How I fell in love with the wooden spoon

Yeah, you read that right.

I was grouchy. We're tired a lot, having a hard time adapting to shifting schedules, and I was in my submissive shutdown mode. My husband was waiting in bed and I was reading some random blog by someone I don't even know.

"Come to bed, my girl," he told me, standing naked, or nearly so, in the bedroom's door frame.

I waited a few minutes and then I did. I like obeying even when I don't think anything will come of it, even when my internal voice is telling me this is all stupid, that this game we play is clearly ridiculous and why are we even doing this? It's quite conflicted, living inside my head.

He grabbed me as I came into bed, pulling me against him. "Mine!" he said, not even letting me adjust my position. He held me against his chest and we talked, our voices low in the night.

Eventually he told me to turn over onto my belly, and he rubbed my back, adding a good scratch at my request. God, I love for him to scratch my back. I swear it's like magic. After all these years he knows exactly how much pressure to apply to make me groan with the release of perfectly scratched back skin.

"Give me your wrists," he said, tugging my hands behind my head. I bent my elbows and put my wrists together behind my neck. He slid the soft cuffs onto me, clicking them together and holding my hands in place. I moaned softly as I felt it, my submissive nature fully freed as soon as my movement was genuinely restricted.

"Whose are you?" he asked, close to my head.

"Yours," I whispered into the pillow.

"Whose?" he asked again, perhaps not having heard me, perhaps just to drive the point home.

"Yours," I said again, a little louder.

"And do you like to be mine?"

"Mmhmm!" I responded.

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes!" I am definitely sure about that.

"You wouldn't prefer to just be my equal?"

"Noooo," I said.

"You like being my plaything? You like pleasing me? You like me using you?" His hands wandered over my back, my ass, my legs as he spoke.

"Yes," I answered softly to each question.

"Anything else? Or have I about covered it?"

"I think you got it."

I felt the soft tickler brush over my back, down my ass. "I like making you feel good," he said as I sighed softly with the gentle caress. The next thing he stroked me with was the smooth edge of our wooden spoon. I inhaled sharply, fear overtaking me. Oh, he can make that hurt so badly. He  didn't, though, just tapped lightly with it, my fear releasing with each gentle tap against my skin.

He built it up slowly, covering my ass with little taps, then again with slightly heavier ones, and again, each time increasing the strength of his swing. It felt incredible and it went on for what seemed like forever.

I was moaning deeply, screaming with pleasure, lifting my ass up to meet the spoon.

"Oh, my girl likes that," he noted aloud, with a detached-sounding sort of interest. "Maybe I should stop." He did, briefly, not spanking me anymore.

"Oh, no," I pleaded.

"What's that, my girl? What do you want me to do?"

I was silent while I processed his question. "Spank me?"

"You want me to spank you with this wooden spoon?"

"Oh, yes."

"Okay then." He started again and it was brilliant. I raised up so high that he had easy access to the backs of my thighs, and he hit those too. I was soaring, each strike seeming to hit some sort of sweet spot inside me that released groan after groan of deep pleasure and fulfillment. I have never imagined I could feel so good from having that spoon applied to any part of me.

His hand followed the spoon and I was squirming, doing my best to get away, my backside unbelievably tenderized from the application of the spoon. "Mine, mine, mine!" he said with each impact of his hand on my rosy flesh. I lifted my ass even higher in the air, his chant of ownership flooding me with pleasure and the desire to please, and his hand was wrapping around and slapping my pussy at the same time. Oh, fuck, yes.

Several times during the entire spanking process I thought I might orgasm just from the feelings crashing over me. I was very, very vocal in my appreciation.

He stopped, pulling me over onto my side against him. "I'm going to fuck you," he announced into my ear, pulling my legs apart and sliding his fingers between them. I shivered as his voice traveled  into my  brain, the vibrations along my ear canal making me sigh with pleasure, the sound of his words striking glee into my heart.

But then his hand was moving, slapping my nipple. "Oh!" I cried out, surprised, arching my breast into his hands. He rained blows onto my nipples then, making me scream for what seemed an eternity. Oh, God. I writhed against him, feeling his hard cock pressing against my sensitized ass, thankfully unable to escape the blows as I backed into his body. He was spanking me deeper and deeper against him.

"I'm going to fuck you," he repeated softly. He pulled my legs open again, and then he was spanking my thighs. His fingers slid inside me easily. "Oh, my girl gets so wet from having her nipples slapped," he said into my ear. I shivered. I do. I can't help it. He pressed his cock against my pussy, rocking his hips.

"Oh, please fuck me," I broke down, begging.

"You want this cock?" he asked. He fisted his cock, sliding just the head inside me, his hand stopping more from going inside. I squirmed against him, trying to take more.

"Easy, girl," he whispered, his voice rough with passion. I tried to lunge back onto him, but his hand was in the way. "You'll get as much cock as I want you to have," he said roughly, his other hand squeezing my shoulder. I stilled, trembling, wanting to feel him buried all the way inside me, to feel his body pressed completely against mine. God. He is such a fucking tease.

I made a whiny noise. "Good girl," he said, pressing a little deeper into me. My pussy squeezed his cock in welcome and I tilted my hips, rocking just so slightly back onto him. He took the invitation and sank all the way in. I think we both groaned.

He started rocking with me, his hand returning to slapping my nipples as we moved. Oh, I was done for, and then his other hand was grabbing handfuls of my hair and squeezing, holding, then releasing and moving to a new handful, his voice ever present in my ear, telling me I was a good fuck hole, that I belonged to him, calling me a good girl, making me scream, groan, twist. Oh. Oh, yes. I couldn't have asked for a better fuck, and I had been a grouchy annoyance. Oh, hell, does he ever know how to set me straight. Or kinky.

And now I can't wait until he uses that fucking spoon again.