Spanking should sound like a symphony; thwacks and smacks interspersed in time, with occasional rests and shhh-shhh strokes on heated skin to offset the downbeats, amidst a nice mix of dolce and allegro, pianissimo and forte, and of course crescendo…
I could go on, but I think you get the point.
So spanking should sound like a symphony. However, occasionally there is a bit of an…hmmm…shall we say…errant note. Perhaps the palm is too open or too cupped or it just plain misses the sweet spot. In such cases, the crack of the maestro’s hand against waiting flesh sounds less like a thwack and more like…
Like a thwuck.
(Please note that thwuck rhymes nicely with fuck and suck. Please also note that fuck and suck are sometimes the most eloquent words in the English language. Other times they are the basest of four-letter words, which is just fuckin’ sucky.)
So that’s how my Monday morning rolled in.
With a thwuck.
I can count on one hand (ONE. HAND!) the number of orgasms I’ve had since last Monday (thanks in part to three days of Zuulfather and two days of sicky Feve – I was not well for most of the weekend) and while I’d like to be using that hand right now to gain some relief, I can’t.
Well, not that I CAN’T. More like I’m not going to.
Because the dog needs to be walked and the floor needs to be vacuumed and the laundry must be done and the body must be showered and all of this must be done if I am going to make it out of the house at all today, let alone make it to work anywhere near on time. And also because the cat just puked.
Kind of like he did this morning.
Which is just one of the many reasons my Monday started off with a resounding thwuck.
And if you think you can laugh/snort/chuckle/harumph at my recent dearth of orgasms or my domestic chores (or my domestic short hair puke-face pussy), all I can say is…
You deserve a spanking.
And, of course…