Short form, M/F, cons, non-sexual
Wife spanking. As taboo as it seems now, it was once a common practice in American households, right up through the 1950s. Barbaric? Maybe by today’s standards, but it never occurred to us to think of it that way. I was only 20 when I married Richard. I grew up without a father, and I was rarely disciplined by my mother. I turned out ok, but I had some terrible habits. One of those was drinking, and then driving. One time I got into an accident. For weeks after, my guilt turned me into a shadow of my former self – emotionally unavailable, and lifeless.
There was no punishment initially. Richard came home one evening, and said he had had a talk with our pastor, Reverend Maxwell. He told me to go upstairs, and wait for him. I asked him why.
“Do you trust me, and submit to my authority as your husband?” he asked.
“Of course, I do,” I replied without hesitation.
“Then go upstairs Christina. I don’t owe you an explanation.”
I felt chills go down my spine. He only had me wait for him like this when he punished me severely. At least, that’s what happened the one time before, when I was whipped, instead of being spanked. I loved, and trusted him too much to disobey.
“Yes, sir” I replied.
Once in our bedroom, I could hear him go outside. I heard the trunk of his car slam shut. Soon after, I could hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and my heart began to race. The door creaked open, and there was my husband – my lover, and keeper – holding a thick, brown colored rod.
My eyes welled up with tears, and my hands began to tremble.
As always, it was disorienting to hear the voice of the one I loved, offering me his terms of surrender. “I will not force you sweet heart. I will only lead you as the head of our household. Do you submit to the discipline you are about to receive?” His voice was firm, yet reserved. I knew he would never abuse his position, but he knew that I saw it my duty to obey him.
I stiffened my lips, and I nodded, as a single tear rolled down my cheek.
“Good,” he said. Now get in position over the bed, just like you did after you were caught lying to me.
My tears began to flow freely as I reluctantly obeyed. Flashbacks of the whipping I once received played vividly in my mind’s eye.
My yellow sundress fell to the floor. Once I was over the edge of the bed, I pulled my panties down to my thighs. I knew that I deserved it. He would only tell me to do it anyway.
Richard began lecturing me. I don’t remember much of what he said, only his tone of voice. It was paternal, and stern. My attention drifted between his lecture, and the goosebumps rising on my bottom. I winced in anticipation once he went silent. The next thing I remember was the searing sting that lined across the lower half of my butt. It was every bit as painful as I feared, but I was determined to be a good wife. I held still as several more stokes came. I don’t know how many. All I remember is that by the last one, Richard had his hand on my back, with both of my hands clasped firmly in his. My legs were kicking furiously. My head was buried in the pillow as it muffled my screams, and soaked up my tears.
The punishment ended abruptly, and we held each other on the bed in silence as I recovered. I woke up the next morning still in his arms, my panties still around my thighs.
As the amber sunlight came in through the window, it reminded me of the promise I read about in the book of Psalms: “Faithful is the Lord. His mercies are new every morning.” My guilt had been atoned for. I looked up at Richard, and kissed him.
“You are a good man, and a wonderful husband,” I said with a sleepy smile.
He stroked my hair, and smiled warmly. “I love you Christina. Hold tight, I’ll make you some breakfast.”