"Butt Demon"

The restrictions I have imposed on SugarAnne’s smoking are beginning to tighten and cut off her air supply – so to speak. Over the past few days we have come down to absolutely no, none, nada, not a single cigarette in the evening hours. The first night this rule kicked in she was doing pretty darned good – at first. But as the night wore on she began to get a little kooky pacing back and forth with that, that look on her face.

I knew she needed encouragement so I got “the shredder”. It is the agreed upon implement of punishment for smoking infractions and with good reason. She is deathly afraid of the frickin’ thing. I wasn’t intending to use it – just a show of force. I just wanted her to be strengthened by the sight of it. I slowly slipped my wrist into the string loop on the end and wrapped my hand firmly around the handle.


As is my evening routine, I took my usual place reclining on the sofa in the den. This is where I nod off to sleep in front of the TV each night while SugarAnne fumbles around on the computer. Even though I’m a light sleeper throughout the night, in the first hour or two, I sleep like Rip van Winkle on steroids. I don’t know how long I was “under” when she jostled me awake. She stepped back and looked at me lying there. She then began pacing the floor like a caged lioness with raw meat just out of reach. She growled, “Wake up. If I can’t sleep you’re not going to sleep either”. It’s after midnight and I’m thinking: what the fuck?! This woman is obviously possessed - AGAIN! I sit up and watch her. The nicotine demon has her fit to be tied. She sits down. She fidgets. She wrings her hands. She fidgets. She stands up. She paces. She sits down. She wants to bolt. I know she does. She is freaking out! She would probably light up four at the same – two in each hand – if given the chance. I envisioned her alternately pumping her arms to her mouth with the rhythm of a drum major with two batons – long deep comforting drags and speedy syncopated satisfying exhales. The huge plumes of smoke a marching band in her wake.

A look comes over her. A look of dread, and fear, and fright, and horror. Then she says (get this!): “Get it over with”. Well, I’m confused. Did she sneak out while I was asleep? No. Was she saying that she was gonna go out anyway? No. “I need help”, she says, “And I don’t wanna get that “shredder” so just spank me now”. She stands and takes the “shredder” away and trades it for the “weapon of ass destruction” . What could I say but, “I’m here to help”. I mean, the poor dear was really suffering.

She steps out of her jeans fast. Like she was trying to fool herself into believing she never had them on. Fast enough, maybe, to fool herself into believing that she wasn't really asking to be spanked. Without command she places herself across my lap. I whisper words of encouragement and begin by mercifully warming her cheeks with gentle pats and squeezes. Before long I peel back her regulation bikini panties and roll them down to mid thigh. Her perfectly spankable ass is exposed.

After a long, thorough tear filled spanking SugarAnne straddled my lap. She rested her head on my shoulder. She wept. While evidence of a raging tiger had "risen" in me, the caged lioness had been restored to a gentle kitten.

In her weakness she is strengthened for the next time she has to kick the butt demon’s butt.