Punishment, You Can’t Beat It, a tale by p and spouse

(Erinlass, we used to come to your site and it’s good to have you back. I don’t know whether you want to post this as a story or an essay, it is neither, it is just the way we found our way into this lifestyle. It was one of the stories about the couple (Simon and meggie) that struck a chord and made me write this. I suppose that if you use the technical terms of BDSM we are both “switches.”)

We are a professional couple, have been married about 15 years, in our mid thirties. Like many couples we have had our ups and downs, and like many people we bought our first computer a number of years ago (our excuse was our son needed one) and slowly became literate. It was about five year’s ago we got connected to the Internet. Being absolute Newbies it was some time before we dared enter the Java chat rooms, about six months before we realised there was such a thing as irc chat rooms. We spent many a happy evening surfing round the “adult” pages, but the best thing that happened to us was when we first went into a spanking chat room. It wasn’t that we were particularly interested in spanking them, we just found the people there were all like us. They all seemed to be friendly, have fun, but above all they were unfailingly polite and respected each other, (bratting apart of course). Phillip and me some nights were in stitches at their antics.

Over the few months following our first spanking chatroom visit we noticed that we were slowly making it part of our private talk, the personal talk all couples know. I can’t remember who started it I just know I would say to Phil “You are heading for a session over my knee, brat.” He might say to me “Ironing is part of your chores, if I haven’t got a shirt next week it’s the paddle for you.” We had to take reasonable precautions because of or son but it was not a real problem. Now that spanking is part of our lives we have talked about this and we both admit that sometimes we would feel a little shiver of excitement at the thought of spanking our partner, or being spanked. I think our marriage at that time had settled down into a friendly routine. Because we both worked, we shared the household chores. He does the garden, cleans the cars, most outside jobs. I do the washing, ironing, bathroom and kitchen. We tend to share the dishes, cooking, shopping and once a week cleaning

Phil, as I said, was responsible for the cars. He had a habit that has always irritated me, he will happily drive round in a car that is filthy inside and out. I always used to be on the verge of becoming a nag bout it. About four years ago we treated ourselves to a brand new car. When we’d had the car a while we went for our usually weekly shop. The car despite my pleas was in an embarrassing state. I reminded Phil that I had been telling him for two weeks about it, he laughed it off, but I could tell he felt a bit guilty too. When we came out of the shop and he opened the boot I was horrified. There was some leaf mulch that I knew had to have been there for three weeks, the blanket which he had used to hide it from me, was balled up in a filthy state, obviously having been used to clean up a mess he had made in the garage. At that point I became a little shrewish and told him in no uncertain terms what I thought! He had the good sense to keep quiet all the way home.

When we had to open the boot again to take the shopping in I started again. When we got in I remember Phil trying to lighten the mood by asking if I was going to spank him. I remember clearly saying “I’d feel a damn sight better if I could.” He made some reply about sauce for the goose being good for the gander and if he took a spanking would I take a spanking next time I left the laundry get smelly in the basket because I had left it two weeks. (Yes he does have too many shirts, as I have been known to buy him a new shirt because I suddenly realised he had no clean ones left for work.)

About this point we both became quiet, got on with putting the shopping away, made our meal, all in silence, careful not to touch each other, not making full eye contact. During the meal I decided to take the plunge and break the silence. The conversation I can remember in general terms, but I will never forget the emotions and results. The conversation here is only as I remember it in essence. I said “Phillip” and when he looked up “I would be willing to take my paddling if you were. You know that sometimes you really piss me off. But you are bigger and stronger than me, I don’t want you hitting me when you are angry, I would be black and blue.”

He let out a barking laugh, put his knife and fork down, and looked at me. “Sara,” he said, “you are big enough, I don’t want that tennis arm of yours swinging a lump of wood at my arse full blooded.” I couldn’t help but laugh too. ”Sara,” he continued, “if you could spank me reasonably, methodically and without anger I am willing to try it. But are you? Not now, I know this tiswas is my fault, but in future if I was similarly upset?”

Suddenly this was serious, even I realised that this was a one off opportunity, we were at a crossroads. If I laughed it off I knew Phil would never mention it again, he is like that, I ate some food to give myself time to think, all the time butterflies chasing themselves all round my stomach, I realised there was no choice really. I swallowed, drank some juice because my mouth was suddenly dry and said “Yes Phillip, if you took your spanking now I would accept mine later if I really pissed you off. What I won’t do, is do something to give you an excuse to paddle me, just so you can get even. If some night you wanted to spank me for fun I don’t think I would enjoy that much either, but I would try that if you wanted to.”

He looked down at his plate deep in thought then looked at me. “What you are talking about is discipline, forcing us to put order into some of our chaos. I think it might work, but you mentioned a paddle. I can make one in about ten minutes, but I don’t want to either give or receive a real long marathon paddling. I think we need to have a way of grading the offence and making the spanking more or less painful depending on what we have done to cause offence. Perhaps by using other things, slipper, strap paddle cane whatever.” He held up his hand and said “For now, OK I accept a paddling might be in order for what I have done, but we need to think this through if we both decide it is working. If either of us decide it isn’t working we bin it immediately.”

I thought about this for a while and said I agreed in principle. “How do we agree on the offence and punishment?” I asked. “How do we decide which instrument is used? How do we agree how it’s actually done?” Off the top of my head I think at most ten strokes of a paddle would be enough in any circumstances, and I would not want you hitting me ten times with a cane. A slipper or strap I think I could manage.” I suddenly realised we were sitting at our kitchen table and discussing paddling like in the chat rooms. I couldn’t help but smile, because it was obvious from these ideas we had both been thinking about this.

“All valid points Sara,” Phil said. “I think we could perhaps say punishment can range from three; to ten strokes. The one who has been offended should suggest the punishment, the other should accept it unless they feel very strongly it is unfair. If ten strokes with a cane are too much, then it could be a maximum of six strokes with any one implement. So you, or I, might suggest four with the paddle, two with the cane. Or four paddle and six cane. The least painful implement should be used first. We can work the details out later.”

“Yes I can see that,” I said. “But there is something I want to say. I think because of different clothes and such the spanking should be on the bare bottom, and I think the offender should pass the agreed instrument to the spanker, bend over and bare their bottom as directed by the spanker. That way the offender indicates that they acknowledge it is their fault, and they are accepting the spanking willingly, with no element of force involved. I also think that the act of baring your bottom is going to be a really important part. I play tennis, you play squash so we shouldn’t use our wrist action, I think we should keep the paddle no higher than shoulder height, and keep our arm’s straight.” I sort of laughed (so Phil says), and said “OK dear, now what do I think is a reasonable punishment for you? I think you know how miffed I was at you."

He looked at me and said quietly, seriously, “I will go and clean the car and make a paddle. The boy won’t be back from the youth club trip for some time. You think about this, I’ll come back in soon, about an hour.” With that he walked out towards the car. I watched him out of the window as he cleaned the car, all the time wondering if we were doing the right thing, wondering if I should go and tell him to come in after cleaning the car, to forget it. I have to admit I was also watching his butt and fantasising about whacking it with a paddle, strap, cane or slipper, and yes, I enjoyed the fantasy. I kept thinking of appropriate punishments, kept changing my mind. I saw Phil wax the car down and go into the garage. Had it really been that quick?

I looked round the kitchen, looked out the window and saw Phil coming back carrying something next to his leg. I stood and faced the door, heart in my mouth. He came in, fastened the bolt on the door and put what I now saw to be a wooden paddle on the table, then approached me. He stood in front of me and said “Sara, I know I have been completely thoughtless and lazy about the car. I am willing to accept whatever we decide is a reasonable penalty.” Then he just stood there, arms by his side.

Suddenly this was very serious. Almost without thinking I said “You were thoughtless, you were lazy, and over the years you have driven me mad with this behaviour. However there was no malice against me or our son, you were not nasty in any way, I am not even angry any more. So it would not be fair to ask you to accept the maximum penalty. But because the car was filthy for three weeks and I was complaining for two weeks I think you do deserve six strokes.”

Phil nodded, turned to the table and picked up the paddle, balancing it on his two palms, offering it to me. “OK Sara,” he said. “I think that is more than fair, I am under your orders.” I took the paddle from him and weighed it in my hands. It was about 18” long with an 8” handle, which gave a striking length of 10”, (measured after at 20”). He had cut it with a jigsaw from MDF and smoothed all the edges, it was well balanced and felt comfortable in my hands.

All my experience was from chat rooms so I quickly made a decision and pointed at one of the high, backless kitchen stools. “Bring that through here,” I said, leading the way though to the lounge, going to the middle of the room and pointing, “just here please.” Phil did as I bid and stood in front of the stool. “Take your trousers down,” I said, watching him carefully. Wordlessly he unfastened his belt, the top button and the zip of his trousers and let them fall round his ankles. He stepped clear of the trousers. I let my eyes run up his tightly muscled squash player’s legs, shook myself and had to clear my throat before I said, “bend over the stool please and try to reach the rung near the bottom.” Phil took one step forward and when his body touched the stool he bent forward over the seat and grasped the rung at the other side. I watched his muscles tighten and firm up beneath his underpants, enjoying this new experience to the full. “Remain in place over the stool,” I said. “Reach back and slip your underpants down.” I remember having mixed feelings about what we were doing, but I also remember thinking it felt right, that somehow we were working in unison to clear away something that was between us. Phil’s weight settled onto the seat of the high stool as he let go of the rung and reached back to slip his thumbs into the waistband of his underpants, sliding them down over his buttocks and thighs. I was breathing quickly and shallowly as I drank in the sight of his tight cheeks, his hairy legs and slightly less hairy ass. His shirt was still covering the top of his cheeks, I could just see his balls peeking between his legs. As Phil reached for the rung again I said, more sharply than I intended, “lift your shirt so that all of your arse is offered to the paddle, please.” His hands immediately stopped moving forward as he reached back to roll his shirt up over his cheeks onto the small of his back. I didn’t know what Phil was feeling, (we did discuss it afterwards) but I have never witnessed anything so submissive. At that point I remember worrying about whether I would be able to submit to this if it ever became necessary.

I shook these thoughts away and stood to his left, my arm extended in front of me at right angles to my body. I carefully placed the paddle across his cheeks, seeing his arse instinctively move away from the cold wood, watching his cheeks clench together and then relax as he made the effort to remain still for me. I whispered just one word, “ready?” I saw his hands open and close on the rung then he whispered equally quietly, “Yes, I am.” When I heard that I raised my arm shoulder high and swung the paddle stiff-armed against his arse, aiming for the middle of both cheeks.

I saw the paddle strike, saw his cheeks flatten, saw them turn white then red just as I had heard it would in the chat rooms. Phil gave a grunt of surprise and pain. What really took me by surprise was the sound. I have never heard anything like it, it was so loud, and it seemed to echo round the room. Lowering the paddle I watched Phil clenching his cheek muscles and shifting his weight from foot to foot as he tried to come to terms with the pain. It must have been about 30 seconds before he relaxed over the stool again, his arse now revealing a definite pink streak across the middle. Instinctively I aimed the second strokes above the first, and swung the third in a sort of curve so it came up into the under curve where the thighs meet the arse cheeks. Each time the paddle landed he made the same soft grunt of pain, shifted about on his feet and clenched his cheeks. The fourth blow I aimed between the top and middle and it must have added to the pain Phil was already feeling in those tender spots. I heard a definite “Oww” of pain and his hands came off the rung and round to rub his arse. He didn’t rub hard, he was more stroking his own arse as if he was expecting to find large bumps there. All I could see was a red stain where the blood had rushed to the surface. The only feelings I remember where a sort of satisfaction and thinking he wouldn’t forget to clean the car for a while after this! I waited patiently for Phil to settle down again, I had said that I thought the paddling had to be accepted, so if he had walked away I wouldn’t have said anything. Phil returned his hands to the rung within the same 30 seconds though. When I lifted the paddle for the fifth time and swung it to join the middle and lower pink streaks together Phil exclaimed “Jesus wept!” and half stood up, his hands this time rubbing harder as though he could erase the sting. Again I just waited, letting him decide whether to carry on and when. It must have been nearly a minute this time before he was ready. He turned to glance at me and muttered “sorry,” as he slowly, almost reluctantly settled back over the stool, his arse once more offered as a tantalising target. Because the whole of his arse was now a uniform red I saw no alternative to landing the last stroke on top of the first. The result was immediate and dramatic, Phil stood up quickly, hands flying back to rub his arse, he almost shouted “ow dammit, bloody hell that hurt,” He was almost hopping from foot to foot as he rubbed and rubbed. I just watched him, amazed that I had actually just spanked my husband, I felt great. Then he stopped rubbing and draped himself back in position, lifted his shirt so his red arse was again on display. At first I thought he had lost count, then I realised from the chat rooms that I was in charge and he should remain there till released by my words.

I must confess that I took more than a few moments to enjoy what I could see. The sight of a grown man that I had just spanked laid across a stool was incredible, the red splotches against his creamy white thighs, his balls peeking between his legs, the fact I was in control, that he was waiting for me to release him was also fairly satisfying. I dropped the paddle on the floor and walked through to the kitchen, turning to glance back I saw Phil was still over the stool, still gripping the rung. I could see his penis was flaccid, but he really did look good to me. I made a pot of tea and put it on a tray with milk, sugar and two cups and went back onto the lounge. After putting the tray on the low coffee table, I sat where I could watch Phil (and his arse, which was positively glowing) in that wonderful position. I didn’t make him wait long, I poured two cups and called to him, “OK it is over now, you can stand up, I’ve made you a cup of tea if you want it.”

He stood up and walked over to me, rubbing his hands up and down his arse a couple of times. As he sat down, (rather gingerly), he said, “thanks, and now are you sure it’s all over? No more nagging or spanking unless I mess up again?”

I passed him a cup and smiled as I said “as far as I am concerned we have no issues at all between us, I feel as the same as if we had made up after a long silence that follows an argument – but better. This was instant reconciliation for me.”

He drank some tea and said, “I feel the same or from the other side of the fence,” then he laughed louder and continued “or other side of the stool of course.” He drank more tea and asked, “you really clear of bad temper Sara?” “Of course,” I replied. “That has settled everything for me, the car is clean and I have no anger at all now, just want to cuddle you and talk silly talk.”

That is how we first became spankers, but it is not really The End. We did carry on with our punishments. Phil cut down a slipper round the heel so we just had the sole and the instep. We went to the garden centre together to chose a suitable cane. The strap I made from a leather waistcoat we bought years ago for our son as a gift when he recovered from a childhood illness. Phil spent more time making a lovely oak paddle.

If you are interested I did my best to conform to the rules we had made and did not give Phil any reason to spank me. I earned my own spanking by my own shameful actions, but this happened after his second spanking. Anyone really interested in my first punishment is welcome to hear about it if they let erinlass know they want the tale. If she e-mails me I will post it. Suffice to say I let the whole family down and willingly (if not cheerfully) accepted a combined paddling caning. I was so ashamed I wanted, but didn’t receive, the maximum permitted punishment, but that, as I said is another tale

Since we started accepting punishments four years ago we have both experienced all the implements. We do intend to continue and we would both say to others that it might be worth trying for them. Yes it is embarrassing and painful, so what are the benefits for us?

If one of us becomes totally pissed off with the other we don’t hide it and let resentment build up till we argue.

Because we know there are very real consequences if we don’t consider our partner’s feelings we are for more aware of each other. We really do appreciate each other more.

We don’t feel guilt for long periods. We no longer pretend that it wasn’t really our fault, we just admit we were at fault, apologise by accepting the punishment and move forward together.

The act of bending over at our partner’s order and baring our arse is far more intimate than any sex act. Since we started this punishment system our sex life has improved no end. We touch each other far more than we ever did. Even our son has made comments about how mushy we have got.

So, OK that is what we do. It works for us, it brought our marriage back to life, all I can say really is what I said at the beginning,
Punishment, You Can’t Beat It

The End Copyright © p and spouse