National Whipped Cream Day

January 5 is National Whipped Cream Day. So of course I wrote a story about it for my holiday stories collection. It’s under 500 words, so I’ll just share the whole thing with you. It’s a sequel to the January 4 story, but you don’t really have to have read that one to get this one.

My ass still hurt the next morning; my boyfriend had spanked me before bed, just with his hand, and on top of the bruises from the wooden spoon it had been almost unbearable. But then he’d cuddled me close and I’d fallen asleep with my head on his shoulder.

He was both an early riser and a night owl, so when I woke up alone in the bed I could smell him cooking breakfast. I pulled on a tank top and a pair of panties — I already had two drawers in his dresser — and joined him in the kitchen, casting a dark look at the spice cabinet. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Be a good girl and that spoon will stay on its hook.”

I hugged him from behind and nuzzled his shoulder blades. “I’m always a good girl.”

“Most of the time.”

Okay. That was fair.

We kissed, and kissed again, and then I watched him pour batter into a double waffle maker. “What do you like on yours?”

“Butter and syrup. I’m a traditionalist.”

“It’s your breakfast; you can put whatever you want on it.” He took a stick of butter out of the refrigerator, put it on a plate, and microwaved it for a few seconds to soften it. I put a pod into the coffee maker; he wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, but I couldn’t live without it. He took out the creamer and something else, something which turned out to be a can of whipped cream with one of those press-down spouts on it.

“I didn’t know you liked whipped cream on waffles.”

“I don’t, really, but it’s National Whipped Cream Day.”

“Is it?”

He nodded.

“How do you know about all these holidays?”

“I get a newsletter,” he said. “It’s a fun morning read.” He beckoned me over and held up the can, and then squirted a little bit of whipped cream on the tip of my nose. “That’s fun too.”

I giggled.

“Hold still.”

He carefully licked off the whipped cream, and then wiped my nose with a paper towel.

“I’m calling red on you putting that anywhere below the waist,” I warned him.

He frowned. “Not even on your ass?”

I shook my head.

“Fair enough.” He squirted some whipped cream onto his finger and held it up, and I licked it off.

The coffee finished brewing and I added creamer to it; he pressed the button to start the waffle maker and then started scrambling some eggs. “Cheese?”

“Sure.”

The eggs and the waffles were done right at the same time, and I helped him carry things to the table before sitting down next to his usual seat. The chairs had wicker bases which were rough on my sore ass, but I didn’t mind so much. I was happy to be here.

And, after breakfast, I knelt in front of him and showed him just how much.

I think it’s a cute, sweet little piece. Hopefully you agree.

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