St. Paul to the Ephesians

{ Note: Inspiration for this story came from a wedding I attended in which the pastor actually did quote the relevant passage, or parts thereof, nearly a dozen times. (I didn’t count. Wish I had.) I have no idea why he did this, unless it was due to the same motivation I hypothesize below. Please also note that this story is in no way intended to criticize St. Paul. In his letter, he goes on to exhort husbands to love their wives.}

By Jonathan Quincy Graves

Michael comes from a religious family, so when we made wedding plans, it was just understood that his pastor, in the church his family had attended for the past several generations, would marry us.  This was fine with me.  I’m not religious myself, but I knew it would please Mike’s mother.

It was fine with me, that is, until we got into the actual ceremony, and Mike’s pastor repeatedly brought up the words of St. Paul in his letter to the Ephesians.  You know the ones:

“Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord.  For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior.  Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in all things.”

He must have quoted it a dozen times, perhaps sensing I was not buying it.  The more he quoted, the tighter became the set of my jaw, and the irritation in my eyes.  Mike could sense it, and I suspect he knew we would discuss it later.  I could feel him fidgeting next to me, but his discomfort at the altar was not going to save him when we were alone in the honeymoon suite that night.

I was raised to develop an independent spirit, in a happy home that my mother ran.  She and my father are very much in love, but neither buys into the popular (and rather silly) idea that marriage is an equal partnership with no one in the lead. Nor have they adopted the patriarchal model.  To the contrary, my mother has a much stronger personality than my father, and there is no doubt in my mind which of them calls the shots in their marriage.  They both seem quite comfortable with this arrangement, treating it as the natural order of things, and for them it clearly is.

The reception after the wedding was typical, with gifts, congratulations, the cutting of the cake, the “first” dance, etc., but every time I looked at my mother, I could tell that she was having a very difficult time fighting back a great roar of laughter.  Her conversation, when I was near enough to overhear, was heavily salted with the words “submit” (as in presenting something like a document for approval) and “submission”.  She was obviously having great fun at my expense.  My father just stood quietly next to her, wearing a crooked, worried smile.

That night, when Mike and I were finally alone, I confronted my new spouse.  “Where did that ‘Letter to the Ephesians’ crap come from?  Was that your idea?”

“No, Jill, honest.  My mom might have suggested it to Pastor Vickers, but I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Your mother?  You think your mother might have put him up to it?  And what’s your opinion on the topic, if I may ask?”

“Well, it is the natural order of things.  You know, husbands are head of the household, and wives provide support and nurturing…”  He trailed off toward the end, as he finally perceived the fire raging in my eyes. (There may have been smoke issuing from my ears as well, which would have been another good clue.)

“And you think you should rule me, and I should submit to your whims.  Is that it?”  I responded, feet in a wide stance, hands on my hips over my snow-white wedding gown.  In my heels, I stood a good inch taller than Mike, and in my mind, I knew what the proper answer to my question should be.  “You think you are the stronger of the two of us, do you?”

“W-well, it’s just how things w-work, you know?”  he stammered, his voice almost failing him completely.

“Let’s just see about that, shall we?”  I responded.  “Drop your pants.”

“Wh-what?”

“I said drop your pants.  I want to explore this whole ‘head of household’ and ‘submission’ thing as it applies to our marriage.  Do it now.  Drop. Your. Pants!”

“Come on, Jill, there’s no reason to get upset,” he answered, but I noted with satisfaction that he had started fumbling with his belt buckle.  I just stared at him, as he proceeded to undo the button and zipper and allowed the slacks of his tux to fall to his ankles.

“Come this way,” I demanded, taking his arm and leading him over to the bed.

I don’t know what he thought would happen next, but when I sat on the side of the bed and pulled him across my knees, my intention became all too obvious.

“What are you doing?” Mike protested.  “Wives aren’t supposed to s-spank their husbands.”

“Well then, dear,” I responded sweetly as I yanked his boxers down to his knees, revealing his pale and quite spankable tushy, “perhaps I am not the ‘wife’ in this marriage.  Perhaps that will be your job from now on.”  I had not considered this twist before that moment, but the sudden image it evoked—my little Mikey in a cute little apron, working around the house to make us a happy home—got my juices going.

Satisfied with Mike’s position over my lap, I held him tightly in place with my left arm, raised my right hand high above its target, and brought it down with a resounding SMACK!

“Ouch!” Mike protested.  “Jill, that stings, cut it out!”

I delivered another five spanks, the last being especially hard.  “Did you mean to say, ‘cut it out, please’?” I asked.

“Yes, yes, please.  This is embarrassing.  Please stop.”

“I don’t think so,” I said, and resumed, using the spanks to punctuate the words of my lecture.  “One purpose of a honeymoon, darling, is for us to get to know each other and to establish our relationship within the context of married life.  Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, I agree, but…”

“And the first and most important (That word was accented with an especially hard smack to Mike’s reddening bottom.) thing that we have to settle, is who will lead this marriage, and who will be the ‘wife’ as Saint Paul has described that function.  Given our relative positions, Mikey, I think that would be you.  What do you think?”  By now, my firm right hand had turned Mike’s bottom and upper thighs into a very promising shade of pink, and I was not even starting to tire.

“Yes…  No!…  I don’t know.  Please stop.  Stop right now and let me up,” Mike finished, trying to put some steel into his voice, and struggling to leverage himself off of my lap.

Reaching down, I grabbed Mike’s right wrist and pulled it behind his back, then forced his head toward the carpet.  I extricated my left leg from under him, and placed it across his back, keeping him in place.  I had to pull the skirts of my bridal gown all the way to my hips in order to complete this maneuver.  This completely draped Mike in white silks and satins until I tucked them under my left arm and uncovered his reddening bottom.  His head and upper body remained covered, while his naked legs and ass showed out the other side.  It would have made a memorable picture if the wedding photographer had been there to snap it—my long legs in white silk stockings, Mike’s pale limbs, glowing bottom, and all that white material from my gown billowing around.

“As the ‘wife’, Mikey, you should know better than to try to get off of my lap before your chastisement is complete.  I’m afraid that now we will have to raise the stakes to make sure that you understand your situation.”

By stretching, I could just reach my purse, and the hairbrush I carried within it.  Once back in position, Mike’s spanking continued, much more painfully, until he had surrendered to my control.

It has been almost two weeks now, since that first eye-opener for little Mikey, and I’m sure he will be relieved when our honeymoon is officially over.  I… suggested… while he was still over my knee—and he agreed—that he be taken over my knees at bedtime each night of our honeymoon to reinforce and solidify, with no possibility of doubt, what our future relationship would be.  Oh, I’ve not been cruel to the poor boy; I do love him.  Most nights, I just use my hand for a little warm-up before directing Mike’s mouth between my thighs, followed by all of the traditional honeymoon activities, which we both thoroughly enjoy.

One thing is certain, though, Mike has come around to complete agreement with St. Paul’s letter to the Ephesians.  And, he looks really cute in the sexy pink panties I put him in.

END

Copyright © 2021 by Jonathan Quincy Graves. All rights reserved.  Please do not repost or use for any commercial purpose without written approval from the author.