Prom Queen

My wife has disciplined and punished me since before we were married – and that was nearly twenty years ago.

To clarify, in our house the difference between discipline and punishment is that one is applied prior to an ejaculation, when the pain is at least partially mitigated by my horniness and the latter is applied immediately following my ejaculation, the better to render my pain more acute.

Peggy has taught me to follow three rules. I am to be respectful and obedient at all times and I am to submit without hesitation to her imposition of severe corporal punishment.

If I violate one of these rules, I am caused to dearly regret it.

Early in my training, my spankings were always administered in private.

Nobody saw me being spanked, naked and tears running down my face, my buttocks throbbing and stinging from Peggy's thin, wooden paddle (her favorite implement for my spankings).

For that matter, nobody even knew of Peggy's spankings.

Now and then, Peggy would threaten me by suggesting she might like to have one of her friends witness my punishment.

She said that she thought that it would do them good to learn how to tame a man and keep him constantly in his place.

When I imagined such a sight, I was mortified, my nude body restrained,ready for her hellish oaken paddle.

I imagined Peggy and her friend fully dressed, making my own nudity even more humiliating.

When I play this internal video in my imagination, I see Peggy paddling me to tears, causing me to cry like a little girl, as she likes to describe it.

I hear her talking to her friend, explaining that she always spanks me to tears and then gets even more severe.

As she explains it, when she has me genuinely howling and screaming, begging her for mercy that I know will not be granted, she doubles the speed and, most often, achieves an orgasm from the experience.

Not just the spanking of me but for all of the individual components adding up, as Peggy explains, to the proverbial total being greater than the sum of its parts.

She described the joy, the liberation she called it, of owning the man that she loved.

The ego-rush and the sheer satisfaction of knowing that her lover had offered his submission to her and that she had accepted it, along with a proviso that she employ regular, severe corporal punishment.

As I imagined such things, I got hard. But, I knew, with very little effort Peggy could cause my erection to disappear with a few stinging swats of her paddle.

I guess that I would have to describe myself as a masochist. A 'mental masochist' if you will allow.

I found the thought of a spanking to be erotic, the more severe the spanking, the better.

I imagined being paddled, caned, switched, strapped, birched, and tawsed, all by the lady that I loved – then and now, Peggy.

I learned that the other half of being a mental masochist was my ability to savor the experience after it was over.

The feeling of the thrashing still fresh on my spanked flesh.

My buttocks still ablaze with the stinging and burning caused by the paddle.

If the cane has been used, I will feel the sensitive welts that remain long after the cane has stopped its excruciating message of pain.

Years ago, I'd confessed my, until then, secret obsession to Peggy, the love of my life, and now my wife,

As serendipity would have it, Peggy's fantasies were exactly compatible and she's had no problem providing me with much stricter corporal punishment than I could have ever imagined.

In those early days I had to learn to take increasingly severe spankings without the benefit of restraints.

I'd learned to 'stay in position' for the most part but Peggy was displeased by the fact that I could slow the spanking by rolling from side to side when she had me in her favorite position, nude, on my belly, two pillows elevating my hips and presenting my buttocks to her satisfaction.

She also complained that she would like to get much more severe in my spankings and was unable to impose a stricter regimen without restraining me.

She said that this would always be consensual.

The catch being, as she explained it to me, my consent would be to the submission to the restraints.

With full knowledge that I would be thrashed severely, I would submit to the restraints.

After that, she'd say with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, she would own me.

She got wet, she said, when she imagined having me helpless to her corporal punishment.

After much discussion, we went to the internet and ordered a 'punishment bench', spending several hundred dollars, based only on a photograph of the wood and leather piece of furniture, for want of a better term, and a brief description.

Within a few weeks, the bench arrived in two separate boxes, both quite large.

Peggy sent me to the basement with the boxes, along with instructions to have the bench assembled and ready for use the coming weekend.

"I know that we've said that we've tested your sincerity from the beginning with quite severe corporal punishment.

"We both know this; but, I want to truly test your sincerity, to test your submission.

"I want to thrash you harder and longer than I've ever spanked you. I want the satisfaction of beating you a lot more than you want me to.

"I want the satisfaction of your submission to regular thrashings secured to our new punishment bench, having experienced the pain of previous times on the bench and knowing what you are in for."

The bench wasn't very difficult to assemble. It resembled a sawhorse on steroids, with removable shelves, one each for the two legs and the two forearms.

There were leather straps for each wrist, each forearm, each thigh, each ankle, and a wide strap to press my waist against the leather-cushioned crown.

I was able to have the bench ready a day ahead of time and informed Peggy on Thursday, proud of myself to have beaten her deadline by so much. I was embarrassed, though, to hear her derisive response.

"Oh, my. Look who's anxious to try out our new punishment bench. I love you so, Bill, and I'm going to love hearing your sobbing when I have you in the basement this weekend.

"I don't want to give away all of the surprises, but one treat that you can look forward to is one that you've asked for.

"I've bought a strap-on dildo to use on you this weekend. With you immobile on the bench, I'll be able to fuck you silly after I've given you a severe thrashing.

"Think of me fucking you this weekend, Bill. Think of your severe paddling. Not only a paddling, though. I'm going to use my favorite oak paddle of course.

"In addition, though, I intend to use a rattan cane, a spanking strap, a birch switch and a bundle of switches, a tawse, and a new surprise, a single-tail whip.

"Think about what is to happen to your round butt-cheeks as I bring you to tears and beyond.

"Think about how I will first make you cry like a girl, and then fuck you like a girl while you are still crying.

"I'll make you cum while I'm fucking you and catch your semen in my hand. I'll let you lick my hand clean of your cum and thank me for your thrashing and fuck."

Friday night came and we had the entire weekend to ourselves, or so I thought.

Peggy had admonished me to hurry home after work and be prepared for a greater test than she'd ever imposed.

I'd driven home in a hurry, hastened into the house, and quickly stripped, showered, and applied deodorant and cologne.

In addition to these preparations Peggy had instructed me to give myself an enema in order to clean me out for the dildo.

Finished in the bathroom, I remained nude and hurried down to the basement, where I'd been told to wait for Peggy.

Even though I'd been severely spanked by Peggy numerous times, I'd never been restrained as I would be tonight.

I looked with foreboding at the punishment bench that I'd so carefully assembled and knew that before the night was over Peggy and I would 'cross another bridge' into a life of my total submission to her.

I knew without going there, that Peggy would be able to thrash me much more severely, without concern of me moving and causing unintended injury.

She wouldn't need to slow her pace or direct her swats to a different place, providing temporary surcease from the paddle or cane.

She would be free. Free to possess her groom.

Most men, I felt, didn't even attempt to comprehend the act of submission on the part of their bride, spreading her thighs to accept the mounting of a man that weighed often more than twice their weight, had little or no training in the pleasuring of a woman, and to whom she'd just 'pledged her troth' (whatever the hell a troth is) and was expected to submit.

How very different, the life that Peggy and I had chosen. But in some ways, not different at all.

We had the same submission and ownership. The difference, in our case, was that I was her chattel. She owned me. And, I reveled in her ownership.

These thoughts had kept me occupied as I waited for Peggy to join me and were only interrupted when I heard her steps descending to the basement.

She had instructed me to wait on the bench, my arms and legs in place waiting for her to merely affix the restrains to my limbs and waist.

I was, of course, nude as instructed and, owing to the aforementioned mental masochism, was leaking a large amount of pre-cum.

"I can see from your oozing cock, you're excited to be here, Bill.

"I'm so looking forward to thrashing you tonight and finally taking your virginity. I feel like it's our wedding night all over again and we can finally consummate our union."

Peggy had been saying this while fastening my restraints and now, having restrained my nude body more helpless than I had ever been, instead of picking up a paddle or other implement, she left the room and ascended the stairs.

She closed the basement door, having switched off the lights first, plunging me into darkness.

I could hear Peggy in the kitchen immediately above me, walking around, I presumed from 'fridge to counter, fixing snacks or whatever.

I imagined her opening a bottle of wine to enjoy while she tested our new apparatus.

But more than that, I realized; she would also be testing both of us.

She would be challenged to spank the one man she loved above all others.

She would be challenged to spank me severely. Our understanding began with a recognition that we were both committed to her status as my 'disciplinary wife'.

We had both agreed that this meant she would subject me to regular, severe corporal punishment and that I would, for my part, never fail to submit to such correction.

Now that we had this bench that would mean that I would simply (Right, simply) submit to being strapped onto our new bench, each time with an understanding that I would be tested anew.

I'd be tested with a level of spanking that most people only dared dream of.

I would be allowed to give my gift of suffering to the woman I loved.

How empty, for those who'd seen these realities, was a bouquet of flowers, or even something more grand like a bracelet or necklace. How utterly banal these gestures were when contrasted to my gift.

How could I give more than to submit to Peggy's loving rule, while pledging my future to one of learning how to please her sexually and doing my best to apply that knowledge to her happiness.

These thoughts were drifting lazily through my mind when I was snapped out of my day-dreaming by the sound of the front door bell.

Bad timing. All week long I had anticipated this assignation with the girl of my dreams, my wife of so many years, and now there's an intruder at the front door.

I hear what sounds like a group of people walking down the front hall. But, not just people; people wearing women's shoes with heels, from the sound of it.

I couldn't tell for sure but guessed that there were at least four or five of them and as I realized this, I had a sense of foreboding.

I knew that this group was on its way to the basement.

In an instant, I had a clear vision of my deflowering, as it were, in front of witnesses.

And, clever me, I didn't even need to puzzle over who these would be. I knew without seeing them, without hearing their voices; I knew that this was Peggy's former cheer leading squad.

Peggy had said that she would, some day, expose me and my discipline to one of her friends.

She'd never suggested nor even hinted at the possibility that she would share my shame with her entire clique.

With dread, I heard the sound of the basement door opening, along with the chatter of the ladies, and the clicking and clacking of their heels on the stairs, the light having been turned on before their descent.

Their chatter came to an abrupt halt, I sensed, as they caught sight of my nude body, fastened to the bench by leather restraints, waiting for Peggy to deliver the thrashing that I had no doubt she'd described to them already.

Peggy's voice broke the silence.

"Find a comfortable seat ladies and the demonstration will begin."

Peggy came into my view, her favored wooden paddle in hand, and made a complete circle, walking around my naked body, strutting it seemed, with a sexual excitement that would end up exacting a toll on my bare flesh.

"I've told each of you that you should train your husband to serve your needs. I have suggested to you that this is possible to accomplish through the regular application of severe corporal punishment.

"Without exception, you've all doubted my veracity. I've invited you all here tonight to introduce you to a doorway into a future life with the men that you love.

"I am going to show you an option. An option that will have your husband with his face between your thighs, licking your pussy, not for a moment or two, but for an hour, giving you multiple orgasms in the process.

"I'm going to help you understand how exquisite it feels to have your loving husband's face between your butt-cheeks, his tongue licking and tongue-fucking your butt-hole.

"I'll be getting to those treats directly. First though, I thought you might like to watch me test our new punishment bench that we received only this week.

"I'm going to start with a wooden paddle which will sting terribly, bringing very real tears to Bill's face.

"While I'm paddling him, feel free to get up and walk around so that you can see the action from all perspectives.

"I'd like for you to see his buttocks react to the paddle connecting with his bare cheeks, the flesh depressing upon the impact of the paddle and rebounding immediately, as if inviting the next swat.

"I'd like you to see his face as he cries very real tears, the mucus drooling from his nose, his sobbing totally genuine.

"Here we go."