♥ Site recommended story ♥
Erotica by guest author Fred Spankmanbare
Having described how I became a spanked husband, and how my wife Pat grades my punishments to suit different degrees of badness on my part, I was going to use this post to tell you about some memorable spankings and canings from the past. But then I thought you might prefer to read about a recent event, so instead I’m going to tell you about the really severe caning she gave me a couple of weeks ago.
This is how it all happened. We had had a strong argument on the Wednesday, and neither of us would give in. The simmering continued through Thursday, with outbursts of ill temper from me and stony silences from Pat, but through Thursday evening the realisation dawned on me that it had actually been me who had been unreasonable from the outset. Furthermore, my temper outbursts throughout Thursday had been particularly childish and hurtful.
Friday morning dawned and as I lay awake, with Pat still asleep beside me, I resolved that I would apologise and make a full confession of the error of my ways. I knew what the consequences were likely to be, but I reckoned that they would be worth while and likely to be the only way to make a fresh start. I lay in bed thinking about how to say the things that needed to be said, and after a while Pat began to stir. When she was fully awake I said I was very sorry for what had happened, that it had all been my fault and that I had been very boorish, and I hoped we could make a fresh start.
“Hmph”, said Pat, “your behaviour was terrible, and you caused me a lot of hurt with the things you said”.
“I know”, I replied, “and I’m truly sorry. Can we start afresh today?”
“It’s not going to be that easy. I’m still all wound up and I’ve had hardly any sleep because of all the tension you’ve caused. I feel hurt and angry with you.”
“You obviously need to work off a lot of tension”, I replied, “and I agree that I need to be strictly punished. So I agree to give you my bottom to be spanked, to clear the air”.
There was another silence before I asked how she wanted to spank me, and how many I would be getting.
“Yes”, I said. “I agree that it needs to be done, and it’s what I deserve. Do you want me to wear my Punishment Panties for the first part of it?” [I described our Punishment Panties routine in my last post, remember?]
Pat thought about that for only a moment. “No”, she said firmly, “no panties. I want to give you the whole thing on your bare bottom. No protection at all, not even from Punishment Panties. OK?”.
I gulped at the prospect but I had no option but to agree. “Let’s get started then”, she said grimly, as she got out of bed. She strode across the room and opened the drawer where she keeps her canes. Selecting her favourite one, she returned to the foot of the bed and pulled off the quilt. “What are you waiting for?” she demanded, “bare your bottom quickly, and turn over”. I undid my pyjama bottoms and pulled them well down below my knees and turned over obediently for her. I also thrust my pillow under my groin to create a good profile for caning, and offered my soft, pale, unprotected bottom to receive the strict wifely discipline that was coming.
Pat put one knee on the bed and positioned her cane across both my buttocks. Then it started. Wow! She certainly applied it very hard, stroke after stroke (although Pat always refers to “spanks” of the cane rather than “strokes”; she likes the word!). I started to moan and squirm, trying to keep count of the strokes as my caning progressed. Somewhere around number 17 or 18 Pat paused and ran her fingers lightly over my burning cheeks, before resuming her therapy. I started to yelp loudly as she reached the mid 20s, and after about stroke number 30 she paused again. I was panting and gasping as she examined the state of my bottom, but I managed to get enough breath to say “Please. Can you. Move to the other side. Of the bed. To give me the rest. Of my caning.”
“Certainly”, she said, and I got a couple of moments respite while she got into position on the far side of the bed before resuming my punishment. This time I could see better in the big mirror how high she was raising her caning arm before bringing the whippy whispering rattan down hard onto my poor naughty bottom.
Pat must have given me between 50 and 60 strokes of the cane before she decided I had been adequately disciplined in the traditional way. I have never had a session like it before. When she had finished, she said – happily, judging by the new tone in her voice – “There. Let that be a lesson to you. Your bottom cheeks are in a fine state, just as you deserve, and I got wonderful gratification from administering every single one of those cane spanks.”
She got off the bed and returned her cane to its drawer, before going into the bathroom to shower. I continued to lie face down on the bed, gasping and squirming, my bottom searing and burning after Pat’s skilful attention. Several minutes seemed to pass before the raging sting had died down enough for me to carefully feel the marks of my caning, but they were magnificent. Succulent thick ridges covered both my cheeks, and were beautiful to stroke with my tenderly exploring finger tips. After a little while I was able to get up and walk across to the mirror to see the damage – my whole bottom was covered in delicious cane marks, bright red and dark red stripes, accompanied by the most gorgeous thick white weals. The bottom in the photo below looks much like mine did, but my marks were deeper red and more numerous.
It had been a truly awesome experience, but ultimately sooo satisfying for all concerned!
Story © Fred Spankmanbare, 2011 – used by kind permission of the author.