When You Get What You Need

Things have been getting back to normal around here. Just 3 and 1/2 months (111 days- today, but who's counting?) after fracturing my ankle in three places, I am almost healed!

It's been a long road. But I've never broken anything before, so I guess when I do it, I do it right. I have to head back to the day job this weekend. I will miss having so much free time to write, but it has also given me a taste of what I am working toward.

I came to realize something about myself from having a broken bone and then going through Physical Therapy. I am a liar! I've told more lies in these 111 days than I probably have in my entire life. The words "I'm fine", "Not in pain", "Completely comfortable", and "I don't need anything" were ever present on my lips. 

Thankfully, Mr. McKay has a pretty decent bullshit detector. Three days in and he had me figured out. He would ask me if I needed anything, I would say no, and then he would stare at me until I shifted uncomfortably and would finally admit what I needed. I'm a people pleaser. I don't want to be a burden and I really don't like admitting when I need help.

I am grateful for my husband, and so happy that we like each other because if I was stuck here with someone I didn't get along with then my summer would have really sucked!

The past few weeks have brought a new crop of stressors and concerns. I am finally back to driving and I am preparing to get back to work. I finished up Physical Therapy, but I am still doing all my exercises at home. 

I had a day this week where I stopped at the grocery store for some things for dinner. The entire time I had to concentrate on my breathing in order not to burst into tears. I was just having an emotional day and I was very close to losing my shit in the pasta aisle. Things were weighing on me, and probably got to me because I tend to push it all down.

I got home, and the dam burst. I could not stop sobbing. Like, ugly crying. And let me say this: you know you have a good partner in life if he/she can carry on an adult conversation with you while you're sobbing. I needed to talk things out. I needed to make sure we were living our life on the same page, but dammit I could not get the tears to stop. Thankfully, Mr. McKay did not treat me like a crazy person. 

The emotional afternoon over and done with, I made us some dinner. Then I deflated on the couch. There was talk of dessert.

"Um, can you spank me first?" Hell, if I am asking for what I need today and not living the masquerade of 'everything is fine', I may as well keep going.

If you are reading this blog, I am probably preaching to the choir, but there is a difference between a sexy spanking- for the purposes of sexual arousal, and a stress release spanking. It's mostly sexy spankings around here, and I am not complaining. I will take what I can get. And I very rarely ask for a stress release one (people pleaser- everything is great!), and when I do it is insanely awkward.

We went upstairs. He pulled my pants down and I bent over the end of the bed. The new leather paddle that I love to hate was put to good use. Mr. McKay will spank me until I tell him to stop. When I say "stop", he stops. At first, I didn't like this. Sometimes I wish he would just know. But I found it keeps me more in tune. The whole time I am evaluating, am I good? Is that enough? Should I say stop, or keep going? Once I say stop he won't start again, so I need to be sure.

It started out light and warmed me up, but then as the spanking progressed he started hitting lower. How did he figure that out? Has he been reading up on spankings? Once he caught the tops of my thighs 3-4 times, I was done. Especially when he wasn't understanding the wiggling I was doing to try to get him to move higher.

There is something about just a spanking. And that's it. A hard spanking. Then not having to catch up and change gears and move on to sex and pleasure. It shifted something back into place. I felt realigned. We went back downstairs and I laid on the couch and ate a cupcake with a glass of milk and felt relaxed for the first time in weeks. My ass stung for a good two hours, so I think I called a halt at the right time. 

Things are getting back to normal, but I think I will try to remember to ask for what I need before I'm a powder keg of emotions. 

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A to Z Challenge~ Fantasies of Spankings

We're up to F in the Spanking from A-Z blog challenge, hosted by Celeste Jones and Spanking Romance Reviews! 

Today I want to talk about fantasies.

I have always had an imagination. It would make sense that I write now, my mind is never resting. I think it unnerves Mr. McKay sometimes as I lay on the couch staring into space. “Do you want the remote?” he'll ask.

No, because I'm not really watching anything, I was just lost in thought, lost in my own little world.

Since I've broken my ankle and have been forced to relax and slow down, my fantasies have run rampant. It is no secret that I have a spanking kink and I love an alpha male. And since having to take care of me 24/7 my sweet, teddy bear of a husband has become much more deliciously alpha—sending my fantasies into overdrive.

When I ask if I can help with the dishes because he seems overwhelmed having to tend to every household task. He remains silent as I plead my case, telling him that I can stand on one foot and lean against the counter while I wash a few dishes, I'll even tell him if I get tired, and I won't lie about it, I will really tell him. I go on like a little kid promising to take care of a baby kitten if only we can bring her home!

He waits until I finish and then he raises his eyebrows. “No.” He holds up his hand when I open my mouth to protest. “You made yourself a sandwich today, that was your one pass and enough for today. Stay there, with your foot up.”

Oh, it almost makes me want to say 'Yes, sir' which is something I am sure I have never said in my entire life. I don't argue and he goes and takes care of the dinner dishes himself, at least he can't say I didn't offer.

But now my fantasies are kick started. As my husband is in the next room cleaning the kitchen and I stay on the couch obeying his orders, I indulge myself in a quick fantasy of what would happen if I weren't a good patient. If I continuously shirked his orders and did what I wanted.

Surely he would take me to task, pull me over his lap and spank me. That is always how it goes in the books, right? If I were risking my own health and welfare then I would be in for it...

Only that's not how it would go in real life, at least not for me. I listen to my husband and try to keep my foot up and relax not because he would spank me if I didn't. Mostly because I don't want to hurt myself more. And because I want to keep that anxious and concerned look off of his face that he had the first weekend I was home and writhing on the couch in pain. He seemed hurt that I was hurting, and why would I intentionally do that?

No, our spanking has always been for fun and I insert my fantasies in to make it seem more real to me. He was reticent to try it at first, he never wanted to spank too hard, he felt strange using implements, and he was aghast when he left marks. We moved past that, thankfully, and he claims to even understand what I get out of it even if he does not share my fetish.

But now that I am broken he is back to treating me like glass. And I fear this will be a major set back. Thankfully we have eased back into the sex. It was awkward at first keeping my cast out of the way, propped up on a pillow and not twisting my leg too much. But we were never going to make it four weeks, that's like a prison term or something.

He's not eager to get back to the spanking, but I am. I can't just rely on my fantasies for that.

So we'll see. Maybe if I keep being a really good patient...

No idea where this is from. If anyone knows please share!

Check out some other A to Zers! Thanks for stopping by!

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Being a Good Girl

The thing about my kink is I love a Dominant man, I want my husband to be in charge and tell me what to do. It's an on switch. Does that mean I am submissive? To a point, I would say so. 

But in delving into this theory for the last handful of years I think we could both safely say that our Dominant/submissive relationship does not extend much past our bedroom walls. Or bathroom, or couch—as the case may be.

It works for us. Once in a while he would switch into Dom mode in a fairly public setting and as long as it had that joking, not quite serious tone to it then it would make me swoony. But other than that, just be my partner in crime. I am a fiercely independent girl and if you step on that I will get bent out of shape.

Then last week I suffered an injury at roller derby practice. Nothing major. At first I thought it was a twisted ankle, a bad sprain maybe. My teammates helped get me to a bench and got me ice and I called Mr. McKay.

Up until then I had been cool as a cucumber. It barely hurt. I was all brave face, I got this, no big thing. But once the probing questions started from my husband and I could sense his panic even through the phone—I burst into tears.

What is it about that? Like when little kids fall and they're completely fine until they look around to see if anyone is alarmed.

I heard just a hint of concern in his voice and it broke me. If he was worried, I should definitely be worried.

It turned out I broke my ankle in two places. I had a soft cast and splint on the first few days. I have these crutches that I was speeding around the house on. The first day I one crutched it out to the kitchen, made myself coffee, cleaned the living room, and spruced up the bathroom.

The look of horror on my husband's face when I told him later on would have made me laugh in normal circumstances. But I tried to think of it in reverse, if he was hobbling around like a mad man on one leg and possibly hurting himself further, yeah, I would be worried too.

So I surrendered a bit. If he told me to stay put, I did. If he gave me ice to put on the swelling I iced it. If he wanted to know what I wanted to eat I told him. 

It's been a give and take. I am trying not to be a hero and do everything myself. He's not getting crazy when I sit for a few hours at my desk instead of on the couch with pillows propping up my lame ankle.

I guess I am learning to let someone take care of me and that's a weird role for me. I also feel guilty.

We've always divided up the household duties. Nothing written in stone, but roles we had slipped into. Mr. McKay cooks a lot, and I would always clean up the kitchen. Now he's stuck with both and the first few nights he looked exhausted. Pile on that the litter boxes to clean (normally my thing) and last night he had to do a load of laundry (he knows how, I just normally do it). 

I offered to do the dishes. I can stand on one foot long enough to wash a couple plates and glasses. He almost looked swayed as I upped my game, "I'll tell you if I'm getting tired. I'll stop the minute I need to sit!"

In the end I was denied the freedom of doing the dishes (someone remind me why I was begging to do them in the first place?).

I'm trying my best to be a good patient and at some points he gets so deliciously Dommy I am hoping the swelling and throbbing stops soon so he can really Dom me.

I worry about the spanking though and the all out kinkiness—our initial problem in the beginning was that he treated me as if I were made of glass. We just got to a good point in my opinion and now he is back to treating me as fragile.

I actually asked him yesterday when he thought we would get back to spanking and he raised his eyebrows at me.

"I mean not now, obviously," I said, as I writhed in pain on the couch. "But once I'm not in pain, we can do it with this cast on, right?"

"No." He dismissed me and went back to his laptop.

"Yes!" I yelled from my prone position.

"Maybe eight weeks," he said in a mocking tone. "How about, when you can walk again?"

I narrow my eyes at him.

"Be good, or it will be a diet of steamed broccoli for you," he replied.

I barely kept myself from sticking my tongue out at him. But inside I was all fluttery. At least he cares enough for my well being.

So baby steps, maybe one night this week I can wash some dishes, and then surely I'll have earned a spanking!

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The Thing About Spanking

The thing about being married (maybe not even married, but a long term relationship), sometimes we schedule sex. I'm not talking like 9:45 every Tuesday or something, but sometimes we just make sure we are on the same page. Life is busy, we're always running somewhere and sometimes our needs are not lined up with our time allotment. 

So this weekend we scheduled some sexy time, it is not uncommon around these parts, and I don't feel like it's a bad thing, what's so wrong about being on the same schedule?

The thing is, yes, I was horny. But I will share a secret with all of you, I masturbate a lot. I mean, I guess it's subjective what "a lot" is, but in speaking with friends (even my online kinky friends) it may be more than the average person. I would call it a hazard of the trade— writing sexy things and reading sexy things, but I have always been this way.

Once we moved in together and I was having sex on the regular, you know, we were no longer sneaking around catching stolen moments— I realized masturbating became a lot less fulfilling. I told Mr. McKay he ruined me. Jokingly of course, because really, I could still achieve orgasm on my own, it just seemed very... blah.

Maybe it's the predictability. I know exactly what to do and how to do it, so I just do it, there is no anticipation, no guessing or excitement.

Needless to say, I much prefer the release I get when I orgasm with my husband. It is nice to have someone to hold you afterwards. Give you a cuddle. Tell you you're pretty. Or that he likes your tits (hey, it always gets me to smile).

But I have been starting to wonder if the reason why sometimes my masturbatory orgasms seem unfulfilling is because I am not really just wanting an orgasm. I am craving something else. Sometimes I think I just need to be spanked and my brain mis-fires and thinks I am horny.

It's a frustrating realization. And one you cannot fix on your own.

But in came the scheduled sexy time. We were planning on some spontaneous sex (yes, you read that right, and sure, it is such a thing— a planned spontaneous affair), but then we put it off too long and both got sleepy. Apparently that happens when you're old. So we both decided tomorrow, tomorrow is our night! First things first, before dinner, before drinks, before we can get full or sleepy or disinterested.

So we did, we got to it! Mr. McKay always takes care of me first, so I came and with gusto. It was dark in the room, which disappointed me a little because how could he see to spank me? He still did, sharp smacks as I straddled him. We were kissing and fondling, there were fingers and tongues and moans in the darkness. All the while he was smacking me. A smattering of smacks. It was a nice sting, but then things progressed, we moved onto the main event. There were fingers in places and double penetration and I am not sorry to say I had a mind numbing orgasm. 

We lay in the dark, my head on his chest. Light touches and giggles. Someone's stomach growls (maybe mine, but I will not admit to anything) and Mr. McKay tells me he will cooks us some dinner. But the thing is. I am not done. And I start to feel guilty, but I am not as sated and relieved as I should be. And why aren't I? Something is wrong with me, right?

Will he think I am a needy annoyance? Will he sigh and begrudgingly comply with my demands? I don't want that. I don't want to need this. But the thing is I had been building up the spanking in my head. I was worked up for it. I was ready. And then it was... lacking. It was still there and I should be happy for that, right?

So there in the dark I utter, "I just..." and then my nerve is lost. Why did I start? Ugh, I want the floor to swallow me.

"You just, what?" he asks.

"Nothing, nothing, nevermind."

I guess when you start something and then stop and admit you are scared to say, you freak out your partner a bit. So now I feel guilty that he thinks I was going to confess some sort of life altering confession. It should be old hat by now. I need to be spanked.

"Well, the things is. I just. Maybe we could... uh, I just wanted more. Spanking. You know?"

"Okay," he laughs. "Is that all?" The lights flip on. "You scared me. But this? This I can handle." He motions me to the end of the bed and picks up the cane leaning against the wall. 

"Oh, we're using that?"

"Yeah we are. You want something more? I got it!" He smiles at me, and really, how the hell did I get so lucky?

I'm gasping and squirming by the time he is finished. I have neat lines of stripes and don't even feel funny about looking at them in the mirror with him standing there. "I feel better. I needed this," I say.

He smiles again and tells me he's going to make dinner.

Over dinner we talk about the night and he admits that he was worried when I got so nervous when we were upstairs. Why would I be nervous about telling him that? I joke around that maybe he was scared I wanted to try pegging or something. He admits that crossed his mind, and something like that would scare him. But tells me if I felt that strongly about trying it, then he would. For me. Because he loves me.

I am not ashamed to admit I teared up. Some girls get jewelry. I got a man not afraid to dip into the kinky side of life, even if it freaks him out a bit.

For that I am grateful.

I hope everyone had a great weekend! Do you get the Baronet Press newsletter? Sign up today! Our free story for April is coming out later today (yes, I know it's May, but better late than never- and now you will get two in one month!). Click here to sign up and it will be sent to your inbox later today!

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Dinner and a Spanking Side Dish?

We were making dinner last night and I was looking for the little glass carafe dressing bottle thing so I could make dressing for the pasta salad. As it is not something we use often (and haven't used it at all this winter) it's in the odd cabinet in the corner of the kitchen where we stick the things we barely use. The cabinet does this weird thing where it is the size of a regular cabinet when you look at the doors, but inside it veers to the left and has this huge deep space where things get lost because i can't reach.

Anyway, this is normally where we keep the dressing bottle, so I stretched up on my tip toes and reached into the cabinet but couldn't quite feel it. I knew it was there. I had a distinct memory of going in that cabinet during our St. Patrick's Day Party and knocking it over. Because I even thought, "Shit, I am never going to find this thing now."

I am grunting and making frustrated noises. Mr. McKay comes in the kitchen. "Do you need help?"

Does it look like I need help? Yes, use your tallness to make this problem go away.

He proceeds to pull a forgotten travel mug, a glass shaker for parmesan pizza cheese, and a random salt shaker out of the cabinet. He reaches back in and feels around. "It's empty."

"No! It's up there, I know that's where it is."

He turns to me and shrugs.

I have reached my boiling point. I am starving, it's getting late, and all I want to do is mix this little packet with some vinegar and oil and make my dressing so I can eat dinner already! "Get out of my way, I'll find it." I give him my best 'thanks for nothing' tone because it is obviously his fault that he cannot produce this random kitchen item. I push a chair over and climb up. Then I teeter to the side as I still have to lean over the counter and stretch to reach into the cabinet.

I feel his hands on my hips, "Don't fall," he warns me.

I give him a frustrated sigh and he can't see my eye roll. Although with the amount of times I have fallen and hit my head in this house, I really don't blame him for thinking this might end poorly.

I continue groping into the vast darkness of the cabinet while he needlessly steadies my hips.

"Um, Bear?" he says. He calls me bear at specific times. It comes out in the tone of something from Winnie the Pooh (Silly old bear). But it is always good natured and usually followed by a chuckle if I am doing something ridiculous or by kisses and cuddles if it's because I am whiny.  So I take it as a good sign that he has not taken the bait and followed me into my foul mood as my claws have certainly come out.

I stop reaching and stand straighter on the chair so I can look back at him. "What?"

"Did you look on the counter?"

The counter under this waste of space cabinet is also a waste of space. It's jammed into the corner of the kitchen, but it's useless as you can't use it in food prep or anything, because you can't reach it. The coffee maker is shoved over that way as is our spice rack. We also have an assortment of teas and sometimes the stray tupperware if Mr. McKay has done the dishes and decided he doesn't know where to put it away, it ends up in the Bermuda Triangle of counter space. 

And there, sitting on the counter, in plain view is the stupid dressing carafe. I must have knocked it over and then pulled it out of the cabinet during our party, which means it has been sitting there for close to a month, and I never noticed. I'm a little embarrassed that I have been throwing a fit for the last five minutes and the solution to my problem was sitting in plain view.

I turn to start getting down off the chair, but the hands on my hips keep me in place. "Stay there, don't move," he directs.

"Why?" The word is barely out of my mouth before he starts spanking me. Hard. I giggle anyway, because I am standing in the kitchen on a chair and this has to be the most ridiculous scene ever.

Every spank hits the lower portion of my ass, right on my sit spot and the sting feels intense. "Oh, I like this," he narrates. "With you up so high, I can really get an upswing."

I guess I should just be thankful he didn't grab any kitchen implements that were at the ready. His hand seemed hard enough!

I was sent out of the kitchen with a stinging ass as Mr. McKay took over the rest of dinner prep. He wisely knew that one more set back and I would have ended up in flames or breaking something.

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In the Aftermath

I'm continuing on with The Year of the Spank. I was a little worried I was jinxing myself, you know starting a series on my blog about my real life adventures in spanking would almost mean for certain I was jinxing something and it was all going to stop. I don't think I really need to worry too much though.

We had snow this week. Not as much as was predicted- it was kind of like "Oh my god we're all going to die!!!" forecasting and what we got was a pain in the ass amount of snow, but not shutting the entire state down for days sort of thing. Anyway, the residents of my east coast town kind of all collectively decided fuck it, it's cold we are staying in anyway. And so that was the Blizzard of 2015 that wasn't (at least here).

Mr. McKay and I got normal blizzard essentials, and quickly realized that our blizzard essentials mirror our hurricane essentials. Chicken nuggets, mac and cheese, gatorade, whiskey and mixers. (Don't worry we had plenty of candles and batteries left over from hurricane season.)

After we cracked into our supply of whiskey I made a flippant comment about getting this show on the road (I had been promised some snow day kink)- my pants were suddenly whipped off of me as I wriggled and squirmed to stay upright on the couch while my husband dropped to his knees before me. I was quickly and thoroughly brought to completion by fingers and tongue and I collapsed breathlessly back against the cushions. (I wish all my flippant comments were met with such results- but I think it was a Snow Day Miracle.)

Upstairs for part two- we had another round with the vibrating plug and then I was pushed to bend over the end of the bed, the Hitachi wedged against my front, plug in my ass, and then he picked up the cane. Oh sweet mother of mercy, I'm pretty sure I gushed everywhere before he even touched me. He was light on the cane, but I wasn't about to complain- because these are things I have asked for, implements he is not used to using and would not have broken out on his own even a year ago. So I went with it.

At some point it becomes a blur. I know my throat got hoarse from screaming- this is also the night I discovered that Mr. McKay views it as a game to see how many times he can make me come and chuckles with delightful glee when I am shuddering and begging with tears leaking from my eyes (begging for him to stop or keep going is a mystery to both of us- but there sure was a lot of begging).

I try to be the proper amount of annoyed when he tells me this is his favorite game, but I can't help but break out into a smile and think- holy shit, we may even be more evenly matched then I originally though. The crazy things you learn.

Anyway, sounds like a full night? Yes?

But we're in the bathroom cleaning up and I mention that he could have gone harder with the cane.

He leans over me and switches off the faucet, "Harder?"

"Um, yeah. I mean this was great. I'm just saying, it's okay to use it a little harder."

He grabs my elbow and leads me out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. Oh shit, I didn't mean right now. I've already come so much my knees aren't steady and what if it hurts a million times more because I'm tired and oh shit...

He leads me back to the end of the bed and picks up the cane which is leaning against the wall. "Right now?" I squeak.

He smiles, "Yeah, why not?" He swishes the cane through the air and I bend over again rethinking this whole 'giving him notes' thing when I am still naked and at his disposal. "How much harder?" he asks.

I shrug, completely losing my nerve. "A little bit?"

"Like in that video you showed me?" (Spankingtube- for all your educational needs)

I quickly try to remember what video I may have shown him before agreeing. He doesn't wait for a response just lifts the cane and whips it through the air- it lands with a satisfying thwack on my ass. I lift to my toes, more from the surprise of the strike than any real pain- although a delicious line of warmth blooms from under where he still holds the cane against me. 

"Makes a neat little whippy noise doesn't it?" he muses.

"Uh huh," I practically moan out.

"So, like that? That hard? Is that better?" 

I almost laugh at his tone of voice, like he's asking if he's put enough pepper in the mashed potatoes or something.

"Yes." And I can't figure out why I am instantly ready again, am I never fully satiated?

"Cool," he says as he brings his arm back and canes me again- cool little whippy noise and all. This time I don't jump to my toes but I can't help the smile that breaks out on my face when he says, "I got this." I don't know if he's talking to me or himself. A third stroke a bit further down and then he walks and puts the cane back against the wall. "You okay?"

I say yes and wonder if I should thank him, is it weird to say 'good job'? He smiles again and walks back out of the bedroom. I have a moment of confusion- this is not a romance novel ending. But then I have to shake myself, I don't live in a romance novel. Maybe he should have thrown me on the bed and made mad, passionate love to me again? Or at least made this a proper spanking. I stand in the center of the room, sort of confused at what has just transpired and what I am to do now when he pops his head back in the doorway. "I'm hungry! Chicken nuggets?"

"I'll start the oven."

"You're the best!" he exclaims.

"No, you're the best." And there isn't any doubt in my mind that we both really mean that. 

Life is not a romance novel. My night ended cuddled up on the couch eating chicken nuggets and watching reruns of 30 Rock. I would probably not ever want to read a book like this, but I have to say, it's a pretty damn good life.

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2015 The Year of the Spank!

You read that right- I am declaring 2015 the Year of the Spank. And I know what you're thinking I write books with spanking, I blog about spanking, and if we had an email hack you would see my emails where I mail about spanking. So isn't every year the Year of the Spank??

One would think, but it was a long road to get here. 

I've talked about it before- how I have been into spanking and fantasized about it since about forever. And my husband, my sweet, lovable, unassuming husband had this thrust upon him one day. 

I won't go into the whole evolution- but some of you may know when you have a relationship that is one part spanko and one part non-spanko (for lack of a better term) then things evolve. There is a give and take. There is talking. Sometimes there isn't enough talking. Things take time. Concessions are made. Points are explained. Experiences are shared.

The point is, the actual spankings have evolved. He used to smack me a few times and then get on with the sex. We had many, many, many talks where I had to assure him I would not break- he was not really hurting me- there would be no lasting damage. It felt like it took forever. There was a long period of time where I would endure any kind of spanking completely silent because it seemed if I made any noise, of pleasure or surprise or god forbid discomfort- it just ended. I didn't want to discourage anything, so I would just bite my lip and take whatever he gave.

Finally, we got to a point where a spanking might even go on longer than I wanted it. Or it hurt just a bit more than I thought it would. I started to wiggle, yell out "Ow" at especially hard smacks and make jokes with him that I would have never brought the whole thing up if I knew I was married to a man that could make his hand feel like a goddamned paddle if he wanted to. His response was a smile and an assurance, "Oh, I can hit much harder than that."

All of this built up over this past year. The spankings have become longer, more frequent, and harder. Much more of what I crave and as I have been explaining, more of what I need. I just need a spanking sometimes. It does help that I can be open and ask for it. It's a good place we have gotten to.

2014 was a good year and I feel like we made a lot of progress as a couple. Not that we needed any work relationship-wise but there you go- we progressed. Personally, professionally (we started a business!), sexually, and spankfully (it's a word, right?).

The year ended (and the New Year started) with less of a bang and more of a *crack*.

Our tradition from many moons ago is to stay in on NYE, watch silly movies, eat horrible (and delicious) snacks, and drink. We used to do it with friends, but now we are all old and married so we stay at our respective houses. Out NYE night has also turned into some kinky play as well as all the other things. So this year I slipped on the lingerie I had put in Mr. McKay's stocking for Christmas (which I love and declared I want to live in it and wear it every night to bed!)

We had some drinks and got a little frisky on the couch. He pulled me down across his lap (hooray! A spanking I don't have to ask for) and he starts spanking me. Hard. I mean really hard. I start to wiggle and he pauses, stroking his hand over my heated flesh. I relax and lay my head back down on the cushion, my eyes drifting close at his soft touch when he starts up again. Now I can't hold it in, I am emitting squeals and I kick my foot up a few times effectively getting in the way of his spanking hand. I wrap my arms around the couch cushion in an effort to keep my hands out of the way and smush my face into it as I try to get a handle on myself, I want this, I keep reminding myself. But oh my god, why??

He stops again, chuckling at my antics as I buck and writhe across his lap. "Just tell me when you want me to stop." I'm elated, the man listens, he really does (well, sometimes at least)- I may have mentioned once or a dozen times that he has a tendency to stop a spanking before I am really ready for it to end. But wait, now he is telling me I have to stop it?

I moan into the cushion and let out a pitiful whimper.

"What?" he asks, real concern lacing his voice.

I look back at him over my shoulder, "I'm never going to tell you to stop!" I drop my head back down as if this is the biggest dilemma ever. 

Now he lets out a real laugh, "Oh, my crazy girl," he says as he strokes my pulsating backside before winding up and giving me four more hard smacks that have me calling out with each one.

I was in ecstasy. That is the only way I can explain it. There are many times I have fantasized about the perfect night with my husband and I have to say our New Year's Eve celebration was damn near perfect. 

I'm not even getting to the part about the vibrating butt plug... OMG! That's a whole other post to get to. I will be writing a full review, so stay tuned for that. 

At the actual stroke of midnight I was snuggled under a blanket on the couch wearing a washed out t-shirt and thread bare yoga pants, burning my mouth on the homemade pizza we popped in the oven (because apparently I can learn to ask for what I want but I can't learn to blow on hot foods before putting them in my gob), and thinking about what an absolutely awesome 2015 we are in store for.

Welcome, folks, to the Year of the Spank!

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