#150) Stand at the Mantle

It was Saturday afternoon. They had no plans for the evening. She thought they might order-in a pizza, watch some TV.
Jay came into their bedroom. His words were direct, some might have found them curt, but Jeanie knew that this was just his way, direct, to the point.
“Please put your hair up, take off your clothes, then stand at the mantle. I’ll see you there in ten minutes. Don’t keep me waiting.”
Jeanie knew that he meant what he said, especially that last part. As she pinned her long jet black hair up with suddenly trembling fingers, thoughts ran through her mind. Jay always liked her hair up, found it sexier than any other way. He liked to see the tattoo on the back of her neck as much as he did the tramp stamp above her ass crack. And that was saying something because Jay was an inveterate ass man. Then the thought she’d been avoiding floated by; standing at the mantle would be their evening’s plans, she wouldn’t be sitting comfortably for the foreseeable future. Jeanie had a maintenance spanking coming. This revelation addled Jeanie’s brain a bit.
They’d been in their D/s relationship for half a year. Jeanie would’ve typified their relationship as very good, at least up until a month ago. That’s when Jay first introduced the idea of maintenance spankings into the mix. Jay gave Jeanie a maintenance spanking the very same night he’d introduced the concept, then gave her another one two weeks later. Jeanie was mad at herself as she finished her preparations for not seeing this one coming. Jay was nothing if not consistent to the point of predictable. Both spankings were almost identical, Jeanie had no reason to suspect that tonight’s version would be any different. That’s how she knew that sitting comfortably would be out of the question soon. This form of discipline started with a baker’s dozen swats with the heavy wooden paddle, and was followed by several sets with the razor strap. Trying to buoy her doom-filled perspective, Jeanie told herself that it could be worse. Although she hated that big wooden paddle, all wooden implements for that matter, the first set would probably hurt even worse if given with a plimsole tennis shoe. Those British sure knew how to torture a deserving bum! And a Scottish tawse would hurt even more than the uncut razor strap, and both were preferable to the cane. All of those facts notwithstanding, Jeanie truly hated to get a maintenance spanking!
For the umpteenth time during the last month, a single sentence came to Jeanie’s mind and screamed its way into her entire consciousness. She said it again as she assumed the position standing at the mantle on this particular Saturday afternoon, this time at a whisper, but with no less vehemence.
“I haven’t done anything to deserve this!”
By this time, Jay resisted the urge to explain yet again that this is what made it a maintenance punishment. It was by its very nature not for any specific offense. It was designed to keep a submissive on the straight and narrow, on her toes.
Jay picked up the heavy plank by its handle. Jeanie took ahold of the brick mantle with both hands to brace herself, spread her thighs wide with a solid stance, and arched her pink-white and perfect posterior out at her Top. Jeanie closed her eyes, otherwise she’d see Jay reflected in the mirror before her, see his wind-up and the pitch, and would flinch. But this way that first swat seemed to come out of nowhere.
WHOMP! The impact rocked Jeanie up onto her toes, white hot pain blazed across her rear in a wide swath, tears leaked out of the corners of Jeanie’s blue eyes. She tried to shake it off, redoubled her grip on the brick, arched her ass out with purpose, as ready for the next vicious wallop as she could be.
Yep, he administered thirteen of the dreadful swats, by which time Jeanie was crying profusely and her once pristine bottom was ravaged and welted. Each wallop hurt like a motherfucker, out-of-this-world painful. All Jeanie could do was repeat that sentence to herself.
Ding-dong. The pizza delivery person was at the door. Jeanie was left on display before the fireplace, the kid could see her as he stepped inside the front door with the big box. Jeanie, glistening eyes now open, caught his gaze in the mirror as he accepted payment and tip from Jay.
Her Dom disappeared into the kitchen, reappeared with a slice on each of two dinner plates. He put it in front of her nipples on the flat mantlepiece. Like the two previous times Jeanie had stood in this exact same place, in the exact same state, she wasn’t hungry now like she hadn’t been hungry for Chinese or Door Dash. The slice of pizza would sit there untouched, getting colder, as Jay would leather her bottom mercilessly, and heat her until she incinerated. He picked up the razor strap and took position behind her behind. Just the prospect of what was to come got Jeanie’s juices flowing. Something in her loved getting a warming, intimate leathered as much as she hated the hard-edged, sharply stinging wooden paddle. The worst of the pain was over. And her submissive-hardwired-sensibilities would more than warm to the warming of the strap that awaited. It would turn her on, with no turning back. This line of thinking reassured her addled brain.
Jay cracked the strap with full force across her fulsome fanny. The flesh jumped, the muscles tightened, Jeanie whimpered, as her sex lubricated, became heavy, like a washcloth that needed wringing out. Her already erect nipples became hard, crinkled little raisins. It stung, but not like the paddle. Because this sting turned to a radiating warmth, not a searing pain like splinters left behind after a swat with wood. Jeanie stuck her ass out for it, didn’t need to work at digesting the pain and readjusting her stance. “Do your worst,” her flagrantly available posture screamed back at him. “I can take it, I welcome it!” For now her hormones were pumping, endorphins flooded into her system, making her a wanton slut, a spank-whore, a submissive in her deepest sub space. No longer did Jeanie feel wronged for having to take an unearned thrashing. Now she was his submissive accepting his attentions with the implement of his choosing, the strap. And she could see in the mirror that he could see between her cheeks as he beat them, could see her engorged and dripping pussy, could see her pink-petaled rosebud when her buttocks bounced beneath the impact. She knew that he wanted her, lusted for her, in all her orifices. And she knew that she would give him each of her holes in turn. Her body wanted it, needed to feel desired, but more importantly, needed to feel used, to feel his.
It took Jeanie longer to be quieted after a maintenance punishment than at any other time. It took an eternity to be reassured that she was back in his favor, was his “good girl” once more. They cuddled on the couch, in front of the unlit fireplace and unoccupied mantlepiece area. When she felt restored, she thanked Jay for the maintenance spanking. Her words lacked the sincerity they usually held, but he understood why. Then she slid down, out of his embrace, to kneel before the couch, to take his rampant manhood into her mouth, so show with sincerity her gratitude. She hoped that he’d want to take her in her aroused sex next, followed by a visit up her backdoor to finish matters. She didn’t mind this order, it felt complete, like giving closure to a punishment session that she didn’t want or deserve…

2 responses to “#150) Stand at the Mantle”

  1. The photo spoke to me; I had to fashion this story! I’ve been thinking about maintenance spankings a lot recently. I’ve never had a Top who gave me one. (Maybe I was getting enough spankings for good reasons!) I hope you enjoy today’s installments!

    Liked by 1 person

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