that post was a veiled complaint that we hadn't tried very many. In his comment, Paul described an over-the-lap position that sounded just perfect. So I decided that would be my next challenge - to let Ron know somehow that I wanted to be spanked in that position.
As I said in my last post, I have three options: forget the idea, talk about it ahead of time, or just go for it.
I have tried to put it out of my mind, but that hasn't worked! Once I get an idea in my head, it doesn't go away, especially when it's something to do with my favourite pastime.
I was reluctant to bring the subject up for discussion because as you read in the post I mentioned above, I had asked Ron for an OTK and he refused. I can see why, though. Our bed has a very deep mattress and is quite high, and he probably wouldn't be too stable if he were sitting on the edge trying to deal with me. I'm afraid I would end up on the floor. I could explain the alternative, which I think would work pretty well, but he might reject it out of hand.
My third option was to just do it. That has worked well in the past. But it was easier said than done. Week after week I kept on coming up with a valid reason each time for not suggesting it: we were trying out a new implement; I had on something lacy and frilly; we needed a session without anything different going on.
I finally gave myself a stern talking-to. It's your kink, I told myself. You're entitled to say what you need. I spent the next few days working out the logistics and mentally creating plans A, B and C. When the time came for our weekly date, I was pretty nervous, but was going to go through with it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I undressed and slipped into bed.
Ron joined me, we kissed and cuddled, and he gave me a few warmup hand spanks. Then he turned away and reached for our new black leather paddle. Now's your chance. You go, girl. Grabbing a pillow, I propped it up against the headboard, and when he turned to me, paddle at the ready, I patted the pillow and said, "Sit up here. We're going to try something different."
He did as he was told. Get over there before he changes his mind. I practically threw myself across his lap. I didn't have any time to wonder if he was going to protest. WHACK. The first swat landed almost immediately. Then another, and another. So far, so good. I'm afraid I wasn't paying much attention to them, or enjoying either the position or the implement. My mind was still agitated and I felt flustered.

He stopped and rubbed my reddening cheeks. That feels good. Is he okay? I turned my head and looked back at Ron.
"Are you comfortable?"
"Uh-huh"
The swats started again, and I began to notice that they were making a definite impact on my bottom. Then Ron shifted beneath me. Now what? Oh, no! I'm too heavy. I'm crushing him. I lifted myself off his legs and away from him, but then I felt an arm around my waist, and I was firmly pulled back into position. Yes, that's more like it! I looked back again. Oh, I see. Ron was clearly enjoying himself.
I pressed my body snugly against his, then settled in to enjoy myself too. Hey, I like this! It's really a very comfortable - ouch! And Ron thought so too, because he didn't seem in any hurry to stop. The spanking continued for a lot longer than usual.
Eventually Ron was done, the paddle was laid aside, and I felt gentle fingers caressing my bottom and vicinity. I slithered off his lap and into a position more appropriate for enjoying what followed. I took great pleasure in enthusiastically showing my husband how much I had appreciated his cooperation.
When we lay curled together, exhausted, I murmured, "I really enjoyed that."
"Me too."
And that's five.
Our enjoyment of each other didn't stop there. We dressed, went downstairs to start dinner, and suddenly found we had a lot to say to one another. I had been preoccupied all week with my planning for today, and Ron had also had things on his mind. We had been peacefully coexisting, but not interacting much. Now we were talking a mile a minute about all sorts of things. We kept it up through dinner and afterward as we cuddled on the couch and watched television. I couldn't tell you what was on; we were too engrossed in our conversation.
Who knew what a difference a little extra closeness would make?