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A Spanking Cure
by zprymantis@smilingwithteeth.com
He saw it in her eyes. She needed a spanking. She was distracted
and edgy as she poured the drinks for dinner. She returned from
the fridge twice with nothing in her hand. Their daughter asked
a question that she didn't hear. As they stood side by side, him
washing her drying the dishes, instead of her usual chatter, she
was quiet.
"How were things online today?"
"OK" she said.
Yes, he was certain she was feeling upset about something. She
usually bubbled over with online stories. Sometimes she was naughty
online and needed help to confess her misadventures.
"Did you go in that chat room you like?" he encouraged. "Meet
any new friends?"
"Yes, a few men. One had a foot fetish!"
Finally a smile. He smiled along with her as she recounted her
amusing story. He was certain at least all was well in her online
world.
"Did your mother call today?"
She sighed and looked at him, her eyes moist. "Yes."
"I am going to spank you tonight. Hard." He said as he rinsed
the last plate and slid it into the drying rack.
"Thank you Master" she said quietly.
Just three years ago he would have been upset with the way she
was acting. He would have been certain she was ungrateful for
his long day of hard work. Perhaps he'd have taken her sadness
for anger and in self defense he would have pointed out the housework
she had neglected. He'd have known by her expression that sex
that night would be a dry and unpleasant experience, if he even
bothered to make the effort at all.
He knew her better now. He knew what she needed to become his
darling pet again. They each busied themselves with the actions
of parenthood. She helped their son fill out some school paperwork.
He tended to the outside animals with their daughter. The family
routine was comforting and familiar. As he walked past her in
the hall, a gentle pat to her bottom reminded her that he wouldn't
forget.
At ten they made their way to the basement. Him to fetch a tool
for work, her to finish one more load of laundry. With their daughter's
ear pressed close to the phone and their son absorbed in a computer
game, their absence would not be missed. The basement door closed
with the alarm sound. The chime would serve as an advanced warning
if one of their children came looking for them.
The vast majority of their spanking scenes were fun, even comical.
She sometimes dressed in her green plaid schoolgirl skirt and
sweater. He would try to keep a straight face as she tried to
flirt her way out of and into a spanking.
Other spankings were big productions. He would blindfold her and
tie her in various positions using leather wrist and ankle cuffs.
He experimented with various whips and paddles. He gave her tasks
to concentrate on, keeping her legs open or maintaining a position.
He would spank her everywhere, teasing her breasts, commanding
her lips to pucker in the inviting way she knew he loved until
she felt like an instrument he was playing. These were special
spanking scenes, when they had long periods of time alone together.
At the end they would be fulfilled and exhausted, sharing a comfortable
silence as she curled submissively against him.
This spanking would be more like medicine. He would spank some
deep hidden sadness out of her. Even twenty years ago when they
dated he was perplexed by her moods. He would kiss her goodnight
Friday and watch her disappear into her mother's house. When she
came out of the house Saturday morning it took hours for her eyes
to brighten and her smile to relax.
Since he became her Master he never left her alone with her mother.
He sat beside her on their visits, holding her hand and giving
her furtive winks. Usually during the rare phone calls, she would
be able to imagine him beside her, holding her hand. Sometimes
though, as she hung up the phone, a sadness clouded her mind.
She would say aloud to the furniture the things she couldn't express
to her mother. She hated her, feared her and loved her. She mourned
for the mother she never had, the grandmother she couldn't give
her children. She wished she could trust her, or believe that
her mother loved her.
Was this her fault? Was she the crazy one? Did she just perceive
an evil that wasn't there?
She would then reminde herself word by word of the things she
knew were true. A masochistic list of memories, each bringing
a sharp stinging image slapping to the front of her mind. Words
when spoken aloud that would make her tremble and cry. The knife,
the ceramic cat, the pills, the blood, the doll, the vomit, the
lie, the hug, the ashtray these pictures in her mind were real,
she saw them. Once the pain was there, brought back for some strange
reassurance that SHE was not the evil one, she was lost again.
She needed to be brought back, to her safe and sane world. He
understood her sadness and would lead her back.
She stood at the edge of the pool table. He stood close behind
her, warm breath in her ear.
"Your mine, now" he said.
His thumbs hooked in her pajama shorts and he lowered them slowly
past her rounded bottom, down her legs. She bent in half, her
breasts pressed against the pool table, arms overlapped above
her head. He lifted each of her feet to remove her shorts. Childlike
she whimpered as he place her feet apart.
"Keep them here" he said.
She was as good as bound. His words held her there, her bottom
tilted up and ready. Her legs spread wide, her face nestled in
the crock of her arm. Her body was his, her mind would soon be.
He started with the dowel. It was quiet and painful. Generally,
she would squeal and cry and wiggle and plead for a set number.
This time she remained still, her whimpers not connected with
the physical pain but coming in intervals when he would pause
to gently rub her bottom. He lowered the strokes to her upper
thighs. Darkened areas formed easily there and he stopped again
to rub. His fingers drifted toward her pussy and found it wet
and inviting.
"What have we here, a naughty pussy?" he whispered. He reached
for the riding crop and swatted her inner thighs. The crop patted
its way up to her pussy and swacked against it revealing by the
sound just how naughty she was.
He grabbed her buttocks, a hand on each cheek and moved it seductively.
"This is how I want it to move as I punish you."
She was a good girl, this was apparent. Her bottom danced as his
rough laborer's hands spanked her gyrating bottom a bright pink.
His thick fingers dipped again inside her and pushed against her
clit.
She began to think only of his hand, the pleasure she would give
him as her cum spilled onto his hand. She wanted so badly to please
him, to be his good girl. She came. Violently.
"What a good girl," he said as he lowered his boxers shorts. He
used his hands to guide her perfectly onto him. Her warmed bottom
pressed against him, her hot insides still throbbing as he took
her. His own release splashing inside her was not the end. She
required one more thing.
There was something so right in this moment. She kneeled at his
feet now, completely his, cleaning him with her mouth. Her body
ached from its ordeal but her mind was free of pain. His gentle
caress to her cheek left her feeling that she was a loyal animal
rewarded with a casual pat and a treasured possession polished
and adored. A hunger deep inside her was satisfied. He knew the
cure.
© 1999 by zprymantis@smilingwithteeth.com, not to be reposted or distributed
without permission
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