Disciplining Ford

“Ok, I want you over the back of this chair”, said DW as she drew one of the wooden dining chairs away the table and slid it across the floor into the middle of the room, “but first, drop your track pants”.

Once I’d stood behind the chair, I slid my pants down to my ankles, revealing the white nylon panties that DW had selected for the occasion and then made to lean over the back of the chair. Presumably because DW anticipated that I’d be in position for some little time, she had me pause while fetching a towel, folding it, and placing it as cushioning over the top of the chair’s hard wooden back. It was of such a height that I needed to rise slightly onto my toes in order to get my hips at just the right height to bend fully over the improvised padding. I then firmly grasped the front of the chair seat and waited.

“Now lower you elbows onto the seat.”

This proved just possible by rising a little higher onto my toes and then bending the extra distance so that the entire lengths of my forearms were now resting flat against the wooden seat. It felt like I couldn’t have been more rigidly pinioned across the chair if I’d been tied to it, and as I bent further, I could feel my panties riding up slightly further – adding to my feelings of exposure and vulnerability.

“If your elbows come off that seat, we’ll be starting all over again, understand?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

It was now Sunday night and we’d been staying in this cottage since we’d arrived early Friday evening. I knew that the spanking I was about to receive was the result of multiple infringements over a quite period and decidedly overdue – there simply had been no previous opportunity for DW to administer it with sufficient privacy at home. As the weekend away was also for the purpose of participating in a sporting event, DW had determined that discipline would be scheduled for the final night, the only exception being 50 stinging swats with the hairbrush she had delivered on Friday night while I was positioned over the side of the bed, “just to give a taste of what’s to come”.

About an hour earlier, DW had disappeared off to the bedroom and returned clad in her dressing gown with Spencer Paddle and hairbrush in hand, placing them in readiness, one atop of the other, on the dining table. Once she’d again sat down with me on the lounge, DW queried whether I knew the reasons for the spanking I was about to receive. As often seems the case, my powers of recall had largely deserted me at the imminent prospect of one of DW’s spankings, and the best I could offer were some comments about bad language, and lateness to bed. DW was ominously non-committal in her reply.

“Well yes, but let’s see what else comes to mind as we go along shall we?”

With that DW stood up and removed her dressing gown to reveal the bright red lace, nylon teddy that was hugging every delicious curve of her body. I recognised it immediately as one that I’d bought for her some years ago and if anything, DW now looked even more stunning in it than she had originally. Supported by thin shoulder straps, the front revealed plenty of cleavage whilst its high cut showed her milky smooth thighs and bulge of her shaven mound to perfection. As DW had gone to fetch the dining room chair, I was also reminded of how well it revealed just the right amount of her butt.

It was shortly after that I was following her instructions to pinion myself across the back of the dining room chair, to the accompaniment of her lightly tapping the Spencer Paddle against the palm of her hand. Once I was positioned to her total satisfaction, she laid the flat cool oak paddle across my butt, just above the lace leg elastic of my panties.

Even though I had expected nothing in the way of warm-up strokes, the pain of the first when it landed still took my breath away, “Ah! … one … mm!”, this being just the sort of involuntary “verbal” feedback that DW was seeking.

I quickly realised that my immobility across the chair’s back was ensuring that I would feel the total force of each stroke. DW then followed up with 19 equally painful landings of the Spencer Paddle across both cheeks, pausing only momentarily here and there in their delivery to renew her grip and to ensure that the severity of each stroke was maintained. DW then decided that it was time for my panties to be lowered. This she did by gripping their lace waistband at each of my hips and peeling them down just far enough to expose my rapidly reddening cheeks. I renewed my grip on the front of the chair in expectation of what was to follow.

This amounted to another thirty absolutely blistering strokes from the Spencer Paddle that DW delivered in steady, measured fashion, again pausing just sufficiently to reassert her grip on this intense instrument of my punishment and to maintain its painful effectiveness.

After fifty strokes with the paddle, DW casually laid it aside and took up the hairbrush. With her swinging arm and wrist now fully warmed up, the snap of her wrist that accompanied the delivery of each stroke had me gasping anew at the sting it could impart, even in comparison with the paddle. By the time my counting had finally reached fifty, I was, as usual, perspiring profusely from the effort of managing the pain and remaining in position, lest the whole exercise be repeated.

“Now stay right there!”

From my prone position it was difficult to see what DW might now had in mind, but “thankfully” it was simply her intention to record the results of her labours with the digital camera. This step completed, I was permitted to stand and gingerly pull up my panties.

“Now turn the chair around and be seated.”

As I eased myself onto the hard wooden seat, DW sat back on the lounge facing me.

“You also must learn not to lose your cool unnecessarily – remember – yes, thought you might, and you really must stop being so negative on occasions. Just think about that while you sit there for another half an hour – no, you may not take any weight on your arms, sit up straight and fold them behind your back.”

As the minutes slowly passed, I could feel the lace hem and seat of my panties progressively impressing themselves onto my well-blistered butt. Meanwhile, DW clicked the TV back on and made herself comfortable with her feet up on the lounge, the ample central heating ensuring that neither of us felt the cold.

Finally DW motioned that I come and join her on the lounge and, not before I had eased the panties away from my backside, I carefully set myself down beside her.

Soon afterwards I came to realise that I was now the one to be sat upon.