I’ve spent the last couple of days getting a number of very short, very painful spankings. Each individual one wouldn’t really merit writing about, but as a whole they have been kind of building up. Abel is going away on business today, and just as well, because I’m sure that if he didn’t, I’d be getting more of these “what are you complaining about, you wimp” spankings.
Firstly, there was my etiquette test. This must have been the most boring chapter ever: clothes and “image management”. You would have thought it would be exciting, but really it kept going on about the teeny aspects of a girl’s wardrobe that I can’t ever imagine needing to consult – never mind have committed to memory, never mind try to imagine what they would sound like when Abel turns them into test questions.
(Question: What are the two things a girl should remember to do if she risks applying fake tan at home? Answer: Exfoliate and moisturise. Chance of me ever applying fake tan, at home or otherwise: zero.)
Anyway, I got two questions out of ten wrong, mostly because of being unable to stay even relatively awake by the time I got to the last two pages of the chapter. (What are some of the uses for a square piece of cloth? Hair accessory, scarf, SOS banner, sarong. How long may a girl’s dress be at a black tie event? At the shortest, it may skim the knee.)
“Take your jeans down and bend over the arm of the sofa,” said Abel, trying to sound stern. “I’m going to spank you with my most severe implement.”
His hand, you understand.
Oh my goodness, did those two smacks ever hurt! The first one felt more like a punch; he must have swung his arm way back; I could feel it deep in the muscle of my bottom for the rest of the evening. The second one wasn’t as extreme, but it was still a damned painful whack.
And then there was yesterday morning, when I got spanked for – I’m not sure what, but it might have been for the crime of having a bottom, and standing around with only some French knickers on while I was brushing my hair in the morning.
So, I’m minding my own business (damp hair), when Abel swoops into the bedroom, sees me and says something along the lines of: “Well, if you show off your bottom like that…” He grabs my Mason Pearson hairbrush, pushes me over the bed, and wallops me with it about two dozen times.
It stings. A lot. Hairbrushes tend to.
So that was that: random, unprovoked acts of violence in the home, and he seemed mighty pleased with himself after all that.
Ah, but at least you’ll always dress appropriately at a black tie ‘do’ in future, won’t you?
As for yesterday morning, dear readers: my darling wife was just looking so cute that any of you would have done the same. ‘Any of you’ with toppish inclinations, that is. And I’m betting that a few of you without toppish inclinations might even have found yourselves sorely tempted!
I am extremely envious. My wife is going to get it today for NOT providing me with enough opportunities of this type.
“Sorely” being the operative word, Abel?
ah heron, i relate, frequently being the recipient of a surprise grab-and-spank myself. it does seem that wearing minimal clothing is something of a stimulant for that kind of behavior. luckily for me it seems, i have never had quite so significant a consequence as you had. hairbrush, ouch!
Haron: Who wrote that black tie dress code answer anyway? I can’t think of a girl under 27 that I know who would be seen dead wearing a dress skimming the knee or longer. They’re all little short numbers at the moment – so really you probably got that question right after all. I’m not sure this Debrett is half as clever as he/she thinks he/she is. Have to admit I would have got the fake tan question right however. My daughter is a master at it.
Mmm, I would enjoy that. :). (I bet you did
).
I can’t think of a girl under 27 that I know who would be seen dead wearing a dress skimming the knee or longer.
Me me me! Ballgowns are teh love.