Tuesday, December 8, 2015

Jam Boxes and Other Holiday Treats

Our most recent toy purchase

"I want you to order me a jam box for Christmas," Mr. W announced from the kitchen.

I was staring at but not watching the TV in the adjacent family room, recent issues of my favorite cooking magazines spread out on the coffee table in front of me as I wondered whether I should try making anything fancy and new for the holidays. Some of them feature gift guides at this time of year; he must have flipped through a few of them. I began to contemplate what flavors he might have seen that would inspire this level of curiosity. Gift boxes, even of jam, can be expensive. Ghost chili and apricot? Our notorious combination of ginger and peach?

"What kind of jam?" I asked.

He said the same thing again, and my face turned as red as my bottom soon would be. "I want you to order me a sjambok for Christmas."

"That seems like a terrible idea," I replied. The sjambok has come up in conversation before, but he knows I've been terrified of them because of a horror movie I saw a few years back that contained ill use of just such a whip. Then again, I first saw the use of the cane in Lupus films back when they were still Rigid East and I was still a teenager, and those seemed like horror films to me then. Now, I prefer those films over most other spanking videos, and anyone who has read my blog knows that I do not fear the cane. Even though it's fun to pretend I do.

A few days later, Mr. W had a Cane-iac cart prepared. On our way to go Christmas shopping at the mall, he handed me his phone. "Are these okay with you?"

The cart contained two sjamboks, both a long and short one, a long leather strap with holes that mimicked the classic Canadian prison strap, and a longer cane than any we already own. "The cane looks thin," I noted. "Everything else?" he asked. "Yes. Do it."

All four items arrived last week, but we didn't have a chance to explore with them until this past weekend. I came home from an errand Sunday morning to find him practicing with the longer sjambok on our bed. I like that he tests new toys; my flesh is precious to him, so I trust him with it, He'd had a chance to get a feel for the physics of each item and I was wearing jeans, so when he asked to try them out on me as well, I was ready, even though we had a family event to get to and little time for play.

He bent me over the bed and tried the short sjambok first, which we'd hoped would be perfect for over the knee spankings. It stung, but I could feel how we could use it for warm-ups or for more punishing OTK sessions. The longer sjambok was next. It did the same, but more intensely. Even in my jeans I could feel it lick the inner curve of my backside, then in the next stroke grab the outer curve of my hips. I knew I would continue to fear this one for a while, but like the cane, I had a sense I would also grow to love it.

Next, jeans still up, he reached for the prison strap. A few strokes in and I was ready to pull my jeans and panties down. Too soon he reached for the cane. He only gave me two strokes and they stung like hell. He knew it.

I had to shower and get ready for the family gathering, but he pulled me over to the mirror so I could see the marks I already had, even with my jeans and panties up. "Just a few more with your panties down," he said, my jeans falling around my ankles and his voice deep in his throat, the voice that means what we are doing is making him the most aroused man in the world, the voice that knows I'm already wet but I want him to whip me more.

The cycle continued. The sjamboks, the strap, the cane. Not too heavy, we knew we had more playing to do later, so the marks were light, strawberry pink. "More strap," I whispered, when he'd finished. "Just a little."

He gave me another three, perfectly whipped across my bottom, getting both cheeks in one stroke. I bit down on the bed comforter with each so I didn't cry out. At last I groaned and pulled my body up into a kneeling position on the bed, arching my back, begging.

"We have to get ready," he said. I moaned louder into the blanket in protest. "But later, just you wait, young lady. You have a night of punishment ahead of you."

I pouted at him, arched my back deeper, thrust my backside and open thighs towards him. He fingered than slapped my waiting flesh. "To the shower," he commanded. I grinned. We'd get through lunch with the family, but I knew we had a delicious evening ahead of us.

The Littlest Jam Box