Well, I have only been a member here for a short time and I was lamenting that I was basically a "good girl" who really does't need to be spanked that often. Of course, it took all of two days on the boards to change that.
Wes and I have been married for 15 years. I am 34, he is 35. We are evangelical Christians and have three kids: two daughters 14 and 11, and an 8 year old son. We have been practicing Christian Domestic Discipline in our home since our honeymoon. It was a simple continuation of the way I was brought up as girl and frankly couldnt imagine my life without spankings. Nor do I care to entertain it. Having said that, I don't go out of my way looking for spankings. Corporal punishment is not part of our sex life, though I realize that it does affect how I feel about my husband and my sexual openess to him.
I was delighted when Wes suggested that I find a forum for Domestic Discipline or spanking and quickly started sharing on the boards. I made a small error which I exaserbated by not admitting it quickly. I received a private message which asked if I would chat in private. I informed the gentleman that I would have to ask my husband. Before I did that however, I playfully asked back what we would do in private. This is a breach of our rules about being online. I knew it almost as soon as I did it, but played it off in my head because it was in a forum both of us have a strong investment in. Sure enough, when Wes started going through the forum while he was at the office, he saw all of my activity. He was, as always, calm and focused. He called me at home (ironically, while I was on the boards) and got me to admit that I had messaged back before talking to him. Then he told me that I failed to tell him what I was doing and that was secretive...which amounts to deceit. This is one of the Three Ds in our house...Defiance, Deceit, and Disobedience...the three capital crimes in our home. I began to cry on the phone. He asked the same questions he always asks...almost apologetically. Did I know what I was doing was wrong? Yes. Did I try to cover it up or simply let it go away? Yes. Did we agree together that this was something that I should be punished for. Very slowly, I whispered yes. He told me he would come home early before the children came home from school.
I really didn&amp;#39;t have that long. He called at 9:30am yesterday, and I heard his Jeep pull into the drive at 11:30. His office is in Manhattan, so he made me a priority in his day. This was important to him. I was important to him. I met him at the door not expecting him early, wearing pajama bottoms and a sweat shirt. It is starting to get cooler at night here in the Hudson Valley. In stark juxtaposition to why he was home, Wes hugged me tight and then gave me a kiss. I gave him a small smile of appreciation that I could feel was forced on my sad face. He took me by the hand and led me upstairs.
"I&amp;#39;m sorry you had to come home for this, sir," I heard myself whisper as my bare feet padded up the stairs. Part of our agreement as a married couple with me as the submitted wife, was during times of redirection, discipline or punishment I addressed him as &amp;#39;sir&amp;#39;.
"I&amp;#39;m not sorry," he said looking at me as we arrived at the landing at the top of the stairwell. "I was beginning to think you were going to start walking on water, you&amp;#39;ve been so good. This is a small thing that you let get out of hand. I love you to much to let you not be aware when you&amp;#39;re not being completely open with me."
"Thank you sir," I said genuinely as we entered our reading room.
Our reading room is on the west face of our home, which is a grand three story home from the 40s. The reading room has the round bay windows that face the sun set and look back towards the Catskills. We use this room for individual and family devotions, quiet times and it is where all family discipline is administered. It is a warm welcoming room with rich wood paneling, a fair sized book shelf with Bibles and Christian literiture, two comfortable high-back chairs and an ottoman. On one side of the room there is a desk with a computer that Wes uses when he works from home and an empty corner in the south end of the room which had a small lamp table with a Bible on it. On the floor in that corner was a soft fluffy throw pillow. In our home, corner time includes prayer, so the pillow is there to not injure my or my children's knees.
Wes directed me to the corner for five minutes and asked me to pray aloud. I knelt down and bowed my head until my forehead rested against the wall segments. I began praying while he stepped out of the room. I will try to remember what I prayed.....
"Dear Lord, I thank You for my loving husband who will go to every length to care for me. I thank You that I can trust him with my heart and my discipline. You gave him to me as my protector and the Head of our Home. You have charged him with the responsibility to punish me when I am disobedient. I love my husband and I know that he only acts how You have shown us to live. Therefore, I don't resent my circumstance. I ask that you let this lesson sear my heart as much as it will sear my flesh so that I will be mindful of my ways. Help my husband to spank me firmly and fully as I now deserve. Bless him for his obedience to You in being faithful to spank me when I need it. While my spirit is terrified, my heart is assured in his love for me...and Yours. I do not welcome the pain I am about to receive Father, but I accept as Your best for me."
Before I could get to "amen", Wes was back into the room and at my side. I looked up at him as he extended his hand to help me to my feet.
"Did you toss my jeans into the laundry?" he asked routinely as he sat on the ottoman.
"Umm...yes..I think I did sir?" He asks me things like that often during punishments. When I asked him about it he said he did it for two reasons. One was to remind me that this was part of normal life and not the end of the world. The other was that he would ask questions like that because I was highly focused and usually had the answer right in front my head. I stepped to his right because he spanks me with his right hand and he led me across his lap. I situated myself until I was relatively comfortable. This was going to be my warm up. I knew the procedure. I have received only four 3D punishments during our marriage, but each one is indelibly marked in my memory. I felt my breath quicken. I love being spanked by Wes' bare hand. While it is uncomfortable, it is also comforting, and I am always smiling afterwards, even if my butt stings. But in these kinds of punishments, Wes spanks me barehanded much harder and authoritatively. He has large hands with long fingers (he can palm a basketball), so when he wants to his hands can be as formidible and any paddle. The purpose of the warm-up spanking is to tenderize the skin on my butt for the real punishment to meted out later.
As I carefully grabbed his shin through his trousers, I felt my sweatpants and underwear slide easily off my bottom and the cool air on my butt. Wes is a skilled disciplinarian. He took my hair carefully but securely in his left hand and pulled my head to attention. This does two things for the spanking. It keeps the blood from rushing to my head as I hang off his lap making me dizzy and disoriented. It also causes my body to come to a better spanking position. Instead of having my butt in the center of his lap, Wes had my waist right at the end of his right thigh. Unlike most, instead of spanking up and down, Wes spanks me horizontally. When he pulled my hair and head taunt, I felt his body tense and the strong swat of his hand on my right butt cheek, causing me to cry out. There was perhaps two seconds before the second swat hit my left cheek flush, and I shouted a repeat of my cry. He is steady in his pace, each swat a little stronger than the previous. On the fifth swat which is across the crack of my butt, there was a quantum raising of the strength and my cry turned into a shriek. I tensed and shook as each swat now was softening me for the real behavior changing punishment. I shrieked each time and when he finally arrived at 15 swats, I was gasping for air and my body was shaking. I hadn't started crying yet which was odd because I usually have an emotionally release after any physical discipline. When I was sure he was finished spanking me, I let myself slip off his lap onto my knees at his right, letting my head rest on his lap while I got my bearings. Familiar with my process during spankings, he let his hand run through my hair comfortingly without going to the point of soothing me, which came later.
He didn't let me rest there but for a moment, before he bade me to rise. I did and pulled my sweats up briefly. Leading me by the hand, he led me back to the corner for one half hour of reflective time. He instructed me to read Proverbs 31 and then to sing "Come Thou Almighty King" repeatedly until it was time to continue.
"Are you wearing a shirt under that?" he asked referring to my heavy sweatshirt which seemed extraneous since I had a sheen of perspiration from my first spanking. I nodded. Small breasted, I will often opt for a tank top instead of a bra when I am at home. I understood and pulled the sweater with Marist college emblazoned on it over my head.
"Thank you sir." He nodded without smiling or looking stern. I stood before the pillow picking up the Bible that was on the little table and waited to kneel. My husband pulled my pants and panties to my ankles which was my cue to kneel. In our home, corner time included being bare butted to remind the person being disciplined that more pain was going to be levied and why they were there.
My husband sat down in the chair behind me. I have practically memorized Proverbs 31, the description of a Godly wife. Being a fast reader, I was soon singing with my head against the wall softly. I often thought that Wes just likes to hear me sing because he doesn't ask the kids to do it when they get spanked. I like to sing...I like to sing to him...and to the Lord. Even in this incongrouos moment, I am uplifted by the singing of the timeless hymn, one of Wes' favorites. I sang the song at least 4 times before I heard him rise from the chair. He was at my side, but he waited until I came to the last verse before he took my hand. I rose, pulling my pants back up.
He sat me on the ottoman, while sitting in the chair across from me. I folded my hands in front of me to receive my, frankly, unneeded lecture. He calmly explained why we spank, how much I agreed this was important for our marriage, and how much he appreciated my acceptance of it. He reviewed the incident where I communicated with a strange man before asking him about it. He noted that I would probably just received a couple of barehanded swats for so small an infraction. Then he spoke with graveness about my deliberately not being forthright as time passed. My eyes welled as I heard his heart about my personal integrity and openness with him. I admitted that this really wasn't a huge issue of deceit but just a little one. Still, it would be inconsistent to not punish one of the 3Ds as vigorously as possible, which is why I was going to recieve the worst physical punishment we had. I had to agree with it. This is probably a place where most HOHs depart from our form of DD. If I got tired or no longer wanted to be spanked, Wes would honor that though his disappointment. Honestly, just writing it down seems like I am writing science fiction. I could no more resist being spanked then I could deny God.
"So you think that you were, even if it was unwittingly, deceitful to me about this?"
"Yes," I sighed, looking down. "I'm so sorry. Will please forgive me?"
"Of course, I forgive you," he said his tone warming. "I can tell that you are genuinely repentant. You are very good about that when you realize what you have done. Do you think this punishment is appropriate for what you did?" That was the opportunity for me to try to mitigate my punishment or even try to get out of it. But inside I felt the slimyness of what I was thinking. I wasn't honoring God with heart and I hated my fleshly desire to resist what I knew in heart was good for me. So my pause was only momentary and I whispered 'yes' without looking up.
"All right, baby girl," he sighed calmly, "will you bring 'Gail' to me please?"
"Yes sir," I said with a breath. I rose and went to the desk and opened the bottom drawer where Wes keeps the family implements of discipline. We have a paddle that we have named 'Eve' because it was our first implement. It is a family heirloom; an old wood board that Wes uses on the girls. 'Pedro' is actually a ping-pong paddle with a series of holes drilled in it and is almost exclusively used for Kyle tiny bottom. 'Gail', named after my grandmother, who spanked my mother with it, is a thick leather strap with a handle. The surface of the strap is about three inches wide and 10 inches long. The leather is worn and smooth and about 1/4 inch thick. I have probably been spanked with it over 200 times in my life as it was the strap that my mother used on me after my Dad died.
My husband rose out of his chair as I brought 'Gail' to him. He thanked me as he took it out of my hands and then guided me gently in front of the empty chair. Without ceremony, he pulled my sweats and underwear down again. I often wondered if I should just undress but realized that it was also a family standard of modesty we didn't want to lose. When they were bunched around my ankles, I pulled one foot out knowing this procedure well. He bent me at the waist and my hands held me up from the seat of the chair which I clutched hard from the sides. I let my stance spread slightly to keep steady while I was being spanked. Even as I started to bend over though, I began crying softly. This was going to hurt really bad. As I quietly sobbed, Wes took station at my left to accomodate his right handed swing.
"Are you ready, babe?" he asked almost apologetically. All I could do is nod though my sobbing. I heard the strap rush through the air and slam across my already softened cheeks. It wasn't a full swing and I only cried out, but the next swat was more robust and I howled long after the swat, my body heaving. Wes grabbed my hair again and pulled my head taunt, as the next swat arrived on my buttocks. This one made my shriek more full throated and tears of anquish, pain and fear were streaming out of my eyes. My buttocks were already blazing. Wes was careful never to swat the same place twice and began to attend to my upper cheeks. When the entire surface of my butt was covered, he racheted up the intensity and swung into my but harder. Now, I was almost screaming how sorry I was. I was in a strange phalanx of terror that I couldn't endure the pain and the security of knowing that I was in my husband's hands. Once he stopped because I screamed so loud, but I just shook my head in his hand.
"Okay, good..." he said and began to strap me some more. All total, I received 40 swats from 'Gail'. As soon as he was finished. I crumpled to the floor, heaving with tears.
"Oh God,....oh God....I'm so sorry....I'm so sorry..." I sobbed over and over. I was careful not to ask for it to be over or for mercy. Usually, that just worsened the situation. After I was able to lessen my crying, Wes helped me to my feet. This time, he let me kick off my sweats and panties and walked me to the corner bottomless. Instead of kneeling though, he had me stand with my hands behind me over my punished bottom. The skin was electric hot from Gail's strokes over it. Wes kissed me on the side of my head with instructions to pray quietly to myself. I never stopped crying as he placed me in the corner and as it turned out, I cried the entire time in the corner. Not from pain but from release. It was probably the hardest Gail had ever been laid into me. I could only imagine how bad my final spanking would be. This brought a renewal of crying to me.
A half hour later, Wes returned. He gently placed his hand on my red bottom and another on my shoulder. We stood there for a long moment like that and I realized that he was praying for me...praying for safety during my punishment...that the lesson would be learned and that God would be glorified in my submission to it. He had me put my pants back on.
"I would like you to go out and cut me two switches. One thin, for whipping and a thick sturdy one...about like this," he said holding his fingers about 1/2 inch apart, "for your last 10 swats." My heart went into my throat. I hadn't been switched since I was in junior high school when my mother found out I french kissed a boy. All I remember was that I legitimately thought I was going to die.
"Yes sir," I breathed again, fearfully as I pulled my sweats back on. I went out into our fairly vast back yard which is surrounded by shrubbery and small trees. It's early fall so leaves are just starting to go and there are plenty of good branches for switchs. The first one I did was easy. We have a shrub alongside our house that the kids have cut switches for. It has thin, green branches that are easy to clean. It is the closest thing to having a whip or a crop in the house. Next I went to the back of the property where wild young trees are. I knew that if I brought unsatisfactory switches to my own punishment, that it would only mean more punishment. I found a low branch on a young tree and used a serrated knife to cut it from the trunk. It was slightly bigger around then my husband had asked for but it was green enough to flexible and sturdy. I cut it at both ends until it was about three feet long and an inch wide at the base. I pulled all the sprout branches off and tried to smooth them down so that I wouldn't be cut or seriously injured. The process of picking and cleaning the switches in the kitchen took about 15 minutes, before I found myself returning to the reading room. Wes waiting having watched me from the window. He took them from my hand and swished each one in the air which was unintentionally ominous.
"These are perfect," he said with reticence. I looked up at him and nodded. I was sad for him. He didn't enjoy this. He didn't like to see me suffer. Quite the contrary; he was such a good lover because of his empathy and desire to see me feel good. Without being bidden...in fact, in contrast to normal spanking ettiquette,...I came close to him and hugged him, resting my head on his chest. I heard him sigh, almost as if he was looking for a way out of the rest of the punishment.
"I'm sorry you have to do this," I said looking up at him. He looked down sadly.
"This is going to hurt as bad as anything you have felt." I nodded my acknowledgement.
"I know sir. Thank you for being willing to do it." He kissed my forehead with renewed resolve.
"Go ahead and take you clothes off." It was an unusual request and there certainly wasn't anything sexual about it. I would have inquired, but I was in a place where I just wanted to be done and through the punishment. Obediently, I peeled out of my tank top and then sent my sweats and underwear back to my ankles where I stepped out of them. Wes walked me to the back of the high-back chair and had me stand close to it, holding the top.
"Get up on your toes and stay on them. Don't let go of the chair."
"Yes sir," I managed as I obeyed. As I rose onto the balls of my feet, I heard Wes take a couple more quick staccato practice swings as he drew to my left side. Then the slender switch laced across my back.
"OOOOOOWWWWW!" I wanted to take a breath between strokes but he was peppering my bare, virgin back skin with strong, quick, whips. My howl just ran into one long cry. So shocked was I by the new pain that I almost fell of my feet. I began to cry with renewed anquish as he whipped my back until the entire surface was well stroked and angry.
Ignoring my already tender butt, my husband then used the small switch on the back of my thighs which brought me to sounds of shocking terror. Each little switching causing me to jolt and bend. I let my hand slip back to interfere. Roughly, Wes grabbed me by the hair and jerked my head to attention. This brought my hand back to the chair without being told. Reaching was a serious offense. Wes switched my legs as he did my back, until most of the surface of the back of my thighs were streaked with switch marks. He turned me around and had me lean slightly back and to my shock and dismay, switched the front of my thighs, managing to stay well away from my privates. When I had no more bare skin that was appropriate to switch he relented. I calmed almost immediately. Oddly, as painful as the thin switch is, it's pain doesn't linger as long as with Gail or the thick switch I was about to have used on me. The bigger switch amounted to essentially a Wal-mart cane. Caning was far and away the most painful form of spanking. We had talked about having one in the house, but never really went about doing it.
Like a butcher reluctantly slaughtering a calf, my husband walked me around to the front of the chair and had me kneel on the seat facing the back. The position naturally stuck my butt out and I heard him retrieve the thick switch. I began to cry again knowing how bad this was going to hurt. Conversely, I heard myself whispering the through the tears...."oh, thank you.....thank God...thank you."
My husband came alongside me on the left, I heard the switch swoop throught air and land across my butt. I screamed a death scream. The initial stroke was so hard and painful that I convulsed on the chair before trembling to steadiness. I was weeping, screaming, howling, looking back at him pathetically. He did not relent. Over and over with at least 10 seconds between every stroke he laid the thick switch to my butt. I felt the welts rising even as the next stroke came. I was shaking my head, clutching the chair for dear life. I wondered if I was bleeding it hurt so bad.
After 24 blistering strokes, Wes paused.
"This is the last one, okay." I nodded furiously. Then the swoop and the hardest stroke of all caught the fullness of my butt, over the crack and across the center.
"AAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!" I let the cry go long and satiating, my voice hoarsening. I almost collapsed into my husbands arms and he effortlessly picked me up and carried me to my bedroom as my reddened face was buried in his chest weeping uncontrollably. We didn't talk. I cried for over an hour before Wes reminded me that the kids would be home soon. My butt hurt so bad that I knelt next to him instead of sat. I held him a few moments longer. I know that this was as stressful for him as it was for me....and I had the crying vent my stress.
When the children arrived, they were pleasantly surprised to see their father home, though as it turned out, our 11 year old daughter wound up getting spanked for being sent to detention. As I listened to her being punished from downstairs, I felt strangely assured. My 14 year old daughter could tell that I had been punished. Our children knew that I also was under Wes' authority and that included punishment.
"Why did you get a spanking?" she asked as she cuddled next to me on the couch so that I could help her with her Algebra. I kissed her forehead with a sad smile, the pain of my punishment still lingering.
"Because I really needed it."