This story is continued as "Sarah's Way" in subsequent chapters, having discovered that there is already a series under my original title posted.
*
Coming from the hall, I met my wife, Sarah, in the middle of the living room, dressed like she was headed out the door on her usual Saturday morning errands.
She stopped in front of me with a serious look on her face and said,
"Mark, today at 5 o'clock you are to meet me right here, in the living room, completely naked. You are to bring with you that tall stool you've had since college and a paddle from the ping-pong set with the game table downstairs. And, before then you are to go out in the yard and from one of the trees or bushes cut me a switch. More of a rod than a flimsy twig, actually. It is to be flexible, but firm, not brittle.
"You are to be caned," she said, without breaking her tone or increasingly stern expression. "And you are to provide your own instrument of your torture."
My jaw dropped further and further as she went on. I gazed at her with disbelief, not knowing what other emotion to show.
But when a fiery redhead fixes those bright green eyes in a stern stair at you, the idea that "she's kidding" does not seem to be one of the most likely explanations.
Sarah and I had been married for five years, dating for a few years before that and now in our late 30s without children, but still with a declining sex life.
Sarah had the kind of body I love, but not the kind that most men find ideal. She had long, bright red hair and a fair, freckled complexion. She carried a few extra pounds on that 5'5" frame, top heavy with large breasts.
Not that she was in the "BBW" category -- not at all according to my definition. But that little extra weight for me gave her a feel of authenticity, a real woman from strong country stock and not the drop-dead figure of a beauty that so often seems unreachable.
Still, those few extra pounds made her sensitive about her body, and uncomfortable being undressed in front of me. I wasn't even allowed in the bathroom with her and had grown to resent her physical bashfulness. So, too, did I resent her bossiness around the house.
Of course, resentment manifests itself in small ways that become large in a relationship, and our marriage was under some strain, though nowhere near a break-up point.
As we had grown more apart physically, I had taken to indulging in sexual fantasies on the Internet, including some long-held fascination with female dominant CFNM and BDSM scenarios. Sarah was quite a neophyte at using the Internet with search engines and web browsers, so it seemed easy to hide my secretive stuff from her view. Or was it?
With this out-of-the-blue declaration of what I was to do leading up to being caned (and I knew from the Web what that meant!) I didn't know how to process it.
Was Sarah displaying some hidden sexually dominant side of her personality? Was she angry over those little ways my resentment showed through and wanted to physically punish me for it?
Worse yet, there were those times that I half-heartedly dabbled in searches for casual sex or affairs over the 'Net. Had she discovered those with computer skills I didn't know she had and was ready to administer severe punishment for it?
Did she just discover my Internet porn surfing and find my interest in female domination fantasies, and decided to play the role because she thought that's what I wanted sexually? But fantasies are not realities, and I didn't necessarily want to experience anything like that for real.
So was this a sexual game? An attempt to punish me for wrongdoing? An outrageous step taken to force a breakup she wanted?
All of this flashed through my mind in a matter of seconds as she relayed her orders and maintained her demeanor.
Then it was my turn to speak and I had to process and think of something quick.
"You can't be serious," I laughed, though nothing in her demeanor suggested she was not serious.
"You want to cane me? Why do you want to cane me and why in the world should I let you? Is this some kind of joke?"
"She continued to glare at me in an enigmatic way, still impossible to discern if this were a game or revenge for wrong at play.
"I have good reasons for wanting to do it, and I think you know that. If you want to talk about it first, I suppose we can," she sighed. "But knowing how you hate talks about 'our relationship' or problems that we're having, it may be less painful for you to just bend over and take it rather than talk about it first. But if you insist, we can talk before your caning, if that's really what you want to do."
"Well. . ." I stammered, "What if I don't do what you say? Why should I let you cane me? That would hurt."
"A lot," she replied sternly. "Well, if you don't, I guess I might as well not be home tonight. I'm not going to talk about this now. I think you know what this is about. If you want to talk, let's have one of those talks you hate tonight at five, or just show up here naked like I said and we won't have to talk. You have a few hours to think about it, and to get ready for your caning.
"But you are going to be caned," she went on with a definitive tone. "I suggest you be careful in cutting the switch. Don't make me go out and find a good one myself. Right now I am going to Michelle's and we're going together to see Suzanne, who just got out of the hospital. You can think about what you want to say about this, or just get ready for it."
With that, she left me, dumbfounded.
How indeed was I going to play this? What was it all about?
I figured out that that was the key -- determining what her game was.
Was this some sort of sexual fantasy she had and decided to boldly act on it? That was an intriguing thought, as her lack of an adventurous spirit when it came to sex was perhaps my chief frustration with Sarah.
Did she discover that it was a fantasy of mine?
But I wouldn't even call it much of a fantasy. When I fantasized about sex, it was usually pretty conventional, if somewhat graphic. I got turned on by reading BDSM stories, but never thought about approaching Sarah about acting out those kinds of scenes, or looking for others to do them.
Still, she would have assumed it was a fetish I was drawn to had she probed my Literotica searches. Was she trying to reach out to me by fulfilling what she thought was my fantasy? Did she discover that we shared the same fantasy but had never communicated it with one another?
But maybe it wasn't really all that sexual. Maybe she discovered my probing for possible affairs and decided this extreme form of corporal punishment would be her response?
Perhaps she had discovered both at once -- a reason to punish me and to draw me closer by fulfilling my supposed fantasy?
Clearly, I could not be sure what this was about without talking.
And she had me on that point.
I really did hate talking about our problems or our relationship, because I always seemed to end up on the short end of those discussions, even when I was sure I was right.
Clearly, I wanted to avoid being confronted with my activities on the Internet. If she knew about them -- well, she was right. I'd rather endure a caning than that conversation, as long as I didn't have to endure both.
But what if this was just a sexual fantasy and she was taking a direct approach to making it happen?
There are times in life when realizations cause great anxiety, even fear. I felt that when a wave of fear went through me and lodged in the pit of my stomach. I admitted to myself that my cock stirred when she told me to be in the living room naked at a certain time. The obvious implication that some sexual situation would follow and the fact that she had ordered me to do it started to arouse me.
The paddle and the cane surprised me, scared me, and aroused me at the same time.
What would it be like to in reality submit to what had aroused me when I read those stories?
If I wasn't careful, I could talk my way out of a good sexual fantasy come to life and replace it with one of those annoying relationship talks.
Was I rationalizing what I was doing? As I leaned more and more toward complying it was while I was outside with a sharp pocketknife looking through the branches of trees and bushes for something that would be suitable.
At what point in my thought process did I come outside and start looking? I didn't even know. I seemed to justify the search by thinking I could process this all at the same time I was looking, but was that action a signal that I was looking for a justification for complying?
Most men would have told her off when the time came and demanded an explanation from her.
For whatever reason, I picked out a young branch from a Willow tree.
It tapered thin, as Willow does, but by cutting it off at its base at the trunk and about five feet in length, it retained the flexibility of Willow, but was still fairly thick and firm.
I took it back to my workshop, where I built my fishing rods, and sanded it down smooth. The top end had frayed a bit where I cut, but I lacquered the entire length, then wrapped some of the line I use for tying eyelets on rods around the end, securing it with the usual clear glue. I did the same on the thick end, wrapping a good eight inches of it in line, glued down, to make a fine handle.
