First Birthday Spanking – 7
By Jonathan Quincy Graves
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
Part 7
My loving wife sent me to bed early with a hot bottom Saturday evening, but I still woke up later than usual on Sunday to Vickie’s cheerful: “Good morning. Rise and shine.” She opened the curtains to let the morning sun stream through the bedroom windows. “I know one naughty boy who needed his rest last night. The women wore you out yesterday, didn’t they? Well, today’s a new day, and there’s work to be done. Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes, so plant feet on the floor. Don’t keep me waiting.”
She said that last with just a smidgen less cheer, so I groaned and rolled up to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor as commanded. My bottom was a little sore from the bruises I’d acquired the day before, but to my surprise, not nearly as sore as I expected. Of course, the soft mattress could have been a factor.
I performed my morning ablutions, put on my robe and made it down to the kitchen with minutes—well, a minute-ten—to spare. Vickie made waffles and bacon. There was hot coffee in the pot, and I poured myself a cup. I drink it black, the blacker the better, and that is how we brew it. Coffee is the responsibility of the first person up in the morning, as we are both caffeine addicts, and we take that responsibility seriously. There is no greater disappointment than to be second up and find the pot still holding the cold dregs of the day before.
The chairs around our kitchen table are not well padded, and I squirmed, seeking a comfortable way to sit.
Vickie wore a knowing smile as she placed a breakfast plate in front of me. “Eat hearty, darling. You’ve got work to do today.”
Normally, my Sundays are a day of rest, not because Vickie and I are especially religious, but because I like a day to veg before starting the work week on Monday. Plus, the professional sporting events hit the tube on Sundays, which gives me an excuse to plant myself on the couch for most of the day.
“When you’re finished with breakfast, I’d like you to straighten up the garage. You’ve let it get away from you again, and it’s becoming a challenge to fit my car.”
We have a three-car garage, but I use one bay for my woodworking shop. Over time, my projects, tools, scrap lumber, etc. migrate across the line. Doesn’t bother me when this happens. I figure if she can finesse the car into the available space, there’s no problem. Vickie, on the other hand, is from the school that maintains: “There is a place for everything, and everything belongs… yadda, yadda, yadda.”
“When you’re done, come get me. I’ll have another task for you.”
Vickie left me to enjoy my waffles alone; she’d had hers before I woke. Whereas I like to crash on Sundays, she hustles around doing tasks around the house, so she does not have to worry about them during the following work week. Unfinished tasks don’t bother me the same way. In fact, they don’t bother me at all.
I was disgruntled at my wife’s drive to make me productive this Sunday, but decided it was best to play along. In the past, female power and authority did not much intrude into my thought patterns, but after yesterday, when most of the women I know took me across their knees, I decided to not take any chances. Vickie had Vera’s paddle tucked away somewhere, and I had no desire to see her pull it out.
After the garage, which Vickie made a point of inspecting when I told her I was done, she put me to mowing and edging the lawn. It could have waited another week, but I did not have the deciding vote today.
It went like this throughout the day. After the lawn, both cars needed washing, the barbecue implements put away, the patio swept, and so on. When I finished my last assigned task late that afternoon, Vickie approached with Vera’s paddle in her hand.
I backed away, my hands out defensively. “No, please, I’m still sore from yesterday.”
Vickie grinned. “Relax, dear. I appreciate your industriousness today. Yesterday’s experience seems to have had a beneficial effect, and there is one more thing I want you to do. Vera said we could use her paddle as long as she could apply it herself, once a month. We both know how and to whose bottom she intends to apply it, don’t we? It occurred to me, if you made your own paddle, put some of those expensive woodworking tools to good use, we could return Vera’s paddle so you would not have to worry about her monthly visits.
“I brought this paddle out so you could use it as a template. It fits my hand, and your bottom, nicely. You can carve text into wood, can’t you? Don’t you have a tool for that?”
“Yes, I’ve got templates I can use with my router. What did you have in mind?”
“I thought it would be cute if you inscribed your very own paddle with something like, ‘For Bill’s Bad Behavior.’ Actually, I want it inscribed with exactly that phrase. I like the alliteration. Also, dear, add a thong to the end of the handle so we can hang it up where we both can see it. I intend to use it regularly, but a gentle reminder between applications can’t hurt.” This last was followed by a big grin. Vickie enjoys her little attempts at humor.
“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”
“Yes, dear. You have wanted me to take more of a leadership role in our marriage, and to spank you now and then—playfully, and only when you are in the mood, no doubt—and after talking to Vera and your sister, I’ve decided that is a very good idea. The only difference between my plans and yours is spankings will be less about play than about discipline, and they will occur whenever I decide you deserve them, or when I am in the mood.”
We maintained eye contact for a moment, then I accepted Vera’s paddle from her hand and headed for the shop. I was thoroughly cowed by the women who spanked and paddled me on Saturday. I did not want Vickie to invite them back to repeat the experience. Plus, I’d felt Vera’s paddle in Vera’s hand when she used it on me the day before. She is bigger and stronger than Vickie. Being paddled by a woman other than my wife might have its appeal, but I did not want to suffer Vera’s spanking expertise on a monthly basis.
Things were disconcertingly normal at home the following week. Vickie made no mention of Saturday’s spanking party or of her postponed turn to paddle my ass. Other than my newly found dedication to helping her around the house, the week passed like any other.
It took me several evenings to complete the paddle. I used a three-eighth-inch cherry plank left over from a previous project. Shaped it; routed the required legend, rounding all edges and corners, and finished and polished it so it gleamed. If Vickie planned to have it on display, I wanted it to look as much as possible as a display item, not a working implement of discipline. I was hoping it would be on display out of sight in the back of our wardrobe. I certainly did not want any of our friends to see it. The questions that might raise were far too humiliating to imagine.
Friday morning, as we were both about to leave for work, Vickie said, “Is your paddle ready, Bill?”
I’d finished it Wednesday, but left it covered with a rag on my work bench in the garage. I did not show it to her, half hoping our new experiment in a wife led marriage would somehow be forgotten and die stillborn.
“Uh, yes.”
“Good. Come directly home from work this evening. I think you are sufficiently recovered for me to take my turn at your birthday spanking. Well,” she giggled, “my birthday, your spanking.”
She beat me out the door while I was still processing this news.
Just before lunch, I received a text from my wife: “When you get home from work this evening, change out of your work clothes and stand in the corner. You know the one. I’ll be home at my usual time.”
I was still staring at my phone when Jack, the other Program Manager, knocked the first part of “shave and a haircut” on my open doorjamb and said, “You ready for lunch? Pete and I thought we’d try the new Korean place.”
“You go ahead without me. I’ve got things to take care of.” I’d lost my appetite and didn’t think I would be good company at lunch.
“You okay? You look a little pale.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Let me know if the restaurant is any good when you get back.” I pulled some paperwork over my phone and pretended to be studying it to forestall any further pleasantries.
“Okay, if you’re sure. We can fill you in over a couple cold ones at Clancy’s after work.”
“Sorry, can’t make it tonight. Vickie’s got plans for us this evening.” I didn’t intend to say anything like that to Jack, but controlled my shudder as the words left my mouth. At least I did not give him any clues as to just what Vickie planned.
“You sure you’re okay? Want us to bring something back for you?”
“No, nothing, thanks,” I said, more brusquely than usual while waving him away, not looking up. The paper I pretended to hold my attention turned out to be meaningless dribble concerning a contract the company no longer even managed. Not sure why it was uppermost in the stack on my desk.
Jack stood there for a while, then left, tapping the last two beats on my doorjamb as he turned away. I uncovered my phone when he was gone, hoping what I’d read there would now be followed by: “Ha, ha, April Fool.” No such luck. It was the end of April, and the message remained unchanged.
As per usual, I beat Vickie home by about twenty minutes—my commute is easier than hers—and was standing, naked, in the corner when she came through the door. She’d told me to change out of my work clothes, and gave no direction to change into anything else, so I took what I considered the safest interpretation. Her heels sounded ominous to me as she entered and came through the passage to see me standing there in my birthday suit. Damned be all birthdays!
“Good boy. You got my message. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”
I heard her proceed down the hall to the master bedroom. A few minutes later, she came back but turned into the kitchen, apparently fixing herself a drink—somewhat of a Friday tradition. I didn’t expect I’d be joining her in it this evening.
Sometime later, I didn’t hear her approach, and jerked when her hand caressed my ass. “Did I startle you, dear? I’m sorry. I just couldn’t stop myself from petting this delightful little bottom. Men have such cute… no, pert is the word I want. Men have such pert little bottoms. So much more attractive than women, whose bottoms spread as they age. It’s really not fair.
“But to business. Your bottom has cleared up from last Saturday, so… Both it and I am ready for my birthday spanking, as promised.”
Her soft, well-manicured hand was replaced by the smooth, cool wood of the paddle as it glided across my skin. She must have found it on my workbench when she parked her car in the garage and brought it in with her.
“You did a nice job on this paddle, dear. I can’t wait to try it out.”
I turned out from the corner and said, “Oh, come on, Vick, this isn’t really necessary, is it?”
Vickie gave me a quick smack with the paddle and used her other hand to turn me back. “Yes, dear, it is. The spankings you took last Saturday worked wonders on your attitude this week, and I intend to make sure the lesson has a long-lasting effect. Plus, the others did such a good job, I never got my turn. I need to establish the fact I am the provider of direction and discipline in this marriage. After years of trying with your subtle hints and off-hand remarks, you’ve convinced me. I don’t want there to be any lingering doubts between us. So, just stand where you are, and no talking, while I get ready.”
I heard her walking about the room and rearranging furniture behind me.
“You may leave the corner now, dear. Please stand here next to me.”
When I turned around, I saw Vickie sitting in one of the dining room chairs. She was wearing tight blue jeans and a red top she tied in front to reveal her midriff. At twenty-eight, she keeps in shape and still has a taught belly. I love her in this outfit, just not in the current circumstances. She wears it when she’s got work to do, and I knew just what work she intended.
I stood where indicated, next to her knee on her right side. She’d left the top two buttons of her blouse undone and was not wearing a bra, so I enjoyed a rather pleasant view of her cleavage. The tips of her nipples put slight dimples in the red material. My member thickened in response, even though I was anxious about the paddle I’d made, and she now held.
Vickie laid the paddle in her lap and reached out to gently fondle my package. Looking up at me, she said, “Before we start, I want to make it clear in both of our minds that the events of today, along with last Saturday, mark a turning point in our relationship. And the disciplined life you will live from here on is one of your choosing. That all future spankings you receive from me, and whoever I may appoint, are consensual spankings. That is, while you may not want them, your permission and agreement has been granted through previous comments and discussions. Is that a fair assessment, dear?”
I was up to half staff now, and appreciating the action of her fingers, despite my otherwise apprehensive state. “Yes, I guess, but…”
Vickie tightened her grip, interrupting my speech and eliciting a sudden intake of breath.
“There will be no guessing, dear. From now on, I will be the disciplinarian, and you will accept my discipline as and when I determine to provide it. Is that understood? Tonight’s paddling will take place regardless, but I want to hear you say you agree to our new arrangement under which I will lead, and you will follow or be punished. And based on your agreement, such punishments, if they are spankings, can be considered consensual spankings. If you cannot agree, we’ll have to decide just what we will do instead. I like the newer, more helpful you resulting from last Saturday’s birthday celebration, and I do not intend to go back to the way we were living before. Now, with that in mind, what do you have to say?”
For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. My lifelong fantasies had not prepared me for the concentrated pain and humiliation of being taken, naked, over the knees of a woman for a real spanking, a real paddling. Still, it is something I’d wanted for more years than I can remember. At least, something I’d thought I wanted. I’m not sure what my wife meant by not going back to the way things were. I love Vickie and didn’t want to chance what that unspecified alternative might be. On the other hand, last Saturday’s experience taught me spankings really hurt.
Vickie’s mouth tightened with asperity in response to my lack of a prompt answer to her question, so I said, “Okay.”
“What exactly does that mean?” she said with obvious irritation.
“I mean, okay, this is a consensual spanking.” That was much harder—and much more embarrassing—to say than I ever imagined.
“And the rest of it? Our future relationship?”
“Yes. I, I mean, yes, you will be in charge. I, I’ll follow your lead.”
“Or?”
“Or you can pu, punish me.”
“Good enough,” she said as she took me by the arm and pulled me across her lap. “You’ve made the right decision, dear. We’ll both be happier in our new arrangement. Not that our marriage was in any trouble before, but you are more of a follower than a leader. It will be good to have this more clearly established.”
Vickie moved me around, positioning me well over her lap and arranging my partial hardon so it poked down between her jeans-clad thighs. “I’ll just warm you up before your twenty-eight, no, twenty-nine strokes of the paddle,” she said, slapping my naked bottom with her hand.
She started out slowly, with moderate intensity, and paused after the first half-dozen spanks. “How is that, dear? Am I living up to your fantasies? Never mind, you won’t need those fantasies anymore.”
She resumed, spanking me a little harder. The pause she’d taken gave me a chance to adjust. I’d clenched up in anticipation before she started and feared the first few spanks more than they deserved. The actual slaps were not painful, at least not yet. I took a deep breath and resolved to weather this storm without complaint. What other choice did I have?
My resolve lasted through the hand spanking. Vickie didn’t spank as hard as my sister Kathy did. She had me kicking and crying last Saturday, but that was after the long, hard paddling Vera gave me.
“Are you ready to try this shiny, new paddle, dear? I am. So, now, twenty-eight, plus one to grow on. That should be more than enough to raise some noticeable color in this pert little bottom. Hold tight, dear, here it comes.”
Smack!
“Ouch! Jeez, not so hard!”
“Nonsense. That wasn’t hard. This is hard.” SMACK!! “Now we have to start over. You made me lose my rhythm. Here’s number one again.”
Smack!
Vickie spanked in a steady rhythm, landing her paddle all over my bottom at the rate of once every two seconds. Just enough time between blows so the effect could be felt with each spank and they did not run together in my mind. Just enough time between them so I could fear the next one as the fire grew from the last.
My member firmed up while Vickie was giving me her hand-spanking warmup, but with the paddle, my attention was redirected from my front side to my backside. Like Vera’s paddle, this one really stung. It was not so heavy it would bruise, but its impact produced a burning sting that demanded my attention. By the twelfth spank, I began to squirm on Vickie’s lap, trying, I guess, to avoid the paddle’s climactic descent. At fourteen, I reached back to grab the paddle before it landed again.
“Now, now,” Vickie admonished, “we can’t have that. I might damage your hand with this paddle.” She took hold of my wrist and forced my arm up behind my back, forcing me further over her knee. She extracted her right leg from under me and used it to clamp my legs in place.
“There, that should hold you more securely. I was just wondering whether the side with the text on it would feel different from the smooth side.” SMACK!! “What do you think?”
“Ouch! Damn! Please! Not so hard!”
“No swearing.” Smack! “Could you feel the difference?”
“No… Yes… I don’t know. Can I get up now? I’ve had enough.”
“No, don’t be silly. We’re not even half done.”
“Please, Vick, I can’t take much more of this.”
“Well, as to that, you’ll take what I give you. The count was set at twenty-nine, but I could raise it, if you like.”
“No, please don’t.”
“Okay, if you’re sure. Let’s see, We were at fifteen when you tried to stop me, so,” Smack! “sixteen.”
I was almost in tears by the twenty-eighth spank, and the twenty-ninth was especially hard, pushing me over the edge.
Vickie let me lay across her knee and regain my dignity as she stroked my burning backside.
“You took that well, Bill. I’m proud of you. I hope you now understand what you are in for if you are naughty, lazy or disobey me. Vera thinks I should paddle you on a weekly basis, on top of spanking you each time your actions warrant. I may adopt that schedule; I haven’t decided yet. Let’s try a more ad hoc approach first and see how you do.
“When you’re ready, love, get up and go back to the corner. I’ll put a pizza in the oven. That will take half an hour, and I’ll call you when it’s done.” She leaned down and kissed one of my burning cheeks. “Love you, dear.”
“Love you too,” I managed between my sniffles.
Our new life together had formally begun. I read about wife led marriages on the web and thought I wanted to try it. Now… Well, now the prospect looks much different to me. Spankings—surprise, surprise—are humiliating, and they hurt. And always being thoughtful, respectful and doing what I’m told will take getting used to. However, on balance, I think I’m going to like this new arrangement.
END of First Birthday Spanking
Revised July 2022.