Friday, April 13, 2012

Robot girl

Monday and Tuesday both went by with no sex and barely any time spent together, exhaustion reigned and we just fell asleep in each other's arms both nights. We got some bad news on Tuesday and it was a long, long day too, so I was even more stressed than just going without sex gets me. I had entered into what I call "robot mode," where I just do all the things I'm meant to do, drive people around and pick them up again, make dinner, clean, etc, with no expectation of joy or love or happiness from life.

I wasn't grouchy, exactly, but I can see how it could look like that to an observer. No joy whatsoever looks pretty grouchy to me, too.

So we went to bed on Wednesday and I lay on my back, looking up at the ceiling, pretty much ignoring my husband while he gazed at me with love, running his hands over my body. I made no move to stop him, but I didn't make a sound of pleasure or a movement of acceptance either. I was really in complete robot mode.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked me.

"Nothing. I'm a robot, remember?" Seriously I was feeling about as human as your basic kitchen appliance, and that's not sexy to me.

"Come on then, robot girl, turn over and let me spank your shiny metal ass."

"You're being silly," I laughed. "Besides, that'd hurt your hand."

"Maybe then I won't use my hand."

"You're being silly!" I repeated, covering my face with my hand.

"I'll be silly if I want to, but you need to cooperate." The man was serious!

I rolled my eyes, but turned over, determined to just stay silent, like a good robot. Oh, when will I ever learn that there's no amount of determination that can keep silence in the face of a man with a zillion impact implements at his fingertips? He started smacking me with his hand, but after a couple he said "Oh, you know what? That does hurt my hand a bit." He went and grabbed some stuff from the drawer.

He started with one of the harder floggers, whoosh, smack, whoosh, smack, and when I remained silent after several smacks, he switched. I think he went through three or four different floggers, with his hand both rubbing and hitting in between. I managed complete silence the whole time, although some of it felt amazing and some of it was just downright painful. He periodically asked me how I was feeling, and I would shrug, because robot girl doesn't feel anything. When I felt the gentle curve of the back side of the heavy-duty wooden spoon rub on my already-tenderized bottom, I barely managed to refrain from whimpering, the anticipation of the pain was almost overwhelming.

He hit me with that spoon. I remained silent. He taunted me. "How does that feel, then? Still not feeling anything?" He hit me three more times, twice for each side, and I managed to stay silent but my breathing was incredibly ragged. He put his face close to the back of my head and whispered "That doesn't sound like a robot. That sounds like a girl who's a bit overwhelmed." His fingers traced delicate lines of agony across the places the spoon had hit, and a whimper finally escaped me. "Yeah, like that," he said, and hit me with the spoon again. I screamed, biting my lip to stifle it, as he hit me again and again. On the final blow, I arched away into the bed and my legs kicked up, unable to bear any more. "Good girl," he whispered against my hair, pulling me over towards him.

"Whose are you?" he asked me, pulling me into his arms and spooning me.
"Yours," I responded.
"Whose body is this?"
"I can pinch your nipple if I want, can't I?"
His fingers found my nipple and began pinching it slowly between them, increasing the pressure by increments until I cried out from the pain. "And why can I?"
"Because I'm yours."
"Good girl. I can hit you if I want to too, can't I?" he asked, his hand slapping my breast hard, several times.
"Because you're mine?" he asked.
"Yes sir," I barely managed through the soft wails I was producing.

He pulled my legs open and slapped me on my inner thighs too, and I struggled, trying to close them again. He pulled harder and slapped again, fast. "Mine, bitch, mine!" he proclaimed, as he alternated slapping my thigh and my breast and I just moaned, surrendering to his power over me, the fight and the robot completely gone.

"Would you like to suck my cock now?" he asked.

I nodded. Even if I didn't like sucking cock, I'd have sucked it just to prevent further spanking, because it was really starting to hurt.

I sucked for a long, long time, until he came down my throat, and he rubbed my head and said I was a good girl. Oddly there was a light, fruity flavor present there and I would have never thought that was possible in a million years, but I found myself probing his cock with my tongue for some time after he'd emptied himself into me, trying to taste more of him.

Then he pulled me up into his arms and used his fingers on me until he decided I should have the butt plug. He pressed it into me and continued using his hand in my pussy, on my clit, while his other hand grabbed my hair and tugged on it.

I came hard as he pressed into my g-spot with his fingers.

I don't do robot well.

And the next day I was a brat again! More on that soon.


  1. I hate that robot feeling, seems he knows a good cure, lol.

    1. Oh, you know me, with me there's pretty much the one cure for anything, and yeah, he's quite aware of it.

  2. Wow... I may need something more like that when I hit my "ghost" mode..Maybe a little on the lighter side though for now.

    1. Yeah, you take care of those little ones! Perhaps just the talking, though, could help.

  3. Something is definitely in the air.... I had a crazy week too. Spanking also fixed some of it, but not all.

    Not that I am you, but sometimes you tell the story of a different me. Only with really good sex. Oh, wait... :)

    1. Well, since I was pretty much on auto-pilot on Thursday too, I wouldn't say this fixed all of it by any means. It DID help for that moment though. Any contact to bring me out of not-a-human mode is good.

      I love it that we bloggers can so often identify with each other. It's harder in real life because you can't talk about these things, even if something really makes you think of it.


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