Buy Me Some Peanuts and Cracker Jacks...

I've been craving some spanking. That is the simple truth of being my sort of masochist -- if it doesn't happen for awhile, I start to get edgy and out of sorts. Especially, it seems to me, when I am feeling ill; even more especially if I am feverish, the little, feisty, spanking demi-urges begin to march around in my brain carrying picket signs and claiming unfair treatment on the part of the management.

Now, I do my best not to ever accuse The Management of anything unfair, so that sort of internal mob behavior is very unsettling. But here's the thing... I'd first filled Himself in on how I was feeling about all of this in the middle of last week (while I was still really pretty sick). That "date with fate" did not happen due to a whole pile of circumstances, and I understood. I did. I just hoped that when the weekend came along, we'd catch up with one another. Except that on Saturday morning, I woke up feeling crummy with a miserable headache. I eventually shook the headache but by then, it was college football and grading papers and all the stuff that gets wrapped up into our weekends, and the opportunity just drifted away like a puff of smoke. I turned my anticipation on Sunday -- surely Sunday morning we'll get some time and be able to work a spanking into the schedule! It all seemed promising in the beginning. He woke up and seemed horny -- a good sign. He messed around and humped on me for a good long while, and then He was ready -- to make love. So. OK. That's cool. I jumped on board and did that voodoo that I do, reducing my evil sadist to a silly, grinning, cooing 16-year-old in a flash. And, then He was hungry -- for breakfast.

Imagine the air hissing out of a very big balloon... ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.

I got up. Made breakfast. Finished my school work. Surfed the Internet. He went for a walk -- still too cold out for my recently sick self to go with Him. I got a shower. Did some laundry. He came back and turned on the football games. I tried not to fuss; tried to keep the voice quiet that tells me that "if He doesn't want to spank, it must be because He's getting that need taken care of somewhere else." The afternoon wound on into evening. I made dinner. Cleaned up the kitchen. Puttered. He wasn't feeling all that terrific after dinner. It happens nowadays. Food is often "the enemy;" making Him feel queasy and uncomfortable. It was all I could do to keep myself from dissolving into tears. I just wanted to cry from the combination of pent-up wanting, loneliness, and fear of rejection. The world series game came on TV at about 8:15 PM. I'd long since given up hope. I'd started to write a blog post, but He asked me to come snuggle on the couch with Him, so I put the computer away, wrapped up in a blanket, and snuggled in next to Him. It wasn't exactly what I had in mind, but it was still nice.

Somewhere along the line, as the game got rolling -- and yes, Mr. Upstate-New-York is a Yankees fan, He suddenly chuckled and said (mostly to Himself), "I just had a wonderful idea." He was up off the couch, wandering here and there. I was about half asleep, drowsing and feeling sorry for myself. Suddenly, He was back with His New York Yankees ballcap, and a fistful of paddles. "I've figured out the best way to watch this game," He told me. "Now get up and get over my lap." He stuck the ball cap on my head, grinning at my astonished face, as I scrambled up and around to drape myself over His lap.

Of course, by this time, I'd managed to work myself into a pouty place, and dragging back from the pouty place takes a bit of time. He didn't seem all that into it which fueled my doubts. I could hear myself muttering away to myself in my head -- on and on and on.

Oh yeah, and there was the matter of that baseball cap. It is impossible to lay face down in a baseball cap. The bill sticks out! I sputtered and growled, and finally just turned it around so the bill was in the back. That made Him laugh! "You look like a catcher," He told me.

It was an interesting spanking; slow and almost laconic. He just seemed to whomp away on my butt, sometimes with His hand, sometimes with one of the paddles, sometimes just rubbing me or stroking me with a knife blade. There was none of the usual intensity and ferociousness. It confused me -- made me think He was just humoring me. Eventually, He had me stand up and pull my jeans off, and then it was back down for some more spanking on my "pretty panties." It went on and on, slowly and leisurely, and in time He got around to pulling the panties down and smacking away on my bare skin.

It never once seemed to me that it reached the level of feeling very difficult or very intense. It did go on for a good long while as the game droned on in the background. I think He might have had it in mind to spank through the whole game, but He quit much earlier than that because He got too hot with me draped over Him. And so, I ended up curled up back on the couch next to Him, and that was when I began to notice that my rear was really tender. Really. Tender. Apparently, slowly as He went, the cumulative effect was pretty significant. Even today, as I've worked and taught, I notice that I am sitting carefully. Wow. I guess I did finally get what I'd been hungering after. After all.

swan