Confessions of a Kinky Wife

‘Yes, seriously.’

He left the room without enforcing it that time, but my stomach had coiled into a little spring of guilty pleasure at the idea. Sometimes, during sex, I wanted to call him ‘sir’, but I’d never had the nerve to say it out loud.

All my dreams were coming true in the most bizarre fashion.

So, there I was. I supposed I ought to think about the dull subject of eating at meal times. How would I ensure I didn’t forget to in future? Was there an app for it? I’d look into the possibility. There. He couldn’t say I wasn’t taking it seriously now.

This was boring, though.

At least my bottom wasn’t hurting so much. The sting began to fade straight away, but I couldn’t resist peeking over my shoulder at the bed, reminding myself that it would soon be right back there.

I smelled toast and coffee and my stomach rumbled. I wanted some! Wasn’t this meant to be about eating properly? But perhaps my digestion wouldn’t be so good if I tucked in before bending back over. He had truly taken every detail into consideration.

It must have been about ten minutes later that he strolled back in. I was rocking to and fro on the balls of my feet, trying to enliven the silly situation I’d put myself in.

‘Ready?’ he said.

I nodded.

‘Come to the bed, then, and lie over the pillows.’

Making me put myself into position to be spanked was a perfect piece of headspace manipulation. I felt I ought to resist, to force him to drag me to my fate, but somehow I couldn’t. I knew it had to be and

there was no point trying to get out of it. By hook or by crook, Dan was intent on administering my punishment.

I couldn’t look at him, though, as I walked over to the bed then arched myself over the pillows with my face buried in the duvet and my bum pushed up high.

‘That’s it,’ he said, making sure I was perfectly presented by pressing down on certain parts of my spine and shoulder blades. ‘It’s your job to keep your bottom right up. No trying to change positions, to make it easier on yourself. You need to work on offering it to me. I want those shorts tight and straining over your cheeks for as long as you’re allowed to keep them on. Tighter. That’s it.’

I pushed my arse out as far as I could, until I worried that my thin cotton shorts might split at the seams. This had the effect of spreading my cheeks naturally apart and my gusset split my pussy lips, rubbing against my clit.

‘I’m going to get you some special knickers, I think,’ he said contemplatively, rubbing my bum through the material. ‘A size or two smaller. Really, really tight, so they stretch very thin. Special punishment knickers, to be put on when you need a spanking.’

I tried very hard not to be incredibly turned on but I could feel my clit pulsing against the strip of cotton.

‘It can all be part of the ritual,’ he said.

Then, to the right of my face, I sensed that he was picking up The Belt.

‘Three with this over your shorts, then three more on your bare bottom,’ he decreed.

Instinctively, I clenched.

‘No clenching.’

Oh, dear, this was going to be hard.

And it was – very hard. The first stroke cracked down like fire, way worse than anything he had given me before.

I moaned and swivelled my hips, taking courage in the fact that I knew the number of strokes, and it was finite and bearable.

Or was it? The second stroke made me yelp and buck forward, trying to hide my poor burning bottom from further unpleasantness.

‘Up,’ he said, merciless as Ming. ‘Now.’

I obeyed, clinging to the duvet for dear life, and he laid the third stroke lower, so that the belt crossed my pussy lips and the bunched-up mess between them, as well as the curved lower part of my bottom. It was a really fierce stroke and I made a sobbing sound.

‘OK,’ said Dan. ‘I know that hurt. I know it did.’