A Week in July

[I wrote this back in 2004. It's never been shared beyond a small group of friends. But it's a 'real' excerpt from our lives when the princess was an infant. A small infant. From the time when we were finding our feet again, so to speak, after more than a year of pregnancy, childbirth, and other impediments to intense 'scening'.]


Copyright 2004 by asparkle2@yahoo.com. All rights reserved.

We’ve had my parents staying with us since Sunday. Just having them in the house with us is absolutely exhausting for me.

It’s purely unintentional on their parts, but I am one of those people who really needs order and a significant amount of time alone – or at least a length of time every few days where my parenting, housekeeping and shopping skills are not being judged. I’m afraid that I also really wish that at least some corner of my house was still _my_ house.

Just to give you an idea: Yesterday, I was in our bathroom _for_five_minutes_ when Mom knocked on the door, anxious about whether the princess needed to be woken up from her nap. Because it was almost dinnertime. Because she’d been asleep nearly ninety minutes. [Read: Because Grandma wanted to play with the baby.] Now, I don’t know what y’all do in the bathroom when you have company, but it’s not like I was planning on serving tea before I came out. Did she have to knock on the door for that?

Thankfully, the house does give Chris and I a modicum of privacy at bedtime. Our bedroom is about 70 feet from the guest room (aka my office) at the other end of the house. On the downside, the monitor is on in the nursery and the receiver on in that same office, but there are two doors between our bed and the monitor. Keep that in mind a little while later.

By Tuesday afternoon I was climbing the walls. At Osh Hardware, I was rude to Chris when he didn’t deserve it. He forgave me, of course – he’s very understanding about the personality conflict between my mother and I. Still, I think he knew I needed some tender reinforcement. Or maybe he needed it. I suppose that part doesn’t matter in the end.

Although we don’t have a Dominant/submissive relationship on a consistent basis, he can (and occasionally does) institute a definite pecking order. It always somewhat surprises me when he acts ‘dommy’ – it seems out of character to me but that’s because, I think, I live with him. Not that I don’t like those recessive dominant traits, I’m just saying they surprise me.

Yes, I’m babbling and avoiding the point :).

After dinner, I asked him to go for a walk with D (our dog) and I. I really didn’t mind walking alone, but I also really wanted some time alone with Chris. I mean, he’s my best friend. Sometimes I want to talk to just him; not him and my parents together.

We were barely out of sight of the house when his hand was around my waist and sneaking down the back of my shorts to squeeze my bottom.

I want to point out that we were on a public street where we know the neighbors – and Chris had his hand down the back of my pants.

Intermittently through the walk, Chris’ hand went down the back of my shorts for a two-second squeeze or spanked my bottom with a smart pop of his hand. The smacks were hard enough that my hops and soft squeals were quite real. D, oblivious to the byplay between us, ambled, pulled and sniffed along quite contentedly.

When I (half-heartedly) objected, his eyebrows rose about two inches and he drawled, “Isn’t that my decision?”

I inwardly sighed. Yes. Of course. I wanted to grumble but I just whispered, “Yes, sir.”

An hour later, he went into the bedroom and called to me to come in for a minute. When I came in, he shut the door, put his arms around me from behind, unbuttoned my shorts and let them drop to the floor. Kneeling down behind me, he held my hips and kissed and nibbled my bottom for five minutes, stopped, pulled up my shorts and went off to shower.

I was, as you might imagine, a bit, uh, _distracted_ by this performance.

We excused ourselves fairly early from playing cards and retired to our corner of the house, closing the door between our bedroom-bathroom-nursery and the rest of the world. After getting ready for bed, I returned to the bedroom and undressed.

Chris waited until all my clothes were off before he excused himself.

When he came back, I was gloriously naked, even if I had left a nightgown beside the bed – just in case. Squirreled under the covers, I waited for him to join me.

He did, pulling me against him so that my bottom rubbed his thighs and then fondled my body for a few minutes while we spoke about the day.

Eventually, I rolled onto my stomach and his hands began playing with my bottom. We talked very quietly.

“So, did you like what I did this evening?”

“When you asked me to come into the bedroom?”

“Yes.”

“You kissed my bottom. I like that.”

“I like your bottom. It tastes good.” He patted it a few times.

“I wish you could spank me.”

“I will. Just not tonight.”

“I guess you’ll have to find some other - quiet - ways to punish me. We’ll have to practice for that, anyway.”

“Oh, I’m sure I have some ideas. After all, I know what a naughty girl you are. What a bottom-slut you are.”

Yes, I am, aren’t I? I squirmed and wriggled and tried to tell myself I wasn’t. “Yes, I am, aren’t I?” I finally admitted, succeeding only in not sounding gleeful. “What does that mean?”

“It means you like to have things in your bottom,” he whispered against my head.

True. “Sometimes,” I hedged. After a minute, I added, “Maybe tonight?”

His hand cupped my bottom very firmly as he murmured quietly, “I was just thinking that you might need something in your bottom tonight.”

I wiggled. I couldn’t help the little shiver that sneaked up my spine. I thought about what he said.

Almost before I realized it, Chris was applying a cold dollop of KY to my anus and pressing a plug of firm plastic against that sensitive muscle. It was, thank goodness, a small plug: five inches long, an inch diameter at the widest point. Hard plastic.

It went in easily, and I squirmed happily, lifting my bottom for it. Chris chuckled. “You are a naughty bottom slut,” he pronounced. “I think you might need punished.”

Of course, his declaration was still very quiet. But it seemed very loud to me. He fingered me again and again and I squirmed and wriggled and the plug stimulated my bottom hole. Finally, I grasped a pillow, held it against my mouth, and tried to smother the telltale cries that accompanied my orgasm.

“How?” I asked, after several minutes of quiet recovery had passed. He couldn’t spank me, after all, which is the preferred method. From previous experience, though, I had some idea. My stomach was already a little tight with nervous rumbling.

“Oh, I think you know part of what I have in mind.”

“The other plug?” I asked nervously.

Nervous is a good description, by the way. The ‘little’ one, as we call it, is very erotic and has a pronounced effect on my state of mind that is, well, undeniable. Particularly when Chris is laying behind me, pushing it in and out, and fondling other parts of my body at the same time. The ‘other’ one is more intimidating. More painful. It’s punishment. Pain.

Good thing that pain can be hot, huh?

After a moment, I feel him nod against my head. Then he asked, quite casually, “Have you ever written about this before?”

“Between us?” I asked, a little lost. “Of course not. I usually just write spanking stuff about us. Not other things. Nothing public.”

Chris pulled out the plug – making me gasp - and rolled me onto my tummy. “You’re going to write about this,” he pronounced. “And then I’ll read it.”

I felt him apply another dollop of KY to my anus and shivered, squirming into the mattress to get comfortable. But then I stiffened a little when he continued.

“And then I’ll decide if – and who – you share it with.”

I swallowed just a little hard.

And then he was pushing the ‘other’ plug into my bottom and it was all I could do to think about how wide it was being opened and how it made me feel and how sore my bottom would be after. And about how quiet I had to be.

I was, quite literally, holding a pillow between my teeth.

It’s not that the ‘other’ plug is so much bigger than the ‘little’ one. It’s maybe a half-inch to an inch longer, but it flares out to a noticeably wider diameter that is hard for me to take, and the cylinder between the base and the flare is perhaps an inch across, maybe more. To have it inserted is painful enough – to have it inserted again and again and again is absolute agony.

I could have sworn it went on for at least twenty minutes; the reality is that Chris probably didn’t thrust it past and pull it out of my rectum for more than three or four minutes before I was whimpering and moaning and pleading against the pillowcase.

He took it out, of course. And replaced it with something covered in a condom that felt quite different.

Chris, I’m happy to report, slept quite soundly. I, on the other hand, had a very sore bottom. Not because it was spanked.

Over the next day and a half we exchanged a series of e-mails that I’ve [not] already shared as a very short story. [Said e-mails went something along the lines of 'you are in so much trouble.']

Thursday, we took the princess and my parents to Disneyland. Chris and I rode one ‘attraction’ alone together – the Haunted Mansion. He had his hand down the back of my pants nearly the entire ride. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.

Today is Saturday. This afternoon, we dropped my parents at the airport. The princess was sound asleep in her car seat so we stopped at the curb (they flew out of a small airport with a gigantic name – Bob Hope Pasadena-Glendale-Burbank airport).

Before we left the airport property, Chris told me I was getting a spanking.

When he was almost ready to turn onto the freeway, his hand slid across the seat and behind me, down the back of my shorts.

I, of course, had neglected to wear panties.

Chris immediately adjusted his plans for a quick trip home. He moved over to the right lane, made a couple of quick turns, and we found ourselves on a tree-lined street with cars on the curb and red-bricked warehouses on each side.

Before I knew it, I was being pulled across the seat to look out the driver’s window. He gave me ten extremely hard swats with his hand through the shorts then helped me (by now, biting my bottom lip) back into the seat and made his way back to the freeway.

The baby slept through the whole thing.

On the way home, I was told exactly what he could have done. Chris could have made me take down my shorts. He could have made me sit on a bare, sore bottom on the trip home. He could have made it longer.

I thought to myself (I’m going to get in trouble for this, I think) that he could have not done it at all.

He also told me what was going to happen when we got home. Exactly. Specifically.

Chris was just about to make me speak the fateful phrase “fuck my bottom” or “fuck my ass” when we got home. His dad was waiting – and stayed for an hour at least.

After that and two showers, I found myself enclosed in our bedroom and being drawn – naked, except for Eeyore socks I bought Thursday – over his lap.

It was a long and hard spanking. Hand. Spoon. (I really, really, really dislike spoons.) Bathbrush. Paddle. Hairbrush. Hairbrush _bristles_.

When it was over, he had me kneel over his stomach, my head between his knees and my bottom spread open on his chest like some ripe delicacy.

And I felt the KY again.

The little plug, I thought in relief, when he started to push it in. And pulled it out. And pushed it in.

My knees were weak when I finally rolled off him.

The conclusion, by the way, was the same as Tuesday. Only in a different position.

Use your imagination!

Oh, and... since I didn’t say about how I felt about any of this, let me just say it now. It was hot. Very hot.

sparkle