With the approval of his wife, Jack is now allowed to request discipline from her when needed. Embracing the idea, she plans a full weekend of mandatory nudity and spankings for him, multiple orally delivered orgasms for her, and an ending with a delightful twist.
|Chapter 2 of 4||Chapter 4 of 4|
Chapter 3: Discipline by Request
“Life is a long lesson in humility” –Sir James M. Barrie
My humility was born from submission to women. It started with my mom who properly took a leather strap to my bare bottom starting from the age of eight and ending just shy of my twenty-first birthday. Fully accepting this regime, I willingly submitted to her spankings in both body and spirit. Thus began my journey into a different type of self-awareness. Even at a young age, I understood deeply that I needed, yes needed, the guidance that old-fashioned discipline delivered.
The longing for strict guidance came into desperate focus when my misconduct caused my marriage to spin out of control. Submission to my wife was the only solution. As detailed in Chapter 1, she agreed to take a strap to me and take control enforced through a mutually agreed upon, committed to paper, contractual agreement in what was to become our female-led relationship. Submission to my wife was a deep commitment that progressed in steps: keeping my pubic area free from hair, required domestic housework, on-demand nudity, on-demand cunnilingus, and more recently, body massages.
In the 1970s, there were no terms that I was aware of such as “Domestic Discipline” (DD), “Female-Led Relation” (FLR), or “Clothed-Female Naked-Male” (CFNM). Nevertheless, I was fully immersed in the lifestyle. It continues today with my best friend who is a former schoolteacher. She receives as much satisfaction on the giving end of the strap or cane as I benefit from being on the receiving end.
Missing the Guidance of Spanking
A couple of months after that first encounter with Miss Ruby’s razor strop, Chapter 2, we found out that my wife was pregnant. She continued workouts under her doctor’s supervision which kept her fit and toned. While my wife and I continued to honor our domestic discipline agreement, my contract-defined bad behavior improved greatly over the months including the on-time completion of assigned tasks—no strapping was necessary. With the knowledge of my wife’s pregnancy, I was primarily focused on converting one of the bedrooms into a nursery. Between painting, decorating, building some furniture, buying, and assembling other furniture, completion of these new goal-driven tasks spanning several months became a challenge. I found myself in a familiar conundrum of not receiving the guidance that a thorough strapping normally provided.
When I was sixteen years old, I discovered a lifelong personal truth. Between attending high school and having after-school activities and work, I was rarely home. That translated to not getting caught doing anything for which I would receive a spanking. Not being spanked for several months, I was totally confused about how and what I felt. How could I need something that embarrassed and hurt me so much while it was happening? Fortunately, I had a person with whom I could confide, my spanker mom. From the beginning, Mom and I always sat down before any possible discipline to calmly discuss what had happened and may warrant a strapping. I was always able to provide my side of the incident. There were times when the strap wasn’t required. Mom’s judicial impartiality comprised of objectivity, fairness, and reasonableness built my foundation of total respect and confidence in her. I knew I could confide in her regarding difficult and confusing feelings. This paved the way for a conversation that was very difficult for me: I needed to be able to request spankings even when not required in her eyes. During the discussion, Mom agreed that I would be able to ask for a strapping. Without the knowledge of any specific reason for needing it, we settled on fifty full-force strokes administered in the manner as always: the well-worn brown leather strap would be delivered in the living room over the back of her chair with me completely naked.
As summer 1977 was ending, the need returned. My behavior was sadly harming my dear wife, and seriously putting our marriage at risk. Something had to change.
The Long Weekend
Every year, my in-laws would travel out of state to visit their siblings for three to four weeks. A couple of weekends into their absence, my wife and I were going to enjoy the weekend at their home taking care of the house and opening the windows to keep everything fresh.
Calling me at work that Friday, she reminded me that we were heading out to her parent’s home for the weekend. I was looking forward to a relaxing two-day recovery from the nursery-building effort that was taking up much of my non-working time. I planned to read the book, purchased a couple of months earlier, that inspired the movie of the same name and recently seen: Star Wars. I told her that I would be leaving work a little early so we could arrive at her parent’s home before dusk. What was normally an hour and a half drive would take longer due to heavy traffic leaving town for the weekend. My wife was into her sixth month of pregnancy, so we would also take the drive a little easier. Packing some items for me, she said just pick her up and we would leave immediately. Arriving home, we left just after I changed out of my suit into a polo shirt and jeans.
Being Allowed to Request a Spanking
A little while after starting what would be an almost two-hour drive, I mustered the courage to share the arrangement my mom and I made that enabled me to request a spanking when I thought needed. My wife realized that it had been about seven months since my last visit to Miss Ruby’s, and she had not administered a strapping since. While deepening my submission to her and growing our female-led relationship, which gave both of us great satisfaction, she began understanding the needed guidance that the strap provided.
After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, I thought I made a mistake in bringing up the subject. She broke the tension by asking me if I wanted to inject a similar arrangement into our domestic discipline contract. Taking a deep breath, I said an empathic “Yes.” She went silent, I said nothing – the tension was long and uncomfortable in the trapped space of the car. Glancing over to see her out of the corner of my eye made me believe she was thinking. Breaking the silence, she firmly laid out our plans for the weekend: Upon parking the car, I would be stripping naked, folding my clothes leaving them in the vehicle. Next, I would remain naked until Sunday afternoon when we left for home. Continuing the shock, she advised me of packing the duffle bag for both of us with only clothes for herself, our toothbrushes, and the black leather strap for me. While there were no plans for a strapping over the weekend, she often packed the strap if it was needed. I was accustomed to her opening her purse and flashing me a look whenever we were out quickly ending any disagreements. I was somewhat nervous since I had never been naked for such a long time. I was going to be completely submissive to her for the entire weekend.
Naked in My In-Law’s House
We arrived at my in-laws’ home a little before dusk. The roads leading to the house weren’t lit by streetlights and it started to get dark. The wildlife would start to become an accident waiting to happen. My wife’s parents lived in a rural county surrounded by ranches and farms. Their house sits on one-hundred fifteen square acres of land, back from the road about two-hundred-fifty feet. Under the grass in the front yard was housed the septic system since there were no water or sewer public utilities in the rural area. There is about a half mile on each side of their house to their neighbors’ houses. Most of the property was behind the house. The small three-bedroom one-story house and six-car garage-workshop sit on a sparsely treed yard which is visible from the road. My wife’s father owns a business fixing farm equipment. Her parents’ house was about half the size of our four-bedroom one-story home with an attached two-car garage.
After parking the car, I stayed behind as my wife proceeded to the back door of the house. Obeying her order for complete nudity over the weekend, I began stripping. While removing my sneakers, the view of drivers passing by on the road came into sight. Hearing no cars approaching, I continued until I was completely naked. While I was undressing, I could hear my wife opening the windows. Entering the house through the back door, I was anxiously aware that I have never submitted myself naked to her for more than a couple of hours. This was going to be so much different.
My wife called out saying that she was in the living room. My embarrassment was rising with the thought of being naked in her parents’ home. While I knew better, I felt like they would somehow just walk around the corner. Walking through the kitchen-breakfast area, I entered the living room. My wife was sitting on the couch. She told me to stand in front of her. With compounded embarrassment, my semi-erect manhood was saying something else.
She started the conversation by saying she had given considerable thought to my proposal to modify our domestic discipline contract: that is, I would be allowed to request punishment when I thought needed. Fleshing out the details, she began by stating that it would be leather strap discipline and would certainly not be any less intense than what had been established. Acknowledging my acceptance of this condition, she proceeded to determine how many strokes I believed were needed. Sheepishly, I said my mom gave me fifty, and recently Miss Ruby increased the stroke count to sixty. She replied that normally I take more than fifty although she never counted. She thought some more. Then she said the standard would be seventy full-force strokes with the rest of the punishment process continuing as before. I was to be naked while kneeling with knees spread wide on the bed, my bottom raised, and shoulders on the bed. Seventy strokes I thought. I’m sure she set the number so I would think twice about asking to receive the strap. Looking down at her sitting on the couch, I said I agree. She confirmed that she also agreed.
Telling me to sit down on the couch next to her, I obeyed. Putting my arm around her, I leaned my head against hers. She told me if I requested to receive the strap that weekend, there would be a variation. She set laid out the terms. As established, I was to remain naked all weekend until Sunday afternoon. Strapping would be administered over multiple sessions starting immediately after this discussion. Next, there would be three sessions on Saturday, morning, afternoon, and evening. Sunday would see two sessions, morning and just before our departure for home. She said with six sessions with the strap over the weekend, the lash count would be limited to fifty, but only for this weekend. It took me a few moments before I realized that would be three-hundred strokes in less than forty-eight hours. I have never taken so many in that period.
Sitting naked and humbled next to her, I looked into her eyes asking if I could have the strap taken to me. “Yes,” came her immediate reply. Our domestic discipline relationship had a new chapter and was just about to start. She told me to go into her old bedroom and assume the position.
My wife’s old bedroom was big enough to hold a queen-size bed and a dresser comfortably. While being in her bedroom many times, it was never to be spanked. Scanning the room, I searched for the best position to fully accommodate the space she needed. Knowing that the arc of her full-force strap swing required quite a bit of room, I determined that my kneeling while straddling the corner of the bed with one foot hanging over the right side and the other hanging over the foot of the bed gave her the best position to effectively administer punishment to her satisfaction. Moving the discipline from out of the darkened shadows as she had required at home, I left the light on. This would be my first time spanked by her since our amendment to the procedure and now matching strapping in lighted room conditions as delivered by Miss Ruby. The position exposed my ass directly towards the open bedroom door which was to have an unintended and undesirable consequence. Nevertheless, my placement would be exactly as my wife required. A new perspective came into view: Looking to my left, I would now see her strap laying into the side of my raised bottom as reflected by the mirror on her dresser–-dare I look.
Wearing only a bra, panties, and the strap over her shoulder, the mirror reflected my wife entering the room – her baby bump was in full view. She positioned herself to my left and parallel to my body. And then it began. Holding the strap with a right-handed grip, she swung a wide arc with full force that exploded against my bare bottom. Her well-honed and coordinated movement of bodily rotation delivered a stunningly painful maximum impact. At one-and-half inches wide, the doubled-up strap, with the original buckle removed and the ends joined, teamed up with the skill of my wife was a frighteningly formidable implement. After ten, she moved over to my right side where I felt the effects of her backswing. Alternating sides for every ten, the fifty strokes ended with her on my left side again and still with the full force of the first. I could feel the swelling of my punished flesh in addition to the pain that was a testament to how thorough she had become.
Telling me to roll over on my back, I immediately moved into position. Straddling my body, she lowered herself into a kneeling position bringing her soaked panties up against my face. Her first orgasm came by rubbing her clit through her wet panties over my face. Raising her body, I pulled her panties to her knees placing my head between them and her pussy. My well-trained tongue brought her to multiple orgasms stopping only when she could not take any more. Dismounting me, she saw that my cock, which was once limp from the strapping, was now hard. Rising from the bed, she said that if I was a good boy taking my strappings and doing whatever else she asked over the weekend, she would allow me to do something with my cock on Sunday before we left. With that, she delivered a hard slap with her hand to the underside of my erect cock. Getting up from the bed, I glanced at the mirror, seeing my ass was covered in many shades of red and purples.
Saturday: Strapped Naked Outdoors
Waking up at about seven-thirty myself, this was a little later than my wife does on a Saturday morning. Reaching for my clothes by habit, they were not there. Then I realized I needed to be naked again all day. Getting out of bed, the dresser mirror showed that the red on my ass was gone, but a couple of small areas of purple remained—soreness continued. Walking into the living room, I found my wife sitting in an oversized nightshirt and panties. Leaning over, I kissed her and thanked her for the previous night. She told me that I would be making breakfast after she administered the morning fifty with her strap. Pointing to the end of the couch, she drew my attention to an oversized bath towel. “Go out to the backyard and spread the towel on the picnic table and lay over it, then wait until I come out with my strap,” she directed.
Exiting via the back door, I felt the immediate evaporation of the moderate gain in the comfort of being naked in my in-laws’ house. Never had I been naked outside. Even though the house shielded any view from the road, a rush of embarrassment ran through me. Upon reaching the heavy wooden picnic table, I laid the towel out, resting my upper torso on the top surface, and spreading my legs wide open. I’m certain she was looking out the window at my outstretched naked body.
While waiting for my wife to arrive, many thoughts were jumping. Memories of being in that position waiting for the paddle over the desks of several of my Catholic school teachers. The difference was that I was paddled over my school uniform pants, and it was in plain view of my classmates. Then my mind shifted to the difference between my in-laws’ home and ours. We lived in a subdivision with houses close to each other. A chain-link fence separated yards no privacy. A naked strapping in the yard would most certainly guarantee painfully unwanted viewing by the neighbors. Even opening the windows would carry the tell-tale sounds of leather being applied to a bare bottom. In later years that accidentally happened a couple of times.
Hearing the back door close, I took a couple of deep calming breaths. There would be no talking this time except for the conversation between the black leather and my naked bottom. Stung by the first full-force stroke spoke of quite a difference from the night before. Impacting my somewhat sore bottom forced my coping process to start much earlier. By the time the fiftieth stroke landed, my eyes had been watering for a while. Walking back toward the house, my wife told me to start breakfast once I collected myself. Laying on the picnic table for a while, I reflected on the one-hundred strokes already received. The ten hours or so between the first and second sessions were quite a bit longer than the time that will pass between the second and third, and the third and fourth. By the end of the day, I’ll have suffered two-hundred strokes of that leather strap punishing my bare bottom. My wife had become a frightfully accomplished disciplinarian–her skill, resolve and the sheer desire to punish had grown to a new level.
At two o’clock in the afternoon, my wife told me that we were going to take a walk and I needed to bring the towel adding that I would be allowed to wear sneakers—but nothing more. I grabbed the folded towel from where I left it following my morning picnic table session. After leaving the house, I went to the car and retrieved my sneakers left there on Friday evening. This time it was daylight and my naked body was in full view of any cars and trucks passing by. I heard a vehicle passing by while I was bent over getting my shoes from the floor of the car by the back seat. I had no idea if the passers-by had seen me. Fleeing to the safety of the backyard, I put on my sneakers and waited for my wife.
There was a roughly worn path where the tractor wheels made their marks. Walking the path, I could see the grass was almost up to my knee. There was no shielding of my nakedness, even though being seen was a remote possibility. We came up to a clearing where the grass was cut, and the hay was formed in cuboid bales. Giving me a pair of gloves and breaking her silence, my wife told me to stack two of the bales, drape the towel, and rest my body over them.
Positioned over the end of the bales, my bottom was well poised for my wife’s strap. The earlier swelling had gone down; however, I didn’t see the residual damage to my flesh–I was still sore. Starting with the next fifty full-force strokes, they found their mark on top of the previous one hundred. The cumulated soreness had me gasping and moaning after the first ten strokes. It took me a while to get my mind into the space where I was able to overcome the pain. Not remembering the last twenty to twenty-five strokes, I only knew when the full-force lashes finally finished. The sound of the strapping resonated across the mowed fields where the neighbors may have heard disciplinary leather finding its mark. Slowly bringing my mind back into the present, my wife told me she was going back to the house and I could return once I collected myself.
The rest of the afternoon was spent with me giving her a full-body massage applying most of my effort to her upper shoulders and arms. Even though she worked out, I was sure she had never worked those spanking-specific muscles as much as she had in the previous twenty-four hours. While massaging her, we spoke about getting past the halfway number of strokes. I described the headspace I had achieved as deeper and longer than ever before. It’s now known to some as subspace. She asked if I had any regrets about asking to be spanked. As intense as it had been and knowing a little of what was left in store for the rest of the weekend, I replied “No”, and I thanked her for taking her strap to me.
It was a little after eight o’clock and I was still sore from the accumulated strokes of the strap. Kneeling in front of her, looking up into her eyes, I asked her for the next fifty. She brought to my attention that my gasps and other vocal noises were getting louder as the punishment progressed. While not aware that she had heard, I was fully aware that my strappings were to be endured in silence. Fortunately, I stayed in place during the intense thrashings, which was another rule in our contract. Reaching under her dress and pulling her panties off, she folded them so the inside of the stained crotch was in full view. She held them to my nose so I could breathe in the scent which heightened throughout the day. Telling me to open my mouth, she placed her folded panties most of the way in to muffle the noises. My mouth moisture immediately rehydrated her dried juices. Closing my mouth around her panties, she told me to get in position on the bed. My embarrassingly hard cock was not escaping her notice.
Getting into position, I could once again see my reflection in the dresser mirror. Unable to see her enter the room from my placement, she immediately came into view standing ready to swing her strap. The unmistakable sound of solid black leather laying into my bare bottom filled the room. I gasped. Reflecting in the mirror was her almost three-hundred sixty-degree arc of the strap. The first set of ten was extremely hard to take as I breathed through each stroke. Delivered by her powerful backhand swing, the next set of ten sent my mind into my focused headspace enabling me to endure the lashes until the end. Collapsing forward on the bed, it was finally over. My wife could tell that it took me a few minutes to get out of my altered state. After I rolled over, she raised her dress and kneeled over my face. Clear and milky wetness confirmed that she orgasmed during the strapping. My talented tongue brought her to a couple more
Sunday: The Last of the Lashings
My sleep Saturday night was far from restorative. The steady pain extended from the surface to the deep muscle layers of my ass making it impossible to sleep on my back. I was able to take two-hundred full-force strokes of the black strap in twenty-four hours. The almost twelve hours since the last stroke landed went a long way in helping me to get ready for the frightful one hundred lashes awaiting. Upon waking, my wife saw the deep purple, black and blue colors which painted a good area of my ass. Concerned, she asked me if I needed to cancel the remaining count due for that day. Considering it briefly, I confirmed my acceptance of her terms of my asking to have the strap taken to me. While I appreciated her compassion, I had to uphold the recent addition to our agreement. Caressing the soreness of my bare bottom, she said that it was hot seeing me like that. Hers was a major shift from when we started my discipline about a year and a half ago when she couldn’t stand to see the damage she inflicted. With that said, she reached for the strap and gave me the next set of fifty hard-swung lashes—full intensity. The mirror reflected a startling change in my wife. Her earlier reluctance to administer hard punishing discipline had been transformed: a smile beamed across her face as she laid into her crimson target. This morning’s fifty lashes were very hard to take. Upholding her part of the agreement, there was no letting up on the intensity of each stroke. My swelling and deep pain returned immediately.
We spent the remainder of the morning cleaning the house ultimately leaving it in better condition than when we arrived on Friday night. I was becoming more comfortable with two things: my continuous nakedness since our arrival and the spanked-bottom ache between sessions with the strap. I proudly endured the two-hundred-fifty full-force strokes of the punishing black leather wielded with accuracy and full force. We both became comfortable seeing the results. Eventually, the time came for the last fifty strokes. Compounded by the constant pain and relatively short length of time since the morning session, I knew that the last fifty were going to be hard to take.
Back in my familiar position, my head and shoulders were resting on the bed with my knees spread wide. Once again, I choose an angle that mirrored part of the left side of my torso and fully raised bottom. Removing her maternity dress and her panties, my wife was ready wearing only a bra. Folding her panties, she commanded me to open my mouth and stuffed them forebodingly noting that I needed them more than her. Closing my mouth, I bit down. From the first stroke, I don’t know where she gained the extra strength. The strap accurately found its crimson, black and blue target every time. Reaching my spanking headspace took longer than usual, thereby further intensifying the pain of each stroke. Finally, it was over. I was shaking involuntarily. My bottom was swelling deeply from this strapping and the cumulative strokes of the weekend. Collapsing by falling forward, I took some comfort in having survived three-hundred strokes in less than a forty-hour timeframe. Collecting myself, I found my wife on the other laying naked with her bottom on the edge of the foot of the bed. She told me that I needed to please her orally her. Kneeling on the floor in position, my tongue dove into her already wet pussy. Upon being satisfied with several orgasms, I entered her with my sex-starved member making passionate love. Clenching my ass with the weekend’s cumulative pain gave me a mind-blowing orgasm.
After finishing all the activities in the bedroom, we put the beds in order, closed the windows, and locked the doors on our way out. Retrieving my clothes from the car, I dressed in the privacy of the backyard. My wife and I embraced, kissed, and thanked each other for all the new experiences of the weekend before heading home.
Disciplined in the Presence of Her Parents
That first weekend in which my wife had given me a strapping in my in-laws’ home was not to be the last. We were visiting her parents about three months after the birth of our first child when my wife and I ended up in a heated discussion. While walking away towards the backyard in an attempt to cool down, I unknowingly mouthed “bitch” a little louder than planned and was overheard by my wife and her mother. Triggering an immediate response from my wife, she told me to get ready for the strap in her old bedroom. My protests were immediately countered by my mother-in-law who said that if she were me, she would do exactly as she was told. Looking directly at me, my wife stated that her mother knew that I needed to have the strap taken to me on occasion. Overwhelming embarrassed, I walked to my wife’s old bedroom, closed the door, removed my clothes, and placed myself in the same position from around six months prior.
After a while, I heard the door opening but did not hear it close. The open door meant that my bare bottom, balls, and cock would be in full view from the living room. My wife was back in shape with her five-foot-ten-inch model, muscle-toned body. She had not strapped me since our epic weekend, but there was a visit to Miss Ruby for correction. My embarrassment ended as the first lash of leather laid into my bare bottom. Between being able to see the strokes of the strap in the mirror to the possibility of my in-laws seeing my nakedness, I quickly entered my punishment headspace. Stroke after stroke, the thrashing barely slowed down. I had no idea how many landed, but from the results there were more than the fifty I had taken in each session during the weekend. Upon finishing, she poignantly said “Bitch” to me. I thought that her mom and dad saw most of what happened, or at least heard it. Rising from the bed, I was met by my wife’s parents standing in full view from the open door. The submission to my wife was accentuated by my completely shaved pubic area.
Driving home, my wife and I spoke about her parents witnessing my spanking and her mom knowing of my need for discipline. She explained that shortly after we drew up our contract, she told her mom how we decided to deal with my nearly marriage-ending behavior. At first, her mom was initially shocked by the details especially as corporal punishment was never used in their family. In time, my mother-in-law told my father-in-law, so they were both very aware of what was happening. My wife’s mom became deeply interested in how I felt about being spanked. She was particularly interested in the conversation details between her daughter and me and how I took to being strapped and the effects on our relationship. My cock was getting hard under my jeans with the thought of my in-laws knowing.
Throughout the years I was disciplined many times at my in-laws’ home in front of one or both of them. When the kids were older, my father-in-law would take them for a walk toward the back of their property while my mother-in-law enthusiastically watched. At times the windows were purposely left so my father-in-law would know when it was all over. We also came to learn that my in-laws took up the practice of corporal punishment after seeing the improvement in the relationship between their daughter and me. My mother-in-law is now receiving over-the-knee hand spankings.
|Chapter 2 of 4||Chapter 4 of 4|