Trying something different. Curious how many will respond. Curious if you will write more than one sentence. The question for you is:
In your home, which room is most used for spanking?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I posted about thinking I was going to faint at the imaging center on Monday. I have been headed downhill since then. Twice in the past, Leukemia has put me in bed or a recliner for a week or so. This may be another event. Bed at 7 last night. Up at 4, back to bed at 7 for another hour or so. Slept 13 hours the next day.
This explains why I have not posted this week.
Hang in there Bogey. I'm invariably spanked in the living room these days.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Mark. Just one sentence?
DeleteHope you get better soon!
ReplyDeleteThanks Dave. No spanking to report?
DeleteSpanked in the Kitchen
ReplyDeleteAnother Day in Paradise
The belt hung heavy on its hook by the front door, worn leather coiled neatly like a sleeping snake. It had been there so long, but nobody touched it not since the last time, anyway.
Jenna stood in the kitchen, barefoot on cold tiles, stirring a pot of beef stew with more force than necessary. The steam curled around her face, sticking her dark hair to her temples. She tasted a spoonful out of the pot. She hoped that maybe, somehow, simmering anger would've improved the recipe.
The front door creaked open, Jenna didn't turn around. "If you're here to criticize my cooking again, save it," she snapped. The spoon clattered against the pot's rim.
Jenna heard the familiar thud of takeout bags hitting the counter before she felt the heat of him behind her. Calloused fingers circled her throat not squeezing, just resting there like a warning. "Told you last time," his voice rumbled against the back of her neck, "spoon goes clockwise. Counterclockwise means you're stirrin’ up trouble." His thumb brushed her pulse point, and she swallowed hard.
The five-finger necklace. That’s what he called it when she’d arch into his grip instead of pulling away. When her bratty little huffs dissolved into shivers. The belt might’ve gathered dust, but his hands never forgot their way around her defiance.
Jenna's shoulders dropped half an inch just enough for him to notice. A silent plea disguised as surrender. His fingers twitched against her throat in response, that rough palm pressing firmer until her breath hitched deliciously. She arched back against him, hips rolling into the counter’s edge.
"Always gotta push, don’t you?" His chuckle vibrated through her spine as he nudged her forward, bending her over the kitchen island. The takeout bags rustled as he shoved them aside with one hand, the other already working the tie of her sweatpants. Cool air kissed the backs of her thighs when the fabric pooled around her ankles. She clenched her fists in anticipation, forehead pressed to the granite.
The granite chilled her cheek as she exhaled, body taut like a bowstring. His palm pressed flat between her shoulder blades not restraining, just *present* and the weight of that single touch unraveled something knotted deep in her ribs. Jenna didn’t want gentle. Gentle was for people who hadn’t memorized the way leather sounded when it slipped free of belt loops.
His fingers trailed down her spine, slow enough to make her squirm. "This what you been itching for, girl?" The tease in his voice prickled her skin. She hated when he made her ask. Hated how her thighs wanted to open for him. The first smack cracked through the kitchen like a gunshot, sharp enough to startle a gasp from her lips before the burn bloomed across her backside. Jenna sighed, Just Another Day in Paradise.