Just call me Rush
No, I’m not a big fat malevolent blowhard. But, like Mr. Limburger, I do have a big mouth that gets me in hot water sometimes. 🙂
As I’d mentioned, I was overdue. And I think ST was overdue to top as well; he’d had a crappy week dealing with the trouble and expense of his truck. So there was an edgy sense of anticipation between us when he first walked in, and we wasted little time with preliminary chit-chat.
Once we were in the bedroom and I was over his lap, he asked what kind of mischief I’d been up to in the past week. I insisted I hadn’t been up to any. “Yeah,” he said, “because you’ve got restraining orders against you!”
Well, I like that! Just a couple of weeks ago, he was on MY side. “You said that it was OK to defend myself,” I protested.
“It is — but it’s not OK to engage with douchebags!”
I don’t know what possessed me. I opened my mouth and heard this come out: “But I engage with you!”
Oh, Christ. Did I really say that? There was a split second while those words hung in the air, and then he practically tore off my shorts and panties. “Warm-up is over,” he growled, grabbing for his bag.
The next several minutes are a blur of pain and scolding. “You think that was a good idea, talking to me like that?” “You going to say something like that again?” Normally, I keep position fairly well, save for my one errant foot flipping up. But this time, I kicked and squirmed and struggled so hard, he put me in a leg-lock. I think that’s the first time he’s ever done that.
“You need this, don’t you! Spanking cures everything. It even cures amnesia.” Huh? Amnesia? As if he could read my mind, ST added, “It seems you’ve forgotten how to be nice to people. Haven’t you!”
Yeah, I know I was just kidding with him. But I felt ashamed anyway. Of all the people to insult, even teasingly — this wonderful, dependable guy. This suddenly felt very real, both physically and emotionally.
“I’m sorry!” I wept. “You’d better be,” he said, not stopping. “And I’m not done making you sorry, either. Am I?”
I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted to cry and hurt and gasp for breath. I wanted to be pushed. He knew it.
We’d barely started here. You can see I’m fisting the bedclothes already.
I was actually marking a little. What does Dana call these, strawberries?
I don’t know how long the spanking lasted; probably not as long as it seemed. But he packed a whole lot into a short time.
I continued crying after he finished, long after he soothed me with lotion and pressed tissues into my hand. I was embarrassed to raise my head, knowing I looked runny and drippy and smeary-eyed, so I kept my face buried.
He never pushes me to look at him, thank goodness. He just waits patiently, rubbing my back and smoothing my wild hair.
I snuggled closer to him, but didn’t speak for quite a while. When I finally did, the first thing I whispered was, “You know I wouldn’t insult you for real, don’t you?”
I felt him chuckle; he said yes. I know he knew. But I needed to hear it anyway. Then he added, “If you did, you’d never sit again.”
I laughed. That felt delicious, after all the tears.
Later, we played some more, in our usual lighter vein (lighter in mood, that is, not in intensity!). I really need to come up with a better way of storing my own implements. I loop a bunch of them onto a hanger, and then when I try to pull one off, they all come off and fall on the floor. Then, of course, he says we have to use them all!
No wonder I was pouting.
And no, he didn’t beat me with the wire hanger! It just ended up on the bed. Along with nearly my entire Cane-iac collection. (groan) Even though it was just five strokes with each toy, I was well tenderized at that point.
I believe I will sleep peacefully and dreamlessly tonight.
Did I mention that he spanked me a third time when we were downloading the pictures from his camera? Good lord. I hope we don’t skip a week again anytime soon. 🙂
Thank you, sweetheart.