Tuesday, 7 June 2016


My wife can be a real bitch. I mean a real, first-class, pain in the ass bitch. I've put up with it for years. She's a year-round bitch, but she's worse at Christmas. I don't know if it's the stress of the season or what, but starting about Thanksgiving she is harder and harder to be around. That lasts through New Year. So why do I put up with it you may ask? I married her mostly for her money, of which daddy makes sure she has plenty. I think he's afraid I might leave and "give her back." Believe me I've thought about leaving, but despite her foul attitude, I have a pretty comfortable life. Why chuck that? The other day after a round of golf, I was confiding in a friend over a few beers. He listened, asking the occasional question. "You know what she needs," he said. "What's that?" "She needs a spanking," he said matter-of-factly. "In fact she needs to be spanked regularly." "Yeah, right. Like she's going to let me spank her." "Man, what's wrong with you? She isn't going to LET you, at least not at first. Grow a pair, take her over your knee and paddle the shit out of her!" "Just like that?" "Yeah, just like that!" said with a hint of frustration. "You ever spank your wife?" "Two or thr
ee times a month. Sometimes more." You could have knocked me over with a feather. I never would have guessed. "It helps in the relationship department and it REALLY helps our sex life!" "Sex? What's that?" He laughed. "No kidding? It helps your sex life?" "Don't believe me, ask the wife." "Seriously?" "Seriously!" "Well, I don't think I need to do that." "It's a great story," he said with an impish smile. "Okay, so, tell me: how do I get started?" "One night soon you'll be thinking you've had enough of her bullshit. Tell her that! Then grab her, and drag her across your lap and spank the hell out of her." "I don't want to hurt her." "Yeah you do. You just don't want to do real damage. So, the first time, use your hand. It'll hurt your hand long before you can do any real damage. Next time you can up the ante to a leather paddle and then a strap. There are all kinds of possibilities. I'll coach you." "She's gonna struggle and fight you. She's gonna scream and curse. And then she's gonna beg you to stop. Pay no attention to the hysterics. In fact, let it fuel your fire. I'll bet you'll get a blue steel hard-on. But don't stop 'til you're ready to stop." "All the while your spanking her, lecture her. Tell her that her behavior is unsatisfactory and you're not going to put up with it any more. Things are going to change. Tell her there will be more spankings in her future. I'll tell you the way it works with my wife, but get started and then we'll talk some more." He certainly gave me a lot to think about, which I did all the way home. When I got home, my wife was nowhere to be seen. Four days to Christmas and I guessed she was out shopping. When she got home she had little to say except to complain about the crowds and the traffic and the surly store clerks and... well, you name it, and she had a complaint. It would have been a great time to put "Operation: Spank the Bitch" in to action. But I chickened out. And I chickened out the next day and the next night. But the NEXT night, Christmas Eve... *** Christmas Eve. She came in from some last minute shopping, threw her car keys on the kitchen table and started screaming at me, like I'd done something. I listened for about thirty seconds and then I started screaming. I guess the surprise of that was too much and she got quiet. "I'm sick and tired of your bullshit," I said, "and I'm not going to put up with it anymore!" Then she found her voice again. "Fuck you!" "No, dear. Fuck YOU!" I grabbed her by the arm, pulled her toward a kitchen chair, sat down and dragged her across my lap. Then she started to struggle. "Let me go, you bastard!" I grabbed her right arm and pulled it up behind her back. "Ow, that hurts!" "Be still and it won't hurt." She kept struggling. She was wearing a hip length bulky knit sweater, leggings, and snow boots. Up came the tail of the sweater and down came my hand on her butt. Then again and again, as hard as I could slap her. "Ow! Stop that! Stop that now!" Making no response, I continued the spanking and she continued struggling and telling me to stop. In a few minutes my arm got tired and my hand was sore. So, I stopped. I was so into the spanking that I did not realize she was crying. "Are you quite done?" she asked in her haughtiest tone. "Darling, as John Paul Jones famously said, I have not yet begun to spank you." Releasing her right arm, I grabbed the waistband of her leggings and snatched them midway down her thighs. Whoa. Then I saw something I'd never seen before. She was wearing a thong! A black one. And it set off her deep pink ass cheeks to a tee. Even though she is a bitch, my wife is a handsome woman. She is not what I'd call sexual, but she IS a woman. No scrawny kid, she. Well-rounded hips and a good ass, good arms and legs with no flab, large breasts with prominent nipples and very little sag. Handsome. "What ARE you doing?" she asked. And then I resumed the spanking. Her first move was to reach around with her right hand to protect her backside. I recaptured it and hoisted it up behind her back. "Let go of my arm," she said through gritted teeth. "I told you it hurts!" "And I told you: quit struggling and I'll let go of your arm." Truth be told, I wanted her to struggle. What a turn on! And my friend had been right in his prediction. I was as hard as a rock. She obliged me and kept struggling, so much so, that I shifted her over just my left leg and captured her legs between my legs. Soon, though, she quit struggling and cussing and started begging me to stop, making all kinds of unbelievable promises like she had "learned her lesson" and wouldn't "yell at me again. So, I stopped spanking. Her ass was a deep pink and so warm it was glowing and my hand hurt like hell. "I'm going to stop for now. But understand this, we are not finished!" I released her arm and unclamped my legs and pushed her to the floor. She lay there for a minute and then climbed to her feet. As she stood she looked me straight in the eye with a glare that I can only describe as pure malevolence. She stood there and it looked like she was fighting herself not to say what she wanted to say, was dying to say, needed desperately to say. But she didn't. She started to turn away and I told her to stop. She froze. Don't ask me why, but I reached out and touched the skimpy crotch of her thong. It was soaked. "We ought to do something about that." I smiled. "Fuck you, you bastard!" "Don't worry, you will."

No comments:

Post a Comment