An Old Wooden Spoon

“Go into the kitchen and pick out a wooden spoon”, he said to me as we were standing in the guest room at my mother’s house.

I hesitated over the canister on the kitchen counter, weighing my different options, my hand trembling slightly in anticipation or fear, I didn’t really know.  A thick one with a heavy wooden handle seemed like it would have some power behind it, but the smaller one might create a bigger sting. What about the slotted spoon, what kind of mark would it leave? In the end I chose the lightest one, with no real weight behind it I wasn’t worried about the punch it would pack, just the biting sting I expected. It was a spoon my mother had had in her kitchen for as long as I could remember, the wood worn down and discolored by years of use. We used to stir cookie batter with that spoon at Christmas time.

“Go into the bathroom and take off your pants, pull down your panties, lean over the counter and wait for me”.

But, my mom might hear!

He answered my unasked question, “She’s in the shower, and you’ll just have to be quiet won’t you?”.

Waiting in the bathroom,  bent over and exposed, I began to feel my arousal grow with the anticipation of what was about to occur.  My sweating palms pressed into the cold counter, the skin on my exposed backside prickled. It seemed I waited for hours, but it was only a few minutes before I heard the bedroom door close quietly, looking up I saw his reflection in the vanity mirror as he entered the bathroom.

“You broke the rules, rules that you asked for might I add, and now you’ll have to suffer the consequences.” He was stern faced, his jaw set and his eyes hard.

I’m nervous! 

“Just stay right there, you’ll be fine. Be still.” he calmly assured me once again as though he could hear my thoughts. I realized I had been shifting my feet, twitching about nervously.

He rubbed my cheeks with the palm of his hand, trailing his fingertips down the cleft and feeling the wetness that had seeped while I waited for him.

“You don’t hate this too badly, I see”. He swiped his finger across my mouth allowing me to taste myself, my face grew hot with realization.

Tap, tap, tap, tap. The spoon bounced off of my backside gently, and I moaned and leaned into the pleasant feeling. The pressure grew as he ever so slightly increased speed and force. Then it bit me and it felt like my skin exploded, my eyes went wide and my breath seized out of my chest with a hiss. I felt his palm gently rub the spot, and the pain was gone, spreading into a warmth across my cheeks, down my thighs, and around into my belly.

“How do you feel?”, his hand still caressing my backside, his words tickled the hair that fell next to my ear.

I nodded. I felt alive, new and sexy, the blood pumping through my body was hot and I could feel it pulse.

“Stay where you are, you look so sexy”, he purred into the side of my face as he slid his pants to the floor.

He pushed himself inside, my back arched inviting him in. I felt him grab my hair, gently twisting it in his hand, and I could feel the drawer hardware press into the soft spot inside of my hip bone as he slowly thrust into me. It was soft but quick, as he took what he wanted, and I was on fire, floating in new feelings.

Days later, I caught myself, once again, looking at the mark on my right cheek. A perfectly round circle, slightly pink, and a little darker on the edges. It brought me back to that moment with him and the old familiar spoon.