Letter to my Husband

As I've been busy catching up on long overdue housework and P having to use my laptop (his is in for repair) I haven't had time to prepare any posts.

So here's a blast from the past. PK kindly hosted it for me on Fantasy Friday. If you don't know about FF pop over to PK's she hosts great stories from wonderful talented writers.

Dearest P,

I want you to spank me - send a note telling me how I should be at the office, in the meeting room, and in position by 4.00pm bent over the conference table ready, I must not move. You won’t arrive at that time. Tell me what I must wear, that you've left clothes on the bed, the black luxury silk underwear and stockings you recently bought, the 3 inch high heels that you love me to parade in front of you, the earrings that you say are like my eyes, deep blue, the smart cashmere business suit with the tight fitting skirt that accentuates my bottom. Tell me I'm to bring the strap, the black leather one you made for me, and the red silk scarf, and place them on the table.

3.30 I'll pull my silk pants over my freshly showered bottom,

I'll shiver with anticipation and excitement, stockings, heels, the suit, the earrings, perfume nothing too strong, nearly ready for you, god I'll feel sexy.

The strap, I'll take it from your drawer and put it in my handbag along with the scarf.

3.45 I'll get in the car, only a short drive to the office.

4.00 I'll place the strap and the scarf on the table as instructed and be in position bent over the conference table ready waiting just waiting. I'll be still.

4.15 You won't have arrived. My body perspiring lightly, my heart beating so loud I will hear it. My black silk panties damp from the moisture between my legs, I’ll want so much to slip my hand down into my panties and feel my desire, stroke it, thinking of you, but still I will not move.

4.20 You won’t have arrived. I’d hear people in the street outside talking, laughing, doors shutting, dogs barking, a shiver runs through my body every time I hear footsteps approach, my palms sweaty from holding the table, my legs tired. I'll think you aren't coming, my heart will be sad, upset, I will feel foolish, angry even.

Then you’ll come, I won't see you but I'll know it's you, your key in the door, your footsteps, I'll feel your presence behind me, you wont speak to me yet.

You'll touch my face, my hair, run your fingers down my back over the swell of my bottom, linger lightly there, I'll be shivering and trembling from your touch, my legs weak, I’ll hold the table tighter, I'll be moaning, Oh how I'll want your hand between my legs to take the ache away. But you won't take the ache away.

I’ll hear you pick something up and I know it’s the strap; you’ll put it in your pocket.

You’ll take my hands and bind them lightly with the scarf, stretched out above my head;

I know not to move them. You'll put your knee between my legs, move them a little further apart until they're just so. I'll let a low moan escape me, I can't help it, I want.

Your hands raise my skirt fully up to my waist, which you hold firmly with your left hand, I know what that means. I feel your right hand caressing the fleshy mounds of my bottom through the flimsy silk of my pants, trailing lightly between the cheeks briefly touching the flesh where cheek meets thigh, and then your hand is raised and there's a whoosh of air as it crashes down hard against my right cheek, followed swiftly by the left, you repeat, build a steady cadence, it stings, makes me gasp. I clench involuntarily as the blows land but quickly relax again to plump out my flesh, make it attractive to you, to do with as you will. You'll notice these things.

When my little mms and ahhs start to become longer lower moans you'll stop. My bottom flesh is alive. All my senses are alert, I'm receptive to the slightest touch, a wisp of air as you move position, your thumbs as they smoothly hook the waistband of my panties, draw them slowly over my hips, my reddened cheeks, to rest at the tops of my stockings. I want to touch myself, I can't my wrists are tied, I wiggle my heated bottom, I'm trying to feel the table against my pussy, I can't, I moan and wiggle harder, I think it must look very lewd my red bottom framed by my stocking tops and suspender, writhing with such obvious intent. You must have noticed, you have to notice, you know me you know what I need.

You’ll say nothing, I hear movement. I’ll feel cool leather brush lightly against my greedy flesh, I’ll let out a whimper and push my bottom towards it, I'm unashamedly pleading, please touch me there right where my wetness glistens for you, please. You can see my arousal, you let the leather slide between my cheeks, touch me so briefly, I feel a trickle of moisture and try to clench the strap between my legs but it's withdrawn and my cheeks are left clenching air. You tell me I'm being lascivious, rude, greedy, impatient, that girls like me need firm discipline to keep their emotions in check. You make me answer in agreement, my voice is distorted with lust and I raise my buttocks as far as I can to please you.

I feel your left hand steady me, I let out another whimper, feel you raise your arm and then the strap comes thrashing down against my bottom with an ear splitting thwack, it connects with both cheeks, the leather is thick and supple, it curls a little but you'll adjust for that. I cry out, it's genuine, it hurts. You know it and bring the leather down again without giving me time to absorb the sting, aiming a little higher and shortening your stroke to cut the curl. You take it quickly to a dozen strokes I'm wriggling like an eel on the end of a line, I can't dissipate the pain, I can't imagine what my bottom looks like all I'm saying is please.... pleading.Don't stop.

Don't let me off the hook. I've been a naughty girl I need to be punished thoroughly until all those wanton feelings are subdued. Pause just a second, firm up your hold on me, tell me it's too late for pleading, raise the strap again bring it down harder than before, my bottom's hotter now it can take more, don't feel for me, a dozen more, two dozen if necessary until my wiggling has stopped and you can hear my sobbing.Stop. Untie my wrists, help me up I'll be bit unsteady, and take me in your arms and tell me how much you love me. Don't fuss me too much don't regret what you've done.

Tell me to go straighten up in the washroom now and then go home. You'll be a couple of hours yet, you'll see me later. I’ll go.

I’ll probably have a spring in my step as I walk to the car, and no doubt I’ll smile to anyone I pass in the street, they'll probably think I’m mad, I'll prepare something nice for dinner, your favorite and open a bottle of wine.

Ronnie

xx

Oh dear severe demerit

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

Tawses, Strapes and Canes.....

The department store was one of the traditional type

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

Isolation

I'd love to spend time in a cabin or any place totally remote with no one around for miles, you know like in some of those creepy horror movies. I mean I'd like all mod cons, electric, air con, running water etc but no humans (and definitely no sub humans or aliens) anywhere near or at least not within earshot.

Why?

Because so many times I've been over my husband's lap or prostrate on the bed with a cane or strap lashing across my bottom wanting to SHOUT.....really shout, or GASP aloud when I've felt him hard again my punished cheeks....

or SCREAM in ecstasy when he's entered me from behind

but I can't as it's just not possible with neighbours nearby and it doesn't do my blood pressure any good holding it in.

That's why:)

I hope all our friends and their families across the pond are safe. My thought have been with you.

Ronnie

xx

For Her Pleasure

''Gosh, Marlene, I never imagined having a man's face between my legs could feel so good. Make him put it back there and whip him some more.....please!!!!!'' :)

No I'm not batting for the other side just love the picture.

If the picture is yours let me know and I'll link you.

Have a wonderful weekend.

Ronnie

xx