I was lying on the bed on my stomach, facing the television, watching a ridiculous documentary about the existence of mermaids.
But not for long.
Husband stretched out next to me. "Hello," he said, placing a hand on my leg. In the position I was in, my shorts had ridden up my thighs a little.
"Hi," I answered back without looking away from the television. Husband began to rub his hand up and down my leg, inching further and further up each time. When he was able to widen his hand across my butt cheek under my shorts, he stopped.
"Do you want me in your ass?"
I turned around. "What? No," I said, turning back to the television. My lips twitched, trying to curve into a grin, but I held them steady.
He slapped my ass, not hard, but enough to get my attention. "I said, do you want me in your ass?" There was more grit in his voice now.
"And I said no," I replied, trying to sound stern.
With quick movements, Husband reached under my shorts to wedge up my panties. As he pulled my panties up, he pushed my shorts down. Then he began to spank my ass with hard, flat smacks.
"I said," he repeated, "do you want me in your ass?"
"No!" I said loudly as I howled and laughed.
For a moment, he left the bed, leaving me wondering what was going on...leaving me worried he had given up. But he returned a second later.
As I struggled and fought his machinations, he pulled down my shorts and panties, bent me over the bed, and locked both hands behind my back. But he was kind enough to put a pillow under my head before he got down to work.
As I shrieked, laughed, and fought, he showed me what he had left the bed to retrieve: a long-handled flat brush. He began to wallop me with it.
"I SAID, do you want me in your ass?" He hollered.
"NO!" I hollered back. He spanked me with the brush, again and again, and now I knew he had not put the pillow under my head to do me any favors: he had put it there so I could scream into it, and muffle the sound.
He kept spanking me, even as I struggled and clamored to get away from his firm grip. My breath soon became labored, coming in high-pitched gasps and wheezes. The brush kept slapping down on my reddening cheeks as his grip on my hands grew tighter and tighter.
"FINE! Yes! Yes, I want you in my ass," I cried with a choke. The brush slapped me once more, then stopped.
"What was that now?"
"I want you in my ass."
"I would please like you in my ass, Sir."
He threw the brush down to the floor. "I thought so," he said, triumphant. "Go wash up."
I stood up (slowly, as my knees were wobbly), stuck my tongue out at him, and retreated to the bathroom. As I shut the door, I heard him say:
"Were you trying to send me a message with your tongue?"
In BDSM, there's a sub-topic we call 'dubious consent.' It's the notion of getting consent out of the sub under questionable circumstances. Dubious consent in erotica can be very, very hot. Dubious consent in real life? It depends.
We don't hear a lot about dubious non-consent because in real life, we're led to believe there is no such thing. Non-consent should never be questioned; no is no.
Of course, no matter how much some of us don't want to admit it, sometimes, for some couples, no does not mean no. Sometimes no means "make me say yes." It depends on the couple, the trust involved, and how well the people know each other.
For Husband and I? It can lead to some very fun scenes.