Month: January 2019 (Page 4)

Last night Lion was tired and sore from physical therapy. I’ve been feeling achy lately too. We make quite a pair. Today we’re both tired. I feel like all the energy has been drained out of me.

During dinner last night I was trying to tell Lion about my boring meeting. He interrupted me. When I started again he interrupted again. I yelled at him and didn’t continue. Since he was tired and sore, I told him I wouldn’t be doing the spanking experiment but he’d definitely be getting punished tonight.

Earlier in the day, I told him I knew I needed to make some doctor appointments for myself. His response was to ask me to make appointments for myself. Hello? Did I not just say that? Why does he test me? Am I not on the brink of a nervous breakdown at work? Do I need to be pushed to the edge at home too?

It’s times like this that I find it easier to punish him for annoying me. I’m already annoyed. It doesn’t take much to make me snap. Maybe I need to take anger management classes. They’ll likely tell me to find a positive outlet for my anger, to which Lion will say, “See? I told you.” The problem is that I don’t want to take my frustrations out on Lion’s butt. That’s why I generally don’t spank him on the day of the offense. Or I’ll wait a little while. If I whomped him last night he definitely would have been bruised and bloody.

I didn’t normally spank my kids. However, one time they got me so angry that I told them they should go to their room because I felt like I was going to start hitting them and if I started I wasn’t sure that I could stop. I guess I handled it the way an anger management professional would tell me to. I defused the situation and I didn’t kill my kids. Of course, my kids weren’t encouraging me to beat their butts like Lion is.

Tonight I’ll try to get some of my frustrations out on Lion’s hide. I’m sure he’ll wind up with some bruises just from the shear number of swats he’ll receive.

Mrs. Lion waxed both legs, my pubes, chest, butt, back and pits.
( Click image to view larger)

Do you think that being naked all the time causes me to think about sex more than I would if dressed? After all, my cock and balls are treated to a wide variety of sensations and temperatures as I go through my day. Sometimes, I have to move my balls out from under me when I sit down. Other times, my hand drops to my lap, and bumps into my cock.

Direct physical contact with my genitals requires no effort at all. Despite that, I don’t find myself getting erections during the day. Sure, when I write about sex, something tends to pop up between my legs. Otherwise, I stay calm the same way I would if fully clothed. Still, I feel a heightened sense of vulnerability because I am naked.

Over the years, I’ve noticed that Mrs. Lion spends more and more of her time naked as well. Is nudity contagious? Have we become a nudist couple? After all, Mrs. Lion has no requirement to remain unclothed. She does it because she wants to.

I’m not sure that she even notices my nudity any more. It never comes up in conversation. She very rarely makes a remark about my exposed cock and balls. Of course, I don’t expect her to offer a running commentary on something I’ve been doing for over 15 years. I guess it’s just part of me now. Clothing is for going out and for when company comes. My natural state is bare and nearly completely hairless.

The most I have actually have on is my chastity device. When wearing that, ironically the only part of my body shielded from view is my penis. Well, you can see some of it between the bars of my cage. This state is so ordinary for me that I rarely even think about. It came to mind today only because I went out for physical therapy and then as soon as I got home, I got naked as usual. While I was undressing it crossed my mind that what I’m doing is far from typical.

My post the other day that mentioned purple panties drew a little extra attention. One person wistfully noted that he badly wanted his wife to require him to wear women’s underwear all the time. He said that she is unresponsive to this request. He bought some anyway and wears panties now and then. For the record, between me and shopping trips with Mrs. Lion, I have a fairly extensive collection of frillies. Most of the items are still brand-new never worn.

I’m not complaining. If Mrs. Lion decides to put me in panties, we’re all set. Meanwhile, it’s impossible to ignore the fact that I’m naked and hairless. Speaking of which, hair has been growing back and it’s time for waxing again. Mrs. Lion reduced the area she removes hair. Of course, she removes all pubic and butt hair. She also cleans off my chest, underarms, shoulders, upper legs, and back. Essentially the only fur I have left is on my arms and lower legs.

I asked Mrs. Lion to remove all this fur. I confess that I like the way I look. There was one time a few weeks ago when my hairlessness caused me some concern. It was during the long power failure. We decided to go to the local community center for showers. The men’s locker room is open with no place to hide. Even if I wrap the towel around my middle, my hairless chest and underarms, not to mention my legs are visible for one and all to see.

We went at a time I figured that few, if any, people would be in the locker rooms. When I arrived and undressed to shower, I was the only one there. After my shower, when walking back to the locker where I put my clothes, another man was nearby changing into his gym shorts. He glanced my way and I’m sure noted my lack of fur. I didn’t see any change of expression, no gasp of horror, just a glance over to me and then he resumed undressing.

I have no idea what I expected. What could a stranger possibly say? “My God! He has no body hair!” That’s just silly. Also, why should I care what a stranger thinks of my personal grooming. Ironically, when I had surgery for removing a kidney stone, I didn’t give a second thought to the fact that the entire surgical team would see my lack of pubic hair. When I had to go back to the doctor’s office to remove a stent, again I was naked in front of his nurse and the surgeon himself. I wasn’t embarrassed. I didn’t even think about it.

I know it doesn’t matter how others will react. I’m me and I come packaged with almost no fur. Big deal. My blasé attitude would certainly disappear if someone I know wasn’t aware of our kink, saw me this way. A friend would almost certainly comment. At this point, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t blush. Though deep down, I’d be, at least momentarily, embarrassed.

That’s not a bad thing. After all, part of my kink is this sort of gentle humiliation. It’s no different than wearing panties. It’s a kind of naughty fun.

We received a comment yesterday accusing us of being obsessed with sex. Wayne wrote:

“My goodness. Are you two so obsessed with sex that you keep a tally of the number of orgasms and list them in the subject lines of emails? How about taking a walk, reading a book, volunteering to help your community. talk to your daughter whose in college.”

I wish all Lion and I had to think about was sex. We both work. I have a four hour boring meeting to look forward to this afternoon. We have pets to take care of. They both let us know when they need attention. We have health issues. We have a house and cars to take care of. We go away in our camper. Lion talks with his daughter frequently. I talk to me kids frequently. We have fairly full lives. If sex in its entirety (thinking about, doing, writing about, etc.) takes up five percent of our time, I’d say that was a lot.

When Lion puts his wait time in the subject line of an email, it’s an easy way for him to let me know. As I said, I don’t keep track. I do sometimes wonder how long it’s been. Not that it’s crucial that I know. I rarely base his wait on time alone, but it is nice to know. It lets me gauge how frisky he’ll be. It lets me plan a little. If today is five days then by day X he’ll be really horny. If I know we need to do some waxing this weekend (which we do) then I’ll assume I won’t feel like playing with him too much that day. How long has he been waiting to that point?

Besides, who gives a crap how much we think about sex? If it was a constant thing and we both got fired and the pets starve and our kids don’t ever hear from us again, then it would be a problem. I don’t need to know how often other people think about sex. Even if I did know, who am I to determine if it’s too much? Maybe my boss thinks about her dog’s Instagram account too much. (She does and she admits it.) But who am I to judge?

It might interest you to know that I’ve been thinking about sex, or writing about it, for the past half hour. Is that too long?

Fair enough. I’m done.

large wooden spoon
This is Mrs. Lion’s large wooden spoon.
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One of the medicines I was taking for my eye made me a space cadet. Mrs. Lion skipped work on Monday and took me to the eye doctor. Fortunately, my condition improved dramatically. I was able to stop taking my zombie drops. I’m surprised that eye drops can dramatically affect all of me. This particular medication and I don’t get along very well.

Because I’ve returned from the living dead, Mrs. Lion gave me a very nice hand job and orgasm on Monday night. It had been five days since my last orgasm. I was also spanked on Monday night. Mrs. Lion designated Saturdays as punishment days in addition to Monday and Thursday. She did this, I think, because I am very good at remembering Monday and Thursday and she wanted to challenge me.

I forgot on Saturday. She wrote about that Monday. So, I got a spanking. She used the large wooden spoon. A year or two ago, I wrote that this wooden spoon is the most fearsome paddle in Mrs. Lion’s arsenal. On Monday night I was surprised to discover that it isn’t very vicious at all. This, of course, is due to the fact that our paddle collection and my lioness have both gotten significantly more vicious in recent times.

spahing spoon on Lion's butt
This is our new spanking spoon shown on our size indicator (my butt). It’s made from very dense Chechen wood. This is the meanest paddle we own.
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The spanking began with 15 swats to the same spot. She concentrated on the lower part of each cheek. It wasn’t nearly as bad as my last punishment when she used the spoon-shaped paddle. There’s no comparison in terms of the pain the latter inflicts.

At least, that’s what I thought as the spanking progressed. After she had done a few sets of swats on each cheek, she began alternating very hard swats one at a time. First, she hit my right cheek, then the left. It felt like a different paddle. She was hitting very hard. After she did this for a while, she alternated hard swats on my upper thighs. That really hurt!

I’m no stranger to spanking pain. But when she began hitting hard on my tender thighs, I began wishing I were in another county. Each blow burned like fire.

Lion's punishment stool
My punishment stool. Sitting on this with a freshly spanked bottom really hurts.
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Finally, when she was done, she got up and brought the punishment stool into the bedroom. As you may recall, this is a standard stool with a very rough coconut welcome mat fastened to the seat. She set it up in the corner and told me to have a seat. I gingerly lowered myself onto the scratchy surface. It really hurt! I don’t know how long she made me sit on the punishment stool. But it felt like a very long time.

That’s what I get for writing a post that reminded her of this instrument of torture. She thanked me for reminding her. It’s always good to be of service. I do try to be helpful.

Before my bottom had a chance to cool down, Mrs. Lion moved over for a snuggle and a hand job. She teased me a bit, but ended the session by giving me a very nice, full orgasm. I didn’t expect it. You know, I think it was a gift to celebrate the fact that I had rejoined the living. Oh boy, had I!

When Mrs. Lion brings out a toy she hasn’t used in a long time, like the wooden spoon, I am frequently surprised by how mild it is compared to our newer acquisitions. I’ve been buying more efficient pain-givers and Mrs. Lion has become comfortable delivering blistering spankings.

As she likes to point out, it’s what I asked her to do. Yup, I did, I do. We still haven’t arrived at a tear-producing spanking. I don’t break out in a sweat while she’s beating me. That means we still have some distance to travel. I haven’t taken her emotional temperature on spanking recently. In the past, she told me that she doesn’t enjoy doing it, but she will because I want/need it.

I wonder if that’s changed at all. Has she developed a taste for butt-whomping? I hope so. I don’t expect her to get turned on or even find it funny. It would be great if she sees it as a challenge. In a way that’s how I approach it.

Obviously, I like being spanked. More accurately, I like that I have been spanked. I’m not fond of it while the paddle falls on my bottom. I think this is a pretty typical attitude on the part of spanked males. The idea is a turn on; the reality very unpleasant.

One side effect of our recent spanking experiments is that I’m not as worried about being beaten as I was before we started. I guess what this means is that the true punishment spanking really does have to be substantially more painful than an experiment. The principal benefit of spanking as a punishment is that the knowledge of how much it hurts is enough to make me work hard to avoid earning one.

I’m not sure why, but at this point I’m not particularly worried about being spanked. I know Mrs. Lion can correct this and I’m sure in the near future, she will.