Scarlet. Crimson. Ruddled. Red. Carmine. Vermillion. Flushed. Cochineal.
My wife can come up a hundred words to describe the violent shade of fiery red that is my burning buttocks, but I only need one: painful.
It started a few weeks ago when I was signed up for a silly Internet game –
The Race to 2,000 Spanks. My wife saw it and signed "us" up, thinking it would be excellent way to break in our new spanking paddles that my crazy sister-in-law bought us as a wedding present six months previous - "just to keep him in check," she drunkenly teased at the ceremony and gave a sly look to her husband grinning next to her, as the unwanted gifts left her possession.
They had, of course, barely been used, but my wife kept thinking of reasons to want to try them out and I always refused: how many husbands would want their bare bottom bloodied by an overeager spouse? I was not a little child, and I didn't need treating like one. Her insistence and pleading over the paddles was always directly after she had met her sister for a drink, so I knew who was dripping poisonous thoughts into the mind of my wife.
So, my foot was firmly on the floor, and no amount of pleading would raise it: sex was in and out of her orifices, which was exactly how God intended.
To be fair, he may not have intended for it to go in and out of two of her three holes, but that's ingenuity attributable to mankind, not a flaw with his grand design. After all, a child will play with the cardboard box a toy comes in, as well as the toy itself: that's childhood ingenuity. Proper sex was vaginal, anal or oral intercourse, with the occasional handjob thrown in for good measure. What else did a man need?
My wife found this game being touted on the Internet and casually drew it to my attention. She started with the gentle pleading with wide doe eyes and a wicked smile on her face. "It'll be fun," she begged as her fingers rolled expertly over my erect cock, straining to be set free from the restrictive trousers. I grunted in annoyance: I did not want to think about unwelcome kinkiness at this point in proceedings. "And we do need the practise with the paddles." My scowl deepened slightly, but she didn't continue with her suggestion as I frowned, and after I came in my trousers, thought little more of it.
She persisted the following night and the night after, each time as we were having some sort of sex and each time with the desperate, gleeful look in her eye as her anatomy, rolled over my stiff cock, bringing it to sensuous delights. I could barely concentrate on her words as her body bucked against my hips, sending me over the edge into a kaleidoscope of powerful orgasmic sensations.
"Let's toss a coin for it," my young lady suggested as she climbed off me.
"Tails for me on the bottom, heads for you."
"What you agreed, darling," she soothed and reached onto her bedside table for a silver coin. "The thought of this spanking race is really getting me going." My eyes traced her naked body as she picked up the coin and flicked it into the air with a giggle. "Tails for me, heads for you."
"Heads for me what?"
My gleeful wife caught the coin and placed it onto her left hand, covering it with her right. "Well one person has to be the player, and the other has to be the striker," she replied and licked her lips, before unveiling the exposed silver coin. It was heads.
"But..." I started, but my excitable wife was adamant: I had agreed to the terms mid-intercourse, which I barely remembered. If I did not join in with her game then she threatened withdrawal of a plethora of privileges. We argued repeatedly that night, and I said a few hurtful things in anger. I had to sleep on the sofa.
It took 36 hours for us to be talking again, by which time my wife was resolute that I must keep my "promise" and do the Race to 2000 Spanks with her. I was desperate for things to return to normal so agreed to any condition set by the brown-haired con-woman, masquerading as my wife.
The Race to 2000 Spanks, is a group of Twitter people who can each receive up to 100 spanks a day from their partner, and then have to "tweet" their running total which is then updated on a website scoreboard, as the people
"race" to reach 2,000. Contestants have to vary their spanking scenario, so my wife had also lined up a wooden spoon, garden cane and a hairbrush in our small bedroom. She kept smiling at the five weapons, resting on her dressing table with a worrying expression on her face. I knew that this was going to hurt when we started the game!
I felt quite nervous on the first night as the clock ticked towards midnight; my wife had been getting progressively more excitable and eager as the fated time approached as she giggled like a schoolkid awaiting their birthday present. I tried hard not to think about what I was about to let my wife do to me, but she went and retrieved the two wooden spanking paddles from our bedroom. "Feel them," she offered.
It was the first time I had studied the foot-long implements; they were sturdy but light, expertly finished by a skilled craftsman. The first paddle was a few inches wide and with holes drilled down the middle, while the second paddle was little more than a half-inch wide smooth cane. "I'm not sure about this," I countered as I passed them back to her.
"Nonsense," she cried and her eyes glanced to the clock. "I've said you're doing it now," she interrupted and ran her hand along the smooth wooden implement. I shuddered in fright as suddenly the reality of the game hit home. She was going to use it against my bare skin and they were weapons that were designed to hurt. "You'll probably enjoy it," she teased with a snarl in her voice.
"I could hit you," I countered, watching her expression change to one of derision.
"I don't think so." My wife reminded me that my continued access to sex was dependent on me keeping my promises, with the implication that she wouldn't keep her promises if I didn't keep mine, and then guided me to the arm of the sofa for the first time.
.... There is more of this story ...