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Tuesday, 26 August 2014

Bathbrush hazing to lift depression

It is a holiday weekend over here in the UK. The weather came in cold and grey with a few sunny spots, and grey was how I felt. I had been depressed for a few days last week and couldn’t shake off my gloom.

In turn, this reflected on our relationship which became silent around Saturday lunchtime. I knew it was my fault, but I couldn’t shake it off and get with the programme as they say.

Saturday mornings I generally clean the bathroom and guest toilet and this Saturday was no different. As I was placing ornaments and bottles and shower gel back in their place after scrubbing and wiping the walls, glass and tiled floor, I took the bathbrush off its hook, dropped my short  and gave my bottom a few swats. The effect was immediate. I felt the pain and then the endorphins rushed to my brain.

I took the brush downstairs, where my wife was working on a cake in the kitchen.

“Will you spank me?” I asked.

“Why?”

"Because I need it.”

“I agree you need something, you are being a tedious toad at the moment." She wiggled a flour covered finger at my face. "OK. Take that brush back upstairs and I will come up and deal with you when I am finished here.”

She left me waiting in the bedroom for another ten minutes or more. When she arrived my wife looked like she meant business.

“Get the guest bedroom chair.”


She was sitting on the edge of the bed when I got back to the room carrying the sturdy oak chair.





“Put it down in front of me then strip and get over the seat. I will be here for sometime so I may as well sit comfortably.”


I got into position with my bare bottom in front of her right side, my legs outstretched  and my hands on the carpet.

She tapped the brush on the right cheek.

“You’re too close. Get up and move the chair away six inches. You are tubby as well. You need to loose weight.”

That comment was not going to make me feel less depressed but I said nothing, just tried to pull in my tummy.

When I was back over the chair again my wife tapped the brush left and right and remarked that this was a good spot but that I needed to shuffle forward over the chair a bit more.

“That's better now I can sit here all day and deal you in comfort."

The spanking started gently at first but then she began to land very hard thwacks. They were alternated on each cheek.

I gripped the legs of the chair tightly and let my mind go into subspace as quickly as I could manage. After a few moments the pain became separated from my body. It felt as though some distant part of me, not connected with my body,  was being spanked as I became the naughty boy who needed to be disciplined. 

I concentrated on the sexual side of what my wife would look like if I could watch her spanking me and I pushed my legs out straight,  trying to impress her that I could take everything she could give with that hateful brush.

The endorphins shot around my head telling me to liven up and forget my troubles and I obeyed their message.

After a long while I started to sob and plead with my wife to stop but I did not really want that. What I wanted  the most was to luxuriate in my submission.

After possibly a hundred spanks to each side of my swollen bottom she stopped.

When she left the room, telling me to spend thirty minutes in the corner and then come downstairs, I pushed myself off the chair and hobbled into the bathroom to get a view of my bottom in the mirror. It was glorious composition of pink, red, purple and white spots. I was red in the face from crying so I splashed on some cold water and put myself in the corner. 


As the throbbing subsided I imagined the scene in my head, fantasizing that my wife would come upstairs with a friend and they would discuss the benefits of keeping their men under control.



 I walked down the stairs after my "time out" content that my hazing had made the world  a sunnier place  and I am still cheerful writing this blog two days later. 

2 comments:

  1. Tedious toad, love it. There's nothing like a spanking to set us right.

    Love,
    Ronnie
    xx

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Hi Ronnie - boys learn when bottoms burn, as another blooger put it.

      Delete

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