confession

Punished
whipped, submissive husband, dominant wife

Stripes

“Put on your punishment panties and go and make coffee and unload the dishwasher. When you are done I want you to come back upstairs and ask for your punishment.” said Hannah stretching in bed. The good news was that she was well rested and smiling. I was pretty certain she was no longer angry with me. Now it was just going to be a matter of what she thought I deserved.

husband spanked, husband whipped

Ready

I hastened to obey. My punishment panties are, in fact a panti girdle with the back very much abbreviated. My “bottom lifter” fits very snug at the best of times and with my caged cock it took a little while to pull on. It does, however, protect my lower back and upper thighs a little which is a mercy. But that protection lets the Lady of the House use whatever force she thinks necessary. I finally got it on and scooted downstairs. Coffee, for some reason, did not take nearly as long to brew this morning.

I took Hannah’s coffee to her in a pretty little cup on a silver tray.

“Excellent.” said Hannah lifting the hot coffee to her pretty lips, “Now, I think you have something to say.”

Without being told I knelt at the side of her bed. “Darling, I was inexcusably rude to you yesterday evening. I humbly apologize. I promise it will not happen again.” I drew in my breath, “And to make sure I remember never to be rude to my darling wife I humbly ask that you whip me a long and as hard as you think is required.”

Hannah took another sip of her coffee and looked straight at me. “I accept your apology. But you are absolutely right. You need a proper whipping. And I have thought about that: The cane is all very well and you will certainly be taking your strokes; but I am afraid dear that I want you to go and get the bath brush first. And take your belt and lay it down. I will have to tie you for today’s session.”

I hate the bath brush. Hannah recently purchased a new bath brush and I had not yet felt the effect of its 16 inches or its relatively small head. I was pretty certain it would hurt…a lot.

“So, darling,” said Hannah as I got into position at the end of the bed and she wrapped the belt around my wrists binding them to my ankles and buckling the belt in one, smooth, motion, “I have not been as strict as I had intended to be this year and here is the result. My lovely man trussed like a chicken and needing a serious whipping. Which you are about to get.”

spanked husband, husband whipped, dominant wife

pain spreader

With that, and no warm up I felt the bath brush crack down on my left cheek and then, almost instantly, my right and then back again. Five a side and then Hannah stopped. “Well, this is certainly noisy. I am just going to close the window. The neighbours don’t need to hear your punishment.”

I tried to catch my breath and just as I managed to Hannah started in again. Not quite so quickly, but with the same, agonizing force. “And this certainly makes your bottom a pretty red quite quickly.”  I was twisting in my position. There was no escape and Hannah did not seem to be stopping.

“I know you hate the brush but, other than the noise, it is a lovely instrument. The cane always scares me a bit. It is too easy to break your skin which I don’t like to do accidentally. But I could do this for hours.” I heard her but now I was deep in that place where you have no choice but to meet the pain. Each blow sent a freshet of sensation through my bottom and deep into my brain. I was vocalizing with every stroke. I learned long ago not to fight the sensation but to try to embrace it. To understand that Hannah was punishing me because I deserved it and she loved me all the more for my submission.

The brush went on and on. “And fifty…” said Hannah putting down the brush where I would be able to see it as I was caned.

“Now, would you like to wait for the cane or do you want me to carry on?”

A nasty question. If I waited the pain would die back and I would have to walk back to the place where I could embrace my whipping. If Hannah carried on the pain would be just as intense but there would not be the recovery and relapse. “Please Miss, until you are satisfied.”

“Good choice, I was going to give you more if you took a break.”

I heard the cane swish through the air and expertly slash both cheeks. Where the brush had only hit one at a time, Hannah’s cane technique has improved to the point where each stroke lands with equal force on either side. Before I really “felt” the first stroke she had landed five more and had switched sides. Her backhand strokes are a little less intense. Which at this point was a huge relief. Another half dozen and she returned to her forehand.

“Almost done darling. Just another dozen or so and then the crosses.” To say I was in agony is just the beginning of a description. I could feel my bottom throbbing and the bruising already was beginning. Hannah didn’t have to stroke hard at all to provoke my vocalizations. I was twisting in my belt but Hannah had pushed my knees far apart and I could not have flipped over for all the trying in the world. I was very close to tears.

“Crosses darling.” The worst. Hannah slashed three lines at forty five degrees to my cane lines. Where the cane met a welt I could feel a little blood blossom form. Three strokes forehand, then she switched to her back hand to reverse the angle.

“Done. You are very brave darling. But you needed every stroke of that. I am going to release you in a moment and I want you to go to your corner for a few minutes while you recover. No rubbing. Your skin is broken in a few places and I don’t want you to do any more damage. Now, what do you say?”

“Thank you for my whipping Miss…I love you.”

“Good boy…now go to your corner.” said Hannah handing me her very damp panties.

Two Ladies – Anticipation

obedient husband

“I think it might be nice if you found another lady who might visit and watch.” said Hannah a couple of weeks ago. “Nothing complicated, just cocktails and, if we can manage it a bit of corner time and a whipping.”

So off to Craigslist I went…where else? Here’s the ad,

An Elegant, Disciplined, Evening

Fall, a glorious, sunny, fall is here at last. Summer dresses are lovely, but now it’s time to put a bit more structure into life.

I am a casually dominant wife with a wonderfully submissive husband. We enjoy good wine, great conversation, retro clothing and the company of discerning women. I am very discrete and he does what he is told – always.

Once in a while I like to put him through his paces in the company of an intriguing woman. I think it is good for him to show that he knows his place in public – or at least with another woman present. A lovely opportunity to wear a pretty dress and be pampered.

This is not really about sex. He is kept chaste unless I particularly have a use for that part of him. Teased hard and denied often. It keeps him on his toes.

Instead it is about two women spending an elegant hour or two getting to know one another while they are served by my husband. If there is a reason (and there almost always is), and the circumstances are right, I might dispatch him to his corner and you might watch me whip him. Very much depends on mood.

If this sounds interesting send me a note and we’ll take it from there.

We received three or four replies but, I fear, a large “flake factor” was at work.

But, delightfully, one young lady understood completely. Ladies visiting, served by an obedient man. We’ll see what happens.

Update: Indisposed…sigh. But we have rescheduled for Friday. The Lady of the House was not in the least put off. “We shall make our own fun…get me your clips.” I did and teased up my nipples so she could get the teeth set right. Over an hour in the clips which had begun to really dig after twenty minutes.

Hannah had me wear panties and a very tight girdle and, after dinner, “My girdle was, in fact, killing me.” Hannah graciously allowed me to change but, as I was standing pantyless, came into the room. “Get in postion.”

She bound wrists to ankles and caned, fairly lightly, for a couple of dozen strokes. “So much for maintenance, stand up.” she said undoing the belt. “Hands on your knees. Now, you contradicted me last night. You were rude, loud and saucy. So now you get eight real strikes.”

Ouch.

Christmas Day Whipping

We had a lovely Christmas and hope that you all had the best of Seasons.

It was marred only once, last night, when I was sharp with Hannah. She said nothing. And, I thought, the incident had been dismissed. We had a wonderful Christmas and, at cocktails, as the turkey cooked, a great deal of fun together. Hannah went to put in the leeks and said the turkey needed to rest for fifteen minutes.

“So now I can attend to your rudeness last night.” said Hannah. “You are going to get such a spanking.”

She had a few more things to attend to in the kitchen and I removed myself to the terrace. I realized that, while I was quite sure I had been right, that didn’t matter. Hannah disagreed. And her silence, which I had taken as an admission she had been wrong had meant nothing of the sort. What it meant was that I had made her very angry.

In a few minutes I found myself following Hannah upstairs. As I knelt on the hardwood floor in front of her Hannah proceeded to explain, chapter and verse, exactly how I had been rude. She certainly took her time and by the time she said “Now get into position.” I was almost looking forward to my whipping simply to relieve the pain in my knees. She buckled my wrists to my ankles very tightly indeed.

I could tell from the force of her first warm up hand spank that this was pure punishment. Just a short warm up and she set in with measured strokes of the heavier rattan cane. As I kneel, trussed up, I have no control over my punishment. Hannah and I do not have a “safe word” because we are not playing. She found her rhythm and her force after two or three strokes and I had a full dozen good, hard slashes. Two or three were hard enough to lift welts. I was sweating and my eyes were watering. I was, perhaps, half a dozen strokes from crying.

Then she was done. She unbuckled me in silence.

“Thank you Hannah.” I said as I lay catching my breath.

Her love and discipline are the greatest gifts I get every year and how perfect to be reminded so firmly on Christmas Day.

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.

Whipping Redux

One of my favorite things about the lady of the house is that when she has made her mind up, while she will take a little while to reflect, she makes sure that her decisions are put into effect as quickly as possible. She called me up to her sewing room shortly after the conversation I described below and my confession that I had not felt this morning’s whipping really met the need. Hannah took me along to the bedroom.

I knew what to do and, having unlooped my belt, stripped to nothing more than my t-shirt. I knelt on my belt, wrists at my ankles. Hannah fetched her cane and, as she cinched the belt tight and put me in position said, “You are quite right. You were not properly punished this morning. You were deliberately deceitful.” Now her hand was swatting my bottom. “What you should have done,” her hand stopped and I braced myself for the cane, “is to have been honest, (crack), and brought home the right receipt (crack, crack). You could have confessed then and there and I would have dealt with you.” The cane fell on the words, “confessed”, “then”, “there”, “would” and “dealt”. But now Hannah stopped talking and really got to work. Have a dozen more strokes were delivered quite quickly.

Hannah paused. I heard her step back, presumably to judge progress. But my whipping was not over. With just a little more force Hannah delivered another dozen strokes. Four or five strokes in I began to struggle a little against the belt, and by the last two or three I was vocalizing at each stroke. I honestly to not know how many strokes I received, I suspect Hannah has no idea either. I was in a beautiful submissive high as I felt the belt loosen around my wrists.

“Now,” said Hannah, “Take off your shirt and get into position. I rushed to comply and, in a few moments received my lady’s gift as I made my most intimate submission.

I was in my place, a man in my position.