husband punishment

“Go to your Corner”

husband sent to corner, whipped husband, punished husband, dominant wifeA man in my position spends a surprising amount of time naked, pressing his nose into the deliciously scented cotton gusset of his pretty wife’s soiled panties.

Cornertime is a quick and effective punishment for the little lapses which need to be corrected but don’t call for a whipping.

I have collected a few of my reflections on being sent to my corner in an ebook called, to no one’s very great surprise, “Cornertime”. Starting tonight, March 18, it will be free to download at Amazon…here.

A Proper Whipping

I knew it was coming. Of course I did. I had been absent without permission and, perhaps worse, rude to the lady of the house.

I showered and shaved and slipped into a black cashmere sweater and a pair of linen trousers. Hannah likes me to be sweet when I am to be punished. She came home and the maid helped her with her coat and her groceries. A glass of white wine, a brief chat with me and then she went upstairs. Fifteen minutes later I could hear the maid’s buzzer. They spent some time together in the dressing room and then Tanyia came down the stairs. “Madame wants to see you, sir.”

She lead the way. I followed. Before we came to the bedroom she turned into another room. Hannah was sparing me the humiliation of the maid actually watching me be whipped. But the maid certainly knew I was to be beaten as she had lain the cane on the bed.

I stood before Hannah who was beautifully dressed and made up. I will not bore you with the details of her scolding. Suffice to say she made her points precisely. “Now, strip and take your position.”

I did and felt the belt tighten over my wrists and ankles. “Oh, she has put out the wrong cane.” I knelt, bottom up, as Hannah found the right cane. The heavier rattan, pre-soaked while I had my shower. I received another well measured piece of her mind and, when she was certain I knew precisely what I was to be punished for, Hannah began. A brief, full on, hand spanking warmed my bottom.

Now it was time to feel the bite of the cane. It took Hannah two strokes to find her range and weight. There was a swish as she brought the cane home, with authority, for the third time. This was a hard caning. Each stroke a bit harder than the last, the swish a little higher pitched and longer, until the last four or five which were much harder. Had Hannah continued, and she could well have, I would have been in tears in a matter of another half dozen. As it was my eyes were watering and my relief indescribable when, at last, fourteen or fifteen strokes in, Hannah was satisfied I’d learnt my lesson.

“There, we’re done.” she said as she unbound my wrists.

“Thank you darling” I managed. Hannah left for cocktails. I lay panting slightly. Eventually I got off the bed. In the mirror I could see the stripes, one of which had, at the tip, raised a welt. As I type I know that the rest of my bottom is bruised. I will remember the lesson.

A lesson given with such love and firmness. I am a very lucky man indeed.

Wanted – Heavier Cane

There is a wonderful matter of factness to Hannah’s discipline. A few days ago I was trussed up for a punishment whipping. I had not done anything terribly wrong but I had displeased the lady of the house in a number of small ways and I was going to be well caned.

As is her way, Hannah took a few practice strokes before beginning in earnest. Satisfied with position and aim my whipping commenced and in no time my bottom flamed and I was vocalizing. Hannah switched to her back hand. A few strokes in she paused. “I need a heavier cane. This is too light and it’s developed a curve.” She finished, with her imperfect cane delivering eighteen more strokes. She released me and told me to stand up before I had even recovered. She had noticed that, perhaps because of the lightness of her cane I had developed an erection despite my well striped bottom.

“Stand with your feet together, at attention.” I did and she went to fetch my iron saki cup. “Masturbate and don’t spill a drop.” I stood, naked, masturbating as Hannah pinched my nipples with her long fingernails. In no time I began to ejaculate into my little cup.

“Finish” said Hannah. I raised the cup to my lips and drank my mess careful to lick the cup clean.

“Excellent…now there is a good deal of ironing for you to do before you get to work in the garden.”

Hannah was done. I was undone and in love.

Waiting for correction

I was late home last night. Late enough that I know that I’m to be punished.

Hannah takes her time. I know she is waiting for the right moment so she can turn her full attention to my correction. But that means I have to wait. And the wait is agonizing. For a man in my position to be whipped is in the natural order of things. I take my regular whippings as the physical manifestation of the truth of Hannah’s leadership and her feminine authority.

But punishment whippings are quite different. I am obliged to ask for them as needed. I have set out the bath brush – which I hate – and Hannah’s cane. Punishment is meant to hurt and to remind a man in my position of his submission. Hannah takes them very seriously. And so I wait.