Ooooooh! What Pretty Panties!

He used to have a thing about "breaking in" any new clothes that I got. Breaking in is Master-speak for paddling the daylights out of me IN whichever item is being "broken in." I've always had mixed feelings about His insistence on this particular custom. On the one hand, it is a painful experience for me, and my reluctant masochism tends to shy away from things that I know are just going to hurt like the Dickens. On the other hand, "breaking in" always feels like the M/s version of the vanilla guy's affirmation: "Gosh, Honey! You look great in that dress!" I'm enough of a screwy masochist to get an emotional charge out of the whole business.

But life has been difficult in the last few months. We've been far more focused on issues of health than on SM play. It isn't that we've given it up altogether, but things have definitely dropped off as our energies have been directed elsewhere.

So... I've acquired a fair number of new "things" that have not been properly broken in. It has bothered me some, but I've told myself that it was not a big deal -- especially compared with everything else we are coping with these days.

And then there was Wednesday. I'd worn a cute little turquoise colored, sleeveless, summer dress that T found for me last weekend. When I got home from school, He was already here. We sat and chatted; shared news from the day; talked about this and that, and had a snack. Eventually, He disappeared into the bedroom and came back with one of the clear red acrylic paddles. With a wicked grin on His face, He took me by the hand and declared that it was time to break in my new dress.

I was a little surprised, but recovered pretty quickly and got myself in position over His lap. He began fairly gently, paddling with rapid fire strokes all over my butt (clad in my pretty new dress). After a bit, as I was beginning to squirm just a bit, He pulled the hem of the dress up, and I heard Him exclaim: "Ooooooh! What pretty panties!"

It made me giggle (in spite of my precarious position). It isn't like He'd never seen them before. It isn't like they are anything special -- just some Fruit of the Loom, cotton hipster-style panties, in a soft colored pastel print. I don't spend big bucks on lingerie. Panties cover my ass, and He most often wants me bear-assed naked for spankings, so...

But, He oooohed and ahhhhed and carried on as if I was sporting something luscious from Victoria's Secret. I don't know -- maybe those pedestrian undies take on some magic power when they are displayed on an upturned ass?

Anyway, He paddled away on the "pretty panties," and then pulled up the legs on each side so He could paddle the bare skin underneath. I squealed and squirmed and panted and gasped my way along, and ended up all curled up in His arms. It is good to be back on familiar turf.

swan