For now at least I'm going to just call this "something hot that really happened one time." We were driving back from hiking - specifically, she was driving, I was riding, which is unusual for me. What really started the whole thing was that she had a sore on the underside of her chin and she wanted to keep touching and rubbing it, like you do, and complained that she was doing so. To help her out I told her to keep her hand on the wheel and I would slap it if she took it off.
There was no reason whatsoever for her to be misbehaving - I had spanked her in the morning then paddled her full sore with the leather-covered paddle... set up a play scene where she was spanked again most painfully - a bit too much, perhaps - and tested some paddles before we left for the hike, her condition leading her to ask that I only bring the lightest one. I had spanked her quite recently with that paddle at the waterfall. Though she had been far behind this morning, she should have been, for the moment, largely caught up except for some specific situations that we would address before she left late that evening.
This is not to say that that is all that we had been doing; in addition to the hike I'd taken some pictures of her - dressed - in the light of the window, pictures which had come out quite nicely. And we had had a very nice lunch.
Even so, something about the way I smacked her hand was not well-received and she immediately responded by smacking me back. This kind of game has no end, and she never gives up. I tried holding her hand to smack it, wanting to make it seem more structured; I tried keeping my hand away from hers so that she couldn't directly retaliate. Bear in mind that this started while we were traveling at 60 or so down a two-lane highway, continued onto the freeway and then as we were moving through the commercial district of a number of small outlying towns. Yes, somewhere in here I should have had her pull over and found a way to spank her properly until she agreed to behave, at the least, but I didn't. All I did was promise her appropriate retribution when we got back.
Since it was easy for me to keep my hand from her, she resorted to slapping my thigh, which was always available. I wasn't crazy about directly retaliating and slapping the thigh of her leg, the foot of which was on the accelerator or brake. Not crazy about it but not hesitating too much, either. I also tried punching her with my knuckle, aiming to get between her arm and shoulderblade, and gripping, possibly bending, her wrist and knuckles painfully. While she assured me that these things hurt, they did not dissuade her.
Close to home I shifted my weight and was reminded of the light paddle in my back pocket, which I produced and smacked her thigh with. This worked fairly well, though too late, and I suspect that the complexity of traffic at that point had more to do with her sudden focus on the task at hand. I did file the idea away for other trips, though.
Once back, inside, with the door closed behind us, I did what I so often do - perched on the arm of the couch and threw her over one thigh, spanking her slightly over her jeans and then with those down on her exposed cheeks and higher up on her sexy black panties and finally, with some enthusiasm, on her bare bottom, her head down toward the couch, her legs pinned straight by my other leg, held together by her lowered clothing. It was quite satisfying to get my hand on her again; as was her extreme sensitivity from her earlier spankings and paddlings - I knew her final spankings, when they came, would be quite keenly felt. I did avoid the one spot I had focused on while we were playing because I could see that it was already too tender.
Once her basic need for a spanking - since it had been two hours since her outdoor paddling - was satisfied, I went about the issue of dealing with her unfathomable behavior while driving. Though her irrepressible nature and boundless energy are two of her most endearing and attractive qualities, I found this demonstration of bad behavior, particularly when between two significant spankings, impossible to understand.
Standing her up I moved to the center of the couch, guiding her stumblingly behind me to where I sat, laying her face-up across my thighs, her bottom centered between my legs. Since she had smacked my thighs so often I felt it fitting that she be disciplined the same way. Once again her short top revealed her navel while her jeans confined her legs.
I took off her belt - "her" belt in the sense that, while I wear it, I bought it because it is so suitable for disciplining her when she needs something with some bite to it. Folding it three ways left a short tail. While explaining that her behavior would not be condoned I smacked the narrow, crowned strip of black leather across her exposed thighs six times. Clearly she was sensitive here and the jeans we'd been wearing in the car must have dulled the smacks I'd given her while driving quite a bit because while she had ignored those, she bore these with considerable difficulty.
"How many more strokes should you get?" I asked her, "They're going to be hard." I think she could tell that those I'd given her so far, though shockingly painful, had not been "hard."
"Ten, maybe," she admitted.
"Ten total, or ten a side?"
"Each side, I guess." She has always been exceptionally good about taking her medicine, accepting punishments that go far beyond her enjoyment, getting into and holding position all without complaint.
Holding her hands together on her stomach with my left hand, after lengthening the tail a bit, I began to dole out her strokes - not viciously, but firmly, harder than they had been, heavier and stingier. One two three four five six. Six red, box-shaped marks confirmed my efforts. Understandably she struggled across my lap, lifting her legs as one. I had to stop.
"You're moving too much," I told her, an observation, not criticism. "I need to change this." I shifted her bottom up onto my left thigh and extricated my right leg, with her assistance, then laid it over her legs. The position thrust her clamped, straightened thighs ceiling-ward, their pink stripes waiting for me to continue.
I didn't add strokes for the interruption, though it was her fault; I felt that as hard as the strokes were and as painful as I imagined them to be, she was being too hard on herself, as always. Still, I laid seven more strokes firmly onto each thigh, alternating, the tip biting painfully, the edges stamping clearly. Her inner thighs were safe, since the belt was too stiff to wrap or even dip into the small shallow cleft, and I consciously avoided the far side of her left thigh, but these strokes were punishment enough. Were I standing over her, or doing this with her vertically, I might have ranged closer to her waist and knees, but as we were I focused on a band maybe four inches wide.
I didn't lecture; she wouldn't have heard. With her legs held down her body came up and unable to hold that strained position she collapsed backward, banging her head on the couch arm without noticing before straining upward again. It didn't take long.
Afterward she complained how much her thighs hurt and I told her that she should have asked for fewer, but she explained that she "thought I was really mad at her." Looking at them I had actually been rather concerned, not wanting to leave any permanent marks, though I was thinking more of how frequently this could be done safely and thinking of using my rubber smacker next time, more painful but safer. I know if I do use it, to whatever extent, even without cause, she will complain mildly before and after as she always does but accept it with the same quiet gratitude she does everything else.
There was no reason whatsoever for her to be misbehaving - I had spanked her in the morning then paddled her full sore with the leather-covered paddle... set up a play scene where she was spanked again most painfully - a bit too much, perhaps - and tested some paddles before we left for the hike, her condition leading her to ask that I only bring the lightest one. I had spanked her quite recently with that paddle at the waterfall. Though she had been far behind this morning, she should have been, for the moment, largely caught up except for some specific situations that we would address before she left late that evening.
This is not to say that that is all that we had been doing; in addition to the hike I'd taken some pictures of her - dressed - in the light of the window, pictures which had come out quite nicely. And we had had a very nice lunch.
Even so, something about the way I smacked her hand was not well-received and she immediately responded by smacking me back. This kind of game has no end, and she never gives up. I tried holding her hand to smack it, wanting to make it seem more structured; I tried keeping my hand away from hers so that she couldn't directly retaliate. Bear in mind that this started while we were traveling at 60 or so down a two-lane highway, continued onto the freeway and then as we were moving through the commercial district of a number of small outlying towns. Yes, somewhere in here I should have had her pull over and found a way to spank her properly until she agreed to behave, at the least, but I didn't. All I did was promise her appropriate retribution when we got back.
Since it was easy for me to keep my hand from her, she resorted to slapping my thigh, which was always available. I wasn't crazy about directly retaliating and slapping the thigh of her leg, the foot of which was on the accelerator or brake. Not crazy about it but not hesitating too much, either. I also tried punching her with my knuckle, aiming to get between her arm and shoulderblade, and gripping, possibly bending, her wrist and knuckles painfully. While she assured me that these things hurt, they did not dissuade her.
Close to home I shifted my weight and was reminded of the light paddle in my back pocket, which I produced and smacked her thigh with. This worked fairly well, though too late, and I suspect that the complexity of traffic at that point had more to do with her sudden focus on the task at hand. I did file the idea away for other trips, though.
Once back, inside, with the door closed behind us, I did what I so often do - perched on the arm of the couch and threw her over one thigh, spanking her slightly over her jeans and then with those down on her exposed cheeks and higher up on her sexy black panties and finally, with some enthusiasm, on her bare bottom, her head down toward the couch, her legs pinned straight by my other leg, held together by her lowered clothing. It was quite satisfying to get my hand on her again; as was her extreme sensitivity from her earlier spankings and paddlings - I knew her final spankings, when they came, would be quite keenly felt. I did avoid the one spot I had focused on while we were playing because I could see that it was already too tender.
Once her basic need for a spanking - since it had been two hours since her outdoor paddling - was satisfied, I went about the issue of dealing with her unfathomable behavior while driving. Though her irrepressible nature and boundless energy are two of her most endearing and attractive qualities, I found this demonstration of bad behavior, particularly when between two significant spankings, impossible to understand.
Standing her up I moved to the center of the couch, guiding her stumblingly behind me to where I sat, laying her face-up across my thighs, her bottom centered between my legs. Since she had smacked my thighs so often I felt it fitting that she be disciplined the same way. Once again her short top revealed her navel while her jeans confined her legs.
I took off her belt - "her" belt in the sense that, while I wear it, I bought it because it is so suitable for disciplining her when she needs something with some bite to it. Folding it three ways left a short tail. While explaining that her behavior would not be condoned I smacked the narrow, crowned strip of black leather across her exposed thighs six times. Clearly she was sensitive here and the jeans we'd been wearing in the car must have dulled the smacks I'd given her while driving quite a bit because while she had ignored those, she bore these with considerable difficulty.
"How many more strokes should you get?" I asked her, "They're going to be hard." I think she could tell that those I'd given her so far, though shockingly painful, had not been "hard."
"Ten, maybe," she admitted.
"Ten total, or ten a side?"
"Each side, I guess." She has always been exceptionally good about taking her medicine, accepting punishments that go far beyond her enjoyment, getting into and holding position all without complaint.
Holding her hands together on her stomach with my left hand, after lengthening the tail a bit, I began to dole out her strokes - not viciously, but firmly, harder than they had been, heavier and stingier. One two three four five six. Six red, box-shaped marks confirmed my efforts. Understandably she struggled across my lap, lifting her legs as one. I had to stop.
"You're moving too much," I told her, an observation, not criticism. "I need to change this." I shifted her bottom up onto my left thigh and extricated my right leg, with her assistance, then laid it over her legs. The position thrust her clamped, straightened thighs ceiling-ward, their pink stripes waiting for me to continue.
I didn't add strokes for the interruption, though it was her fault; I felt that as hard as the strokes were and as painful as I imagined them to be, she was being too hard on herself, as always. Still, I laid seven more strokes firmly onto each thigh, alternating, the tip biting painfully, the edges stamping clearly. Her inner thighs were safe, since the belt was too stiff to wrap or even dip into the small shallow cleft, and I consciously avoided the far side of her left thigh, but these strokes were punishment enough. Were I standing over her, or doing this with her vertically, I might have ranged closer to her waist and knees, but as we were I focused on a band maybe four inches wide.
I didn't lecture; she wouldn't have heard. With her legs held down her body came up and unable to hold that strained position she collapsed backward, banging her head on the couch arm without noticing before straining upward again. It didn't take long.
Afterward she complained how much her thighs hurt and I told her that she should have asked for fewer, but she explained that she "thought I was really mad at her." Looking at them I had actually been rather concerned, not wanting to leave any permanent marks, though I was thinking more of how frequently this could be done safely and thinking of using my rubber smacker next time, more painful but safer. I know if I do use it, to whatever extent, even without cause, she will complain mildly before and after as she always does but accept it with the same quiet gratitude she does everything else.
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