La Cuchara
My friend Pez was returning home to the states after spending quite some time abroad. She had asked me what I wanted as a gift and I told her I was sure to be happy with anything she chose. Our mutual friend Mirva, on the other hand, said she specifically wanted some culinary something or others, neglecting to take into account that Pez knows absolutely zip about cooking. Afterall, the girl lives off of water and string cheese. Although after a year in South America she now seems to subsist on wine, chips and salsa. Anyway, Pez brought me a very nice bottle of wine and a beautiful print and I was tickled pink. After presenting me with my gift she asked me if I would take a look at what she had brought for Mirva and see if I thought it would be to her liking. You see, Pez knew that Mirva is impossible to satisfy and a very snobbish foody... and she knew that I understand both Mirva and foody accoutrements pretty well.
So she pulls out a sweet little handmade hardwood cutting block and I tell her Mirva will love it. She already owns at least 10 cutting boards, none like this one, and I'm certain she will be thrilled to ad it to her collection. Then she pulls out this cool looking wooden citrus pulper thing. I've seen ones like it in Cost Plus but this one was much nicer. Almost a piece of art really. I say, Oh yes, she'll love this. Sure, she probably already has three... but none will be as nice as this one. Finally she says I'm not sure about this one. It is pretty plain but all my friends who like to cook tell me it is their favorite thing ever that they got in Chile. And she pulls out a simple wooden spoon. And God only knows why but I knew I had to have that spoon!
Maybe it was because I had read one too many of Kasey's posts. Or maybe it was because I was going on my third day of no orgasms after being firmly instructed by my papi that I was not allowed to cum until he granted me permission (a whole nother story in itself). Whatever the reason I told Pez the mostly truth which was that I thought Mirva would find the spoon to be banal and perhaps be a bit miffed that her friend went all the way to Chile and all she brought back was this stupid wooden kitchen spoon. I offered as an aside that I really liked the spoon and would love to have it. I may have mentioned something about my appreciation for its' Shaker like simplicity or my desire to support locally made goods over mass produced child slave labor spoons. And while everything I said was indeed true... what was really seared into my mind's eye was the image of me bent over my papi's knee as he beat red stripes across my ass with la cuchara. I was certain my cheeks were bright red (on my face silly reader!) and my breath was labored as I cautioned Pez that she might seriously offend Mirva if she threw the spoon into the mix.
In the end, Pez gave me the spoon. I felt a tiny bit of remorse until Mirva asked me the next day what Pez had gotten me. When I told her she said Oh, well that must have cost a lot. I said I thought her lemon squeezer thing looked pretty nifty; that I had never seen one quite like that. She replied off handedly Oh, I have one already. You can have it if you like. I asked if hers was as nice or just some cheap mass produced China knock off and she said Whatever, a lemon squeezer is a lemon squeezer. Who cares? I knew then that the spoon had indeed made its' way to its' rightful owner.
But then karmic retribution came into play...
The next morning I called my papi on my cell from Mirva's guest room (I was staying with her as I had traveled to her city to greet Pez on her return home to the states). In soto voce I told him about the spoon and how I had wrangled it into my possession. I told him how sexy I thought the spoon was and how I wanted him to spank me with it when I saw him next. He asked me where the spoon was then and I told him in the bottom of my bag where Mirva wouldn't see it. He instructed me to get it out. I did so with equal amounts of excitement and anxiety.
He asked me what I was wearing and I told him I was still in my pj's: a t-shirt and some panties.
Good, he said. Where are you?
I'm in the downstairs guest room.
Where's Mirva?
Upstairs, in her bedroom. Still sleeping, I think.
I want you to rub the spoon between your legs.
That's so silly. I would rather you were here to...
Do what I tell you!
OK. I'm doing it.
How does it feel?
Silly. Smooth. Hard.
OK. Now rub your pussy over your panties.
Papi...
Do it!
OK. I'm doing it.
Good girl. Now how does it feel?
Silly. But nice. It's making me a little wet.
At this point I think I started to moan a little. And squirm.
Now, I want you to slap your pussy ten times with the spoon. And don't you dare cum!
Papi... that will be too loud and Mirva might...
Do it!
Yes sir. I'm doing it.
I started to make soft hesitant pats, first to the outside of my thigh and then working my way inward till I was slapping the outer lips of my pussy. Then I swatted and counted aloud ten times in rapid succession, rushing to get it over with.
The feeling was odd. Not particularly nice, put not altogether unpleasant. More striking was the powerful sensation of embarrassment and mortification, even though there were no witnesses to my act of submission.
Describe the room to me, Pussy.
Well, I'm lying on my back on the futon. There are two french doors that open out onto the deck and the backyard. There are some gauzy curtains to keep the nextdoor neighbors from getting a good look inside.
Will people see you if you go out on the deck?
Here I started to get very anxious. You know of my aversion to role plays? Well, multiply that by a zillion and that is how much I dread the idea of anyone watching me do anything that remotely resembles exhibitionism. Multiply that by ten zillion and that is how much I abhor the thought of anyone watching me do anything foolish.
Yes, the neighbors could look out their windows and see me. And should a car drive past the house they could see me too.
Is there anyone looking or driving by now?
No, but...
Go out on the deck then.
But...
Do it!
OK. I'm standing on the deck.
Did you bring the spoon?
I looked down... and for better or for worse the damn spoon was in my hand.
Yes sir.
I want you to slap your pussy six times with the spoon. And remember, no cumming!
Papi, I can't. Someone might see me.
Yes, you can. And you will. Now do it for your papi.
I swallowed hard. I knew I could tell him to back off. That was my safe word. My out. But I also knew he was testing me... and if there is anything I hate, it is failing tests!
One. There, I did it.
OK. Now four more times.
Two.... Three.
So far, so good. No one had driven by or peeked out their window. My heart was racing and I felt panicky.
Four. Five. Six. There, I did it! Can I go back inside now?
Yes, papi's good girl may go back inside.
I rushed back through the french doors and collapsed on the bed, spoon still in hand. I felt giddy and proud and triumphant. I passed the test!
So she pulls out a sweet little handmade hardwood cutting block and I tell her Mirva will love it. She already owns at least 10 cutting boards, none like this one, and I'm certain she will be thrilled to ad it to her collection. Then she pulls out this cool looking wooden citrus pulper thing. I've seen ones like it in Cost Plus but this one was much nicer. Almost a piece of art really. I say, Oh yes, she'll love this. Sure, she probably already has three... but none will be as nice as this one. Finally she says I'm not sure about this one. It is pretty plain but all my friends who like to cook tell me it is their favorite thing ever that they got in Chile. And she pulls out a simple wooden spoon. And God only knows why but I knew I had to have that spoon!
Maybe it was because I had read one too many of Kasey's posts. Or maybe it was because I was going on my third day of no orgasms after being firmly instructed by my papi that I was not allowed to cum until he granted me permission (a whole nother story in itself). Whatever the reason I told Pez the mostly truth which was that I thought Mirva would find the spoon to be banal and perhaps be a bit miffed that her friend went all the way to Chile and all she brought back was this stupid wooden kitchen spoon. I offered as an aside that I really liked the spoon and would love to have it. I may have mentioned something about my appreciation for its' Shaker like simplicity or my desire to support locally made goods over mass produced child slave labor spoons. And while everything I said was indeed true... what was really seared into my mind's eye was the image of me bent over my papi's knee as he beat red stripes across my ass with la cuchara. I was certain my cheeks were bright red (on my face silly reader!) and my breath was labored as I cautioned Pez that she might seriously offend Mirva if she threw the spoon into the mix.
In the end, Pez gave me the spoon. I felt a tiny bit of remorse until Mirva asked me the next day what Pez had gotten me. When I told her she said Oh, well that must have cost a lot. I said I thought her lemon squeezer thing looked pretty nifty; that I had never seen one quite like that. She replied off handedly Oh, I have one already. You can have it if you like. I asked if hers was as nice or just some cheap mass produced China knock off and she said Whatever, a lemon squeezer is a lemon squeezer. Who cares? I knew then that the spoon had indeed made its' way to its' rightful owner.
But then karmic retribution came into play...
The next morning I called my papi on my cell from Mirva's guest room (I was staying with her as I had traveled to her city to greet Pez on her return home to the states). In soto voce I told him about the spoon and how I had wrangled it into my possession. I told him how sexy I thought the spoon was and how I wanted him to spank me with it when I saw him next. He asked me where the spoon was then and I told him in the bottom of my bag where Mirva wouldn't see it. He instructed me to get it out. I did so with equal amounts of excitement and anxiety.
He asked me what I was wearing and I told him I was still in my pj's: a t-shirt and some panties.
Good, he said. Where are you?
I'm in the downstairs guest room.
Where's Mirva?
Upstairs, in her bedroom. Still sleeping, I think.
I want you to rub the spoon between your legs.
That's so silly. I would rather you were here to...
Do what I tell you!
OK. I'm doing it.
How does it feel?
Silly. Smooth. Hard.
OK. Now rub your pussy over your panties.
Papi...
Do it!
OK. I'm doing it.
Good girl. Now how does it feel?
Silly. But nice. It's making me a little wet.
At this point I think I started to moan a little. And squirm.
Now, I want you to slap your pussy ten times with the spoon. And don't you dare cum!
Papi... that will be too loud and Mirva might...
Do it!
Yes sir. I'm doing it.
I started to make soft hesitant pats, first to the outside of my thigh and then working my way inward till I was slapping the outer lips of my pussy. Then I swatted and counted aloud ten times in rapid succession, rushing to get it over with.
The feeling was odd. Not particularly nice, put not altogether unpleasant. More striking was the powerful sensation of embarrassment and mortification, even though there were no witnesses to my act of submission.
Describe the room to me, Pussy.
Well, I'm lying on my back on the futon. There are two french doors that open out onto the deck and the backyard. There are some gauzy curtains to keep the nextdoor neighbors from getting a good look inside.
Will people see you if you go out on the deck?
Here I started to get very anxious. You know of my aversion to role plays? Well, multiply that by a zillion and that is how much I dread the idea of anyone watching me do anything that remotely resembles exhibitionism. Multiply that by ten zillion and that is how much I abhor the thought of anyone watching me do anything foolish.
Yes, the neighbors could look out their windows and see me. And should a car drive past the house they could see me too.
Is there anyone looking or driving by now?
No, but...
Go out on the deck then.
But...
Do it!
OK. I'm standing on the deck.
Did you bring the spoon?
I looked down... and for better or for worse the damn spoon was in my hand.
Yes sir.
I want you to slap your pussy six times with the spoon. And remember, no cumming!
Papi, I can't. Someone might see me.
Yes, you can. And you will. Now do it for your papi.
I swallowed hard. I knew I could tell him to back off. That was my safe word. My out. But I also knew he was testing me... and if there is anything I hate, it is failing tests!
One. There, I did it.
OK. Now four more times.
Two.... Three.
So far, so good. No one had driven by or peeked out their window. My heart was racing and I felt panicky.
Four. Five. Six. There, I did it! Can I go back inside now?
Yes, papi's good girl may go back inside.
I rushed back through the french doors and collapsed on the bed, spoon still in hand. I felt giddy and proud and triumphant. I passed the test!
posted by Curious Pussy at Thursday, June 16, 2005
1 Comments:
Well, that looks like a mighty nice spoon. Although, you seem to have gotten it in a devious manner -- that spoon sure is going to hurt when Papi gets hold of it and rewards you for your behavior.
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