"What happened?" I asked, suspicious of that look he had; the same one he has when I've done something he feels the need to personally correct.
"Upstairs, Amy Lynn," he commanded and I knew I was in for it. I also knew I hadn't done anything.
In our room, I saw THIS placed strategically at the end of the bed. (Internal comment "OH SHIT")
"I was thinking about yesterday," Eric said, unzipping my pants and disrobing me as he talked. "I really believe your overthinking and misinterpreting my words is a slippery slope that could be very detrimental to our marriage."
By this time, he was carefully folding each of my garments and placing them on a bench at the foot of our bed. My mouth was clamped shut, no doubt an innately protective response, preventing me from making whatever this situation was even worse.
"We have had numerous spanking sessions since we started down this road but your blog was correct,"
(Side note: one of the few moments I swallowed hard and wished he hadn't read my post)
"we have played a lot and both thoroughly enjoyed it. However, when you start putting words in my mouth, and threatening our happiness by creating your own version of what I think, you need a spanking that is clearly not for fun. Tonight, you meet Sir Strap."
It's hard to believe I still hadn't uttered a single word but I stayed the course as he bent me over the bed and picked up his new toy.
"Legs together, bottom out," he said tapping on my hiney while lining up for a direct hit. His aim was impeccable and one swat, I was clenching and attempting to meld with the mattress. Two more swats and my mouth suddenly woke up.
"Eric! Ow! That hurts! And I didn't do anything. I haven't run off in my head. We're good. I'm straight!"
Eric put the strap down and used his hands to swing my hips and his target back into position.
"I know you haven't Sweetheart, but I decided it would be good for you to get a taste of what will happen the next time you do put words in my mouth. Now, bottom out. Hold it there or we are starting over."
My mouth got the message and so did my ass. Ten swats later, there was a lovely shade of crimson red perfectly painted across each cheek.
"That'll do," Eric said, walking me over to his favorite corner. "Stand here and let this sink in because it'll only get used for true consequences and if you're a quick learner, you may never feel it again."
(HA! Who is he kidding?)
Then he sat, next to my clothes, and admired his handiwork while I stood, facing a wall and reciting to myself, "the story in my head, the story in my head, the story in my head". Willie's article could very well be my saving grace on this one. Not wanting to taunt that fella; Sir Strap. OUCH!