When my husband Ron gets into spanko mode, it takes a while for him to resume normal non-spanking activities. Take last week, for example. He had given my bottom some very generous attention, and I was still feeling the after effects several hours later. Ron surprised me by bestowing a very sound swat on my left cheek as he passed me on his way out the back door to check on the barbecue. That same side received a similar slap as he came back in.
"Ow! That side is getting too much attention. I'm starting to feel lopsided."
"Which one?" Whack. "That one?" Ron asked innocently.
"Ow. Yes, you're giving that side too many whacks," I complained.
"Too bad."
Five minutes later, as I was setting the table, Ron passed me on the way to the fridge for more barbecue sauce. My back was turned and I didn't see the attack coming.
Whack! Whack! Whack! Three solid swats landed on the neglected right side.
"There. Is that better? Do they feel even?" Ron inquired, full of fake concern.
"Ow, yeah, that's fine," I agreed, and backed away.
But Ron wasn't quite through. After a struggle with the sauce bottle top, he turned to the sink and rinsed his hands, then proceeded to rub them vigorously on my cotton-clad rear to dry them off. He couldn't help throwing in a few pats to remove any lingering water drops.
"Mmmm. You make a good towel," he muttered.
"Glad to be of use to you," I replied.
And that still wasn't all. Later, the long barbecue tongs were applied to my seat before they were used on the chicken. (Note to self: spanked with metal! Blog about this.)
It's funny how much additional attention my bottom gets in the hours after a spanking. I'm not complaining, but I sure wish that attention could be spread out a little over the week. Maybe a bit less when I'm tender, and a lot more as time heals the soreness and I'm starting to eagerly anticipate the next round of bottom-warming. The day before one would be the best time for a good preview of the hard swats soon to follow.
But I won't be asking Ron to stop those unexpected but ill-timed flurries of attention to my bottom any time soon. I appreciate his enthusiasm.
What could these two young beauties of yesteryear be reading? Something naughty? Do you suppose they are waiting for a spanking, and have removed their skirts in preparation? What could they possibly have done wrong, to earn a punishment that they are so obbiously looking forward to.
What's your version of the story?
It was bedtime, and as usual I opened the drawer of my bedside table and reached for the hand cream. Beside the small jar I had been using, I noticed an tube of lotion that I had purchased some time ago, then forgotten about. I picked it up and read the label. It wasn't hand "cream" but hand "gelee". I hadn't used this particular product before, but had picked it up on the clearance table at the local supermarket - I can't resist a bargain!
I thought I'd give it a try that evening. I squeezed a liberal amount onto one palm and rubbed my hand together. It was kind of gooey and sticky, and I'd used way too much. What to do with the excess?
Earlier that day Ron had used the black leather strap very energetically on my bottom, and I still felt the effects. Maybe some gelee would put out the fire. Reaching behind me I gently rubbed my bare cheeks, transferring the sticky stuff to my bum. It immediately felt very cool and tingly. The fire was out.
I slipped under the covers and curled up next to Ron. Suddenly the coolness turned to heat, and that darned jelly began to sting and burn. What was in that stuff anyway? I couldn't be bothered getting up to wash it off, so I simply endured the pain and counted it as a bonus to my earlier spanking.
Maybe they should add a warning to all tubes of that jelly. Not for use on a freshly-spanked bottom.
Isn't she beautiful? This is one of a group of crystal sculptures in the Love series, from Daum in France. This one is called "Apres l'Amour" (After Love). The lovely maiden looks like she has just enjoyed an exhausting session over someone's knee, and is slowly coming down back to earth.
Since the price is $9,230 (Cdn) I can only enjoy the picture. I hope you enjoy it too. (And do visit the Daum site. Their work is breathtaking.)
I was on my way upstairs last night, and had just put my foot on the first step when I felt a glancing blow on my right bottomcheek.
"Ow." It hadn't really hurt; in fact, I had barely felt it, but wanted to let Ron know his effort was appreciated.
"Wait a minute. That was not a good thing," Ron said. (He isn't a big fan of Martha Stewart, but he likes her favourite expression.) I paused and waited.
CRACK! A second, much harder swat landed right on target.
"OW!" This time I really meant it.
"There, that's better. That was a good thing. Off you go now," he ordered, and I resumed my ascent with one hand on the railing and the other on my bottom, rubbing it carefully.
It's nice to have such a conscientious husband.
Now that's motivation! Feel the burn!
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