Posted at 10:32 on 11 Jun 2008 by Pandora / Blake
It's funny how reality and fantasy intersect. The three of us haven't really had the time or energy for much play lately, and for a while my appetite for spanking faded to match. Over the last few days, though, it's started returning, and when Tom and I planned to spend last night together, I was really looking forward to having a leisurely evening to indulge our mutual kink.
If only life were that simple. I was cheerful when he arrived, and very glad to see him. We hugged and kissed and talked, and he was exhausted from work, so I ran him a bath and cooked dinner and washed his hair. I was in the mood to play, but he'd warned me he wanted some time to curl up and recover before having to do anything energetic, so I tried to give him the time he needed.
We took our dinner upstairs and sat down in front of some DVDs. By the time my beloved had settled himself enough that he was in the mood, I was wiped out. I fell asleep on him and our rare evening together was wasted.
Of course, guilt set in as soon as I woke up. Never the most useful of emotions. I wanted to reconnect with him before he had to go to work, but I tend to be fuzzy and cranky in the mornings, which is not an ideal starting point for a quickie spanking. I encouraged him to pull me over his knee, but once I was there, I realised in a rush of fear that I hadn't been spanked for ages¹ and that he was picking up his wooden hairbrush and oh god, please no, please not too hard.
Have I told you about this hairbrush before? He's had it for a while:
It packs a hell of a punch. It's heavier than our crisp wooden paddle, with tonnes more bite than my lovely smooth-backed Mason & Pearson. I've had some terrifying punishment spankings with this brush, with me screeching and howling from start to finish. And I've had some delicious, exquisite play spankings with it, where my fear of it (combined with Mr C's skill) contributed to my arousal and by the end I was lifting my bottom to meet each firm, loving stroke.
This morning, I responded indignantly. "There's a hairbrush under my bed!" I protested, referring to the much less dreadful Mason & Pearson in my toybox.
"I know," he replied, implacably.
Don't let the silly slogan on the back of the brush fool you. It's not just for hair with attitude - it's the best tool for taming recalcitrant submissives I've ever come across. In fact, the manufacturers must have had an inkling of this when they designed it: the front proudly boasts its powers of "maxi taming".
He did warm me up this morning, aware of the vague rebellion in my sleepy head. He started light-as-light, but I was so tired and wimpy that I squealed indignantly at every soft smack. It wasn't a long spanking. After a quick warm-up using his hand, he picked up the hairbrush and peppered my bottom with gentle spanks, increasing the intensity as I gasped. Before too long I was wriggling under a series of harder swats. He waited for me to be still, and then he dealt two crisp, solid strokes to my trembling bottom, one on each cheek. I imagine they still counted as "medium" on any objective scale, but I certainly felt them. And I'm sorry to say that rather than being grateful for being given the spanking I needed, I whimpered and sulked and demanded cuddles.
He's at work now, and I'm sitting here, thinking about last night, and this morning's spanking, and pondering the paradox that can make me crave CP for weeks and then resist it once it actually starts to happen. I'm hoping that tiredness is all that's going on here, and it's not anything more complicated. And I'm hoping above hope that when he gets home from work this afternoon, we'll be able to try again. I think I'm in need of just a little more taming.
1. This may be an exaggeration, but it's certainly how I felt.