Yesterday I got beaten just to warm me up. Like a schoolboy in the history books I read as a child about life in Tudor times. It was so cold that I was over D’s knee for five solid minutes of spanking — which hurt like fuck on cold skin – but my arse was still chilly to the touch.
When I remarked on this, rather than taking pity on me like a gentleman, and employing – say – warm rubs to solve the problem, D flashed me a grin and pulled the wooden paddle out of his toybox, with me still over his lap. Three rapid swats and I was yelling in indignance. “It will! It’ll warm you up!” he insisted.
I guess my squawks of protest must have been more persuasive than I remember, because he put the paddle down and asked me to pass him his belt. Doubled over twice, he used it over the knee for a while, but while I was enjoying the thuddy little impacts, they weren’t getting more reaction than my grin. After a little while I prompted, “Shall I move somewhere you can swing that properly?”
“Why don’t you do that.”
So, with my jumper still on and my trousers pulled down to reveal my bottom, I knelt on the bed and leaned forward to grab hold of the headboard. I tried to keep my hips back and my bottom presented as he licked me with the full length of the belt, giving me a few strokes on one side before moving to the other. It hurt a lot and I thought I was being pretty obedient, overall, but when I was cold again later and told him he should have beaten me more, he said he’d only stopped because I was making so much of fuss.
I did warm up for a little while in the middle there, though, especially when he fucked me right where I was, bent over with my trousers and knickers still bunched around my thighs.
All in all, it wasn’t as cold as the journey to Subversion last Saturday during the worst part of London’s snowfall. It took a frozen two hours each way, to travel a measly couple of kilometres across central London, and the streets looked like this:
Well, the street outside Subversion did anyway; people elsewhere in London were much less stylishly dressed.
Inside, however, it was toasty warm, with free mulled wine to boot. And D and Jacq didn’t finish theirs, so I got to drink those too.
Pretty soon, D was roasting my bottom with hand, ruler and a long, supple leather strap. I was squirming and yelping for a little while before I warmed up, but once I got into it he could have carried on forever.
(Photos by bobette)
Admittedly as soon as we got home, after failing to get a cab and having to wait for a nightbus in the snow, we were all freezing cold. But of course, that just gave us an excuse to huddle under the duvet and warm each other up again…
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