A few days ago in the comments to this post, Mia made noise about a great spanking she got that her “big meanie” husband wouldn’t let her blog about on her blog. I said, in a spirit of complete helpfulness and with no mischievous intent whatsoever (nope nope nope!), “Mia, just write it up as usual, then send it to me and I’ll post it here as a guest post. Problem solved!”
I guess she liked that idea — and needs more spankings in her life — because, here it is!
(Something tells me we haven’t heard the last of Big Meanie. Also, am I going to Hell for tempting another man’s wife into deliberate, if not quite literal, disobedience?)
=== Mia’s Guest Post Begins ===
The night started out uninterestingly enough with tacos, wine, and movies. (We’re forever watching documentaries and all kinds of films. Hello, Monotony!) It was a Thursday night, almost the end of the week; the weekly work stress building to our weekend binge of cocktails and pajamas. I’d been parading around in a pair of rarely-seen hot pink, white polka-dots, black-banded boyshorts panties with a black tank top for the last hour of our night, wishing for some naughty fun or the chance to give him a blowjob before bed.
Maybe it was the wine or the loud music from the television, but he just wasn’t getting my coy looks, sashays back and forth in search of some un-needed item, or the giggles and head nods to everything he said. I played the best little girl I could. And nothing! So I had to just start putting everything away, walked the dogs, and stood in the doorway to the bedroom, hand on my hip that jutted sharply to one side, shaded bedroom lamp accentuating my silhouette. “Honey, it’s time for bed.”
He looked up from his laptop. “Oh. I see.”
I slinked into bed as he turned out the lights, afraid that my attempts at flirting and seduction were all for naught. Before I could even turn onto my back, as I was still on my knees crawling onto my side of the bed, he caught me. “Come here.”
Uh oh, I thought. That tone of voice meant something quite serious. Maybe he didn’t like my tone of voice at the doorway? Was I too demanding? Did he disapprove of my sashays, eye battings, and half nakedness?
“You’ve been quite the bad girl today, and I think you need to be straightened out.”
I felt a tingle between my legs, my clit and pussy waking from their 2 week long nap. “Oh. I do?”
“Of course. Come here across my knee.” He sat at the edge of our bed and pulled me across his left leg. “Hands on the floor.” I was bent in half, unable to see anything in the dark. “Now, how many strokes do you think you need?”
“Oh. Ummm…. 20?” I really had no idea what I’d done. It certainly hadn’t been on purpose, but I was grateful for whatever it was. Maybe there was a god looking out for me.
“Really? You think only 20? Let’s see. You took a shower this morning instead of making me a lunch for work. That’s 10 strokes. You tricked me into eating lunch with you after I had to make my own. That’s 10 strokes. You didn’t buy enough dinner. That’s 10 strokes. And YOU told ME when to go to bed. That’s another 10 strokes. So I think I owe you at least 40 unless there’s anything else you can think of. Now count them out.”
He proceeded to give me 15 swift, sharp spankings with his hand in that position. My bottom, a pale white, was surely a bright pink at this point. It felt hot, and I groaned and wiggled as he spanked in the same spot on each ass cheek, not giving the spots enough time to cool off before bringing his hand down again.
When he was done, Mr. WWW (my husband) then left me to whine, pout, and rub my butt while he turned on a light in our adjoining bathroom—just enough light to let me see the rubber flogger he’d picked up from the closet. It’s not a very long flogger, but the rubber strands are just enough to pop on my pale, freckled, and oh-so-tender skin.
“Now bend over the foot of the bed, put your face in the mattress, stand up on your toes, and spread your legs.”
On my toes? Is he crazy? I thought, as he proceeded to tie my wrists, arms straight out in front of me on the bed. I can’t stand on my toes for another 25 strokes! But I did as told and felt him kick my legs farther apart until I was barely able to hold myself up on my tiptoes, my face crammed into the bed, my hands gripping the sheets. I felt three snaps come down on my back and moaned. God, I love feeling of a flogger on my back, that sting crawling up into my shoulders. Goosebumps spreading into my sides.
“I can’t hear you counting.”
So I began counting them again, “19, 20, 21, 22” and on until he found his way between my legs. He snaked the rubber strands along my engorged, exposed clit and obscenely open pussy. I could have died. That tickle against my pussy lips combined with the heat radiating from my back and ass. I counted up to 30 as he finished using the flogger on my inner thighs. My legs were so close to collapsing, beginning to shake the longer he made me hold it. He’d stop between strokes and rub my ass, grab at my hips, or pinch my thighs, anything to make me moan and shudder, anything to make me hold the position longer. He knew I couldn’t stand that way for long.
When he stopped at 30, I was told to stay that way and not move. He left the room. I immediately flattened my feet and lifted my head, thankful for the opportunity to stretch my calf muscle and breathe through my nose. But I’d overestimated the time he’d be gone, and he caught me!
“So you think you can disobey and get away with it?”
“Oh, no,” I groaned and immediately returned to the position. As if I’d get away with it.
He grinned. “That’ll be 10 more for not listening. Start counting.”
I felt the hard plastic of my flat paddle brush against the crease of my ass and thighs, wide enough to get plenty of thud on both parts of my body. He’d occasionally stop and drag the bristles across my sore, red bottom; or use it on my pussy, raking it against my clit and swollen cunt. I’d shudder every time he raked my pussy, my legs buckling against the sensation–but not falling on my heels again lest he decide to add 10 more. I just wanted to drop to my knees and suck his cock. With a pussy so wet, how could he deny me a cock suck at this point? I was beyond horny, just dripping with lust, sex, lewdness. I wanted to be fucked and prodded.
When he noticed that I moved my pussy against the bristles of the hairbrush, he said, “So you like this, Slut? You like feeling your ass on fire? You enjoy getting a hairbrush used on your slutty little pussy?”
I turned my face to the side facing him, “Yes, Sir,” I breathed out heavily and groaned, almost crying with lust, “Please.”
“Please, what?”
“Please let me suck your cock.”
He jammed two fingers up to the hilt in my pussy and began to violently scrape his fingers against my g-spot. I shuddered, groaned, and bucked. Still on my tip toes. Still with my legs shaking. He stopped after a few quick strokes of his fingers.
“You suck when I say you suck. You cum when I say you cum.” He got down close to my face on the bed, “You my whore. You do what I say,” and then he used the name that melts me, “Cumwhore.”
How can a woman resist?! His power in these times is intoxicating. I was high from the spankings and violent fingering when he finally let me suck his cock. I remember slobbering and gagging as he forced me to deepthroat him. He swiped his hand across my pussy and made me lick it off with him, thrusting his tongue in my mouth, violently probing it.
Everything he did that night had some violence behind it. I think it was the lack of sexual release for the past few weeks that lead us both into each other. I’d been begging for a spanking for weeks, joking about domestic discipline, how we were perfect candidates now that I wasn’t working this summer.
He got my g-spot wand and told me to use it on myself while he fed me his cock and rammed my pussy with it when he thought I wasn’t fucking myself hard enough. Encouraging me to fuck myself harder and suck deeper with words like “my bitch, my cumwhore, my worn out slut, my fuck toy.”
The night ended with a thoroughly fucked pussy and an anal creampie. I’ve never been able to take his whole cock in my ass (I’m only 25, we’re working on it!), but he pushed in enough of the head to dump his whole load of cum into my ass. He’d fingered it earlier while I sucked his cock and fucked myself. Between that loosening and the wetness from my pussy and thighs, he was able to thrust his dick into it. I loved it. It’s been a while since I’ve felt like such a slut. While he was in the bathroom cleaning up, I reached beneath me (I was over the edge of the bed again, but thankfully not on my toes) and smeared some of his cum into my pussy before licking my fingers.
We spent 2 hours playing that night, until 1:30 in the morning, so he stayed home and cuddled my sore ass and rubbed my aching calves once or twice. That soreness from that night stayed with me all through the next day. I woke up just a little sad on Saturday when I couldn’t really feel it anymore but was happy when I went to shower and saw that the marks he’d left from grabbing my tits had turned into lovely bruises.
