This story is follows on from “Every Night?”
After the excitement and fear and intensity of the first few days, coming home each night wondering whether Liam might have lost interest in this game yet, or if we were at least going to take a break for a few days, the annoyance, the humiliation, even just the damn pain, began to take a toll on my enthusiasm for this new game. Clearly, we were both excited by this side of our sex life, but equally clearly, this was a few steps up the ladder of intensity. Just how long could we keep up this ill thought through idea of his spanking me “every” night?
I found myself brooding on the fact that it wasn’t even an idea that we had discussed or at which we had arrived together. He had just announced one night, in bed, that that was how it would be and there had been no further discussion. I concede that neither at the time nor, to be honest, at any time since, did I challenge it or argue with him about his new regime. In fact, I now realise that I had just gone along with this plan without so much as seeking clarification of just how absolute would be the “every” or how long an experiment he had in mind. A week? Two? We were now more than a month in. My bottom had been spanked every night and I had no clear idea where this out of control game was going. Perhaps the biggest concern was that it was simply out of MY control. It seemed that Liam was the one in full control. Did I really agree to that?
In the first few weeks, Liam was absolute in his insistence that I could not begin to go to bed until after my spanking. I could not even change into any sort of night clothes. Otherwise, he sent me back to get fully dressed again. And would then make me wait, sometimes for hours, before he would announce, in a matter of fact manner, that it was time for my spanking. Some nights, I would stand there in the bedroom, waiting for him to finish in the bathroom, unable to take off even my shoes or sweater until I knew how he wanted me. Only for him to wander in wearing boxers and tee for bed and mutter that he wanted me in nothing but my bra, please.
Within a couple of weeks, I found myself treating it almost as normality. When I wanted to go to bed I would stand up and ask Liam if he could give me my spanking now before the next TV program started that I knew he might want to watch. It was almost like asking if he’d please put the bin out.
But the truth is that it wasn’t the bland normality of putting out the bin and even after many months, let alone a couple of weeks, asking always carries with it that deep down shock of fear and excitement. Because however many days went by, Liam never allowed the spanking itself to become humdrum. I never had any idea what his preference was going to be until he told me. I could see little correlation to his mood and despite asking him early in the evening what he was going to want, or indeed whether he planned it days or hours in advance or just right at the last moment, he would never discuss what he told me to do or why his preferences wandered so widely night by night.
Some evenings, Liam would have me bend over his knee like a child, or stand and grasp my ankles for maybe ten minutes straight. Sometimes, I was made to lie across the bed or he might take me to the living room to bend over a chair or to crawl on the floor. Occasionally, I was taken to the kitchen where there are no curtains or blinds (although it really only looks onto our small walled garden). Generally, I ended up with a bare bottom but sometimes we built from a spanking over my clothes and then with me holding up my dress or skirt and still with tights and panties covering my bottom. Other times, he would have me undress while he would watch or occasionally he would dress me in something different altogether.
Liam would spank me with a wooden spoon (very sore), his hand, a slipper, a leather flogger, a belt, or a cane. Sometimes, a selection. We even went to a posh country sports shop and bought a riding crop together, leaving little doubt in the shopkeeper’s mind what was going to be cropped. Or whose! Some nights, I went to bed with a stinging red bottom for ten minutes. Others I would stand in the corner with my hands on my head and tears running down my face from genuine pain. Sometimes, we’d “do my spanking” like it was a chore and then get into bed to read, other times, it would develop via rubbing and caress into lovemaking. Occasionally, a hard spanking over a chair could become fairly energetic anal sex or being hit with a riding crop whilst crawling on all fours led to oral sex. But whatever else Liam might be, uninventive he is not. When I asked for my spanking each evening I really had no idea if it would be five or fifty minutes or range from a stinging embarrassment or a degradingly painful experience.
For all the variety, one thing remained absolutely constant as the weeks became months. Every meant “EVERY”. We could have been out partying and come home exhausted, quite drunk and barely able to summon the energy to go to the bedroom and undress. Nevertheless, there was always one responsibility we had to take care of and which could never, ever, be postponed. Nor, for that matter, was Liam inclined to make a concession to the circumstances. I remember more than one occasion where he clearly thought sympathy was due to him as he was so tired and in need of a bed and yet having to deal with this responsibility. Then he would fulfill the obligation by canning my bare bottom four or six times before acting as relieved as I felt, that it was over and playfully racing to undress and collapse in bed so I’d be the last one to turn out the light.
Perhaps the oddest, scariest and in some twisted respect the most exciting nights were when we weren’t getting along. The first time it arose we had had quite a serious argument earlier in the day over family stuff. He didn’t want to visit my mother and, truth be told, neither did I. But as these things so often have a way of doing, the argument escalated into his dislike for my sisters and their husbands, the fact I sometimes gave them money, the comparison with his family and some quite deep-rooted issues over making allowances or concessions for someone you love. It got heated and became one of those that rolled all day, the smallest communication becoming laden with meaning and the argument flaring up like half-burned embers with the smallest encouragement. It was sufficiently serious that I had genuinely forgotten the spanking ritual until mid-evening. I’d washed the dishes and then sat in the bedroom making calls and surfing various sites and social media. Until I found myself thinking I’d go and get my spanking and go to bed. I even caught myself hoping he wouldn’t be a bastard about making me wait.
