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Driving Lessons

by Cat with Matt, 2002


"I don't think this is a very good idea." He was handing me the keys to his car. "I mean, all I have is a permit. And... " I was searching for excuses. Anything to get out of driving.

"Right. That's why you're going to drive." He dropped his keys into my hand. "Practice. So you can take your test tomorrow."

"But what if... ?" I thought of all the possible things that could happen. I could hit another car. I could hit a curb and break a wheel. I could... "Tomorrow?!"

"You have been practicing, haven't you, Cat?" Uh oh... what was that look?

"Well... I... uhmmmm... " Think fast, Cat... "Yes, Matt, I have been practicing. Like you... uhmmm... suggested. Three times a week."

"Good girl." He gave me a playful swat, then walked to the passenger side and got in.

Oh boy. He just drove all the way from LA to Las Vegas. Of course he wouldn't feel like driving. And he came to see me. To help me get ready to take my driving test. He was my "licensed operator in front seat."

I got in. Buckled my seat belt. Checked mirrors, adjusted the seat. Did all the little things you're supposed to do when you get into a car. Took my time.

"Cat, are you thinking about something?"

I was sitting there, hands on the steering wheel, trying to remember which way to turn the wheel when you want to back out of a parking space and end up facing left. "Uhmmm... I was... just thinking," I said.

"Did you even hear what I asked you?"

Is it the opposite? Or turn left to go left? Geeeeez, why didn't I practice more? Before he came all the way out here. Did he just say something again? Can't he see I'M TRYING TO THINK?

"Yes, Matt?" I turned to look at him.

"How many times have you been out driving? Since you got your permit?"

"Well, I don't know. I mean, how am I supposed to remember... ?"

"Three times a week? Let's see, you got your permit a month and a half ago. That's six weeks. Six times three is eighteen. That many times? More? Less?"

I hate the way he figures things out all the time. So... logical. I wonder if all engineers are like that?

"Cat?"

I try to smile. Smiling works. Sometimes gets you out of all kinds of trouble. "Matt... "

"Out of the car." He gets out, slams the door. This is not good. He walks over to my side, opens the door. "Now, Cat."

I scramble out, feel another swat, this one not quite so playful.

"Owww... " I pout. "That hurt." Now I'm upset. Mainly with myself. I know I'm wrong, but can't bring myself to say so. I know I should apologize, especially for... not telling him the truth from the beginning.

"Let's go." He takes my hand, pulls me alongside him.

"Where... ?"

"Back to your apartment."

"But I don't want to go... " Uh oh... what was... that look?

We climb the three flights of stairs in silence. I can't find my keys. I drop my purse. My hands are trembling, and I don't even know why. I finally find them (in my coat pocket) and open the door.

The cats sense trouble and disappear. They're no help! We'll see who gets up at 4AM to feed them next time...

"Okay, Cat. So you weren't telling the truth when you said you had been practicing?"

"I... ... .uhmmmmm... ..well... ." I saw a pair of sparkly green eyes peeking out from under the bed. They seemed to say, 'You're on your own, dude.'

"Okay, I know the answer to that question." He looked around. "Next question. Do you have a hairbrush?"

"Why do you ask? Do you need to brush your hair?" I was puzzled.

"Young lady, you're already in a lot of trouble." He spun me around, gave me a few sharp smacks on my bottom.

"Matt... ... ..ow! What are you... ... .?"

"I want you to go get your hairbrush and bring it to me. Then I am going to show you what happens to naughty young ladies who don't do what they're supposed to do and then try to lie about it."

I went into the bedroom. I thought about...

"And don't even think of trying to lock yourself in. You can't stay in there forever and when you finally come out... " He left the rest unsaid.

I found my brush and handed it to him. It was one of those big wooden ones. It looked so much like a... a... paddle. Funny, I had never noticed that before.

"Matt, I'm really sorry. I... " He led me to the sofa, pulled me over his knee.

I felt his arm around my waist, holding me. "Do you know why I am going to spank you?"

"Because... I... " I couldn't speak. I could hardly breathe.

I don't know why I was so surprised. He had often mentioned that he had spanked girlfriends, even his ex-wife. But I never thought he would... well... spank me. Although he had "threatened"... a couple of times. Well, not really threatened. Said something like "If I had been there I would have spanked you."

And now he was here. And he was going to spank me.

"Because... " He prompted. I could feel him tapping my bottom, lightly.

"Because I didn't practice my driving. After I said I was going to. And when you asked me... I... lied about it." I swallowed.

"Do you deserve this spanking, Cat?"

"Please don't spank me, Matt. I'll... " I didn't know what to say. What could I say? I was wrong. I tried to sit up. If we could just talk...

He pushed me back down, gently. "Cat? I'm waiting."

"Yes." It was so difficult to say it.

The first smack hurt so much. Then there was the second. And third. I lost count after fifteen. I thought he had stopped but then felt him push my skirt up over my hips. I struggled, tried to pull it back down, but he held me tight and scolded me while he spanked. About responsibility and telling the truth or something. Honestly, I didn't really listen. I was too busy being very aware of how sore my bottom was getting.

This can't get any worse. My eyes were stinging, but I was not going to cry.

He stopped again. I think he had asked me a question. I don't know I couldn't really think. I felt his fingers dip beneath the elastic of my panties.

"No... ... You can't!" I really struggled. I put my hand back, trying to keep him from pulling my panties down. "Please, Matt... please don't... ... " I don't know if I made any sense after that. I felt him take my wrist in his left hand, hold it against my back. I buried my face in the sofa cushions.

He wasn't using the hairbrush anymore. But it still stung. I felt so... helpless. Vulnerable. I could feel my panties tangled around my knees. I started to cry, the sofa cushions muffling the sound, absorbing my tears.

He was rubbing my bottom. Helping me sit up. On his lap. I had my arms around his neck, still crying a little onto his shirt. He didn't seem to mind. He was stroking my hair. Telling me it was okay, everything was okay now.

Everything was okay now.

A Pack of Cigarettes

you getting a pack of cigarettes... the new paddle just for buying them (you’ve earned that already... ) haven‘t found quite the perfect spanking with that but I think we‘re getting there - warmed up, pushed slowly, right to the edge, and kept there for awhile - quite awhile, if I can. Then over - not for too long, of course it seems longer to you, and it has to, but not too too long, and you’re held, you don’t have to be good, you’re not going anywhere - and back, back to the edge, for awhile longer... which is done and ready for the rest.

The individual cigarettes come in groups of five, as I said, getting steadily worse, so not only do you add another spanking to your trip across my knee, and not only is it a little worse than the last one, but you get closer and closer to those at the end of the pack... cigarettes in fives and spanks in sixes - good news for you (at last) - the first cig’s are spanked out by hand, four sets of six spanks per. Spanking two is harder than spanking one, and so on. In fact, the first spanking with the leather paddle, for cigarette number 6 - three sets of six swats, medium hard, may be a little more tolerable that cigarette number 5, just due to intensity.

Number eleven, two sets of six with the paintstick, still might be worse than the hardest paddling - though even the leather paddle can give some hard swats when I use it right. And part of the discipline of the paintstick is that it’s used only about an inch above where your panties have been pulled down to, same as the swats that count with the new paddle. And at only a dozen a spanking, they get harder pretty fast - and harder with the paintstick is definitely hard! Still, it’ll be hard to decide whether you want those strokes to be over with or not, won’t it?

Yes, your panties will come off; yes, I’ll wet your bottom, but there won’t be much of a break, if that’s what you were thinking - we’ll set it all up beforehand. I’m glad you chose over-my-knee, even though the thick rubber strap is brutal - I like the contact, I like being wrapped up together. Kneeling on the bed for the lighter strap might not be any easier and I wouldn’t have you right there all around me. And with this system, it’s “only” six smacks (per cigarette) - “only” to me, I’ll have to make them count, I’m sure it can’t feel like “only” to you. Your bottom seems so firm but that strap has such a heavy collision to it! And the sting when you’re wet is pretty terrifying as well.

I think we can get a dozen in - medium hard and hard - before I wet you again. Even done quickly it’s probably a chance to catch your breath. After the second dozen - one cigarette from being done - I’m going to take a bit more time, not to calm you down - I think when you’re that close to the end, I can be sure you’ll survive it, it’s just that you don’t want me to go on - but to make sure, first, that you’re well and completely wetted where you need to be - that is, where I’ll be landing the strap; secondly, to be sure that I have all the grip on you I need, since you’ll be a bit frantic; and finally, to give you a last moment to struggle in dread. Even though you’ll be only a moment from being finished, there is still that moment to come; and then you’ll be in it; and then it will be over.

Over in the sense that I won’t be spanking you any more - I’m sure your bottom will be stinging immensely, and even after the panic subsides, will continue to throb, and the soreness should last quite awhile, since the new paddle, the paintstick used hard, and especially the thick rubber strap go deep. While that’s going on, we can snuggle if you haven’t gotten too mad at me, or I can hold you from behind if you have...

Seems like a lot for a pack of cigarettes, but you know, there’s a lot of stress there, and to relieve that much stress with one pack of cigarettes and one good long spanking is quite a bargain. And I’m convinced you knew that this is what you’d need even before I put words and numbers to it. Not just to get, but to think about on each cigarette break. Maybe that will take your mind off of other things for a bit.

The New Receptionist

“You’re going to be mad at me,” Linda began tentatively.

“Oh? Do I get mad? And why would that be?” he queried.

“I guess I listened to some gossip today,” she admitted.

“Well, can’t be helped sometimes.” Her nervousness was palatable. In fact, it reminded him of her own sweet taste. “And I suppose,” he continued evenly, “that you didn’t tell whoever it was that you didn’t approve of gossip?”

“No... ..” Linda whined quietly.

“As long as you didn’t repeat it,” she next heard him say. He could be such a bastard at times like these! Linda knew she should discourage gossip in others, but it was too hard. She didn’t feel strong enough to take a stand against such a commonplace activity. He knew and accepted that, though perhaps grudgingly. Still, she shifted nervously from one foot to the other, pressing her lips together. The knowledge that his eyes were on her held her transfixed as he kept her in his predator’s gaze, motionless, soundless, infinitely patient.

“You’re going to be mad at me,” Linda started again, almost as a cry. He waited. The silence beat down on her, accusing, demanding.

“You know Jenae, the receptionist? Barry said he recognized her from the Deja Vu - that she used to work there. As a stripper,” the words poured from her, and she felt the immense relief of releasing this secret. “He was telling Tom, and then Linda asked me what he was talking about and so I told her... .”

“And then the two of you laughed,” he condemned. Oh, how she wished she could correct him! For once tell him “No! We didn’t! You don’t know!” But of course she couldn’t. Not this time, not ever, it sometimes seemed. He always seemed to know, always seemed to be right. From the start he had known she would have repeated it, he had only been waiting for her to say so directly. Why couldn’t he save her the anguish? From the first sentence it was only a matter of how quickly she would get them to her punishment.

“Stand,” he spat. Her chair slid backward on the vinyl floor, then slid further as his leg brushed it to the side. He reached his arms around her and she longed for an embrace, got one even as he pressed her to him with his forearms, but all the while unfastening her slacks. From where he stood he couldn’t see her pout or the wrinkles that creased her brow.

Yank! inverted the top of her slacks, encasing her upper thighs in a second layer of blue. The hem of her white blouse rose as his hand sternly sought the waistband of her panties. A firm motion flipped them inside-out, trapping her in too many layers of fabric and the overpowering wave of disapproval that his roughness communicated like an endless shout. I’m sorry, a small voice inside of her begged. Really, please, I am sorry.... It would be okay, she knew, once she had been spanked.

He hooked an ankle around the chair leg and drew the chair under him. Sitting down hard, he toppled her onto his lap even as she scrambled for some kind of balance, some grip on something, anything.

“How much?” he demanded.

“Not, I guess,” she cringed in reply. The words were barely out of her mouth when the first spanks assailed her bottom. She was too far forward, she panicked, and feared she would fall - she couldn’t stand that, she would be embarrassed, humiliated. She didn’t want to do anything else he might not like, not even being clumsy, she wanted to behave for him and earn his approval back. She spread her arms out widely just as she felt him tug her strongly and more securely toward him. Now she was safe.

Safe, but spanked. He spanked firmly, insistently, with the sting and the slap growing and even as it did, so did its relentlessness. A few little sounds, the combination of a whine and a grunt, escaped her as she screwed her eyes shut and tried to accept what he gave her.

All too soon it was over, and he was standing her upright. She had asked for not very much, and she guessed she deserved it. When she got her spanking, it would hurt. It should. She peeked at his face and withered under his glower.

“I’m sorry,” she couldn’t help saying aloud.

“We’ll talk,” he promised, his severity ordering her into silence. “Walk!”

With him supporting her, she made her way to the bedroom, her arm around his shoulders, his around her waist. The hesitation in her steps was not entirely due to her dread of what awaited her - though her blouse covered her modestly, the ridiculousness of her costume remained. Her bottom was hot and sore but comforted by the swing of the soft fabric that curtained it.

As she was led toward the dresser, rather than the bed, she wordlessly accepted her fate.

“Stand,” he said once again, releasing her. He picked up the hairbrush and the insides of her legs shook slightly. There had never been any question, really, that he would use it, that she would get it.

“What,” he demanded, “does Jenae think of you?”

“She thinks I’m a nice person,” Linda squeaked.

“And she likes to think you’re a friend of hers, doesn’t she?” he went on.

“Yes?”

“And then Barry told Tom she was a stripper. Is that right?” God, why did he have to ask, it’s not like he’d forget - he remembers everything! “And Linda got involved and you wanted to show that you knew... ” Did she? Was there some of that? Sometimes, Linda knew, she did that. Did she do that today? But he had gone on. “And you had a good laugh about her, how she used to strip in clubs. And maybe you figured that wasn’t all she did - did either of you think of that?”

“Tom.”

“What?”

“Tom did. He thought of that. He said something, you know, some expression, you know... .”

“I know? I wasn’t listening to this. How would I know?”

Linda was confused. Tears filled her eyes and voice.

“You said... didn’t you? I don’t know!”

“Linda, look at me,” he ordered. It was a struggle to comply.

“This is about you. And Linda. Except Linda isn’t going to be spanked with a hairbrush until she can’t stand, let alone sit. You told Linda what you had heard.” He was looking deeply into her eyes. She couldn’t stand it! He was reading her mind! It wasn’t fair! “You told her what you had heard and the two of you thought it was funny.” Stop! Stop! No! Don’t do this! “Linda? Tell me.”

“We thought it was funny. Because... because... well, she’s so bony! And her butt’s got that strange shape... ” It did! Of course he wouldn’t see it.

“Strange shape? Like flattened? By a hairbrush? What do you think she was caught gossiping about?”

Linda looked at him, wondering if he was expecting an answer. His expression made it clear that he was.

“I don’t know! Nothing!”

“And you don’t think you could have returned the favor?” The power of his voice shook her.

I said I’m sorry, she wanted to scream. Can’t I just be spanked now? Spanked and spanked and then held and have this forgotten about?

A strong grip seized her above the elbow, another on her wrist. She hated this part. She hated a lot of these parts, but this was one of them. Stumblingly she was steered toward the corner.

“I want you to think,” he said, just as he always did. “I want you to stand and think. I want you to think about the fact that Jenae is going to hear that gossip is going around about her. She is sure to find out. I want you to think how happy she’d be to hear that you would not participate in such a thing. That she had a friend who stood up for her.”

Linda looked at him in amazement. He could always bring her to tears with nothing more than disapproval.

“But that isn’t what she will be feeling, will she? Instead she’ll be hurt. Disappointed. Mad at herself! Because once again she got her hopes up only to find out she was wrong.” In his words this little office situation had become a tragedy. Linda felt herself crumbling under his censure. Her mind spun, trying to focus on how much of this had really happened, how much damage she had already done, pain she had already caused. “Think!” he commanded, turning her into the corner and removing himself.

Linda made a mistake. She made the mistake of doing what she was told. She thought. Thought of Jenae smiling, being nice to her, being glad to see her. Thought of Jenae quitting, crying, wondering where her life would ever go. Oh God, she was evil! Just evil! What a spanking she would have to get!

After a long time, he returned - too soon. No words now, an arm around her waist, laid upon the bed, flat. He knelt on the bed next to her, his calf against her side. Almost automatically she guided her arm between his legs and he lowered himself onto it, trapping her, holding her. On the other side his fingers sought hers and intertwined as he raised their hands to her shoulder. Her blouse was already halfway up and he arranged it further out of harm’s way. She felt so exposed like this! Almost as if she would be violated somehow. She much preferred to run around in nothing but panties (when the curtains were drawn) - his frank admiration of her assured her like a hug, and when she slipped on a pair of pumps he looked at her as if she was the chicest woman on Fifth Avenue. But this, there was something obscene about this type of exposure.

His hand came down hard, and fast. This position was not the best, she wasn’t bent at all, just flat and exposed. The spanks just hurt, nothing else. Some landed oddly, somehow making her sad. She wished she could be held across his knee. I want to be good, she thought, and tried to stay still, knowing it would be over far too soon. The earlier warm-up was repeated, harder this time but just as short - very little preparation for what was to come.

“Do you want to be spanked as if the gossip you spread was true, or not true?” he asked her. His question panicked her - she hated decisions, she always chose the wrong answer. She never considered that it wasn’t true, it must be true, Barry sounded sure, he had been there, seen her.

“True?” she dared, cringing, trying to cross her legs in hope since her fingers were not available.

The first swat of the hairbrush surprised her so completely that she almost didn’t hear what he was saying. The second made her gasp and curl. Her legs weren’t held, so she tried to curl them away, which directed her punishment to her right, uppermost cheek. This soon flattened her again until he had caught up on her left. It hurt. A lot.

“So it’s true. But Jenae is not a stripper. She is a receptionist. Doesn’t that tell you something about her?” He brought the brush down in a more across direction than up and down and she just opened her mouth wide, trying to let the pain out. His speed and power had frozen her crying for an instant as her whole body protested, until in the space of swat the sobs broke from her.

“Jenae is trying to leave one life and start a better one. Do you think she has a reason for that? Besides a funny looking butt?” Linda thought he had been being brutal but with this remark she discovered she was wrong - up until now. No matter how she kicked, no matter how her ribs twisted and jumped, the swats found their mark faster than she could absorb them. And when they didn’t land on target they were replaced by half a dozen more attempts, many which were all too successful! She threw her head from side to side but from shoulder to hip she was pinned to him where he knelt.

“So for some reason she doesn’t deserve your help? Or do you think she’d rather be reminded of what she used to do?” The high-up swats hurt so badly, chopping down like a hatchet on the upper slopes of her poor buns! The more she ran, the more ways he found to make it hurt worse. Oh, God, please stop! Please stop and hold me!

Linda felt him throw down the hairbrush and release her even as she gulped huge breaths to try to calm her hysteria. His arm behind her knees curled her legs over his lap and soon his hard hand had returned. He found places he had missed. He found places he had not missed. He spanked upward and connected solidly with her poor sore buns. He spanked upward and barely topped the crests of her cheeks. Some stung. Some hurt. He held her tighter and his aim improved, pushing her back toward hysteria.

And then he stopped. Just stopped. It took her a moment to know it. His arm went back across her knees while the other slid under her shoulders.

Linda cried into his collar. They stayed like that for a long time.

Then he started to kiss her face.

The End

The Tempest, or Setting an Example Part II by Matt - June, 1997

(medium, M/F Erotic Domestic Discipline) Eve knows it won’t be long before she gets hers, but household schedules are hard to manage.



Matt rubbed each eye as they started down the last big grade to the valley floor. Stretched out before him was a long, long shimmering line, red on the right, white on the left. The red intensified as drivers used their brakes, attempting to control their descent. No one was awake to see this sight tonight, except his youngest daughter, singing to herself in the far back. He found himself amused by the pairings of glowing red pinpoints that blossomed and brightened as he watched. Across the median, headlights passed in a steady stream. Big ones, little ones, high, low, even a pair of motorcycles wobbling along at an inconstant distance. Matt glanced over at his dozing wife, whose top, in the latest fashion, stretched a little tight across her own headlights and he smiled.

He was tired. And he was sore. God, was he sore. He might like to wear the baggy shorts and the big tee-shirts and get his Brad Pitt haircut from a girl not much older than his daughter but he had to admit, the years had taken their toll. It’s not the miles, he liked to say, or even the load. It’s the speed you drive and the road you choose and the lack of shock absorbers.

He’d driven it hard today. His shoulders couldn’t take these heavy restraints anymore. He’d been hung and swung, flipped and rolled. Coaxed slowly to the peak and then dropped like a rock, only to beg for more and more and more. Even standing up, one time. Sixteen roller coasters! Every inch of his body hurt.

The food hadn’t helped. Whatever had possessed him to try to eat his way across the park? Pretzels, cotton candy, corn dogs, root beer. That he could have handled. But what were those deep-fried things? Churzos? Funnelcakes should have been enough. He should have chosen between the two. And at some point he should have told his kids, “If you can’t finish that, throw it away.”

End of the line. Matt knew he ought to help unload. Six kids times a two-hour nap was twelve hours of sleep - why couldn’t they unload? But Matt knew that if he didn’t help Eve would do it all herself. And one job’s always saved for Daddy. Carrying sleeping children up to bed. How could she be asleep? She was singing when we pulled into the driveway.

The house remained dark and quiet. Even the teenagers went to bed. Matt trudged into the bathroom in search of Mylanta. Turning, Eve appeared before him. Her face was anxious. He wrapped her in his arms.

“I just need a quick shower,” she told him. The patter of running water was the last sound he heard that night.


***


“Matt!” Eve hollered.

“What?”

“Come down here where I can talk to you,” was her command.

Matt appeared at the foot of the stairs. Immediately, he saw what Eve expected him to do.

“Out of the kitchen! Everyone, out!” His calm, deep voice reached every corner of the big house. Their son even looked up from his Star Trek novel.

“Cindy. Out.” he repeated from closer range.

“I’m cooking,” Cindy claimed.

“She’s cooking,” Eve confirmed.

“Debbie, get your junk off the table.”

“Homework, Dad,” Debbie corrected him with imperious disdain.

“Off.”

Matt stepped into the hall where he could be heard. “Okay, little Evita, off with the stereo. Help set the table. Argentina will have to figure out why not to cry all by itself.”

“But Dad! I’ve been waiting for this song. Can’t I listen, just till it’s over? Pleeeease?”

“Dad, is Evita Spanish for Eva?” asked Tom, the youngest and the very spirit and image of his father.

“You can listen to it after dinner. Turn it off,” Matt told their wandering minstrel.

“Not tonight! Dad, you know!” came the reply.

He smiled and held a finger to his lips. She giggled.

“Dad. Is Evita Spanish for Eva?” Tom demanded.

“Little Eve. “Ita” means little in Spanish,” Matt tried to explain uselessly. In a second, Tom would be wondering about the moon, or something.

“You want to eat now, or when you get back?” Eve asked him.

“Later,” he said, checking his watch. He greatly preferred being able to sit down with his family. “Okay, guy. Got your gear? What time’s practice over?”

“Not till nine,” the boy sighed, heading for the car.

A few minutes later, Matt returned, managing to catch some dinner on its way to the dishwasher. The three little ones were buzzing around like little hummingbirds. Suddenly, Lori appeared with the car keys.

“Who’s ready for Tarzan?” she asked.

“We are! We are!” replied the excited chorus.

“What?” Eve asked, “Who’s going where?”

“I’m taking the kids to Tarzan,” Lori told her. Seeing her doubtful look, Cindy quickly put in, “Dad said we could. It’s twi-night pricing.”

“Well! I guess that settles it!” she conceded. Eve shot a quick scowl at Matt, who was relaxing on the couch with a book. He really should have asked her first. He was definitely going to hear about this. But as the door closed on the receding horde, a rare silence descended and she was reluctant to break it.

As Eve walked into the kitchen, she was met with a sight that made her heart do a little flip. Debbie was cleaning up after dinner, unasked! Would wonders never cease. Torn between feeling useless and relieved, Eve decided it would be nice to have some time for herself but as she looked for a book to lose herself in, the doorbell rang. Upon opening it, she was greeted by a young man and behind him she saw a car, idling at the curb.

“I’m here for Debbie,” he announced, to Eve’s amazement. He wasn’t that young - he must have a driver’s license, or a friend out in the car.

“Maybe you better come in. Have we met you?” she asked, with obvious suspicion.

“I’m Steve Mattson,” he told her factually, “We go to your church?”

“And what are your plans for the evening?”

“Oh, you know,” Steve continued, oblivious to the gathering storm, “Dinner, movie, just get out and away. Nothing special.”

Her daughter appeared, just as Eve prepared for battle. “Debbie, want to tell me what this is about?” Why the heck wasn’t Matt over here, backing her up?

“Mom,” Debbie whined, “Babysitting? It’s on the calendar.” With that, she ducked past Mr. Mattson and was gone.

“Nice to meet you,” Eve said weakly.

“See you on Sunday,” Steve called from the walk.

As Eve closed the door, a very clear realization came over her. A realization that, while it had been fun at the time, she really hated the fact that she had paddled her husband in front of the kids a few days earlier. In fact, the more fun she remembered it being, the more she hated it now.

“Eve,” Matt called calmly. “Want to take your panties off and come over here? I’d like to talk to you.” She looked over and Matt had already moved to the straight-backed chair. Of course.

“Um, it’s a swimsuit,” she mentioned and there was a brief, motionless moment before she hastened to comply. Her slightly damp seat was clammy when the air hit it. Trying to press it dry with her cover-up, she silently regretted her evening’s attire. Not only was the cover-up non-absorbent, it would offer no protection and only serve to assure that she got an extra layer of spanking.

Like she needed an extra layer. When she thought back to applying the paddle to her husband’s buns, she wondered just how long it would be before she was let up to fetch the hairbrush. Probably a long, long time, she concluded.

“Eve, it seems that, the other day, you thought I needed to be paddled, in front of the kids? Did you enjoy doing that? Enjoy it a lot?”

Eve, ill-advisedly, giggled. Then, she grew defensive. “You deserved it. You were mean to me. You lost your temper. You swore. In fact, it’s me who should be paddling you right now.”

“You’ve already taken care of that,” Matt said dismissively. “Whatever possessed you to do that?”

With a smile she couldn’t repress, Eve told him, “Have to set a good example.” But, let’s face it, it wasn’t worth what was coming.

“And did you, Eve? Did you set a good example?” When Matt used her name a lot, she knew the trouble quotient was at an all-time high.

“Had to,” she insisted. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it, she thought.

“Eve,” Matt said yet again, causing her cold little cheeks to clench in anticipation, “what’s our rule about paddlings over the age of twelve?”

“Don’t,” she had to admit.

“And what’s our rule about paddlings over clothing?”

“Don’t,” she whispered.

“And about paddlings that aren’t over-the-knee?”

“Don’t,” she wailed.

“And about me paddling girls, or you paddling boys?”

“Don’t,” she squeaked.

“Seems like we're getting a lot here. Are you keeping count?”

“No,” she claimed.

“Well, we’ll call that six.”

“Four,” Eve said, then wished she’d bitten her tongue. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen for that again.

“Fibbing?”

“Five,” she admitted.

With her teeth pinning down her lower lip, she nodded. She moved slowly over his waiting lap, hoping her seat had dried by now.


*****


Raising his hand, Matt began methodically patting Eve’s cover-up. Not patting, actually. The thin fabric did prevent his slaps from ringing like they usually do but they still stung plenty. He’s starting too hard, Eve cried to herself. But she wanted to save her protests for after she’d gone for the hairbrush. Why, oh why, had she done something this foolish? Sure, it had been fun, it had been irresistible and she’d remember it all her life. But if Matt realizes that, she thought, he’ll make this spanking just as memorable.

“Ow. Ow. Ow,” Eve complained softly. Oh, this is too much. Oh, I hope he gets a lot of this over with now. Owwwwwwwww.

It really didn’t take long for Matt to stop. It only seemed that way to Eve. To Matt the time passed very quickly and he had to give her a lot more than she deserved in order to stretch it out. But he was finally satisfied and paused long enough to lift her sheer skirt.

Panic set in on Eve’s fanny. Matt had been spanking in the middle and now, as he rubbed her all over, the heat of his overworked hand made her realize how chilly the rest of her bottom was. This is not a good thing at times like these. If she’d had any clue whatsoever, she wouldn’t have gone swimming at all.

Oh, oh, oh, this was worse, much worse. Now the slaps had the familiar ringing sound. It felt like he was punishing her, not just warming her up! Well, maybe not that bad but had she been that wrong? How many had he said? All she remembered was that it was more than she deserved. Next time, next time, she would resist. Resist the urge, that is. That one morning when she pushed him in the pool when he was dressed for work, she should have resisted. Sitting down all those days later was easy to resist, even though her feet had been tired. Why couldn’t she resist sooner?

I don’t even think it stings any more, she thought. It’s just going to make me sorer. Longer to recover, longer to remember. Oooh, does this really help? Oh. Oh.

Just then, Matt stopped. Not paused, stopped. Eve held perfectly still, oh-so-tense, waiting.

“Stand up, sweetie,” he told her, with a pat on her jumpy seat. She moved immediately to comply.

“Want to get in position?” he asked and she leaned forward for him, grabbing the back of the chair. Legs back, straight, sloped. Back arched, offering. Feet apart.

Matt slid slowly off of the chair. His arms circled her waist, hugging her, tighter and then tighter some more.

“Mmmmm,” he insisted.

“Mmmmm,” she admitted.

But when she was absolutely sure his head was firmly between her thighs and his ears were definitely covered, she raised her head, smiled and said in a clear voice, “You deserved it.”

Buyer’s Remorse

Buyer’s Remorse by Diane with Matt’s help - February, 1995 - (short, M/F, light, EDD) Diane can’t stop her spending without Matt’s help, which she gets.
Copyright by Matt Anglen et. al. 1995 - please do not copy, distribute or re-post without permission

Buyer’s Remorse


- Diane? What is that?

“A dress - isn’t it cute?”

- Yes, very cute. Looks new, even.

“Um, uh huh....like it?”

- Diane. Whether I like it or not is not the question. The question is, did you just buy a new dress when you knew you you’d already spent all of this month’s budget and some of next month’s?

“Welllllll, yes, but see, it was like this - we need new drapes in the living room, so I went to J. C. Penny’s...and on the way there I saw this dress, it was the last chance to buy it...I saved us lots of money, it was on sale...”

- You’d better take it off, you’re returning it AND you’re getting spanked...

“Ohhhhhhhh, um, Matt? I can’t...”

- Can’t take it off? C’mere, I’ll help.

“No, can’t take it back. It was on clearance. That’s why it was such a great deal?”

- Diane, you’d better be joking. If that dress can’t go back, you’re it so much trouble...

“Ohhhhh. A lesson spanking?”

- Yes, a learn-a-lesson spanking. Didn’t you just have a lesson in this?

“Um, I guess so...”

- You guess so? It must not have made much of an impression on you.

“No, no, it did. It hurt!”

- Couldn’t have been too bad, you’re doing this again already. Couldn’t have been bad enough.

“Ohh, it was bad enough. I spent lots of money that time! I just spent a little money this time... and it’s not like we’re poor...”

- Diane.

“Yes?”

- We’re not poor, no. But last time you spent your whole clothing budget for three months without batting an eyelash. Didn’t we agree that you wouldn’t by any more clothing until your budget caught up with you? Well, your budget just caught up with you.

“Ohhhhhhh. A lesson spanking? And no being nice afterward?”

- Mmmmmm, baby. You know I can’t be nice afterward, you wouldn’t learn a thing.

“But it’s a long time till bedtime...and you’ll have to wait, too...then you’ll say I’m a tease...then you’ll spank me again when I’m already sore...”

- Diane? Who bought the dress? Me, or you?

“I did, I guess.”

- Ah, you don’t have any panties on?

“No, I...I thought you might want to spank me...ow!”

- You knew you were getting in trouble!

“Wellllll...but it’s cute - ow!”

- We’re going to get you out of this dress, young lady... it’s going in your closet until the first of May, when you’d have enough money to pay for it...

“Oh, I can’t...”

- You can’t?

“It’ll be out of season - that’s why it was on sale - for so cheap! I have to wear it!”

- Have to, huh? Okay, you wear it. And every time you wear it I’m going to take it off you and spank you.

“Ow! Mmmm, every time? Ow!”

- Every (smack!) time...

“But not a lesson...”

- Well, no, not a bad spanking... still, a spanking every time...

“Mmmmmm, okay... I won’t wear it two days in a row then...”

- But tonight you are going to learn a lesson - one you won’t forget this time...

“Baby? You’re going to start with your hand?”

- I’m going to teach you a lesson over my knee, is what I’m going to do!

“But you’ll start with your hand?”

- Why do I start with my hand, Diane?

“Because you care about me...”

- And why do I teach you a lesson?

“Same reason?”

- Yes. Because I care about you. Now over you go...

“Ow! Ow! Oh, start softer - that hurts!”

- Diane! It’s supposed to hurt!

“Ow! Oh! Mmmmmmmmm. Ah mmmmmmm.”

- Now Diane, we have an agreement. You don’t have to worry about every little thing...

“Mmmmm hmmmm...”

- And I tell you when you’re going too far...

“Ooooh oh! Oh!”

- And then you stop...

“Mmmmm mmm hmm...”

- Or...

“Mmm hmm?”

- Or you get your bare bottom spanked!

“Ow! Ow! Hey! Ow!”

- Had enough?

“Nnnt nnn. Not ready...”

- No?!?

“Ow! Ow! OWWW!”

- Want you to be ready....

“Eee! Mmmmm, that’s better... nnnt nnn, not ready mmmmmm...”

- Want you to be good and ready - want this bottom to be ready to really learn this lesson - not have you back in a month again...

“Mmmmmmm...”

- I know what that wiggle means...

“You do?”

- That’s you’re “don’t you want to spank this cute bottom” wriggle, isn’t it?

“Mmm, mmm hmm...”

- I think (tap tap) that’s ready enough. Up!

“Ohhhhhhhhh....”

- Now let’s get this pretty little dress off of you...

“Wellll, okay...”

- Mmm, this bra isn’t new, is it?

“No, you know it’s not. I was good, see?”

- Mmm, well, a little good...

“Oh, don’t tease... now who’s teasing? Not fair! Ow!”

- If you didn’t want to wait, you shouldn’t have bought the dress.

“Ohhhhhhh... hey, where are you going?”

- To get something.

“To get what?”

- You’ll see...

“Oh, ummm, what’s that for?”

- What do you think? To warm your pretty little bottom.

“Instead of the hairbrush?”

- What do you think?

“Um, I don’t know?”

- Before the hairbrush. Nice warm leather paddle before that mean old teacher of a hairbrush...

“Ohhhh, that’s what I was afraid of...”

- Mmmm, yes, you look, mmmm, very nice...

“Oooooo don’t do that!”

- This right here with my finger?

“Ooooo ooo ooo uh huh that!”

- Mmmm and why not?

“Oh! I think you scratched me!”

- I did?!?

“Mmm hmmm...you should kiss it and make it better...OW! Ow! Yeow! Just kidding!”

- Hold still...

“YEOW!”

- Okay now, back over my knee... put your bottom up where I can spank it good...

“Ow! Ow! Jeez, start slow! Can’t you start easier? Ow!”

- Baby, this is easier...

“YEOW! YEEEOW!”

- See? Didn’t I start easier?

“Ow ow...yes...ow oh ow...”

- Got to have you all warm... skin...

“Eeek! Ow!”

- And muscle...

“Oh! Oh! Ugh! Oooo!”

- Even though...

“Ow ow zowee...”

- I’m only going to use the hairbrush a little...

“Ahhh. Oh ow!”

- Well, a lot - but in one...

“Eeek! Ow!”

- Or two little places...

“Ohhhhh! Owwwww!”

- Aren’t I?

“Oooo uh huh...ow oh yes, you are...ow OW!”

- Okay up. You go this time. And I’m counting...

“Ohhhhh....”

- That was quick - see, you can be a good girl, when you want to be...

“I am a good girl...”

- When properly motivated. No, no, don’t start that again, just bend over, right here... Diane?

“Yes?”

- How much was this dress?

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh...”

- Diane, how much?

“It was on saaaaaale... OW! God, that better count! Fifty-five dollars...”

- Not very much, is it?

“Wellll... not in money... OW! Jeez!”

- But money you’re not supposed to be spending on clothes, isn’t it?

“OW! Nooooo.... OW! Matt, that hurts!”

- Of course it hurts, Diane... that’s our deal, isn’t it? If you spend what you said you wouldn’t...

“OW! OW! OHHH! Not that much!”

- Then I have to spank you like this!

“OH jeez no - it hurts too much!”

- You didn’t spend too much money, Diane?

“Not too much...”

- How many swats do you have left?

“Ohhhhhh...OW! Um, a lot?”

- Yes, seems like a lot now, doesn’t it?

“Oh! God, yes! OW!”

- There now - are you learning your lesson?

“OH! Oh yes - yes, oh yes, I’m learning...”

- The lesson you didn’t learn six weeks ago?

“Yes - yes!”

- Even with all those swats?

“Yesss...”

- Do you want to get all those swats again, Diane?

“No! No no! OW GEEZ NO!”

- So this time you will learn your lesson...

“Eeek! OW!”

- Plus get spanked each and every time I take that dress off of you...

“Mmm... (ow!)... until April...”

- Until (swat!!!) May - longer if I say so...

“Ohhhh... no fair... OW!”

- Ready for the hard ones?

“WHAT?!? OW! OH, GOD! OW! YEOW-OW!”

- And this should finish up...

“OWWWWWOW OH OWWWOWOW!”

- All done. Up you get!

“Oooooo. No rubbing?”

- No rubbing!

“No hugs?”

- Well, yes, you can have a hug. C’mere.

“Mmmm. That’s better. And no clothes till?”

- Till May, now, just about - you only have a little money left in April.

“That’s a long time...”

- Do you need more spanking to help you remember?

“No! Unt uh. I remember! I remember just fine!”

- Good. I thought you did.

“Oh, baby?”

- Mmm hmm?

“I’m too sore to fix dinner - let’s go out to eat.”

- You!

“OW! Hey! Ow! Ow! Stop! That hurts! Ow! Kidding! Kiddiiiiing!!!!!!! OW! Ow ow OW!”



(And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I got my new drapes!)

The Planning Stories

The Planning Stories, Fiction by Matt - October, 1998 - (very long, F/M, Erotic Domestic Discipline) - Matt’s fictional characters Julie and Steve act out a wicked story they each read on a spanking message board.

Copyright by Matt Anglen et. al. 1998 - please do not copy, distribute or re-post without permission

Planning - Tuesday Night Preliminaries


Surprise is a useful element in a good spanking and I try to use it often. But for a great spanking, I think a dreadful anticipation can allow both parties to truly savor the moment. It’s a little too bad it’s not easier to combine the two - anticipation and surprise - but I’ve given up my quest for perfection and replaced it with a hope of more frequent excellence.

Let’s get this clear. I spank my husband and he loves it. In fact, nothing turns him on more. But the idea of me dominating him is almost laughable. Not only am I not the type but neither is he. He’s far too strong-willed and, on top of hat, he’s too independent. If he doesn’t agree with you, the best you can hope for is that he’ll ignore you and he’s perfectly willing to do that. While I don’t dominate him, I do give him fairly frequent spankings suitable to a healthy adult male. Some are hard, some are long, many are both, and some are neither, although, surprisingly, those that are neither are his least favorite, instead of vice-versa. These spankings are usually directed at some specific behavior and are very effective in changing things I don’t like. That’s another benefit to me. Steve says it’s just a matter of communication, that he likes the spankings but they communicate things I don’t like and he avoids those behaviors out of consideration for me, not out of spanking-evasion. A final benefit is that I’ve seldom been jealous of another woman, since I always have as much of his attention, and sometimes more, whenever we’re together.

I decided recently that I would put together a spanking that would please him, I suppose, consisting of promises of dire circumstances, some kind of reason behind it, and a few short days of anticipation. In this instance, I was able to add an element that turns him on all the more. Something a little different to heighten the erotic element, combined with what he refers to as a “casual cruelty.” I know these things drive him wild and he deserves it, in that sense, because at other times, he’s always happy to accommodate me in my desires.

So it was that we found ourselves in bed one night. I was feeling receptive and moved over to him. After a few little hugs, I told him to lie on his tummy. As he complied, he asked if anything was wrong.

“Nothing specific,” I tell him, kneading his buns. Already I hear a note of excitement in his voice as I continue, “But we’ve been bickering a lot lately. You don’t seem to be trying very hard to avoid it and sometimes you’ve said some things that you didn’t really have to. I was thinking about doing something about it.” I love these vague problems. They give me such a range of options. But this was going to be beyond all bounds.

I continue to pat and massage his buns while I mentioned a few little instances that I’d been referring to. He listens very carefully, because he takes these things so seriously. And I know he’s getting very turned on.

Sliding over on top of him, I can press down into a full-body hug. Mmmm, I love this. It’s so - connected. Steve loves it, too. He loves the feel of the underside of my breasts on his back.

“Maybe Thursday night. Any problem with that?”

As I know he will, he readily agrees. He’s always up for a spanking, both emotionally and physically. Now, excited, I take it one more step.

Trying to sound casual, I ask him, “Have you been reading the Storyboard recently?” We both know that we both read it. Reading is our favorite activity, right after sex and spanking, so reading about spanking rates pretty high on the list.

He swallows hard and a twitch goes through him. Although it’s no secret that we read the stories there, and sometimes share our favorite parts, I think he’s embarrassed by the fact and we don’t often mention it.

“Well, um, yeah…” is his weak reply.

“Did you see one called Hellfire Church?” Now I’ve really got his attention. Hellfire Church was a multi-part series that came out in late March and was full of ritual female-spanks-male with associated sex. We are almost obsessively monogamous, making many of their rituals impractical in the strictest sense. In fact, he would die to have anyone know about his preference in spanking. But another reason I’ve got his attention is that the rituals in Hellfire Church were extremely severe, with parades of woman putting whipping after whipping on the poor bottom of the main character. Not a situation even the most obsessive man would want to find himself in in real life.

“I did read it,” he admitted carefully. “It was largely satirical, I’m sure.” This is true. It poked a little fun at religious extremists, while being pretty extreme itself. But if he means we can’t do something like that in real life, it’s just wishful thinking.

“There was something in there that caught my interest,” I drawl, slowly. “It was called the Stick of Fire.” The jump he makes tells me I’ve hit paydirt. “They described it as being pretty fearsome.”

“Umm…yes,” was all he could muster.

“They used a little switch, they said only eighteen inches long, about as thick as a pencil.” In a minute he was going to be eighteen inches long, or explode in the effort. “Do you think,” I tried to sound doubtful, “do you think that could be effective?” Effective is our code word for very painful. I’ve spanked him to tears before and then some. He doesn’t like to remind me that these spankings are painful, so we always go by the euphemism.

His buns were clenching pretty impressively, in a minute they’d be plucking my pubic hair and I knew he was worrying. “Yes, ah, pretty effective,” he admitted.

“This was just a young boy, in the story. Would it have an effect on a full-grown man?” I massage his cheeks some more to make my point. I slap him lightly, very lightly, and he jumps.

“I think it would be plenty,” he promises me.

“Hmmmm,” I gave him, pretending to think it over. He’s panting, he’s so turned on. I’m trying to keep my cool and make him think I’m just dispassionately trying to find the best technique. It’s really working, too. Reaching my decision, I slide off with an “Okay, we’ll try that.”

I have him roll up on his side so that I can handle him in front. From behind him, I slide my hand down his tummy and get him in the vee between my thumb and forefinger. My fingertips dance off of the sensitive skin below and he’s about as big as he ever gets, which is plenty. I keep my other hand on his backside.

I try to gauge his excitement. With the plans I’ve got, I don’t want to have an accident. I’ve got a desperate need for him but I’d like to wait a minute or two. He’s so nervous he’s going up and down with every thought. I know I can almost read his mind. He’s wondering if he should tell me how bad this is likely to be, thinking that I don’t know. He’s thrilled at the prospect of such serious treatment. And I’ll bet he’s trying to remember the details of one short part of a very memorable but lengthy series. The part that was easy to remember was repeated references to the terror of the Stick of Fire.

“Sooo,” I bait him, “do you think I can make my point that way?” Ever the innocent, as if I don’t know my own strength.

“Yeah…. oh yeah. It’ll really make your point.” He can barely breathe. I stroke him some more, carefully.

Silence, then I whisper in his ear, “You know, they wet your bottom for it.”

“Who does?” comes his tense, automatic reply.

“In this case, I do, of course. There’s suppose to be another woman involved, with her top off, holding your hands, but we’ll have to figure something else out. You can pick one of my friends to pretend she’s joining us.” Okay, I said I don’t get jealous but I do get envious sometimes, since some of my friends have busts to really be proud of. Or at least to really get noticed by Steve, since it’s his favorite feature on a woman, even though he says it’s her smile. The idea of him choosing one of them, whoever she is, will give me a little more inspiration and he knows it. But back to the subject at hand. I lick my fingertips and trace them over his cheeks. “They use a sponge, I guess. To wet your bottom. It’s supposed to help it sting more. Do you think that’s true?”

“I don’t know. I’ve always heard that. I guess it must.”

“Well, now you can find out, because it has to be wet for this. I’ll have to remember to buy a sponge. Though I guess you won’t be able to compare it, since it’ll be wet from the start. I wonder why it makes it worse? You’d think it might cool it off,” I speculate carelessly.

Steve hates to hold anything back. “Actually, it lowers the resistance of the skin and lets the nerves pick up sensations more clearly. Umm, I read that in an article about swimming, or something,” he admits.

“Oooohh,” I coo, grabbing a big bunch of cheek, “this should be good, then.” He shudders in reply. “You don’t happen to remember,” I ask, drawing it out, “how long this little ritual is supposed to take?”

“Ah, no. I’m sure they said a long time.”

“Twenty minutes, it just so happens. Though the boy in the story could only take ten. They still had to finish, of course.”

“Of course,” Steve says with a note of sarcasm. I continue to rub. I’ve got to hurry, I can’t keep this up much longer. I need some action, fast.

“It’s only moderately hard but very fast. Do you think you can take twenty minutes?” We’ve discussed this before. Steve’s always telling me that you can get a lot of sizzlers in in a minute, and if I’d just take another minute of my time, I could move a spanking from hard to extreme, that it’s so little extra effort for me and what an effect on him!

“I think,” he replies cautiously, “that, you know, it’s a fiction story. That would be a lot. I don’t think it could really take that long. Not if it’s fast, especially.”

“Okay,” I finally concede to him, “Maybe that is too long. But I want it to be like on the Storyboard.” I know this will turn him on. “So think about what I said, I’m going to show you how much I mean it, if you think eighteen inches is long enough. And think about who you’d like to have holding your hands. As bad as you’re going to get it, it might as well be for that, too. Though maybe a little harder, on that part.”

With that, I pull him onto his back and climb back on top of him. I am so ready. As I’m slipping over him, trying to grip him, I lean forward and whisper through my hair, “that’s not till Thursday. We can do a lot before then.”

“Don’t you want me to…” he starts to offer.

“Not tonight, sweetie. That can wait.”

Thursday Night Semi-Finals


It’s Thursday evening and I’ve decided to give my husband a real thrill, a severe spanking just like one we read about on the Storyboard in Hellfire Church, by Marcia. In the story, this Stick of Fire ritual was mentioned as especially fearful and I’m sure Steve is likewise. We both enjoyed reading about it and we’ve enjoyed anticipating it, though I don’t think he will actually be able to enjoy getting it.

It’s been a great couple of days since Tuesday night when I told him what I was going to do. My husband’s never so attentive as he is between when I tell him he’s getting it and when he does. And in a case like this, oh boy! He was more than happy to bring me off both Wednesday morning and this morning, though we couldn’t make love this morning because he needs to be horny to appreciate a good spanking. Even so, I’m feeling well taken care of and soon he will be, too.

Diner is an interesting proposition, with him so preoccupied he can barely think about anything beside how to kill off the hours until bedtime. His mouth must be dry, because he’s having trouble swallowing, speaking, or looking me in the eye. His attention is further drawn to the switch I’ve put on the middle of the table. According to specifications, it’s eighteen inches long (I measured it), thin as a pencil, and it’s the greenest, whippiest branch I could find. April is a good time for whippy branches in our yard, so I didn’t have to look far. We have some tree-sized shrubs that put out growth that you can’t believe, so it wasn’t a problem. I soaked it, too, to make sure it would be flexible. It doesn’t look like much, just lying there but I guess when you’re facing 20 minutes of it on a wet bottom, it captures your attention. Hidden in the bedroom, I have a sponge, among other things.

Trying to make dinner conversation, I ask him, “Did you look up that story on the Storyboard?” I know he has, who wouldn’t have? But he’s still embarrassed, though he’s not going to lie about it.

“Ah, yes, as a matter of fact I did.” Bringing the subject up is not going to decrease his preoccupation with it.

“Did I get it all right? I’m not leaving anything out, am I?” I pick up the little switch and swish it back and forth. He pales like he’s made of wax.

“Did you, did you get the sponge?” He’s really cringing on this one.

“Oh, yes. Had to buy one but I’ve got it now.” I pause for dramatic effect. This is going to be an amusing conversation. “Did you decide who we’ll pretend is joining us?” You see, in the real ritual, another woman should be holding his hands. I told him to choose someone, just for pretend. Oh, yes, and this woman is topless and he’s a big breast fan. I’m sure this is killing him. He knows who I’m a little envious of, who’s drawn more than their share of his attention. “It’s Beth, I suppose. Shall I call her?” I ask, reaching for the phone.

A look of utter mortification comes over his face. Beth is more his friend than mine, she’s got a double dose on a slender frame and the subject of her figure has come up before. But he respects Beth, she seems intelligent and even though she’s the one most likely to be sympathetic to his unusual interest and take it seriously, it would kill him for her to know about it. That’s one reason I don’t really get jealous. He could never really cheat on me, because he couldn’t bear to let anyone else know.

“Not Beth, huh? Who, then? Cindy?” Cindy is a bubbleheaded friend of mine, opposite from Beth in every way, including bust development. Though she’s fun and might actually go for it, she’s not really what the situation calls for. For one thing, she’d laugh at the suggestion. Laugh loud.

Maybe he figures it’s time he better offer a suggestion. “I don’t know. Maybe… Kim?”

“Kim?” I am surprised. “You don’t even like her.” I can see his point, though. Kim’s got some big breasts, because she’s a little overweight, though not much. And he doesn’t know her that well, so his embarrassment would be less. And she’s not pretty enough for him, or smart, or thin, so how jealous would I be? An interesting choice but I think I’m letting him off too easy. “Nah,” I tell him, “Get real.”

There’s a long silence while he thinks about it and I let him. He’s obviously very uncomfortable and squirmy, though nothing like he will be later, I assure you. Finally, he looks at me.

“Just pretend, right?”

“Just for pretend,” I assure him. Who, a movie star? My sister?

“Ummm, how about Glenda?” He finally admits. An interesting choice. I hadn’t thought of her, because we’re not really close friends. But it is in keeping with the story, for several reasons. She’s tall, a foot taller than me, maybe, and even taller than him. And she’s proportioned big but she’s an apple, not a pear. If she was swinging a paddle, he might never sit down again and she’d have no trouble holding him wherever she wanted to. She’s pretty enough and she’s got boobs just like bowling balls, though lighter, I hope. But what’s more, she’s seriously religious and would not think much of our little game. If she got involved, there’s no question that she’d be in it to teach him a lesson and a ritual would be just her thing. I wonder how long, and how deeply, he’s been thinking about this. More than two days? He better not have been!

I think I’ve made a little mistake and I exercise my prerogative to change my mind. After all, I have to enjoy this a little, too, so I decide I’ll have a little fun at his expense. “Okay, Glenda it is. She’ll hold your hands and keep an eye on the clock and make sure you get enough. But I’m going to spank you for wishing it was Beth and boy, are you going to be sorry. Agreed?” Like it’s a question. He just nods and tries to swallow. You know all these stories where the master says, “Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to?” I don’t ever say that, we don’t do things that way but I don’t need to. You never heard anyone so quiet as he was while he waited for nightfall.

At 7:30, as he leaves the room for a moment, I quickly shed my blouse and bra. I’m in a skirt, hose, and low heels, with my hair pinned up and I scoop up the switch off the table. When he returns, one look at my bare breasts and what I’m holding and his jaw drops open. I mean really.

“It’s time,” is all I say.

He thought he had another hour and a half, at least, but he doesn’t say a word. He just stands there, paralyzed. He can’t bear the sight of me half-dressed like this, it’s always driven him wild.

“Take all of your clothes off, please,” I ask politely. Wordlessly, his clothes fall to the floor, and quickly. He’s actually embarrassed to be nude in front of me, which is kinda cute. What he’s most embarrassed about is the fact that, having checked the Storyboard, he knows I’m going to spank him to tears, probably as a halfway point. Like I said, I’ve done it before but not very often and we’ve never mentioned it before or afterward, that’s for sure.

“And into the bedroom?” I prod. He scampers to comply in his disrobed state. His manhood is excited but true fear is keeping him from getting too far in that department. He doesn’t really know which way to turn.

Once we’re in the bedroom, he can see my preparations. I have a chair up against the side of the bed, a bowl of water with a sponge on the nightstand, and a pillow on the bed for him to bury his face in, the companion bosom being absent. The little switch is in my hand, making ominous noises and a copy of our reference story, Hellfire Church, Part II, is on the bed near the chair. Three strips of a bath towel lay across the chair and I pick them up.

“These will have to substitute for Glenda, I suppose. I’m going to wrap them around your wrists, then around the bedpost, then you can hold them. You know you can’t let go, right? Or I’ll have to start over. Unless you want that?”

He silently shakes his head “no.” He’s pretty self-conscious about not being able to take the spanking he’s about to get. With that we begin the manipulations to maneuver him into place. We take care of his hands, first, as I said, and then I sit down, with a small towel over my lap. I couldn’t really care about getting wet, it’s just for the effect. My husband’s silence and his slow, careful movements tell me just how nervous he is. It’s a lot of effort, getting a man his size across my lap, and the bed, especially with his hands practically tied to the headboard but with some shifting about, we manage.

With the switch in my left hand, resting on his back, I pick up the sponge in my right.

“It didn’t say anything about a reason in the story. Maybe they didn’t even have one. But you know what my reason is, don’t you?” He nods vigorously but I continue anyway. “It’s not that there’s been anything wrong with your behavior, exactly but sometimes I feel like you’re picking at me.” I pat his wet bottom with my hand, then squeeze a rivulet of water down the furrow between his cheeks. They shiver more than you would expect and gooseflesh appears across them.

“You’re just not trying hard enough to say nice things to me and I don’t like that. I don’t like it at all. Now I’m going to show you how much and I expect this to be memorable.” The poor man is trying so hard not to beg, I honestly feel sorry for him but the memory of this spanking will turn him on for months into the future. I must remain firm.

The copy of Marcia’s super-hot story is within easy reach and I pick out the most important passage, paraphrasing a bit.

“His bottom was sponged wet and Glenda held his wrists in grips of steel. The Stick itself was a narrow straight switch, 18 inches long, stiff and whippy. The procedure was the apply to Stick rapidly, at about one to two blows per second, all over Steve’s bottom, with moderate force, the wet skin making it sting like blazes. As soon as Julie began, Steve began bawling like a two-year-old, tears running down his face.”

“Julie smiled at Glenda,” I read on, “knowing that a full 20 minutes of "buzzing" was going to visit Steve’s naked, wet behind. At about the halfway mark, Steve’s tears changed to sobs, deep sobs that shook his whole body, and he pressed his face into Glenda's breasts, wailing out his complete surrender. Steve gave up, surrendered to the two women and poured out his emotions of remorse and obedience. But this was only after 10 minutes and the ritual required a full 20 minutes' ordeal, so Steve was kept in this state, while the switch whizzed and snapped on his bare wet behind for ten long minutes more.” Whew! If he wasn’t so scared, I’d be surprised if that hadn’t gotten him off all ready.

“Shall we begin?” I asked rhetorically, setting down the story. I’m holding him across the back with my left arm, pressing my breast into his back, which he loves. I dab his bottom once more, almost sympathetically, since once I started I did not intend to stop. “Glenda will watch the clock and let us know when you’ve had enough. If it gets hard, that’s when I think you’re wishing it was Beth.” He’s already squirming and I haven’t even started yet, so it’s not a big change a second later when I land the first swift smack. I have to admit, that little switch on his poor wet bottom sure had him hopping. I've never seen him move so much.

At first I stick with the tried-and-true, parallel lines across the buns, on the lower half of the cheeks. The lines aren’t too bad, I’m not smacking him that hard but they must really sting because he’s not just squirming, he seems to be reacting to each little stroke and even with the pillow I can hear him gasping and clenching his teeth. So I start moving around a lot more unpredictably and he’s trying to jump this way one second and that way the next.

I can see where a second person would come in handy, because I normally like to give a lot of little talk, in a kindergarten-teacher type sympathetic way, with a “Are we learning to watch what we say?” and “Will this help you remember what I said?” and “When you’re good, I won’t have to spank you like this, will I?” But this ritual requires a lot of concentration, more that a big paddle you can just swing in a mindless way.

I’m covering as much ground as I can, trying to stretch it out without slowing down. I continue to work fast, getting high, low, and underneath, all to good effect. He seems so sore on the upper parts that I start in on the tops of his legs, not because they’re sensitive but just because they haven’t gotten it yet. I don’t focus there, I keep a lot of them higher up but quite a few do end up down there and he seems to hate it, so I include them more and more. Maybe it was all the build-up but I get him in tears in no time, which is no small feat with him.

My wrist is starting to feel the strain and, as they say, we’ve only just started. Isn’t it funny, me complaining, while he suffocates his cries into a pillow, as his bottom gets redder and redder? With this thought, I figure that I can take it longer than he can.

This is where I change my angle. Call me a wild and crazy gal but instead of nice straight lines that I’ve always been taught to make, I add some slant. Still parallel, though, can’t get too radical here. I start high and slant down and away which is even harder on my wrist but oh! What an effect! Then I go low, with the lines coming up. Not only is this easier on my wrist but he’s making sounds I never heard before, so close together that they’re all getting garbled. So I do a lot of this, before I start on some up, some down.

Next I start using the tip of the switch instead of the whole long side. First I track down the last little remaining glistens of water, so he’s completely dry. Then the outside of his right cheek gets a whole line of them, followed by each side of the furrow between his cheeks. I don’t have to be on the receiving end to figure out these are really doing it. His voice takes on a higher pitch, about four octaves higher.

Once again I wish Glenda, or someone, was actually here. I’d love to have him hear me saying, “He’s turning pink now,” when he’s bright red, “We’re certainly off to a good start, aren’t we?” “He doesn’t take these very well, does he?” or “Do you think he needs to squirm this much?” I give him a few little warnings about how he needs to calm down, having so far to go but that’s about it.

I don’t want to start a big feud with the Storyboard authors but we’re no wimps and we didn’t make it anywhere near ten minutes. Before too long, his backside looks like he fell asleep nude in a wicker chair and he is really wailing. I figure that’s the halfway point and hope my arm holds out and keep going. He’s trying to pound his captured hands, without much success and I try to keep up my pace.

I won’t bore you with the details of the second half, except to say that when I use the tip, first it’s to take out the little white spots left by all the crossing lines and then to try to point out where all the lines cross. This is really mean, because when I hit one of these spots, not only does it leave a purple mark but he rears like the stallion I’m going to make out of him in a few minutes. My only saving grace is that he’s moving around so much the switch doesn’t quite come down where I intend it too, so he can live through most of them.

He gets plenty more of the straight and angle ones, too, since I want the second half to be as long as the first, though I’m slowing down a little. I’ve always been very proud of my husband but I have to admit that he’s not taking this very well at all. As I near the end, I try to make them a little harder, like I promised, but I don’t know that he can really tell the difference.

I did use the tip some more, well, a lot, to get him between the buns and he really hated that. In fact, I think he’s got a spanking coming up with nothing but that, he hates it so much. The next time I’m mad at him, pretty soon.

Another thing the story was right about, once I finished, I had to hold him a long, long time while he continued to buck about. When I finally let him let go and get up, he danced around like they always say! I thought that was just a figure of speech but now I know better. He’s doing what look like deep-knee bends, with his penis bobbing up and down on every squat.

But I had other things on my mind. I didn’t even take my skirt off, I just shucked off my hose and shoes and pulled him into me. He was still bucking some, even, and that gave us a pretty strange rhythm.

Now I’m looking forward to a long time of whispering in his ear, “Do I need to use the Stick of Fire?” Thank you, Marcia, and believe me, your story’s been put to good use around our house.

P.S. there was nothing “little-boyish” about it!

A Plan - The Addendum


I hope some of you read my story, A Plan, that I posted last weekend. I described in great detail a spanking that I gave my husband, that was probably the worse spanking he’d ever had, delivered with a short switch on a wet bottom for a long, long time. It was an idea we got from the story Hellfire Church, by Marcia. Some of you may have realized that, although I wrote in the present tense, this spanking actually occurred some weeks ago.

I know that at least one person read the story. That person is my husband. I knew he would and he did. And he came to the dinner table Monday night very much in the present tense.

“I, um, saw your story on the Storyboard.”

“Yes, wasn’t it hot? Did you know that’s why I wanted you so bad last night?”

“It was about me.”

“Relax. It was fictional,” I assured him.

“I didn’t come off sounding very good. You told them you gave me a little boy’s spanking and that I cried like a baby the whole time.”

I looked at him with a glance I hoped was smoky. “That wasn’t a little boy’s spanking, was it?”

“No, no, not at all. But that’s how it sounded.”

I listened attentively. My husband is very forceful and usually speaks quite directly. Tonight he was beating around the bush and choosing his words with care. I was afraid I had really hurt his feelings.

“Sweetheart,” I consoled him, “I only did it to turn us on. Wasn’t it exciting, seeing your name on there?”

“My real name, by the way.”

“Just to make it more exciting,” I promised him. “No one will know it’s you. Who would ever suspect? You’re so self-confident and…”

“That’s another thing. You kept saying I was so embarrassed.”

“You do get so embarrassed,” I countered.

“But what will your readers think? It’s… it’s…”

He wanted to say “its embarrassing” but realized that it would sound too silly.

“Oh, honey. They understand. They’ve all been in the situation. It’s embarrassing to ask for a spanking, and to want to get one, and to be turned on by a spanking that makes you cry. They’ve all felt that way, they don’t think any less of you for it.”
“I suppose,” was all he would say.

“One thing you said in your story?”

“Yeeesss?” I drawl.

“You said that you were going to spank me again? Not like before but, um, in a special way? If you got mad at me, do you remember? Pretty soon?”

I nod with a sardonic smile. Suddenly, tonight’s meekness on his part became perfectly clear.

“Were you, um, really going to do that?”

“You bet I am,” I told him. “It won’t take so long but it’ll be plenty.” I paused for a moment and he looked like he had something he wanted to say but I beat him to it, “Pull down your pants,” I asked him.

“Now?” he replied. There was panic in his voice but he immediately started to comply. I turned him to face the table and slowly bent him over. My hands ran around inside his Jockeys and pulled them down with a caress.

“When I decide to spank you, and I will decide to spank you” I patiently explained, “I’m going to use the very same type of switch but I’m not going to do your buns at all. I’m just going to give you those hard little tippy-type of swats that land right in here.” I ran the tips of my fingers up and down the furrow between his cheeks. He was bright red with embarrassment, even before I pulled one, then the other, cheek apart so that I could rub him all the more. “These are the spots I never get at in a regular spanking so you’re going to need a lot of them. Maybe four dozen?” He exhales rather obviously, thinking he can take four dozen. “Four dozen,” I repeat with a smile, “on each side. And you sure seemed to hate it. I bet it will be very effective.”

By the way he swallows hard, I know he wants to say something. “What is it?” I ask sympathetically, bending close to hear him.

“Are you going to, um, going to use the water?”

“Oh yes. Our friend the sponge. It wouldn’t be the same without it, now would it? Which part do you hate worse? Is it the sting?” He nods vigorously. “Or the embarrassment? Aren’t you embarrassed to have me wet you with a sponge back there?”

A shudder runs through him to tell me I’m right. My hands pass around in front of him, as I press my skirt against his buns. I squeeze, I tease, I pull a little. Then I break away.

“Buckle up, big boy, I don’t want to do it right here on the dirty dishes. You’ll get your special spanking soon enough, believe me. Just don’t let me get annoyed.” With this, I lead him by the hand into the bedroom. A blissful interlude follows.

What he doesn’t know is, I am already a little annoyed. We were at a barbecue on Sunday and some of his comments about my family were completely uncalled for. He’ll say that it should be okay, since all the stories were true, and he’ll claim that it’s unfair, because I started it, but it’s my family, I get to say some of these things, he doesn’t.

So Stevie, sweetheart? You’re about to be spanked. I know you’re going to read this and when you went in to get on the computer, I went into the bedroom to take off my blouse and wait for you. When you get to the end of this post, you’re going to take your clothes off. All of them. In the cupboard right behind your chair, there’s a new green switch, a sponge, and a bowl. Get some water for the bowl and bring it into the bedroom, because you’re about to get it just like I told you. Except, do you know what? I just now decided to make it a little longer. Okay, not just a little, a lot. A whole lot, you poor boy. Don’t worry, though, it won’t interfere when you sit down tomorrow.

See you soon, sweetie. I love you!

A Request, by Shannon - May, 1990

Copyright Matt Anglen et. al. 1990-2006. Please do not repost without permission.

by Shannon - around May, 1990


'Is anything wrong?' Matt asked, looking at me over the dinner table.

'Not really,' I told him, but he could tell I had something on my mind. I hate to ask but at the same time, I knew just what I wanted. 'Do you think I could get a spanking tonight?' There, it was out. I’d said it.

Matt didn’t seem surprised in the least, only a little concerned. 'For anything in particular, or just general horniness?' he said with a grin.

'Nothing in particular,' I said, blushing. Matt knows I like a little spanking for minor mistakes. It gets my mind off of them. Sometimes Matt says I have too high of expectations for myself. But tonight was just nerves, or, as Matt would say, general horniness.

Matt was still grinning. He loves to spank me as much as I love for him to. He also knows how embarrassing it is for me to ask. Suddenly serious, he asked 'Is a good one okay?'

I felt the lump in my throat I always get when I’m going to be spanked. I’ll admit I love it, but it still scares me a little, especially when I’ve been promised 'a good one.' I tried hard to swallow, and breathed out a little 'I guess so.'

'Great,' Matt replied, and laughed out loud. 'See, don’t you feel better already?' He was looking at me like he wanted to eat me up. I was still dressed in my office clothes, a sheer white blouse, camisole, and bra. Matt is infatuated with my breasts and any hint of sex has him staring and drooling. I love the way caressing my breasts and undressing me leaves him panting. For my part, though, I was thinking more of my tight black slacks and white nylon panties that would soon be disappearing under his hand. For some reason these slacks had had me thinking spanking all day. The simplest things, the most common words, had been giving me that cold grip in the rear and the warm spot in the front.

Matt started spanking me almost as soon as we met, eight months ago. We had been living together for about six weeks when one evening I told him about some mischief going on at the office. He was horrified that I had participated in it. He thought I should go to the woman we had victimized and apologize.

'Are you crazy?' I’d said. 'I’d rather be spanked.' I held my breath to see how he’d react to my long-standing secret fantasy.

'You might think so,' he retorted, 'but I must consider this a lot more serious than you do.'

I was in heaven, of course. Here I was, minutes away from acting out what I’d dreamed of doing for years. I just didn’t know how to keep it going. 'How about if I promise to stop and never do it again?' As soon as the words were out of my mouth I regretted them. What if he let me off the hook? Matt’s the nicest, gentlest guy, and I had given up all hope of ever turning my dreams to reality when I started seeing him.

Imagine my relief when he asked, 'What about the spanking?'

I didn’t want to seem too eager , so I told him I thought a little one would be okay, just as a reminder. I’m sure he knew we’d end up in bed afterward, so he was all for it. Just to make sure, he led me into the bedroom and sat on the very edge of the bed. As I dutifully followed him he lectured me on what a terrible thing office pranks can be and, even though he knew it would be difficult, how I must break myself of the habit. His scolding was turning me on more than you can imagine, thinking of the spanking it meant I deserved. Every word seemed directed straight at my rear and, by proximity, my front.

The next crisis came when we got to the bedroom. I had on a dress and full slip, and both sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose and cotton panties. Matt might, in his chivalry, try to spank me through all of these! None of them were very thick, but I was sure the effect would be greatly diminished, and when my eye fell on a hanger I had the solution.

'What should I do?' I asked naively.

'Lay across my lap. I’m going to spank you,' was Matt’s reply. His commanding tone was turning me on so much I wondered if he had somehow found out about my fantasy.

'My dress will get wrinkled,' I whined. 'Do you think I should take it off?'

'That’s a choice you’ll have to make.' I was right! He would have tried to spank me through all those layers. With a quick movement, I swept my dress and slip over my head. I knew Matt was ogling my breasts and getting turned on. 'What about these?' I asked, indicating my hose and panties.

'They’ll be coming off soon enough, I should hope,' was Matt’s reply. 'Would you remember any better without them?

'Can’t hurt,' I said, somewhat ridiculously. From that day forward, I’ve never heard that expression without wishing I was about to go over Matt’s knee. Facing him, I slid down my undergarments, giving him a little peek down my bra, which by now was all I was wearing. Trying to act modest, I scurried over his knees without straightening and offered him my bare bottom. As he lectured me some more, I was afraid he’d notice how turned on I was. He’d certainly noticed my nipples, and I was sure my wetness was at least as obvious. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he started to slap my upturned rear - but certainly not hard enough to hurt! He counted out a dozen light slaps onto each cheek and let me up. I was so disappointed I could have cried.

'So what do you think? Will that remind you to think of other people’s feelings?' he asked.

'What I think is that you’re treating me like a child.' I pretended to be angry, and I could see that he was about to start apologizing! 'Either I need a spanking or I don’t, but that wouldn’t have convinced a two-year-old.'

By this time Matt was totally confused, and I was about to break down and confess my fantasies to him. Here I was, standing in front of him wearing nothing but my bra, with a pussy that was red hot and a backside that was not! If I could just tell him what I wanted, I knew that I’d get it, and I really wanted to get it!

Finally, though, he asked me, 'Maybe you’re a slow learner. Let’s try again. Immediately I was delirious with happiness. I crawled back onto his lap making no attempt to hide the smile on my face. I gave out a little moan as Matt rubbed my cheeks.

'Apparently that little spanking didn’t make an impression on you. I’d hate to have to be having you back here tomorrow night (I’d have to think of another excuse was my only thought!)' And with that, he landed a real spank. I jumped a little but the next one was just as hard. He repeated the two dozen swats I’d just had, with the same rhythm, but there all similarity ended. I was all over his lap, trying uselessly to dodge the smacks. By the time he was finished, I was actually a little relieved - but incredibly turned on. Seeing me like this, I think he started to understand. As soon as he let me up, he pushed me back onto the edge of the bed and barely lowered his pants before diving for my soaking pussy. I exploded in orgasm, kicking and screaming, and he was right behind.

Later that night, we talked about what had happened and I told him how I dreamed of getting spanked any time I made a mistake. When he asked what I meant, I listed off everything from a fit of temper to a car accident, missing a deadline or forgetting a birthday. I admitted that, yes, I liked them hard - at least as hard as tonight’s and as frequently as I deserved them. I leaned over him and fed him my breasts and told him how I wished I could do something for him that turned him on as much as spanking turned me on, but he said that with as turned on as I got, he didn’t need anything else.

Since that night I get spankings all of the time for the littlest things. It does wonders to calm my nerves, and it keeps me from blaming myself for everything. Even so, there are some times when I feel like I can’t go another minute without one, and I have to ask for it. Matt’s always more than willing and likes to use these occasions to give my bottom a real workout. He knows the mixture of terror and passion I feel when I’m waiting for spankings like these.

As we finished dinner, Matt couldn’t take his eyes off of me. I could only interpret this as a sign of how fierce a spanking I was in for. We tried to talk about our day, but I couldn’t concentrate. I know Matt was imagining my breasts in his mouth and my bottom under his hand. I was wondering if I’d be able to sit comfortably tomorrow and how turned on I’d be when I couldn’t. Thoughts like these are nice when you’re finishing a meal, but at some point, you’re done. I tried to drag it out, but Matt, acting indifferent, made me get up first. He made me come over to where he was sitting and wrapped an arm across the front of my waist. My breast, with its hard little nipple, was practically in his mouth. He rubbed and squeezed the tight, smooth fabric of my slacks, which was just as tight in the front. Already I was wild and I knew we had a long way to go. A tiny, nervous part of me wanted to ask him to go easy, scared of how hard he was going to spank me. But the rest ached for everything I knew I was going to get, and Matt knew it.

Finally, Matt got up and picked up his chair. I hadn’t really expected it this soon - sometimes he makes me wait almost until bedtime. He carried his chair into the living room and set it right in the middle of the room. With one hand on the back of the chair, he turned to me and said, 'I’m going to need the hairbrush for the kind of spanking I’d like to give you.' He said it as simply as a doctor or a mechanic requesting a tool, which turns me on as much as anything. As if it’s nothing to him that he’s sending me to fetch the very instrument he’ll use to blister my backside.

With another nervous swallow, I managed to run into the bedroom and get the hairbrush. We’ve had several, and each one seems to spank a little harder than the last. Matt insists that I use the same one on my hair as to be spanked with, so that I’m reminded every day how much he enjoys spanking me. Believe me, it works. I’ve asked for more spankings while or after brushing my hair than I can count. Still, he delivers a ferocious spanking with it, with no regards whatsoever for my squirms and squeals.

I hurried back with the hairbrush because he hates for me to dally, which I have a tendency to do. By the time I get back, Matt’s sitting bolt upright in the chair, facing the couch, because sometimes I like to fantasize that I have an audience. He takes the hairbrush from me as emotionally as he requested it and tucks it behind him. I sit on his lap and wrap my arms around his neck. He tells me how glad he is to have this chance to paddle me, really paddle me. He cups a breast in his hand and rubs my right nipple with his thumb.

'Have you had a hectic day?' he asks. I tell him about all the little things that have me stressed out, while he just sits, rubbing my nipples and kissing my neck. All my problems seem so small, which really they are. As I get toward the end of the list, though, that knot in my stomach returns, along with that icy-grip feeling on my rear. When I start repeating myself, he says, 'Would you turn over now? I’m really looking forward to spanking you.' I do as he says and lie across his lap, still fully clothed. Matt rubs my bottom again and tells me that, in a minute, the spanking he’s going to give me will make me forget about anything else. This kind of talk, especially the matter-of-fact way he always says it, has me beside myself with both excitement and fear.

'You’ll need to take these off, please,' he says, and lets me up for a moment. I quickly shed my pants and return to my former position, this time protected only by my panties. Matt reaches between my legs where I’m as wet as can be. He rubs me firmly from my vagina to my clit, and we both know I can’t take much more.

'Would you like an orgasm?' he asks, meaning, and skip the spanking? Once in a great while I say yes, and we make a run for the bedroom. But he doesn’t make me say 'no.' All I have to do is grit my teeth and keep quiet, and in a moment I’ll be getting spanked.

My bottom is cool one last time as Matt slides down my panties, after being hot all day from clothes and thoughts. He reaches across my back and holds me tightly in place with his arm. Finally! I’m almost relieved to be getting it over with. Soon I’ll be in bed having one orgasm after another, followed by days of getting turned on every time I sit down. Matt slaps me hard, almost as a warning of what’s to come. He gives me a second to think about his first two spanks, and then begins his steady spanking. I’m so embarrassed to be squirming already, while he’s only warming up. I imagine the reddening of my bottom as he spanks it, hard, low, and wide. I know perfectly well what he’s doing and would prefer he go on forever rather than stop, but just as I think this, he does. I feel him reach back for the hairbrush and now I’m really squirming, begging him to go easy, both secure and petrified in the knowledge that he won’t let up one bit. He’s saved the whole middle of my bottom for the hairbrush, knowing how this terrorizes me. After what seems like an eternity, he says, 'Now, let’s see what I can do for you.' With that, he smacks me hard with the hairbrush, low on my cheek, near the divide. An instant later a matching smack burns my other cheek. I’m so embarrassed to be spanked there, and combined with the pleading, fright, and pain, I burst into tears. And he’s just started! Smack after smack come down and I know from long experience that I can’t get away. I kick my feet and pound my fists on the floor, but Matt keeps his hold on me. He’s reddened every spot I could possibly sit on, and most of them several times. He spanks me directly over my asshole and I’m so embarrassed that I could die. The whole time he lectures me, about not being hesitant to say when I need a spanking, and how convenient it is that I love to be spanked like this and he loves to spank me like this. He keeps asking me to try and hold still, which of course is impossible. Finally, when he says seriously that if I don’t hold still till he’s finished, he’ll have to make the spanking longer, I think I’m going to come in his lap. I try to hold still, knowing it’s hopeless, which is what he says.

'You’re hopeless. I would have been done by now. Now you’re going to have to learn your lesson.' Like I haven’t learned everything I’m going to by now! Somewhere he finds a hidden reserve of power, bearing down for these last swats. He’s loosed his grip so that I can flail all the more, trying to crush my clit between my legs or grind it against the first hard surface. The least vestige of decorum has long since gone out the window and I’m screaming for relief, front and back.

Then, suddenly, he stops. He continues to hold me across his lap until I’ve settled down enough to take into the bedroom. He stands me up and gently slips my panties to the floor. He’s still fully dressed, including his tie and office wingtips, while I’m half-naked, barefoot, and too horny to move. If I hadn’t had the spanking, I’d be crying from horniness. We run to the bedroom, me first so that he can admire his handiwork, and he sheds his clothes as quick as he can. I kneel down and take his hard-on in my mouth, but it’s a quick kiss before he lifts me to the bed. With me lying on the edge, protective of my blistered bottom, he is the one that kneels. The touch of his mouth and hands at once is too much for me, and I finally get my orgasm. He leans back, pressing the heat of my buttocks against his thighs as he enters me. I love how he slams into me, driving so deep inside of me. It seems like my orgasm never stops, like it started back there at the dinner table. When he shoots into me we just lay there, quivering. Now it’s his turn to lie back and I straddle his chest. Each time my cheek brushes him I think I’m going to come again. Slowly, I unbutton my blouse, from the bottom up. Already his eyes are wide, he’s licking his lips, and his breath is coming in shallow pants. I slip off my camisole and bend over him as I reach behind myself to unfasten my bra, while he opens his mouth in expectation. I hold him behind the head and he suckles my breast, and as I think about the spanking I just had and all the things he said, I start on another orgasm. Sliding back, I feel him hard as a rock again. I rub him against my clit to come, my nipple still in his mouth. I collapse on top of him in orgasm, and he slides back into me. He rolls us over and pins me to the bed, oblivious to my aching rear, pounding into me over and over.

Later, he strokes me gently and rubs my bottom with cream. For days I’ll be thinking about nothing but the lovemaking I’ll get when I get home. As he always does, he asks, 'You really loved that spanking, didn’t you?' And I answer him truthfully, 'You were perfect. It was perfect.' He knows my fears and embarrassments, and how I love to have him exploit them. He knows how I hate to ask, hate to admit beforehand that I love it. He knows how I love to have him lecture me, deaf to my pleas and scornful of my excuses and rationalizations, when at all other times he is so tolerant, gentle, and understanding. He’s known all these things since that fateful night eight months ago when we laid in bed and he said 'I guess you’ll need a spanking before work tomorrow to remind you to behave.'

My Unbalanced Mind by Diane - October, 1995

Copyright Matt Anglen et. al. 1990-2006. Please do not repost without permission.

by Diane - October, 1995

My husband and I went to a play the other night. It was one of these small community things, nothing too fancy, though we were pretty dressed up. I was wearing a royal blue strapless, heels, and all my best jewelry, while he was looking dashing in his charcoal chalkstripe. We were all set for a pleasant, entertaining, typical evening. Right up until we got to the little box office. Not surprisingly, they weren't set up for credit cards. Matt glanced at my purse and asked for my checkbook.

What could I do? I try hard never to lie to Matt, so I didn't want to claim that I'd left it home. And if I did, we'd have to go back for his, or find an ATM machine and miss the opening curtain. So I wordlessly opened my elegant little opera purse, withdrew my checkbook and handed it over to him. The theater fell away into a misty, unfocused distance as I had trouble breathing, swallowing, and seeing. All I could see was Matt writing out the check, showing his I.D.. Then he stepped away from the window to record the check in the register, all of it happening in slow motion. I heard voices around me but they didn't reach my ears. Matt flipped open the register and, with a glance, flipped it shut again. No, I hadn't been squandering our hard-earned money. But I also hadn't been writing down the checks I wrote. Not, as a matter of fact, for several months. Oh, at first I'd worried about it. But once I'd gone a couple of weeks without writing them down, I stopped even thinking about it. Matt, holding our tickets, gave me an inquiring look as he passed the checkbook back to me.

I felt as if an icy hand was stroking my clenched buttocks, a strong arm was squeezing me around my waist cutting off my breath, and a trio of hard little fingertips stroked insistently at my pussy.

"Maybe I should go to the restroom," I squeaked.

"Maybe you should." was his only reply.

As you've guessed, Matt and I enjoy our little spanking games. Matt's always peeling the layers of protection off my bottom and giving it a dozen spanks or so. I appreciate his admiration and it's a quick, pleasant turn-on. On weekend mornings when I'm slow to get out of bed, I love the feeling of being dragged over his lap. Of him sitting on the side of the bed so that he can give me a longer, harder dose of the treatment I get all over the house. I love the orgasms he brings me to afterward and the furious, driving lovemaking that follows, as he stands next to the bed, pounding me where I lay with my ankles over his shoulders. And perhaps the strangest part is that I love being in trouble. I love misbehaving, knowing he's just waiting to put me over his knee and really work some color into my cheeks. I love the anticipation of having irrevocably earned myself some serious, old-fashioned discipline.

But at the far extreme of this is terror. This isn't flirting, teasing, being a brat, hard slaps and hairbrushes. This is doing something he really doesn't like, something I've been told I'm really not supposed to do. This is the chair in the middle of the bedroom, dress on a hanger, hand him the paddle and put my hands behind my back, please. This is real fear and incredible passion, unholy horniness and straining for the self-control not to touch myself, the knowing that when the spanking I love is over, a painful lesson will begin.

For several months I hadn't kept track of a dime. Now, as Matt likes to say, my tail is toast.

I returned from the Ladies Room and took my seat. I peeked open my purse to show Matt that my panties were inside, though he didn't seem too concerned. Why should he be? It was no problem for him to spank me and an agonizing spanking didn't take much more out of him that a playful one. It would take longer, sure, and require a little more effort but Matt had never complained about that. Especially with our paddle. He had found that he could give me a good, squirmy, hurts-to-sit spanking by holding the paddle behind me and flicking his wrist back and forth. Fast? A dozen swats take a matter of seconds and he can take me from blushing to blazing all the way to blistered in under a minute. The paddle and I did most of the work, what with it delivering a stinging slap and me jumping and bucking.

But when I had to be taught a lesson, he simply locked his wrist and swung his arm. This way, each and every searing swat would flatten my fanny right up to my love box, leaving a blazing red patch the size of a playing card. Needless to say, it was noisy, too, what with the thunderclap that accompanied each lightning strike and me screeching and bawling like a mountain lioness in heat. Matt liked to call it his crying-in-one spanking, meaning I'd cry from the first spank but really, there'd be tears in my eyes just knowing I'd earned one. Like now.

Why, might you ask, would my otherwise loving and tender husband take his pretty little wife to task until she'd moan out loud every time she had to park her pepper-box of a posterior? What could be so bad that I'd have to be held down and thrashed like a convict? The next two hours would provide the answer for that. For the duration of this show, I would sit pantiless in a crowded theater, feeling not only naked but on display, as if I were being stroked and licked, invaded and explored. When I'm in this much trouble, I can't even think. It feels for all the world like I'm being made love to right where I sit, with my lover's precious cock pistoning in and out to the rhythm of my breathing. My breasts are chilled as if they were bare, the nipples being moistened by Stephen's tongue. Instead of hot, as it will be, my seat is icy as I continue to clench my buttocks in anticipatory defense. An icy finger traces the divide and probes me from behind. My thighs are sore from being flexed in my attempts to squeeze out a little relief. Which of these patrons would be shocked and which ones thrilled, if I was as naked as I feel? They would have thought that it's too much, that Matt had gone too far. Who would deserve to be stripped in front of this crowd, paddled to the limit of human endurance and then paddled some more?

Matt's playing along, a little. He squeezes my hand and I can feel his own tension. He's not as immune to my excitement as he likes to pretend. He lays his hand on my thigh and squeezes it firmly but not hard. He levers it down slightly, parting my legs just a fraction. But mostly he watches the show.

At intermission we get a drink and step outside. The cold air catches up under my gown, freezing me from my stocking tops to the base of my strapless bra. Rather than relief, it merely reminds me of my nudity, as if I'm now standing naked in the street. Matt speaks to other people, friends who must wonder at my distracted silence. Of course they don't realize the sentence I'm under, how could they? Then suddenly Matt's telling them about some mix up at the bank, how they can't keep the accounts straight, how this kind of behavior shouldn't be tolerated. Something, something drastic, ought to be done. It's the first he's mentioned it and he only does it to make me wild, which it does. I imagine my dress falling away, standing there naked and contrite in front of these people, as Matt explains exactly how he handles this, turning me to show where he'll apply the paddle, bending me over for a better view, explaining how much of it I love, how much more he'll use after that. None of this happens of course, except in my mind, but once again I'm having trouble swallowing.

We go in from the intermission and once again take our seats. I'm feeling a little more normal, the outdoor cold, the march of time and the fact that our friends weren't really told is having a calming effect. But just as the lights are going down and the overture starts up, Matt presses his lips to my ear.

"This part of the show runs forty minutes," he informs me, "then I'm taking you straight home to spank. You know that, don't you?"

I nod wordlessly.

"Good. I'm not going to lecture, not now, not later. But I'm very disappointed. Very. I'm going to be thorough and then I'm going to be merciless. I'm going to have you sorer than you've ever been before and I mean it."

There're tears in my eyes and the rhythmic feeling between my legs has started again. But his lips haven't left my ear. Here it comes, I torment myself. Here it comes.

"I'm going to add one full spanking to the worst you've ever had. Understand?"

I nod and he sits back to enjoy the show! I never fooled myself that he'd let me off easy, that, with my love for his brutal spankings, that he'd pass up this chance to give me his worst, or best, as the case may be. But one full spanking! Could I take it?

I guessed it didn't matter, since I wouldn't have the choice. I'd be over his knee, hands held behind me. By this time he'd have my legs locked down so he could put some deep-seated soreness in my buns. He'd have given me a long, long warm-up, normally a good night's work. Only then would he start on the hardest swats he could manage. A couple of dozen while I was still kicking, twelve on each side, that's what those would be. Of course, the warm-up would have covered everything, so he could afford to concentrate on turning two little points into beacons of fire. Then my legs. He'd pin them down to press my hips tight against his leg, so not an ounce of swat would be wasted. My cheeks would be flaming, so now he'd zero in on the center, barely off of the legs. A dozen there to give me a break and then back to finish up on the cheeks. A dozen apiece. That was the current record, something I'd only earned twice. But now another full spanking! Two dozen swats, or three? Another dozen in the middle and a dozen a side, that's what I was in for. How long would it be till I sat again?

By the time I'd thought of all this, there were only thirty-eight minutes to go. I must be staining this dress, I thought. Oh please, don't let Matt see it! What could he do? I'll tell him about it some other time. Maybe next week, or something. How can I be so hot? How am I supposed to sit still? What if I'm misbehaving right now? I swear, if he says one word, if he touches me, I'll come. Right here in the theater!

How did the show turn out? Oh, you know. The villainess got her just desserts, the guy got the girl, the girl got the guy. I’m sure there was a lesson to be learned there somewhere, though it probably didn’t do much good in the long run. And the one in the spotlight couldn’t sit down for a long, long time, with the thunder of clapping ringing in her ears.