(Read the previous post first if you want the back-story)
OK. Full tummy and some time off of my sore butt and now I’m ready to continue. 🙂 I’m sitting on two pillows as I write this but it still hurts. *sigh*
So, I got to Dave’s and he was still in the shower. I was all nervous and having trouble looking at him when he got out of the shower and greeted me. I did spill that I had something else to tell him but that DH told me I shouldn’t tell him until after. He guessed right away why that was, which I thought was sort of eerie — do they ALL think alike? He says, "It’s so ridiculous that he figures it’s going to require a separate punishment?" I just blushed. "Well, we’re going to follow his lead. He’s got more experience than both of us, and he knows what the big secret is. If he told you to wait on telling me then you’re going to wait."
Dave has started a new job where he will be travelling a lot – 3 or 4 days a week – and it put me into panic mode, in some ways. I always feel somewhat at odds in this relationship — wanting to be the strong, loving life-partner that is there to be his rock; wanting to be allowed to make mistakes and have the little girl in me taken care of and taken in hand. He’s been on vacation with his family, and then on a business trip, and in the time that he was away I had a major medical emergency (well, semi-major) that was very scary to me.
My asthma, which is normally not a big deal at all, got really bad and stayed bad for over a week. By the time I ended up up in the hospital, my inhaler wasn’t working at all. I realized when I took it out to clean it off on Friday, after my doctor’s office was already closed, that the damn thing was expired and had been for almost a year. I had no refills (again, the asthma isn’t a *problem* normally – so I haven’t brought it up at a doctor’s visit for quite some time) at any of the pharmacies around town and my doctor wasn’t calling me back. An ER visit occurred on Saturday where it turned out I had a nasty case of bronchitis, needed steroids, a breathing treatment, a new inhaler, and antibiotics. Dave saw me through all of this over the phone, because he was out of town, and he never scolded or lectured about the expired inhaler. He could tell I was scared to death as it was.
Today I got the first disciplinary spanking in almost a year.
Part of the reason it's been so long is because I've been struggling with my punishment kink. I've been meaning to write about my struggles in their messy, raw form but I think by the time I get around to writing about it, I will have some more coherent thoughts.
But mostly it's because I've been struggling with illness, something I mentioned in my last post on this blog in January, that got a lot worse at the end of May when I ended up with blood clots in my lungs and was promptly placed on anticoagulants for the rest of my life. After a chat with the hematologist, A. and I have discovered that there are still spankings to be had while on blood thinners. But our experimenting has just been play. No discipline.
I got spanked yesterday. Punished, actually. Last week I’d had a Diet Coke when I wasn’t supposed to, yada yada, and he’d pronounced sentence: a sound hairbrushing. I didn’t totally agree with the severity of the punishment, but we talked about it and ended up more or less agreeing. (Mostly he listened to me patiently and then said, "Yes, but you’re still getting spanked.")
So he pulled me over his knee, lifted up my skirt, and pulled down my panties (there’s something much more embarrassing about having a thong pulled down–no idea why). Gave me a slight warm-up with his hand and moved on to the more serious stuff. He started with a rice paddle, which stung like the dickens (and I HATE sting). He even used it on my thighs, though he claims those spanks were "light." Then he moved to a hairbrush and started spanking hard and fast, with no breaks and no mercy. I was kicking and bucking like crazy, trying to do anything to get out of the path of the brush, but he held on tight and spanked inside my bottom and thighs when I twisted to get away. And THEN he took the mean hairbrush and did the same thing all over again. Needless to say, it was a very thorough hairbrushing.
But when he was done and we were snuggling on the bed, I knew I wasn’t done.
"But I want to stay up a bit longer," I argued.
"You have a long day at work tomorrow," Pablo replied (that was true) smacking me not-very-hard as I
waked walked by.
"See," I teased, giggling a bit, "even you don’t want me to go to bed. That smack was pretty half-hearted."
"The ones I’m going to give you in the bedroom won’t be."
I gulped. My guilt came flooding back. How could I have forgotten about this morning?
I recently moved into an apartment with very thin walls. The other day, I was treated to the details of my upstairs neighbor's 12:15 am booty call. (Oh yes, it was lovely. Twelve minutes of hard banging on a squeaky bed. I was simultaneously jealous and pissed off.) Anyway, This has me REALLY worried about the Sounds of Spanking.
I need some ideas for quiet toys. I've heard that Loopy Johnnies are quiet. Are they not also deathly painful? Is there anything else that's relatively quiet? Please throw me your ideas. My apartment is so convenient to D's work so while heavy-duty type of punishments need to be reserved for his house, where the neighbors are pretty far away, we'll still be doing stuff at my place and he and I both tend to be kind of shy about people hearing us.