Hello and welcome to this week’s Wip it up blog hop.
To ensure law and order are maintained, miners are permitted to keep a tight leash on their wives.
Blake has taken his new wife, Lysa, to the supply store. He needs to stock up on a few things….
He halted before a display rack and her jaw plummeted. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she exclaimed. Lined up on the wall, hanging from pegs, an array of implements and their purpose obvious. Paddles – long, wide, thick and thin, canes – short ones, curvy or straight, and straps. Blood drained from Lysa’s face as Blake reached out to touch a paddle.
“They sell… I don’t believe it…” She rounded on Blake, pulling his arm away from the display rack. “I’ve been good, haven’t I? Why the hell do you need any of this lot?”
Blake whispered in her ear. “Stop making a fuss. Spanking isn’t all about punishments, you must have realised that? Don’t bury you head in the ground. You’re turned on by it all.”
She stamped her foot on the floor. “No, I’m bloody well not!”
“Shh,” he hissed, glancing over his shoulder. “You mustn’t disrespect me in a public place, remember?”
Her lips sealed together, but behind, her tongue agitated, speaking words of displeasure, disbelief and other rude expressions not to be spoken aloud.
“Look at these paddles, heh. Some of them have soft furry sides.” He unhooked one and flipped it over. “Go on, stroke it.”
Lysa resisted the urge to grab it off him and whack him with it. She touched the surface with her fingertips and she felt a velvety softness, rather like fur. “But the other side.” She twisted his wrist around. “It’s got studs in it.”
“Studs? I’d called it texture.” He hung it back up and picked another. A long thin paddle with a flap at the end. It reminded her snake’s tongue. “Imagine this flicking over your splendid arse. Almost a tickle, heating up a spot for me to lick.”
She backed away. “Tickle. You’ve got a weird angle on what’s ticklish.”
He moved on to the canes. “Some are thin, whippy and others thick and rigid. Are you more inclined to sting or thud?” His lips curved upwards and his eyes glinted. A wicked expression of intent and one that sent out warning signals.
She stuck a hand on her hip. “Neither. Obviously. You implied you don’t like canes.”
“I don’t like the way a certain man handles the cane. I, on the other hand, can be quite gentle with it. Tap, tap, tap.” He rapped it against his leg.
“First tickle, now gentle. Let’s agree to disagree when it comes to your idea of appropriate adjectives.” She couldn’t stop looking at the tip of the cane, the way it bounced off his legs as if spring loaded.
Blake flicked the cane with his wrist, changing direction. He pointed the end of it between her legs, eased forward and gathered her skirt. The top of the cane disappeared under her dress. She clamped her thighs together. “Blake!” she cried. The point nudged against her mound, pressing into her. No, no, no, this couldn’t be happening. “I haven’t got panties on, remember,” she mouthed.
“Mmmm, I do remember.”