Secure Folders

By Jonathan Quincy Graves

“In here, dear.”

I just returned from my Saturday afternoon errands.  I work at home, so I make it a point to get out of the house at least once on the weekend.  This time, I had gone to the hardware store, mostly to wander among the tools, but also to pick up a few items for a plumbing project I’d started a couple months ago in the downstairs bathroom.

Ellen answered my call of, “I’m back,” in her usual manner, but this time her voice came from my office, which is a little unusual.  She normally stays out of my sanctum.  She’s not comfortable, I guess, with the state of organized chaos I keep it in.

I headed down the hall, to see what she was up to, but when I turned through my office door, I saw that we were not alone.  “Oh, hi, Karen.

“What’s going on?” I asked my wife.

Karen is our neighbor and one of Ellen’s friends.  A tiny lady, about 5-foot nothing, and maybe a size 2.  But what she clearly lacks in physical size, I’ve always thought she more than makes up for in attitude.  An attractive woman in her late forties, Karen can adopt a tight-lipped, stern look that has never failed to turn me on since I first met her.  I really know nothing about the private relationship between Karen and her 6-foot, 180-pound husband, George, but I would be willing to bet a month’s pay he steps lively and answers, “Yes, ma’am” when she is on the warpath.

At the moment, Karen was behind my desk, sitting at my computer.  A chill ran down my spine.  You see, unbeknownst to my wife of 16 years, I am a closet spanko, and securely stored on my computer are scores of spanking stories, dozens of videos, and hundreds of pictures.  There is no way either Ellen or Karen could have broken the password to get to those secure folders—and really no reason for them to have tried in the first place—unless… did I remember to lock them away when I left my computer this morning?

Ellen very rarely gets angry with me, but she appeared to be doing a pretty good imitation this afternoon.  “Do you have something you want to tell me, Don?” she asked.

“No, I don’t think so.  What’s going on?”  I could feel the blood rushing to my face, and I was certain Ellen was not the least bit impressed with my play of innocence.

“I came in here to use your printer while you were out today, and I accidentally found your not-so-little porn stash.”

“What do you mean?”

Rather than answer, Ellen nodded to Karen, who swiveled my computer monitor in my direction.  The screen was flashing a full-color slide show of my spanking pictures, almost all of which were F/M, but salted with a few F/F that especially appealed to me over the years.  Every two seconds, a different photo or drawing of a bare-bottomed man being soundly spanked, strapped or paddled by a determined woman flashed up on the screen.  In most cases, the women were fully clothed, but I also had more than a few photos that featured nicely shaped, young breasts caught in mid bounce with the rise and fall of the spankers hand.  How the hell was I going to explain this?

“I can explain,” I blurted in panic.

“I’ll bet,” Ellen said derisively, “and I’ll also bet this explains why you have been spending so many late nights here in your office, instead of in our bedroom with me.”

“Darling, I love you,” I pleaded.  “Can we please discuss this calmly after Karen leaves?”

“You wish, little boy,” Karen spoke for the first time.  “Your darling wife called me over because she didn’t know what to do with this shocking discovery.  She thought I would though, and she was right.”  Karen scooted my office chair out from behind my desk as she spoke.  “I have plenty of experience dealing with naughty little boys, and I’m going to show your loving wife just how it’s done.”  She was wearing a little red dress, and my gaze was captured by the sight of her nylon-clad knees as she used her shapely bottom to maneuver the chair toward the center of the room.

“What do you mean?” I said, rather stupidly, looking back and forth between Karen and Ellen.

“What Karen means, Donald, is that I was shocked when I stumbled onto your nasty little secret, and I called her over to get her advice.”

“And my advice,” Karen interjected, “was to put into practice the fantasy life you have been living all alone in the privacy of your office for the past eight years.”

Karen must have looked at the file dates of some of my oldest acquisitions.  In reality my obsession goes back much further than that.

“If it is spanking that turns you on, it is only appropriate that your wife learn to satisfy you.  And if, under my tutelage, you discover the reality is much more than you imagined, well you have at least eight years of secret self-gratification for which to atone.

“Get over here now, young man, and drop your trousers.  It is time you learned what happens to naughty husbands who seek pleasure hidden away from the supervision of their wives.”

Out of the corner of my panicked eyes, I could see scene after scene of men of all ages learning, perhaps, that very lesson over the knee of some stern mistress.

“Ellen, darling, you can’t ask me to…”

“Don’t ‘darling’ me,” Ellen interrupted, “and no one is ‘asking’ you to do anything.  You’ve had this coming for a long time.  Maybe you have even wished for it, but whether or not, the time has come, and I hope you are not disappointed, because this spanking will be the first of many, many more to come.”

“If I have to come over there and fetch you,” Karen interjected, “you are going to be one very sorry little boy before I am done with you.”

The thought of little 5-foot Karen working her will on me might have been laughable, I am after all nearly twice her weight; but she obviously held the moral high ground, and logic had nothing to do with this situation.  I was somehow certain she was making no idle threat.

Reluctantly, I walked over to stand by Karen’s right side.

“You know what to do,” Karen commanded, “drop them.”

As I fumbled with my belt buckle, Karen looked at Ellen and said, “As his wife, you may prefer to strip him yourself.  As a third-party spanker, however, I insist that this first demonstration of surrender be made by the naughty boy himself.”

Karen returned her gaze to me.  Her tightly compressed lips making clear her strict nature and determined intent.  Maintaining eye contact, her strong, delicate hands reached for my briefs and began to pull them down.  I started to reach down to stop her, but a raised eyebrow a glint in her dark brown eyes warned me against such disobedience.

“Regardless of which of you starts the process,” Karen told Ellen, while never looking away from me, “the final baring should be done by the spanker.  Once that is done, it is a good opportunity to make sure the man to be punished knows precisely why he is in this childish position.

“There is no doubt in your mind, is there, young man?”

“No ma’am,” I muttered.

“Well at least those stories and videos have taught you a little respect,” Karen answered.  “And, I am quite certain, they have also taught you what happens next.”  With these words, Karen folded her dress high up at the tops of her thighs, revealing momentarily a slight glimpse of lacy, black panties.  “Your wife may have more than a few things to say to you when she takes her turn, but as this is meant to be instructional, let’s get on with it.  Over you go.”

Karen seized me by my left arm and pulled me down over her small but surprisingly strong thighs.  With her left hand on my hip, and her right between my legs, Karen moved me further forward until I was in an ideal spanking position.

“Never let your naughty boy determine the position for his chastisement,” she instructed.  “Make sure he is well situated for you to exercise maximum strength and impact to his bare, little bottom.”

This instruction was punctuated by a surprisingly firm hand-spank to my proffered backside, followed by a half dozen more.  It startled more than stung me.  Karen’s hands are quite small and delicate, and even though she put respectable strength and speed behind them, her strokes were more tantalizing than painful—playing to my most long-held fantasies.

Stopping and resting her hand upon my naked bottom, Karen said, “Hand spankings are fine as foreplay, or after the naughty boy’s bottom has been thoroughly sensitized by strap or cane, but to teach a lesson I recommend the wooden instruments.  Would you hand me that ruler please, Ellen?”

I looked over and saw my wife rise from her chair, step to my desk, and remove the heavy, 18-inch, wooden ruler I keep there.  I originally bought it years ago as a prop to my imaginings.  Now, for my first-ever, real-life spanking, it was about to be applied in the very fashion I always envisioned—briskly, by a determined woman, to the naked cheeks of my defenseless, bare bottom.

“Thank you, my dear.  Now the key to any of the wooden instruments is to apply them with plenty of wrist so the speed at impact is maximized and their sting is intense.”

This statement was demonstrated most effectively with a loud Whack, and the complacency I had begun to develop under Karen’s hand spanking began to crumble.  Right cheek, left cheek, both together, that ruler really stung.  Every two seconds a burning line was added to the pattern of fire.  It was only after about twenty such stinging strokes that I realized Karen was taking her timing from the slide show still running on my computer.  Shortly after that realization, I noticed that each time the shapely bare breasts of the female spanker in one of the photos were revealed, Karen delivered a particularly hard stroke to the tops of my thighs.

How could I have forgotten to secure those folders?

Another thing I noticed at about this same time, was I’d begun to yelp and whimper as the spanking progressed.  Embarrassed by this childish display before these two women, I gritted my teeth and tried to suppress my vocalizations, but that sure didn’t last long.  Within a dozen more strokes, I was once again squealing under the impact of the ruler so expertly wielded by dainty, little Karen.

Realizing my attention shifted to the slide show, Karen asked, “How many photos do you have in this folder, do you think?”

“I don’t know.  Please stop, I’ve had enough.”

“Oh no, my boy,” Karen laughed, maintaining the rhythm of that flashing ruler, “you’re far from having enough.  I was just wondering about the size of that folder.  You see, I made note of the picture that was up when we started, and I do not intend to stop until it comes up again.”

“But there are more than 200 pictures in that file,” I wailed, partly in distress at the thought of so many painful smacks, partly by the particularly hard spank delivered to my thighs as a completely naked young female spanker wielding a strap with all of her charms on display appeared on the screen.

“I think the folder indicated two-hundred thirty-seven files,” Ellen volunteered, “and every one of them deserving of a painful stroke of that ruler.”

“Exactly, dear,” Karen responded, delivering a series of particular stingers.  “Over the years, I’ve developed more than enough stamina for this task, and after I’m done with this naughty boy, we’ll put him in the corner to contemplate the sins of his past.

“We can use that time to install some basic parental guidance controls on this computer that will keep your bad, little boy away from any internet porn in the future.  We can also change the passwords on his secure folders.  That way, he’ll know they are still there to provide us any inspiration we might need, but they will no longer be available for him to fire up his little fantasies.  We can also use his corner time to discuss your turn to spank these lovely red cheeks.”

“No, please,” I pleaded.  “I’ve learned my lesson.  I’ll be good, I promise.  I’ll be good!”

Karen just continued to smack that painful ruler down on the inferno growing on my bottom and upper thighs, and as if I had not spoken, continued her conversation with my wife.

“In a few days, after several demonstrations by me and once we are sure you no longer need my coaching, I recommend you take your little boy over your knee on a weekly basis—more often when it is needed—and begin to reclaim those wasted eight years.  You may want to delve into the stories and videos he has collected to add a little variety to the scene.  From the titles, I would guess there are some very good ideas in there for administering enforced chastity, punishment enemas and anal play, not to mention spankings, strappings, paddlings and canings.”

My life is changed forever.  My future was discussed calmly by my wife and her petite friend over the top of the rhythmic smack of the ruler timed with the pictures in the slide show and my increasingly frantic and childlike cries and pleas for mercy.

I cannot believe I forgot to secure those folders.

END

Copyright © 2008 by Jonathan Quincy Graves  All rights reserved.

Please do not repost or use for any commercial purpose without written approval from the author.