Though I had been over her lap getting spanked a couple times last night, I made my little mess stan

Though I had been over her lap getting spanked a couple times last night, I made my little mess standing next to the bed. It was the third spanking standing with my erect penis resting on the soft terrycloth of my cummy towels. The fabric was stained from a night’s worth of pre-cum she had spanked out of my penis already.Between spankings, I would do a chore. Though I was always hard while she spanked me, I would soften up while doing my task. Only when the task was close to finished would the butterflies in my stomach and the erection in my penis return. On the way back to the bedroom for my next treatment, I pause just out of sight and play with my toy. Rubbing him to full glory–he’s a little guy so, you know, glory is probably overstating it a bit–and making sure that his little head is shiny with pre-cum, I work up my nerve to ask for another spanking.She always smiles at me condescendingly when I walk in. She thought she had married a man but a nervous boy with a hard little hairless penis stands before her with towels in one hand and a paddle, spoon, or tawse in the other. The towels are my lovers for the night. At some point, they will accept the ernest offering of my semen, my shame, my love. Her body won’t have me and even a masturbation aid is too good for me. My penis has known many inappropriate lovers in the past–flannel pajama bottoms, pillows, sheets, underwear, running shorts, sofa arms, chair cushions–that my towels seem almost normal. I would wonder what it would feel like to rub against something, try it just for a second, and the feeling would get away from me. A lifetime of spraying my semen where it doesn’t belong has made me a ninja at hiding the evidence. I could make a career out of cleaning embarrassing stains.I had wanted to play the “Stay Erect” game (see a previous post) but I think my fantasy life upsets my wife. Instead, the narrative stays in my head; I just tell her the actions and words I need. I think she has constructed her own fantasy. We just play the game each with different narrative explanations for what is happening.Before each spanking, I stand before her trying not to play with my erect toy. I fail almost every time. He demands my attention. The oozing pre-cum fills my urethra uncomfortably. I sneak a squeeze with my hand and release the slick fluid into my hand which I indiscreetly use to lubricate my straining member. My body doesn’t know or care how futile this production is but each spanking seems to stimulate me to produce in higher and higher quantities. It drips from my flaccid penis and onto my thighs while I do my chores and the makes the head of my penis feel cold as it cools in the air. Sometimes I rub my towels lovingly on my member feeling the kiss of my improvised but sensuous lover. The towels accept my pre-cum offering and soak it up.The first time standing next to the side of the bed was almost too much to take. I was shaking when she was done but not from my stinging bottom but from the tingling feelings of my sex. She used a bigger paddle for my next spanking like that and though my bottom had more of my attention, I was still close to the edge. I focused on the ouchie hairbrush paddle I had placed just in front of me that she will punish me with after I ejaculate and kept my semen inside. Still, the fuse was lit.With time running out, the next spanking was over her lap. I stayed as still as I could and tried to keep my bottom out and an easy target. The spanking needed to hurt that time. It needed to remind me of what would happen if I had an accident.After the next chore, I stood looking at myself in the bathroom mirror as I masturbated like a confused adolescent. My soft body and little penis screamed shame at me. Sometimes I try to masturbate in front of a mirror but my orgasms are always as weak as the vision I see. Last night, it wasn’t a vision but reality. The little boy in the mirror turned and looked over his shoulder at his spanked bottom. Hoping to see a bright red symbol of bravery, instead all I saw was a pink bottom; a symbol of how even what I thought were painful spankings were just barely enough to bring out a rosy glow.I followed my hard penis to the last spanking of the night. Trying not to whine, I announced to my wife that I was pretty sure I was going to have an accident during my spanking. My towels lewdly caressing my aroused sex both gave me strength to make this announcement and justified the spanking punishment I deserved.I took my position next to the bed and rested my naughty penis on my towels. A night’s worth of pre-cum had made the fabric slightly damp. I tried to stay still while she took her position but already I was thrusting my hips to provide stimulation to my frustrated erection. It was entirely possible that if she hadn’t started spanking when she did, that I would have squirted before it even began. As it was, she started before I got to that point and maybe even started hard and fast in order to bring me back from the edge.In the end, I had to work at it a little more than I thought I would have to. The sting in my bottom was turning to fire and I was becoming desperate for my release. When it happened, it was a short second of pleasure before the spanking was all I could feel. I collapsed on the bed in front of me as she spanked all of the my semen out with that paddle I fear so much. It didn’t last long and when she stopped, she asked if it was enough. At the time, it was though later, of course, I wished I could have taken more.I got up fast before she decided I needed “motivation” and was delighted with the mess I made. Even when I’ve had really powerful orgasms, I am usually disappointed at what I’ve deposited on the towel. Last night, the towel was covered but so was I. My stomach and penis were coated with my emission. A big glob was even on my thigh.This part of my spankings is powerful to me. The way it is supposed to be is that the man produces the semen and the woman consumes it. Instead, the boy that I am doesn’t deserve a woman and, in fact, deserves to be the consumer of his own emissions. He should wear it or even be forced to eat it. Simply cleaning up, wiping off, and washing out the soiled towels just isn’t enough. I should sit in it, wear it even.She made a comment about how it was nice that she didn’t have to clean herself up when “we” had sex like this. A highlight reel of hundreds of my pre-mature orgasms scrolled through my mind. She always comforted me afterwards saying that it was OK, pleasant even. I always want to believe her but as she cleaned up the mess I made in or sometimes just on her, even if I helped I would feel the disgust and disappointment behind her words. So, I sit here this morning writing as my morning’s ejaculation slowly dries in my flannel pajama bottoms. The couch cushion I rutted against is clean and back in place but the cold spot drying to a crusty stain in my pajamas tells the story of my mind’s deviance and adolescent maturity; the tinge of soreness I feel whenever I shift my bottom on the hard wood chair reminds me that I deserved my spanking, my punishment, my embarrassing and undeserved ejaculation, and how lucky I am that she loves me. -- source link

More pics about