In his first chapter, Jack recounts how it all began. Heading toward divorce, Jack and his wife wrote their own female-led relationship contract, duly enforced with old-fashioned domestic discipline.
|Chapter 2 of 3|
Chapter 1: The Beginning
Prior to my wife and I entering into what is now referred to as a Female-Led Relationship with Domestic Discipline, I was spanked by my mom.
Like many kids who grew up in the 60s, my mom took a strap to me when it was necessary. She determined that it was time for the strap when I reached 8 years of age, and I was almost 21 years old the last time. I always understood why I was going to get it. She had a process that was always adhered to. Seated calmly in the living room, we discussed the reason for the proposed punishment. I was always able to provide my side of what happened and there were times when a spanking wasn’t warranted – most of the time, it was. The spanking protocol was strictly followed: I stripped to my underwear, stood in front of her and lowered them to the floor, went over her living room chair completely naked, and she then administered the punishment she felt due.
I explain that experience because my wife, who was my girlfriend at the time, ultimately witnessed one such session when I was 20 years old. Her interest began while we were having sex, she noticed the marks left by mom and the strap. With curiosity piqued, she finally inquired and I told her that my mom still took leather to my bare bottom whenever I needed it. A few days later she asked me if she could watch such an event. Mom allowed witnesses if my infraction involved them, which, at times, included my neighbors or my sister.
My girlfriend and I decided that we would stage a “scene” in front of my mom that saw me yelling and swearing at my girlfriend knowing my mom would not stand for it. When the day came, we both played it up so my mom wouldn’t have a choice of applying the strap to me which would be witnessed by my girlfriend. Per the spanking protocol, I stripped completely naked followed by my mom delivering the “merited” strapping which I suspect contained a few extra strokes. After it was over, I collected myself, left with my girlfriend, and drove her home. While we were in the car, she cried and apologized for agreeing to have me experience such painful punishment when I really had done anything wrong. I tried to comfort her with assurances that I was okay with what had happened.
Desperation Leads to Domestic Discipline
A little over a year after the witnessed strapping, that event was put far into the rearview mirror as my girlfriend and I tied the knot. We began with a great relationship that started to deteriorate when I increasingly continued going out with my single friends leaving her at home. Many days of partying and getting drunk transformed into weeks and months. In retrospect, while we loved each other, I wasn’t ready for married life. Close to a year later we needed to decide our future. Sitting down, we calmly determined that we didn’t want to divorce provided there would be substantive changes. I grabbed a notebook and pen and started writing what it would take to save our marriage. At the time, there were no thoughts of discipline since that was long behind us and I was an “adult.”
I listened and set to paper what my wife and I discussed. There were many of my behaviors that needed to change. There were also many tasks in the older house we were renting that required my attention. We divided up the issues into two categories: First, my behavioral changes, and second, tasks I needed to complete. Once we fleshed everything out, the actual enforcement of my behavior had to be addressed – that was when our thoughts turned toward spanking. Unspoken, it was on our minds during what seemed like a long period of silence. I broke the silence bringing up the strap my mom took to me in what had seemed like a long time ago. Initially, my wife said “no.” She was traumatized by witnessing my strapping and felt she couldn’t be effective in providing me with that type of guidance. Pushing forward, I wrote the word “strap” in the notebook.
In the mid-70s there was no internet to refer to. There were many concerns running through our minds after I wrote the word. There was more silence since neither of us knew whether what we were doing was right or wrong. I felt that I might be the only “adult” in the world who may be subjected to real bare-bottom discipline. She didn’t know if she could inflict pain on someone, deep inside, she still loved. This time, she broke the silence.
To Be Strapped
She said that she would take the strap to me if we took “you”, meaning me, out of the equation. At first I was puzzled. She explained that my discipline would need to take place in our bedroom where we had room-darkening curtains due to her having to sleep during the day because she worked at night. Walking through a dry run, we went into our bedroom and closed the curtains. It was completely dark except for the little light coming through the open door. Since my mom had a strict protocol for administering discipline, my wife also wanted one that she controlled and best suited her needs. We went back out and sat at the breakfast table. The third section of what would be our contract described The Process. She dictated, I wrote.
We would always sit down and talk about the offense. I knew the rules since they were written in our contract. The contract would be reviewed and updated once a month with new tasks and additional behavior modifications. If there was something I did wrong that wasn’t in the contract, I wouldn’t be disciplined then. However, the offending conduct would be added to the contract effective the following month. The talk would always end with “It’s time” upon which I would obediently follow her discipline protocol: I was to go into the bedroom and darken it by closing the curtains and then strip naked. My position on the bed would be on the left side with my knees and feet hanging over the end, chest and head resting on the bed with my legs spread wide, hands and arms positioned on the bed above my head, my bare bottom in the air, and my face looking away from the door. It gave her the most space to stand and swing the belt without hitting anything else but my ass. With the room darkened and the position I was in, my face would be unrecognizable. Right after I finished committing the punishment protocol to our written contract, we both signed the first official version which my wife then executed by stating, “It’s time.”
Entering the bedroom, I took off my belt before stripping completely naked. In strict compliance with her spanking protocol, I assumed the required position and waited, anxiously. She gave me plenty of time to think about what I had done and what was coming. There was no warm-up. My wife began delivering a full-force, almost 360-degree arc of searing lashes that reverberated throughout my entire body reminiscent of what she saw my mom administer. I never knew the number of strokes I was to endure.
The first few times she used my belt. After those, I removed the buckle and joined the ends, and it became the strap that had one sole purpose: discipline. I was always required to take my punishment quietly with no talking, no moaning, and no crying loudly. Although not physically restrained, I was forbidden to move out of position.
I never acquired the liking to be physically punished – no matter how often it happened, and it happened often for many years. It was always deeply humiliating and intensely painful. It was very hard for her to discipline me – she never liked doing it. She could not reconcile that she had to inflict that much physical pain on someone she loved and who loved her. Nor did she ever enjoy punishing me as much as she needed to. To keep her from seeing the bruising that would last for days, I always slept in shorts until the marks were gone. I’m sure she had a good idea of the physical impact she left by the number of nights before I was back to sleeping in the nude. On the upside, after discipline was administered everything went back to normal. There was no further thought of what happened. It was over, the offense along with the emotional hurt was cleansed and gone. All that remained were the physical marks and pain I felt for a few days after and, hopefully, improvement in my behavior.
|Chapter 2 of 3|
Jack invites and encourages your feedback in the comment section below or via email where he can be reached at email@example.com.