Just Call Me Firefly!

Here's something from my treasury. I wrote this nearly ten years ago.

Saturday is chore day at our house. It’s a chance to catch up, or at least gain ground on the week’s mess. After sleeping in delightfully late, we set about the usual household tasks – cleaning, vacuuming, dusting, laundry, dishes, bank, dry cleaner, grocery, and gas station. Together and apart, Randy and I chugged through an impressive list of duties.

After lunch, I was working in the kitchen cleaning the refrigerator. Randy was, I thought, in the basement changing the laundry. All of a sudden, I heard his voice from behind me urging me to "Stay right there!" Had it been anyone else, I wouldn't have imagined what they meant. But after twenty years with this man, I knew all too well. He liked the way I looked bending over and intended to do something about it.

I still had a bit of residual ache from the previous evening’s fun. On the other hand, a little afternoon lovemaking with my husband was unquestionably a better opportunity than cleaning the kitchen. When Randy returned, he was holding our slapper. The slapper is a small, semi-rigid leather paddle. I know from experience that a spanking with the slapper produces an intense sting and a nice rosy glow. He assumed (correctly), by my lack of protest and compliance with his previous request, that I too was ready to play.

Right there in front of the refrigerator, Randy gave me about twenty whacks over my jeans. I felt them, but they didn't hurt too much. I was tempted to continue examining items in the refrigerator, but I didn't. Without a word, two hands reached around me to unbutton and unzip my jeans. Down they came. Once again, the slapper made a determined assault upon my quickly warming posterior. This time, with only my flimsy underwear for protection, the sting was a lot more powerful. All of a sudden, the contents of the refrigerator weren't very important.

As if part of a script we both knew well, his loving fingers found their way inside the waistband of my underwear. "These panties seem to be standing between you and your spanking. We can't have that," he said as if instructing me on the finer points. With that, my last line of defense slid over my hips and downward to reveal my bare orbs. Randy paused a moment to admire the view. Then he started rubbing my bottom with his hand. It felt really pleasant, especially when his attention wandered to other nearby attractions.

I was drifting off into erotic bliss when I noticed the rubbing had stopped. Randy picked up the slapper. "Are you ready?" His words were presented as more a warning than a question. I told him to go ahead. I'd come this far. We might as well finish. Randy used an upward swing to briskly spank my lower slopes. Now this stung a lot. I could no longer keep quiet. He continued a steady pace for quite a while. When he finished, I involuntarily placed my hands over my burning cheeks. Ow! Wow! Yeow!

Randy led me, pants around my ankles, into the living room. He sat on the love seat and took me across his lap. I figured I was in for another spanking that I really didn't need at this stage. Luckily for me, all he did was rub. My, did he rub! Before long, I was over the arm of the loveseat accepting his loving contribution. His strong hands massaged and caressed my skin as he demonstrated his erotic enthusiasm. The result was a breathtaking medley of sensations. Together, we ascended to a shuddering climax.

This interlude provided a splendid afternoon break for both of us. Now, remarkably, I don't care in the least about what's in the refrigerator. I can deal with that tomorrow.

Keywords: spanking, playful spanking, spanking stories