Stress Relief (NSFW)

A woman in a black dress and fishnets poses with a spanking paddle

A little something much better than wine or chocolate.

You may recall me saying, as of late I have had a bit of a ‘people’ problem and unfortunately it seems, my people problems are only set to continue. They briefly relapsed after a video call with my mother in which she propped her mobile phone up in the kitchen to talk to me while she made dinner.

“Look at this,” she said, “I feel like I’m doing my own cookery show!”

“Now take your wooden spoon and just on the side, dahling! Treat it like you treat your old man and beat it until it’s smooth” she began in her best Mary Berry impression. “If you don’t know what smooth is, it’s that thing when you take out your razor in the bathtub. You do know what I’m talking about, don’t you dahling? Yes, of course you do.”.

“Have you finished?” I laughed, my eyes were tearing up and my face was red from laughter. For someone who never stood for goofiness when we were young, Mum had sure changed her mind.

“Do you want to come down on Saturday?”

“I can’t, I have Andy here.” Andy is my father-in-law, but I definitely wanted to see my Mum. The trouble is, if she is not at work, Mum is ‘over the farm’.

‘The farm is situated near Aberwystwyth, west Wales, and it’s owned by a couple who, quite by chance, ended up with a little of pups – one of which became Mum’s dog, Ladye. I’ve met them once or twice, but I think Mum thought I’d bond with them a lot more than I actually did. They’re pleasant enough, they’re just a little bit prudent for my tastes.

“You’d love Dick,” Mum said to me as we sat in Dad’s hospital room.

“I don’t question it, Mum. But now is neither the time nor the place for that kind of talk” I replied with a playful wink.

Mum flushed red, Dad and the attending nurse couldn’t stop laughing.

Mum and my brother help Dick on the farm regularly, going over there to shear sheep, help with lambing and more. They own a caravan over there – quite a decent caravan – and it’s sort of become a second home. Although I’ve been invited, I’m not too sure that I’m interested. Getting roped into helping out on a working farm for four solid days doesn’t sound like my idea of fun.

But still, I would like to see my Mum.

I have to check on Rose.

Ah, I replied. The elderly mother that Mum helps to care for sometimes? Of course I don’t have an issue with that.

Wait, Rose is the lamb?

I won’t bore you too much, but it’s kind of a happy story. Basically, my mother and brother were driving, they saw a ewe who had prolapsed after giving birth and the lamb had wandered off. The ewe was saved thanks to Dick, and my brother managed to save the lamb from the shallows of a pond. Both have now been reunited, and the lamb, a female, is now called Rose.

Why? Because as my mother took great delight in telling Dick, “it was saved by an English rose.”

I do love some good, strong, well-natured English-Welsh rivalry.

I’ll admit, I felt a bit replaced at that point. My mother is so often at work or over the farm that I’d sort of stopped trying to see her. I hated that – she’s not getting any younger – but if she doesn’t want to spend time with me then I can’t force her. The only day she’s free next week is one of my writing days. Typical.

“Replaced by a lamb? Cool. Amazing” I muttered, “you know, Rose would go well with some ROSE-mary, or perhaps some mint sauce.”

“Kitten!”

I leaned against the wall, arms folded and brooding. Alright, so it was petty of me, but it still hurt.


“Fucking jobsworth little cunt!” he said, slamming the front door. I was aware of the commotion in the hallway but to be honest, I’d been led on our bed and hadn’t been paying it much attention. It sounded heated, but not violent. Matt had it.

“He just took my beer away from me like I was a naughty child because my ID is slightly out of date. Do I look under eighteen?!”. No – peppered, thinning and approaching thirty-six maybe, but Matt was anything but under eighteen.

“Ugh, I’m raging. That one little bit of joy after a stressful day… the prick.”

Whack!

I gasped.

“That, though, is a fine ass in those trousers, Mrs S”.he growled I giggled softly.

“More?” he asked.

“Please.”

“Please?”

“Please, Sir” I corrected.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

Six of the best in all, and through clothes – Hard. Deep. Lasting.

We tried bare bottom spanking but I hate those. Perhaps it’s something rooted in my childhood, they make me feel bad and not in a way that I enjoy. Spankings were a regular thing for me, and not a healthy thing. Sometimes there was malicious intent, or inconsistency between a telling off, some time out and a sore backside. Red sometimes wasn’t red enough, and if you covered up or wriggled, there was more.

No, bare-bottomed spankings aren’t for me. But through panties and in a way that aches for days? I love those.

“You’re cute” I giggled when Matt finally let me up. Back down I went.

“Cute? Really? Okay, how are we spelling that?” he challenged, his hand poised.

“Umm, I can only do English. I’m afraid I’m not familiar with its French or Italian counterparts”.

“Okay, what’s the first letter?”

I smirked to myself and bowed my head down towards the floor, did I really want to do this?

Yeah, yes I do.

“A”

Whack!

“You’re such a brat” he laughed.

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