The Spanking Writers

One thing about taking holidays with vanilla company is that you don’t get to play quite as much as you’d like. Also, hanging out by a hotel pool in a bikini kind of demands a bottom that doesn’t look like it’s been chewed by a toothless lion. I like to think so anyway.

Why, yes, we’re back, and I’m glad you missed us. We’ve picked up some startles along the way, and have mentally blogged all the while, so there’s no stopping us now - until the next holiday.

Anyway, we didn’t play a whole lot, but we did get some time alone. For instance, on our last night away I climbed into bed, exhausted by travel, and no sooner did I settle in, than Abel said: “Turn onto your stomach.”

Oooh, really, I thought, and happilly flipped over - only to discover that a backside that had hardly been whacked all week felt every little smack particularly accutely. Abel began slapping me with his hand, and it felt like it was the hardest spanking I’d ever taken. I know for sure that it wasn’t, in fact, my hardest spanking ever, or even, like, my tenth hardest, or anything. It just hurt so much. One little break, and my tolerance had completely vanished.

Abel gave me about ten swats, and then stopped and waved his hand in the air with a plaintive expression on his face. “Enough of this,” he said. “You’re hurting my hand. Ow.”

Maybe it’s not just *my* tolerance that can be affected by a spanking hiatus.