Sorted out

I trust that all is OK with readers on the East Coast. 

I guess that some of you may be dealing with damage and that others are just having a day at home, perhaps  because work has been closed. Either way,  I hope the storm clouds clear to sunshine soon.

I had a different reason to be at home yesterday, a bit more mundane than a storm. We were waiting for a delivery of a new washing machine and I agreed to take the morning off work and my wife was going to take the afternoon off. That way we had the whole day covered for the delivery, with not too much holiday taken.

As it turned out the van arrived at about 11 and the whole thing was done and dusted by noon.I called my wife to say that she could stay at work but instead she said she would be home for lunch and I should stay put for the moment.

When I greeted her at the door I got “the look” and she brushed past me to inspect the new machine. I had no idea what the look was for until she came back to the hall.

“Well at least you have done one thing right.”

“How do you mean?”

“What I mean is, I’ve been thinking about that whole DVD thing and your lies and your disobedience and instead of waiting I am going to punish you right now. I need to get it out of my system..”

I just stood there, getting a bit flushed. She hasn’t scolded me like this for a long time and my blood was tingling. I felt a bit of a churn coming on in my stomach and a tingle in my head – partly in trepidation and partly with excitement.

“Take a kitchen chair up to the bedroom and get naked. I will be up in a minute. And give yourself a wash.”

I lifted one of the heavy wooden chairs and she ignored me as I struggled to take it up the stairs. I placed it in the centre of the room and then shed my clothes and made a speedy trip to the bathroom. By the time I walked naked back into the room she was already there..

“ Stand here,” she said, pointing at a spot on the carpet. “ And hold the end of your prick up so I can see it.”

She took off her suit jacket and placed it carefully on a hangar. She was not in a rush it seemed.

“Is the key in the usual place?”

“Yes ma’am”

My wife came back from the blanket chest on the landing holding the riding crop. This is definitely not one of those toy ones. It is a long professional whip with a very flexible rod encased in nylon braid with a leather bound handle and double tab at the end.

As I held the head of my penis in the tips of my fingers it grew a little in length and stiffness as I watched and, more to the point heard, the swish of the crop through the air as she practised her swing.

“First I am going to teach you to keep your hands off this,” she tapped my prick with end of the crop. “And then I’m going to remind you not to lie and not to sit about wanking when I m out. Close your eyes.”

I spread my legs apart for balance and did  as I was told. The hard stem of the crop slashed across my prick and I flinched. As she whipped me she spoke in a crisp manner to match each lash of the crop.

“Don’t”, zip, “ touch”, swish, “this”, crack, “without”, zip, “asking”, zap, “my”, zing,
 “permission”. Smack.

I was biting my lip in agony as that last stroke landed. My prick had engorged and reddened with each stroke. The whipping was as much a stimulant as a punishment. 

Then she turned onto my balls. As the tab landed hard up and under into the soft skin, I got that stomach churning pain which is linked directly to smacked testicles. She slapped relentlessly and all I could think of at first was getting her to stop, and then as the pain warmed up my groin, getting her not to stop. Such is the masochism of a spanko.

Finally,with another swoop of the crop across my prick ,she told me to bend over the chair. The hard wood of the chair back cut into my waist and she made me climb further over it so that my groin and penis were on the bar. The resulting discomfort on my front was only a taster of what was to happen to my rear.

"Get up on your toes and lie right over the chair. Do not move or we start again."

"Yes ma´am."

"I didn´t ask you to speak, so don´t."

She stood by my side at a good distance away for a very effective  swing and started to whip my bare cheeks. She gave no pause in the proceedings and just whipped away with relentless stroke after stroke.

I was jumping and wriggling but managed to hold my place. She scolded as she whipped, telling me not to disobey her in the future and to pay more attention to my responsibilities.

In my head I counted up to maybe 30 strokes but she did not stop for a long time and I lost count.

I wanted to plead that I was sorry and would not do it again but that would have been foolish, given the instruction to take my strokes in silence.

When I thought I could take no more, on my flaming bottom and backs of my legs, she tossed the crop on to the floor and left the room, telling me tidy up and stand in the corner until she told me otherwise.

A half hour later, after she had lunched, she came back upstairs to retrieve her jacket and go back to the office. She came up behind me and rubbed my still hot bottom with a cool hand.

"Learned your lesson have you?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good - in that case call the office and say you are working from home. You can clean upstairs and get on making the dinner. I expect to come home to a well behaved boy, now that the naughty one has been dealt with."

She ran her hand in front of my waist and grasped my stiffening prick. The word naughty gets me going every time.

"And leave this alone, do you hear!"