Cowboy's Home! Groan... Day One
I spent the last few moments before his arrival rehearsing arguments in my head. When it comes to spankings that are not play, foreplay, and erotic, I closely adhere to the theory of Fight or Flight - there's no middle ground. Flight comes first; when all else fails, fight like hell. In all the time Cowboy and I have been together, I have received more than a few non-erotic spankings and am sure I deserved one... maybe, two. Could have been three.... no, I'm pretty sure there were only two.
One thing I'll say for that cowpoke, he always gives me a terrific greeting when he comes home at the end of the day - more so when he's been out of town. So... when I heard the limo drive up, I bit the bullet and opened the front door. Got swept up into his arms for a really terrific hug and a bunch of kisses and he carried me into the family room for a nice long cuddle on the couch. Almost forgot what was coming next...
"Missed you, baby," he murmurs into my neck.
"What did you miss?" I murmur back.
"Lovin' you," he whispers, rubbing my back, his hand snaking under my T-shirt. "Seein' you every day, touchin' you every day, makin' sure you eat right, makin' sure you're okay, makin' sure you're not lost somewhere at the edge of the world."
Damn! He had to throw that in!
"Are we going to talk about this before you get carried away with your male macho studly ways?"
I get the "look."
"Yes, we are," he says, somewhat exasperated. "But I'm changing clothes, first. Will you pour me a glass of wine?"
Wine! I could chug a couple of glasses down and in no time, I'd be three sheets to the wind and wouldn't feel a thing. Wunderbar! I rush to pour the wine.
"None for you, mia bella," he cautions. "I want you alert when we have our little discussion."
Great! Now, he's a mind reader as well.
I wait until he's in the bedroom and chug a glass down anyway, then rinse my mouth with root beer.
I sit at the kitchen table sipping root beer while I wait to hear the death knell. He showers, changes into sweats and stands at the door.
"Come here," he says softly. In my house, a soft command is a lot scarier than a loud one.
"No. I didn't do anything terrible." One of the disadvantages to being married to a former SeAL is that nothing scares them - not even female hormones. Cowboy, of course, is proactive. He will not tell me again. He simply walks over to where I'm sitting and in a nanosecond, I am looking at our kitchen floor from the top of his shoulder. It's really discouraging.
The faithful dogs follow but are locked out of the bedroom and Cowboy settles on the side of the bed with me on his lap. He keeps his arms around my waist because he knows I'll bolt if the opportunity arises. We have our discussion: I don't admit to drinking full pots of espresso coffee, eating junk food, or playing on the Internet. I don't mention the fruit and vegetables, which have mysteriously disappeared from the refrigerator, nor do I mention David's visit or phone call.
"Any run-ins with our nosy neighbor?" he asks, watching me a little too closely.
I feel a flush coming over my face but am not sure if it's the wine I wasn't supposed to drink or... "I... uh... might have insulted her," I admit.
"What did you do?" he asks in a serious tone but I can see the twinkle in his eye. He's not crazy about her, either.
I tell him. He laughs. Whew!
"So, she thinks you're gonna get spanked, huh?" He's chuckling. That is so unfair!
"I think she's gonna get her wish, baby," he whispers right in my ear. I am shivering - not sure if it's his breath in my ear or his words, maybe both.
"I'm disappointed you went to Lopez Island by yourself," he says firmly, the senior ranking officer look on his face. "It's too dangerous for a woman to be alone out there." He goes on to tell me why and when I protest that the dogs were with me, he informs me that anyone with a rifle could have killed them and I'd be alone, anything could have happened to me, blah, blah, yada, yada, and I know he's right.
I hate when he's right. I love that he cares enough to worry and I'm devastated at his next words.
"I'd die a thousand deaths if anything happened to you, mia adore. My life would be worthless without you."
There go my thighs. I'm quivering. Does he have to say such beautiful words when I'm on the defensive? Guilt! He can dish it out so easy... okay, so he's right. I'm not sorry I went to the San Juans. The only thing I'm really sorry about is that I worried him.
"I'm going to spank you hard, baby," he warns.
Well, I don't know what you think about in the seconds before the wrath of God descends on your bare bottom, but I keep hoping Wonder Woman will crash through the bedroom window and lasso him and save me from this retribution. And just where the hell is the spirit of Joan of Arc when you need her?
The odds of my getting out of this are not good.
He's 6'5" tall. I'm 5'4" tall. Ergo: He's bigger than me.
He weighs 235 lbs. I weigh 112 lbs. Okay, okay, 115 lbs. if there was cheesecake in the house this week. Bottom line: He's bigger than me.
He's 100% muscle mass. I'm round in all the right places - I don't have places for muscles. Ergo: He's stronger than me.
Is this fair? Certainly not! Gonna write my congressperson and probably do something naughty to Mrs. Hair Up Her Ass just for spite.
Okay, I'm over his lap, my bottom is bared and is now an accessible target. Apparently, the discussion is over... Cowboy has a hand on my back and the other one raises up and comes down so damn hard, I swear I saw stars. He holds his hand on my butt, letting the sting sink in. Oh yes, he's a pro at this - damn overachiever! S-P-A-N-K! Another piercing, blistering spank. I'm seeing so many stars, I'm sure there is now a new constellation in the northern sky. It really hurts.
And then... Wonder Woman must have been called out on a more difficult assignment but she sent someone else. The phone rings. Spanking stops. Cowboy answers.
"What? Yes, sir," he says politely.
JOY TO THE WORLD! There aren't too many officers Cowboy addresses as "sir" and who know our home phone number. This could take a while.
"Yes, sir," he says. "Let me get a pencil." He reaches for the bedside drawer and I'm off his lap in a New York minute, and pulling up my sweats.
"Just a minute, sir," he says, covering the mouthpiece. "Don't move, Sar," he orders.
Yeah, sure, right. Do I look like one of his junior officers? I am out of there faster than a surface-to-air missile.
I fly out of the room and head for the backyard, the dogs on my tail. I open the big kennel pen and release ALL the dogs. The two sweet Rotts come trotting over, the graceful Dobies dance over, the Irish Wolfhound bows, the schizoid Shepherd slinks - he's in depressive mode tonight. Me too. My babies snuggle up. I could spend the night here...
It was too good to last.
About a half-hour later, I see Cowboy coming out the back door. He takes his time coming into the pen and one by one, he puts the dogs back in their individual kennels. And without a word, he simply picks me up, his hand on the back of my neck, the other on my butt, and carries me into the house.
We don't exchange any words. I am over his lap, my bottom is bared, his hand comes down rather harshly. My tears are profusely flowing, my nose is running, and except for my ragged breathing, I don't make a sound when Cowboy spanks me. I've decided I've had as much as I can take and force my body to go limp.
He stops, pulls me up, takes his T-shirt off to wipe my face. "I love you baby. I'm sorry I had to do this, but you just can't go wandering off on a whim. It's too dangerous." He cuddles me for a while, rubbing the sting out of my butt. "You sorry?"
He laughs softly. "You're never sorry, mia bella. What am I going to do with you?"
"What do you want to do with me?"
"For starters, it's been three days since I touched you and I'm going to make love to you," he says as he pulls my T-shirt off.
Am I the only woman on the face of the earth who has an evil twin that lives inside my wayward, obstinate, stubborn mind?
"I'm mad at you. You can't make love to me when I'm mad at you."
"Of course, I can," he disagrees, a wolfish grin on his face. Something about that smug, masculine, wolfish grin....
I pull away from him. "Have to go to the bathroom."
He lets me go. I lock the bathroom door and turn on the shower. I'm going to feel a lot better when I've cooled my jets... and my butt.
"Open the door, Sar," he yells above the sound of the water.
"Can't hear you," I mutter under my breath. SeALs are a resourceful lot. I can't imagine how much it costs the U.S. taxpayers to pay for all their resourcefulness training. He probably opened the door with a credit card.
He's in the shower, his hands pull me back against his chest. He tells me he loves me. His hands are everywhere. He and I dance a sensuous tango... bliss... Our pulses slow... our breathing eases... he tells me he loves me... he raises a leg and rests it on the tiled seat built into the shower... he pulls me across it... and he spanks me again!
I am sputtering, turning the air blue, casting aspersions upon his heritage and parentage. "Camel dung! Were you spawned from an armpit? Son of a whore! Let go of me!"
Oh yeah, that should do the trick. His large hand on my wet butt was not a pleasant combination. It was brief but it stung like hell. It's utterly amazing how many tears the body can produce.
I cannot believe he spanked me after making love. I'm madder than I was before. He knows it. He keeps a tight arm around me, turns the shower off, towels me dry, and spoons behind me in bed.
"I have a feeling our discussion hasn't quite penetrated, mia cara," he says softly, rubbing my sore butt. "We may have to revisit this discussion tomorrow."
That sound you heard reported on the evening news was not the earth stumbling on its axis. It was me... groaning.
About 3:30 a.m. I woke up, still sore, and crept out of bed. I know he knew I got up. I went downstairs for a drink and contemplated going into the backyard buck-ass naked to put my hot butt on the cool grass. Then I remembered I had danced naked in the backyard in the middle of the night last summer and came down with a bad cold the next day. Cowboy was not pleased. So, instead of tempting bronchitis and pee-numonia in the backyard, I went back upstairs and opened all the windows in the guest bedroom and slipped into that bed, tempting an upper respiratory infection in my own house. Let him sleep alone... until he finds me.