Friday, April 05, 2019

Hands


Allie watched silently from their deck as Tom gave me two hard swats on my bottom right out in the back yard. Later, she asked me, “What could you have done so early this morning to annoy Tom?”
I rolled my eyes. “I pulled three scraggly weeds from my flower bed. It’s barely spring! It’s not like I was planning to garden for half a day. But he doesn’t want me gardening without my gloves.” I told her, my voice tinged with sarcasm. “I say it was nothing more than a pretend excuse to spank.”
I know I’ve mentioned many times that Tom is very particular about my hands. This goes way back to our beginning. I remember him mentioning my hands on our first date. I had my eye on Tom from the moment I saw him, but it took him a while to finally ask me out. When he did, I made sure I got the full beauty treatment that day – I had a facial, I had my hair done and of course a mani-pedi was a must. My hands were smooth and soft because I’d never done a lick of honest work in my life. So, once the nails were done to perfection, they were quite attractive to a man who loved hands to begin with.
Tom and I have had more than one ‘discussion’ about me doing things that could hurt my hands – my working in the flower bed without wearing gloves being one of his pet peeves. “There was one time,” I told Allie, “when Tom hurt one of my hands. He was very upset over the incident, yet he still managed to blame me. I think that time sealed his overprotectiveness of my hands – if not other parts of my anatomy.”
The story I was remembering happened way back in the good old days when we were newlyweds. Back then, when Tom tried to spank me, I often fought him. He was 6’2”,  one hundred and eighty pounds and I was 5’2”,  a hundred and ten pounds when we married, so the fights were a bit one sided – but overwhelming odds have never stopped me from trying.
We were living out west, near the girls, and I’d made plans with them to attend a luncheon one day. However, on the day before, Sue and I had gone shopping in the afternoon. Our excursion lasted a bit longer than Tom thought it should have. I’d arrived home by cab after one o’clock the next morning slightly worse for wear. Ah… the wonderful days before I was put on an electronic leash (cell phone). Tom kept his cool as he helped me to bed. But the next morning was a different story.
He was in full lecture mode as he rudely awakened me by ripping back the covers and sailing that darn brush into my unsuspecting bottom. He was upset – “gone all day”… “never checked in”… “not home for dinner”… “spending a fortune”… “drinking all night”… I didn’t hear much of what he said. I was yelling pretty loudly myself.
He finally stopped and began rubbing. “Cassie, don’t you know how much I worry when you just disappear for half a day?”
I laid across his lap, trying to catch my breath and gather my thoughts. “Tom I survived for thirty years before I met you. I can take care of myself on a shopping trip with Sue. There’s no reason for you to worry so.”
“You survived,” he echoed, gently helping me to my feet and wrapping his arms around me. “But I’m not sure how much longer you would have. You were wild and you were reckless. That’s not going to be the case anymore. No more disappearing and drinking with Sue for the day. I’m not putting up with that.” Apparently some things never change. On the rare occasions more recently, when Sue and I’ve disappeared for a day of drinking, has resulted in the same treatment.
 He gave me a kiss and headed toward the door. As he left, he said, “I expect you to join me for breakfast in fifteen minutes. You’re not going to lounge around in bed nursing a hangover all day.” Grrrr… I could have used a couple more hours of sleep. 
We ate in relative good humor, me sitting in my chair trying to get comfortable. “Remember, I’ll be at a luncheon at Lucy’s this afternoon,” I said, not wanting him to assume Sue and I were off drinking if he made it home before I did.
“No, you are not leaving the house today,” Tom replied, firmly.
I went off like a flare! I realized that coming home tipsy after one in the morning was something he could legitimately be concerned about. All right, fine, he’d spanked me for that. Spanking was something I could tolerate, in theory, but my comings and goings being controlled, infuriated me.  I shouted, “You can’t tell me what I may and may not do! I am not your prisoner, and I will come and go as I please. How I spend my days while you’re at work is none of your business!”
Tom was very calm – darn him. He answered me, “Yes Cassie, I will tell you what you may and may not do. I’m your husband. I’ve told you to let me know where you’re going to be and to come home at a reasonable hour. You disappeared yesterday, so you’re going to stay home today. You are going to realize that I mean what I say and you’re going to mind me. When you finally understand that, I’ll give you more freedom.”
‘He’d give me more freedom?’The utter unfairness of this was more than I could take. I was mad, clear through. I swept from the table and when I reached our room, I slammed the door as hard as I could. Now I may have mentioned before, Tom is fairly reasonable about slammed doors. Unfortunately, one slam didn’t get it out of my system. I opened the door and heaved it back for another mighty one. It felt wonderful. Two felt so good that I was sure three would put me over the top. It nearly did.
Moments after the third slam, Tom came in and quietly closed the door behind him, perhaps in an effort to show me how it was properly done. In a calm voice, which nonetheless had an ominous quality to it, he said, “Cassie Jane, I’m telling you right now – that’s enough. Do you understand me?”
I chose not to answer him. I turned my back to him and began brushing my hair. Tom left me alone, and again he closed the door quietly. That would have been a good time to call it a draw, wouldn’t it? But no, I just couldn’t let it go.
I gave Tom time to get back downstairs and stared angrily after him. The unfair spanking I’d received, the dictate that I wasn’t to leave the house, his offer to give me more freedom when I learned to mind him, all swirled in my mind as I slowly walked to the door. Opening it quietly, I pulled it all the way back and gave it one last mighty slam! 
It was in that split second, as I heard Tom thundering up the stairs, that I realized what I’d done and that I had left myself no escape. Dumbfounded by my own stupidity, I was still rooted to the spot when he came in and grabbed my arm and the brush all in one movement. I was sputtering as fast as I could, “I didn’t mean to...”, “it was an accident…”, “it slipped…” He wasn’t listening to a word. Remember now, I had been spanked thoroughly not an hour before and I just couldn’t help myself – I reached back in a vain attempt to protect my bottom. 
Then it happened.
The fear, I’m sure, of every spanker. The brush caught my hand in mid-swing. I screamed and Tom dropped the brush at once.
“I think it’s broken!” I cried, holding my hand out. Now, I didn’t think for one minute that it was really broken, but the spanking had stopped.  I’d have sworn my neck was broken if it would have kept him from starting again.
But a close look revealed that my little finger was swelling rapidly. We wrapped my hand in a towel of ice and watched as the swelling increased. He helped me dress and we headed to the ER for X-rays. Sure enough, it was broken.
Secretly I was delighted. I knew Tom felt just horrible about what had happened. I truly believed that his guilt would put an end to my forced relationship with that horrible brush.
Tom was upset over what had happened and he hated the bulky splint on my hand. He felt it was akin to painting a mustache on the Mona Lisa. I was content though. I had pain meds, doled out by Tom, but still… Tom was feeling guilty and I was pretty sure spanking was a thing of the past.
Back home, Tom gave me a pain pill and tucked me into bed for a nap. Later, he brought me soup and a sandwich and insisted on feeding me. I let him, playing the role of victim just a little longer. He apologized again as he picked up my injured hand and gently caressed it. He kissed the palm and then shattered the moment completely by saying, “I believe we have some unfinished business.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, with rapidly growing fear that I had miscalculated.
“I told you specifically not to slam that door this morning, and you just had to do it again, didn’t you? I told you enough, but you didn’t listen.”
“Tom, you spanked me for that. You broke my finger! You can’t spank me again!”
He kissed my hand again. “That’s another thing, honey,” he began, as he pulled me across his lap and started spanking with a hard hand. “I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you one more time. Don’t you ever put your hand back when I’m spanking you. I would never have harmed your hand intentionally” (didn’t seem to mind burning my butt off, though!) “but it’s your responsibility to keep them out of the line of fire.”
I couldn’t believe it. But I didn’t say anymore. At least he was only spanking with his hand and with less force than he normally used. But it lasted long enough to reignite the fire he had started earlier in the day. Finishing, he rubbed a bit before he sat me up. He leaned back against the headboard and pulled me over to sit on his lap. He held me quietly for a while. I wanted to be mad at him, but it had been a long day and I needed comfort more than I needed to hold onto my anger.
Tom’s as good with the comfort as he is at spanking. He held me and talked to me for a long time. He told me he was very sorry that my finger was broken. And that he was appalled that he was the reason for it, but as he said, “Cassie, I want you to know, that if I’m spanking you and you put your hand back, I’ll grab it and hold it while I finish the spanking. But as soon as I’m done, I’ll tie your hands together if I have to, and I’ll take the brush and wear you out for reaching back. And I don’t mean maybe, girl. That’s a promise.”
I surely didn’t like hearing that. My hope of a spank-free future, of the brush being gone from my life, had come to nothing. And as usual, Tom was a man of his word. In those early years, before I mastered the art of clutching a pillow or the comforter with all my might, I did reach back a few more times. I now associate Tom’s pinning my right hand to the small of my back as a precursor to some of the hardest spankings I’ve ever had.
It’s funny when I think back. I bet I’m spanked twice as much now as I was in the early years. Those first years I was only spanked for discipline, and trust me, there were enough of those to keep Tom’s spanking arm in fantastic shape. But now, by far the vast majority of my spankings are loving. I don’t mean as a precursor to lovemaking, although many are. It’s just … us. I love to be taken over his knee. I love the feel of his hand on my bottom. I love his conversation and his undivided attention. I didn’t like spanking during our early marriage, but looking back, I wouldn’t change a thing about our history. It took every bit of our history to get us here. And, here with Tom, is exactly where I want to be.








Note from PK:

If you enjoy Cassie's stories you can read all about Cassie and Tom and their friends in the Cassie's Space series.


7 comments:

Ella said...

Cassie, can't believe I am the first one to comment as I haven't been in blogland since Sam and I returned from a lovely time away with friends in a new place. It was also truly a celebration of the love between married couples, young and old.

Love this piece, of course! I can just imagine Tom's horror at hurting your finger. Knew he wouldn't change his mind about being the boss, though.

Yes, I learned my lesson about putting my hand back during a spanking. I rarely forget.

Your Devoted Ella

Rosie Jones said...

Cassie, I’ve told PK a time or two that I don’t like Tom because he’s so controlling but you really were a handful in the early days weren’t you? I’m glad the ivory brush seldom comes out nowadays, though.
Rosie xx

Cassie said...

Ella - It nearly killed Tom that he'd truly hurt my hand. After that I learned pretty quickly that reaching back would never be tolerated. Glad you had a good visit.

Rosie - Me? A handful? I can't imagine what you mean. But I'm glad, too, that the horrible brush is seldom used now.

Roz said...

Hi Cassie, oh ouch, that sounded painful! I bet Tom was mortified at hurting your hand. Reaching back is never good, but so hard not to some times.

I had to giggle at your dreams of a future spank free life lol. You wouldn't have it any other way though would you :) I just love the last paragraph. The deep love between you shines through:)

Hugs
Roz

Cassie said...

Roz - Yes he was so very upset. At the time I dreamed of a spank free life, but you're right. Now I wouldn't have it any other way.

Aimless Rambling said...

Cassie -you are a trip. Tom is right in that he came along in the nick of time. Lord knows how you would have wound up if you had no one to reign you in now and then.

Cassie said...

Sunny - He was just in the nick of time! I don't think I'd still be here if he hadn't shown up.