A guest author has kindly submitted this real life account of her recent introduction to the world of spanking. Enjoy.
I'm a 25 year old teacher. I married my wonderful husband in last year and quit work at the same time to become a house wife. He is 16
years my senior and quite an eminent classical guitarist. This means
that a strict regimen of 4 hours a day of practicing must occur for him
to maintain his wonderful skill. Prior to my moving in, I had not had a
true appreciation for his dedication to his art for we'd only been able
to see one another on weekends or the odd day that I had off.
Moving in has come as quite a shock. He practices for four hours and
lectures for eight hours at a prominent music college leaving me idle and
frankly feeling neglected. I felt duped at first, as though he had
concealed what would be a lonely lifestyle for me so as to entice me in
and trap me. He's an authoritarian and very old fashioned, he likes
dinner on the table when he gets home and then it's off to practice.
That having been said he's very loving and when we're together nothing
could make me happier.
Anyway I'm off point. The fact is I had been getting increasingly
restless and annoyed and ultimately petulant and sulky. I'd have dinner
ready then skulk off to another room of the apartment while he practiced
and then would often grow so sullen that by the time he emerged I'd be
cold and even give him an ear full for leaving me alone. I made little
sly comments about being abandoned/ neglected and I thought he was
ignoring them with impunity until New Year's Eve arrived.
We had no plans for the eve as he had to fly out to Hungary for a series
of concerts and talks in the coming days and so was preparing. I
suppose I could have gone out with friends but I wanted to be with my
new husband. Anyway, we have a few rules I'm to abide. One of which is
that I do not enter the practice studio while he's working, he enters a
sort of trance when practicing and interruptions can really throw him.
So, feeling particularly hard done by I finished of my 3rd French 75
cocktail and feeling brave I sauntered in to the studio to interject. He
raised his eyes to me but didn't stop playing and asked if I was ok. I
said yes and approached the guitar (a very expensive Humphreys
millennium guitar which i am NEVER to touch) flicking the fret board
brazenly and grinning, looming over him. He sat, astonished I think,
staring at me with a gimlet eye and I really needed no goading. I
started to trace his jaw with my finger provocatively but he caught it
between his own fingers and dropped my hand to my side. I felt rejected
and summarily launched into a tirade peppered with words like deceived,
neglected, unfair, lonely etc.
He waited until I was finished and huffing from my exertions and then
he told me that he agrees that he had been absent, that it had been an
abnormally busy time for him and that he wasn't aware of how lonely I
felt. He asked me why I hadn't just said this calmly and reasonably. I
told him I'd been hinting for months and he pointed out that hints are
missed when people are stressed and dialogue is important. He then went
on to say that I clearly need more loving attention and he'd acquiesce
just as soon as his book is finished and these important upcoming dates
were tied off.
For some reason this enraged me, in a tipsy haze I saw it as being
second fiddle to his work yet again and I slapped him without prior
comment. His expression changed and I actually felt quite nervous. He'd
never looked so cross. He told me to go and sit in the lounge because
clearly I needed more than love and attention in this moment but he
needed to calm down and he didn't want to 'deal with me' in what is
supposed to be his calm space.
(For some background info, I was not spanked as a child and prior to
this experience had no interest in corporal punishment sexually or
otherwise nor had I had any experience or desire to do so as an adult.) I
had no idea why I found myself banished to the lounge but when he
entered he looked resolute. His sleeves had been rolled up, I noted
which he does not do during practice.
He told me I had an attitude problem. That at first he thought it was
down to my long hours at work and pre menstrual hormones but that now he
can see it is not. I tried to interject but he spoke louder and
continued. He told me he loved me very much but that I must understand
he married late because his vocation is music and that he made it no
secret that he was steadfast in his ways. He told me he would try to be
more accommodating and drop some of the nonessential work he'd been
doing to have date nights etc but that I must change too. No more
tantrums as he put it. And then he completely blind sided me by saying
that he would help me adjust my attitude in a way that he'd thought I
needed for some time. A spanking.
I laughed it off and told him to stop watching 'fifty shades of grey'
(he'd seen in when on a long haul flight and complained that it was the
un-sexiest thing he'd ever seen!) however his expression remained grave.
He said I'd been acting spoiled and childlike and was goading him for
retribution even if it was subconsciously. He told me I had a choice. I
could say no but that if I did he could foresee troubles arising again
in a future and that he knew neither of us wanted that. I was so
dumbstruck as I played the scenario out in my mind. I reasoned I had a
pretty high pain threshold. I didn't want to lose my husband and if he
sought to spank me for my bad behavior then it would surely mean he'd
have to break from work. Usually if I 'had a moment' he'd leave me alone
but the prospect of a few stingy slaps and then presumably comfort
after seemed agreeable in my naïveté. I had no frame of reference- I'd
never been hit before. And so I relented.
He agreed and said that he didn't want to tire his hand and asked if we
had a wooden spoon. I replied that we hadn't as I think they're
unhygienic and as I did so he had a eureka moment, asking for my
hairbrush. Now that I've read stories on these sites I realize how
ominous that should have been to me but it didn't really ring any alarm
bells. I fetched it from the bathroom and brought it to him, standing to
his right, note that he is left handed. He told me he loved me but that
I was to no longer have tantrums or make shrouded remarks and that I
was to communicate with him like an adult. He also told me I'm no longer
to drink as a punishment to him (he doesn't like being around drunk
people due to his estranged sister's alcoholism) he then went on to say
that he intended to only have to do this once and so he was going to
make it really hurt. He asked for my permission to begin and said that
once he started he'd see it through. I smirked in my head, there would be no
begging I was sure.
With my acquiescence He told me to remove my pajama trousers and panties
and stand astride of his right leg. He pulled me down so that I
straddled his thigh and then pushed me down so that my torso was on the
couch, facing the opposite direction as he was. I could feel the heat
from his thigh against my sex and I felt aroused in spite of my
predicament. He repositioned me a couple of times and stroked my hair.
He told me it would hurt a lot but not to block with my hands and with
that he began.
I felt the cool wood pat my behind a couple of times and then it slammed
into me. I couldn't believe the sting. I couldn't absorb it. It burned
squarely in the center of my right buttock. He repeated this on my left
cheek and alternated slowly but they were harsh, biting strokes. I
choked on my shock and could scarcely catch my breath. As I started to
moan he picked up pace and intensity, moving his focus down below the
original area of impact. In spite of the pain my writhing had made me
extremely wet and so my embarrassment was acute, I knew there would be a
damp patch on his pants when I rose. My resolve was shattered by the
humiliation of my body's betrayal and the fire blazing on my behind and I
collapsed into an ocean of tears. My body was wracked with sobs as I
processed his frustration. His music had spellbound me when we met and
it is true he'd not really hidden his dedication. He is a loving and
dedicated husband too and I had been naively demanding of him. He was
spanking me not just to punish but to reset our relationship and that
realization had me bawling.
Just as I thought the agony could no longer climb in extremity the brush
began to work against the tender crease where my bottom met my thighs.
The pain was fresh and teeth-grindingly intense. He wailed on me with
all of his upper arm strength, a strength honed by hours of manual
dexterity training and I lost my voice with protest. His ministrations
fell further still onto my thighs but became lighter and yet this was no
reprieve. It felt as though I'd been skinned from mid buttock to mid
thigh. Without warning my spanking halted. I gasped and rasped for Air,
limp and spent astride his leg, my sex still rubbing against him as I
heaved with sobs. Only then as the pain subsided could I feel that I had
achieved clitoral climax. This realization made me cry anew with shame.
He soothed me, rubbing my back but held me in place, moving the circular
motion of his palm down to lightly graze my burning behind. I mewled in
protest but didn't move. He told me that we were starting afresh but
that if I misbehaved in future it would result in a bare bottomed
spanking over his knee and that if it was serious I could expect a
whipping from his belt. I was too exhausted to even process the
magnitude of that prospect and stayed motionless hoping that somehow my
wetness would evaporate in the meantime.
He asked me to stand but I was too weak, sliding off his thigh to my
knees in front of him. He immediately spied the incriminating slick on
his pants and his eyes darted to meet mine. I shrugged sheepishly but
offered no explanation. Without a word he began to undo his belt and I
flinched momentarily, afraid that my arousal would elicit this mythical
future whipping. Instead his weapon of choice was his manhood which he
offered somewhat forcefully to my expectant lips.