Hello Mal-Pals! Thank you for sticking with me through the last few dark posts; as promised today's post is a lot more light hearted!
It did occur to me that I never explained where things sit legally between myself and my old landlord, who I still have never met, or what happened to all my old stuff. This is because I don't know. I was told by my housing officer that the council are supposed to keep the items I left behind in storage, though I assume if that happened I'd have been told about it by now. The contact details I gave my landlord and my estate agent were for a mobile phone number I don't use any more and a Hotmail account I stopped checking around the time I stopped opening my mail in my old flat, probably earlier. I'm not interested in reopening that wound. I'm a different person now.
I've been feeling a little rough the past few days; I suspect recalling my past has used a lot of my energy! I've been sleeping a lot, but only that sort of shallow sleep that offers no real sustenance. This morning I don't recall being given my morning morphine pills, and didn't take them until the nurse came round with my other morning drugs a couple of hours later. This is good because it means I was properly sleeping for once! When they woke me up for breakfast I was having a bona fide dream, which means I was sleeping deeply enough for this to happen, which is excellent! I never remember my dreams unless I am disturbed from them.
This morning's dream was like almost all of my dreams; I was arguing with my brother. The weird thing was I wasn't bedbound but was suffering with a bad back and sore joints. I was watching TV in the living room of our old house. Outside it was tipping down with rain. My brother was trying to force me to go outside and fix the guttering. So many of my dreams are like this, and I often wake up agitated if I remember them, as if I have genuinely been arguing all night. There are some deep psychic scars left from when my brother was a teen up until his mid-twenties; he used to bully me and my mother, arguing about anything and everything. Things are much better today; finding a nice fiancee and a job with real responsibilities has been good for him, as has dealing with his fiancee's family, who sound very difficult in their own way!
It was my brother's birthday yesterday, and I spoiled him rotten, as per the usual! A few years ago I heard about gifts being part of some people's love language; it definitely is part of mine. There is something great about finding someone the perfect present, but also sending little photos or articles to friends and family that you know will get a kick out of them. My mother is a big fan of Groot, so over the weekend I sent her a link to the Amazon page for a ridiculous Groot Mr Potato Head, knowing she wouldn't appreciate the £40 real artefact but would enjoy the photo. My friend Julie is a Canadian BDSM enthusiast, so I sent her this 1949 thinkpiece about how maybe they should stop using a strap known as The Whistling Torture to beat male and female prisoners. Horses for courses!
|I did once buy Mum a Groot flower pot that she really loves!|
Gift giving is not a part of my brother's love language. My parents told me in the run up to Christmas not to go overboard buying presents for him and his girlfriend, as they were a little uncomfortable with how much I'd gotten the girlfriend for her birthday in September. Meanwhile, when I saw my brother before Christmas he had clearly bought gifts for me last minute from the supermarket where he worked; mainly scratch cards and a copy of The Beano, a children's comic I hadn't read since primary school. This is his usual MO when it comes to gift giving, I know in previous years my Mum has been annoyed at me for not reminding him in advance of my parent's birthdays, Mother's Day or Father's Day. One Mother's Day he told her the supermarket had run out of Mother's Day cards, even though he worked there! Another year he bought her a large chocolate cake for her birthday even though she was all about Slimming World at the time (She still follows it, and so does my dad, but it's not such a big part of her identity nowadays!). It's just not the way he's built. I guess it's strange to say you don't know how your 30 year old brother expresses affection towards the people he cares about. This has suddenly become a lot darker than I was anticipating!
Today I thought I'd lighten things up by sharing a story I wrote for Julie of Strict Julie Spanks. It references her husband David and her sisters Sue and Nancy. It's not really about sex or punishment but rather subservience and humiliation. I'm very proud of it because I cannot recall reading a story like it, it's a true Tankerton original! That said, I did write in a little bit of sex and spanking because hey, I know my audience! Julie enjoyed it and called it "very low-grade sexy," which I took as a low-grade compliment! She said it reminded her of a story she had told on her blog where she infantilised her husband a little in front of her family.
I know I've been criticised for displaying a lack of defiance of bratting in my stories; this story is as true to life as my own defiance gets. I'm a people pleaser and scared of hurting the ones I love, especially when they're trying to help me. It's gotten me into difficulty in the past. The Julie of the story acts more like I would than I imagine the real life Julie would. Still, it's a good story (I hope!) and requires less suspension of disbelief than anything else I've imagined here, so I hope you can enjoy it for what it is! And awaaaay we go...
It's the first of November this year. You and David are still spending most of your time together at home; though coronavirus vaccinations have been successful and quarantining is not strictly necessary, many brick and mortar businesses have yet to fully re-open, and those that have often are dealing with supply issues, are opening with limited hours or are so busy that visiting them is something of a hassle. It'll be a little while before society settles on a new normal.
You are using your computer, writing a long sexy e-mail to a charming fan of your blog, full of salacious details. David calls you into his home office and you obediently stop what you're doing and go to him. He pulls a thin cloth case from a drawer and hands it to you:
"I've got you a present!" he says. Whatever's inside is solid and lightweight, you'd have assumed a new sex toy or spanking instrument if not for the musical notes decorating the front of it. "Open it up!" he tells you, excitedly!
You pull apart the Velcro and pull out what's inside. You are confused to find you are holding a translucent pink recorder:
It looks very girly and childish but also very phallic. You're sure you would look and feel ridiculous placing it in your mouth. "What am I supposed to do with this?" you ask, perplexed.
"I don't know, cook dinner with it? Stick it up your bum? You play music with it, silly!"
You stare at him like he's lost his mind. "But I don't know how to play the recorder!"
"I had a feeling you'd say that, so I got you this as well! " David reaches back inside his drawer and pulls out a large, thin paperback book which he hands to you also:
You take the book and give it a cursory flick through before stating the obvious again, sure there's something you're missing. "These are all kid's songs; nursery rhymes, Hot Cross Buns and that. Why would I want to play these?"
David laughs at this. "It's a book for beginners, people like you who've never had a lesson before. You can't fault it for not being on the bleeding edge of contemporary music. If you enjoy playing it we can look for some more difficult music you would like to play."
You stare at him again. He genuinely seems pleased to be giving you these gifts; did you say something to him that prompted to get them? "I just don't understand why you would get these for me without asking."
"Because I wanted to surprise my sexy wife!" He comes round from the desk and gives you a hug. "Don't worry, I hardly broke the bank! "
"But I don't want to learn to play the recorder!" you say, trying not to sound ungrateful.
"Ah, but I'd like you to learn it, and you want to make me happy." He reads your expression and adds "Look, I'm not expecting you to become proficient, or asking you to go to lessons or pass an exam. Just practice for an hour a day until the end of the month. 30 hours of practice, show me how good you've gotten and then you never have to touch it again. You can manage that, can't you? For me? Consider it an early Christmas present."
You look into his eyes, trying to figure out why this means so much to him. "Yeah, I can do that. 30 hours. And then if I don't ever want to practice it again you won't try and make me?'
"I promise. Do you promise to take this seriously?"
"I promise!" This time you initiate the hug, and are rewarded with a quick kiss.
"Why don't you go for your first practice now? "
You do as you are told, returning to your desk, saving your e-mail and opening the book. It is clearly aimed at young children, there are weird amorphous creatures telling you where to place your fingers for each note and explaining how to read the music. You play each note in turn. The sound isn't terrible, but there's a reason you can't think of a popular song that features a recorder solo.
You practice for an hour, setting a timer on the computer to ensure you're keeping your word. You do so again the next day unprompted, starting a little after ten o'clock. On the third day David comes to you at around half past three. You're reading a book and he mentions pointedly that he hasn't heard you practicing that day. "I was going to do it once I finish this chapter!" you protest.
"That's a good girl" he says, affectionately.
You are busy with work stuff on the fourth day, and are not in the mood to sit down by yourself for an hour trying to play What Shall We Do With The Drunken Sailor on your silly pink recorder. Instead you spend your free time on your blog and watching TV with David, who doesn't bring up the issue until you are getting ready for bed that night.
"Did you remember to practice today?"
"I didn't have time today. I was going to do two hours tomorrow instead."
"Hmm. Well, it's getting late, so I suppose you'll have to. Still, you did promise every day, so I think you've earned a spanking, haven't you?"
"Bah, I guess I have. I really will practice tomorrow though!" Was this David's plan? To set you a task that he can punish you for not doing? It seems rather elaborate.
"I'm sure you will, I know you're a good girl. Still, you'd better take off your clothes and lie across my lap."
Pouting a little, you do as instructed. David spanks you soundly with his hard hand; it's not nearly as bad as you've experienced before but it's enough to make you think twice before skipping practice again!
It is the 30th of November and you have just told David you have finished your final hour of practice. He tells you how proud he is of you and asks you to show him what you've learnt that evening. He has had to punish you three more times for skipping practice, each time a step up in severity from the last. Still, you have put the time in and feel a sense of pride despite yourself as you show David your finger placement and explain how the musical notation works. You feel a little silly as you work through the book playing each tune as well as you are able. You can play the easiest and most repetitive songs more or less flawlessly, and though you haven't mastered the more difficult pieces you can at least make out a recognisable tune.
The whole performance lasts about twenty minutes, David made for an appreciative audience, smiling encouragingly throughout. When you are done he kisses you hard, his tongue in your mouth. "You are amazing" he tells you, "and you deserve a treat."
He leads you to your bedroom and you both undress. You sit on the edge of your bed and he kneels in front of you, eating out your pussy voraciously. His hands are all over you with the enthusiasm of a teenager; determined to explore every inch of his conquest. You are soon brought to powerful orgasm, causing David to stand and place his manhood deep inside you, fucking you roughly until you climax again, causing him to discharge his weapon of love whilst still inside you. He withdraws, and lies down next to you across the bed, spooning you and whispering in your ear:
"I always wanted to sleep with a musician."
It is now afternoon on the 18th of December, the Saturday before Christmas, and you are at a large party at your parents' house. Sue is there with her partner and so is Nancy, her husband and your nephews. You enjoy grilling the boys briefly about their love lives, knowing they have a soft spot for you since David gave you a quick skirt-dusting in front of them, and you enjoy playing the role of sexy aunt for them. There are also many members of your extended family in attendance with their children, as well as several of your parents' friends. Everyone has a great time, glad for the opportunity to mingle and catch up.
There is a lot of talk about how good it feels to be out of quarantine. Sue asks if anyone found an upside to lockdown, and a relative talks about how she started following a cooking blog and trying out new recipes. A friend of your parents talks about how being cooped up has made her want to see the world with her husband, and they've been learning Italian. Your brother-in-law makes a dumb joke about how everyone was making sourdough bread at one point.
"Julie learnt to play a musical instrument" David volunteers. "She's been learning the recorder." You find yourself blushing immediately! Why has he brought that up? You haven't touched the stupid thing since your performance for David three weeks earlier and, true to his word, he hasn't mentioned practicing it to you since.
"Really?" your mother asks, surprised. "Why the recorder?" she enquires.
"David bought me one" you answer, evading the question. You know she's really asking you what everyone's thinking: Why would a sexy woman in her late thirties waste her time mastering an instrument commonly played by children under ten?
"She's gotten pretty good!" David says, adding innocently "We have Julie's things in the car; she knows how to play a couple of Christmas carols if anyone wants to hear one. "
"Yes please!" Sue pipes up and you cringe, realising this was David's plan all along, a little revenge for the embarrassing encounters you orchestrated behind his back over the years. You have no doubt he enlisted Sue's help, getting her to steer conversation in this conversation. Traitors!
All eyes are on you as David brings in your music book and the recorder in its childish case. "It was hard on my ears when she first started playing, but luckily for me she soon picked it up!" he tells the room. You can't believe he's painting himself as both a suffering husband and indulgent partner, but there's no way you're going to explain your submissive dynamic to all these bemused people and their children! You have to admit to yourself that David has stitched you up like a kipper!
You take the recorder from David, self-conciously removing it from the pink sheath. The book does indeed contain a couple of kids' Christmas songs and you open up to I Saw Three Ships, passing the book back to David to display for you. "Remember your fingering" he advises you.
"I'm sure she does!" Sue calls out and you blush even harder, not the only one to catch her innuendo.
You start playing the song, aware that you're not doing great. You're a little rusty and the embarrassment isn't helping. You are concentrating on the music but can see your parents exchanging glances, and you're sure they've both figured out this is part of a broader game. One of your nephews whispers something into his brother's ear and they both cover their mouths, suppressing giggles. You feel like a precocious six-year-old demanding she become the centre of her parents' dinner party before being put to bed. You'd honestly be more comfortable stripping naked for these people, at least you could do that sexily and confidently!
As soon as you finish there is a polite burst of applause and your mother loudly asks a neighbour to tell your Daddy about the problems they had tiling their kitchen. Around the room people initiate their own conversations, nobody addressing what just happened, though you know you'll be a popular topic of conversation as people drive home!
Sue comes over to say something to you, but you speak up before she can start teasing you. "We're just popping out to the car to put my things away" you tell her, leading David by the hand.
"Of course you are, can't have your things lying around" she replies dryly. "Is that a two-man operation though?"
You ignore her as you drag David outside. He smirks and asks you how that was for you.
"Find somewhere," you tell him, "where you can fuck your rockstar wife."
That does it for me today! I hope you liked that story, I enjoyed revisiting it! It's a funny thing to be shocked and surprised by something you wrote yourself, and as recently as six weeks ago! Memory is a strange thing. Hope you enjoy the rest of your day, my parents are coming over to play Ravine. We played twice last week; once I was gored to death by a moose just before we were rescued, the second time I was the only survivor but I lost my sight. Maybe today will be out day!