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Coffee and a Spanking

July 26, 2014 by Heather Cole

Our mornings usually began with coffee. I was a morning person, and rather than inflict sir with a cheerful good morning, I crept downstairs to start our morning pot of coffee. On this particular day, my mind was running through the events of the night as I threw out old grounds and filled the pot with water. In the past eight hours I had given two blowjobs and had been fucked thoroughly, but despite having enjoyed myself, something nagged at me.

I straightened the kitchen while I mulled over matters, the aroma of fresh coffee swirling around me. I couldn’t decide if I was being overly-sensitive. My gripe seemed petty, but I no longer trusted my perspective on the situation. Sir and I were having more and more conversations about my behavior lately. I didn’t classify myself as a brat, but in recent weeks I had taken to talking back and even telling sir ‘no’ on occasion. He kept a sense of humor about it, and told me that he loved my sass, but I couldn’t seem to curb my tongue. Part of me didn’t want to, and as a result, I was pushing back and acting out.

I wasn’t proud of myself. As I chewed my lip in front of the coffee pot, I worried that my irritation was only subterfuge, that I was fooling myself into thinking that I had a defensible position for my irritation. All the while the nagging feeling in my chest warned that if I probed deeper into the motivation behind my brattiness, I’d find a bigger issue that I didn’t want to deal with. And I really didn’t want to look into that writhing can of worms.

When the percolating stopped, I took a cup up to sir still wrestling with myself. He was awake and propped up against the pillows, his laptop settled across his lap. The light from the screen highlighted his slightly mussed hair and hazel eyes. I loved seeing him this way, half-awake and drowsy with sleep. He murmured a thank you for the coffee, and his gaze followed me as I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth.

“So what got you riled up in the middle of the night? Were you looking at porn?” I asked.

“No,” he said, a small smile on his face. “I woke up with a boner and decided to put your face on it.”

His wording made me laugh, and I almost spit toothpaste on the mirror. “You know, you woke me up from a deep sleep. I thought maybe I’d get a thank you for the service or at least a high-five. Maybe a ‘way to go, slave.’”

I kept my tone teasing and light, but my earlier feelings of angst bobbed beneath it. I had blown him before we went to sleep only to be woken up a few hours later for a second blowjob. Oral sex was one of my duties as a sex slave, and it was one of my favorites. In the middle of the night, though, when I was yanked out of dreamland to suck cock… well, I tried to be gracious about it. And regardless of my feelings, I did it.

This isn’t the problem, I thought. But I squashed it down and silently scolded my feelings to shut the fuck up.

“I said thank you by filling your mouth with come. It’s your reward.”

“Right,” I said, unconvinced. I knew he was teasing me, but I couldn’t muster a smile in return.

“After I gifted you with my come, I wrapped you in my arms to snuggle you. But my phantom girlfriend was gone, disappearing into the bathroom. Without permission, I might add.” The look on sir’s face was pleasant, as was his voice, but I felt a twinge when he mentioned my disobedience.

I had left our bed on purpose. I put my toothbrush away and came to stand beside him. He reached for my hand, but I avoided his eyes.

“I didn’t want to snuggle you while feeling bitchy about your silence so I got up to clear my head. I came back right after I peed,” I said.

“Perhaps there’s a better way that we can communicate so that you don’t feel like you’re unappreciated. Maybe you can say, ‘I felt ____ when ____ happened.’”

I tried not to roll my eyes even though I knew he was right. I hadn’t handled it well, and I should have told him about my irritation rather than abandoning the situation.

“Fine,” I said.

Sir’s eyebrows arched with surprise. “I think someone needs to remember her manners.”


As sir’s eyes widened with incredulity, I gave him a look that would have made any five-year-old proud. I couldn’t help pushing him, needling him one step further.

“Come to the other side of the bed, please,” he said and patted the space beside him.

“I have to go to work.”

“This won’t take long. I’ll count to five. 1… 2…”

I didn’t stall any further, knowing things would be so much worse if I delayed even further. He instructed me to get on my knees towards the edge of the bed with my ass pointing out towards the window. I stared at the jumbled sheets around me and wondered what kind of hot water I had landed in.The jingle of a belt buckle answered my unspoken question.

“I want you to count, and I want you to thank me for each one, because you need a lesson in manners.”

“Yes, sir,” I said meekly, my fingers digging into a blanket.

He hit me hard, the sting of leather stealing my breath. I counted and thanked him, tears pooling beneath my lashes. I only had to count to five, but sir made every one of them count.

After the last one, I stayed in place, trying to catch my breath. I heard the belt drop to the floor, and then sir’s arm gently pushed me down. I toppled on to my side, my emotions a zigzagging blur inside me. I felt outraged that I was punished even though on the heels of that came a giant wave of relief for it. All it took was those five strikes and my defenses were breached. I was laid bare, open and vulnerable.

Sir’s arms came around me, and he pulled the blanket over us both. He spoke in my ear, his words soothing and sensual at the same time. The tickle of his breath on my neck, and the rumble of his voice against my back… I told myself to remember every last little detail. I wanted to soak in the experience through my skin and into my bones so that I could recall it in the lonely weeks to come. It was then that I realized that the quagmire of emotion inspiring my behavior was grief, an ocean of sadness that he will be leaving. It wasn’t a can of worms that I was avoiding. It was one giant, Dune-sized, earth-shaking worm of loss that I wanted to un-see. I decided to continue ignoring it even as it threatened to surface.

We have today, I told myself. We have this moment.

It had to be enough.



  1. Deni says:


  2. Dumb Domme says:

    Heather — feel free to delete this if it’s disrespectful, over the line, produces bad feels, or otherwise causes problems. My apologies in advance for any/all of those things. (Forgive me?)


    Ugh. I fucking hate this… maybe I hate my reaction to it? I don’t know.

    I’ve been working on a theory about heterosexual relationships (a well-known theory that’s been painfully obvious to the rest of the world since the dawn of fucking time). My theory is that women often want (or claim to want) material gifts because they feel under-appreciated or under-loved or under-cared-for in the lived reality of their day-to-day existence with their (male) partners.

    Gifts are a way of showing appreciation, particularly in times when appreciation hasn’t been shown (or hasn’t been shown in such a way that effectively communicates that sentiment).

    In short, something is lacking, and so something is given/received/wanted to ‘make up for’ that lack. It doesn’t make it all better, but it helps. If nothing else, it communicates something that wasn’t or couldn’t be communicated in some better way.

    From your post, I gathered that you’ll be lacking (your Sir) soon. You won’t have whatever ‘normal’ makes you feel loved, appreciated, valued, submissive (any/all of that).

    So with that in mind, knowing you’ll soon have to do without (or do with less than what makes you happy and satisfied), why the fuck can’t he show some appreciation for a blowjob in the middle of the night? If there’s going to be a lack, and he knows you’re going to feel it in a big bad way, why can’t he step up and do a little bit more to make you feel loved, appreciated, etc.?

    ““Perhaps there’s a better way that we can communicate so that you don’t feel like you’re unappreciated. Maybe you can say, ‘I felt ____ when ____ happened.’””

    Wait just a second here… so it’s your responsibility to make sure that you feel appreciated? Fuck that noise. I mean, I would get it if he didn’t know how to make you feel appreciated… but I’m guessing he does.

    ““…I want you to thank me for each one, because you need a lesson in manners.””

    You need a lesson in manners? You? FFS. Pot… calling kettle… Maybe good manners would be saying ‘thank you’ for a blow job demanded in the middle of the night… maybe good manners would be giving a little extra TLC when it’s needed. Maybe good manners is knowing/seeing that your partner is falling and doing what you can to compensate so the fall doesn’t hurt quite so much.

    • Heather Cole says:

      D – Thank you SO much for your comment! You inspired a lot of productive conversation between Joe and me, in and out of the bedroom. (And I’m getting a gift!! SQUEE!) I’m grateful for your feedback, especially because I know that you’re facing your own ‘lack’ in the future.

      I think that gift giving isn’t based on gender although marketing execs certainly emphasize about how women need them for a successful relationship. In my personal experience, however, it was my ex-husband who placed the most meaning on a gift. He would agonize for months about the ‘right’ gift for a person, but I learned that it had little to do with what a person actually desired. It was more important that he deliberate and gift something as an expression of his (mostly unspoken) regard than fulfill someone’s wishlist. It wasn’t until I read “The Five Love Languages” that I recognized those material gifts as a love language all their own, and I carried that pattern into my relationship with Joe. Joe said in his comment, he’s a ‘quality time/physical touch’ kind of guy, and it took some effort from both of us to translate the other person’s language of intimacy. But the closer his departure date looms, the more focused I become on the moment. The little things are suddenly now big things. Everything has meaning, and because I sometimes dread looking too far into the future, I concentrate on where we are right now. That in itself is a huge gift.

      I fear that the fall is going to be gut-wrenching, and I’m going to hit hard. I know that Joe is going to be feeling something similar half a world away. He said to me last night that you were right, “the teacup is already broken.” We’re lulled into a sense of permanence by our routine when we are all on our individual paths of breaking apart and coming together. I realize I sound maudlin, but there is something freeing in that surrender. Thanks to your observation, neither Joe nor I are going to spend any of our precious time lamenting the smashed teacup but celebrate and appreciate what we hold in our hands now.

  3. Kayla Lords says:

    ((HUGS)) I felt your relief at the spanking and your sadness at the end. ((HUGS))

  4. Joe_Kickass says:

    Thanks to @dumbdomme for commenting on this. Although I don’t think the comment fully addresses the complexities of our situation and is based on a snapshot instead of a time lapse photo of our relationship, it was definitely food for thought.

    I agree that people express and receive love in different ways. Some people feel loved by giving/receiving gifts, and some people feel love by giving/receiving attention or affection. I have always been more of an attention/affection kind of guy. I also know how everyday life can cause people to overlook simple blessings. After I read the comment I thought maybe I wasn’t speaking Heather’s love language. I immediately went on the internet and bought her a gift I’d been looking at for her, so I got that covered. Then I led her to bed, took her into my arms, and thanked her sincerely for everything I could think of, including that midnight blow job. She looked at me all confused at the sudden torrent of affection, like “WTF is wrong with you?” 🙂

    Seriously though, I am actually pretty good at expressing my gratitude to Heather for everything she does for me (and for us). I also do my part to contribute to our family. This weekend I shopped, then spent hours prepping and cooking food for my own going-away party, and then cleared the table and cleaned the kitchen afterwards so she could sit and visit with our friends. I didn’t comment when our guests’ water glasses sat empty; I got my ass up, filled the pitcher and topped everyone off repeatedly. Because I knew that *we* were hosting, and that the party was for her benefit as much or more as it was for my own. Sometimes being a babygirl means that Daddy needs to look after you.

    Our relationship is a team effort, and I (almost) never take her for granted. When I do, it is usually expressly for the purpose of highlighting our D/s dynamic. She is my girl, toy, pet, etc., but she is also an autonomous person who can leave me anytime she wants to. I get that. She CHOSE me. A master without a slave is just a guy.

    But I also keep in mind that Heather has chosen to serve me precisely because our dynamic brings her joy (and gets her off). And sometimes being a slave is about doing your job without expecting anything in return. Sometimes being a slave is precisely about being used without regard and about getting nothing that you want. And sometimes it is about setting boundaries and providing consequences for breaching etiquette. It is my responsibility (and pleasure) to maintain that dynamic, and to discipline her as I feel is necessary. Otherwise I risk compromising the integrity of the dynamic, which neither of us want.

    That being said, Heather’s feelings and reactions weren’t about my being boorish and ungrateful for a midnight blow job. That’s her job and she knows it. No hard feelings there. The blow job was a catalyst that vented a much deeper pain we both have been experiencing about me leaving the country. It is not the only time something small has broken the surface of her (or my) sorrow and dread. If it wasn’t that, it would have been something else. And it will all happen again.

    But she does not suffer alone. I am suffering too. I’m fucked up over our impending separation. Heck, I hate coming home to an empty house even when I know she just ran to the store. How am I going to handle her being halfway across the world? Our connection stabilizes us both, and the thought of me leaving unstabilizes me as much as it does her.

    Heather is a treasure, and we heal each other continually. I have no doubt in my mind that we will grow old together. I am committed to her, I am committed to us, and I will never betray or discard her. She completes me, and it would break my heart to think that she does not know that. Even when I use her without regard.

    The one thing I do take issue with is the idea that Heather doesn’t have a responsibility to communicate how she is feeling or how my actions are affecting her. I think that is bullshit. Our relationship was founded on open and honest communication with each other (me too), and expressing our feelings proactively is what makes our relationship so healthy and successful. While I understand what it is like to know your partner so well that you can read them like a book, I never again want to be in a relationship where I am expected to read someone’s mind and get punished if I miss a signal. That’s a recipe for disaster as far as I am concerned.

    So once again, thank you Heather for the midnight blow job. I love you dearly.


    P.S. I had to comment on this because I needed to get @dumbdomme out of our bedroom. This morning while Heather was doing her “job,” all I could see was @dumbdomme sitting in the corner looking disapprovingly on. Total boner killer, so I turned her over and fucked her to five quick orgasms in order to cleanse my soul and demonstrate that I was a giver too. Now please stop sitting on the edge of our bed so I can orgasm again. 🙂

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