Welcome to Spanking A-Z — A is for Anticipation

Welcome to the Spanking A to Z Blog Challenge, presented by Spanking Romance Reviews and the wonderful Celeste Jones.

For the entire month of June, some insanely talented bloggers and writers will be presenting a post for 26 straight days, for each letter of the alphabet. Will all of their posts be related to spanking? Maybe, maybe not. But rest assured, my fellow pervs and spankos, here at TEL, you can bet your sweet asses that every single post here is going to be spanking, or BDSM related:)

Why else come here, amirite?

A is for Anticipation

It’s one of those indefinable things related to spanking and BDSM that adds so much. We rarely think of anticipation as its own thing, the same way we rarely notice we’re breathing — and yet its importance cannot be overstated.

How much of what we pervs and spankos do and love is in our own heads, and how much of what goes on in our heads affects what happens here in the physical world? Anticipation is one of the manifestations of the psychology of what we do and love. It can make things so much sweeter, and yet so much scarier — or perhaps it’s a confusing, exciting mixture of the two?

Those of us on the “giving” end of the spanking/BDSM equation anticipate things just as much (and maybe more) as the wonderful subs we’re so fixated upon. Sure we try to play the aloof, strict disciplinarian, but inside we’re a riot of joy, second-guessing, lust, doubt, dark fantasies, you name it — we just have to hide it 🙂

Anticipation in its myriad forms brings so much to spanking, and to kink in general. How would it ever be the same without it? Rather than list all the ways it adds its own spice, showing sometimes works better …

* * * *

— A young newlywed, freshly moved into the couple’s first home, discovers a tattered, dog-eared little white book in her new husband’s drawer. It opens almost by itself to all the favorite scenes. On the cover she sees the simple O. A morning of breathless reading later, a text shows up on her dear husband’s phone. He picks it up, stuck in yet another meeting at work, yet another day away from his beautiful wife. He reads the text, his mouth dry, and his cock instantly hard. He drops his pen on the floor, the other people in the room ceasing to exist, meaningless.

“Will you please be my Sir Stephen?”

* * * *

— Sunday was the longest day of the week — and the sweetest. All day she’d think about it, what came every Sunday evening. Her weekly “settling of accounts” as he liked to call it. How many would it be? With what? Would he draw it out — for her pleasure and his? Now, as she stood naked in that corner, her hands laced together behind her head, the heat from the popping fire warming her skin, even across the room, she still wondered. He liked to sit in that chair, not saying a word, every rustle of the paper making her jump. She could feel his heated gaze upon her naked bottom, the trembling thighs, the way her unruly curls tumbled down her bare back. How long would he make her wait, her nose pressed to that quiet, boring corner? It might be five minutes, it might be thirty. And the wait always ended the same way.

“Come over here, girl.”

* * * *

— He made sure I could see each item as he set it down neatly on the mattress next to my head.

First, it was the tan length of my paddle, the one that hung on the wall over our headboard, the one with SLUT branded in stark black letters into the leather, the one that made me imagine those letters were being emblazoned upon my flesh as he spanked me with it. Then it was the tube of lubricant, the same one he made me purchase in the store, while he watched — rather than online. He enjoyed his little humiliations.

Next came a small glass jar I hadn’t seen before. His long finger tapped the top.

“Cinnamon oil,” he murmured, knowing I’d have the question on my lips, but not dare to voice it.

My heartbeat came up to full gallop as he set the slapper down next. It was the perfect size, the supple black leather shaped just right. It never failed to send tears cascading down my cheeks as the remorseless strap punished the lips of my pussy, my clit swelling up huge under the stinging, viper’s kiss of the leather. My thighs tightened knowing what was soon to come.

Last, he laid down the plug — the huge one he’d just bought for me. Stainless steel, it shined in the light as he made me watch his fingers lube it up before setting the monster back down on a small white hand towel.  There was no way that thing was going to fit, lube or not, and I shuddered.

But then I heard it. The sound of his belt through the loops of his slacks. That familiar, deadly sound that made my mouth go dry and my pussy clench. I looked up at him. The folded belt hung from his fist, ready.

His dark eyes glittered as he smiled down at me. “You have a long afternoon ahead of you, bad girl. Now, face forward.”

* * * *

Anticipation, yep, I enjoy it, evil sadist that I am:) Now, time for you to satisfy your anticipation and head over to the other blogs participating in this event. I’ve already read some of them, and holy hotness, they are GOOD. June is set to be one hot, sweaty month here in blogland methinks. Enjoy:)

PS — On the subject of anticipation (in this case, non-sexual): there’s the they’d-better-not-fucking-kill-Tyrion-off-or-there-will-be-rioting-in-the-streets kind as I await tonight’s episode of Game of Thrones.