Being sick is not an excuse!

This has nothing to do with recent events and actually occurred before he got fired, and as much as I want to write about them, I’m afraid I’ll lose this to the quagmire that is longterm memory if I don’t write it down while I have the chance. And I so don’t want to lose anything.

I had been sick. Nasty, icky, ugly sick, and so was babygirl. He didn’t get it nearly as badly (he never does!). So he was being patient and understanding. Taking care of me. He made me tea. He heated up soup. He wrapped me in blankets and took care of food. Gave me decongestant and orange juice. Took over chores. In general, he was perfectly lovely.

And so of course, I was irritated and out of sorts. I was crabby from being sick, crabby from lack of sex related to being sick, crabby from things being not quite done right (which I know isn’t fair, but that was my feeling nonetheless), crabby from certain chores he will just /never/ pick up (nearly 3 years of diapering and he still has yet to wash a single load of diapers no matter how sick I get, which is the one chore that can’t wait because she still needs diapers, rawr). In short, cranky and not a lot of fun to be around.

So logically, this lead to amazing sex. And it started from something that now makes me laugh. He wanted me to drink tea. I didn’t want to drink the tea. He put the mug to my lips and said drink. I said no, I was not going to drink. He said that’s not your call, drink the tea. I said no and shut my lips. He tilted the mug and I told him nope, I’m not drinking, leave me alone in my misery. (Well, I was probably less polite. Okay…I was less polite.) He tilted the mug more.

And that freaking tea spilled all down my chin, neck, chest…it got my tshirt and ugly-comfy bathrobe (oh so sexy) wet. I rawr’ed. I snarled. I changed and huffed at him. I was snippy. And he was baffled. “I told you to drink!” “And I told you I wasn’t going to, AND THEN YOU SPILLED TEA ON ME YOU JERK.”

“Go to the bedroom.”

“What? Why?”

“Just. Go.”

I went, still huffy and bitchy.

He disappeared for a minute and then walked in. Told me to bend over, ass out in the air.

“But I’m sick!” I whined. And he made me bend over anyway. I cringed. He had disappeared so I figured he was either going to cane me or fig me, and neither were pleasant. I didn’t really think either were appropriate for me being sick. Did I mention I was feeling bitchy? Ya.

When he roughly shoved his fingers inside my cunt, I was shocked. It wasn’t at all what I expected – I wasn’t in that kind of mood at all. But he finger fucked me for a few minutes – long enough to let sex penetrate my brain – and dragged me upright by my hair.

“Get into the bathroom.”

“Why?”

At which point he tugged me into the bathroom by my hair, and made me strip, then step into our tub. “Fuck!” I thought.

He had me kneel facing him in the tub. And then he slapped me. It shocked me – he has slapped me before, but not often. It’s for when I’m failing or doing something wrong. I closed my eyes and was quiet. He slapped me again, the other side of my face, and my cheeks were burning. When he slapped me again, it stung, and a small voice inside me protested “Too much, too hard!” but it was…a strange sensation. I didn’t feel dizzy or lightheaded but…rather..floaty? Disconnected. He slapped me again.

“You need this, don’t you? You want this.”

I couldn’t answer. I heard him. But the inclination to speak…was not there. Even if he had expected an answer, I had no speech to give it with. I wasn’t even waiting for the next slap, but when it came it didn’t shock me. I couldn’t open my eyes if I wanted to, and I made small, breathy sounds that seemed to echo inside my head.

“Open your mouth.”

I did so, but I cringed. I wasn’t ready for him to piss on me again. But even if it would have occurred to me to protest, I was still way beyond speech.

I waited, mouth open, cringing. And finally, not cringing. Whatever he was going to do he was going to do and it was his call, not mine. I had been a brat and I knew it, and if this was how he wanted to correct me…he would.

But it never came, for which I was grateful then and am grateful now. (He told me afterwards he was too turned on.) Instead, he yanked me up by my hair – roughly – and forced me to turn around, bent as much as our tub would allow. When I was position to his satisfaction, he forced himself as deeply into my ass as he could get – no lube, not from a tube or from my mouth or even my cunt – and fucked me hard. It hurt intensely, but the orgasm was just as intense.

When he came and cleaned up, me still standing there, he mentioned that had been lubeless. Thanks dear, I –had- noticed.

But you know what? I felt centered afterwards. Calmer, and a very sheepish. I even apologized for being such a brat.

It was a little disquieting afterwards to realize he had been right and that I had needed it.

And for the record, he told me to drink an entire fresh mug of tea afterwards. Which I did, still sheepish.