I just posted about trying to come up with phrases/euphemisms for “spanking” without using that word (#820).
Robert just tried his hand at it. He approached me with my hairbrush in hand and instructed me to lower my jeans and underwear and bend over his knee. I complied.
“Timber!” he yelled out.
“What?” I said, half-turning around on his lap.
WHACK! said the flat back of the brush to my rear. “Ouch!” said I. “I said, ‘Timber!’ before paddling you because the hard wood is coming down!” said Robert, all three of us speaking simultaneously. He thought he was really cute. I would have laughed but that f**king hairbrush stung my bottom too much. Robert yelled out, “Timber!” with every wallop, and I got a butt-full of wallops.
Miraculously, as he brought the wood down, I sensed other hard wood rising. Underneath me, then pressing insistently against my bare hip, Bobby Jr. made his erect presence known. I didn’t know until that moment that my betrothed was such a skilled horticulturalist and lumberjack.
I’ve always known that he is a skilled lover. He exercised his acumen in this field of study on me right after the paddling. We spooned on our bed post-coitus and talked. This is my favorite thing to do with Robert in this whole world! Yes, more than any spanking or any sex, I love talking with him right after both of those things most. I feel SO centered and understood and loved. I thought about how, in general, he considers himself a workman, whereas I consider him an artisan. He just painted my caboose the most glorious shade of crimson, he thought as a craftsperson doing the job that needed doing. I was swooning, loving the artistic flair he brings to everything he does. I thought about trying to articulate this, but just kissed him instead, hoping that he knows how much he’s loved.