Youre Asking For It Young Lady

All sexual activity involves characters over the age of 18.

Hi, my name is Angela. My husband's name is Greg, and this is our story. I offer it in the hope that it may find someone, someone who can benefit from our experience. An experience that I admit is not for everyone. But I also know we are not unique. We are happily married, but it took work to get here. It takes work to stay here too, but that's true of every marriage. The differences lie in the areas that need to be worked on. For us, it's spankings. Specifically, my spankings. I need them, and hopefully after you read this, you'll understand better. If you recognize yourself, I'm writing for you.

I was raised as an only child in a very traditional, mid-west, conservative family. Dad worked construction and Mom was what they called a "homemaker". Like I said -- traditional. Greg grew up in San Francisco, with an older sister and parents who were liberal, which I guess was also somewhat traditional; at least normal, for their place and time.

We met while I was still living at home, attending community college. Greg was staying with his aunt and uncle while working on their farm, helping them out, and making a little money while trying to figure out his path in life. We married right after I got my associates degree. By then Greg was working construction, and even while I was looking for work, we were able to swing a starter home close to my parent's house.

We felt we had a great life and a happy marriage, but in truth, we were on auto-pilot, coasting along on the momentum of our stable upbringing and newlywed bliss. It was one of those moments of bliss, in fact, that raised the first flag for me.

We were in bed, or rather on the bed; in Greg's favorite position, fucking me doggy style. I say it was Greg's favorite position, but it was mine too. It was his because he's an ass man and can't get enough of gripping my hips and pounding into me from behind. It's my favorite position because I

love

to be pounded hard. I love to be possessed; owned by my man. Taken by him and used the way he wants. So we do it that way often, but on this day, he said something new.

"God, baby; I love this ass! So nice and plump, so big and round. I especially love the way it jiggles when I slam into you. Those little ripples in your butt cheeks when I pound that sweet pussy."

Now, I've always been a full-figured girl, and I knew I had a big butt. But I'd always taken pride in how firm it was, how tight - even muscular - it was. I never knew it jiggled when he pounded me! I never knew he watched ripples run up to my hips. I didn't say anything at the time, but I was mortified.

The next time I was alone in the bathroom, I turned to the mirror and took a critical look at my ass. It still looked good, the perfect complement to my boobs, which always attracted more attention, at least whenever I chose to deploy them. I raised up on my toes, admiring how my cheeks tightened. But when I dropped back down onto my heels, my whole ass jiggled. I grabbed a cheek and shook it. It flopped around embarrassingly. I gave the side a smack and the shock wave rippled all the way to the crack of my ass.

How had this happened

?

No sooner did I ask the question than the answer came to me - I had let myself go. Gotten lazy. I resolved to do better, to establish a workout routine and stick to it. It lasted less than a week before I began backsliding. By the end of the second week, I was back to my old patterns, lying around the house, procrastinating exercise; even neglecting housework.

Greg didn't see any problem. His upbringing didn't include any aversion to domestic duties. I slacked off, and he just picked up the slack. It took my mom to call me on my behavior. She visited us for an overnight stay, and it only took her 3 hours to flag me on it.

"Angela, I thought we raised you better than this! What on earth has gotten into you -- you're a mess! This place is a mess! This would never fly if you were still under our roof, as you well know."

I was devastated. Her words were harsh, but even worse, she was right. And I knew it. I felt so ashamed, I could feel myself crumbling from the inside out. I looked down, allowing the tears to fall directly from my eyes to the floor. Luckily, mom was willing to hold me, and I poured it all out onto her shoulder.

"I... I know, Mom. I'm sorry. I don't know what's happened to me. I don't want to be like this! I'm trying, but I just can't keep myself motivated."

"Well, you know what would be motivating you at

our

house, don't you?"

"But Mom, I'm 22 years old! I'm too old to be spanked!"

"Well then, you'd better hope you never have to live under our roof again, because you'd soon learn you're mistaken about that."

I was floored, speechless. They hadn't spanked me since I was 16, and I lived with them until I was 21. Had I really been living with that sword over my head the whole time? Mom and I had gotten a lot out in a short period, and we both seemed content to have some quiet time to reflect on things.

When Greg came home that evening, I wanted to talk to him right away. I had tons to tell him, and even more that I needed help working out. I just didn't want to say any of it where my mom could hear. Once we turned in for the night, I knew something Greg didn't - he wasn't getting to sleep anytime soon.

"Honey, I talked with my mom today, and she made me realize some things about myself. I've been slacking around here Greg, and it's not fair to you. It's not who you married. More importantly, it's not who I want to be. I need to have my behavior corrected. I need to be spanked. And I need you to do it."

"What?" He was incredulous. I honestly think he thought he had heard me wrong.

"I need to be spanked. I grew up being spanked, and mom made me realize that even after I thought I was too old to be spanked, I still lived in fear of it. When I was young, it was mainly the pain I feared. There was an element of shame at first, but after a while I got used to it and only felt embarrassed if it happened in front of my friends.

But when I got older, I became accustomed to the pain, and it became more about the shame. Dad always gave me my spankings, but when I got older, my mom always made sure to witness it. That's when I noticed the change, but I wasn't embarrassed to have mom see me. I don't know what it was, but I started to feel deep shame around that time."

"So, you're telling me you need to feel shame?"

"No. I don't know... I don't think so. It's complicated. I don't think I can explain it. Maybe I can find someone who can, I don't know. I just know that I need spankings regularly, both maintenance spankings and punishment spankings. I need them to keep me centered. To keep me on track. I'm asking for your help, Greg."

"I can't do it. I could

never

strike a woman. It's been drilled into my head since I was old enough to make a fist. No violence against women, ever. Hard stop. I'm sorry."

"I understand honey, and I feel the same way. Except I would add 'in anger'. Never strike a woman

in anger

. In this case, I'm asking you to do it, out of love. I want you to love me enough to give me what I need."

"I'm sorry Angie, I just don't understand. I mean, I can understand needing help to stay centered. To... how did you put it, stay on track? But why that help has to be in the form of spanking... I just don't get it."

"Oh Greg, I don't know what to do, if you can't give me this. Can you at least sleep on it? Maybe... maybe I could find some information online about therapeutic spanking. Would you be willing to try to learn, sweetie?"

He could see I was on the verge of tears and was looking for him to toss me a lifeline. He came through for me; at least to that extent. He held me a long time, kissed me tenderly and told me he loved me. I was able to calm down, but not go to sleep. For over an hour I fought the urge to jump out of bed to research something I'd always taken for granted, without ever fully understanding it myself.

The next day I bookmarked some essays and tutorials on spanking. Many were purely logistical -- safe spank zones and the like. Others delved into the psychology, which I thought were the ones that might help Greg understand. I know they helped me.

When Greg got home, he sat down to read the sites I had saved. I left him alone and fixed dinner, grateful for the excuse to give him some space, but still be close by in case he had questions. When I thought I'd given him enough time to read it all, I snuck into the study to check in with him. He was sitting at the computer, his pants around his ankles, idly stroking his dick.

"Whoa! Something tells me you've graduated from your assigned material! Whatcha got there, big boy?"

I walked up behind him and saw, then heard, a bare bottomed, over-the-knee spanking session. The woman had a beautiful, full ass (not unlike my own, I noted) that was a respectable shade of pink. She was across the lap of a man (not dissimilar to Greg) who was using his bare hand to good effect, generating ripples in her flesh as he punished her bare ass. Her vocalizations reflected a mix of pain and a stuggle to endure.

"I got a lot out of reading what you sent. It got me curious, so I checked out some instructional videos. They got me

really

interested, and I then found this."

"And this has got you excited. I see why, too. I've never actually seen anything like this. It's hot. I never realized how it looked from the spanker's perspective. Oh my God, you can see her... everything! Oh my God! Is that what I... "

"What, baby?"

"Is that what I looked like? I mean, back when I was over my father's lap, did he see... that?"

"Go bring in a chair from the dining room."

"It's ok, I'm fine standing and looking over your shoulder."

"It's not for you to sit in. Now get it."

I did as he instructed, immediately aware of the unfamiliar tone in my husband's voice. He never told me what to do -- not like that. It didn't take me long to figure out what he had in mind. His computer chair had armrests and swiveled. The dining room chairs were straight-backed, sturdy and armless. I carried one back and set it in the middle of the study.

"Pull your pants and underwear down to your knees."

I did as instructed, as a brood of butterflies began stirring in my stomach. Greg rose, pulled his pants up, grabbed his phone from the desk, walked over and sat in the chair.

"You know the position. Show me how you used to do it."

I laid across his lap, just as I had with my father six years ago. I grabbed the legs of the chair and held on, wondering how it would begin. My mind raced, overwhelmed with anticipation. Then I heard the shutter sound from his phone camera.

"Is this how you received your spankings?"

'Yes, either like this, or with my pants around my ankles."

"Push them down to your ankles now."

I complied, resituated myself, and heard him take a second picture. Then he held the screen in front of my face, showing me the first. My entire torso was framed. I could see my pants bunched at my knees, holding my legs together. Only the slightest hint of pubic hair visible in the small, diamond-shaped gap at the top of my thighs.

His thumb swiped to the next pic where my pants were around my ankles. My legs were parted, my pussy hair clearly visible. The darker skin surrounding my asshole was also apparent.

"Ooooh, God! Oooooh. I didn't know. I had no idea!"

"Baby, I don't think your mother was there as a witness. I think she was there as a chaperone."

The truth of it hit me hard. Suddenly my deep feelings of shame made sense. Somewhere deep down, I must have realized. I searched my memories. Did my father ever give away anything? Was his voice always dispassionate, or was it sometimes husky, or maybe halting. Was there ever anything firm pressing against my tummy? Did he awkwardly shift and reposition me? No, nothing like that had ever happened. I was sure of it. Still, I knew that there were years of post-pubescent spankings. By the time I was 16, I was proud of how robust my bush was.

"Don't worry about it now, sweetheart. Nothing happened, and there's no reason to dwell on it now. I want us to make the most of this. We could be on the verge of something amazing, for both of us."

His hand began to gently caress my buns, lightly drawing circles around my cheeks. When his finger slipped between my cheeks, I moaned involuntarily. Then he started patting my butt with increasing enthusiasm, in a way that maximized the jiggle. My moaning became further from my control.

"Tell me what this feels like. Does this amount do anything for you?"

"Oh yes!" I gushed. "It feels incredible! I love it!"

"But does it give you any of what you need?"

"Oh, no. It's not like that. What you're doing is purely sexual. Love taps, if you will. It's not what I need, but that doesn't mean I don't want it!"

"In that case, we may have an obstacle to my giving you what you need. Much more than this is going to start to seem like slapping to me; and it will get increasingly difficult, the more aggression you require of me."

"Then I guess the question is, where's your limit?"

"I'm not sure, but I think I can be incentivized, to some degree. I'm thinking after you get what you need, I get what I need."

"Sounds great! In fact, I'll go you one better. You can even take what you need from me

while

you're giving me what I need. How does that sound?"

"Fucking amazing! Now let's get started. The only other thing I need is to hear your safe word; and get your promise to use it as soon as your pleasure no longer justifies the pain."

I promised sincerely, understanding that it would also be in my best interest. The more he would be able to rely on my promise, the more he would be free with his 'aggression', as he put it. That sounded promising to me.

I'd like to tell you I picked something clever and meaningful as my safe word, but I insisted on two, and went with yellow and red. And you only get one guess as to what each meant. My criteria were unassailable: the words were easy to remember, and they were the first that came to my mind. It turned out I was in a hurry.

"Now I want you to take off your shirt and bra. I want to see your tits. More to the point, I want to watch your tits hang down while you're bent over my lap. I want to watch them wobble and bounce as I smack your ass."

I have no way to explain what overcame me at that point. I remember my pussy spasmed and I suddenly felt wet. I was accustomed to my husband enjoying looking at me during sex, and telling me how horny he got seeing my tits or ass in one position or another. It was another thing to hear him order me into position and take pleasure in teasing me with the mental images he created in my head.

I quickly stripped topless, then resumed my position across his lap, making sure my chest cleared his legs enough to free my tits, allowing them to swing unencumbered. It was strange, feeling their weight tugging in the opposite direction. It made me acutely aware of them, which kept me thinking of the picture he had painted.

Greg's ministrations picked up right where he left off. His hand resumed patting my buns, allowing me to feel their weight, much the same as I was made aware of the weight of my tits. Gravity seemed to be playing an oddly larger-than-normal role in my stimulation. Greg continued to exert his control.

"Just so you know, my intent is to administer what I believe is called a 'maintenance spanking'. I understand that you are in acute need of a punishment spanking, but I just can't take that big of a leap right out of the gate. I'm hoping what I can offer will at least keep your demons at bay until I can have some time to reflect. Does that make sense?"

"Darling, whatever part of this you can find your way to giving to me, I welcome. You can't imagine how delirious I am with where we are right now. Please give it to me! Give me everything you've got to give!"

His playful slaps became loader smacks in a heartbeat, as if I had thrown a switch. I suppose my ample, flabby ass had something to do with it, but the way my husband's hand cracked into my ass flesh was the most intoxicating sound I think I have ever heard. I was briefly confused by the sounds of my groans, until I realized they were not all mine. Greg was clearly enjoying this level of aggression. He must have given me at least two dozen before he relented to assess the damage.

He stroked my cheeks so lightly, so tenderly. I wanted badly to kiss him, but I was unable to rise up. I certainly didn't feel confident to speak intelligibly. Completing his assessment, his hand moved to my crotch and began playing with my pussy.

"You're very wet. I'm pleased to find you like this as much as I do."

"Baby, I don't want to argue, but there's

no way

you're as happy as I am!"

"Agree to disagree. I certainly agree that it would be the most foolish of things to argue about. Now, accept another of my fingers into this dripping pussy and tell me how badly you want me to punish it with my cock."

"Oh God, baby; I need it -- I

really

need it! Please don't tease me! Please just give it to me!"

He stopped so abruptly that it left me spasming on his lap as his hand pulled out of me.

"Stand up" he said, as he helped me to my feet and then rose to face me. He kissed me forcefully, invading my mouth and taking the taste he wanted. He unbuckled his belt and freed it, and a shiver ran through me. He pulled down his pants and underwear, freeing his rock hard cock, then sat back down and pointed to the floor between his legs.

"Kneel."

My pants still bunched around my ankles, I carefully dropped to my knees and prepared myself for the inevitable. Not that I didn't like to suck Greg's cock; to the contrary - I loved it. But it was like so much about this evening; one thing to willingly offer to submit yourself, very different to be

told

to do it.

"You're going to suck my cock now, as I give you real-time feedback on your performance. If you please me, you will be praised. If you displease me, I will smack your ass with this belt. Don't worry, I'm aware the belt requires less force than my hand. I choose it not to hurt you more, merely to reach you easier and avoid getting tired or sore myself. Still, you'll have to excuse me if it takes me some practice before I calibrate the force required."

With that, he flipped a foot-long length of his belt down across my right cheek. It curled down from the top of my hip, smacking across a vertical strip of my ass, the end wrapping under my cheek. It stung in a different way. It was exhilarating. He repeated the action on my left cheek, albeit with slightly less force. He was proving to be both attentive, and a fast learner.

"Get your mouth on my dick and show me how good you can suck cock."

I obeyed and took as much of him as I could. Being commanded to perform this act was the most erotic thing I had ever experienced. Knowing that the supple leather of his belt would continue to be applied to my warm cheeks was incredibly distracting. Ironically, that knowledge was probably the reason I failed to apply myself with the dedication he expected from me. He flipped the belt again as he admonished,

"I didn't say lick it," SMACK! "I said

suck it

! Now take it back into your mouth!" SMACK!

I gasped at the second strike, and he took advantage, shoving his meat back into my suddenly open mouth. He then began to repeatedly land lighter blows on my butt, establishing a pace that did not allow me to appreciate the individual blows, only the inexorable tenderization of my entire backside.

"How does that feel, Angela?"

I took my mouth off his cock only long enough to answer.