Fines means canes

Time passed slowly over the weekend. My wife was still treating me to a silence and I was nervous about how she would settle my punishment for the parking fine.

On the Saturday I got on with the jobs she had listed out and she went off to the shops. That evening we were due out for supper with friends and I was told to behave myself in company.

I struggled  to keep my cool when the conversation turned to politics but my wife gave me two or three “looks” so I held my peace, when they were discussing things with which I disagreed.

 I abstained from the heated conversation and one of the other guests asked me if I was feeling alright. Obviously I was not coming across as the usual fiery debater.

I had learned my lesson from my Mistress.

 It was an enjoyable evening but without a drink for me , so I was unable to join in the laughing and joking. Being the sober one makes you see how silly people can get with drink.

I was chauffering two of our other friends (my wife’s suggestion of course) and it was midnight before we finally got home. Once we were in bed I attempted to engage her in sex and cunnilingus but my advances were rejected. She was keeping me in my place.

On Sunday morning I brought tea and the newspaper to my wife and made as if I was going to get into bed to share some quality time. This was not on the cards.

Instead I was sent for the canes, all three of them, and the long Spencer paddle and told to shower and wait naked in the corner of the room in just my pants.

I fidgeted once a twice and rearranged my stiffening prick inside the shorts. She told me to keep my hands on my head and to leave her in peace to read the papers.

After maybe half an hour she got off the bed and went to the bathroom. On her way she patted my bottom and said it was not long now. I should relax she said and accept what was coming.

The churning in my stomach increased and my head was awash with that pre-punishment spin. I knew that I deserved the caning but I was in that halfway state of wanting it to start, but hoping it wouldn’t.

When she came back to the bedroom her command to go to pick up the implements surprised me. I followed her down the stairs. She had on a dressing gown and I was semi-naked. I felt very foolish, like a naughty boy following his governess.

She walked into the sitting room and told me to fetch a dining room chair. I placed the canes and the paddle on the coffee table and did as I was told.

My wife turned the chair so that is was side-on to the table and pointed where she wanted me. I bent over. I had to be on the tips of my toes to balance my waist over the chairback and hold onto the seat in front of me. This was not going to be an easy position to hold for a long time and I was sure that she knew it.

.

I waited in a state of nerves whilst she took her time removing her dressing gown and then picked up the paddle. When it struck me hard across my pants I jumped forward.

“Remain perfectly still. You are getting 56 strokes so I want no squalking or complaining.”

“Yes ma’am and could I say how sorry I am for wasting the money.”

“You could but it won’t make a damn  bit of difference so be quiet.”

The long paddle het me across both cheeks with a vigourous smack. The pain, even through my pants, was harsh. I let out the breath I had held and resolved to take my punishment as best I could. I lost count in my head at twelve strokes and simply tried to absorb each smack.

When she had reached whatever number she thought appropriate my bottom was roasted and I had tears welling up in my eyes. For the first time in a long time she had paddled me to the point where I nearly could stand no more. I lay in position with shaking legs from the effort of staying put.

“Get up. You will be caned at twelve o’clock and again at six, so make sure you are in position and waiting for me.”

She left the room and I found it hard to push myself off the chairback. I had been paddled to the point where my bottom muscles were aching.. It was meant as a punishment and it truly served as one.

Upstairs I took a look at my aching bottom in the wardrobe mirror. I was bruised and red but now felt kind of  proud that I had taken my spanking without complaint.

Back downstairs I made breakfast and my wife was in a cheerful mood. Commencing on my punishment seemed to have taken away the silent treatment. She asked me to lower my trousers and show her the results of her work. She gave me a wolf whistle of approval.

We went for a longish walk and I did some job hunting on the pc in the study. I kept one eye on the time and soon enough it was close to twelve. I visited the bathroom and stripped to my pants and then went into the sitting room. The temperature was low as there had not been any heating in there for a day or two. I was shivering. With a glance at the canes on the table and butterflies in my stomach I went over the back of the chair. The idea of the caning was exciting but daunting.

I heard the door open and shut and a cane clattered a little as it was lifted off the table.The  sound of whiz, whiz, whiz of trial strokes behind me indicated that she had chosen the dragon cane.

My wife inserted a finger into the waistband of my pants and pulled them see-saw like down to my knees. They fell to the floor is a puddle of cloth around my feet.

“ Lie perfectly still but count the strokes and tell me you won’t get a parking fine again.”

I braced myself and my cheeks clenched. When I remembered to relax them she struck. After the noise of the cane slapping flesh a few times there was a pause, a whiz and then the rush of hot pain hit my brain.

“One, and I won’t get a parking fine again.”

Again the cane whistled down and the tip crossed over my right cheek and flicked into the skin on the side of my bottom.

“Two and I won’t get a parking fine again.”

The caning continued relentlessly. I found it more difficult to catch my breath and formulate the words in my head so there were longer and longer pauses between the strokes. My wife would not deliver a stroke until she was satisfied that I had spoken out clearly.

When she finally got to 56 I was a spent man. My sore bottom was testament to the skills my wife has developed over the years. She might not be into corporal punishment and spanking herself but she knows how to dish it out. Placing the cane back on the table she left the room.

“See you at 6 and don’t be late.”

That last caning was no less severe. She debated with herself as to which of the two unused canes she should take up. Opting for the thicker less flexible school cane she once again stripped off my pants. This time I had to count the strokes and thank her for each one. It must have taken about fifteen or twenty minutes for to deliver all 56 strokes.

I will not be getting a fine for parking or even at the library in the future. The marks and bruising lasted until Tuesday and I can still feel some soreness on my right flank as I sit here writing this.