Three weeks ago, when ST came over, he told me that he’d met someone. Not just any someone; a potential relationship someone. A lovely woman with whom he’d had a wonderful first date. Spanks and sparks flew.
As long as I’ve known ST (nearly two years now), I’ve known he wants a girlfriend. It’s been a long time for him. And, while he loves what he has with me, I certainly can’t blame him for wanting more. He deserves the whole package — love, companionship, sex. I want all these good things and more for him.
She knows about me; he told her right away. She said she doesn’t know how she feels about that (our arrangement). We had three weeks to think about it, because right after their date, she left the country for a family vacation.
This weekend, she will be back. Next Monday, he will be with her, as he should be. The following week, he will be out of the state, attending a family wedding. After that… we don’t know.
I am not saying goodbye. But things are definitely changing. I think, even if she accepts me and my presence in ST’s life, we can assume that the weekly sessions are over. Maybe they’ll be once a month. Or maybe not at all, for a while. It’s a new relationship, after all. That should be his full focus.
As he put it, as of tonight, we are on hold.
I was determined I wouldn’t cry. I didn’t want him to feel bad, nor did I want him to leave with his last sight of me being a stupid blubbering baby. Ah, but screw it. I cried anyway. At least I got it over with before we played. This was our last time together for a while, and I was going to make it as much fun as possible. He wished to do the same.
So. He said this was going to have to be one hell of a spanking, in every room of my apartment, with every toy the two of us had. I was leaning against him and yawned. “OK, guess you’d better get on with it.”
“You need to get up, young lady.” And, in my oh-so-mature way, I replied, “Fuck you. Make me.”
Aaaaaaand we were off. First on the couch. Then over the recliner. And then we moved into the dining room. Each place we went, he chose a different implement.
Next, the kitchen. With me over the sink. I threw a handful of water at him over my shoulder. He didn’t think that was amusing, even though I thought it was rather hilarious.
I had to hold my skirt up so he could swat me all the way into the bathroom. Is nothing sacred? The bathroom, too?
Even in the shower, for God’s sake…
Finally, we ended up in the bedroom, and he retrieved all my implements from the closet and the drawer. Then he got down to serious business.
A couple of implements were sacrificed:
For the final photo, ST piled ALL the implements — his and mine — on top of me. We called this the Implement Avalanche.