A Lockdown Experience

By Jonathan Quincy Graves

I lay over my wife’s knee as she sat on the edge of the bed. We were both naked, which was understandable because I was being spanked for a lack of performance—a shortcoming, so to speak—executing my husbandly duties. If I fail to please my loving wife in the bedroom, cum too soon or don’t meet Gail’s standards (she is the sole judge and jury of such things), she takes me over her knee, spanks me, then expects me to try again… and do better.

Most of these mid-coital spankings are done in fun, but that does not mean they are not significant applications of hand, hairbrush, or paddle to my backside. I am always at least close to tears before Gail stops. Sometimes she really is upset with me, and even when she is only mildly irritated, she feels that: “If a job needs doing, it needs doing right and proper.”

Tonight, Gail was upset. I’d cum just moments before she was ready. As a result, while I had a mind-blowing orgasm—driven by my sincere but failing efforts to hold the peak as long as necessary—Gail’s orgasm was ruined.

Sexual inadequacy was not the only thing Gail spanked me for. In the thirty years of our marriage, I’ve been spanked and paddled countless times for one reason or another, or for no reason at all.

We were an ideal match. When we were dating, I informed Gail of my kink and learned that it was a perfect counterpart to her own. We were the yin and yang of a spanking couple. I had a strong, lifelong attraction to being spanked by a woman—mother, aunt, babysitter, girlfriend, whatever. This longing went unsatisfied until I met Gail, who had a lifelong attraction to spanking the naked bottoms of boys and men. Like me, she’d been frustrated until we began to date. It did not take us long to uncover these desires, and before I knew it, I lay face down over a pair of capable thighs, receiving the impactful attention I’d long desired.

Inexperienced, Gail might have been in those days, but her enthusiasm and stamina were enough to almost convince me I didn’t want to be spanked after all. Almost. Until the next opportunity.

Our engagement was brief, and as a young married couple, we shared our mutual kink often until Gail gave birth to our first child. Once our daughter reached an age where she might notice such things, our spanking play became restricted to those times we were certain she could not catch us.

Gail gave birth to our son two years later, and our energies focused on our children instead of our spanking desires. Gail spanked me less than once a month as our children grew. Neither of us ever spanked them. Instead, we did ballet, soccer, baseball, basketball, scouting, schooling… whatever two growing lives needed to enrich their experience and prepare them for their lives ahead. As far as I know, neither of them ever tumbled to our suppressed kinks, or developed a similar yearning of their own.

Four years ago, we became empty nesters. I was surprised at how easily we reverted to our former modes of play once we no longer feared discovery.

Which is history leading to the spanking I was experiencing now. Gail was applying her lightweight paddle with enthusiasm to my naked nates. This paddle, shaped like a table tennis bat, is lite in weight, but covers a good area, and makes a resounding smack that echoes off the walls, while imparting a sting like the fires of hell. It invariably elicits squeals from me long before Gail is finished.

These impacts and vocalizations raised another pressing concern that requires some explanation. I’d buried my face in a pillow and tried to keep my reactions to a minimum because I did not want our activities to disturb the rest of Gail’s mother in the bedroom next to ours. Meanwhile, Gail spanked me at full force, as though she had no such concern.

Now, about Gail’s mother. We were in the early stages of the pandemic lockdown. Phyllis had been visiting us when the balloon went up and the world went crazy. Suddenly, her flight home to her husband, Frank, was cancelled, with no word from the airline when or if they would ever resume normal operations.

Phyllis planned to be with us for five days—Monday through Friday. It was now more than two weeks. She worried about her husband, Frank, talking to him daily on zoom calls (the current method of almost being there), and fretted over his health in her absence. Frank wasn’t ill or feeble, but he was aging and beginning to show signs of… Dementia is such a scary word, and you couldn’t apply it to my father-in-law, yet, but there was no doubt he headed that way. And Phyllis fretted.

We’d passed twenty hard smacks, and I prayed Gail would stop paddling me when there was a soft knock on our bedroom door. Given the noise we were making, I was surprised either Gail or I heard it, but we did, and Gail responded with, “Come in, mother.”

“What? No!” I hissed and tried to lever myself off Gail’s lap.

My wife has years of experience keeping me in position, so my efforts were not even close to successful and earned me an exceptionally hard SMACK!!

“Ouch!” I cried as our door opened and Phyllis stuck her head in.

“Oh, dear,” Phyllis said, “I’m so sorry to interrupt.”

“You’re not interrupting,” Gail said and resumed paddling me as if her mother was not standing there watching us with what looked to me to be a happy intent.

It suddenly struck me; my mother-in-law showed no surprise at the display before her. “Wait a minute…” I started.

Gail delivered another hard SMACK!! then paused and said, “Did you have a question, dear?”

“Your mother knows. She’s known all along that you spank me.”

“Well, duh,” Gail said and delivered two more hard spanks. “You know that mother and I are close. She’s known about your desire to be spanked and my love of spanking you since we were first dating.”

“How could you?”

SMACK!!  WHACK!!  SMACK!!

“Careful, John,” Gail said. “That almost sounded like a criticism.”

“I’m pleased to see how well you handle him,” Phyllis said. “I’m not sure if you ever knew, but I used to spank Frank whenever the need arose, or the mood struck me.”

“There were times I suspected,” Gail said, “but I was never sure. Do you still?”

“No, more’s the pity,” Phyllis said.

“I hate to interrupt,” I said, “but would it be okay if I got off your lap and under the covers while you women continue this conversation? I’m feeling a breeze here.” Gail didn’t seem embarrassed by her mother walking in on us, but then it was not her naked, red ass presented for her mother’s inspection.

WHACK!!  SMACK!!  SMACK!!  Three more hard spanks had me squealing in earnest.

“Just lay where you are and relax, John,” Gail said. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

Relaxed couldn’t be farther from what I felt.

“Why did you stop spanking dad?” Gail asked her mother.

“It sure wasn’t because he stopped needing it, or I stopped wanting to do it,” she said. “Unfortunately, as we got older, your father bruised much too easily. It became a serious problem, so we had to stop.

“I wonder,” Phyllis continued, “do you think I might take a turn with your John? It would really get the old juices stirring.”

I stifled a “NO!” by taking a bite out of my pillow before the word got past my lips. My ass was already on fire, and I knew Gail would not respond well to my unsolicited opinion.

Gail laughed and said, “I’m sure that can be arranged, but perhaps in a day or two. John still has some unfinished business to attend to tonight.”

And that made me cringe, not only over the hazard a second spanker in our house might represent to me. What would the old lady make of that reference to ‘unfinished business?’ I feared she understood what Gail meant, and I shuddered in embarrassment. Then the image of me lying naked, over Phyllis aged lap being expertly spanked, formed in my brain and the blush suffusing my facial cheeks competed in color with the molten lava which formed my ass cheeks.

“Well, I won’t delay you further,” Phyllis said. “I’m looking forward to having you over my lap, John. I wish I’d thought to bring my strap on this visit, but who knew it would be extended indefinitely? Ah, well, we’ll just make do with whatever is at hand.”

Phyllis backed out the door, her eyes fixed on my ass until she closed it behind her.

“Get up,” Gail said, helping me to my feet. She then slid back onto the bed and spread her knees.

I knew what was expected and did not delay burying my face in her pussy, my burning ass high in the air. Gail always demanded I make up for any failures by consuming the evidence before she would let me try again to get it right. It was rare indeed that I would fail twice in one night.

THE  END

Copyright © 2024 by Jonathan Quincy Graves. All rights reserved.  Please do not repost or reproduce for any purpose without written approval from the author.

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