Whiter than White

Well I didn’t know that would happen, did I?  So it wasn’t my fault, was it?  What do you mean you’ve heard it all before?  Who do you think you are – Madonna?  No, you’re perfectly safe, this isn’t a ‘song’ story.

OK, OK, let me guess - you lot want me to start from the beginning yet again - you’re like vultures circling a corpse, haven’t you got anything better to do?  It was bad enough last time you know, although I’m not complaining about how that ended.  For a start I’ve now got myself a partner or a live in lover if you prefer, which I do; sex on demand – can’t be bad – even if he can be a bit heavy handed at times.

We’ve been experimenting with the *cough* spanking thing.  Well, don’t look at me like that, I thought we agreed last time that if you’re here you’ve got to have a kink or two of your own so don’t come the innocent with me, it doesn’t wash.  Which leads me back to why I’ve a red hot backside and not in a good way.  The morning started off so well too…..

++++

“Alex?” Connor’s voice carried through from the bathroom.

“Um?”

“Will you get your lazy arse out of that bed!  You agreed to take the washing to the laundrette or have you conveniently forgotten that now I’ve not got your full attention?”  His voice was getting louder so he must have stuck his head around the door.

“You know what it’s like if you don’t get there early; you’ll be waiting until the cows come home for a machine to become empty, and there is so much more interesting things we could be doing….”

You know when an idea suddenly springs to mind? That little devil on your shoulder has a word in your shell like? Well…

“I’ve changed my mind – you can do it instead.  It’s nice and warm in here and you’re already up and dressed.  Oh, and while you’re at it bring some of those croissants back with you from the bakery; we can have them for brunch.” I made a big show of stretching and then curled back into the duvet.  “Wake me up when you get back.”

No, I didn’t expect him to potter off to the laundrette and I’d have been down right bloody disappointed if he had, but with a bit of luck he’d find the right way of convincing me to get up – and in more ways than one.

“So it’s like that is it?  Right, my lad.  It would appear that once again it’s slipped your mind about who’s in charge around here now.  Time I think to rectify that…”  

Any hint of mirth to his voice was quickly covered.  That wasn’t part of the game after all.  He was meant to be in charge; my job to do exactly and precisely what I was told –  and we all know that giggling rather spoils that effect.

The duvet covering me was quickly removed and I was grabbed by the wrist and pulled off the bed.  I gave the obligatory ‘eek’ to keep in character and my right hand automatically went behind me to cover my bum from enemy attack.

Connor gave a snort.  “You think that is going to save you?  Think again, Sunshine. Time I refreshed your memory on what happens around here when certain people forget their manners.”

He put his face closer to mind, 

“Time you got a smacked arse.”

With that he dragged me around to his side of the bed and sat down, quickly pulling me face down across his lap.  So what if I didn’t struggle that much.  It was enough to give the impression of trying to get away.  

“Now let’s see if this helps your failing memory in any way.”  His hand came down with a smart snap right across the centre of my bum; not too hard but it left a sting in its wake.  It was quickly followed by a fair few more swats, not in any set pattern so I’d no way of knowing where he would wallop next.  He kept it up for about five minutes and I was warming up nicely, then he landed two harder slaps across the top of each of my thighs.  I don’t particularly like that; not that I apparently have a say in the matter.  He obviously didn’t think very highly of my responsive mutter of the word ‘bastard’ to the last two swats either, and I could have sworn that I didn’t say it loud enough for him to hear.

“It would appear, my lad, that your language as well as your memory needs to be taken in hand. Obviously dusting off your shorts with my hand isn’t enough to engage your attention or your respect, let’s see if this will help matters.”

Dusting? OK so it wasn’t that hard but I had felt it; it was no tickle with a feather duster.  No, that’s not one of my kinks. He has hard hands does my Conner; manual worker you see, so the skin on them is rough and they pack a fare old wallop.

With that he leaned over me slightly and fished around under the bed.  Now that wasn’t a good sign, I knew for a fact that that bloody gigantic fecking slipper was down there somewhere and it didn’t take him too long to locate it.  I’m sure it has a homing device attached to it.

“Maybe this will help you remember how to be respectful to me?”

Fecking Hell!  I nearly jumped off his lap.  He’d put more effort into that than I’d been anticipating, the swine, and even after the warm up spanking I let out a squawk on the third strike.

“Connor!  Not so bloody hard.”  Oops, too late to take those words back and I knew full well the reaction they’d provoke.  Me and my big mouth.

He stopped instantly.

“Did you say something, Boy?  

The slipper was now resting on my backside, but the sting had already started to subside.  Now I’ve uttered something similar along those lines before and learnt to my detriment that my verbal input at this point leads to further input lower down with various instruments of torture on his part. It’s a sort of balance of nature – ying and yang.  You know the ‘stop whinging or I’ll give you something to whinge about’ sort of thing – and the bastard always did.  I’ve learnt that lesson.

“No, sir.”  It still feels funny calling him that, but at the same time it gives me a buzz to submit to him.  

“I didn’t think so, but just in case the thought did briefly cross your mind and to aid your memory on what happens if you do make inappropriate comments….”

He then spent several minutes demonstrating his skills in synchronised slipper manoeuvres, although I doubt it will ever become a feature of the Olympic Games.  I was left panting and wiggling around trying to drop off his lap.  Actually that isn’t the safest thing to try to do.  In fact it’s frowned upon.  Seriously so.  Another lesson learnt at his knee, so to speak.

The slipper dropped to the floor with a thud.  

“You know I think I’m wasting my energy whilst you still have these on.” 

‘These’ of course being my boxers, or should that be ‘were my boxers’?  I wasn’t wearing them any more after all.  His hand brushed over my bum with a sweeping motion and then returned again but this time gently dragging his nails across the sensitive skin. I let out a moan of appreciation – do you have any idea just how nice that feeling is? Yes, of course you do, you’re as kinky as me after all.  He continued for a few moments and then stopped.  Raising his hand, he brought it down with a sharp snap.

“Up.”

What is it with Toppish people and one word sentences?  They’re all the blooming same, it’s like they don’t want to waste energy with words when they could put said energy to better use.

I scrambled to my feet and grinned at him.  I have to say the grin wasn’t returned, in fact there was only what could be described as an evil glint to his eye so I didn’t  think we were at the point when we were about to have sex.  Bugger.

His hand reached up and wove itself into the back of my hair, giving it a small tug and using it to direct me out of the bedroom, along the hall and into the living room.  Ouch, ouch, ouch, don’t pull, it’s attached you know….only thought, not said mind – fast learner remember?  

“Over.”

Ah, right.  This doesn’t look good.  Nothing good ever comes from being positioned across the back of the sofa.  The arm of the sofa is a different matter – lots of nice thing take place there. So just what had the sod got planned for me now.  I peered behind me to see what he was up to just in time to find him walking back into the room carrying something that looked a bit like a belt.  The shock of which made me stand up again, I thought I’d hidden it you see.

“Did I tell you to get up?”  Said in that cool voice that he uses which is in direct communication to a certain part of my anatomy.  “No, I didn’t think so.  I can see I need to spend some time working with you on following orders, my lad.  And I have just the implement to help me with that.  You know, I found this at the back of the airing cupboard.  I wonder how it ended up there?”

Yes, I wonder.  And I would have liked to ask how the hell he’d found it especially as I’d hidden it well under the bedding and towels that were kept there.  But of course if I had, it would have been admitting to the fact that I’d ‘lost’ it to start with, so best just keep quiet.  

He brought the strap down across the palm of his hand, making a thwack sound. I quickly bent back over the sofa.  As I’ve said, we’ve been experimenting a bit over the last few months and I knew full well that if he’d had to tell me twice I’d regret it, as it was it looked like I’d earned myself a little something extra for my troubles.  Such a generous person, my partner.

“Now this I think I’ll leave here for a little while, give you chance to think about what happens when you forget your manners, whilst I work on getting some colour back into your behind, it seems a little pale again.  You don’t mind keeping an eye on it do you?  I wouldn’t like it to disappear again just when we needed it.”

He placed the strap on the seat of the sofa where I could see it.  I have to admit that it wasn’t one of my better ideas, nonot the hiding it. The only part wrong about that was my hiding place; I should have found somewhere more secure – like the dustbin. I was talking about buying the thing.  Oh yes, it was me that purchased it.  I’d been on the internet reading stories, like you do – yes you do.  One had a description of a strapping which had got me rather hot under the collar, so like a fool I decided to buy one for us to play with.

That’s the trouble with stories, they can be most misleading.  They never really get over just how much certain implements fecking hurt.  It pushes my buttons to think about spanking and it most certainly pushes my buttons after a spanking.  But during?  No, I’m afraid to report that it really does hurt, although I’ll admit that the build up of the sting is rather nice.  But there is always a point when you ask yourself just what the feck you were thinking when you came up with the idea that you’d enjoy your partner setting fire to your arse.

I heard the swish of his belt being pulled out of loops of his jeans.  Now the belt I do like, very thuddy, which was one of the reasons I thought the strap would be a good idea.  Connor only ever uses the belt as a warm up, and never too hard.  A gentle build up of heat and one that always manages to rouse Little Alex’s attention.  The belt is guaranteed to get me wiggling, but not from the sting.

“Right, six of the best to add a bit of colour.”

Conner had doubled the belt over and made it shorter by wrapping the buckle end around his hand.  The first thwack was straight across the centre of my arse.  I felt the weight of the leather but no real sting.  Now this was more like it, by the fourth blow I was wiggling in anticipation.

The fifth didn’t come.

“Alex, if you don’t stop moving around like that you’ll not get the remaining two.  We’ll just move straight on to that there strap in front of your nose.”

I craned my head around to glare at him.  “I bloody well will.  You’re a right evil sod, do you know that? You promised me six, so you can damn well give me six.  Come on, stop making me wait for them.”

I don’t know, sometimes I wonder just who he thinks is in charge around here.

I let out a yelp as the fifth and sixth strokes landed in quick succession and a hell of a lot harder than I was used to.  His hand rested on my back to stop me rising and his body pushed up against mine.  Leaning over me, he whispered in my ear.

“Can’t have you sulking all day, now can we?  And I never go back on my promises, especially with you being so deserving.”  He reached over and picked up the strap.

“That wasn’t want I meant and you bloody well know it wasn’t.  That stung!”

“Good, it was meant to.  And we’ll add a bit more sting with this here strap, you mouthy little bugger.”

“Bastard! You fecking won’t cos I’m not playing any more, you can get stuffed.” OK, so calling your boyfriend a bastard and telling him to get stuffed isn’t the done thing especially in this position, but I can’t help it if I’m a bit of a hot head at times.  My temper occasionally gets the better of me.  I struggled to a standing position, my pout evident and started to walk off – yes, OK – so what if it was more strop than walk?  I didn’t get very far mind.  Conner’s hand attaching itself to my ear soon stopped me, his other hand encouraged me back in the general direction of the sofa by a swift wallop to my posterior.

“You, you jumped up drama Queen, have an appalling temper and it’s not something that I’m going to put up with.  This isn’t about you getting your own way all of the time.  You don’t get to tell me what to do or how to do it here; that isn’t how this works and well you know it. We’ve talked about this enough and your likes and dislikes. What it does mean is Idecide what to do, how to do it and when to stop, and you mind your manners and do exactly as you’re told.”

He released my ear and pushed me back over the sofa.

“Now, you can bend back over that sofa and think about what happens around here when you throw a hissy fit over nothing in particular.  And if you ever call me a bastard again in that tone of voice, I’ll make sure your arse wished it could divorce your mouth.  I don’t talk to you that way and I don’t expect you to talk to me like that either, and don’t you forget it.”

He bent down and picked the strap up from the floor where he’d dropped it.  Oh dear, this didn’t look good but unfortunately I still hadn’t got full control over my big mouth..  

“OK, I’m Sorry.  Satisfied?  I didn’t mean it.”  And that didn’t sound as sincere as it should have done, in fact even to my ears it was more along the lines of ‘I’ve been thwarted and I’m still pissed off at not getting my own way’.

“No, I’m sure you didn’t mean it.  Especially in this position; I’ve found it concentrates your mind.  So today I think we use this,” the ‘this’ was accompanied by the strap being brought down with a snap across my arse making me jump, “to teach you a lesson in self control and what happens around here when you act like some snitty teenager.  I’m going to give you another six and you will count them out for me.  Are you ready?”

The ‘yes’ came out as a begrudged mutter, I’m afraid I was still in sulk mode.  I’m not the sort of person to back down and even through I wanted to submit to him - I chose to submit to him - I still don’t find it an easy thing to do.  I sort of like doing things my way.   I know, you’d never guess, would you?

The Strap was brought down again across my backside, in exactly the same place as the first. It relit the sting that was already there and resurrected the throb.

“Yes, what?  I thought you’d learnt that lesson.  Do I need to repeat it, Boy?”

“No, Sir.”  That came out quickly; I didn’t want him to even consider that I’ve forgotten my manners to that degree.  My bum would never forgive me; it was already sore and starting to throb in places.  There was a fair bit of heat being generated in that area too.

 “Yes, I thought that would get your attention, not quite so stroppy now are we?  Right then, we’ll begin.”

He brought the strap down. Snap. I jerked forwards slightly, which only ensured that my arse rose a bit higher in the air.  Totally unfair advantage.

“One, sir.”  The words came out in a rush.

Yes it did hurt and although it should have felt a lot like the belt, it didn’t.  Connor is fully aware of what I can and can’t take and although I knew he’d work on the sting he’d not take me past my limit.  But I also knew that he was making a point with this strapping and I’d feel it for quite a while afterwards.  

The process was repeated, each stroke slightly harder and in a different place.  Starting at the top of my arse and slowly working downwards.  I counted aloud each stroke and remembered to add the ‘sir’.  He didn’t rush them; letting the pain blossom before moving on.  I could feel the apprehension and anticipation building up inside me; I knew exactly where the last two blows would be placed.  The fifth bit into the crease where my bum and thighs meet and melted into the overall throb that was going on behind me.  Intense but at the same time I have to admit that in a strange way the feeling was quite pleasurable. You’re right, I am a kinky sod.  Not so the last blow, the hardest yet and placed firmly across the top of my legs.  I yelled, and no I’m not a wimp.  It’s really painful when you get walloped there.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you count that last one.  I’ll repeat it shall I?”

“Six, sir.  Definitely six.”  There was real conviction in my voice.

Connor burst out laughing and pulled me up into a hug.

“Oh, so you don’t want me to carry on then?”  

No I bloody well didn’t; my bum was sore enough, thank you very much.  I snuggled into him putting my arms around his waist.

“No thank you, it’s about time you started work on the kissing it better part.”  I reached behind me with a hand and gave my bum a tentative rub.  Yes, it was still very sore, but the lovely warm feeling you get after a spanking had started to take over from the throb.  Just the sort of feeling that gets Little Alex’s interest.

“Come on then love, let’s sit on the sofa and you can tell me what a cruel, domineering sod I am… and how much it turns you on.”

And that is exactly what we did.  I curled up on my one hip - no way was my bum going anywhere near the seat of the sofa just yet - and snuggled into his chest, my head resting under his chin.  His one hand stroked gently up and down my back as I relaxed into the movement of his chest slowly rising and falling.  Now this is the life.  His other hand snicked down between my legs and his fingers started to do wonderful things.  The next half an hour passed slowly as we explored each others bodies, which eventually resulted in two very happy people with identical grins plastered on their face.  Oh, use your imagination for God’s sakes – you can’t expect me to describe everything we do in detail.

I still had that silly grin plastered on my face when I ended up at the laundrette later that day.  Unfortunately by the time I got there, there was only one machine free.  Hell fire and bugger it; that was Connor’s fault for distracting me for so long and I wanted to go to the library to get some new books too.  It would be closed by the time I got there.  Bloody council cost cutters, the library hours around here had been cut and it closes at 2 p.m. on Saturday now.  

I’ve never really understood what was so important about sorting washing into different piles.  I mean in this day and age clothes are colourfast, aren’t they? So putting everything into one machine wasn’t going to hurt.  And the machines at the laundrette are bigger than normal machines so there was plenty of room.

Yes, OK, clever clogs – so you wouldn’t have done that.  Well I’m not you am I?  And spending my Saturday afternoon watching Connor’s tightie whities going round and round isn’t my idea of fun.  Unless he’s still wearing them of course and we’re chasing each other around and around the sofa.  

I opened the machine when the cycle had finished and swore out loud; which got me tutted at by the old witch who watches over the place.   I was bloody livid when I saw what had happen to my new white t-shirt.  Very tight fitting and defined it is, looks great with a pair of leather trousers and I’d only worn it once.  That fecking red shirt had cost me a bloody arm and a leg when I brought it; there is just no way the colour should have come out of it like that – even if the label did say hand wash only in luke warm water.  I’d a good mind to march around to the shop straight away and demand my money back and compensation for all the rest of the clothes that were no longer white, but an awful shade of pink.

And I would have done too if Connor hadn’t chosen that exact moment to walk into the laundrette.  He wasn’t exactly pleased when he found out what I’d done with his washing, but in fairness to him he didn’t blow a gasket.  He accepted it was an accident and told me to wait there whilst he went to Tesco’s to buy one of those packets of colour run stain removers.

In the end he stayed at the laundrette and I buggered off to the library to get some books having agreed to meet back at home later.  See, this really is his fault – he should have done the washing himself this morning instead of his impression of an evil villain taking advantage of a poor innocent waif.  That’s me by the way.

So went to library, got books and returned home.  That, I’m afraid is when everything went rapidly down hill.  I got home to find that everything that the shirt had turned pink was now white again.  Everything that is except my new white t-shirt.  Connor was under the impression that I had no one but myself to blame for that and didn’t take too kindly to the second ‘hissy fit’ - his words not mine - that I threw that day.  I’ll admit I may have blamed him ever so slightly for it only being my t-shirt being ruined, but I’m the injured party here.  Surely you can see that?

Anyway, he didn’t take too kindly to the accusations made against him and I ended up for the second time that day, bare arsed across his knee whilst he made his displeasure known via the application of that fecking slipper.  And this time he wasn’t playing – he meant it.

I jerked, twitched and jolted as he steadily and resoundedly convinced me that I really did need to get a better grip on my temper.  I tried to remain stoic, honestly I did, but before long I was yelping and squealing and eventually begging him to stop.  I was also doing that rather unpleasant snotty thing that happens when you start to snivel; you know, it happens just about the time you start making rash promises to never, ever, do anything wrong again in your whole life…if he would only stop!

So there you have it and I’m sure you’ll agree it wasn’t my fault – extenuating circumstances.  And it’s obviously not fair that I’ve been left with a throbbing, hot bottom that I swear is swollen as well.  What a right bastard my Connor is at times - no I didn’t say that out loud, my arse wouldn’t let me.