I have been married for a couple years and despite knowing my husband for more than 10 years it's still difficult to talk to him about certain things. Neither of us grew up in a household where open discussion happened and often things went unsaid.
I am a quiet person by nature and I have a lot of difficulty talking about my feelings. I can manage to do so when I write and only marginally. I have been wanting to incorperate spanking into our relationship more and more but it's difficult to talk about it. I doubt myself, I doubt that he will love me after I ask (it's a stupid doubt but it's there none the less) and to be honest I am not even sure how I want to incorperate it into our relationship. Misguided feminism has made it more complicated (but that's another post I am working on). But I digress!
Yesterday he was so sweet he made me cry when he told me how he felt about me. I almost brought it up again but I couldn't bring myself to. I keep quiet and life goes on...
Now, I am not a brat by any means. I don't come up with quick-witted remarks or play practical jokes. However...something I said yesterday led to a poke, which led to a spank, which led to a struggle...which led me to be bent over the edge of the bed and a couple swats applied rather vigerously to my behind.
I was elated and I grinned up to see him staring stone-faced at me. I stopped immediately, wondering what was wrong. I finally figured out he was staring at the hand print clearly visable on my flesh. He is clearly conflicted about how he feels on what he has done.
What do I do??? I started to panic. What if I do the wrong thing and he never spanks me again? What if he thinks I'm a freak and leaves me?
My body decided for me when my brain couldn't make up it's mind.
I started to giggle before breaking out into a body shaking laugh. He looks up at me, a smile slowly forming. The smile turns into a smirk and eventually he comes and sits on the bed. He rubs my bottom and I am in heaven.
Now, lets just say that it was a good night and leave it at that. This morning I get a text telling me his muscles are sore and it's my fault. I take a deep breath and say something to the effect that at least he doesn't have hand prints on his rear and that I am going to have to teach him to do that properly.
After what seems like an eternity (really it was only 2 minutes) I get a message back. Oh a smiley face! So here I sit with a printed bottom (I bruise like a peach) and a happy heart.
Keep safe everyone!