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.

The Note

It was about 10:45 on Friday morning when my telephone rang. It had been a productive morning, but my thoughts were beginning to drift toward lunch. I’m not certain how I knew it was Randy calling, but I did. Sure enough, his crisp baritone greeted me as soon as I answered.

We exchanged small talk, household goings on (who’s going to pick up the dishwasher detergent and such), and other news of the day. But I sensed that this was not the true purpose of his call. It’s not like him to call to chat.

“I want you to write me a note.”

“A note?” I inquired. I was intrigued, but not entire clear about his latest plan.

“Yes. This note should explain to me precisely why you deserve to be spanked.” There was a perceptible bounce in his voice as he spoke the last few words. He was clearly pleased with this idea.

“Have it ready when I arrive home tonight.” This instruction was presented as more than a request and yet less than a demand.

“OK, sure. I can do that.” What else could I say?

“Good. I’ll see you at home.”

And that was it. He hung up and he was gone. A note. He wanted a note. This was an assignment, but it was also a challenge. He wanted to see me script my own spanking and put it in writing. I could do this. I knew I could. But what should it be? As beneficial as this assignment was for my libido, it was awful for my productivity. I thought of little else the remainder of the afternoon. Finally, I used an hour of leave and left work early with the intent of focusing on my note.

When I arrived at home, I sat down at the computer and began to write. I had a couple of false starts, but finally settled on this note:

Dear Mr. _____, I write to enlist your aid in improving Bonnie’s behavior at school. She continues to be disruptive in study hall by passing notes, talking, giggling, and playing with her cellular phone. Her teachers are at loss as to how they might get through to her, and quite frankly, so am I. She has served numerous detentions, but these seem to have no effect. I have contemplated suspending her from the cheerleading squad, but Ms. Welch, the cheerleading coach, asked me not to do so because of the difficulty of adding another girl in the middle of the season. I have run out of remedies and must now appeal to you. If you have the means to correct Bonnie’s misbehavior, I ask that you implement appropriate disciplinary sanctions at home. Working together, it is my sincere hope that we can get this young woman back on the right path. Yours truly, William A Wills Principal

I printed the note, added a signature, folded it into thirds, placed it into an envelope, and sealed the envelope. I wrote Randy’s name on the front. Then I placed the envelope in the center of our kitchen table.

I had almost two hours left before Randy returned. I walked upstairs and began collecting the parts of my cheerleading uniform. Randy loves cheerleaders. Several years ago, he bought me a red and white uniform, complete with a sweater, a short red and white pleated skirt, and red panties. We’ve played with this uniform a number of times, and it has always been a spanking good time. For a change, this was my chance to surprise him.

I took a quick shower and shaved my legs. I applied some moisturizing lotion so my skin would be nice and soft. As I slipped on each part of the uniform, I became more excited. I knew this was destined to be a great evening. When I peered into the mirror, I saw a naughty cheerleader who deserved a good spanking. A shiver of anticipatory delight ran through me. Yet something was missing. I decided that my hair style looked far too mature. To correct this deficiency, I pulled my hair up into pigtails. I decided that was just the right appearance.

I still had more than a half hour before my dear spouse was due. I decided to apply fresh makeup, but to overdo it just a little as a teenager might. I considered setting out spanking implements, but I decided that Randy would probably prefer to choose himself.

I ended up killing time in our bedroom. I lay on our bed and started to read a book. I was too distracted. I tried to rearrange items in our big closet, but that too failed to hold my interest.

Finally, I sensed the garage door open heralding the arrival of my prince. When I heard him bound up the steps from the garage, I couldn’t help clenching my hands together. Whatever was going to happen, it would be soon.

I waited a minute, and then two, and then five. It seemed to be taking forever.

“Bon?”

“Yes?”

“I think you had better get down here.” He found the note. His voice was stern and direct. I was about to get precisely what I had requested. I trotted down the steps.

I had hoped that Randy might smile upon seeing my appearance. But if he did, I didn’t catch it.

He was in the living room. He sat in the center of the couch and beckoned me to come closer. I stood right in front of him with my arms at my sides and my athletic shoes together.

“Bon, we have a matter to discuss and I think you might know what it is.”

“Is this about school?”

“Yes. I got a note tonight from your principal and he says you’ve been misbehaving again. I trust you remember how we deal with bad reports in this house. Tell me, Bonnie, what happens to young ladies who act up at school?”

“Spankings.”

“I’m sorry, but I can barely hear you. Please tell me, using your full voice this time, what I am about to do to you.”

“You’re going to spank my bottom.”

“Yes, that is correct. You are going to receive a spanking. Now, I want you lie across my lap, just as you did the last time.”

“Yes, sir.” I took my place in that time-honored corporal punishment pose.

“I can assure you that you will soon be very sorry for your misdeeds.” With that, Randy’s hard palm clapped against my panty-covered posterior. It hurt, but not in a bad way. After so much waiting, I was pleased to finally get my spanking underway. He continued to briskly swat my bottom, sometimes alternating sides and other times concentrating the blows all in one spot.

It was a deliciously stinging spanking and just what I wanted. Randy continued to chide me as the blows rained down on my upturned seat.

“I don’t want to have to repeat this exercise again, Bon. But if I have to, I can and I will spank you as often as it takes.” He punctuated his words with more hard smacks.

“Now, are you going to talk in class or make paper airplanes or whatever the hell it was that you did?”

At this stage, I was laughing. “Yes, I mean, no. I mean, what was the question?”

“So, my message must not be getting through.” With that observation came another flurry of strong swats.

“No, ow! I get it already! I'll be good.”

“Well, I certainly hope so. Now, I want you to go upstairs this minute. Take off all of your clothes, kneel on the bed, and wait for me.”

“Yes, sir.” I did as he ordered, stopping only briefly to examine my nicely reddened bottom in the mirror.

Just a moment after I had taken my position on the bed, Randy entered the room.

“Turn around and face the headboard.” While I breathlessly awaited his next move, he rummaged in our toy chest.

“Back! No fair looking.” I again faced forward without catching a glimpse of his weapon.

A loud, smart, searing “Snap” introduced his choice. It was our leather slapper, an excellent selection. This was a totally different sensation than his stiff hand had been. It struck quickly, again and again, all over my naked bottom with light, flicking blows. Over time, the accumulation of sharp hits melted into an overall toasty warmth. Yum!

Just as I was beginning to savor my lover’s rough attention, he switched gears again. Randy’s fingers now delicately trailed across my sexual undercarriage. I parted my legs lustily to invite his further exploration. Before I realized what was happening, my man had pulled me to the edge of the bed, dropped his pants, and was about to impale me in a most divine way. I gasped, first with anticipation and then with pleasure, as he completed our bonding.

A few luscious minutes later, we collapsed together onto the bed. I nestled my head into his strong chest while Randy gently rubbed my sore bottom. This place, both spatially and spiritually, was the center of my universe. I was one with my loving partner and we were at peace. These were the moments that we wait and work to find. The chaos raging outside had no effect here. We were together and all was right.

Epilogue: The note is currently posted on our refrigerator door as a reminder.