Disciplinary Wife

At 35 years young, I'd like to think that I look twenty-something.

I certainly work hard enough to remain buff with strict dieting, treadmill, free-weights, Yoga, tennis, golf, and Pilates.

Bi-weekly salon visits for bikini waxing keep me free of hair or stubble that I used to get when shaving my pubes with a razor.

I love the feeling of my husband's tongue as he pays his respects to my smooth vagina, the result of what's known as a 'Brazilian' wax, leaving the pubic area and pudenda barren of any trace of hair.

I maintain an all-over tan by daily exposure to the Arizona sun, nude, by our in-ground pool, my privacy assured by the yard's surrounding walls of concrete block.

Now and then I'll have a friend over to keep me company but I generally enjoy the solitude and freedom from the burden of carrying on inane conversation about husbands and whatnot.

Blond hair and blue eyes - dimples (face and butt) and a smile revealing perfect teeth, at a bit less than five feet in stature and weighing under a hundred pounds, I like to think of myself as evidence of the truth in the adage that 'dynamite comes in small packages'.

I'm proud of my body. Sure, good genes had given me a perfect body to begin with. Boobs that qualified as poster girls for the saying that 'anything more than a handful's a waste'.

Responsive nipples that were erect most of the time; I never wore a bra, feeling that my boobs were small enough that they didn't need the support.

Plus, I loved the feeling of my nipples abrading against the fabric of a blouse, tube-top, or dress.

Small-waisted and narrow of hip, my bubble-butt is even more evident due to my overall petite build.

As to the rest of me, arms, legs, and all, I'd been told more than once that my body looked like that of a gymnast, perfectly muscular, yet feminine and beautiful.

My husband, Bill, and I have been married since shortly after high school graduation and opted to live without children.

After Bill's graduation from law school, passing the bar, establishing his own private practice, and earning a reputation for himself locally, he enjoyed a career as an attorney specializing in litigation.

I had received a large trust that allowed me the freedom from work. I had no desire to pursue a career, save the world, save the whales, or save anyone or anything but myself.

I celebrated selfishness and had developed a scornful disdain for those who were more concerned with others than for themselves. My husband being the exception to this rule as I expected and demanded that I be the center of his universe.

I don't mean that I'm indifferent to the wishes of others. I simply mean that, in my world, I come first and, giggle, I cum first.

For this reason, I was neither shocked nor dismayed when Bill sat me down for 'a talk' shortly before our upcoming nuptials and tearfully told me that I might not want to marry him when I knew what his fantasies and imagination had caused him to yearn for.

He said that it would be unfair to get married, while keeping me blind to 'the real him' as he put it. He was obviously distraught. I'd never seen him that way and it was a bit disconcerting.

I reassured him of my love and told him that I couldn't imagine him telling me anything that would dissuade me from marriage and a life together as we'd talked about and dreamed of.

Too embarrassed to look me in the eyes, Bill went on to explain that he'd had fantasies for as long as he could remember, of being submissive to a woman.

He had imagined this woman would spank him and require him to serve her sexually. He went into some detail, describing paddling, caning, switching and more.

He said he wanted to make a full disclosure, so he admitted (his word) that he'd envisioned me fucking him with a strap-on dildo, catching his ejaculate in my cupped palm and requiring him to lick my hand clean.

He had more to say, but you get the general idea. We were living at the time in a small cottage, once servants' quarters, on a large estate.

We'd lucked upon an ad for the rental, checked it out, and jumped at it. The main house was occupied by only one person - an old lady, mostly deaf, and out of earshot when we wanted to play loud music.

I didn't even need to ponder upon Bill's words, since I'd often entertained compatible fantasies of my own.

As a young teenager, I'd happened upon my Dad's stash of porn and was surprised (and delighted) to find most of it femme-dom and male submissive.

Magazines with pictures of naked men being spanked and whipped by leather-clad women, along with books with written descriptions of these activities, telling of men's subjugation by women, and their grateful servitude to these women's needs - most especially their sexual needs.

So, I had no doubt as to whether or not I would enjoy such a relationship with Bill. What I did doubt was his sincerity.

Don't misunderstand me. I didn't question his belief that he wanted this. I questioned his resolve.

I questioned whether or not he would wimp out if subjected to severe corporal punishment.

For, you see, since reading my Dad's porn and having some years to process what I'd read and blend it into a fabric that represented my own personal proclivities, I'd come to believe that this type of relationship would only work if it was genuine.

I mean, by that, I wasn't at all interested in spanking play or role play or whatever one wished to call it.

I was very much interested, though, in a relationship where my husband would yield, at all times and in all circumstances, to my will.

Yield to my whim; and very importantly, yield to my discipline and punishment, both enforced with regular, severe, strict corporal punishment.

I'd already imagined Bill taking a paddling from me, his cute bottom painted a bright-red, his face streaked with his copious tears, and his very recently hard cock, reduced to look like it'd been dipped in a pan of ice water.

For, you see, while I understood that Bill's sexual fantasies were driven by an innate submissive nature, I doubted his resolve to submit to such a rigorous regimen.

Bill assured me, future law student that he was at the time, arguing that he'd considered that the fulfillment of such fantasies would certainly cause him considerable pain.

He realized that he would be easily reduced to tears and was only worried that, if and when I brought him to such tears, I would lose respect for him as a man.

I told him that I didn't see this as even a remote possibility. I loved him and respected him for many reasons. I didn't question his manhood and felt that he was courageous in expressing a desire to give himself to me and offer to submit to my discipline.

I, nevertheless, insisted that we first 'test his sincerity' before we even continued the discussion any further.

Bill agreed to this plan and suggested that he could bring me a ping pong paddle from the table in the rec-room if I thought that would be acceptable.

At my positive reaction to this suggestion, Bill was gone in a flash, returning with the paddle and a blush reddening his face like a sun-burn.

Standing in front of me, with a sheepish look on his face, he proffered the paddle, his usual good manners dictating that he hold it by the business end with the handle towards me.

I took that paddle and hefted it in my hand, realizing immediately, that I would need to take care with a paddle so heavy.

I knew that I wanted only to spank Bill. I wanted to cause him a serious amount of pain - but I certainly didn't want to injure him.

"Look at me, Bill. Look me in the eyes. I want you to make absolutely certain that you want me to use this paddle on you.

"But, not only that, you want me to dominate and discipline you in the future, enforcing my authority before and after we're married, with regular and severe corporal punishment.

"I want you to understand what this means. I'm not going to play spanking games. I won't be giving you love pats with this paddle or with anything else in the future.

"If you decide to go through with this, in a few minutes you will be naked, bent over, and with an ass turning red as a beet from my paddling your bare bottom until you cry like a little girl.

"If you are sincere in your offer of submission to me, then you won't be deterred by a sound thrashing. If you question such a future, you'd best back out now.

"Know this, my love. After I have paddled your very spankable bottom and after I've reduced you to a blubbering mess, I will require that you go outside of the cottage, nude and with your butt aflame, to cut some switches from the forsythia bushes.

"Obviously, the switches will be for me to use on your tenderized buns and also on your legs, especially on your inner thighs.

"If this is what you truly want, then get your clothes off and bend over the dining table."

Bill didn't say a word, simply removing his shirt, trousers, shoes, socks, and underpants, stacking them on a nearby arm- chair.

This was the first time that I'd had my lover in such a position and I intended to take full advantage of it. I felt sexually charged and this is perhaps why I found myself also stripping, until I was as naked as Bill.

"Bill, are you absolutely sure of this? There's no backing out once I begin. I won't lose respect for you when you cry for me. I won't lose respect for you when I some day use a strap-on to fuck you.

"But I will lose respect for you if you back out of this. Answer me, Bill. If you want me to spank you, to paddle you until you cry and beyond, ask me to do so."

"Please, ma'am, would you spank me severely? Will you paddle me and make me cry. Will you please continue to paddle me after I begin crying and not stop until you've broken me?"

I'd loved the ma'am and especially liked the idea of 'breaking' him. I'd read of this on the internet and knew that it made sense if we were going to live this lifestyle 'til death do us part.

The first swat of the paddle against the fleshy under-curve of Bill's left cheek was music to my ears and a sound that I would forever relish in the coming years.

For today, though, I would need to make this beginning one to remember.