Motivational Funishments

"How long has this been here? Two years? Or is it three already?"

The annoyance in my voice is obvious as I point to a stack of her art sitting in the corner of our living room: a pile of paintings six feet high. They had been stored in our attic for fifteen years and had moved to our living room when I cleared out the attic to make room for a home office. Our house is small and she promised me to go through the pile and discard what she no longer wanted to keep. But somehow, she never came round to it. The kids, a demanding job, studying, there was always something more important. The pile kept occupying a corner of our living room, much to my growing chagrin.

"I know..." she sighed. "I'm not happy with this either but you know I find this hard. Can you help me?"

I paused. Lately, we had been talking about how we both wanted to re-spark our sex life which had almost completely dwindled. The kids, demanding jobs, studying, you know. The extra pounds, scars, and wrinkles that inevitably come with aging did not help there, either.

"I don't know if I can help you, but we can at least make this a bit more fun for me. I..." I hesitate, and then decide to go for it. "I have a challenge for you."

"A challenge." she replied, sceptically.

"Yes, a challenge. You know you have to go through the art yourself, and you have always said that we would only fight if we did it together." Which was probably true. "So all you need is something that reminds you of it every day, right? How about this: from now on, you can only wear thong panties until you have sorted through the art."

I adore seeing her in a thong and still lust after her bottom, even if, or maybe because, it has filled out a bit over the years. She, however, never liked wearing thongs, saying they felt uncomfortable. She had worn them every now and then, on special occasions, to please me, but this had ceased immediately once the kids had arrived.

She frowned. "You would like that, wouldn't you?"

"I would, very much so. But the important thing," I say with exaggerated sincerity, "is that every morning when you put on fresh panties, this will remind you of the task at hand."

"Yes, and all through the day as well." She smiled. "Oh, alright then. No idea why I would go along with this, but who knows, this may just work. But there's one thing though."

I looked up.

"You will have to buy some new undies for me. I don't think I have any thongs anymore."

I laughed. "No problem! But don't you still have that blue lace number?"

"I suppose."

"Go fetch it for me, will you?"

And off I went, singing inside and looking forward to a pleasant couple of hours online, or maybe even downtown if I dared, picking underwear I would like to see my wife in.

The next week, she obediently wore her new thong underwear and I must say I immensely enjoyed the idea of her wearing thongs. Especially the view every now and again, when she unthinkingly bent over. Or that one time when she wore a tight pair of jeans when we went for a walk and I had to restrain myself from walking behind her the whole way. But besides that, nothing changed.

So, early Friday evening, I brought up the subject again.

"The thongs aren't really working, aren't they?" I said.

"Oh I don't know," she said, "you seem to enjoy yourself, don't you?"

"Absolutely, but I was talking about the art..."

She sighed. "I know... I guess I will be wearing thongs forever then."

"Sounds great to me! Unless... Unless we up the ante a bit," I said. Butterflies coarsed through my stomach as I gathered the courage to propose my devilish scheme to her.

"We could do this: after every week that goes by without your sorting through the art, I...." I hesitated and then plunged on. "I get to take you over my knee and spank you," I blurted out.

There, I said it. No going back now. I had been harbouring spanking fantasies involving her ever since we met. She had, and still has, a lovely round, firm bum. In the past, I had tentatively slapped her arse during sex a few times, which she liked, and she had even crawled over my knee for a 'butt massage' a few glorious times. But I had never had the courage to bring up my desire to spank her properly, although I knew she had her suspicions.

"What?" she looked shocked. But then a slow smile spread across her face. "You pervert. You want to spank me, do you?"

She turned her back to me, looked around, and brought her hand down hard on her pert rump - Smack! I saw her buttocks jiggle under her dress and I knew there and then I would get what I wanted.

"Yes, I think that might motivate you better than those thongs. And tell you what, because there's already a week gone by, we will start tonight. The kids are away, we have the evening to ourselves, no better time than the present."

She blushed and looked positively startled. But then something demure came over her, maybe even submissive. "Well okay, if you say so."

I walked over to her and kissed her. "I do. Tonight at eight." I let my hand slide down to her bum and she involuntarily jumped.

The rest of the time passed uneventfully, even though I was surprised the top of my head did not fell off, given the broadness of my grin, and my pants did not explode, given the hardness of my cock. She, however, was a bit more thoughtful.

After dinner I cleaned up the kitchen and then closed the bedroom curtains and put on some music. We surely did not want any of the neighbours to hear what's going on. Then I called her.

She came up to the bedroom, looking hesitant. "Now what do we do?"

"Take off your dress and pantyhose, but leave your panties on." I said sternly.

She obediently did so, and I then instructed her to stand by the bed. I sat down and told her to kneel on the bed beside me, and then I carefully pulled her over my lap. A bit of manoeuvring and her bottom was perfectly positioned. She pushed up her upper body on her elbows, a position I did not think she could maintain for long.

"You might as well lie down and relax", I told her, gently pushing her down.

"Easy for you to say, relax..." she muttered while I admired the view. Her bottom looked lovely, framed by the frilly black thong. I started massaging her buttocks, and she purred. Then she looked over her shoulder as if to ask what I was up to. I raised my hand and let it - smack! - land on her left butt cheek.

"Oh!" she moaned. Slap! Slap! A couple more swats hit her behind. After ten of those swats, her cheeks reddened a bit and I paused to massage her bum as the redness disappeared again.

I started to slowly but steadily pepper her behind with swats, making sure to massage the stricken area in between slaps. Smack, grab, smack, grab. She let out a light moan with each impact. Smack, smack, smack, smack, a couple of harder slaps to each cheek. Still no complaints from her, just submission, relaxation, and... enjoyment?

After a couple more swats I once again caressed and massaged her buttocks. My hands brushed the inside of her thighs and she parted her legs a bit. My fingers caressed the inside of her thighs and I dared sliding my fingers over the gusset of her thong. She moaned throatily.

"You are enjoying this, aren't you?" I said.

She nodded, but said "maybe" and wiggled her bum a bit.

That was my sign to continue spanking her, now alternating slaps with caressing her pussy through the fabric of her thong. Soon she was riding against my fingers and I moved them under the silky fabric to find her pussy soaked. I started massaging her clit with one hand while raining sharp slaps on her red behind with the other. Her hand fumbled with the fly of my jeans and she somehow managed to liberate my rock-hard cock. She started wanking me while I kept spanking and fingering her. She came loudly into my hand and I followed soon after. Spent, we fell on the bed and lay in each others' arms, kissing and chatting. We had not been this intimate for ages.

One week later. The redness on her bum had subsided almost right away. I knew because I sneaked a peek when she got out of bed after an hour. There was a certain tension between us, though, as we went through our usual routine almost as if nothing had happened. Except she still wore thong underwear every day. Could it be she was showing off her bum a bit more? Bending over in front of me once and again? Wearing tighter clothes?

Then Friday came. Nothing had happened to the stack of paintings in the corner of the room. The kids were out again and the tension was so thick you could cut it.

"Well, you know what to expect later on" I tell her, looking at the art.

She nodded thoughtfully and bit her lip. I closed the curtains, put on some music, and guided her over my knee on the living room sofa. She wiggled her bum enticingly when I told her to lift her skirt and present herself to me.

I could tell she was wet before we even started. This time I did not take long to alternate the spanks with caressing and fingering of her pussy, using my right hand to spank her, while my left hand reached under her and slid into her panties to find her clit. She rode my fingers enthusiastically while I spanked her to orgasm. Afterwards, as we lay together, chatting, kissing, and caressing, I moved her hand to my cock and she slowly and softly wanked me until I came.

Again, a week later. The air had been even more fraught with tension. On Thursday morning, before we went to work, she had suddenly, briefly, raised her dress to show me her bum in a lovely little thong with a floral pattern. On Friday afternoon I send her a photo of the stack of art in our living room corner, and a gif of a pretty woman getting her bottom soundly spanked. She answered almost immediately with one of those new chat features: a short film that disappears right away once you view it. It showed her lifting her dress, showing her bare buttock, and slapping it. I became rock hard immediately and found it hard to concentrate on my work the rest of the day.

Later that night, thankfully the kids were out again. When she came in, I whispered in her ear: "You little minx, you're so going to get it tonight."

That night, I spanked her harder than I had ever done before until she positively screamed at me to fuck her NOW. She got on all fours, I slid her thong to the side and took her from behind. She was soaked, warm and welcoming and her reddened arse cheeks felt hot to my skin. I reached over and caressed her clit while we fucked. She came almost immediately and I followed not long after. We had not done this for years, and the days after we were cuddly like newlyweds. Even the kids noticed, slightly disgusted.

Yet another week went by, with no changes to the art, obviously. As a surprise to us both, we had 'plain' sex, in the middle of the week on a morning when we both worked from home.

When Friday came, the fun started immediately. I decided to introduce another secret fantasy.

"Tonight, let's try something different. I want you to kneel on the bed, bum in the air, and suck me. I will spank you until I come. You may play with yourself during the spanking."

And so we did. I found the whole experience incredibly erotic, but she admitted that, while the submissiveness of the position turned her on, she liked the surrender of being over my lap and just experiencing what I did to her better. Fair enough.

Next Friday, she had the day off. When I came home, I found the stack of art gone. It had completely disappeared, the corner of the room clean and empty. A pang of disappointment went through my stomach, but I complimented my wife with her achievement. After all, I wasn't seriously thinking that I would be spanking her every week from now on, was I?

Oh well, I mused, these were a fantastic four weeks, and I was really grateful this seems to have revived our sex life. Which it had -- on Sunday morning, she had woken me up by sliding down my underpants and stroking my cock until it was hard, and then mounting me in all her glorious nakedness.

She did keep on wearing thongs more often than not. She said she had gotten used to the sensation and they made her feel good. I could not complain about that development, and, afraid to spoil the new atmosphere, I did not dare bring up our spanking ritual yet, thinking there would be an opportunity soon enough. And there was.

One evening, a couple of weeks later, she called me up the stairs. I entered the bedroom, and there she was, dressed in just her sexiest thong panties and a shirt, pointing to the mess on her side of the bed. Books, clothes, bags, months of paperwork, it's incredible what you can fit in such a small space when you really try.

"Can you help me with this too?"

I smiled.