WHOM YOU MIGHT HAVE MARRIED” by the Crimson Kid

“WHOM YOU MIGHT HAVE MARRIED” by the Crimson Kid

{Marital consensual spankings, nudity, lexan paddles, leather strap, cornertime, ‘reversal of fortune,’ speculation}

MID-OCTOBER 2012

“Betsy was such an airhead, a typical cheerleader just shaking her tail end to attract guys,” my darling wife Barbara mused on a bright, breezy Saturday morning, “She’d never have been good for you in the long run.”

Surprised by that patently inaccurate assessment, I quickly defended my high school girlfriend. “Uhhhh, she became a Rhodes scholar, honey, and just like you she has a double doctorate—except that hers are both from Oxford University.”

Her eyebrows arched as she set down her nook reader, upon which she’d been perusing WAR AND REMEMBRANCE. “Really, sweetheart? In which subject areas?”

“Economics and political science,” I replied. “Whatever made you think she lacked intelligence anyway, since you’ve only talked to her briefly a couple of times on her visits here?”

Barbara’s deeply crystal blue eyes twinkled teasingly. “Oh, so she’s a fellow social scientist of yours, hmmmm? Perhaps you could’ve ended up marrying her anyway then…I suppose it was Brittany who gave me the impression of Betsy as a fairly pretty but shallow girl at Heartland High, that she was mainly interested in chasing after guys for a few cheap thrills.”

My head shook firmly as I tossed aside the morning newspaper’s sports section; both my beautiful spouse and I were lazing about in bed at ten-thirty in the morning, sitting back against overstuffed reading pillows, her pleasingly plump body totally nude. Although well into middle age, she had seemed to grow more attractive over the past two decades—but of course my perceptions of her were rather biased, especially after a late evening which had begun with me stripping down to undergo a highly extended, playful-yet-emphatic leathering via her `whipping strap,’ then ended up with an even more extensive lovemaking session.

“Why Brittie would say something like that, I have no idea, except that she and Betsy didn’t always seem to get along very well.” I shrugged. “They were friends until the last part of their sophomore years, but then somehow their friendship fell apart.”

My ladylove chuckled, carelessly tossing her silky jet black hair as she shook her head. “You’re so clueless about women, even now–except when it’s time to bare your bouncy bottom for them to work over with a punishing implement…Didn’t Betsy become your girlfriend toward the end of her tenth-grade year?”

I nodded. “Which would’ve been March of 1974, when I was a senior at Heartland High; she was a wrestling cheerleader, that’s how I got to know her pretty well.”

Barbara snorted softly. “She and her fellow cheerleaders lustfully took turns whacking your naked fanny with a sorority-style paddle—that was every afternoon for a whole week, wasn’t it?”

“Four days, to be exact,” I conceded, “But it wasn’t really lustful, it was all in good fun and part of a school wrestling tradition.”

She grinned rather condescendingly. “Right, a `tradition’ that Miriam fabricated and told Kaylinda to insist on carrying out—both of them agree that you put up virtually no resistance to the idea.” Her eyebrows arched. “You’ve always had a sweetly smackable derriere, dear boy, and I can only imagine what it looked like when you were a seventeen-year-old athlete—so don’t tell me those high school girls had no feelings of lust while they were walloping you on the bare, making those firm, nicely-rounded cheeks flatten with each paddywhack of the hardwood.”

I gulped. “They did swing that Captain’s Victory Paddle with plenty of pizzaz, that’s for sure.”

Snuggling up against my nearly naked body—I was wearing the teal blue tennis shorts I’d slipped on before retrieving the newspaper—my ladylove tittered lightly. “I’m sure you secretly enjoyed every blistering-hard swat, you always do even if you won’t often admit it—even to yourself.”

I smiled ruefully. “Betsy said so too, that I fell for her because she paddled me with such zest, yet still caringly. All the butt-blisterings she gave me after that were partly to remind me how she felt about my being her boyfriend, according to her I needed both affection and strict discipline.”

Barbara’s chuckle resonated like a bell chime. “Apparently those are items which you’ve always required. I suppose I’m lucky that Betsy wasn’t around you for too long later on, because if she’d been available you might have ended up marrying her.”

“Ahhhh, I just wasn’t ready for marriage then, personally or careerwise,” I explained, “Which I’ve mentioned before.”

“Which is undoubtedly why you didn’t marry Brittany either, even though you two were very intimate emotionally—in fact you still are.” Her hand patted my face. “I’m not threatened by your closeness with her now, in fact I’ve come to care for Brittany like a sister. She seems to be ideal for you as a best friend who thoroughly tans your baby-naked buns whenever she deems it to be necessary, or even just a good idea at the time.”

My spouse’s insight into my psyche impressed me, as it usually seemed to. “Yes, the romance between us cooled after three years, but the friendship aspect remained—well, at least it did once she’d recovered from my refusal to get married and the breakup that it caused.”

Her gaze bored into my pale blue eyes. “However, you did occasionally give Brittany disciplinary spankings during your romantic relationship with her, didn’t you?”

“Only two or three times,” I responded bemusedly, “When she hurt my feelings by being inconsiderate and asked to be chastised for it.”

“Plus you did get to apply the Victory Paddle to Betsy’s bare behind once, didn’t you?” she demanded, her deep blue eyes still focused intently on mine.

She must have discussed our postseason celebration with Kaylinda, who’d been captain of the wrestling cheerleaders back then, I figured. “True, I got to give each cheerleader a nice paddywhacking with her panties pulled down in the rear,” I admitted, “But after that I got the exact same walloping in return from each of them, one right after the other, plus penalty smacks from Betsy—so I took much worse punishment than I got to dish out.”

My wife’s lips pursed. “Still, you’ve given both Brittany and Betsy real seat-smackings on occasion, but I’ve never been seriously spanked by you over twenty-five years of courtship and marriage.” Her arms wrapped around my neck before she continued rather somberly. “Paul darling, just this once I believe that you should give me a true fanny-tanning, however not one nearly as severe as those you generally undergo…Could you please do that for me, and for us as a couple?”

Although I was quite thunderstruck by that request, I licked my lips and managed to answer her. “Uhhhh-Of course I could, honey, if you’re certain that’s what you actually want—but it will have to seriously sting your rear end, and you know that you’re a wimp about physical pain, even if it’s only mild discomfort.”

She nodded slightly. “True enough, but I still want to experience it just this once, to demonstrate to myself that I love you as much as Brittany and Betsy once did. I’m fully aware that our disciplinary relationship runs entirely one-way and is centered on me enflaming your naked buttcheeks on a regular basis, either playfully or punitively, and that’s how we both desire it to operate, but this one time only I wish to alter that—but very temporarily, of course.”

“Ahhhh, I take it you’ve discussed this at length with Miss Pamela, right?” My reference was to Doctor Pamela McMichael, coordinator of the local chapter of the Sisterhood for Spousal Correction, a marital-relations specialist whose area of expertise was female-led domestic discipline.

Barbara sniffed. “Obviously, sweetie pie, and while Pam had some clearcut reservations about upsetting the spanking-based dominance dynamic between us, she eventually gave my idea her full support—upon one iron-clad condition.”

I sighed ruefully. “Let me guess…Immediately after I’m finished warming up your plump rotund rump, we’re to resume our traditional roles and you’re to work over my south side with your strap until it’s blistered and raw, huh?” My grin was quite wry. “It’s not too hard to figure out what Miss Pamela’s likely to think about your proposal, is it?” Still, it was a uniquely intriguing proposition, I told myself, and within a few days’ time I would undoubtedly be undergoing a thorough, red-assed shellacking from either my lifemate or another woman in our social circle anyway.

Her laughter was teasing. “Well, yes, that’s the general idea, although the choice of implements is up to me.” She leaned over to fondly kiss my lips. “Come on, honeybun, you know that it won’t be very long at all before you’re getting your bare bottom tanned by me—or possibly Brittany, Miriam, Candy, Miranda, Christie, maybe even Bethany—so why not for once spend a little time on the `swinging side’ of a spousal spanking first?”

Down in the depths of my psyche, I much preferred being on the `stinging side’ of sound corporal correction, according to virtually all of my feminine chastisers, but hearing Barbara echo my own thoughts so precisely decided the issue for me. “Okay, you’ve got a deal, honey—just let me consider what implements I’ll be employing to smarten up that beautiful babyfat bottom of yours.”

“Pam was rather insistent on it being only your palm,” she said quickly, shivering a touch.

“Miss Pamela’s not here, this is a private discussion between the two of us as a married couple, which is how we’ll decide this—but yes, I’m certainly aware that I’ll be facing a serious reckoning with one or more of her canes in the near future, due to disregarding her directions here.” My brows furrowed. “I’m considering a handspanking over my knee, and you’ll have to be put into a restraint position, followed by two dozen swats with the oval-shaped lexan paddle.”

Her eyes widened. “Paul, that’s the heavy lexan spanker, I can’t endure that on my tender tushie—plus two dozen smacks is too many for me.”

I paused pensively before responding to her protest. “Okay, we’ll go with our lighter lexan one, the lollipop-shaped stinger, but I’m still insisting on twenty-four wallops, and they’re going to hurt somewhat—which is what you’ve always told me a spanking is supposed to do.” She still looked rather uncertain. “Let’s negotiate both sides of this arrangement, honey…So how much of a return ass-whipping are you intending to give me afterward?”

My wife’s face became excitedly animated as she focused on her usual role of dishing out the butt-blistering discipline. “Oh, perhaps four dozen strokes with my `whipping strap,’ followed by a lengthy session across my lap, no set amount of spanks, with the oval lexan fanny-whacker—it’s perfectly suited to your muscular derriere, dear boy, it’s merely too thick for mine.”

“Two dozen with that nasty length of leather,” I countered, “Since I’m still sore from the eighty-four licks of it which you favored me with last night.”

Barbara was noted for driving a hard bargain. “Then it’s only one dozen smacks with the lollipop stinger while I’m over your knee—if you want two dozen instead, after my spanking with your palm, you’ll have to agree to take forty-eight cracks with the `whipping strap’ before your lexan paddling…So take it or leave it, darling!”

I held out my hand, whereupon she smiled tautly while shaking it. “Okay, honey, now get up, go fetch the light lexan seat-smacker, then report back to me ready to be spanked to tears—this will be a meaningful fanny-tanning.”

Her lips pressed against my left cheek. “Yes, sir, as you wish.” I had to admit that she’d surprised me by adopting a submissive demeanor so quickly.

Within a single minute, my baby-naked mate was bent over my left knee while I was sitting on the edge of our king-sized bed; I clamped my right leg over her thighs, hooking the toes of its foot under my left ankle, followed by her right upturned wrist being pressed against her lower back by my left hand. For the moment, the lollipop-shaped lexan spanker was resting atop my darling wife’s nightstand, next to her plastic water bottle.

My right palm mildly patted her milky white, chubby bumcheeks as I reveled in her helplessness; she kept my own buttock rounds smooth and hairless via shaving them closely several times a week, plus also massaging either aloe cream or baby oil onto their surface almost every night, but that wasn’t necessary for her creamy nether moons.

“This bare bottom will redden up very cutely and quickly,” I informed my quivering victim, tightly squeezing each of her southern hemispheres in turn before raising my free hand over my shoulder. “Here comes the first serious spanking of your middle-aged life, honey.”

She inhaled curtly, only to exhale with a loud gasp as my slightly-cupped palm impacted sharply against her lower right gluteal globe—SMACK! “Ohhhh wow, that smarts!” she yelped as her calves kicked futilely while my blushing pink handprint appeared on her formerly pale skin.

“Really, honey?” My right arm lifted again. “Who’d have thought that? Let’s try another one, shall we?” SPLAT! That spank connected briskly to her left bumcheek barely above its bordering thighcrease, making Barbara squeal and squirm, vainly wriggling her wide hips, and producing another palmprint to match the first one. “Time to get down to butt-busting business now,” I announced bluntly.

Which is exactly what I did, walloping my mate’s rotund rear end at a deliberate, steady pace, alternating cheeks while focusing on the `sit spots’ at the base of her chubby caboose; it was a punitive pattern which I was intimately acquainted with, one which she and numerous other females had frequently employed—although with instruments of corporal correction which I’d found to be much more persuasive than their open hands—over the many years that I’d been subject to such womanly discipline.

It took only a couple of minutes before Barbara was softly sobbing, and only a minute or so after then teardrops started trickling down her face while she yelped and eventually wailed in reaction to my continued handsmacking of her reddening nether region. My darling wife, who’d consistently teased me about my “childish carrying on” once I’d been reduced to flowing tears via a lengthy, blistering-hard chastisement, obviously found it to be less than amusing when she was finally the one being spanked. By the time I had eventually concluded that part of her bottom-warming, after eight solid minutes of plastering her posterior with my palm–which was feeling a touch hot itself—my beloved victim was weeping shamelessly.

“Ohhhhawwww, muh-my hi-hiney huuuurts,” she whimpered helplessly while I softly squeezed her brightly blushing buns with my right hand.

“That’s the effect I was trying for, honey,” I breezily responded, “However, my palm is tingling a tad also, so it’s time to switch to the lollipop paddle.” I reached to my right and picked up her half-filled plastic water bottle. “You’ve teased me enough about how much its sting is intensified on a wet behind, so I’m going to let you experience that sensation yourself.” Upon flipping open the sports bottle’s cap with my thumb, I squeezed a short splash of chilled liquid onto those cherry-red asscheeks.

My sweet spouse yipped. “Ahhhhohh, that’s cold!”

Setting the bottle back down on the nightstand, I curled my fingers around the lexan spanker’s slim handle, which was about half a foot long and only an inch-and-a-quarter in width, and lifted the transparent spanking implement over my right shoulder. “I’ll bet that cool water feels rather soothing at the moment,” I speculated cheerily, observing how her rosy-hued moons were trembling, “But it’s going to have the opposite effect as soon as I resume your discipline with this lexan stinger—so get ready to bawl like a baby, to use an expression which you like to apply to my behavior while being whacked…Twenty-four swats, be sure to count each one properly.”

Once again she inhaled in apprehension, then the lightweight spanker, which featured seven small beveled holes in its quarter-inch-thick, round striking surface, cracked crisply against the middle of her left hemisphere—SMACK!! “Owwwwww,” she cried out rather urgently, “Wuh-One, sir!”

“I’ll bet that stung just a touch,” I chortled, while a fresh teardrop leaked out of each of my spankee’s crystal blue eyes. “Let’s see how much of a nice crimson glow I can impart to your smarting derriere, sweetheart.”

Then I delivered the remaining twenty-three strokes of the lexan stinger, energetically but hardly brutally, rather easily holding Barbara in place despite her desperate struggles over my knee; she futilely attempted to avoid the light-yet-effective paddle’s sizzling-hot attentions to her wriggling bumcheeks, but I kept on whacking the tender `sweet spot’ at the bottom of her bottom.

WHAP!! “Waaaaaahowwww! Twuh-Twenteeeey-fah-four, sih-sir!” she bawled frantically upon her chastisement being finished—except that the blubbering, black-haired beauty still had a bit of penance to serve, something I reminded her of while rubbing her back with my left hand.

“Cry it out for a couple minutes, then head into the corner, dear girl,” I instructed glibly. “Nose touching both walls, hands clasped behind your back, keeping both feet flat on the floor for ten minutes—if you break position, you’ll go over my knee again for a dozen more wallops with this fanny-tanner.” The lexan spanker’s smooth striking surface pressed briefly against her scarlet right moon. “Do you understand, my darling?”

In spite of her ragged sniffling, there was a subtle slyness in her voice. “Yeh-Yes, s-sir…It shuh-should b-be a yuh-unique cornertime sihh-tuation.”

Once she was in her contrite stance in the bedroom’s nearest corner, I realized what she had meant as I surveyed her opulent, brightly-glowing gluteal globes. Normally the completion of a spankee’s post-punishment cornertime merely meant that the disciplinary interaction had been concluded, but in our particular case it would instead mean that the corporally corrective roles were then to be reversed. Listening to my mate’s soft sobbing made me anxiously aware of my own imminent red-assed fate.

Predictably enough, nine minutes later Barbara was smiling broadly as she exited the corner, her plumply-rounded derriere still rosy and obviously very sore while her face was tearstreaked. Rising from the bed which I’d been relaxing upon, I opened my arms wide. “A hug and a kiss to complete your correction,” I told her fondly.

Two minutes afterward, I found myself totally nude, lying prone on the master bed while bent starkly over several pillows, including her overstuffed reading one, inverted in a V-shape on top of the others, which left my unprotected buttcheeks pointed at the ceiling with their sensitive `sit spots’ openly exposed for punishment. My beautiful wife—yes, she was extremely attractive in spite of her recently-spanked state—had put on her ruby red, black-laced neglige and was gripping the corrugated rubber handle of her wickedly-flexible leather `whipping strap’ in her right hand as she directly faced my lower back.

“Four dozen big-time scorchers, honeybun,” she announced coolly, “It’s critical that I restore the proper punitive paradigm in our relationship immediately—Pam was rather insistent on that point, and I’m in complete agreement with her.” Her tone became serious. “I felt the need to show you that I’d take a sound spanking from you just this once, now I’m going to demonstrate that no one else would’ve ever fulfilled your disciplinary desires as effectively as I have, with calm-yet-loving determination.”

Gratitude for my sweet spouse’s willingness to accommodate my not-always-admitted, spanko-submissive tendencies flooded my awareness. “I know that, honey, go ahead and sting me really good.”

Thereupon Barbara did exactly that, fiercely plastering my upthrust and unprotected posterior with smacking-sharp licks of the pliable leather, working over my vulnerable undercheeks with forty-eight extremely convincing strokes of her `whipping strap.’ By the twelfth time her pliable instrument of corporal correction had cracked across the base of my blazing buttocks, I’d started sobbing and the teardrops were squeezing out of my overbrimming eyes; predictably, I was weeping and wailing over the final three dozen leathering lashes, much to my chastiser’s smug satisfaction.

Momentarily, I found myself standing in the same corner that my lifemate had recently vacated, nose touching both walls while my upturned palms were supporting her larger, heavier, lexan paddle, the half-inch-thick-one with a wide, oval-shaped head featuring nine beveled holes in its unyielding, flat striking surface, and the water bottle which was balanced atop it.

Meanwhile, Barbara was chattering on her cell phone. “Oh yes, Pam, it most certainly did smart, I was crying almost as childishly as Paul always does…He insisted that I take two dozen pops with the light lexan stinger after I was spanked by hand…Well, I did make your wishes known to him, but obviously he wasn’t convinced…Six-thirty in the evening, the day after tomorrow? That will be fine, we’ll be expecting you then…A severe caning followed by a very long session over your knee with the bath brush, it sounds acceptable to me. You’re not all that happy with my husband, are you?…Yes, I’m certain you’ll be able to show him precisely how annoyed you are…No, I don’t think he’ll need further convincing to follow your instructions, not after you’ve finished with his bare bottom…Striped, blistered and raw, hmmmm? Knowing you, I wouldn’t expect anything else…Oh, at least double the length of the tanning he gave me with that lollipop spanker—we both know that, down deep, he loves it…”

My deep sigh was an expression of both trepidation and anticipation, while I thought about how truly perceptive my wonderful wife was…

{The End}

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