Hands up

I know I’ve mentioned many times that Tom is very particular about my hands. This goes way back. I can definitely remember him mentioning my hand on our first date. I had had my eye on Tom from the moment I had seen him but it took him a while to finally ask me out. When he finally did I made sure I had the full beauty treatment that day – facial, my hair done and of course a pedicure and a manicure were a must! My hands were smooth because I’d never done a lick of honest work in my life. So once the nails were done to perfection they were quite becoming to a man who loved hands to begin with.

We’ve had more than one ‘discussion’ about me doing things to hurt my hands – my working in the flower bed without my gloves being one of his pet peeves. But one incident stands out as sealing his over protectiveness of my hands – if not other parts of my anatomy.

During the first few years when Tom tried to spank me I often fought him. He’s was 6’2”, 180 and I was 5’2” 110 when we married so the fights were a bit one sided – but overwhelming odds has never stopped me from trying.

We were living out west near the girls and the four girls and I had made plans to attend a luncheon one day. However the day before Sue and I had gone shopping in the afternoon. Our excursion lasted a bit longer that Tom thought it should have (I had arrived home by cab after one 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 that evening but the next morning was a different story.

He was in full lecture mode as I was rudely awakened by the covers being ripped back and that darn brush sailing 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. He used some soothing lotion and finally gave me a hug. He told me how much he worried and that he didn’t like me disappearing for more than half a day drinking with Sue (apparently some things never change). Leaving the room he said “I expect you to join me for breakfast in 15 minutes – you’re not going to lounge around in bed nursing a hangover all day.” Grrrr… I could have used another couple of hours of sleep.

We ate in relative good humor, me sitting in my chair trying to get comfortable. Near the end of I told Tom that I’d be at a luncheon at Lucy’s that afternoon if he was looking for me. He answered “No, you are not leaving the house today.”

Well I flared! Spanking was something I could tolerate, in theory, but my comings and goings being controlled infuriated me and I shouted “You can’t tell me what I may and may not do. I am NOT you prisoner!!”

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 are 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. When you finally understand that I’ll give you much 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 went I reached our room I slammed the door as hard as I could. Now I’ve told you 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 slam. It felt wonderful!! Two felt so good 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. In a calm voice, which none the less 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 again and again 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 then I gave the door 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 came in and grabbed my arm and the brush all in one movement. I was talking as fast as I could, ‘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 it – I reached back in a vain attempt to protect my bottom when it happened. The brush caught my hand in mid-swing. I screamed and Tom dropped the brush at once.

“I think it’s broken” I cried. Now I didn’t think for one minute that it was really broken but the spanking had stopped and I’d have sworn my neck was broken if it would have kept him from starting again.

But taking a closer look revealed that my little finger was swelling rapidly. Tom helped me dress and Mattie brought ice and Tom and I headed to the ER for X-rays and sure enough it was broken.

Secretly I was delighted. I knew Tom felt just horrible about what had happened. I felt surely 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. I had pain meds (doled out by Tom, but still), I felt I had Tom 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 up soup and a sandwich and insisted on feeding me. Afterwards he picked up my injured hand and gently caressed it. Kissing the palm he looked at me and said “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. I told you that was 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 pretty hard with his 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!) but it is your responsibility to keep them out of the line of fire.”

I could not believe it! But I didn’t say anymore at least he was 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 sat 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.

Tom’s good at that and 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 finish 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 is a promise.”

I surely didn’t like hearing it. My hope of a spank free future had come to nothing. And as usual Tom was certainly 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 – now 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 love making (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 did not like spanking during our early marriage but even at that 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.