Wednesday, October 12, 2005

The Silent Treatment

I found this story in the archive and thought you might like it.

Randy and I are quite fond of live theater. We attend a number of performances in our town every year. We also escape when we can for a long weekend at a theater festival. Last weekend was one such pilgrimage. We visited a Shakespeare festival about four hours from our home. Randy purchased the tickets many months in advance so we could get good seats for the most popular performances. He selected a quaint little bed and breakfast establishment just a block from the festival. This promised to be a fun adventure.

After dropping off our daughter at my mom’s house, we headed out on Friday morning. It was great to be out on the road early in the day and heading toward a weekend of pure leisure. I recall remarking to Randy that these days are the reason we drag ourselves out of bed and go to work every morning. The summer sun was already shining brightly. The blue sky was dotted with just a few stray cotton ball clouds. It was a delightfully scenic drive. I remember fondly the taste of the coffee and how relaxed I felt riding down that pleasant byway beside my sweet husband.

Upon arrival, we checked into our room. Did I mention this establishment bills itself as quaint? In this instance, quaint translated into charming, but cramped. Our room was one of four on the upper floor of an old former single family residence. It had been nicely redone, complete with antique furniture and new plumbing. We walked into the room, looked around, shut the door, and then embraced. We made it! It was vacation time, or at least as close as we could get in three days.

The next sound we heard was a conversation in one of the adjacent rooms. A man and a woman were talking in a normal speaking voice and we could hear every word. I looked at Randy and he peered back at me. He spoke first, but said precisely what I was thinking. “So much for privacy…” Discrete lovemaking would likely be a challenge, let alone any of his percussive pastimes.

No sooner had I contemplated the possibility of a tame vanilla weekend than Randy exploded that thought. He ripped the spread off of our bed and tossed it on the floor nearby. I was intrigued. His fertile mind was obviously hard at work. “Lose those pants and lie on the bedspread.” For lack of a better idea, I complied. The space between the bed and the wall was only about three feet wide. I thought I had a pretty good idea of what he was planning, but no idea how he might pull it off.

As I lay on the floor, I could hear my lover digging in his suitcase. When he returned, he brought two scarves. The first he used to blindfold me. Gently, he guided me to the floor, face down. Rather than lying parallel to the bed, he arranged me so that my legs were extended all the way under the antique bed and my head was close to the wall. He placed a fluffy pillow under my chin. Next, I learned what he had planned for the second scarf. Randy took one of my wrists in each of his hands and brought them together behind my back. There, he bound them with the scarf. At this moment, I realized that I was pinned beneath the bed and totally immobilized!

Randy knelt next to me and placed his hand upon my bottom. “There’s no use struggling,” he said almost in a whisper. “You’ll be here until I decide to set you free.” I nearly panicked, but the smooth tone of his voice and his assured manner allowed me to remain calm. Then my man was gone. I heard him walk away, but I knew neither where nor why. It was probably only five minutes, but it seemed like an eternity there in the dark on the floor.

My next sensation was an incredibly sharp pain across both sides of my rear. Then it struck again, and yet a third time. I couldn’t determine what kind of implement he was using, but he’d managed to find or invent something that made almost no noise. It felt like a whippy sort of cane. Only later did I learn that my innovative partner had removed the draw rod from the window blinds and was using it to beat my backside. My goodness it hurt! Again and again, I jumped each time the thin rod shocked my skin. I buried my face in the pillow so as to not break the silence. Had I been capable of escaping, I might have done so. But wedged as I was, this was simply not a possibility. I was down there for the duration of whatever stinging strokes Randy chose to mete out.

I recall Randy saying something about making this spanking one to remember, but I was too absorbed in what he was doing to my hindquarters to pay much attention to his words. Just when I thought he might slow down, he lit into my glowing tail with renewed vigor.

When he did finally cease fire, he left me in my horizontal predicament and gently caressed my shoulders and arms. It felt so incongruous that he was now my tender lover, even as I lay still bound and beaten. I could almost feel the welts raising at the burning site of his recent attention. Yet, here he was touching and kissing. When his lips and tongue reached my seared left buttock, I neared leapt out of my skin. He gave it a light slap with his hand. Then he repeated the gesture on the opposite side. Randy then alternated rubbing, slapping, and smooching in a rhythm than soon had my hips rocking (as much as they could under the circumstances).

When Randy was convinced he had me in the proper frame of mind, he liberated my body from its confinement by the bed. He freed my arms, but left the blindfold in place. He helped me onto the bed where I instinctively spread my limbs in anticipation of his approach. This time, I didn’t have to wait. My lover was quickly upon me and within me.

I have no idea whether any of the other guests heard my spanking, but I have to imagine they all learned way too much about the celebration that followed. I tend to be a bit expressive at such moments and even my best efforts to stifle it were only moderately successful. What can I say? I’m just addicted to joy.

After we finished our interlude, I found myself in the bathroom twisting my head to assess the damage in the small mirror over the sink. That little rod left some nasty marks. Still, the sight of my husband’s crimson handiwork served to turn me on all over again.

I wore those welts to the evening’s performance. In fact, I squirmed in my seat for the rest of the weekend. The tingle, the burn, the ache, and the itch each worked to keep me focused upon satisfying my man. It seemed his hands were on my body most of time. I served and I serviced, all in the name of love.

We received some quizzical looks when we came down to breakfast on Saturday morning, but no one mentioned what they might have heard.

The rest of the trip was delightful. The Bard was in fine form and his players did justice to his works. We enjoyed a couple of truly superb meals, including a memorable trip to a winery and gourmet restaurant. It was a very special weekend. Randy even figured out how to reattach that rod to the blinds (He said if he couldn’t fix it, he might have to bring it home!).

I simply adore these mini-vacation getaways.

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padme said...

Wow, bonnie..that sounds like a really nice getaway...*big smile*
I enjoyed the story...

Janeen said...

I've been on the receiving end of one of those rods from our mini blinds. They do pack a mighty wallop!

Sounds like another great getaway.

Thanks for another sexy story Bonnie.

Bonnie said...

Shyanne and Janeen,

I'm pleased to hear that you liked this story. It's a favorite memory for me. I vividly recall that powerless feeling as I was tied, pinned, blindfolded, and beaten. My trust in Randy was really put to the test.

At the same time, the semi-public setting created a sense of danger. For at least part of the time, there were people in the next room who were no more than ten feet away from us.

mattie said...

Wonderful story.It always gives a thrill when someone is very close and can hear your activities.But the sound of this can give quite an inspiration too.Remember a holyday in France,25 years ago,very thin walls,slapping,fucking and the lady crying"encore plus"(once again).We were just married and those Frenchies practizing spanking and making love were quite an inspiration.But at breakfast in the morning nothing seemed to have happend.

Bonnie said...


Ooo La La! I'd be inspired!

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