Friday, January 13, 2017

The Luckiest Day of the Year

In honor of Friday the 13th....



The Luckiest Day of the Year

Mark entered the teacher’s lounge, hoping that the coffee available was fresh.  He needed a decent cup after the morning he’d had. 

He’d gotten behind in his Earth and Space Science class when a discussion about full moons led to teenagers shouting at each other about werewolves, vampires, and zombies.  A student in his biology class threw up while he was explaining how broken bones healed.  And three boys in his chemistry class caused their beakers to explode when they tried to hurry the chemical process he was leading the class in by doubling the temperature on their burners.  Thankfully no one was hurt.

But Mark really needed a cup of coffee.

Three of his fellow teachers were already in the lounge, and he heard Ms. Krist, the English teacher, ask fervently.  “Is it a full moon or something?  I swear every class I’ve had today has been hyper or completely zoned out.”

Jerry Angles, the art teacher, laughed.  “As a matter of fact, it is a full moon and it’s Friday the 13th!”

Jane groaned.  “I completely forgot.  Well, that explains it.  I personally think that Friday the 13th should be an automatic day off.”

“Hear!  Hear!” Jerry and Sam, one of the school’s counselors, agreed.

“What do you think, Mark?” Sam asked as Mark joined them with his thankfully fresh cup of coffee.  “Friday the 13th is a day to avoid, isn’t it?”

Laughing, Mark agreed that avoiding the students on this particular day would be nice, but he personally didn’t want to avoid the day itself….

A few hours later, tired and glad to be home, Mark unlocked his front door and was soon dressed in much more comfortable clothes and heading to the kitchen.  It would be a couple hours before Connor arrived home from work, and so he set about making a savory meat pie, filling it with beef, sausage, potatoes, carrots and peas, and then letting it slowly heat in the oven as he made a rich gravy they would ladle over it when dinner time came.  It was Connor’s favorite meal, and Mark felt some energy return to him as he imagined Connor’s surprise when they would sit down to eat.

The table was set, and Mark had just finished running the vacuum when the front door opened and his husband entered their small home. 

“Ugh,” Connor groaned as he shrugged out of his coat.  “What a day!  Our fax machine broke.  The internet went down for two hours, and somebody nuked sauerkraut in the office microwave!  The place stank for the rest of the afternoon!” he complained as he hung up his outer clothes and stepped out of his shoes.  “I know I shouldn’t be superstitious, but sometimes I dread this….”  He stopped speaking and sniffed the aroma in the house appreciatively as Mark came close and wrapped an arm around his waist.  “It smells like meat pie in here!”

“It should, since that’s what’s in the oven,” Mark told him.

Connor’s eyes lit up and he pressed a kiss to Mark’s lips.  “Did you make it for me?”

“Of course I did.  It’s a special day.”

“To most people it’s a day of bad luck and craziness, which I might have to agree with after today’s work problems.”

Mark shook his head.  “I’ll never agree with that.  I think Friday the 13th is the luckiest day of the year, because you were born on a Friday the 13th…31 years ago today.  I became the luckiest man in the world that day.”

Connor chuckled as he turned and wrapped his arms around Mark so they were face-to-face.  “You were seven months old when I was born on that Friday the 13th.  I wouldn’t call you a man.”

“Well, you can say I was the luckiest seven-month-old then, and I’m still lucky today.  Happy birthday, Connor-love.”

Wednesday, January 4, 2017

It Hurts!

This is just a small little bit.  Sorry it's not more right now, but thank you to all who are still reading and checking the site :) 

JL-

*****
It Hurts!
 


It hurts!  It hurts!  It HURTS!
Why does my husband have to spank so hard?!  Why?!  I know I deserve it.  I won’t argue that point, but that doesn’t mean that it makes it any easier to be pinned face down across his knees feeling the sting of his hand on my unprotected butt.
Ow!
I hate not knowing when it’s going to end.  He never gives warning on how many swats it will be.  He just spanks until he believes his point is made and the lesson is learned.  I wish he would believe I’ve learned my lesson now because I can feel my chest tightening and if he doesn’t stop soon I won’t be able to keep from crying.
OWWW!  I’m sorry!
The tears have started.  I can’t help them. There’s too much sting to keep them back and I feel awful that I’ve screwed up enough to warrant a spanking.  My lover really doesn’t spank me for everything.  A lot of things can be settled for both of us by talking it out.  I can go weeks…even a couple months…without getting a tanning, but occasionally I let my mouth run away with me or I don’t think ahead on something that I need to and I end up with a very hot backside.
 Oh please stop…Please!
For the briefest moment I think he must have heard my desperate thoughts, but his hand gripping my hip doesn’t loosen and his body shifts slightly in a way that reminds me that he had brought the wooden spoon into our room with him a few minutes earlier.
Not the spoon!  Please not the spoon!
“OW!!”
I hate that spoon so much!  I can’t keep quiet or still when he uses it.  It hurts a lot!  I know I must look and sound about six years old, but I can’t help it.  I feel about that old and there’s just no stopping the weeping so long as that horrid spoon is being used to paddle me.
“I’m soooorrrrryyyyy!” I can’t help crying out loud.
He never uses the spoon for very long.  He doesn’t need to.  It doesn’t take long to make a very potent impression.  It’s also the type of implement that used too hard or for too long can leave bruises, and that’s something that he has never done to me.  Somehow, he knows when to stop.
Oh, it hurts…it hurts…it hurts…  I can’t help thinking even as the spoon finally stops landing and I sense him setting it aside.  His hand returns to my bottom, only this time it’s to rub very gently.  Even that touch hurts, but I know it’s meant to be soothing, not painful.
I’m still crying.  I can’t help it.  It takes some time for the initial intense pain to ebb and the tears flow from me until I reach the point where it’s somewhat manageable.  That’s usually when he helps me sit up and settles me on instead of over his lap.  I don’t know why, but I always bury my face against his chest.  Part of me wants to hide, but I think part of me is just trying to get as close as I can to him to make sure we’re ok.
“I’m sorry.  I’m sorry,” I say weepily.
“Shh, Love.  I know.  It’s done.  We’re good,” he softly assures.
He always says that…but I always need to hear it.  The spanking wipes the slate clean, but I need to hear him say that it’s settled; that he’s not mad at me, and that things are good between us.
“I love you,” he says into my ear just before he kisses my wet cheek.
And that’s the part I need to hear the most.
“I love you too,” I say with my whole heart.