Burn Baby Burn

I hate to do this to you. I hate to string you along just a little bit more. And yet, I will. String you along. Because we’re meeting with friends today to drink iced cold beer. And gossip. And watch the fireworks light the sky.

But because fireworks make me think of heat, and heat makes me think of, well, heat… I’ll give you this tease.


I’m over his lap. I’ve been needing a spanking for too long, and he’s been making me wait. In spite of everything I’ve done, he’s ignored the signals. I’ve been bratty. I’ve been bad. I might as well have worn a t-shirt with the words SPANK ME in bold scarlet letters across the front.

I’ve been that desperate.

But now that I’m here, I’d rather be anywhere else. Name the place, and I’d rather be there. In line at the DMV. Waiting in the doctor’s office. Sitting at the back of coach on a packed flight.

I’m scared, more scared than usual, because he’s taking his time. I stare at the floor, at the swirls of crimson and emerald and cornflower blue in the Oriental carpet. I stare at the ornate carved wood of the antique chair legs. I stare at his Engineer boots, the scuffed black leather, boots we bought together ten years ago on Melrose. Boots I’ve seen quite often from this position.

The air seems to shimmer in front of me.
The blood pounds in my ears.

Why was I in such a rush to find myself over his lap? What was so urgent about him paddling my ass?

I know exactly what he’s doing as he strokes me through my short pleated skirt. He’s taking his time to let me think of all of my transgressions. He’s letting the moment sink in.

With infinite slowness, he slips my panties down my legs. My knickers are pink with hearts printed in a row, and now, they dangle from my ankles. Not on. Not off. I’m primed, ass up, totally exposed, waiting. He has to start now, doesn’t he? He has to spank me now.

But he won’t be rushed. Instead, he strokes my bare skin with his palm. There is no pain yet. There is only that rush of fear, starting in the base of my stomach and radiating outward.

Just spank me, I want to scream, Please…just…spank…me…

But he doesn’t. he makes me wait.

And fuck Tom Petty for being right. The waiting is the hardest part. I force myself to be mute, eyes clenched shut, heart pounding so fast. So loud. If he had started right away, we’d be half-way over by now. My feet would be kicking. I’d be trying to stay still, but failing. I’d be crying, almost begging, instead of being lost here in this horrible zone. This no man’s land of misery.

I arch upward, trying to tell him with my body what I need him to do. Trying to insist from a submissive position what must happen.

To my horror, he simply pets me some more, soft gentle strokes on my naked ass. Until I can’t help myself. I laugh. And that’s when he says—oh, fuck him. Fuck him— “You think this is funny?”

My “No” is a whisper.

“Then why are you laughing?”

“I don’t know.”

“You better come up with a reason pretty damn fast.”

I’m face down. Over his lap. With my idiotic heart-patterned knickers dangling from my ankles. My face is flushed. My eyes sting already with tears. And still the silent laugher shakes me. I bite my lip, hard enough to leave marks, and pray that he’ll start.

“Why are you laughing?” His tone is beyond menacing. If his tone could cut, I’d be bleeding.

“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. Because I don’t. I don’t have any idea why I’m laughing. “I’m sorry,” I try next.

Then he says those words, those magic words. “No you’re not. But you will be.”

Finally, his hand comes down. Hard. Then again, just as hard. He doesn’t hesitate now. He spanks steadily, with force, driving out the worries. Driving out the fear.

With the pain comes the relief.
I won’t laugh any more now.
We both know that.
I won’t laugh for a long time.

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Photos today are courtesy of a twisted friend who sent me the link. Damn her. She clearly doesn't want me to get any work done at all.