Diary Of A Disciplined Husband

I’m sure most people will remember the summer of 1976 for its long, hot, sunny days. Indeed it was the best summer in Ireland for many years but for me (and my lovely wife Kay) it was the season we both first discovered our true natures and assumed our natural roles in our relationship.

At that time we had been married seven months, but hadn’t established who was in charge. Our sex life was ok but. if I was being truthful it was certainly not earth moving. Rows were becoming more frequent with huffing, on both our parts, the usual response. The fault was usually mine. The relationship was probably doomed if we carried on as we were doing.

One day in July, we had a bigger than usual row. Yes, it was my fault and Kay was clearly very angry with me. It was then I made a decision. Kay was not speaking so I retired to our bedroom and wrote her a note. I posted the note to her next morning. I was nervous for the next two days as I wasn’t sure of her response. Once she had read the note I feared she would go home to her mother screaming pervert. As it happened I had no worries on that score.

By Saturday, three days had passed and things were returning to normal but I was cursing the Post Office for being unable to deliver a letter posted in the same town in three days. The morning passed, I went to football, Kay went shopping. Nothing unusual in that.

About six o’clock I returned, my tea was ready as usual. We chatted normally, the atmosphere had cleared. We lived then in a bungalow on the edge of a village. It had its own lane way, so it was quite remote, which was just as well. After tea, I went for a shower, when I come out of the bathroom wearing only my underpants, Kay called me into the bedroom. My first thought was, she must be feeling frisky.

In the bedroom, Kay sat on the bed. In her right hand she held a wooden hairbrush I’d never seen before. My letter lay in her lap. She had a very determined look as she spoke “ I totally agree with what you said in this letter. You do behave like a spoiled little boy nearly all the time. So, yes I will discipline you. I am going to spank you and you will be a very sorry boy before I’m finished.” I had never heard Kay use that tone before, it excited me and it showed. Clearly relishing her dominance, Kay continued “ So you want a strict wife, do you? Well I’ll try not to disappoint you. In fact, I will be very, very strict with you from now on. Now get those pants off and get over my lap and be quick about it".

I had longed for this moment for a long time but now it was here I was having second thoughts. Kay looked radiant, so in command and natural. It was 10 years since my last spanking. It wouldn’t be so long till my next I figured rightly. “ Please, Kay I’m very sorry for all my childish behaviour, and I do deserve a spanking, but please let me keep my pants on.”

“No”, she almost shouted and reaching forward yanked the offending garment right down to my ankles. “Now step out of them and get over my lap-now” I settled over Kay’s lap and waited for my first dose of wifely discipline. She was in no hurry to begin. I sensed she was as excited as I was. She raised her right arm high and brought the brush down with a thwack. Again and again. She scolded as she whacked away with all her strength, taking those months of pent up frustration out on my bottom. “ If I have to beat you every night, I will” Kay was saying as I pleaded with her to stop. Oh how it hurt. It wasn’t meant to be like this. Of course she ignored my pleas and even when the tears came she carried on as I kicked my legs up trying to escape that ever descending hairbrush. “ Keep still. Try to take your punishment bravely. You asked me to do this in your letter. You can spank me as hard and as often as you like you said.. That’s what you wanted and from now on you’ll get a thrashing when I decide you need one. Now another twenty to finish tonight’s lesson. Count them out aloud and if you miscount I start the twenty all over again.” I was so distressed I messed up the count at 14.

“ That was only 13,not 14,” Kay smiled as she spoke “ so this next one is one again.”

“Oh no, please, I can’t take any more, please” I wailed.

“Oh you’ll take it, all right. I’m enjoying this too much to stop now. Oh dear, just look at the state of the poor boy’s bottom. Has your little wife beaten your bottom black, blue and purple? She has and she’s going to really enjoy doing it again and again. So I suggest you get used to it” Kay teased as she dished out the final twenty slowly but with the full strength of her arm behind each one. Fortunately, I counted correctly as my tears rolled down my cheeks and on to the carpet.

After the spanking, I was despatched to the corner for ten minutes whilst Kay had a glass of wine and some chocolates.

Later in bed, I performed like never before. It took nearly a week for the bruises to disappear and Kay inspected her handiwork every night before bed. It had been a severe spanking but I not only deserved it I needed it. The new order was established and I capitulated completely to Kay’s disciplinary regime.

KAY’S DISCIPLINARY REGIME DEVELOPS

That summer of 1976 was a long and warm one. Kay decided that Saturday night was spanking night. Whilst other couples were going to the pub or even the theatre together Saturday found me come 8o’clock, fetch the hairbrush from its by now usual resting place in Kay’s top drawer, hand it to her as she sat on the edge of the bed, await her instructions to stand in front of her whilst she scolded me for my misdeeds of the previous seven days. Usually, at this point, Kay would attend to my unbreeching herself-she quickly became quite expert at divesting me of my trousers and underpants though occasionally I had to perform this function myself whilst Kay looked on amused. Next she emphasised exactly what I had done, or not done, to earn this spanking. “ Over you go” Kay would order in her best schoolmistress voice and I would assume the traditional punishment position. Kay would then adjust my position to enable her to maintain a steady spanking rhythm, I then had to ask her for my punishment, “ please will you discipline me, Kay” were the usual words I’d use, “of course, my dear, it will be my pleasure” she replies and then my spanking would begin. If I had had a good week, the ensuing spanking would be just about bearable. Although there was an erotic element to Kay’s spankings, they were essentially disciplinary affairs and always very painful to receive. Kay believed that a proper spanking should always end in tears and a truly contrite husband, My pleadings were always ignored, Kay carried on spanking me until she decided to stop. When she did, it was usually corner time for me and if I was caught rubbing my very sore bottom, which happened only twice, the hairbrush resumed its contact with my bottom. My compensation was that the sex was still exceptional.

Though Kay was undoubtedly a natural disciplinarian she read all she could on the subject in those first months. Magazines such as Janus and Obey were her mentors. She joined a society of disciplinary wives and on a trip to London in January 77 bought her first cane. Her mentors had already advised her on effective caning techniques and Kay was keen to put the theory into practice.

The following Saturday, was another watershed on our disciplinary journey. For once, Kay’s hairbrush, which had weekly bruised my bottom, remained in her top drawer. When I was summoned to the bedroom that evening, my young wife was lovingly flexing the crook handled rattan cane she had recently purchased. I didn’t have to be told that my first caning since my schooldays was at hand.

THE RULE OF THE CANE

I can remember that first time pleading with Kay not to cane me too hard. It would have been useless asking her not to use her cane, but a plea for leniency?

“You forget yourself. I decide your punishment. Now get those trousers and pants down and lie face down on the bed “ Kay ordered. I had noticed she had placed two pillows on top of each other in the middle of the bed. Sensing what I was thinking, Kay sighed “ Yes, lie over the pillows. I want your bottom lifted up a little.” I settled into position. She lectured me about recent misbehaviour “ and now I’m going to cane you just as hard as I can”

I saw from the corner of my eye the cane raised high and then Kay brought it down hard. I yelped. My God how it hurt. She tapped the cane on my still smarting bottom to get her range, raised it high again and whipped it down a second time. “ Oh please not so hard, Kay” I almost whimpered. “ Don’t be such a cry baby, now let me see the damage so far” she replied as she put down her cane and run her fingers over the quickly rising weals on my bottom. Picking up the cane again she announced “ I think another six will suffice this time”. She administered the remaining strokes slowly, with a space of thirty seconds or so between them. I howled, I cried but it made not one jot of difference. As always, I received full measure. Kay changed position “ these last two will be diagonally across the others. Brace yourself, my brave boy”. I drummed my hands on the bed and sobbed loudly but I survived and just lay on the bed crying and trying to compose myself. Then, as usual, it was off to the corner. The cane found its home in Kay’s wardrobe, where it hid behind her blouses, skirts and jackets. It only emerged when a whipping was decreed. Kay I discovered had been practising on the pillows but in the subsequent months she got plenty of practice on me. In bed afterwards, the sex was, as usual following a spanking or whipping from my wife, earth moving for both of us. By now Kay was a life style dominatrix and I a well disciplined husband. We were two sides of a coin, I needed Kay’s discipline as much as she needed to discipline me. To us it was the most natural thing in the world.

The weekly spankings were replaced by irregular discipline, as and when Kay decided. The cane became the implement with which she disciplined me the most. I got it lying on the bed, or in the living room as I bend over the arm of the settee, over a stool in the kitchen or the kitchen table. Always on the bare bottom between six and 18 strokes. At least once a month ( this was Kay’s ruling) I would be caned. I think the worst year was 1980 when I was caned 20 times in that calendar year. The canings were often preceded by fairly prolonged hand spankings given with me in the traditional position. The hairbrush occasionally came out of Kay’s top drawer and was put to use just as severely as before.

Of course we had normal sex ( whatever that is), did normal things like go to the cinema and to everyone ours was a normal married relationship. Kay was seen as the boss of course but not obtrusively so and she never put me down in public. Our disciplinary lifestyle was a private affair. In the mid 80s Kay obtained two Lochgelly tawses, one standard weigh, one heavy and they joined her disciplinary arsenal. Of course Kay became expert with whatever disciplinary implement she used but undoubtedly the cane and hairbrush were her favourites.

KAY’S SISTER HELEN

As I mentioned, our disciplinary lifestyle was our secret, with one exception. One day in the spring of 1979, Helen walked into our cottage through the unlocked door. We did not hear her arrival until she was standing in the frame of the kitchen door. Let Helen describe the scene in her own words. “As I walked through the unlocked back door I heard this swishing noise, then a thwacking sound, a loud yelping almost immediately followed by the unmistakable sound of sobbing. I wondered what was going on but two or three steps later I could see for myself. My sister was caning her husband as he lay across the kitchen table. It was the most erotic thing I had ever seen.”

Nor did Kay let Helen’s presence put an end to the proceedings. Oh no she just carried on with the remainder of my punishment, whilst an open mouthed but obviously interested Helen looked on. I was sent to the corner as usual, whilst the two girls retired to the living room, Helen closely examining the cane as she went. Thirty minutes later the three of us were in our bedroom and Kay demonstrated to her younger sister the “ fascinating art of over the knee spanking “, my already very sore bottom brought to new heights of anguish by my wife’s small but capable hand.

It was inevitable I suppose that Helen would witness many more of our punishment sessions over the next several years. She visited often and once when I was cheeky to Helen, Kay invited her sister to punish me herself. I later discovered the whole incident was stage managed by the two of them. Helen proved to be an adept spanker. She used her sister’s hairbrush to blister my bottom and her enjoyment was very obvious.

When Kay was away from home for any reason, on courses or in hospital, I was left in Helen’s not so tender care. She took every opportunity to beat me and quickly became adept with the cane or tawse. By the mid 80s Helen was married and lost her interest in punishing me. I know she borrowed her sister’s cane before she doubtless bought her own. Clearly I wasn’t the only disciplined husband in Ireland.

MY INTRODUCTION TO THE BIRCH

Kay’s father was a doctor and in 1983 he bought a retirement home on the edge of a wood. He still had a couple of years before his retirement proper but went as often as he could to his country home living as he did in the city. Of course his eldest daughter was invited to use the property as well and on some weekends off Kay and I would go to join her parents.

One weekend we were there on our own and Kay had been walking nearby and came back rather excited, “ Just look what I found” and from behind her back produced several twigs. Now I’m no botanist and I must have looked pretty dumb as Kay said “ I found a birch tree nearby.” I did know that birch was a scarce tree in Ireland and I correctly figured the use the twigs would be put to, as I knew Kay had read all about preparing and using a birch rod. She wasn’t going to miss out on this opportunity for some practical experience.

Kay fetched more twigs and spent some time making a rod of six twigs. She tied them together with an old scarf and tried a few practice swings. I didn’t need to be told to drop my trousers and pants, the sparkle in Kay,s eyes spoke louder than any words. I hobbled over to the kitchen table, restrained by the clutter around my ankles. “Oh, step out of those, “ Kay said lovingly stroking the birch” I think this is not bad for a first effort” “ I let you know in a few minutes” I replied Kay laughed “ Alright, since I don’t know of anything you have done wrong today, I’ll go easy-just this once”

Over the table I went and down came the birch. Again and again. Did she say she was going easy. This was far worse than the cane. I tried not to blubber but failed and I’d only had six. “My, I’m impressed and so little effort needed on my part”, Kay said.

Well, Kay took some twigs home and within a week I was birched again. I had been getting on her nerves, so she really thrashed me. Fifteen strokes I think it was. I survived it of course, and every time we went to daddy’s retirement home Kay stocked up with twigs. As with everything else to do with discipline, Kay quickly became a virtuoso with a birch. One refinement she introduced for birching at daddy’s place was to put my hands over my head and tie them to the low ceiling beams. In this upright position, boy could I dance as she applied the birch. This thankfully for me was an occasional treat Kay indulged in. As for the sex which followed, if it wasn’t the earth that moved it was something!

IN SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH

Of course life wasn’t all discipline. It had its mundane moments and the period from early summer of 1981to September 1982 was a period of long inactive in our disciplinary lifestyle. The reason – I was ill for much of the time and in hospital twice. Kay was really great, Florence Nightingale could not have done better. Whilst I was in hospital she visited daily, when I took a turn for the worst she was constantly by my bedside.

Of course, I eventually recovered. One day in September 82 I tried to tell Kay that perhaps it was time to resume her disciplinary role but I just couldn'’ get the words out. I tried several times but the words just wouldn't come. Eventually, Kay smiled, took me by the hand to the bedroom and said “ I think its time you fetched my hairbrush, don’t you?” The speed which I a formerly sick man, scampered to comply, was all the answer needed.

Afterwards, lying together in bed, I kissed my wife and said “ I really was ready for that. I really needed it.”

“So did I” she replied “so did I”. Normal service was quickly resumed. It was as if the sickness imposed interlude hadn’t happened.

HAPPY EVER AFTER?

If this story was a fairy tale, it would end with Kay and I living happily ever after. Reality isn’t a fairy tale however. Yes, I happily accepted my wife’s often strict discipline until fate took a hand. Kay, a keen horsewoman, died in a riding accident. I cannot describe how devastated I was. I had lost not just my partner but a part of myself- we had become that close.

So after years of denial, I have come to accept my true nature again, but will I ever again find the perfect partner to share my passion for discipline with?

THE NOTE

No copy of that note I sent Kay still exists, but if my memory serves me well it went like this

“ My darling wife. I suppose there is no easy way to say this. When I behave like a spoilt little boy, could you not treat me as such? This is no joke, I am completely serious. I want you to discipline me as you see fit. I am long overdue a spanking from you and that is precisely what I want you to do each and every time you think I deserve it. As you know my mother curbed my behaviour by applying her wooden hairbrush to my bare bottom whenever she deemed fit. I would suggest you do the same. Whatever you decide, I will love you always. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring myself to tell you all this face to face. Can you forgive me?”

THE END