Love Me Tender

I was a grump last night. Two members of our community (and possibly more) were recently forced to disappear. The cause was a storm of unprovoked abuse hurled by people who cannot accept alternative lifestyles or the people who practice them. It makes me mad because it's just not right.

Had I written this post last night, it would have been quite different. However, given a good night's sleep preceded by some percussive persuasion, I now have a much happier disposition. Tonight's post is a love story. The intended audience is those who do understand.

On Friday evening, Randy and I shared dinner on the patio at a popular casual restaurant. The place was crowded, but our meals were excellent. We enjoyed the band as well. After we finished eating, we felt obligated to surrender our table to the next group of hungry diners. But we wanted to stay and hear some more live music.

We found an open space behind the dining area, but facing the band. Randy leaned against a railing and pulled me back toward him. The next thing I knew, his hands were in the front pockets of my jeans and I felt his telltale ridge poking me from behind. After a quick glance right and then left, I answered his grind by rotating my hips in time with the music.

“I love how hot you look in those jeans,” he crooned.

“Just wait until they come down...” I cooed with anticipation.

“I believe I owe you a spanking.” The last word stretched an extra syllable for emphasis, but none was required.

“Tonight would be a good night to collect.” I turned in time to catch the sparkle in his eye.

With that, we decided to trade guitar music for a turn at the bongos. In the car on the way home, there was relatively little conversation. I think he might have been devising his plan for the evening. I know I was wondering what all it might entail.

Once at home, Randy wasted no time. He sat in the middle of our living room couch and guided me face down across his lap. This classic position is very comfortable for me (beyond than the obvious) and I felt as much at ease as one possibly can immediately before a spanking. He left my jeans up to begin. He expressed appreciation for the way they encased my womanly curves and he rubbed all around my bottom, my hips, my back, my legs, and my crevice. His caress made me long for more of his touch.

The first swat impacted against my right cheek. My dreamy trance was broken by the acute discomfort of a real spanking. Left. Right. Left. Right. The alternating pattern was rhythmic in an unnerving way. It hurt, as every spanking should, but the extra protection and my state of arousal shielded me from all but a rising feeling of stinging warmth. I love those sensations. I was vaguely aware that my bottom was lifting to meet his hand, though I don't recall consciously trying to do so.

Randy kissed the back of my neck as he asked me to get up momentarily. When I did, he lowered my jeans, but left my panties in place.

“That's a nice little swatch of red you've got peeking out there, Missy.”

“Yeah, spankings do that to me,” I quipped.

Randy soon began again using his stiffened hand as one would a paddle. My bottom hurt, to be sure, but only in the most terrific way. We soon settled back into a steady pace. He spanked. I flinched, or moaned, or exclaimed any of a dozen short expletives. He spanked again.

Eventually, my panties had to fall as well. When he positioned me kneeling on the seat of the couch, I imagined he was preparing to unleash a handy implement, perhaps his belt or something from the kitchen. However, rather than continuing with the spanking, my man jumped straight into lovemaking. He reached around me from either side and stimulated my nipples with touches as light as the wings of an angel. He again kissed the back of my neck. After all these years together, he knows just what illuminates my lamp.

Next came a flurry of kisses applied progressively down my spine. I shivered with delight when he reached my glowing bottom and planted one wet smooch on each side. After following up with a few well-placed swats, Randy's fingers explored my love nest. My readiness was immediately evident. The intercourse that followed was brief, but passionate. We were both so turned on, our tango could only have finished in this way.

I love my dear husband, and never more intently than when he guides me through this roller coaster of sensations. The pain amplifies the pleasure and the pleasure makes the pain desirable. Neither could be as enjoyable alone.

I challenge anyone who would criticize our lifestyles to try to convince me that the last thirty years haven't been wonderful or that spankings are somehow bad for me. I am a liberated, college-educated adult woman and I am absolutely capable of making own choices and giving my consent. I not only allow, but sometimes encourage, my husband to spank me because we both enjoy it. A married couple who express their love for one another within the privacy of their bedroom (or occasionally the living room!) seems like a mighty wholesome arrangement.