Last Sunday seems a million miles away. I am engaged in redecorating in the house but this seems an appropriate payment for what was splendid weekend.
We had spent a great day at a wedding party on the Saturday and
then had sexual hi-jinks in the hotel bedroom that night, including a rare spanking for my wife. I woke up early on
the Sunday and did some blogging in the hotel lobby savouring two or three cups
of coffee. It was around 9 am when I received the text from my wife indicating
that she was awake and wanting her cup of tea. We have our routines, be they at
home or when travelling.
After maybe an hour of mooching in the room we were
downstairs enjoying breakfast with the other wedding guests and hotel visitors.
It is strange how some people present themselves in public in the morning, no
make up, no socks, crumpled T- shirts and
hair all mussed up. There are some very sloppy people out there.
The morning went by in general chit-chat with acquaintances
and the parents of the bride and groom but eventually most of the wedding party
had dispersed and there was just us and four other people we knew, who were also staying another night. We agreed to meet up in the evening and go out for a
pizza and then went our separate ways.
The room had been aired the bed and changed when we got back
there. I stood around wondering whether to turn on the TV or read a book or
what.
My wife told me to stop looking foolish. She knew what I
wanted and agreed that I deserved a spanking for my good behaviour the
previous day. She had a plan however. A game if you like. She was going to the
leisure suite for a swim and a doze on the loungers but meanwhile I was to go
off and find what was needed to make a birch. She thought that the manorial
style of the hotel called for an old fashioned birching.
This idea and the prospect of a punishment session energised
me and I set off with a song in my heart
in search of a the switches I would need. My first stop was the restaurant
where I asked if I could borrow a steak knife. No one seemed to want to know
why, which was fine by me. Next stop the kitchen gardens behind the hotel where
I pretended to admire the produce, although there was nobody there to see me anyway,
it being a Sunday. Eventually I found what I was looking for in one of the
greenhouses – a ball of garden twine to bind the branches together. It was all
a bit like a treasure hunt.
I spent maybe an hour walking in the grounds of the hotel.
Some aristocrat in the past had built himself a lovely pile to live in and enjoy
his money in privacy, so there were plenty of large trees and open spaces but
nothing suitable for what I needed. Eventually I picked up a trail which seemed to be a
footpath leading out of the hotel grounds. In another ten minutes or so I was
in the right place – a lovely neglected wood with loads of ground based shrubs
and bushes. I set about cutting the long thin branches that I thought were
suitable and removing the green leaves.
The steak knife was the perfect handsaw for
this. Once I had my dozen switches cut my next problem dawned on me – how to get
them up to our room. I returned to the kitchen garden holding the branches
nonchalantly and then hid behind one of the outbuildings. Looking around to see
who might be watching I undid my belt and inserted six branches down inside one
trouser leg and six in the other. The ends of the switches still stuck out over
the waistband so I bent them carefully and pushed them under my shirt. Once I
had done up my clothing there was nothing to see, but I was going to be walking
strangely since a I couldn’t bend my legs at the knee. Slowly, a bit like a
robot , I made my way into the hotel and through reception and to our room. The
hotel was quiet and fortunately I hardly saw a soul.
Once in our room I trimmed the branches neatly and took off
some small leaf stubs, then I wrapped the twine tightly around each of the ends
until I finally had the instrument ready. I swished it onto a pillow on the bed
and when I saw the impact I was worried I had done too good a job. I filled the
bath with about 6” of cold water and left the birch rod to soak. I tidied
things away and took a Citalis pill, hoping for great things later on.
Taking my swimming gear from a drawer I changed and set off
for the pool to meet up with my wife. After I had swum we took afternoon tea in our bathrobes on
the covered terrace and then went back
upstairs. I was silent and had those nervous rumblings in my stomach and racing blood in my head. Once in the room my wife asked for the
birch and I retrieved it from the water.
I presented it to her in a formal way
holding it out in both hands. She didn’t take it but left me standing there
arms outstretched. We didn’t speak. There was no need. The tension in the room
was electric. I watched as she slipped out of her robe – she looked fantastic in her
swimsuit.
Grasping the birch in one hand she pointed it at the bed. I pulled off my bathrobe and yanked down my shorts I felt incredibly aroused. The pill
had done its work and my erection was like a flagpole. My wife nodded her approval at my state.
Completely naked I turned
and bent at the waist with two hands on
the bed, my bottom up and legs together. In a few seconds I heard the birch
whistle through the air and it landed in a rush of stings. Adjusting her
position because she was too close for a good swing with the long branches, my
wife began the birching.
She didn’t use hard strokes, just a good swing,
letting the whippy branches do their own work all over my bottom. It felt
fantastic. Stimulating but painful at the same time. I wanted it to go on for
ever and she sensed that and so did not stop the flogging for many minutes.
When she put the birch down finally I was deep in the sub
zone and just stayed in position, relishing the hot throbbing in my butt. I heard her go into the bathroom and in a few moments she came around onto the bed in front of me and lay there naked, with her legs wide open.
“Well come on then,” she invited. “Do your stuff.”
