By Callipygian
Putting away the shopping while the television plays in the background and I should be thinking about that report. I have no idea what I need to focus on and it is due by Friday week; a week and what am I thinking about? The same as I am always thinking about on any given Thursday.
Reality may take a back seat but it is not all fantasy. Things do happen and my boyfriend is a bastard, except in my head I edit out any semblance of consent. In my head I am at his utter mercy and he has none. Never ever quote me on this, not in an age where psychopathy and reason battle for dominance. A time where all magic must surrender to science, rational accountability and numbers. Never repeat what I whisper here, but as far as I am concerned consent is for wimps.
Reason is not a complete stranger to my head. I do have a job and when I am not distracted I do it well, but I am given to self-obsession, self-destruction and just occasionally I might be selfish and unreasonable. Michael says I am a brat, but let’s not throw accusations around too freely. Although to be fair I do call him a bastard.
Let me walk it back to something that may or may not have happened exactly like how I remember, but as far as I am concerned it is close enough.
Almost two years ago I had forgotten half a dozen items from my shopping list. The supermarket was way too crowded and I might have got into a strop. Halfway home I realised my omission and of course it was Michael’s fault. So I told him so. He didn’t bite, he even said sorry. So I told him so again and told him sorry was not good enough, not by a million miles.
Michael is a moderately big guy, not the Hulk, but better looking. He has played a bit of rugby and tends to wear these chunky cuddly jumpers that emphasise his bulk. He has short dark hair and this brings out his dark brown eyes which can look really satanic when he begins to get mad. At 32 he is four years older than me, and a head and a half taller. Not that I am short, I am just not tall.
Have you ever noticed that often shorter people seem to go sideways a bit, not fat, just not stretched, so that everything is more rounded. That is kind of me. In case you are wondering why I have broken off the narrative to talk about myself then I would say that is a good question… where was I?
“Well are you going to just sit there?” I am all but screaming at him now. Since I am driving there is not a lot he can do and as for going back to the supermarket, well the ball is in my court.
“Calm down baby,” he says in that firm untroubled voice of his.
“I am fucking calm,” I yell at him.
He is steaming now, but I know he won’t erupt, he almost never does. I will calm down and then things will be okay. If he loses it then our day goes down the drain and I will be fuming until bedtime.
“We can get the rest tomorrow,” he says. ”If there is anything you really need now I can go out to the local for it after we get home.” He is so fucking reasonable.
“Bollocks, I am going back,” I say. I stop the car and reverse it around to do a U-turn in the street.
Who the hell puts lampposts on pavements? How can they let my car just reverse onto the pavement anyway? There should be a soft guard rail of some kind.
The damage is not bad. Michael gets out and has a look. “Callie, let me drive,” he says.
“No,” I tell him, I almost leave him and he has to scramble back into the passenger side.
I pull up at the house in a fury. I leave everything and go through the front door to leave him to it. But after, I don’t know, not immediately anyway, he is not there. So I go out and look for him. He needs to be told how to do everything and he needs to know how furious I am. He has gone.
I am ballistic now and slam the door as I go back into the house. Of course he is in the kitchen; he went around the side to bring the shopping straight into the back door. Makes sense, but conceding the point doesn’t fit my agenda. I know I am not being fair now. What is my agenda, do I even know? This is where I don’t apologise but I wind down, usually. Then what does he do, the utter bastard, he turns his back to go and get the two remaining bags he has left on the patio. I lose it.
As I berate Michael, the lord alone knows what I say, he stops very still and puts the shopping bags down and very slowly turns around to square up to me.
You know where this is going, at the time I didn’t. We had played with some stuff here and there, a little spanking. I liked to be reluctant and grudging about it.
Michael takes hold of me and manhandles me over to the garden bench. I am across his lap in a blink of an eye and he holds me fast.
“What the hell are you doing?” I scream, we are outside, there are neighbours, there are windows belonging to neighbours and anyway I am furious, and this is not kiss and make time. It is quite a list of reasonable objections.
He lands a hard heavy slap to my rear. I mean for real. It hurts and I can feel a real burn where his hand meets the seat of my jeans.
“Fuck,” I yell in my fury. It doesn’t hurt that much, not yet.
He spanks me again and I realise that he is not messing around. “Alright,” I say angrily, “I’m sorry about the car, but if you…”
He spanks me again, even harder and I am already beginning to struggle. “The car, is that all?” he says in a firm tone. His voice has an edge. He spanks me again.
“You can’t do this, you can’t do this here,” I tell him. I am trying not to cry out now. I did dig deep into defiance and also my shouts will make people look out of the window.
He spanks me again and then again. He isn’t yelling or even telling me where to get off. I know he is furious and I understand why. I don’t recall if I got that then and it was just pride or if the insight came later. My bum is searing hot now and genuinely uncomfortable.
“You cannot do this here, not like this,” I explain to him letting my voice hold a bit of righteous anger. “There is freezer stuff,” I add.
He stops, finally. I feel a bit fruity and we might have a kiss and make up approach for later. I decide to call it a draw.
“You are right,” he said, of course I am, “Not like this.” Then he tugs at the waist of my denims and somehow both they and my knickers come down to my knees in one go.
I gasp, I am absolutely in shock. My bum hits the breeze and there is no doubt he has just bared my bottom for all to see.
“I should do it like this,” he tells me and spanks my exposed behind with a real burner.
I can’t help but yell, no pride or decorum, I just squeal. He follows through and I react the same way. It is almost comically. As I resolve to not scream, a decision fortified in my head, he spanks me and I forget and just yell; over and over. It is really beginning to sting now. His hand lands everywhere all at once, under, over, sides, both cheeks and then one. His spanking technique is crude, but thorough and comprehensive.
I am so embarrassed; there is no way someone isn’t either just over the fence or looking out the window to see what is going on. I don’t think I can convey how utterly humiliated I feel, but I am torn, it might hurt more than that even.
“I am done with you, I am really done with this,” Michael tells me, his tone is frim and reasonable. I hate that, he still hasn’t lost it. Who knew he was the one in control the whole time? He spanks on, hard and quite fast, it is too much.
This is the kind of spanking a girl needs. Not me of course, but other girls. Utterly embarrassing, I mean one stage away from being spanked in a restaurant in front of all your friends say, but yet stingy enough to make a girl think that the pain is the biggest problem, but not quite. It is a delicious edge of both pain and shame being equally challenging. Then I remember, whether I need it or not I am the girl getting this spanking.
“I am sorry, really sorry,” I yell, anyone and everyone could have heard me. My first ever apology, there should be a monument.
He isn’t even impressed. The spanking goes on and on, my bottom is bare and it hurts.
“Sorry,” I am shrill. I am close to tears.
He pauses and menaces my sizzling rear with an open palm. “Are you? I am not convinced,” he threatens.
“I am, I am, I am,” I tell him earnestly.
“What are you sorry about?” his hand hints at a resumption at any moment.
“Can’t we go inside, please,” I beg, no reservation, my bare arse is on display and I have had a spanking.
He spanks me hard, and then a few more hard slaps. I yelp; no resources now to resist.
“My bad driving, for the car, for the shopping I forgot…” I babble.
He spanks me again and follows through with a rapid all over volley. I have really had enough.
“I am really, really sorry,” I say urgently, “Please don’t spank me out here.” Or anywhere right now, but that might be pushing my luck.
“Go inside and face the end wall in the kitchen,” he tells me.
I have no idea what he means but he lets me up and I get to go inside. I read a book once about the Stockholm syndrome and the victims of torturers. How they can be grateful for the gaps in their harsh treatment. I am not saying that what amounted to a few slaps to my bum was really torture, but I can’t be mad with Michael, he is giving me a reprieve.
I stand at the end of the kitchen, I am wild with a sizzling bum and sexually aroused off the scale.
“Face the wall,” he bellows, “or we go back outside.”
I turn, but in my escape I have pulled my jeans up to half cover my bare bum. They won’t quite pull right over for some reason. He crosses the room and yanks them right down.
“If you move, I will take you out the front and spank you there in front of everyone,” he hisses.
He means it, really means it, and that would be about 10 times worse than a spanking in the garden. I gulp and try and make myself small as I face the wall. I massage my bum until he yells again I have to put hands on head.
I pressed my face into the wall so that I could smell the years old paint with a hint of bacon fat from something. My hands are on my head. I am no longer angry at nothing and it is such a relief. I try to be angry at him, but with the first anger gone I have clarity, I have surrender and safety and I am so horny.
Behind me he puts the groceries away, which is frustrating because he gets it wrong, but I actually see that that is my fault and know it is a small problem of adjustment later. It irks me that the freezer door opens last, but again, what can I do? I am not moving, not for anything until he says.
He leaves me there for a time. I hear the TV go on and he actually sits down in there. Not for long, some news perhaps, but it is humiliating. I mean if he wants to see my arse then fair enough, I had it coming, but he is ignoring me, what the hell?
He wanders back and puts the kettle on. Will I get some tea and out of here? My bum is sore but my frustration is greater and I rub thighs together.
“Are you calm now?” he asks, a friendly opener which will see me out of this embarrassing position and maybe to the bedroom.
“No I am not fucking calm,” I say, I get the rage: all of a sudden from absolutely nowhere as I turn to face him to resume the totally unfair tirade from earlier.
He grabs me and puts me under his arm like baggage. He carries me effortlessly towards the front door, and I know to my core what he is going to do and that I totally deserve it. I get another surge of arousal amid the apprehension and fear.
“N-no, no, no, no,” I babble, “Sorry, I didn’t mean it.”
He opens the front door and carries me outside. My jeans and knickers are around my ankles and I am now half naked in the street. He sits on the low wall next to the car and puts me back over his knee. There is some cover but anyone passing, I mean anyone, will see my bare arse and that it has been spanked; is getting spanked.
The spanking is absolutely off the ouch scale, but my embarrassment quotient masks the pain.
“Sorry, I’m sorry, please, please Michael,” I force myself to sound reasonable and assertive and very, very calm. He wants calm, it is his price, “Not out here, please, I start to cry…”
“You deserve this and I promised you… if I cut you slack you will eat me alive,” his voice is loaded with regret; I think he regrets the threat. I mean if the neighbours haven’t realised yet, they will in about a minute at most. Then we will be the weird couple up the street forever and someone will call the police and then either it is domestic violence or public indecency.
“I totally deserve it,” I promise, “You can spank me all week and do anything you want… but humbly I ask… please inside…” I am so god damn proud of him and that makes me so wet. I swear if he doesn’t yield to my request I will personally apologise to every one of the neighbours and offer them written proof that I deserved it. The scenario makes me dizzy and very, very slick where it counts.
He stands up and half walks me, half drags me back inside and sends me back to the corner, a true empty corner in the lounge. I am so grateful and not to say relieved that he is getting a BJ every day for a year. If anyone mentions Stockholm again I will write a book called Solihull Surrender and tell them to spin on it.
I am in the corner with a sore arse panting like a dog and totally unasked I have my hands on my head. “Sorry,” I say and I mean it.
“Stay there and don’t move,” he tells me.
“Yes Sir,” I say, I nearly go pop on the spot.
He puts Match of the Day on TV, and frankly I would rather watch the paintwork anyway, but I love being put in my place. I would tell him with a BJ and chips, but it will be better if he thinks I hate it and am miserable, which to be honest is what I deserve.
This was the first serious punishment spanking I ever had from him. Later that day we did stuff in bed that I made myself do to make it up to him, but enjoyed so much that let’s just say we broadened both our horizons.
These days if I had a tantrum like that, even a spanking outside would be insufficient. After the first corner time I would get a paddle or hairbrush; fetch it myself and offer it to him on my knees. I would be spanked so long and hard that I would be a sobbing snotty mess and deserve it. I deserved it then, but didn’t know how to suggest it.
Now the back in the kitchen remembering and looking forward to our next confrontation, I will lose of course. There is still that bloody report due and I have run out of distractions. I probably just need a good spanking to make me focus.
Leave a Reply