Spanks for the holiday

We arrived in South Wales on Saturday having made better time in the car than expected.  Locating the quaint cottage proved slightly more difficult than expected but on finding our abode it was instantly obvious we had made a good choice.  Unfortunately Mistress's parents were also holidaying near by and met us there.  Within the next 10 minutes, the Mother had told us all about the area, the shops, the walks and hadn't given us time to explore before given us a running commentary on every room. Half the fun is finding out for yourself about somewhere new.  I know She was just trying to help, but still!

Fortunately after a brief cuppa they left, we were meant to drop over to see them that evening, but Mistress could see I was flagging after our long drive and said no more driving.

The cottage was first rate, clean, airy, with enough space to breathe, and after we had removed the throws; Mutt took up residence on the sofa.  The garden was small, but sufficient, partially overgrown, but not as it turned out Mutt proof.  It was claimed in the particulars to be so, I guess they just had not met a Mutt like ours! Sneaky, intelligent and bloody minded. Or "Git" as I like to call him.

The kitchen cupboards smelt of upturned glasses, you know the smell you get if you leave some glasses the wrong way down in a cupboard and the air goes stale.  I just had to empty both, wash everything up and spray the cupboards! (The smell returned before before we left).

The following morning I found somewhere safe to let the Git run free and after breakfast we did a bit of exploring.  Mistress leading, going where She wanted too, me obediently following on.  In the end we simply walked to the local supermarket and got a few things in.  Mistress knew I was pushing for a play, and yes I know I shouldn't push, but if you never ask you never get.  I always worked on the theory that I should be able to ask Mistress for anything, that way She knows my mind, crystal ball or not.  There's little worse than hearing the words, if only you had told me!  It's then up to Her to decide if She wants to play ball or not!

As it turned out She had also been thinking of playing, great minds and all that!

Normally I don't go into detail about play, that's between Mistress and I, but in this case I will make a holiday exception, after running Mistress a bath I showered and shaved.  Before play it's important to ensure that I am very clean shaven, any Ladies reading this will understand why; I'm sure.

I had brought a selection of Mistresses favourite paddles and in no time I was across Her thighs for a good old fashion spanking and paddling.  There is something very demeaning about laying there naked having your arse groped, nice in my case but very demeaning.  Mistress started to warm me up, the smacks getting stronger and more frequent until She reached the moment where She decided that, She could really let go.  Warming up is very important, it's the difference  between playing and hurting and playing and damaging.  As I said She then really let me have it.  As the strokes went past 300 hundred I lost count.  This was a lot harder and longer than normal.  At one point I found myself sobbing, pleading, She just kept going!  I ended up wriggling, squirming, legs kicking as I tried desperately to get away.  Mistress was having none of it She held me firmly and just carried on and on.  If I'd had 800 strikes it wouldn't have surprised me.  With my arse on fire I was ordered to turn over and lay on my back with my hands underneath my body.  No shackles make it a lot harder, it demonstrates the level of control Mistress has over me, obedience in the face of pain and torment.  Well...obedient  until She gave my cock the the Mother of all slaps. I yelled out in pain.  Stuffing Her used knickers into my mouth She carried on Smack.....Slap.....Smack.... I re-attempted to get away in abject agony.  The next second; Her foot was rammed into my throat pinning me down.  The torment continued.  Smack....... Whack...... Smack; followed by ball and cock flicking, one of Her favourites.  Then back to the slapping, the agony was immense, the noises I was making must have been loud because the knickers were ripped out of my mouth and She smothered my with Her fantastically sexy bum, pressing down hard; my screams were muffled.  Her Endeavours continued, my brain was on fire, burning in ecstasy and agony all at the same time.  Eventually I was given the gift of release, that is the moment when everything I accept and comply with make perfect sense.  As a man if you have never been there you cannot ever understand.  As a Woman you would have to ask Mistress but the feeling of absolute power and control must be all consuming.

Afterwards we lay together, me shattered, exhausted, drained.  Post play Mistress is kind, gentle and compassionate.  I am given time to recover; allowances are made for my scrambled brains.

I have in the past, not often, seen Dommes in BDSM Clubs just walk off and leave their sub in a right state, the sub trying to collect together the equipment and also attempting to collect themselves.  I know, unbelievable; but true.  It could be understandable in a domestic setting where the actions might at times be more discipline and punishment than play.  Leaving the sub in a state maybe considered acceptable in this case as they should be physically safe, warm and given time to consider their transgression(s).  In a club no way, ever!  And watching your sub from the side lines while chatting to your buddy just  doesn't cut the mustard in my book.

During our break Number 1 Daughter and boyfriend arrived to stay for a few days.  While they were with us we spent a day with Mistress's parents and one of Her sisters and Her partner.  They had rented two houses next door to each other.  Now I'm not one to moan but the Sisters partner is one of those bores who has done everything, brags and plays the blackcat game.  You know mines bigger than yours, my car does more miles per gallon, I earn more than you......oh no he cannot play that card as we both know it's not true!  Now a days I refuse to rise to the baiting so frustrate him as he doesn't get the response he seeks.  I don't throw the money thing at him, there's no point it would just have escalated things with negative consequences.  Mistress's Sister is a nice person who has been, and is very helpful, She knows about our lifestyle, but is cool about it.  I like Her. Mistress had a good day so it was worth biting my tongue.

On return we went to a local thirst quenching rescue centre; I needed a couple of pints.  Munching through an average meal I reflected I was a lucky man and Mistress was a lucky Mistress, imagine being saddled with a bore.  What does Her Sister see in him?

Sitting on the loo the other day I noticed a copy of Juno on the laundry basket, left by DN1; so I had a read.  It claimed it wasn't just for the hippy laid back individual; however I did notice that all the pictures were of perfect, smiling, happy looking women, mostly young, hippy looking, without a care in the world.  The advice was patronising, self obvious and I felt almost demeaning to Woman.  The overall suggestion was that unless you dress and live in a certain way, coupled with a baby sling  with the perfect baby clinging to you, there was no way you could be fulfilled, whole, perfect.  Try doing that living in a drug infested council estate!  IMHO It's just female middle class soft porn!

During the week we travelled to various scenic locations; one of which was a very pretty harbour.  Boats bobbed gently up and down, rocking drunkenly from side to side.  Dogs were running back and forth on the far shore; two braved the tiny waves and strode in before picking up speed forcing the gulls to flee upwards into the rich blue sky.
On finding the inevitable cafe we plumped for tea and cake, well we were on holiday!.
Perching on a rickety collapsable wooden chair I did the honours, pouring tea, adding milk and sugar before giving the mixture a brief brisk stir; ensuring that the dirty spoon ended up on my saucer.  Mistress sipped, nibbled, enjoying the view.  I started to people watch, The woman next to us was an early sixties grey haired drained woman.  On Her own apart from the dog faithfully gazing up at Her.  My guess holidaying on Her own, divorced or widowed.  Thinking about it widowed the more luckily outcome.  She had that beaten lonely lost look, trying to enjoy Her break, single, empty, resigned.  Dragging out the drink before having to move on; drifting around with no purpose or direction.  A brave face on a beleaguered life.  All the other tables contained couples, that always hurts.  A dishevelled man mid 50's walked past hand in hand with his Wife/Partner.  His other arm dangled uselessly, stroke.  That explained the half tucked in shirt, green combat jacket on the piss, laces not done up, boots; black, old, unkept, flys not fully up.  They were happily chatting and gripping each other's hand for grim death.

After the cafe we went for a stroll round the town, Mistress got to do one of Her favourite activities, Charity Shops!!!  As you can guess not my most joyous activity.  Like that makes any difference, we plodded from one to another.  I'm always amazed how much crap is packed into these high street wreckers.  Even more astounding is the fact that their popular and busy.  Replacing the museums and art gallery's ?, people's alternative, a cheap day out.  

Going in one grotty, stenchy, musty, i'll lit, colour rich emporium we were met by a grey haired short weather beaten granny, it was obvious that She once had been fat and round, but was now skinny and flabby.  What was once a huge bosom, now sagged, lost, small and forlorn.  Skin hanging in folds, creased and wrinkly, was there a peanut hidden in the folds?.  Radio Wales drifted through to the front of the shop.  The discussion was on the Scotland vote.

If your not from the a United Kingdom I will attempt to explain what is going on.  The UK is basically made up of England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland.  Northern Ireland's the top bit of Ireland, which no one really wants or cares about.  Especially Ireland who could have made a play for it years ago but deep down doesn't want the hassle.  Thinking about it, the rest of the UK doesn't really want or care about Northern Ireland either, not that the politicians would ever admit to that.  Anyway in Scotland there is a chap who runs the SNP, that's a political party up there.  His face looks like Mr Potato Head (a child's game)  He has managed to pull a blinder and get a vote (referendum) for Scotland to leave the UK and go on their own.  With only a few days to go before the Scottish People vote; it looks like he may have just done it and win.  All the politicians down south (London) are panicking, they can see their power being reduced.  So they have whipped up a media storm and have rushed to Scotland to beg "Old Jock" to stay.
Even radio wales has got in on the act.  The vote is next week.

So this takes me back to the women in the shop.  As we walked in She shot from behind the counter and spent the next 10 minutes telling us about how bad for Scotland it would be if they left.  she was clearly very worked up and concerned, if not frightened.

I smiled and nodded but did not expand the conversation.  Mistress had come to shop, not to hear of my views on politics.  We left as soon a politely able to!

It was very noticeable how many men walked around in "little boy white socks" why?  Don't their wives care; or is it that they no longer choose to notice their man dressed as a clown.

That evening we took N1D and boyfriend out for a curry, it was great, the food surprisingly good considering how busy it was.  The company was brill, the jokes flowed, bonding times are always important. It's the sort of occasion when the
Mistress/sub dynamics slip away for a time, gone but not forgotten. Families; family.

The following morning they left, boyfriend had to get back to work, I was sad to see them both go, I was even sadder to find out that they had cleared out the fridge!
..??#**s.  Back to the shopping!

Taking the mutt on the beach is always a good laugh, he loves the sand, the space, the wind.  He did the most massive turd you can imagine, but as the tide was coming in I left it for the crabs and fishes. I'm so green!  On the way back we called into an art gallery Mistress had seen.  She knew that I wanted a painting for the dining room.  We met a mad French artist and his Wife.  He's barking, arty and a bit of an actor. She's lovely, made a fuss of mutt, he adores that, the show off.  I saw a painting I loved, Mistress did too, fortunately it was the same one.  Only problem it was £800.00.  £800.00, talk about how many school dinners?  I gave Mistress the signal, can you take a walk, I won't haggle when She's around.  Mistress has many many fine qualities, haggling is not ever going to be one of them,  She like most people cannot remain quiet at the critical moment.  In the past She has cost me an arm and a leg.  Mistress took the mutt outside, just as well as a cat appeared.  The Artist and I eyed each other up, lines were drawn.  I was told he did not bargain.
So, I offered £700; knowing I had no chance.  This seemed to confuse him, which was understandable considering what he had just said.  I just then stood there, silent, quiet, none confrontational.  He finally said no.  Ok I replied let's meet you 1/2 way, try £750. His eyes flashed, slightly annoyed, but..... unsure.  The music boomed too loudly in the back ground, stopping him thinking clearly, I just stood like a wet lemon, he went to get his wife.  I ordered coffee and went outside to rejoin Mistress and mutt.  The wife appeared, looking worried, I think he was getting a little stressed inside.  She asked for £775, I considered playing for more, but as Mistress was there, it wasn't business, and the best I was going to get was another £25 off, I said ok but I wanted the coffees thrown in, the picture signed on the back and well wrapped.  We shook hands, deal done.  No way the finest deal of my life, but £25 is £25.  Mistress happy.  I would have paid full price, but don't tell anyone.

So my take on Wales, sorry South Wales.  Great, scenic, the locals very friendly.  Which reminds me a couple of years ago we went to North Wales.  If you've never been, don't bother.  The roads are crap, everything seems to close in the afternoon and the people ignorant.  We would go into a shop, the staff were talking in English.  As we walked in they switched to Welsh.  Oh I haven't told you Mistress is Welsh.  You didn't know? neither did the Shop assistants until She opened Her mouth, enough said!

So back to South Wale, go for it.  Oh don't go to Scotland, by the time you do it will either be broke and penniless or at war with its self.  Plus it's a long way from nowhere and 10 miles past that.
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