Lexan Motivation

By Jonathan Quincy Graves

“What’s this?”

“It’s a Lexan paddle,” I said, face flushing.

“I can see that, John, but where did it come from and why are you giving it to me?” Marge asked, crossing her arms under her chest, paddle held firmly in her right hand.

“Well, you know the doctor said my blood sugar was a little high, and I needed to lose weight?”

“Yes, so?”

“Well, uh, I thought I might need some motivation to do it, you know?  It’s just that I’ve been heavy for a long time, and I’m not sure I can stick to a diet and exercise regimen unless there are consequences involved.”  My voice tailed off at the end, but I got it all out before running out of breath.

A closet spanko of long standing, I’d been stewing for some time over this plan to introduce spanking into my marriage of 26 years.  I thought this approach would work, my reasoning was plausible, and it did not whisper too loudly of a hidden kink on my part.  I was, however, finding it both difficult and embarrassing to get the words out of my mouth coherently.  They’d flowed so easily in my earlier rehearsals.

“Let me get this straight,” Marge said, raising an eyebrow.  “You want me to monitor your weight loss program and apply this paddle to your little bare bottom if you don’t meet your goals?”

Marge seemed to be catching on, despite my somewhat awkward delivery.  I was feeling more confident.

“Well, yeah.  See the doctor said I should walk for 45 minutes at least four times a week, and I need to lose about 25 pounds.  So, I figure if I set a goal of two pounds per week, that’s 12 weeks’ worth of diet and exercise.  The problem is I’m not sure my good intentions alone will last me that long.  But, if you checked up on my progress, say each Saturday morning, the threat of that paddle would keep me on the straight and narrow and I’d be able to complete the program.”

There, I’d laid it out for her.  Now, was she going to laugh it off or agree to be the disciplinarian I’d wanted for so long?  Spanking has been a secret fantasy of mine since well before we married, but I never had the courage to go beyond a few vague hints.

“I stopped spanking the kids when they got to be ten years old.  Don’t you think you might be a little old for this?”  Marge asked.

“Well,” I stammered, “I just… it might help me, and there didn’t seem to be anything else to try.  Nagging would only cause friction between us, and I can’t very well be grounded or lose my driving privileges, or anything like that.  From what I’ve read, Lexan imparts a good sting without bruising, so it seemed like the way to go.”

“Hmm,” Marge mused, “I will have to check up on your reading habits.  So, when do you want to start this program?”

“Well… now, I guess.”  It was probably my nervous imagination, but I thought I caught a wicked gleam in Marge’s eye.

“Good.  It’s Saturday morning, so let’s get started.  Strip to your shorts.”

“What?”

“I said strip,” Marge commanded.  “We need to get your beginning weight so we know where we’re starting from.  There’s no sense weighing you with your clothes plus the ten pounds of crap you carry around in your pockets.  Strip!”

In all our years of marriage, Marge has seen me undress countless times, and I normally wouldn’t give it a second thought.  Today was different.  I felt shy and embarrassed taking off my shoes, shirt and pants while she stood there watching, paddle in hand.

When I was down to my skivvies, we went into the bathroom and I stood on the scale so Marge could record my weight.  “Two hundred two pounds.  The doctor’s right, that belly flab has got to go.  I’m not sure 25 pounds will quite do it,” she said.  “We’ll see.  Come with me,” Marge said and strode down the hall.

When we got back to our bedroom, Marge sat on her dressing table bench facing into the room.  “Stand right here,” she said, indicating a point on the floor next to her right knee with the paddle.

“Wh- what are you doing?”

“You want this paddle to be a deterrent, don’t you?” she asked.

“Yes, but…”

“How can it deter or motivate you if you don’t even know what it feels like?”

I stood in the middle of the room, stunned.  This was getting out of control.  In my plan, I would let the weight loss program run for a week or two, then when I was ready, I’d miss my goal by half a pound just so I could take a mild spanking.  But here I was staring at Marge’s ample lap (she’d given birth to three kids, after all), and she apparently intended to take me over it this morning.

“Well,” I stammered, “I guess I thought…”

“Quit stalling, John,” Marge scolded.  “If I have to come over there and get you, you will not like the results.”

Hesitantly, I took the few steps to her side.

Without warning, Marge yanked down my underpants.

“Hey!” I exclaimed.

“Hey, yourself,” Marge responded, a note of irritation in her voice.  “I always spanked the kids on their bare bottoms, and if you want this to be effective, I’ll spank you the same way.

“Now lay yourself over mommy’s lap and let’s see if this paddle was worth the investment.”  Marge took me by the arm and pulled me far over her lap, bared bottom upper most, toes barely touching the floor.

“I’ll try to make this as realistic for you as possible,” Marge said, “so you can experience the real consequences of backsliding in the weeks to come.”

It was already far too real, and she had not even delivered the first spank. I fantasized being in this position countless times in the past, but somehow the reality was far more humiliating and intimidating than I expected.  Then she began.

WHAP  “Ouch! Take it easy with that thing.”  That first spank to my right cheek stung like a hundred suns burning my unprotected backside.  WHAP  “Hey, I said take it easy!  That thing stings!”  Now I had spots of flame on both cheeks.

“Oh hush, you big sissy,” Marge chided.  “You said yourself Lexan was supposed to sting.  Besides, you’re a big, strong man, not a little boy, you should be able to handle a long hard spanking with no difficulty.  So, suck it up, Johnny boy, mommy’s just getting started.”

With that, Marge began a regular rhythm, landing that hellish paddle with considerable force all over John’s brightly blushing cheeks.  Blushing may not be quite the right word.  After a mere two dozen spanks, John’s bottom was approaching fire engine red, and his protestations changed from masculine demands that Marge ease up to childish promises to be good and stick to his diet.

Marge, however, was enjoying the control she had over her husband.  When he reached back to protect his seared flesh and his kicking legs got too violent, she paused long enough to secure his right hand far up his back, pushing him even further over her lap, and she withdrew her right leg from under him and used it to clamp his writhing limbs in place.  Then, with John securely restrained, she continued to spank.

Finally, after what seemed like hours to John and a few minutes to Marge (four and a half), Marge set the paddle aside so she could admire her work.  She stroked John’s nates, marveling at the heat they exuded.  Though colored, from the top of his bottom to about four inches down his thighs, there was little sign of bruising.  Marge noticed she got the best reaction when she applied the paddle to the under-curve at the tops of John’s thighs, so that area received more than its share of attention, but even that flesh was more of a deep angry red than purple.

After several minutes, John seemed to regain control of himself, though still whining and sniffling.

“So, what do you think, dear,” Marge asked, sweetly, still clamping John in place over her knee, “are you motivated to stick to your fitness program?”

“Y- yes.  I never want to go through that again.”

“Hopefully you won’t have to, dear,” Marge responded, “although, an occasional Saturday morning reminder might be a good idea.”

“No, really,” John said, a note of pleading returning to his voice, “I’m motivated now.  I’m sure I won’t need any reminders.  Can I get up, please?”

“In a minute, dear,” Marge said.  “This seems to be an excellent motivating device,” she added, swishing the paddle a few times through the air over John’s back.

“Please, Marge,” John begged, “don’t spank me anymore.  I can’t take any more.”

“I know, dear,” Marge said, “you’ve had a good first spanking, and I enjoyed giving it to you much more than I expected.  But I’ve been thinking.  (John groaned.)  We’ll devote our Saturday mornings to your weight loss and fitness program, but perhaps we could set aside time on Wednesday evenings to review other areas that need improvement.”

“Marge…”

“So, here’s my plan.  This Wednesday evening we’ll have dinner as always, we’ll clean up and do the dishes together—I’m sure you will want to help me with those little chores much more than you have in the past.  When we’re done, you’ll come here to the bedroom, remove everything but your shorts and place yourself motionless with your nose in the corner.  When I come in we’ll discuss what I have in mind, in detail.”

“Marge, I really don’t think…”

WHAP  WHAP  WHAP

“You’re Okay with that plan, aren’t you dear?”

“Yes, Marge.”

END

Copyright © 2007 by Jonathan Quincy Graves. All right reserved.  Please do not repost or use for any commercial purpose without written approval from the author.