Tuesday, January 8, 2008

Foreplaying With Myself

It looks like she's waiting, doesn't she? She's resigned and ready. She's even a little excited. Her left foot rises as she wiggles her toes in anticipation. She's no stranger to this position. Even the wickedly split birch doesn't unnerve her. I'm ready, her eyes seem to say. Come and get me.

Perhaps, in this scenario, she has spent the day at home. After seeing her lover off to work, she does the dishes, reads two chapters of a historical novel, and starts a load of laundry. With no plans past that, she sits down at their shared computer and begins to browse through the folder she named Spank Me in her bookmarks. She visits her favorite blogs, then opens up the file where they save their newest video downloads. She drags ten titles into Real Player and begins to scan through them, starting each in the middle. Finding one with a speed she likes, a hand spanking that turns quickly to a fierce strapping, she settles in, one hand on the edge of the desk, the other on the inside of her thigh . The girl on the screen is alternating between crying out and protesting, the perfect mix of pertinent and punished schoolgirl. The beating hits an orgasmic pitch. The girl watching the scene cries out in unison with the girl being strapped. Her cat gives her a dirty look. Finished anyway, she closes the window.

But she's not sated. The morning has left her with a craving no mere orgasm, not even mere sex, can satisfy. She tries writing a little. It only heightens the ache in her flesh. She reads a bit from the anthology of Victorian erotica by her bed. She tries napping; she even dreams of being whipped. When her lover calls to say he'll be on his way home soon, he hears the hunger in her voice. "Having a good day, are we?" he asks after their initial greetings. He knows what she gets up to after he leaves.

"It could be better," she tells him. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too," he reassures her. "And I miss your bottom. Be ready when I get home."

"Yes, sir," she whispers.

"It's been a while since your last punishment, hasn't it, young lady?"

"Yes, sir," she says again.

"You've been very naughty since the last time, haven't you?" He doesn't wait for her to answer. "You're in for it, little girl. Tonight will not be play. You will go outside and gather a birch together--"

She gasps. "But sir--"

He cuts her off. "You will gather a birch and you will wait for me, naked. I want you bent over when I walk in the door."

"Yes, sir," she sighs in a less girlish voice. "Come home soon."

"You will regret saying that," he tells her. They both know that she won't.

When they get off the phone, she pulls an end table to the center of the living room, the room into which the front door opens. She pulls the green velvet curtain from the window in their bedroom and drapes it over the table for effect. Its color matches her eyes, and she wants him to look in her eyes first when he gets home, even before his gaze trails over her bare body. She wants him to know how much she loves him and wants him. How much she loves and wants this.

She slides her feet into sandals and runs outside to the tree in their backyard. It's early winter; the tree is already bare. The twigs she finds are stiff but springy, a little life still left in them. She fears being scratched, but knows that the birch is more for effect than anything. His hand and his cane will most likely fall on her far more times than this homemade implement tonight.

Once back inside, she places the birch on the punishment block she's created, then strips and slips into a silk robe to where while she finishes getting ready. She pulls her wavy hair into a loose twist at the nape of her neck. He'll want to see her face as he disciplines her. She scents her pulse-points and applies just a little mascara and rouge. She wants to seem porcelain and doll-like when he first sees her, a girl in the first blushes of womanhood. She wants to seem innocent. She wants him to punish her for being anything but.

It's almost time for his car to be pulling up the drive. She hangs the robe on a hook on her bedroom door and walks through the house completely naked. With the tying cord from the curtain she ransacked, she creates a loose slip-knot around her wrist. She kneels; the velvet is plush and welcoming. The end table is just the right height for bending over from a kneeling position. Hands behind her back, she joins her wrists and tugs at the knot with thumb and forefinger. It tightens enough to complete the illusion.

He revs his engine as he pulls up the drive, alerting her to be on the ready. She arches her back and turns her face towards the door. I'm ready, she thinks to herself. She deepens the arch of her back, pushing her bottom out anxiously. Come and get me.


  1. Oh, boy. Definitely should have waited until after work to read this one! Thanks, Abby!

  2. Awesome!!! I would love a greeting like that when I got home from work!

  3. I second that 'Awesome!' Abby - this made me very aroused (oh, and it was well written as well). Just lovely :)

    xx Dee

  4. Alas, Abby, I've misled you--definitely no reading blogs at work. Well, unless I work at home, as I sometimes do, but this tends to compromise my productivity a bit too much :-). Dare I confess to checking my blog reader first thing in the morning? Advantage: I don't hit the snooze alarm very much. Disadvantage: does not lend itself to efficient preparation for the day...

  5. Abby,

    Here's one more vote for awesome. I've been to that place and I love it! Very nice indeed.


  6. Personally I'm not into the birching thing (nor caning) but your writing is quite yumtastic :-)



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