Last year, on June 9th, I posted a tribute to a fellow sex blogger who was celebrating her birthday, and her sister who wasn’t. It’s June 9th again: so Happy Birthday Cammies. This is mostly fiction but hopefully you’ll get a giggle!
I blamed it on the fact that I had been busy. My boss had been away, I explained, I had a lot of work to do. Plus I’d been ill: I had suffered dreadfully from man-flu and on top of that had a dose of heavy hypochondria. And anyway, she’d been away so I had additional errands to run.
In short, it had skipped my mind … and she was unimpressed.
So I would be punished. I was tied to the bed, the bounds biting into my wrists. The last remnants of my clothing were stripped from my body before she fastened my ankles to the restraints, and she retrieved her leather tawse: two leather straps in a V-Sign that signified pure pain and dramatic marks. “Well?”
It wasn’t good enough as my brain frantically searched for inspiration. I heard the swoop of the leather weapon moments before I felt it; the searing pain scorched my buttocks with a deafening crack. My muscles tensed instantly, a yelp begging for mercy left my throat as I whimpered. Deep breathing coped with the agony for a moment, as my buttcheeks stung, reeling from the hit. “Well?”
It was the voice that always invoked fear and excitement; a mixture of mild disappointment in my failing and anticipation of the punishment I would have to endure. It made my aroused body tingle with expectation.
She wasn’t going to stop at one hit.
She might not stop at one weapon.
My reply to her question wasn’t quick enough; another swish in the air of the tawse, firing desperate agony into my muscles. I gasped and profaned: earning another strike of burning pain across my exposed bum for my language.
“I know it’s her birthday,” I blurted out between pants. “I’ll send her happy birthday wishes.”
“Not good enough,” my wife demanded. Two more blows of sizzling hot torture landed on my rear, as I strained against my bindings. My instinct was to fight my bonds to be free, but I was no freer than when I was at the mercy of my wife.
She chuckled at my whimpering. “I’ll send her a picture,” I suggested.
“Of what?” I heard her patting the instrument of agony in her palms; it was one of her favourite toys: a violent deliverer of discipline, punishment and control that caused any errant sub to understand the wrath of his domme with devastating efficiency.
Her gentle slapping of her weapon in her hands was designed to intimidate: as my mind whirred I had the realisation that I was moments away from the deliverer of overwhelming pain landing on my rear again.
“My … bum.”
The sting of the tawse tore into my flesh, the momentary peace shattered by a yell from a suffering man. The scorching heat of my wounds burnt as I wriggled on the soft duvet. “They’re damaged goods,” she teased. “Try again.”
“OK. My cock.”
Splinters of pain flew through my muscles as she landed yet another blow. “Who wants to see that?” She was teasing and tormenting, eking out reasons to inflict punishment onto my restrained body. “Horrible thing!”
“I’ll wrap it up. With wrapping paper.”
She giggled, sliding the weapon over my abused rump; it made my buttocks flinch in expectation and then tickle my raw wounds, “Who wants that for a present?” She asked, tracing my marks with her leather weapon. “I know where it’s been.”
“But I think …”
“There’s a first!” She interrupted with her mischievous voice. “How many bows?”
“Bows?” I muttered; I hadn’t considered that. “One?”
She inflicted another scorchingly hot blow against my swelling flesh, laughing as I winced with her strike and bit into the pillows. Pain was flooding around my body; it was delicious torture, squirming under the control of my feisty wife. Glorious agony, desperately horny and yet deliberately unsated.
“Two!” I screamed. “I’ll get two. In red and gold.”
“And that’s it … for a birthday.”
“I’ll get a toy in the picture. To symbolise the birthday spankings!”
My wife hummed for a moment, considering this for a few seconds as her weapon traced my spine, causing me to shiver. She slid her hand between my waist and the bed, causing me to flinch again and rested her fingers on my erect cock. “Oh, aren’t we a horny little devil,” she whispered into my ear as I felt her leaning onto the bed. “So very horny!”
“Yes,” I muttered, pushing my crotch forward to slide my cock between her hand. “Very horny but that’s because of you.”
“I know,” she replied, her delight at this showing in her voice. “But you have a job to do. And then maybe tomorrow, if she likes it, I may let you have some fun.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“It’s playtime on your arse, baby! It’ll be the colour of the bows on your little man!”
Which is why there’s a mostly naked picture of me on the Internet, holding a tawse and with my cock wrapped up in red wrapping paper.
And I apologise to my fellow Spanking A-to-Z bloggers if you now have nightmares, but I am a
little bit of an rampant exhibitionist and do partake in SinfulSunday quite regularly!