Pork with clams never tasted better

I got my bottom caned last Saturday evening, then sat down to a meal cooked by my husband, yes the same husband (I only have one) who caned my bottom. I think they tasted better than I can ever remember and the frisson brought about by the caning, not to mention the heat in my seat and the slightly awkward conversation with neither side referring to what had earlier happened but both sides obviously highly conscious of it, made it a totally delicious occasion.

There are only three more Saturdays to go before Christmas and they are all taken up, this was our last Saturday evening twosome for a while and I doubt if the next few will match it. The meal had been planned, the caning had not. It all came about because I'd been out on Friday, I went into Birmingham with a friend and shopped, lunched, saw a ballet (the Nutcracker) in the afternoon and then had a couple of drinks while we waited for the going-home people traffic to subside before getting the train home. Jan had never seen a ballet and loved it, we'll repeat some time in the new year but an evening performance probably with our other halves. Anyway to cut short on my usual waffling, I was later than planned getting a train back and when P texted me to check if I'd be on time I was still in a bar in the Mailbox. So when he kindly picked me up from the station I was an hour and a half late and he wasn't very pleased, he'd eaten without me and told me I was inconsiderate. I told him time had just disappeared, 'you know how it is when girls get together' I said. Apparently he didn't.

Anyway nothing happened until Saturday afternoon after we'd been shopping and he'd got what he wanted from Waitrose which seems to be the only place near us which stocks live clams. He referred back to the previous evening and made a comment about my lateness, I brushed over it and told him we should go to the theatre more often and we should make a foursome after Christmas, Jan would like to and he enjoyed her husband's company on the few occasions they met, he didn't say yes or no, just that 'oh, been making arrangements on my behalf have you, no doubt over drinks in that yuppie bar'. It doesn't mean my husband is angry when he talks like that, just that he's got a little grumble to let out of his system.

So later, when he was in the kitchen doing a bit of prep, I went in and tried to cosy up to him and ask if any particular days would be favoured by him if I arranged something with Jan, she'd already spoken with Ron, her husband, and he preferred a weekend because he had early starts most weekdays. P told me he hadn't even agreed yet and couldn't I see he was busy and to ask him another time and he'd think about it. What an awkward sod. I slid my arm around his waist from behind and squeezed his balls through his jeans and asked him if he was just trying to punish me for last night. 'Ah, so you acknowledge you were out of order then,' he said quick as a flash. 'Well you haven't even had the good manners to apologise, have you?' It was more a statement than a question and I didn't answer, sensing an opportunity. I took my hand off his balls, it wasn't doing any good so I could tell he was still simmering a bit. I told him not to be silly over a bit of forgetfulness, I didn't apologise, I said if it was such a big bloody deal why not just spank me for it and clear the air. He just 'humphed' and carried on working.

I pushed myself up and sat on the work surface, there was flour on it but I didn't care, he doesn't like me doing things like that and he glared without saying a word. He said the oven was on and stuff was in it and he had a timetable to keep to, and I said 'Well why don't you grow up then and just answer me about the theatre, I'm staying here till you do.' I meant it too. My husband said 'Are you indeed, we'll see about that.' and he stormed out of the kitchen.

Two minutes later he was back, he'd been upstairs to the bedroom and brought his cane down, he held it in his left hand and pulled me off the worktop with his right. He marched me into the lounge and up to the dining table where he bent me over and started caning me. I shouted out STOP! in such a way that he did immediately. I'd got flour over my sweat pants and it had left a trail on the carpet and I said if he kept caning me it would fly off and be even worse. I was serious too, he just said 'Well we'll soon stop that from happening no problem at all,' and pulled my sweats down to my knees and resumed caning me over my knickers. He told me I'd been thoughtless and a simple call or message when I'd decided to go for drinks would have been polite, an apology after would have helped too and calling him silly and childish wasn't doing me any favours, he wouldn't be spoken to like that and perhaps a good caning would teach me a lesson. I wasn't counting strokes but it would have been almost impossible to anyway while he was verbally reprimanding me too, I suppose thirty or maybe forty perhaps and they came very fast after my sweats had been pulled down. They hurt and I was squealing 'Sorry!' and 'Please!' soon enough.

When he'd finished he put the cane down on the table and told me to put it away and hoover the flour off the floor and he had work to do and he didn't want to hear any more about the theatre for the rest of the evening. He went back into the kitchen and I hoovered up and laid the table with a sore bottom. Half an hour later my husband was delivering two hot starters to the table and I was sitting down red faced on a thin sofa cushion, as he sat opposite and waited for me to say something. 'That looks lovely,' I said without catching his eye and we started eating. Conversation built gradually and awkwardly. It was really sort of entertaining in its own way and by the time we'd finished and cleared up and were sitting sipping a glass of wine I was feeling positively horny. I didn't say it though, a girl has to know when to keep quiet:)

Have a fun weekend.

Ronnie

xx