by Dan Moran
“Promise?” I said with an excited smile, as if I’d just opened a great Christmas present.
“Of course,” she said, looking up at me and smirking. “But now, hear the final part of today’s punishment. You have to put that away,” she said, gripping my dick lightly for a moment. “Pull those clothes back on. We have a lot of errands today, and I’m not sure we have enough time for all of them now.”
I longed for the enormous orgasm that was waiting just under my surface, but I began putting my clothes back in order. Despite the pressure in my crotch, I was certainly not disappointed by the day so far. I’d just had one of my deepest, strongest erotic desires fulfilled by the woman I loved. I knew that it didn’t really turn her on at all and that she was just doing it out of love, so I couldn’t really expect her to be automatically in the mood for sex right then. Still, what more could I possibly ask for? Once I had my pants back on and my belt buckled, I grabbed the paddle to put away upstairs and gave Justine a long, strong kiss, gripping her in a tight hug.
“I love you so much,” I said.
“And I love you so much,” she replied with a warm smile. “Now go put that back in the drawer, and let’s get ready to go.”
Untitled
Chapter 2
A couple of days later, Justine mentioned the spanking and asked if I still felt okay with it, and if I still wanted more, if I wanted it to be included in our marriage. I said yes to both.
“I can’t pretend to understand why it turns me on,” I told her. “Whatever it is, I just love it. And I love you.” I kissed her then, and she smiled.
“I love you, too,” she said, looking into my eyes. “And you don’t have to explain it or understand it. I just want to make you happy. I can get into this. I’ll get better with time.”
“You’re already great,” I assured her. “You were wonderful the other day.”
“Oh, but I’ll make progress,” she said. “And so will you. You’ll see.”
A few days later, I got an e-mail from her while I was at work. Let’s not cook tonight, it read. I don’t have the energy, and we could use more time, so you should get us some take-out. I e-mailed back to say that I’d pick something up on my way home, but she replied: No. Come home first. You can go get the food later. I puzzled over this but wrote her a message that it was fine.
When I got home, I stepped into the kitchen and saw a note on the counter. Come to the bedroom, it read. I smiled and hastened upstairs, thinking that it was time for a quickie. I pictured Justine lying in bed in some sexy lingerie, perhaps with a bottle of massage oil or something.
When I opened the door, I saw that she was indeed in bed. But instead of lingerie, she wore the same clothes she’d put on that morning for work. She was propped up with a couple of pillows behind her back, and she was reading a book. I noticed a laundry basket in the middle of the floor; it contained my clothes, which I’d washed several days before.
“Ah, good,” she said when I entered, closing her book and sitting up. “This laundry of yours has been here for days. You said you were going to put it away.”
“I’ll do it right now,” I said, moving toward the basket.
“Stop,” she said, and I did. “You certainly will put away those clothes. But you will be punished for not doing it when you should have. Yes, you’re in for another spanking, my dear. Your little butt will regret being so lazy. First, you’ll put away the clothes while I watch. And since you seem to have trouble with clothes, you’re going to take all of yours off. Now.”
I hurried to comply, unbuttoning my shirt and tossing it into the dirty clothes hamper, then peeling off my undershirt. She stared admiringly at my muscled torso, but then her eyes went down and her look became stern. “You wore your shoes in the house?” she said. “You know you’re supposed to take them off at the door. Mmm, I’ll have to add to your punishment for that.”
I was once again nervous and joyously excited at the same time as I stripped before my wife’s hungry eyes. She sat on the bed and watched as I put all of my clothes away, and when I was finished, I returned to stand in front of her, hands at my sides.
“Now,” she said, “I’m going to give you a lesson about remembering to do things on time. Over my lap.”
I did as I was told, lying face down and feeling my erection rubbing against the fabric of her pants. “And these are clean pants,” she told me. “Don’t you dare come on them. Don’t even ooze.”
I nodded my assent, and without further ado, she began smacking my ass with her hand, using a slow and steady rhythm. None of the whacks were too hard, but after 20 or so, my cheeks were growing quite warm and began to hurt. I had no idea how long she would go on. After what seemed like 50, she paused.
“I’m glad you got me this paddle,” she said, and I knew she must have picked it up from somewhere nearby—I hadn’t even noticed it. “My hands start to hurt after a while. Now your ass is getting pretty rosy, so we’ll keep the paddling part small. Say, 10 smacks for each day you didn’t put your laundry away. That’s 30 by my count.”
“I agree,” I said.
“I thought you would,” she said. “You’ve felt the paddle now and know what it can do, so when you agree to 30, I won’t have any qualms about you yelling and squirming in pain.” And with that, she began.
I started squirming after only five or six. She must have been practicing or something, or maybe doing more pushups, because these definitely felt harder than the last time. After the first dozen or so, I cried out at each smack. She just kept spanking and spanking, bringing the paddle down again and again, remorselessly. When I started shifting my hips around, vainly trying to avoid each smack in spite of myself, she quickly draped her right leg over both of my legs, about a foot below my stinging buns, and she kept on going. For good measure, she used her left hand to hold both of my wrists behind my back so that I was completely immobile and powerless in her hold. The swats kept raining down, and through the pain, I felt that mysterious elation that came from being in this position. My cock was hard as stone, and it was difficult to keep thinking about not coming on Justine’s pants. With every loud smack on my bare flesh, I felt like letting loose and shooting my huge load, but I didn’t dare.
Eventually I received all 30 of my smacks with the paddle, and Justine let go of me and told me to get up. My ass burned terribly, but I knew better than to rub it. Besides, I was rather enjoying the deliciously agonizing glow. I stood before her once more, my cock pulsing and jumping in the air in front of her.
“I’m glad to see you’re satisfied so far,” she smiled. “But I must tell you that we’re not finished. I want you to grab a few pillows and stack them in the center of the bed.”
I did this thing, trembling with anticipation. She told me to grab one of the towels we always keep by the bedside—our “come towels”—and drape it over the pillows. When I finished and looked up, I saw her holding the riding crop in her right hand, tapping its tip lightly against her left palm.
“Now this thing is going to sting,” she said. “I tested it a little on my own leg, and it doesn’t take much. So we’re going to do a little test round since it’s new to both of us. Before we determine how hard I’ll be swinging this, let’s discuss your strokes. I’ll give you two for each day you neglected your laundry. That’s six.”
She looked at me and raised an eyebrow inquiringly. I understood that this was my implicit chance to protest or dispute the number or just refuse any more punishment. I needed it, though. I simply nodded silently.
“It’s settled, then,” she said, her expression firmly resolved once more. “Six it is. Then, of course, there’s the matter of not taking your shoes off....” She drifted off, once again looking to me for confirmation.
“Another three,” I said chokingly.
“Very well,” she replied. “Lie face down on the bed. I want your ass propped up high by those pillows.”
I slowly complied, savoring the anticipation of the moment, ac
hing to have the crop across my ass.
“First, our little test,” she said. The she flicked me lightly. “Too light?”
“Yes,” I said, and almost before the word was out of my mouth, I felt the crop again, much more solidly. I took a moment to think about it.
“And that?” she inquired.
“Just a bit harder,” I said, then thought: What am I saying? That last one really hurt! I’ve got to take nine more of these!
But it was too late. She did just as I asked, whipping me just a little harder, and it took a couple of seconds for the sting to fully ripen. “Owwwww...” I said in a slightly protesting tone, not feeling the pain go away.
“That sounds like it was just about right,” she commented. “And now that I know how much force to use, let’s begin your six strokes.”
I nodded, no longer sure that I was ready for this punishment. Then I heard a light swish through the air and felt the first stroke. “Ahh!” I said sharply. Then the second came down immediately, the line of the crop falling across both buns, just below the spot where the first had hit. The third was slightly lower than that. The sting was intense, always building after the hit. The fourth really hurt; when I winced, I felt a tear start to run down the left side of my face. “That hurts, does it?” she asked, and when I nodded, another stroke whipped across both buttocks. “Good,” she said as it fell, then, “Get ready for number six.”
I took some deep breaths and waited for the inevitable. Finally it came down, the hardest one yet, and I yelped. My ass was on fire. I wriggled my hips, somehow trying to relieve the pain without reaching back and touching my butt. It did not relieve the pain. It did, however, bring me very close to orgasm. Still I held back.
Justine paused and walked toward the head of the bed. She ran her fingers gently over my bottom as she spoke to me. “I just wanted to let you know that you have very definite welts,” she said. “I know you like this, or thought you would, but I want to take a time-out here. I just want to make sure that I’m not really hurting you too much. Is it more painful than you thought it would be?”
“Yes,” I said, in a voice slightly louder than a whisper. “But it’s OK. Really. I’m all right. I love that you’re doing this for me.”
“Are you sure? You’ll probably have marks on your butt for a day or two after this. I don’t want to damage you. I know that you have three more strokes coming, but I want to give you a chance to escape those. Or maybe you can just postpone them. I don’t need to whip you any more right now. It’s up to you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “But I really want to. I want to take my remaining three. You’ve got me electrified, and I really want release.”
She smiled. “Okay. As long as you want it. Get ready for your three strokes. This should teach you to take your shoes off when you come home.”
And then there was a Whoosh! and I felt a renewed sting. I ground my hips against the pillow, and as the next stroke whacked my ass, I knew I would come. My balls tightened and my legs tingled, and I felt an enormous delight and warmth wash over my whole body. My cock spasmed and the last, hard stroke of the crop slashed into my ass as I shot my huge load, spurts erupting from my body, drenching the towel and spattering onto the blankets. I sobbed and gasped as I slowly came back to myself, still feeling the agony in my butt, and still loving it.
Justine stroked my head. “Are you OK?” she asked, looking concerned and kissing me. “Did I hurt you too badly?”
“I’m... okay...” I said, still panting. “I’m wonderful. Thank you. Thank you so much. God, I love you.”
I rolled over then, taking her in my arms and pulling her to me, careful to avoid pulling her into the puddles I’d created. We kissed long and deep, and finally she stood up and began taking her clothes off. “Before you get our dinner,” she said, “I think you’d better have something to eat.” And she jumped into bed, lying on her back, spreading her legs, and pushing my head down toward her crotch. I was only too happy to serve her, to give her whatever she wanted, this lovely wife of mine who had thrown herself into the unfamiliar role I had asked her to play.
Untitled
Chapter 3
The next day, Justine grabbed my butt and asked, “How is it?”
“Still hurts,” I said.
“Hmm. Well, I’d say ‘poor thing,’ except I know that you wanted it that way. I’m inclined to feel a little sorry. But I’m working on that. And I know that you have some control over what you receive. I’m giving you chances to back out if something sounds too bad. Is that okay? Did you want to have less control?”
“No,” I answered. “You’re doing great. It’s a good system so far.”
“I’m glad,” she said, and gave me a kiss. “But I will tell you that we have to wait a while before doing it again. I know you can take the pain, but I insist that you heal fully first. I won’t do that kind of damage. I don’t want to see the slightest evidence of any marks when we do this next. You’ll just have to live with that, OK?”
“Sure,” I said. “Anyway, I’m just so happy that I finally told you about all of this and that you’re willing to accommodate. I know it’s not really your thing. I love that you’re willing to get into it. You can wait however long you want. You just tell me when. I’m almost always up for it. If I’m not, I’ll tell you right away.”
“Good,” she said. “And you’re right, it’s not really my thing, but it’s not that I don’t enjoy it. I’m just not practiced. But I’m getting the hang of it.”
“Yes, you are,” I said, embracing her.
* * *
“I’ve been looking at more of those websites,” Justine told me about a week later.
“You have?”
“Yes. I’ve been studying up, seeing what’s out there, what other people do, and putting it together with what you’ve told me you want.”
“Wow. You’re really getting into this.”
She smiled. “Just getting used to it all. Now, I know that a lot of people who do this also do a lot more, like with leather and gags and handcuffs. But that’s not your thing, right?”
“Well, maybe, in the future... but that’s not what it’s about right now for me. The spankings are really what I like best.”
“And some of the other sites seem to be about the women really being in charge of the marriage. Like, they talk about administering spankings, but in a larger context of being a little dominating all the time, telling the husbands what to do and demanding some level of service. These aren’t women who dress up in latex boots or anything; they just have an understanding that their husbands should be a bit submissive. Is that anything you want me to do?”
I thought about it. “Not really,” I said. “Well, at least not all the time. I don’t know. I guess it could be fun to try, but maybe just on special occasions. I don’t want to change our marriage drastically or live that way all the time. Maybe we could just do that once in a while, the way we do the spankings now. You could try mixing in a little of that power play, but in the same kind of way we’ve handled my punishment—you know, nothing set in stone, going slow, having some chances to back down and stop things. I don’t know. I’m not sure how to approach that, or exactly what it is you’d do.”
“Oh, I’ve got some ideas,” she said, winking at me.
“You do?”
“Yes. I’ve been doing my research, remember? Also, I’ve been asking for some advice.”
“What? From who?” I was more than a little surprised.
“Oh, online. I joined some newsgroups and checked out some chat rooms. I haven’t used our real names, of course. But I have found a lot of women who have husbands with needs very much like yours. The women are all very friendly and rational and matter-of-fact, and they all have helpful tips and suggestions. I’ve described to many of them what we’ve done and how you’ve approached me. A lot of them are naturally dominant women, and many of them went looking for submissive partners. But a surprising number of them were app
roached by their partners rather late in the relationship. Our situation isn’t that uncommon.”
“Wow... that’s impressive,” I said. “You really are getting the hang of this, aren’t you?”
She grinned. “Oh, yes. And I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”
* * *
About two weeks passed without any hint of our new games. One Saturday we slept late, as we usually did, opening our eyes for the first time around 11:00. We both got up early for our jobs during the week, and we always loved the luxury of staying in bed as late as we wanted to at the start of each weekend. We both began stirring around the same time and turned to kiss each other.
“Morning,” I said croakily, still heavy with sleep.
“Morning,” she said, smiling. Her smile was a wonderful thing, lighting up her whole face, and I could think of no better sight to wake up to.
I kissed her again, on the cheek, on her chin, then on her neck. I rolled into a comfortable position beside her and began running a hand slowly and lightly over her belly. She closed her eyes. I caressed her arms then, crossing her torso with the backs of my fingers to get from one arm to the other. I gave her shoulders light touches, sliding my hands down to her collarbone and just below. “Mmmm,” she hummed softly.
I stroked the whole length of her body on one side and then began caressing her legs. I touched the tops and outsides of her legs, but only went as high as the knees in touching the insides. She began sliding her legs around just a little.
I shifted a bit, moving my head under the blanket and softly kissing her ribs, her sides, her thighs. When she moaned a bit more loudly, I began using my tongue more, leaving wet trails across her body, drawing half-circles just below the lines of her breasts. I moved my own leg over hers, shifting my weight to massage her with my whole body. I placed her arms at her sides and began more long caresses, from her palms to her sides to her hips and then back. I brought my hands gradually closer to her breasts on each pass, finally lightly brushing her nipples as my fingertips slid by. She whimpered slightly, and I lowered my head to nibble at her breasts, starting on the outside and working my way toward the center as I shifted my hands back down to her legs. This time I dipped my hand into the insides of her thighs, rubbing a bit more firmly as I worked my way higher.
