For Your Own Good

We had just awoken on a lazy saturday morning, I was still sleepy and content after an early morning love making session. He called out to me from the bathroom, “Honey?” I peeked around the corner and smiled at him, “Yeah, babe?” His eyes were concerned, almost troubled. “Have you gone lately?” My stomache jumped and my mouth went dry. I knew what he was asking. I have terrible problems with bathroom issues, both doing them, and talking about them. He knows me well enough to know that the long silence meant, no, I have not; but he poses the question again, in a less patient voice, “Have you been to the bathroom since we last had to visit this issue?” It humiliates me to be asked, and even more so to have to answer and he KNOWS that. “No.” I can barely whisper. “REBECCA”, he is outright annoyed with me now, “That was a week ago!” I’m dying that we are having this conversation, I can’t meet his eyes, this softens him and he comes to me, holding my hands in his, he says in a gentle voice, “Honey, you can’t do that. You can’t go days and days and days, it isn’t healthy; it’s going to cause problems down the road.” I KNOW this, but my body doesn’t work like everyone else’s, it never has. Since I was a kid, no one else in my life ever made such an issue out of it. He puts his hand on my chin and makes me look up into those beautiful blue eyes and says, “I’m going to help you, again. You know what you need, what has to happen, right?” If I didn’t love him so much, I could hate him right now. I plead with him, “Please honey, I’ll take medicine, I’ll take the awful stuff that makes me hurt, I’ll do anything; please don’t make me do it your way.” He sighs heavily and turns away from me. He opens the cabinet door and pulls out the familiar red bag, and the tubing with the long, slender nozzle attached. He turns on the faucet and begins to monitor the water temperature, and I stomp back into our room and shut the door, hard. Actually it was more of a slam. Slamming doors is not permitted in our house. Under normal circumstances I would be apologizing profusely right now, and explaining that it was an accident, but I was in such a state that I didn’t care. He deserved it.  I heard the water stop, and the door opened, slowly. “Are you done whining, slamming, and pouting?” He asked me. I screwed up every bit of courage in my body and said to him, “I am NOT doing it today. I will take care of my problem myself, I don’t need your help, and I am NOT going to…” Before I could even finish my sentence he was in my space, his face was inches from mine and his voice was ominously calm as he said, “I will NOT tolerate slamming doors, back talk, or open defiance from you, am I understood?” The wind was gone from my sails. I had pushed too hard, and now I was about to get pushed back. I nodded at him, and allowed him to propel me towards the bathroom.

He had placed a couple of bath towels inside of the tub, because he knew I was most comfortable that way. I removed my panties and climbed in, lying down on my back, with my knees bent. He hung the bottle on the hook that was designed for just that, and slowly and deliberately lubricated the entire length of the nozzle. He then lubed me, to make insertion as easy as possible. He gently slid the entire length of the nozzle inside of me. I shut my eyes tight at the whole idea of what was happening. I heard the familiar click as he opened the clip and for a moment I felt nothing, and then, all at once I felt heat invading my body. “It’s too HOT.” I gasped. He smiled at me gently, and said, “It is the exact same temperature that it always is, and you ALWAYS say that.” His eyes were pleading with me to understand that he was only doing this because he so desperately needed and wanted to take care of me, mind, body and soul. “I hate this,” I whimpered. “I know,” he replied, and leaned over the side of the bathtub and touched my growing tummy. He allowed his hand to move steadily downwards until his fingertips were gently brushing against my most sensitive spots. “What if I do this? Does it help?” He was rubbing gently, steadily, and while he did so he adjusted the nozzle, pushing it farther into me, and then pulling it out, just a bit. Within moments, I had a mind-blowing orgasm, and before I knew it, the bag was empty. His eyes smiled at me, as he announced, “You’re all done!” I glared at him. “Not quite ALL done, what goes in, must come out.” He slowly and gently removed the nozzle, and left me, so that I could get rid of everything with privacy. Thirty minutes later I had taken care of business, taken a shower, and felt a million times better.

I knew we still had a problem though when I came bounding down the stairs and found his intense blue eyes staring at me, without the hint of a smile. “What?” I asked, sincerely confused. I sat down next to him, and took his hand, “Honey…” I started, and then I remembered. “OH!” I exclaimed. “I’m sorry for being disrespectful and defiant to you.” I meant that with everything that I am, I respect him above all others, and I hate it when my behavior doesn’t represent that. He looked at me and said, “I’m sorry that you have already been through one ordeal this morning, but if you would please, please, just take care of that business yourself, I wouldn’t have to get involved. You need to understand that if you leave me no choice I WILL handle the situation, because my job is to take care of you, and sometimes that isn’t pleasant for either of us.” While he was lecturing me he stood up and put his hand on his belt buckle. I stood up, because I knew what was about to happen, and I was in full on cooperate mode at this point, because this man was as sweet, kind, caring and gentle as they come–right up until the point when his patience gets tested, and I had done a good job of testing it, already, this morning. As he removed his belt from the loops of his pants, I pushed my jeans and panties down to the floor and turned and placed my hands on the couch. “Count!” he commanded.

I HATE counting when I don’t know how many I am counting. The first ten are never bad, although he swats hard and fast. After twenty it gets a little tricky, because now my entire bottom has been well spanked and he begins going back over the same spots over and over. By 25 I was getting a little frantic, and I knew he could hear this, that is why he requires me to count, because I am such a trooper about staying in position, he needs to hear my voice to know if I am distressed or not. He is strict and firm, but he is also compassionate and has no interest in hurting me, only in teaching me a lesson. The last three were hard and fast and in the exact same spot. I stood there for a moment allowing my body to process the fact that it had been punished, but that it was over now. He threw his belt to the floor and helped me put my panties and pants back in place. Then he gathered me into his arms, whispering into my ear, “I love you more than life, and I will clean you out, and spank your bottom everyday if I have to. To get you to take care of yourself, so that I can have a happy, healthy, girl for the rest of our lives! Get it?” I smiled at him. I had never felt more loved or cared about or taken care of in my life. “Of course I get it, honey. I love you.” He took my face in his hands, and looked directly at me and said, “I love you too. SO MUCH.”

We cuddled for a long, long time after that…feeling bonded, loved and close to each other…


(Image Source: A Wizard of Ass Studio)

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