Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Its all about the ritual...

I was the one that started it.  When he would get home, I was expected to get up from sitting on the couch and walk to him and greet him.  All that was required was a hug and a kiss, a few moments of greeting, my single focus on him.  I was the one that started kneeling.  There is something about that posture, ass up, forehead pressed firmly to the floor that inspires him.  He will move to stand with his legs on either side of my hips and lean down and spank me.  Soon, it was the expectation.  Even though I had started it, it became his requirement.

At first it was good, hell it was great.  But on some level, this was not the reaction he craves.  He wants shock, involuntary scrambles to escape, rueful squalls and protests.  If a spank on the butt gets a coo, a giggle and an appreciative wiggle, he will move his attention down to more tender places and will up the ante until I am not cooing any more.  He will push those pants down or pull up the skirt, baring skin so it will sting more.  And every day it gets worse.

And now, when the front door opens I am not filled with delicious anticipation so much as irritated apprehension.  Tonight was no different.  He yanked my pants down and went from 0 to 60 in one second flat.  IT.  HURT.  BAD.  Warm up?  It is the very opposite of warm up.  Happy to see him?  No not so much.  I was squirming around on the floor squalling that it was tooooo much... too fast... for god's sake!!!  Which clearly amused the fuck out of him.  I could tell from how he was laughing and left me there on my knees with the flaming fanny available for a few more encore assaults.

Finally I was directed to stand up and pull up my pants in that condescending tone that somehow implies that I was the one that pulled my pants down.  And as he pushed me against the wall for some gratuitous nipple pinches and kisses his brown eyes were sparkling with devilish humor.  He met my wet and angry eyes.

"You love it."

I countered, "You love salt on your eggs.  So don't be surprised to find about a cup on each one tomorrow.  Don't worry, you will love them."

I tried to explain that hard spanks, fast spanks are doable if we work up to it, take our time, get the endorphins flowing and being a bit aroused can't hurt the equation either, but I suspect I just told him how to make sure to do the opposite if he is seeking out my sudden, shocked and unappreciative reactions.  Because it is not about the infliction of pain for him, it is all about that horror and fear and anger in my eyes.  It is all about the mind fuck, all about taking a ritual that was sweet, fun and reinforced my sense of submission to him and turning it into just one more mind fuck.

As you can tell my ass still smarts.  And I am still royally pissed at that man.  I mean if he is going to fuck my brain so rough and so often, he could at least use some lube.  When I read this post to him he laughed and laughed and laughed.  Grrrr... I am serious, a cup of salt per egg.  I am sure he will just love them.     



  1. I have one just like him!

    Also, it seems to me that if something was MY idea, or was started by me (such as kneeling upon his arrival, as you do) then it certainly ought to be MY prerogative to END what I started! Right?!

    Apparently no.

    I missed that part of the fine print when I signed my life away. You too?

  2. There ain't no piece of paper with my name on it, but there might as well be. So he could wave it in my face like a red flag to a bull.

  3. Your M reminds me of a less sadistic W, but I see the potential there. You warned me to be careful what I wished for. I am finally taking that under advisement. Where do you get the brain lube? Just in case?