I am not the brightest bulb in the pack but I got that. Now if I can just stay here like this a bit longer. My hands are kinda hidden and he might not see that I’m leaning on them. Anything to get my ass off the friggin' floor.
Damn! I am 36 years old and my ass is smoking. He is way, way too good with that strap. No, just in case you were thinking I have been beaten up, you are dead wrong. I just got my ass handed back to me hot, welted and sore. Not only that but I put my butt over those pillows on the bed and let him do it. However I am sure nobody's ass feels like mine does right now. I am sure no one ever got a strapping like that before. You see, Tim doesn't usually use the strap. Not for this type of thing. This one is the old fashioned type of strap they used to hang on the back of the bathroom door. At least my grand dad told me his daddy did. It is old but well maintained (my job) to keep it oiled and supple. I guess I do a good job because I feel every lick burning into my ass right now.
Tim does wear a short strap when we dress to go out. It is clipped to the leather harness belt and, with his hat and chaps, he is one hot leather man. But for spanking he doesn't usually have to use a strap; his hand is way more than enough. Way more. So yeah, he is a Daddy and I am his boy. So I look like I am a leather dude. Too. I am a sub and I have been in love and loved by Tim now for like two years.
“Mark! Get that ass on the floor unless you want to go back over the bed! Got it? In fact, hands on your head and stay there and think."
Damn he can see in the dark. My hands lifted the moment I heard his voice, dropping my body back on the scorched waste land that was once my ass.
“Sir! Yes, Sir!”
It was the only thing I could say really. I was busted and I knew better. He did have every right to blister me again. I just hoped that he would not, my ass nerves re-awaking to the burn of the leather.
We put down this floor. I remember all the tearing up of the ugly rental carpet. The picking out the color and the great “fun” we had laying this floor down. Hard wood floors, so desirable in the housing market now. I sure would not mind the carpet back just under this window. We had a hell of a time with this room. It was the first one we ever did when we bought the house. We figured that we could experiment in here. How many people are really going to see the bed room, except us that is? I tried to shift a little but the heat from my ass what making the floor warm and there was just no place to go. As I remembered, we did get good at laying the floors. We had trouble getting the hang of it and more than once in this room I despaired for the house, our relationship and our lives together. Remodeling is very stressful. I let out a sigh. We did survive and now I am sitting here feeling every lick across my butt.
The alcohol I drank was pretty much burned out of my system. Hey, you can't get drunk, flirt with someone other than your man, have a fight with your man and then ride home pissed off enough to forget your helmet and still be drunk. Even if that could happen, seeing him in the drive holding your helmet would be enough to sober anyone up. Then when you see the strap in his other hand you are sure you never had a drink in your life. I went from drunk and happy/angry to scared/sober in a flash. Suddenly I didn't feel like a hot biker dude with a great chest and even greater washboard stomach. So the guy at the bar had said as his hands roamed up and down, pressing into me, with Tim staring daggers at me from across the room. When I saw the helmet and the strap I felt like I was nineteen, freshly kicked out of college and facing a very pissed off Dad. My balls and cock tried to climb back inside leaving me to face Tim all alone.
There was nothing really to say. His arm went around my neck and he pulled me to him in a gruff one handed hug. His voice growled in my ear that I was drinking and riding. He was going to make it very clear to me that this was something I was never going to do again. If I didn't want to sit down ever again he was fine with that. I was, right then, getting very scared of my Daddy! That faded right away when he hugged me to him again right there in the driveway and a tear splashed on my leather jacket. I looked up. I saw another tear slide down his face. Suddenly I saw the picture in his head: me in a twisted wreck of the bike, no helmet to protect the solid bone I call my head and him all alone. I shuddered, threw my arms around him and hugged him back, then took that damn strap from his hand. Kneeling right there on the driveway, I handed it to him and bowed my head.
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