Sunday, August 26, 2007
Vacation Distraction
At the conclusion of my last entry, I mentioned that I was sure Angela was planning more devious activities during the week that our children were away visiting their grandparents in Florida. As you will see in the upcoming paragraphs, I was correct.
Most of Wednesday went fairly routinely. I was planning on taking the following two days off from work so that Angela and I could take a day trip or two, so I had a fair number of items to deal with before the end of the day. Angela had some errands to run, so she was not present from mid-morning until late afternoon. When she returned, I helped her bring in some bags of her purchases from the car, at which point she announced that she was going to “get out of these icky clothes” once she had finished putting her purchases away. I mentioned that I had another dreaded conference call, and then I would probably be finished for the day.
Angela seemed to be taking a long time, but I didn’t give it much thought until my conference call began. At that time, Angela appeared in my office, still wearing her “icky clothes.” I was going to mention that she hadn’t changed them, but the call had already begun and, unfortunately, my office phone does not have a “mute” button (a careless omission on my part). As it was a hot day, Angela had brought me a tall glass of iced oolong tea as well as one for herself. She then sat down and made herself comfortable on the small sofa that I keep in my office for when I need to do some “major thinking” (translation” take a nap).
The call went on uneventfully for a few minutes. I heard Angela get up and move towards the door. I thought that she had perhaps gotten bored would be off to find something more productive to do. I was wrong. Or perhaps I was not. In either event, she stopped at the door, turned around, and began to slowly and artfully disrobe. First her shirt. Then her pants. Then a stretch and a fake yawn. Then her bra. Then a small pirouette for my benefit. Finally her panties, which she left in a pile at the doorway. Angela than proceeded languorously to the sofa and began to masturbate.
To say that this proved to be a distraction would be an understatement. Since Angela can sometimes be rather vocal in the throes of passion, I became concerned that her moans and cries might be overheard by those on the other end of my phone line. I tried to silently urge her to cease, or at least postpone her enjoyment until the call had concluded, but she simply ignored me. She did keep the volume of her moans to something fairly low, loud enough so that they could be heard by me but likely not by the others on the phone. To keep me on edge, though, she would amplify her pleasure a tad a few times.
When the call ended, I quickly disconnected and turned to her. I was not pleased. “Get up!” I ordered. She gave me that “innocent” look that she used when she knew that she’d annoyed me but wanted to pretend she hadn’t done anything at all. I pulled from my desk a small but sturdy paddle that I keep there for “emergencies” such as this. I seated myself on the sofa, pulled her across my lap, and proceeded to give her bare hide a good, hard tanning.
Angela wiggled and squealed during her paddling. After a good two or three minutes, I let her up, at which time she pretended to be taken aback. Naturally, I knew better. While she stood there rubbing her backside, I briefly lectured her on her risky and recalcitrant behavior. She stuck out her lower lip and pouted, then gave me her best fake apology.
I told her that I didn’t think she’d learned her lesson, and ordered her back to the sofa, this time on her hands and knees. “Now,” I told her, “get back to what you were doing.”
“Huh?” she responded.
“Get back to what you were doing while I was on the phone, dammit!”
Realization hit her, and she smiled. Then she reached a hand down between her legs and resumed her self-stimulation.
I resumed spanking her, slowly and fairly hard, whilst she pleasured herself. When she began to respond more loudly, I increased the intensity of the swats. I made sure to cover her entire bottom with crisp whacks, making sure the sides of her arse as well as the curve where her bottom meets her thighs were all properly reddened. As she neared orgasm, I sped up so that the swats were hard and rapid-fire, until she collapsed, moaning loudly, in the throes of ecstasy.
“You’re a bad man,” she told me when she had recovered her breath.
“Well, you’re a bad woman,” I responded, “and you only got what you deserved.”
“Not yet,” she said with a wide grin, and she started quickly working to remove my clothing. When that was accomplished, she resumed kneeling on the sofa, at which time I proceeded to give her what else she deserved, or something like that.
Our town has a minor league baseball team, so when we had recovered, we attended that night’s game, and grabbed a late dinner. There were more spankings and … ahem … other stuff before we retired for the night, to build up strength for our visit to The Big City the next day. Not surprisingly, we both slept well. And why not. It had been another fantastic day, and the next promised to be fantastic as well.
Most of Wednesday went fairly routinely. I was planning on taking the following two days off from work so that Angela and I could take a day trip or two, so I had a fair number of items to deal with before the end of the day. Angela had some errands to run, so she was not present from mid-morning until late afternoon. When she returned, I helped her bring in some bags of her purchases from the car, at which point she announced that she was going to “get out of these icky clothes” once she had finished putting her purchases away. I mentioned that I had another dreaded conference call, and then I would probably be finished for the day.
Angela seemed to be taking a long time, but I didn’t give it much thought until my conference call began. At that time, Angela appeared in my office, still wearing her “icky clothes.” I was going to mention that she hadn’t changed them, but the call had already begun and, unfortunately, my office phone does not have a “mute” button (a careless omission on my part). As it was a hot day, Angela had brought me a tall glass of iced oolong tea as well as one for herself. She then sat down and made herself comfortable on the small sofa that I keep in my office for when I need to do some “major thinking” (translation” take a nap).
The call went on uneventfully for a few minutes. I heard Angela get up and move towards the door. I thought that she had perhaps gotten bored would be off to find something more productive to do. I was wrong. Or perhaps I was not. In either event, she stopped at the door, turned around, and began to slowly and artfully disrobe. First her shirt. Then her pants. Then a stretch and a fake yawn. Then her bra. Then a small pirouette for my benefit. Finally her panties, which she left in a pile at the doorway. Angela than proceeded languorously to the sofa and began to masturbate.
To say that this proved to be a distraction would be an understatement. Since Angela can sometimes be rather vocal in the throes of passion, I became concerned that her moans and cries might be overheard by those on the other end of my phone line. I tried to silently urge her to cease, or at least postpone her enjoyment until the call had concluded, but she simply ignored me. She did keep the volume of her moans to something fairly low, loud enough so that they could be heard by me but likely not by the others on the phone. To keep me on edge, though, she would amplify her pleasure a tad a few times.
When the call ended, I quickly disconnected and turned to her. I was not pleased. “Get up!” I ordered. She gave me that “innocent” look that she used when she knew that she’d annoyed me but wanted to pretend she hadn’t done anything at all. I pulled from my desk a small but sturdy paddle that I keep there for “emergencies” such as this. I seated myself on the sofa, pulled her across my lap, and proceeded to give her bare hide a good, hard tanning.
Angela wiggled and squealed during her paddling. After a good two or three minutes, I let her up, at which time she pretended to be taken aback. Naturally, I knew better. While she stood there rubbing her backside, I briefly lectured her on her risky and recalcitrant behavior. She stuck out her lower lip and pouted, then gave me her best fake apology.
I told her that I didn’t think she’d learned her lesson, and ordered her back to the sofa, this time on her hands and knees. “Now,” I told her, “get back to what you were doing.”
“Huh?” she responded.
“Get back to what you were doing while I was on the phone, dammit!”
Realization hit her, and she smiled. Then she reached a hand down between her legs and resumed her self-stimulation.
I resumed spanking her, slowly and fairly hard, whilst she pleasured herself. When she began to respond more loudly, I increased the intensity of the swats. I made sure to cover her entire bottom with crisp whacks, making sure the sides of her arse as well as the curve where her bottom meets her thighs were all properly reddened. As she neared orgasm, I sped up so that the swats were hard and rapid-fire, until she collapsed, moaning loudly, in the throes of ecstasy.
“You’re a bad man,” she told me when she had recovered her breath.
“Well, you’re a bad woman,” I responded, “and you only got what you deserved.”
“Not yet,” she said with a wide grin, and she started quickly working to remove my clothing. When that was accomplished, she resumed kneeling on the sofa, at which time I proceeded to give her what else she deserved, or something like that.
Our town has a minor league baseball team, so when we had recovered, we attended that night’s game, and grabbed a late dinner. There were more spankings and … ahem … other stuff before we retired for the night, to build up strength for our visit to The Big City the next day. Not surprisingly, we both slept well. And why not. It had been another fantastic day, and the next promised to be fantastic as well.
