Wednesday Night

It is Wednesday night. I will be punished tonight. It is a part of my marriage. A very good marriage. A marriage which is based on an equal relationship. My husband who adores me will get his punishment on Sunday night. But tonight is my night.

Soon my bottom will pay the price for some ill-chosen words uttered in anger, and for my neglect in letting him know where I was when I was late (still again). The cr-r-a-ck of leather will remind me to work harder at keeping my temper and to remember that this man who loves me also worries about me a lot.

It began when we were first going together. I had never married, but lived with a man who turned out to be alcoholic and who fathered my three daughters. When they reached their teens, his alcoholism affected their lives, and after some particularly bad episodes, I left him. My husband was divorced, having split with a woman who, sadly, had undergone a mental illness which greatly affected her personality.. We met and began dating. It was apparent after a short time that we were both strong willed people, but we both carried a lot of baggage. Each of us nursed long standing hurt, each of us saw barbs where none was intended, each was jealous of the other's friends and lifestyle, each of us was in short not ready for a loving commitment with trust for another person.

And each of us loved sex. My husband has the best tongue any woman has ever known. I, in turn, am blessed with what every man desires most – a woman who truly loves sharing oral sex and is prepared for sex any hour of the day, any day of the week. With both of us having been in quite sex-less relationships for quite a long time, the warmth, affection, and physical pleasure we afforded each other provided motivation for us to work out our differences.

We explored our fantasies, including some mild bondage, some "daring" exhibitionism on my part, and inevitably, some spanking. Each of us found some release in having the other "in control" and domination/submission became a part of our sexual repertoire. I found it sexually exciting to find myself lying across his lap, and to have my skirt raised over my waist, my panties taken down, and to have my bottom well reddened. To be his little girl, or his errant secretary, a hooker, or a nun, to have his hand spanking me until I plead for mercy then to be thrown onto the floor, on my back, panties still down and to be taken, hard and fast led to passion I could never forget. Our sex was explosive.

While being spanked, and spanked hard, was a huge turnon for me, I must admit that making him bend over, pants and underwear around his ankles, while I work him over with a belt is even moreso, the greatest turnon I have ever encountered. Once his backside starts to redden, the only way he can save himself is to beg permission to orally satisfy me. And the only way to satisfy me is to lie on his back while I strip off my panties, straddle his face, and settle down to the pleasures of his tongue. I demand satisfaction, and satisfaction only occurs after several orgasms. Can there be an even greater pleasure for me? Yes, there is. He is not let off the hook even when I have my period, and knowing what he is required to do turns the excitement up another notch.. When problems arose between us, two fragile but strong willed people, it appeared the relationship was doomed. And then one day, after having hurt me by saying something which just hit the wrong nerve, leaving me one part furious and the other part in tears, he tried to find forgiveness and he said "would you feel better if you punished me?" I snarled "yes" and this time begging permission to satisfy me didn't save him one bit. I swung the belt, I swung it as hard as I could, I swung it over and over until the hurt drained out of me. And then we made love. And I didn't know it then, but "our system" was born.

Of course within a week or so, the shoe was on the other foot. And I had little choice but to place myself over his lap, and endure a very hard, albeit bare handed, spanking. To obtain forgiveneness, I then had to kneel between his legs, unzip his pants, and take his cock out. And then kiss it, fondle it, lick it, and finally suck it, and swallow.

Soon we were both having spanking fun, and occasional painful punishments. But it became obvious to us that if there was to truly be punishment, it would have to be somehow different than the spanking "fun and games". Over a period of several months, our "system" evolved, and tonight I stand - awaiting punishment.

Now I ought to say here that the "worst part" of punishment is the waiting, the knowing that it is going to happen, but that's not so. The "worst part" is the intense sting that seems to reach from my backside all the way to my knees with only a brief pause between my legs. It's the maddening itch in a bright red backside which I must display, but not touch, while standing in the corner. It's wincing when sitting on a wooden chair even hours later. And it annoys me that an hour after the worst punishment I am damp and with an itch in my pussy that rivals the itch of my reddened bottom.

"Spankings" are given on my bare bottom by his bare hand, and are always a prelude to love making. His "spankings" are also given across my lap, pants and underwear down, with a light wooden ping pong type paddle. We have learned how much each can take, and that both giving and taking turns each of us on, and these bottom reddening spankings are a major part of our highly sexual relationship. Being told at breakfast that "you have been a very naughty little girl, and when I get home tonight, you are going to get the spanking you deserve" is enough to send me to work with soaked panties, and a tingle down there for the entire day. As for him, when he gets home from work and I am wearing "the outfit" which consists of high heels, stay-up stockings, and a black lace Victoria's Secrets ensemble, he knows enough to kneel immediately. But these fun times are also an entirely different kettle of fish from our punishment spankings. One of which I will get tonight.

We have an old slate, purchased at an antique store, which hangs on the inside of the door of the closet in our room. It is divided in half – his and hers – down the middle. It hangs between two leather paddles, each about fifty centimeters long and five wide. Each is double thickness with some reinforcing metal in between. His is thicker than mine because he is tougher than me, and I have a considerably lower threshold of pain.

At any time during the week when either of us has been hurt by the other in word or deed, an order is given to go and write on the slate the "offense" and the number of strokes awarded. No argument is allowed.

At the end of the week, for me it is Wednesdays like today, for him it is Sundays, we are ordered to go and fetch the slate. The "court" is in the living room. If the slate is blank, and mine was not this week, it is replaced and that's the end of it. If in thinking over what the punishments were awarded for, the person hurt decides that maybe it wasn't so bad after all, the order is given to replace it and that is the end of it. But if neither is the case, comes the order "so you are to be punished."

The first step is to return to the closet, get the paddle and bring it to the living room, presenting it with the words, "I'm sorry I did the things I did, please punish me for them."

I then must take off all of my clothes, every stitch, folding them neatly, even shoes and socks. I stand facing him, fold my hands together and put them behind my neck. This is terribly embarrassing because at my age, my breasts have begun to sag, and after three babies, the lips of my sex are somewhat distended. They are also clearly visible because my sex is shaved clean; he loves it that way. There may be some who feel this is a sign that I am submissive, but the quality and quantity of oral sex I am showered with make it well worth keeping him happy.

I have said we have a highly sexual relationship. We sleep naked and curled up together. I dress and undress with him every day. Our one bathroom is often used while the other is showering - we often shower together. In short, modesty is not a major item in our marriage. But to have to strip down to bare skin, and put hands behind the neck, knowing that punishment is coming, is one of the hardest things for me to do. In the eight years we have been together, I still am not used to it – there is a feeling of nakedness when your sins are about to be talked about it, and you know your bottom will suffer, standing completely exposed in the harsh light of a living room, that is unlike any nudity in the bedroom.

We go down the list of my sins. Each item is discussed as to what I did, and to how many strokes were awarded. Usually a tongue lashing is part of it; "can't you understand how what you said would affect me...? " Why did you do that?" Although I try not to, I will start to squirm; he knows exactly the things to say to make me sorry for each thing I did. For the first time, I may argue with either the severity of the punishment, or even whether I really deserve any punishment for what I did. He is eminently fair about this. The bulk of my punishments are for three things, lateness (I was never very good at being on time, but this is made worse if I fail to call him and tell him why. He does worry about me), forgetting something important (from going to the store to renewing my driver's license!), or for my unfortunately foul mouth coupled with a bad temper. Sometimes there really was a god excuse for why I failed to do something important, sometimes he believes that I truly did not mean something I said the way it was taken, and he may reduce or even rescind the punishment awarded. In the case of a dispute under our "system", the person who was hurt always is the finally arbiter, because we both agree that if the other hurt you, that hurt is valid, and deserving of receiving some punishment. This stems from us both having been in previous relationships in which our feelings "didn't matter". Each of us had a partner who was really uncomprehending (for different reason) of the hurt they administered.

And having agreed that punishment is in order, and having agreed the number of strokes is fair, still completely exposed, humiliated, and feeling remorse, I am told to "get ready for your punishment".

I will walk over to the end of the sofa, and bend over it, head all the way down to the cushions. I stretch my hands above my head, gripping a pillow put there for that purpose. I will spread my legs wide because part of the humiliation of punishment in our house (for both of us) is that when the paddle is applied, the private parts must be fully in view. In an average week, the number of stokes I receive is twelve to fifteen. (I am harsher with him, he probably averages more like twenty). I have gotten off scot-free on many occasions – the worst I have ever taken was forty four.

He steps up behind me, says "ready?", and reminds me that I am to count them.

The first stroke is always the worst. I am sure he could swing harder if he really wanted to, but we agreed years ago that the purpose is definitely punishment for the hurts or offenses inflicted and a genuine hope that better behavior will come about. Punishment means pain, and both of us inflict pain in these sessions. We also have a "no mercy" rule. The last stroke is just as hard as the first regardless of how many the poor victim has, or will, receive. The time interval remains the same, no matter how the pain level and heat may have increased. If you have never had a leather paddle laid across your bottom, let me explain how it feels. You hear it coming first. A split instant of a hiss, and then the sound of a tree branch snapping. The instant pain is blinding; you will gasp – or later sob, your fingers will grab the pillow more tightly. As the sting spreads across your cheeks, only the fingers grabbing that pillow prevent you from reaching back to try and rub the heat out. When the first blast of pain subsides, you will meekly say, "one, thank you sir", and it will take ten or fifteen seconds until your breathing is back to something like normal. Now close your eyes, take a deep breath, and wait for the next stroke. If a skirt up, panties down, bare bottom spanking over the lap brings out the juice in your pussy, and the lust in your mind, let me assure you that during a leather strap paddling you will remain dry as a bone.

Tonight I will receive twenty two strokes. Usually I am gasping by six or eight, sobbing softly by fifteen or so, and actually crying by twenty four. Kicking the legs or bending the knees is permissible, but otherwise leaving position (like standing up, or rubbing the bottom) gets a very harsh penalty; two strokes delivered across the backs of the thighs. That is pain you never forget. The night of the forty four, I was very proud of the fact that although I collapsed over the arm of the sofa, I never left position, never pleaded to be let off. I had earned every one, I knew it, and I took it.

When the paddling is over, I get to erase the week's offenses, and return the strap along with the slate to its place in the bedroom. Still naked, I will then return to the living room and go the punishment corner where I will stand with nose touching the wall, for as many minutes as there has been strokes. During this time, I can compose myself. This is followed by a long, warm, (unsexy) kiss shared with words of forgiveness. Sex is not a part of our punishment sessions, and we have worked very hard at keeping fun, sexy "spankings" quite separate from punishment paddlings. Despite this, I have found through the years that love-making occurs more frequently on Wednesday and Sunday nights than on others. Particularly after his punishments. As I've said, I am a bad person. Hurting him turns me on.

I mentioned above that ours is an equal relationship, and that he will stand, completely naked in front of me on Sunday evening. I am somewhat tougher on him than he is on me. While he loves giving me a fun spanking, I genuinely believe that he is not turned on when punishing me. I can't say the same. It turns me on to make him gasp, to kick out with his legs, to mumble expletives as the paddle strikes home. I also paddle him just about as hard as I can; I'm sure I swing harder with his heavier paddle than he does to me. Each stroke, and especially those getting a gasp, a groan or even moreso a sob, from him gives me that tingle down there, and I can feel the juices flow. When I am finished, my panties are always soaked. More than once he has returned from replacing the paddle and slate and taken his place in the corner while I have my eyes closed, and my hand inside my panties. And there's more I am also ashamed of, but it is true. We have an extra penalty of two strokes if he shows any sexual excitement when he is naked in front of me; I confess that occasionally I will dangle a high heel from my toe, or be careless with my skirt, or leave a button too many undone in the hopes of "catching him".

We are two strong people, both with baggage from past relationships, both quick to anger and to find hurt. If you wonder how have we maintained the wonderful loving relationship we have, I think it largely through our punishment ritual, mutual respect at the end of a half meter of doubled leather. Each of us knows we must face that every week. And it is not easy to stand in front of your partner, completely naked, admit the things you have done, ask for punishment, and then bend over and accept the searing pain of a paddling. But it works.