Sir Says

It's late, I'm tired, and I'm over his lap getting a spanking that I asked for.

I'm positioned over his lap so that my head is right next to his nightstand--where I suspect my favorite implement is. So, without prompting and without moving my body an inch, I reach up and open the drawer to peek inside.

"What are you doing, young lady? Did I tell you to move or open that drawer?" he asks.

"I was just looking!" I reply.

Hard smacks ensue. Then he announces that we are going to play a little game called "Sir Says." I take an educated guess that the premise of the game is going to be like "Simon Says," and I'm feeling pretty good, because I've always been good at Simon Says!

"Sir says get on all fours," he says. 

Up I go onto all fours, and he spanks me like that for a while.

"Sir says lay back down," he says. 

I lay back down. This is easy!

"Open the drawer and get me an implement," he says.

I don't move. Ha, he can't get me that easily!

Silence.

"Open the drawer," he says.

Still nothing.

"Are you disobeying a direct order, young lady?" he asks.

"Uuuuhhh...yes sir? Isn't that the game?" I ask.

"You're assuming the rules are the same," he says, as he lets loose a flurry of hard and fast smacks to my poor bottom cheeks. I yell out and squirm around, making him laugh. It seems he is really enjoying this.

"Open the drawer and get me an implement," he says, again.

Now that I know his clever "rules," I open the drawer and pull out an implement.

"Did I say 'Sir Says'?" he asks. "No! You broke the rules." 

My bottom is assaulted by another wave of hard, fast smacks, this time with the little wooden spatula I've pulled out. I squirm around even more.

"This game isn't faaaaaaaaair!!!!" I whine. "I can't win!!!"

"Did I say it was fair? I'm the winner of this game, young lady," he says, as he continues to redden my cheeks with the spatula.

What a clever guy my husband is. I resign myself to my losing status, but the game doesn't last very long, as we are both laughing considerably. He puts lotion on my bottom later, and I can't help thinking that I was the winner of the game, despite the rules being obviously tipped in his favor.

Begging for It

Hi everyone!

I realized I hadn't written in almost a month :( That's just far too long to not write about spanking fun, so here's another recent story for you all, in time for Valentine's Day:

.  .  .

Just like every other couple, we go through our "drought" periods where there is no spanking and no sex for a few weeks. When those unfortunate periods happen, I usually get so built up with frustration, that, one night, I will snap, basically throw myself at my husband, and ask him to pleeeeeeease do something with me.

Well, that happened several days ago. Throughout the day, I physically hinted at my readiness many times, and, when evening came, as we were cuddling on the couch, I asked him to please spank me.

He ordered me to the bedroom, where I eagerly ran. He bared my bottom, and I went over his lap for some rubbing and light slapping. The slaps became harder, but, much too soon, he acted like it was over. I tried back talking, teasing, and making smart ass comments, but he knew what I was up to.

He opened his nightstand drawer, and pulled out my two favorite implements that I thought were long gone (I haven't been able to find them recently!).

"That's where those have been???? I thought we'd lost them!" I said.

"Yes, young lady. Sometimes I am more aware of the whereabouts of these than you are. Do you want me to use them on you?" he asked.

"Yes, please," I said.

"Beg for it then," he said.

"What???" I inquired.

"You heard me. Get down on the floor and beg for it," he said.

I got off the bed, stood up, and asked him to please spank me with my favorite implements. He handed me the light wooden hairbrush.

"Down on your knees," he said.

I got down on my knees, came over to his side of the bed, and begged, over and over, for him to please spank me with it. I gave him my best puppy dog eyes and rubbed him in places that I thought might entice him to give me what I wanted.

After a minute or two of this, he caved. I went over his lap, and, boy, did he deliver what I wanted and then some. He alternated between the stingy, plastic spatula and the thuddy, wooden hairbrush, and I was soon squirming all over his lap with a burning bottom.

Keep in mind, it had been several weeks, and, though my bottom was very sore, I was positively panting with desire. He soon dropped the implements, took me from behind, and together we relieved weeks of sexual tension :)

Afterward, I asked him to rub lotion on my bottom, because I knew my bottom was out of practice. He obliged, but it was still very tender the next day, which I loved. It served as a memory of how he literally made me beg for it. And thinking of that reminded me that, although he is usually happy to oblige me when I ask, he is still the one in control of my fulfillment.

Interrogation: Part II

This is the second part of a two-part post. If you want to read the first part, click here.

"Take off your shirt and your underwear," he said, firmly (my pants were already off at this point). I readily complied. "Go pick out two implements."

I opened our closet door and dug through the bag of implements. I couldn't see anything because we didn't have a light on in the room, so I chose to pull a "Mary Poppins," stick my hand in, and pull out whatever came up. Later, I would very much regret this decision.

I handed over the two implements.

"Now go stand in the corner, young lady; hands at your side," he said.

"What?! I wanted more spanking, not corner time! It's really dark over there," I whined.

"Go stand in the corner NOW," he replied.

Yikes, OK. I scrambled over to the corner. It was incredibly dark, and the door to the dank bathroom that we never use was open next to me, and it was creeping me out. I reached over and pulled the door shut, so I'd have more of an enclosed "corner" in which to stand.

"Did I say to close the bathroom door?" my husband walked over to me.

"No sir," I replied. He slapped my bare bottom several times and opened the bathroom door again. He left me there, and, when he was sure I was staying put, left the room. I was curious.  I wondered what he could possibly be doing in the middle of our time together...

The answer arrived in the form of a bright white light. He was wearing a headlamp for hiking that sits on a band around his head. The lamp has three settings: red, low beam, and high beam. The high beam lit up the room, focused directly on me in my corner. I'm sure he could see me rather well. I, on the other hand, could not see anything except for blinding white light. I squinted my eyes shut.

He told me to step forward and face him.

"What did you learn this evening?" he asked. It was hard to think while I was being temporarily blinded. I um'd and hmm'd a few times and came up with this:

"I need to be constructive about channeling my feelings, and, when I want your help, I need to ask you for help instead of asking if you want to do something," I said. (Pretty good, right!?)

"What else did you learn?" he asked.

"Ummmm...," I said.

"Get back in the corner," he said. I settled back into my corner, his piercing white light still fixed on me. I lasted 5 seconds at the wall before I burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of it. He looked like a coal miner, and this was like an interrogation session! To my knowledge, we hadn't discussed anything beyond what I had just told him. I knew he would not respond well to my laughter, but I truly could not keep it in.

He came over with implement number one: a light, plastic spatula that is quite sting-y. He slapped my bottom cheeks with the spatula for a few minutes, causing me to yelp and jump all over the place. I was not laughing by the end of it.

"Turn around and face me," he said, after several more minutes. "Now, tell me what you've learned."

"I've learned to ask you the right way when I need your help with something, I've learned to take your instructions seriously, and I've learned to respect you," I said. (Man, I nailed it! I thought).

"Yes...and? What else?" he said.

What?! He couldn't be serious. I was at a total loss. I racked my mind for anything else we had talked about or even didn't talk about, and came up with nothing. I stared into the bright white light questioningly.

"Back in the corner," he said.

Now, what happened next, I'm convinced was completely involuntary, as I couldn't look anywhere but down at the floor or up at the sky for being blinded if I looked straight ahead. Apparently I rolled my eyes and gave a little laugh before turning back around to face the corner...

OK, I probably rolled my eyes, and it probably was semi-voluntary, as I did not know what in God's name he wanted me to say.

Oh boy, this really did not go over well. I hadn't realized I'd done it, so when he charged over to me with implement number 2--a thick, thuddy wooden spoon that does not in any way contour to my bottom--I thought it was because I had failed to say something I should have learned that evening. He smacked my bottom over and over with that damn wooden spoon. I was cringing and yelping even more so than before.

"Do you want to know why I'm doing this?" he asked. I replied that I did. "Because you rolled your eyes at me, young lady."

Oh.

He sent me over to the bed where he laid me over the edge in preparation of roasting my bottom.

"Don't you EVER roll your eyes at me during a punishment, do you understand me? The next time you do that, you'll be in the corner all night--I'm not joking. That is a blatant sign of disrespect and contempt, and I will not have it from you when you're submitting to me," he smacked my bottom hard with that awful, thuddy spoon, and it hurt like hell. It was beyond the pain of any of our other implements. It went deep, and I was shaking, kicking my feet, gasping for breath, and grabbing the comforter for dear life. I thought for sure that I would pass out if he kept this up. Not to mention, I was sorely regretting my choice of implement.

He can read me too well, though, and he knows how far to push and when to let up. He switched to the sting-y spatula for a while that felt like near relief after the harsh wood. He ordered me to take a deep breath and to go get my body lotion from the bathroom. I complied, thinking we were done and he was going to soothe my bottom with some lotion.

Nope. He wanted to "prepare" my bottom for round 2 of the wooden spoon :(

He didn't want to chap my skin with the dry wood, so he massaged some lotion in and began anew with the assault on my now soft and supple bottom. He pushed me to my limits again and didn't stop until my bottom was on fire and I was one sorry young lady who would never roll her eyes during a punishment again.

When it was over, he set his headlamp on the dresser where it spotlit the bed. He gently laid me down on my stomach, and, for several minutes, I watched the wall behind the bed, mesmerized, as the magnified silhouette of his fingers stroked the curvaceous silhouette of my bottom. I could see my shadow bottom jiggle as his shadow hand lightly tapped it a few times.

Then we made love where I, once again, felt as if I were not myself, but a part of him--like we were one entity.

When we were cuddling together afterward, I asked him what on earth he expected me to say when he was grilling me on what I'd learned.

"Oh, nothing in particular," he said. "I was just playing mind games with you--classic interrogation technique, you know? You ask the same question over and over--make them think they're leaving something out." He laughed.

I have a mean husband.