I have used up all my cute titles. Seriously. I started to put, It’s Me, It’s Me, It’s Ernest T,” which I think is from Andy Griffith, right? But I wasn’t even amused, so that was a big “never mind.” Oh, well. I could have called it “Angst Dump” right? But that would not have encouraged anyone to read.
I have not had any more huge rushes of sadness since I last posted, but I am tired of feeling like I’m surrounded by people all the time. Introvert hell. MP has started getting up early too so the background TV starts about 6 or 6:30. My home feels full of heavy energy, of chaotic energy, of a sense of turmoil. It’s uncomfortable. Sigh.
I have a lot to be grateful for, not the least of which is that I was able to get my next massive chunk of dental work done yesterday. All seems to have gone well – I was in a drug induced daze for it as we left the office, but no pain and it all feels pretty right.
Of course, that puts me deeper in debt with no way to pay it off in the foreseeable future, short of winning the lottery. But whatever. Gotta have teeth, right?
I find myself looking back longingly at the days I would come here and leave some fantasy. Sigh.
Now… oh, wait. Maybe I have some left…
She sits at his feet – that’s all she really wants to do, sit at his feet with her head on his knee. He’s been patient, reading, content to stroke her head from time to time.
But she feels him shift as he puts the book down on the table beside him. He strokes her hair again, but the energy feels different. It is not the soothing touch, just barely connecting with her while his attention is on his book. No, his touch feels charged with energy now.
She doesn’t move, but waits, alert and attentive.
He strokes her forehead, her cheek. Moving steadily, his hand covering half her face, he slides two fingers into her mouth.
She smiles, just a bit, lips curving up as she welcomes the fingers. He explores her mouth, not allowing her to settle into a rhythm of sucking, but pushing fingers into all the spaces. He probed her cheeks, touched her gums, which made her squirm until he pressed his finger towards the back of her throat. She struggled to relax into this sensation, opening her throat, but she gagged a bit.
He removed his finger and leaned forward so he capture her nipple between the fingers. Lightly at first, teasing.
She was wearing a nightgown that gave him easy access to her body. Her breathing quickened, became ragged as he caressed the nipple.
“To clamp or not to clamp…” he said, smiling, and she giggled, until his fingers tightened on the nipple and she cried out then. He laughed, released the nipple.
“Come on up here, love,” he said. “Over my knee.”
Obediently, she rose, draped herself over his knee, feeling a bit awkward. He pulled up the back of her gown and rubbed her ass. “Looks like you’ve been neglected,” he said, continuing to caresses the skin. “No marks, not even pink. Don’t worry,” he parted her cheeks and stroked the puckered narrow entrance, making her gasp.
“I don’t want you to feel neglected,” he said, and she heard laughter in his tone. He stroked the cheeks again, raised his hand as if he were going to land a blow, but landed gently, caressed her more.
She squirmed. She didn’t know if she wanted him to keep her waiting or get started already.
But once he started, his hand rising and falling rhythmically, alternating cheeks, she moaned. Ohhhh. She needed this. Yes.
He continued until she thought it had gone on quite long enough, she was squirming for real now, her ass felt hot and she was sure it was red. When he did pause, he commented, “This is pretty hard on my hand, but so good for you.”
And when he started again, it was not with his hand, she didn’t know what it was, but it hurt in a whole new way. He continued, covering her ass, making sure not to miss the tender sit spot or the back of her legs.
As she began to struggle, he shifted so he could use one leg to pin her in place.
When she tried to put a hand behind her to cover her ass – knowing as she did that it was a mistake – he grabbed the hand, pinning it behind her. Firmly, not painfully, but securely.
She was able to relax into it then, even though the spanking hurt as much as ever. The quality of pain began to shift.
“Good girl,” he said, sensing the difference. “That’s it, baby, offer yourself. I want to feel you giving yourself, letting me have you, I want you to take this for me.” His words stirred her, opened her heart and allowed her to accept the pain.
And still he continued, not so hard now maybe, but steadily, so steadily… and she imagined how she would take him in her mouth when he was done… how she would give herself to him that way, with that act of love and service…
When he was finished, he let her rest over his knee for a minute before he helped her up. Let her settle on her knees in front of him. He caressed her face, stroked her hair, smiled at her. “What do you say?” he prompted.
She smiled, “Thank you, Sir.” And heard her favorite words again:
Oh, I guess I could have called this The Spatula, couldn’t I? That’s what he used in this fantasy, but she didn’t know that.