Little behind with my spanking story and yes you know me it's long so skip to the spanking bit if you want.
'What's a strape?' My husband asked me.
'I don't know,' I replied, 'is it for a crossword or something, what's it in connection with?' I was trying to be helpful.
'Just thought you might know, as you write about them, online, on your blog in fact.'
Sometimes P is too cryptic and it takes a while to get to the bottom of whatever he's on about, good job I know him well enough. I asked him what the hell he was talking about and he referred me to a recent post I'd written, he even sent me an email which he copied from my blog. It was Friday 13th July.
FRIDAY, 13 JULY 2012
He was right, I'd mis-spelled straps as strapes and I changed it forthwith, thanking my husband for pointing out my error and letting him know I'd corrected it, I was quietly pleased that he'd been on my blog as he doesn't visit very often.
'You may have corrected the error,' he said, 'but who's going to correct you for your slackness in making the error?'
Ah, I thought, so he's feeling frisky, good. I asked him if he read the story and he said he'd skipped through it and asked me where I found the time to do all that writing and what a shame to blot my copybook with careless silly spelling errors. The word slack was used again, he uses that sometimes when he can't think of any real reason to find fault, he equates slackness with laziness, which is contradictory really because if I was lazy how come I found time to do all that writing. I put this point to my husband but he wasn't interested and told me not to bother trying to make excuses, it would just make matters worse. Oh god, so from a tiny little spelling error we'd got to a point where matters were apparently bad and I needed correcting and if I spoke up and told the truth it would be the worse for me. How unfair is that! I told P that it was just a little typo but I agreed with him that some correction might be appropriate, I had in mind a nice otk hand spanking followed by whatever happened.
'I'm glad you agree with me,' he said, 'so I think if I apply all three of the implements mentioned to your backside you'll have a very vivid memory of your slackness and be more careful in future. Go up to the office and wait for me, please.'
This didn't seem fair at all, in fact it plainly wasn't fair but I did want a spanking, just not a hard one, and the fact that he'd ordered me to the office not the bedroom suggested to me that it was more likely spanking than hanky panky on my husband's mind. On the other hand the format this was taking was quite out of character for P, messing around with more than one implement isn't really his style and rarely happens so I couldn't be certain what to expect. I waited in the office and heard P come upstairs and go into the bedroom. Seconds later he was in the office holding a two tail tawse, a black leather strap and the junior cane which isn't at all 'junior' in my opinion. He dropped them onto the futon.
He told me to lower my jeans and bend over his desk (it's always 'his' desk when I'm getting spanked even though I spend a fair bit of time at it too, not always being spanked I might add). I hesitated and mentioned something about a warm up but my husband came right up to me, undid my jeans, turned me round and pushed me forward across his desk. He'd forgotten to pull the jeans down which is more difficult to do when you're bending, especially if they're tight as mine were; when he realised his error he grabbed them quite forcefully, with his thumbs into the waistband at each side, and wiggled them down to me knees, my knickers travelling with them. I let out an Oohh, I always do when my pants are taken down, I think I'd do it even if some psychopath was about to murder me and I was scared out of my wits...I must be programmed that way.
'You'll be warmed up soon enough,' P told me as he positioned himself to my left.
Then I sensed his movement as he reached to pick up an implement and then I felt the flat *THWAP!* of leather across my buttocks and I squealed because I hadn't expected it so soon, he didn't rest it on me first or anything. It caught my right cheek considerably harder than my left and it came again before I could adjust my position or say anything, it was very sharp. I said *URRGGH!* and quickly pushed the left side of my bum further out.
'I see,' said my understanding husband, 'this cheek's feeling left out,' and he landed two rapid *SPLATS* to even things up, after which he spanked repeatedly but not quite as hard for at least a minute, which seems a lot longer when you're backside's on fire, making sure he struck evenly or as evenly as he could. With me, after I'm medium toasted I hardly notice whether one side or the other is getting it worst, although it often becomes apparent later when sitting. The spanking stopped, well paused, and I asked him what he'd been using.
'The tawse. I thought I'd work through the same order as your post heading, tawse 'strape' cane, so it'll be the 'strape' next, it'll be a first for you I don't think you've ever been 'straped' before have you.'
'Very funny P,' I said, 'the tawse certainly bites.' My husband's left hand soothed my bottom as this exchange took place.
He swapped the tawse for the black leather strap which he made from a 2" wide shiny calf leather belt which he'd doubled over and glued, it's fearsome and doesn't get used often. His hand still soothed my bottom and I was moistening even though I knew what was coming (I don't mean me), I tried to push my cheeks back as far as possible into his hand wanting his fingers to stray deeper but my husband knows my ways and his hand gave me a sharp slap.
Then the same hand was in the small of my back, lifting my shirt and settling there, holding me, no more stroking. I whimpered because I knew the strap must be imminent. It was and it was vicious and I screeched loudly and arched upwards to let my husband know it was extreme but his hand in the small of my back was firm and I suppose from a spankers point of view my unintended pose, with my back arched and my bottom forced out, could have been mistaken for lasciviousness. I presume it was because, after another half dozen hard and noisy strokes from that evil belt with me wriggling under my husband's hold, the thrashing stopped
and I heard his zipper undo and I bent my knees inward to open my cheeks, slut that I can be, but it got me a very sharp slap from his hand which made me clench instinctively and at that point my husband's cock was at me, engorged and, I could tell, wet because it slid easily against my cheeks, I thought he must have been drooling while he was spanking me.
I gasped but relaxed by bottom and pushed back, only to get another meaty slap on my right buttock which made me clench again with his cock between my cheeks, then I stiffened as I felt its head right against my back door and I thought he was going to do that to me and my eyes went wide and I thought 'go on then, go on, don't stop now, do it', but he didn't; instead he lowered it to where I was now soaking wet and plunged into me forcing me hard against the desk which I gripped tightly to help me counter. I could tell from his urgency that he didn't have long and I tried in vain to speed up to match him but it wasn't until I felt him spurting hot and furiously that I tipped over the edge and started bucking wildly draining the last drops from my husband and squirting my own pleasure over his jeans which were still round his thighs.
P pulled us both onto the futon, me still impaled on his shaft which was still showing signs of life. I jumped up because the stick up bit on his zipper stabbed me in the thigh, he just shoved his jeans further down and pulled me back onto him, we both laughed.
'Just the cane to go now then,' I joked (half joked).
'Don't tempt me,' said my husband.
He didn't but we did retire to the bedroom for half an hour which was very pleasant.
Have a good week.
Ronnie
xx
