It's Eric's travel season for work. He had to catch a red-eye last night and we still hadn't really connected since he returned on Monday from the other trip. Everything is off around here.
"I don't have much time," he said, packing hastily since Harvey messed up the whole office's flight schedules. He went into our closet and came back with a small carry-on suitcase and handful of suits. He flung open the luggage and stopped, giving me a sideways glance.
"What do we have here?!" he questioned, a hint of mischievous pleasure in his tone and in a grin that suddenly encompassed the majority of his face. "In the closet," he ordered, his favorite strap coming out of the bag, a long lost implement left behind from a beach vacation I'd never quite finished unpacking.
Stripped completely, Eric cuffed my wrists overhead, to the clothes rack, and I shut my eyes feeling hanging shirts brush up against my nipples and a spattering of goose bumps break out on the back of my thighs.
Eric stroked my hair and whispered in my ear all of the reassuring things I'd been so desperate to hear.
"I love you, Amy Lynn. I'm going to think about you while I'm away and when I get back, you're going to find yourself over my knee. You had better behave while I'm gone, Young Lady."
He took the strap and very methodically began spanking my bottom, one side and then the other, increasing his force with each strike while spacing them out just long enough for me to breathe.
Smack, smack, smack.
I clutched the bar where my hands were tied and as the heat in my cheeks grew, I began to shift from foot to foot, the sound of leather on skin filling my ears.
Smack, smack, WHAM!
Suddenly, out of nowhere, Eric took his strap and landed it across my right shoulder blade. Instantly, my spine broke out in a sea of sweat and I lurched forward, a soft moan escaping from my lips. He continued his pattern of side to side but went the length of my body this time; shoulders, back, bottom, thighs.
Eric pulled my hair and was again in my ear, his voice deep and seductive knowing full well that what punishes my backside on the one hand, ignites a sexual flame on the other when used on my shoulders and back.
"I'm going to touch you, Amy," he threatened and promised all at the same time, "and if you are wet, we're going to take this to bed but if you are dry, your punishment will continue."
With two fingers, Eric very slowly traced the path he had made, mapping the raised track of red welts from the strap, right to left and top to bottom, until he slid between my thighs to gauge my reaction.
"Ahhh," he cooed, his fingers working their magic in a juicy pool. With the other hand, he undid each cuff and once I was freed, lifted me from the floor and carried me to a nest of blankets, pillows, and sheets. Eric positioned himself between my legs and leaned in, passionately kissing around my lips, tongue, and teeth.
"I want you," I uttered between breaths and bites. "I want you to fuck me before you go. I want you to show me I belong to you, that you love me, that I'm yours."
"Put your hands behind your head," he commanded and walked back to the closet. Eric returned with the strap in his hand and slapped each breast just hard enough to make me flinch, a fine line between pleasure and pain.
"You are going to stop questioning my love for you as of today," he said firmly and I knew he was serious. "I'm not going to allow you to get yourself all spun up for no reason because it hurts us both. Trust me and believe in us, Amy. I'm not kidding."
Then Eric told me to bare my inner thigh for a reminder that would last the week he is gone. We discovered this two years ago when I went to Reno with a bunch of girlfriends, sporting a red hand print where Eric had spanked my thigh for the first time. It hurts like hell when he does it but when I'm feeling down and he's traveling, having his hand in full view, on tender flesh, a constant reminder; it works very well for me.
I still fought it, though. Begged, pleaded, refused to open my thighs.
Eric, on limited time, would have nothing to do with this little tantrum of mine and quickly flipped me over and whipped my behind a good fifteen times. I squealed and tried to cover myself with my hand, which he quickly caught and used to hold me still.
"Do you need more?" he asked, "Or are you going to comply?"
I hesitated and earned another round with his hand, this time. Apparently, the combination of passion and punishment became too much because as I lay on my stomach, clutching the comforter and basking in the hot afterglow of a stingy spanking, Eric grabbed my hips and did a little doggy style magic that had us both coming alive.
Clean up was quick and I was warned to keep the strap close by.
"I'll be back in a week and that thing better not have disappeared again," he said as he tapped my nose with his finger and kissed my forehead before handing the implement over.
With an Uber waiting outside, I sat on the staircase sleepily watching my husband zip up his boots and do a quick inventory of luggage, electronics, and wallet. Then he joined me on the stair for a kiss good-bye.
"I know you don't want this," Eric said gently spreading my legs and exposing my inner left thigh, "but I really think you need it," he continued.
I reached through the railing on the stairwell and held on, closing my eyes and gritting my teeth.
SLAP, SLAP, SLAP.
Three times, in exactly the same spot, Eric landed a hard smack with his hand, red raised fingerprints marking searing skin as I cried out. Then he gently kissed along my thigh and taking my face in his hands, looked me straight in the eye.
"I love you, Amy Lynn," his voice was steady and strong, "You've got my hand print to remind you and I'll be home soon."
And then he was gone, off to save the world again.
This morning, I find myself staring often at the five fingers placed so perfectly on my inner thigh. How oddly comforting it is for me to see and feel him there.
Have you found a way to make a spanking last?