Although my punishment spankings first entered our relationship (to our best estimate) in about mid 1998, it was not until late 2003 at around the time of our wedding anniversary that DW first decided it was time for a weekend away that was primarily dedicated to remedial discipline. Certainly we had been for weekends and holidays that included spankings of varying intensities, but for this particular weekend, DW made it clear that spanking punishment would be the main order of business and that anything else would be scheduled around it, rather than the reverse.
In discussing our individual re-collections of this weekend, neither of us can now recall much about the particular aspects of my behaviour, or perhaps the frequency of its recurrence, that resulted in the decision for a discipline-focused weekend. DW did express the view that, as I am “consistently naughty”, she would not have had to look very far for ample justification. Our recent discussion of this history also led to a (probably unfortunate for me) reminder from DW about specific aspects of our Disciplinary Agreement that I continue to infringe all too often.
As one of the favourite cottages that we rent on a regular basis provides more than enough privacy and is within only 1.5 hours driving distance, it was selected and booked about 2 weeks in advance from Friday evening through until early Sunday afternoon. When the Friday morning prior to that weekend finally arrived, I can remember that DW sent me off to work in a quite lacy pair of white nylon panties that go by the brand name “No knickers” – I think intended to indicate that they are designed to avoid visible panty lines. It seemed surprising to me that I can recall that particular detail, but what I endured whilst they, and other pairs, were successively lowered over the course of the following weekend is hardly something I’m likely to forget in a hurry.
Although I had managed to leave work a little early, the Friday evening traffic out of the city had been quite heavy and after picking up the key, we arrived at the cottage around 8:30pm, unloaded the car and made ourselves at home. DW’s spanking implements for the weekend consisted of the hairbrush and homemade Spencer Paddle (the one recently broken) and these found a place on the coffee table in the cozy living room that opens onto the back verandah. Beyond was a view of the valley below and the first lights were becoming visible from a small town in the far distance. As it was coming into summer, the weather was probably quite warm but nevertheless, the cottage is well heated with a choice of either a (bottled) gas space heater or slow combustion stove. As we’d previously experienced, this meant that it was cozy to the point that the wearing of clothes could be optional.
DW had already required that I strip down to just my panties and left me seated on the lounge watching some TV from the few channels available while she disappeared into the bedroom. Some few minutes later she emerged wearing only a white and very lacy camisole that didn’t by any means cover the matching G-string. Looking at my crotch and observing the progressively appearing bulge, DW couldn’t resist her quite characteristic comment that – “I see I have your attention, turn off the TV”. Her next move was to pick up the hairbrush, tap it a little menacingly onto her other hand – “well up you get then!”.
Rising somewhat hesitantly I was instructed to face one of the low-armed lounge chairs that furnished the living room – “pull down your panties and get into position”. I slipped the panties down and let them fall to my ankles. Grabbing each arm of the chair toward the back, I bent over until my elbows were bent to about 90 degrees and DW was content that the target for her hairbrush was being adequately presented. Standing by my left hip she placed one hand firmly in the small of my back and used the other to rub the smooth back of the hairbrush from side to side on the most sensitive lower area of my backside. She then uttered a brief murmur of satisfaction. “Don’t forget to count for me.” “No Ma’am!”
Perhaps it was a combination of the absolute privacy, the available space or simply my deservedness, but the strokes that DW then administered were by far the most severe that I had received up to that time. Alternating from side to side in classic fashion, the sting from virtually every stroke caused me to gasp before gathering just enough self-control to give out the count. By thirty, I was starting to breathe as if I had been playing a strenuous sport, and as DW progressed toward fifty, I could feel that I was breaking into a cold sweat. Not being accustomed to such strong and involuntary physiological responses to a spanking, I was beginning to wonder just how long DW would continue when finally, a pause did come after (I think) about 73 strokes – 73? Huh?
In reality, DW had simply paused to renew her grip on the hairbrush. Once she had done so, the brush was again rubbed across my now stinging backside. “Where was I up to?” I sought for an unambiguous answer. “The next would be 74.” The only other thing resembling a pause was at 99, just long enough to ensure that the 100th was a real stinger.
I remained in position, panting, sweating and wondering if any more strokes were to come. “You may stand up.” After I’d done so somewhat breathlessly, I said “Thank you Ma’am”, and instinctively cradled my now tortured butt with both hands. I could feel a large area toward the bottom of each cheek that was becoming more swollen and hard by the moment but couldn’t feel anywhere that the skin actually seemed to have broken.
“Hmm… yes that’s right, your backside is very bright red, except for some rather pale-looking patches in the middle”, observed DW. “Pull up your panties please.”
I raised them carefully and after some adjustments to at least reduce their discomfort, I turned around and we fell into each other’s arms. “Thank you for disciplining me Ma’am.”
“That’s alright Ford. Now tomorrow evening, I will be spanking you every hour, on the hour from 7:00pm onwards – understand?” DW glanced at the rather large station clock on the wall as if to emphasise the point.
As we sat down close together on the lounge (gingerly in my case) and started to relax, our warm, almost naked bodies blended into a progressively more passionate embrace. The lovemaking that followed was very special.