Punished

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.

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.”

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.

Whipped and Used

Hannah was more than a little cross with me for being needlessly jealous and, worse, daring to criticize her behaviour. I knew I would be whipped and I was.

But, after my poor bottom was well welted – 18 strokes is a serious punishment – the Lady of the House was kind enough to sit right down on my face and let me lick her perfect pussy until she came. I was wonderfully covered in her sweet nectar.

She writes about it in detail at her blog A Dominant Wife

Lady’s Choice

As we come into the New Year a moment or two’s reflection on the question of physical correction. While corner time and intimate submission, hands of prostate milking, forced panty wearing and, now, the humiliating participation of the maid are all parts of my discipline, the fact is correction is almost always by way of a whipping.

So, which of the following do you think will be most effective in 2012?

Research

“I could have used the brush harder,” said Hannah, “but I was not sure you would make it through fifty really hard strokes.” Hannah said that after my last punishment whipping.

Hannah is not a girl to leave questions hanging.

I was not surprised, though a little apprehensive this morning when Hannah told me I’d be getting a maintenance spanking. “Fetch the bath brush.” is not something one wants to hear first thing in the morning. “Now, for a change I’d like you across my lap to start,” Hannah said pulling down my briefs. I took this seldom used position and felt Hannah’s hand as she warmed me up. Mrs. Spenser is entirely correct when she points out that a woman really can’t do much with her hand; but a good long warm up spanking sets the mood and puts me into my proper place.

“Now, let’s see what this brush can really do.” said Hannah bringing the bath brush to bear. The problem with the across the lap position is that it is awkward and difficult for Hannah to take a full swing. But even the abbreviated strokes sent frissons of pain. I didn’t count but I suspect Hannah delivered at least a dozen smacks before saying, “This just does not work. Get onto the bed and put a pillow under your hips.” I hastened to comply and, in a matter of seconds, Hannah brought the brush down with real force. “That’s better,” Hannah said as she brought down the next smack with what felt like even more force.

“You see, darling, I am pretty certain you could take fifty of these…or more. And you really wouldn’t have any choice. But it would really hurt so, if I were you, I would remember what this dozen feels like and never put myself in a position where you deserved more.” Hannah kept her rhythm as she spoke. “Your skin turns milk white before it goes pink. If I did this for a while I expect you really would not be able to sit down for a day or two. Especially on that nice hard wood chair I have for you in your office.”

I suspect it was a dozen stokes, I was certainly not counting. Rather I was trying to embrace the sensation and the love with which Hannah swung her bath brush.

“There you go dear,” said Hannah, finished at last, “You catch your breath and then we can have a nice cup of coffee on the terrace.”

Which we did and I sat, rather delicately on the edge of my seat.

Clips, Bath Brush, Cane and Intimate Submission – Well Punished

There was little doubt I was to be punished. I had been sharp with Hannah and, worse, had promised to be home and had been an hour late. The problem was, as ever, that I have to ask for my punishment and I have to suggest what I think might be appropriate. Hannah can ignore my suggestion; but I am required to make it.

I was put to bed in a pantigirdle. Tight, but quite bearable. But there was no question of an erection. In fact, the pretty black girdle pretty much eliminated my sexuality for the evening. Which is, of course, never really in issue as only Hannah’s sexual needs matter in our marriage. Mine have been entirely subordinated to hers and while I am, occasionally, allowed to masturbate or have the black prostate probe slipped into me for a hands off milking, I am really only allowed to come a couple of days a month when Hannah is on heat and has taken her pleasure on my tongue or hand (or hers) and I am allowed into her for her greater pleasure.

Which was all very well but I had to consider what I should ask for by way of my punishment. I fell asleep.

On awaking I realized I would need a severe correction and that I realized with a bit of a shudder, meant the bath brush as well as the cane. I waited for Hannah to wake up and, having offered her water, asked her when she would be ready to discuss my punishment. “Now darling, and you really were both rude and inconsiderate.” I apologized and suggested that fifty strokes of the bathbrush and an equal number of the cane seemed about right. “I’ll think about it.” said Hannah get out of bed. “You stay right where you are.”

I lay there listening to the sounds of Hannah’s morning routine. A few minutes thinking about whether my punishment suggestion had met her expectations. I heard her bare feet pad down our hall.

“You were very inconsiderate. And this is not the first time. While I think fifty stokes of both the brush and the cane are right, I will give you the brush over your girdle. However, before I do I want you to spend some corner time thinking about why you are going to be punished. Now get my last night panties and the bath brush and come with me.” Hannah marched me over to her make up table. “Take off your t-shirt.” I did and Hannah took my left nipple between her nails. It stood proud as she clamped the teeth of her antique lingerie clip, then the right nipple received the same none too gentle treatment. “Open your mouth.” I complied and Hannah carefully pushed her panties into my mouth taking care to leave the cotton panel out so I might press it to the corner with my nose. “Now, get to your corner and hold that brush behind you back. Feet together and a foot away from the wall.” This last was important as it meant I had to lean into the wall. Easy for a minute or two, difficult for any length of time.

“I think you should think carefully about how you can do better in future.” Hannah caressed my girdled hips. “I will not do for a man in your position to be anything other than strictly obedient. You didn’t ask permission to go out and then arrived home an hour after you said you would. That is not acceptable. Now I have some things to do and I want you to consider just how badly it reflects on me to have a man in your position ignore his training and his promises.” With that she left.

Standing, nose pressed into the sweetly scented cotton of Hannah’s panties, holding the bath brush behind my back I concentrated on how much in love I was. And how lucky. And I thought of Hannah’s completely reasonable expectations and how poorly I had behaved. I had plenty of time to think. The nipple clips began to bite and my position reminded me of my submission. I don’t know how long I stood. Hannah was somewhere downstairs beginning the day and brewing a pot of tea. The moisture of my breath released more of Hannah’s heady scent. I began to lose track of time and was a bit startled when the lady of the house returned.

Hannah motioned to the corner of the bed where my belt lay ready to pinion my wrists to my ankles. “I hope you have thought about how inconsiderate you were. A quick phone call and I would have known when to expect you.” Hannah said, pulling the belt very tight and buckling it. “If it happens again I’ll have to be even more severe than I am going to be right now and, more importantly, you will not be allowed to go out.”

I felt her open palm slap the thin material of the pantigirdle. It was, I feared, scant protection. And I was right. The bath brush hit my right cheek. “One” I thought to myself. At about “Thirty” I lost my mental count. The girdle’s thin fabric took a little of the edge off the sting; but the steady and increasing force of Hannah’s strokes left me gasping in my panty gag. If I could have I would have vocalized. A lot. I don’t think Hannah lost count. I don’t know. All I do know was that I was driving into the pain. Pushing my bottom back to meet Hannah’s bath brush and reveling in my position.

Which may sound a bit odd. Yet the very point of being a man in my position is that you accept the lady of the house’s right to correct you to the extent she decides is fit. The flames of pain met the cooling reality of very deep love and unfettered devotion. I was hers and she was correcting my behaviour and disciplining me. Which is what I wanted almost as much as I wanted her.

At last she put down the brush. I had a moment or two to catch my breath. I thought she might roll down my girdle for my caning but she had other ideas. She took the thinner of the two dowels and began to work from the tops of my thighs. Again, I tried to count but lost track after a dozen strokes. I fear that Hannah is not comfortable with her backhand and so my poor right cheek bore the brunt of my caning. She did switch sides for a moment or two but switched back unable to adjust her strokes. At some point the dowel actually broke and Hannah carried on with the short end. It didn’t matter. The sting of the cane was barely muffled by the girdle. A completely different pain than the brush. More precise. Line after line and always the finish on the right cheek.

And then, then it was done.

I felt Hannah undoing my belt. As I recovered I lay on my side and remembered that my nipple clips were still in place. Hannah sat beside me and sipped her tea. The panties were out of my mouth now and I could thank Hannah. She fumbled a bit with the clips but, got them off. I lay in the soft afterglow of the hardest whipping I have ever had. “I could have used the brush harder,” said Hannah, “but I was not sure you would make it through fifty really hard strokes.” I think I would have but I was not about to volunteer right that instant. I rubbed my bottom.

“Time for your shower darling,” said Hannah, putting down her tea, “You can take your position and I will be in in a moment.”

A perfect punishment ended in the delightful humbling of intimate submission. The lady’s gift was a wonderful as ever.

Punished and Taken

I do not like the bath brush. I do not like it one little bit. And when I laid it out beside Hannah’s cane and my black leather belt I knew I would be seriously punished. And I was.

I had to wait. Which was painful in itself as the implements of my correction were at the end of the bed waiting as well. Eventually Hannah arrived. She didn’t scold or lecture. She just said, “You can take your position.” Which I did and I felt my belt lash my wrists to my ankles.

Hannah’s warm up hand spanking was hard. But not nearly so hard as the bath brushing which followed. The bath brush is all about impact over a wide area and Hannah timed her strokes so that there was little chance of recovery. By the time she switched sides I was vocalizing and very near tears. I was absolutely certain that that next beer had not been worth it. Eventually, perhaps as her arm tired, Hannah stopped. My bottom was throbbing but I knew that the cane would be next.

Hannah let me catch my breath.

Then eighteen strokes – I think – with her forehand and eighteen from her backhand. A brief pause in between. I was deep into my position. Focussed on my love for the woman who was so beautifully whipping me. Then, at last, it was over. I felt her undo my belt. I sagged and began to recover myself.

“Lie across the pillow.” I heard but did not quite believe, “I’m not quite done. I need six pretty welts.” I stretched out, naked, for her strokes. She tapped the cane judging the distance and then brought it down, six times, quickly, hard, precisely. Six lines, spaced 3/4 of an inch apart. Welting up as I lay there.

It was done. I was corrected and then some. I lay on my side panting. Charmingly, Hannah had put the cane away and was stroking my shriveled cock. Amazingly I became hard almost instantly. “Lie on your back darling.” said Hannah. She unzipped her trousers and, in an instant, slipped me into her. All moist and ready she pinched my nipples hard knowing I’d come in a matter of a few of her thrusts. And she was right. I did. Pain erased by the overwhelming sensation of her love and of being only hers.

She got on with her day. I lay in wonder at the sheer perfection of my position.

Today I ironed.

Even

I have been entirely chaste, not even milked, for nearly two weeks. This is typical of the low end of Hannah’s, and therefore my, cycle. For a few days she has no interest at all in sex or teasing or my discipline. And, for a man in my position, that is simply the way it is. There is only one sexuality which matters in our house: Hannah’s and I have agreed to abide by that fact. But it is terribly frustrating and deliciously impossible to change.

However, last night, Hannah began to stir. She hinted at a blow job but fell asleep long before that was a possibility. I fell asleep erect and longing. “I’ll give you a spanking in the morning darling,” Hannah said as she drifted off. Which, of course, made me all the harder.

Hannah arrived in our bedroom as I was making our bed. We chatted for a little while and then she said, “So show me this new position.” I hastened to comply. Now that Hannah is enjoying swinging her cane with a degree of authority, it matters a great deal to me that each side of my bottom is evenly whipped. The last couple of whippings have, shall we say, favoured the right buttock which is the natural consequence of Hannah standing to my left. She can only bring the cane down by swinging forehand. The “new” position puts me on my knees at the bottom corner of the bed and at a 45 degree angle. Hannah saw the advantages of this new arrangement immediately.

“So all I have to do,” she said fastening my wrists to my ankles securely with my soft black leather belt, “is switch sides and use my backhand. Well, let’s see if that can work.”

As Hannah spoke she was warming me up with a steady, hard, hand spanking. As Mrs. Spencer quite rightly points out, for a man even the hardest hand spanking delivered by a woman barely registers. A fact not lost on Hannah as she picked up her cane. She began forehand on my left and, as expected, my right cheek was soon warming and then hot. Hannah’s strokes were not particularly hard. This was a pure maintenance whipping and there is plenty of time for welts later in the month. A dozen and a half strokes in and Hannah was satisfied. She switched sides.

A revelation! Until now my right side has always taken the brunt of my whippings, maintenance or punishment. Now Hannah was able to even the punishment. The sweet sensation of her cane biting into my flesh, not terribly hard but constantly, was matched by the heat rising from my well lined right buttock. Hannah’s backhand whipping technique took a few strokes to come in. She was gauging the force of her strokes and it was only after half a dozen that she settled on what pleased her. All too soon, but not soon enough, it was over. Or was it? Hannah made no move to unbuckle my belt. I was in position.

She said nothing but stroked my bottom quite firmly as if assessing her work. Unsatisfied she stood back and delivered three harder forehand strokes and then, switching sides, three stiff backhand slashes. I winced at each of them but the short respite had given me time to collect myself and I did not vocalize or cry. In fact, now that my punishment was evened out, I could easily have taken another dozen hard strokes a side. Which is a great gift. Only then did Hannah release my wrists.

I managed to say “Thank you darling” before she got on with her day and I with mine. It is going to be an interesting few weeks.

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.

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