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Most serious spankings I have to wait for. He pets my hair. If we get a private moment, you're getting it again. I just paid it. What had happened to my beautiful Saturday afternoon? It's a beautiful day, sunny and warm. All hope of reprieve is gone. Please, John, couldn't we wait? I am quickly becoming more frightened than ever. Christ only knows what I'll find out about. Most of my spankings are delivered in a very matter-of-fact way, but I realize suddenly that he seems different today. He'd ordered it from a mail-order place about two years back, when he had decided that a special implement that made an unmistakable statement was necessary for certain rare occasions. He has already warned me, with a harsh whisper in my ear, that Mr. These loose shorts, easy to remove, are a concession to my husband's disciplinary preferences.
A straight-backed dining room chair sits there. I've moved forward about one inch. But at home, in a movie theater, even at a private table in a restaurant, I could squirm to my heart's content. Buhari or his party cannot stop us. He pulls it away from the wall and sets it in the middle of the room. I rest my head limply against his chest, and we sit for several minutes while I squirm and sob. He pauses, clearly trying to figure the implications. Things were working well for Buhari, who came to power based on his promise to fight corruption, secure the country and efficiently manage the economy up until early last year when he fell sick. Five hours later, I sit at the Marshall's elegant dining room table. Much to my humiliation, he had corresponded quite matter-of-factly with the man who made the paddle, discussing recommendations and requirements, dimensions and thicknesses, techniques and red-hot bottoms. But I've learned mostly to accept it, to keep my hands out of the way as much as possible, to relax my bottom against the sting. He'd ordered it from a mail-order place about two years back, when he had decided that a special implement that made an unmistakable statement was necessary for certain rare occasions. Yet, in my heart I know he is right. Here's what you're getting, Marie. Involuntarily, my hand leaves the floor in a desperate attempt to shelter my scalding cheeks. He is tall, well over six feet, with long legs and broad, muscular thighs. I know it is because he really is not spanking me all that hard. Hell, would I ever walk again? The man had even asked for a tracing of my husband's hand, so that the handle of the paddle could be cut to the exact requirements of his large hand, of his long fingers. We just had a programme that had shaken the foundation of the APC. Have I been neglecting you? I jump and squeal as a line of fire burns. He's feeling anger, certainly, but something deeper: I don't want to say it again. His hands reach for me.
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