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-

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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.