Avalondreams
Posts: 8
Joined: 5/17/2015
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Hi!
I had to let you know; yesterday I had my first ‘three cushion’ spanking! I know it sounds extreme, but honestly it wasn’t; he just likes making picturesque threats. You know, like the time he said he’d put a strap across my bottom? I shivered at the idea of laying over pillows and wriggling under the hiss and snap of his leather belt. But that’s typical of my fiancé; he knows how a few carefully chosen words are enough to fire my imagination.
And so it was with ‘three cushions’ – the number I would supposedly need in order to sit down afterwards. I don’t mind telling you, when he came at me wielding my hairbrush, I feared the worst. Yet once I was over his knee and with my correction underway, I realised it wasn’t going to be that bad. So I settled down and let the hairbrush do its work; after all, I had his forgiveness to look forward to!
I won’t describe the spanking. Once a man has his measure of you, it’s too personal to share; but as I’ve become accustomed to his ways, I notice more of the little things.
You’ve been over a man’s knee so you’ll know what I’m talking about. The first guy who ever spanked me had thighs like railway sleepers, which was kind of nice, but he wore the most awful shoes. I know we’re not supposed to notice these things, but when you’re over a man’s knee there isn’t much to look at, and if you’re inches away from some cruddy, smelly boot, it really takes away from what’s going on ‘up there.’ Sure, I like a bit of rough occasionally, who doesn’t? But when he said ‘your bum will burn like a vindaloo’ I thought: that’s it, I’m outta here!
Thank goodness my fiancé wears nice shoes: clean and smartly polished. I appreciate that; I even pulled one of the laces once, which earned me a few extra. It was worth it, just to show him I noticed.
And did I ever mention his trousers? Always laundered and nicely pressed; of course, once I’m in position, neat creases mean nothing; but when he’s in full flow and I find myself grabbing his calf, it’s kind of reassuring.
It sounds weird, but he’s the most comfortable man I’ve ever been spanked by. Like I said, it’s the little things.
Any how; I was sat gingerly on his lap, my face enjoying the warmth of his chest and, as I like to do, playing with his shirt buttons, when he suddenly announced I was ‘still not done.’
Oh gosh, oh gosh, my heart skipped a beat; ‘What do you mean?’ I said, as nonchalantly as I could, still toying with a button.
He took my hand and playfully spread my fingers; ‘You’ll see,’ then pulled me to my feet and led me to the shower.
Minutes later I’m naked with my hands on my head and warm soapy water is pouring over me. My back is turned and he's massaging my shoulders, then his thumbs begin working their way down my spine. He reaches round and cups my breasts and lather is dripping down my tummy. I feel his breath is on my neck and he whispers in my ear; ‘touch your toes’. OMG! That’s really embarrassing, but down I go, fingers reaching out, feeling my bottom parting as I do so. Then the squeeze of a sponge and water rippling over and down while his hands reach inside my thighs. Oo err, I try my best to stay still as his fingers wander up and down. Then its back up, hands on my head, and suddenly I’m surrounded by warm towels.
I gotta say, there’s nothing quite like your man drying you, patting you down, cosseting you. I close my eyes feeling like a pampered princess; this is peeled grapes stuff!
Then he sits on a stool, places some towels across his lap, and back over his knee I go – not for spanking but more drying – and in the most intimate places imaginable – but honestly by this time I am in heaven – I have been punished and forgiven; I’ve no cares, no responsibility – and I melt over his knees.
If love is gratitude for pleasure given, then he has my whole heart.
By now I’m too weak to walk, and I’m thinking how wonderful if he took me in his arms and carried me to bed – but I know it won’t happen.
Why? Well, I suppose I should let you into a secret; we haven’t actually ‘done it’ yet. He’s a bit old fashioned and wants to save himself for our wedding night, only then will he ‘deflower’ me. Isn’t that so cute?
I picture myself returning to work carrying his seed – my husband’s seed - inside me; my tummy tingling as colleagues notice my lost maidenhood and newlywed glow – and of course, I expect to be glowing elsewhere too!
Oh my, there I go again.
So anyways, I figure if I’m to be deflowered, I should dress the part; and I’ve seen this wonderful wedding dress, the sort of thing Guinevere would wear. The only problem is, its crazy expensive and he doesn’t want me spending that kind of money for him.
Which brings me back to my three cushion spanking and why I’m over his knee again.
‘So, you promise you won’t spend any money on that dress.’ He says.
‘I promise.’ My red bottom is testimony to that.
‘Well, let’s put that in writing.’
‘Huh?’
Suddenly his thumb and forefinger are on my bottom and I feel a sharp nib pressed against me. I gasp with surprise.
‘Hold still,’ he orders. So I keep still and he begins to write. He takes ages, and I’m wondering what’s going on. BTW, if you want to know, it tickles for the most part, except for the punctuation.
I’m thinking: so now I’m a contract; thank god he isn’t into hot wax or he might use a seal!
Satisfied with his work, he lets me up and kisses me. He has to leave shortly and I’m told not to look at what he’s written until then.
My curiosity is killing me, so when he goes, I dash back upstairs to the bathroom.
I put the stool in front of the sink, climb up and peer over my shoulder into the mirror. On my glowing bottom I see words and numbers; but they’re so small I can’t make them out. So there I am, perched on the stool like a plucked chicken and the doorbell goes. Damn! I throw on my robe and pad downstairs, hair wet, bottom still smarting.
I answer the door looking like a latter day leper. A driver hands me a small parcel and my robe almost falls open as I snatch it. It’s an audio book; The Mists of Avalon. I adore listening to historical fantasy, especially when snuggled up to my man, but I hadn’t ordered it. OK, I’m smart enough to realise that he had, but what I didn’t do is put two and two together.
Now I’m in the kitchen. I daren’t sit down, not for need of cushions, but for fear of smudging the ink. I take a glass of wine and think. You know me, I can’t resist a mystery, but what am I to do?
A couple of glasses later and I’m getting desperate. Would the neighbours have a magnifying glass? Probably not - and yes - I know what you’re thinking: if I pretended I was drunk and said my fiancé played a practical joke, I could get someone to read what he’d written. No way!
That’s when I decided to call you, and then it dawned on me! What an idiot! It’s so obvious!
I grabbed the phone and another glass of wine and bolted upstairs. Two minutes later - can you believe this? – I’m bending over taking selfies of my bottom!
Success! Underneath some sort of code, he’d written: ‘What can’t be kept until it’s given?’
What the heck did that mean? Well, he’d just given me a spanking - I could still feel it - but nah, that didn’t quite fit. What about virginity? Umm, obviously not *blushes*. Then the penny dropped.
I grabbed the audio book, and yes, there it was: a picture of Guinevere on the front. No way! I thought, but it all made sense.
I booted up my laptop, found the dressmaker’s site and typed in the code. You guessed it, bless his heart! It was a gift certificate for the cost of my wedding dress! You see, ‘What can’t be kept until it’s given’ is a promise, and he was making sure I kept it.
Clever me, and what a darling man! That was one dress code I was thrilled to accept.
See ya!
< Message edited by Avalondreams -- 6/26/2015 10:36:27 AM >
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