It's the Little Things (Part One)

I'll warn you in advance that this story is a teaser...

When a couple has been together for a long time, it's easy to fall into a rut. It's not a matter of not getting along or not desiring one another or not appreciating each other. It's more a feeling that you've tried everything there is to do.

When the novelty wears off, Randy and I work together to bring it back. Our secret isn't something spectacular like mile high spankings (already did that!) or paddlings with a cricket bat (um, no thank you). It's little things.

Knowing each other as we do, we each know what the other craves. I had a little extra money this past weekend, so I decided it was time to freshen my summer wardrobe. While shopping, I found a pair of slacks that I immediately knew would light Randy's fuse. They were a stylish light tan hue and highlighted my curves quite nicely, but the key features were a zipper in the center of the back and button at the waistband.

I used to wear pants, shorts, and skirts with a back zipper and/or buttons when they were popular back in the seventies and eighties. Randy loves this look. To him, it represents free access and an open invitation to use my bottom as he pleases. I bought the slacks and a couple of coordinating items and brought them home.

We had plans to meet some friends for dinner on Saturday night. I figured this would be an ideal opportunity to introduce my apparel upgrade. I paired a cool turquoise cotton blouse with my new tan slacks. I wore a red thong underneath to cover the very slim possibility that Randy didn't catch the hint.

He called up to the bedroom where I was dressing. As usual, he was ready to go and I wasn't. I vowed to make his wait worthwhile. A few minutes later, I strolled down the steps with a little extra hip shake once I knew he was watching.

“Wow. I like that.” he stammered.

I rubbed my body against his. “We really have to go, you know.”

I knelt before him in the front hall. “I told Bob we'd meet...”

By this time, I had matters well in hand. My man offered no further protest as I paid tribute to his masculinity.

- - - - -
As we drove to the restaurant, Randy asked, “Are those new pants?” I confirmed his suspicion.

“They look really good on you.” I smiled. “We may have to take those off later.” His hand rubbed the outside of my thigh.

Despite our late arrival, our friends weren't anywhere around. I could only hope it was for the same reason. We were seated and ordered drinks. While we were waiting, I excused myself to visit the powder room. I figured that my makeup could use some freshening. As I left the table, I walked about six steps before turning around to see Randy staring at my bottom. I smiled, gave him a brief hip shimmy, and scampered off to the ladies room.

When I returned to the table, our friends had arrived and the conversation had turned boring. I'm glad there are people who know about 401Ks and Roth IRAs and navigate through the monetary haze. But at dinner? Ew. I'd rather talk about a septic system china syndrome.

We ordered attractive entrees from the seafood-oriented menu. Randy selected sauteed fish and I had a shrimp, scallop, and angel hair in olive oil dish. Eventually, the conversation lightened up, but only after a survey of weather, sports, and politics. At least the dinner was good.

After dinner, we bid our friends good night and walked back to the car. Randy couldn't seem to keep his hands off of me. I thought I might get a full blown spanking right there in the parking lot (not that I would have necessarily minded, but there are better places for such things).

When we got home, Randy made it clear that he intended to help himself to all that is his. I love it when he talks like that. Moments later, I found myself up in our bedroom, bending over the bed. Randy apparently thought that the seat of my slacks required one more quality control test. His test involved a spanking with a leather paddle. It was yummy in a delightfully warm stinging way.

Between swats, his hands touched, caressed, squeezed, and kneaded the light fabric covering my bottom. After a while, his fertile imagination progressed to the next step. He tossed the paddle onto the bed and wandered into our bathroom. “Stay there,” he instructed. I stayed.

Soon he returned carrying something in his hand that I couldn't immediately identify. “Now comes the unveiling,” he announced. After opening the top button of my slacks, my lover took the handle of the zipper and slowly unpeeled his treasure. I could detect enthusiasm in his voice as he declared his approval.

What was Randy carrying? A Wooden Bathbrush A Wet Washcloth A Tube of Lubricant A Vibrator Massage Oil Nothing Current Results

Tune in again tomorrow for the exciting conclusion!