Well, I got my spanking night before last. It was planned for the weekend, Sunday night to be exact, but, as sometimes happens, things got away from us. Nick and I have both learned by experience that if there's not enough time to devote to the event, it can leave me feeling abandoned rather than loved, so he decided to postpone it until Monday.
Here's the problem: I know I need this. I know it helps me. I know I asked for things to be this way. But when it comes down to the moment, I want to run away. It was a welcome reprieve on Sunday when he announced the slight change in plans. And though I felt a niggling guilt about it, I couldn't help but feeling relieved. Yay! No sore butt tonight! That sort of thing.
And so Monday night came around. I studiously avoided him the later it got. Then finally, upstairs reading, I decided to stop being a baby about it and go face the music. I took my magazine out to the garage (hey - we gotta find privacy somewhere!), and waited on him. Sure enough, a few minutes later he came looking for me, dreaded trout paddle in hand. And that's when my bravery fled. All of a sudden I was full of excuses. I started naming off all the wonderful things I'd done all week. I started demanding to know just how many times he'd changed the cat's litter box. I listed all the dinners I cooked this week as if I'd personally grown and harvested the ingredients. I talked about how hard I'd been trying.
Until he stopped me and said, "Do you want my help with this or not?" Shamefaced, I shut up and told him yes. The thing is, this wasn't so much a punishment even, as it was a firm encouragement to continue to do well. Oh, there were a few small things to deal with, and one rather big one. The small things were things like that basket of clean socks I can't seem to bring myself to sort and the dirty laundry I really could've devoted more attention to. The big thing was the oven. I left it on, not just all night, but all day until Nick came home and found it the next evening. I was angrier at me than he was over that.
But all in all, this was not going to be a long, drawn out, impossible to hold still for punishment. And yet I couldn't help trying to "But, honey..." my way out of it. But...once called on it, I quit my bargaining and got into position. He told me he was going to give me 50, and that he wanted me to stay still for him. And I did. It was hard, but I didn't move at all throughout the whole thing.
And when it was over, he put down the paddle and kissed me. He slipped his hand beneath my shirt and rubbed my back, then slid it down to my toasted bottom. And oh wow! Just like that, I was soaked, ready to show him just how good I could be, or how bad, or how Irish, or whatever the heck was gonna float his boat. We went upstairs, and he ordered me to take off my panties. He laid me on the bed and resumed rubbing my bottom (have I mentioned how HOT that makes me) and began to do magic things to my body, occasionally stopped to stoke the fire on my bottom.
The night rocked hard, and when I finally fell into bed, I was both sated and exhausted, and I slept deeply. I've worn around a rather stupid grin for the last two days.
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12 comments:
Tracy,
Love it. Love it. Love it! That kind of personal attention would fix my head for sure. I'm glad everything worked out just right. Thanks for a wonderful story well told.
As for why we fight the inevitable, even when we fully recognize that it's needed, I don't know. I imagine it's normal to have a certain amount of ambivalence toward allowing one's bottom to be whacked with a wooden paddle. Sometimes on such occasions, I lose sight of how theraputic those sessions can be. Perhaps the immediate prospect of pain obscures the greater good to follow. Eventually, I do submit and the results are, well, a stupid grin that lasts for two days.
May the rest of the week be as joyous!
Thanks, Bonnie. :)
I so do not want it when I need it but Chris seems to be able to sense that and so I trust him to make the decision for both of us. It really does help.
For the rest of it... >sizzle<
Now THAT'S encouragement!
You go, girl!
mmmmmm
Sigh...:). I', so glad I'm not the only one. Thanks for the encouragement, guys.
Doncha thing the "but honey's," are kind of part of the dance?
For me, they help me get past the resistance, because the trigger him to insist and get stern.
Then he uses the words, and gets that look and makes the getsures... I need the spanking but also need to get where I'm ready for it... Sort of like sex you know? There are times when the opportunity isn't always matched by the desire or interest... Wha does it take to fix that? An attentive partner who knows your buttons and cares enough to push them all.
Sound's like you got one too *eg*
Sounds almost perfect. Now, go tell your hubby to spank you even harder for teasing readers about "ordinary houshold objects" that can have that kind of effect on one. ... ;)
patty
Hi Angel brat,
Great post, I go through the same thing here so your not alone as others have said. I also agree that it is, at least for us part of the dance. It at the very least makes him explain to me exactly why I am being spanked at the time. Sometimes I need that reminder.
Nice story,better not resist.After the paddletalk always great sex and pillowtalk.We have wonderful husbands.
Patty, I agree. There are a lot of little triggers that bring the experience to where it needs to go. And it's wonderful to have a man who reads the need behind the sidestepping.
Brat, the reminderis definitely part of it for me too.
Jo, thank you. :)
Mattie, we do indeed. :)
I enjoyed your blog post.
Thank you, Shyanne. :)
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