Posted at 17:46 on 23 Jul 2009 by Pandora / Blake
I ended up having to work late last night, so we passed the evening companionably, Tom with his book and me swearing at my computer and occasionally asking his advice. He was pretty tired, and didn't even notice my ripped jeans until I absent-mindedly jammed my phone into the back pocket while my hands were full, exposing the tear. "Ah," he said, "that's why you're wearing that skirt." And that was it.
By the time we went to bed I wasn't sure if he was in the mood for anything more energetic. I tried dropping a couple of hints, but didn't get much feedback. When he came upstairs he found me lying facedown on the bed, hogging his pillow; but apart from giving my bottom a friendly squeeze, I wasn't getting the attention I'd hoped.
I'd recently bought him a new, smooth-faced wooden ruler, to match the one I'd had a couple of years ago which ended up finding a permanent home in D's toybox. It's a beautiful little implement, the unmarked wood polished to a satiny finish, perfect for switching between the constrasting sensations of gliding caress and stinging smack. They're only 99p at a local old-fashioned stationery shop, and I picked up a couple more last time I was in the area. I was determined to play with my new toy.
I decided that this called for stronger tactics. I needed to charge my phone, so I plugged it into the socket on Tom's side of the bed, leaning across him. I let myself settle over his lap, nonchalantly fussing with my phone for a minute. Sure enough, his hand drifted to my bottom. "Hello," he said, deep-voiced, finally beginning to sense my mood.
I bent my head round and grinned at him. "Hello, sir. Would you like me to turn around?" I was lying across his left knee, facing away from him: the wrong way for a right-handed spanking.
"Yes," he said, and now there was definitely a smile in his voice. "You can take your jeans off, as well."
"You don't like my jeans?" I pouted, disappointed to have my fantasies dismissed so easily.
"They're very nice, but at this stage they're largely pointless. Come along."
And that was that. I lay over his knee in my knickers for a stinging warmup spanking, the stiff tips of his fingers making me squeak as if his hand had somehow metamorphosed into a tawse. My responses were plaintive: I'd wanted to play, but it was a while since I'd experienced Tom's distinctively heavy hand, and I'd forgotten how hard he spanks. But he didn't rush me, and when I was glowing and breathless I was arranged neatly in the center of the bed, and instructed to fetch my new toy.
The rulering that followed demonstrated how much the top behind the implement makes a difference. In D's hand, this ruler is a sensual, delicate tease of a toy, making me gasp and wiggle and want more. Even when he plies it harder, the mood is so unmistakably erotic that translates straight to pleasure. In Tom's hand, the strokes took on a stiffness that made me yelp. The lighter strokes stung, but the harder ones bit deep into the crease of my bottom, like being hit by a very small wooden hammer. When he started plying it faster I couldn't keep still at all. My enjoyment was the indirect enjoyment of a spanking that really hurts rather than one that straightforwardly feels yummy. I tried to keep obedient, but each fresh bite made me jump.
When he finished, I found myself looking up at him. "Could you carry on please, sir?" I asked in a small voice. I wanted to reach that place where I was accepting the pain, where I could relax into it. "Maybe a bit slower?"
And what do you know? He obliged me. Not immediately, of course. The first thing he did was lay on a fresh volley of smart, swift little flicks, peppering my bottom with stinging pain. I accepted them as gracefully as I could: I knew why he was making the point.
But then he did slow down, and the moment the pace shifted it was like a light flicked on inside me. Now I was warmed up, those biting strokes with the follow-through set a spark to the deep tissues of my arse. Between strokes he stopped to caress my heated flesh, and as my moans became throatier and the strokes became harder, his caresses became more intimate.
The night ended up being everything I'd hoped for. I'm not usually so direct as to lie uninvited across someone's knee, or explicitly ask for what I want in the middle of a scene, but this time I'm glad I did. I guess sometimes the subtle approach just isn't quite enough.