I met Mr. W when he came to work with me at the Barnes & Noble in Calabasas, California, bookstore to breast-augmented soccer moms and famous families. Jada Pinkett-Smith once chatted up Mr. W about horror novels and Anne Rice. Alec Baldwin, with his daughter in the children's department years before the infamous voicemail rant, checked out my ass while I was bent over cleaning up after spoiled children. Nikki Sixx really wears his hair that way all the time and Kate Hudson, even when she was pregnant, is inordinately tiny.
Obviously, I was a little star-struck. Mr. W wasn't so impressed, having lived in Southern California his whole life, so his free time around the store was spent not celebrity-ogling but shooting rubber bands at my rear end.
At the end of the day, I'd have bruises on my backside. Foreshadowing, I suppose, as we were just friends at the time. He'd get me when I wasn't expecting it, shelving books or hunting for overstock titles and corrugated displays in the receiving room. I swear, he kept his pockets full of rubber bands just in case he encountered my bottom when no customers were around. Spankophile flirting: he'd inflict pain on my rear, I'd squeal, he'd laugh. Oh, memories. The very fact that I let him do this to me, and daily, reminds me that there never really was anyone for me but him.
Yesterday, a rubber band broke while I was organizing paperwork at my office desk. The snap of the old rubber on my hand stung intensely, more than I remember the snap of rubber bands stinging. But even as I tried to shake the pain away, I realized I was flushing. I was radiating heat. I was suddenly so aroused that I wanted to step away from my desk for a minute, take a minute to breathe, to, well...
Was it the surprise pain? The flash of memory of Mr. W inflicting just this type of pain on me years ago? All I knew was that I wanted to be home, over his knee, squealing, happy.
I restrained myself from snapping another rubber band on myself, but I thought about it.
Yes, rubber bands do provide a real jolt, and in a very good way when they happen to be snapped against your bottom.
ReplyDeleteHugs,
Hermione
Hugs! Ah rubber bands. But I suppose a creative spanko can find sexiness in anything, huh? Do we know anyone who's gotten crafty with the idea of rubber bands and spanking? I'm picturing a sort of punishment slingshot...
ReplyDeleteThis is such a sweet story!
ReplyDeleteI wrote a post about rubber bands here: http://hermionesheart.blogspot.com/2009/05/snap.html and one of my readers enthusiastically picked up on the idea.
ReplyDeleteHugs,
Hermione
I thought this story was going to end in a Valentines gift to Mr W of a ball of rubber bands!
ReplyDeleteI reckon getting together with someone you love can make anything sexy (c.f. linden tea)...
What a lovely story!
ReplyDeleteI was once spanked with a flogger made of broken rubber bands, but it really didn't hurt at all and was just silly. Better to get Mr W to practice his aim again.
If he needs practice, that is!
Great!! Spanking makes me much more excited for sex. I love more to spank than to be spanked.
ReplyDelete