Creative Spanko Wench Blog

A Cure for a rant

©2007, patty

Sleep eluded her until well after 2 AM, while Eamon slept soundly next to her.  Not even a pillow over her head could drown out the annoying cadence of his peaceful breathing and occasional soft snore.  She thought to elbow him awake so he’d roll over and give her time to get into sleep before he got deep enough to breath like that again.  She restrained the urge, and at some point must have dozed off, because his farting stumble to the bathroom at dawn startled her out of a dream about choosing floor tiles.

Sheila moaned and rolled deeper under the comforter and stole Eamon’s pillow to further bury her head.  Every sound he made set her nerves on edge.  She had not had enough sleep, and she knew his mindless lumbering around was going to create just enough din to make sure she could not go back to sleep.  Fortunately she didn’t have to work today.  It was the beginning of a four day stretch off.  Eamon’s shift didn’t begin until two PM, so she felt no quilt lying in and letting him do the breakfast chores and the launching of children off to school.  

The school day morning noise level in their mostly happy home was probably in the ear damaging decibel range most days, though usually Sheila hardly noticed it.  This morning though, all she wanted was quiet.  Every grunt, howl, crash of dishes, thump of running feet, whining chatter of childish bickering about blue socks, every sound was an irritant; a reminder that she wasn’t asleep and she wasn’t going to get to go back to sleep.

Forever passed with Sheila in restless torment and then blissful silence.  They were out the door.  If she couldn’t have sleep, at least she had her house to herself and peace.  For twenty minutes at least until Eamon came back from walking his charges the half mile to their school.  That was her cue to get up and have her privacy in the bathroom.  Go pee, brush her teeth, shower, shave pits, calves and panty line, wash & wrap her hair, and then don one of Eamon’s clean oversized t shirts and putter out to the kitchen was the plan, and it went uninterrupted.  That accomplishment did a little to smooth the restless cranky edge lack of sleep had put on over her usually sunny morning mood.  

Coffee was the next objective, and she managed to revel in the silken warmth of at least the first mouthful before Eamon invaded her quiet.  Sometimes the man just had no idea how big and loud his presence was.  What he innocently intended to be an exuberant good morning kiss, ended up being a sweaty physical intrusion.

Sheila didn’t say anything, but Eamon could feel her mood.  

“Wrong side of the bed?” he chuckled.

“You snore!” she growled.

“So you’ve said before.  Only bother’s you when you’re out of sorts, so what’s the issue now?”

“Oh shut up!  You don’t get to pronounce my mood and declare an issue that doesn’t exist.” Sheila got up to go to the pantry for cereal.

“Alrighty then,” he laughed. “I’ll lay odds we end up with an issue to deal with by supper time, just based on your mood.”

“Stop it!  You’re not going to goad me into bickering with you right now.  So please just don’t.”  Sheila was already beyond goaded though.  The urge to cuss and throw things hovered just under her hairline.  An aura reader probably would have seen the simmering purplish red glow that was her temper.

Eamon’s prediction was off by about seven hours.

“God Fucking damned pigs all of you!“ Sheila hollered from behind the refrigerator door.

“What?” Eamon moved closer thinking something serious was wrong.

Sheila came out from behind the door and threw the problem at him.  The empty quart jug of 2% milk hit him square in the chest.  

“You fed them this morning!  You poured milk on their cereal and you put the empty jug back in the fridge, and then you walked past the 7-11 twice.  Did you get more milk for me?  You knew we were out after all.  You put the empty jug in the fridge.  Why do you always do shit like that.”

Eamon caught the jug and calmly set it on the counter.  Sheila was cute standing there fists balled up every muscle twitching with temper.  He was tempted to laugh, but knew that would escalate things more than he wanted them too.

Instead he lunged caught his wife around the waist and muscled her over his lap.  She wasn’t initially open to the cure Eamon intended to apply to her mood, so he had to do a little work and struggle a bit with her will.  It didn’t take long.  Maybe ten minutes and Sheila’s cranky edge was completely burned off, and her crimson bare bottom bore the evidence.

“Feel better?” Eamon held her snug until she relaxed in his arms.  Sheila nodded closing her eyes with a sigh.  “I’m sorry.”

That was his cue to lift her up and carry her back to bed.

Sheila yielded to the remaining curative ministrations Eamon applied; mainly the deep penetration of his cock and gentle kneading and massaging of his hands.  Nothing helped Sheila get past the restless irritations that kept sleep away better than a sound cathartic spanking and slow gentle sex.  After making sure she’d had a good cry and a good cum, Eamon tucked her back in under the covers with orders to stay there until lunch was ready.  Sheila smiled and snuggled down, easily dozing off to what had been maddeningly elusive, but now very comforting dreams within seconds.

This entry was posted on Saturday, March 3rd, 2007 at 4:44 pm and is filed under Spanking, artwork, creative writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.