She Runs This Household

By Jonathan Quincy Graves

NOTE TO THE READER: This is a story I first published on SIN in 2007. It was recently brought back to my attention, so I pulled it out of the files and read it again. It has a melancholy texture I rather like, and I hope you will like it as well.  The original did need a little work.

NOTE FROM THE ORIGINAL: My favorite stories are about the beginnings of spanking relationships.  This piece is an unauthorized sequel to a special favorite of this type that appeared in the fiction section of the Disciplinary Wives Club titled, “Guess Who Runs This Household” by Ralph.  My sincere compliments to that author, and I hope he does not mind that I have written this sequel.

RIP: Sadly, the DWC site owner, Aunt Kay, died in 2018.  You can still see her original, though it is no longer active, at http://auntkaysdwc.com/ .  It is full of tips and techniques, along with stories, fiction and nonfiction.

She Runs This Household

It’s been eight years since I told my wife Lucille that I was ready for my first spanking. That was after 22 years of marriage, and at least another 15 previous years of frequent, unstated and unrealized fantasies of spankings by my mother, my aunt, various girlfriends and ultimately by my wife.  Finally, after all that time, never daring to turn fantasy to reality, I screwed up my courage and guided my wife to the DWC website.  Her reaction was positive and complete, and I have been absolutely obedient to her ever since… or else.

It was a week after I first raised the subject to Lucille that she bid me ask for my FIRST spanking.  That experience was a real eye opener.  Lucille applied the wooden paddle I crafted for her use on our boys (now grown with families of their own).  With me, her application included a force and stamina far beyond my most imaginative fantasies.  “Is this what you expected?” she asked during a pause after the first dozen smacks, “I hope so because I am going to thoroughly enjoy this.”  And then she rained well over a hundred stinging spanks to my naked nates, clamped helplessly over her left knee.

When she was done, she had me sit (most uncomfortably) and write out a statement confessing my total lack of self-control and my unqualified agreement to whatever discipline she deemed appropriate whenever she decided to deliver it.  I acknowledged, in effect, my wife’s role as my parent when it came to disciplining me.

Spankings were common after that first one, ranging from what Lucille referred to as, “a nice little spanking,” applied when she wanted to get my attention, to an all-out and prolonged punishment paddling to correct some willful misbehavior.  Always fair, Lucille was also always strict and demanding.  Always, that is, until two weeks ago when she suddenly left me, losing a brief but spirited bought with cancer.

I wept openly at the loss.  Lucille was my rudder, my anchor—my disciplinarian, yes, but also my wife, guardian and lover.  Although all of our friends knew Lucille was in charge, no one ever knew the details of the agreement and relationship we shared, at least not in full. I found I was lost without her.  My performance at the office suffered significantly, and in my depressed state I ignored the solicitations of our friends, finding little remaining joy in life.

It was a week after the funeral when I finally mustered the courage to enter Lucille’s study, to search for the discipline agreement I wrote all those years ago.  Lucille had a growing business in commercial accounting that she ran out of our home.  She left her business to her younger sister, Vera, who was doing similar work, and I did not want Vera to happen inadvertently upon our discipline agreement when she searched through Lucille’s business accounts and records.  That was a part of our relationship I would not want to share with anyone, and most certainly not with Vera.

I’ve never felt that Vera welcomed me into their family, or approved of me as a suitable husband for Lucille, despite our nearly 30 years of successful marriage.  While Lucille had been a large, full-figured woman, Vera was shorter and almost slight of frame.  Never married, she always wore a pinched look, at least whenever she was in my presence.

A few days after my search, which was frustratingly unsuccessful, I responded to our front doorbell; there was Vera.

“Lucille left me the responsibility for her clients,” Vera announced without preamble, “and I have neglected them long enough.  I’ll be working in her study for the next few hours.  Bring me a cup of coffee, please, William.  I take a little cream, but no sugar.”  And with that, she pushed by me and headed for Lucille’s office.  A disapproving look was evident as she glanced about the living room in passing.  Vera was dressed in a floor length but simple black dress in apparent mourning for her sister, but the faint scent of lilacs wafted after her down the hall.

I was not pleased by this interruption, nor Vera’s imperious attitude, but I suppose since Lucille left Vera her business, it was only reasonable she would have to spend time with the documents and records in Lucille’s study, at least until she was able to transfer the whole lot to her own apartment.

I brewed a pot of coffee and took a cup to Vera, prepared as she’d requested (no need to be boorish, even if she had been a little rude in the manner of her request).

“Thank you, William,” Vera said shortly.  “Leave me now and don’t disturb me while I sort things out in here.  You may put the time to good use in straightening up the rest of the house,” she added.  “I’m sure you never would have let it get to this condition while my sister was alive.”

That remark stung, probably because it was so true.  In my depressed state, I had done no housework since a few days before Lucille’s demise, and the house had reached a condition that would certainly have earned me a very severe paddling over Lucille’s knee if I ever let it get even a tenth as sloppy while she was still alive.

I began a half-hearted attempt at straightening things up, but I couldn’t get into it, and I ended up sitting mindlessly on the couch in front of the TV for most of the rest of the afternoon.  There wasn’t anything interesting on, but it didn’t really matter.

The imperious demand: “What do you think you are doing?” suddenly snatched me from my reverie.  “You were told to clean this place up!”  Vera had entered the room without my noticing.

“I see I’ve let too many of the responsibilities Lucille left me unattended for far too long,” she continued.  “I understand the extent of your loss, William,” she continued in a kinder tone, “I loved my sister as much as you, but do you think she would be happy to see you wallowing in self-pity now that she is gone?”  Then more sternly, “I am quite certain she would not.  Now get off your butt and get to work.  I’ll be back in a minute.”  With that, she turned and strode purposefully back down the hall.

I had just risen from the couch, my anger growing at this untoward interruption in my self-indulgent immersion in despondency when Vera strode back into the room, a vaguely familiar looking piece of paper held out in her right hand.

“Do you recognize this?” Vera demanded, thrusting a photocopy of the confession and spanking contract I wrote at Lucille’s direction eight years ago.

“Where did you get that?” I asked, completely taken aback.

“Lucille left it to me, along with a complete, and I do mean complete, description of the relationship she had with you for the past few years.  In addition to her business, she requested I take over other matters in her absence.  The original of this document, in your handwriting, was left to me to use as I saw fit to ensure you did not revert to your old, bad habits.  After seeing how you’ve dishonored my sister’s memory by letting her home turn into a pigsty, I’m sorely tempted to just send copies of it to your boss and everyone else you know and be done with it… and with you.”

“You can’t,” I cried. “I’d never live it down.  My boss would never understand, and my friends would think I was a wimp if they knew Lucille had been spanking me over her knee like a child all these years.”

“I can’t, can’t I?” Vera said, a glint of purpose in her eye.  “Shall we put that statement to the test?”

“No, please don’t,” I begged.  That old feeling of the naughty little boy caught in some misbehavior that Lucille had been so good at bringing out in me was rising quickly to the surface.

“We’ll see,” Vera said.  “Perhaps if you are very, very obedient from now on, I’ll save you that disgrace.  Still,” she added, “you can’t be let off scot-free.  Fetch me Lucille’s paddle,” she demanded, sternly.  “It’s time I got to work.”

For what seemed like the longest time, I stood there dumbfounded, staring at this diminutive but imperious female before me.

“Now!” Vera demanded, “or this little incriminating document may find its way to an ad in the evening paper.”

There was not a doubt in my mind she meant what she said, and I scurried off to Lucille’s study, where her wooden paddle hung behind the closet door.  I had no problem finding it; I’d been sent to fetch it often enough by my late wife.  And I realized I was shaking with dread and the slightest dawning of sexual arousal that often accompanied these situations, at least in the beginning moments before the reality of a spanking took over.

Vera had moved a straight-backed chair to the middle of the living room by the time I returned, and she was seated facing me as I entered from the hall.  Without speaking, she held out her hand for the paddle, which I delivered as if in a trance.

“Step closer,” she demanded, and reached out to grab my belt buckle with her free hand.  “You won’t be needing these,” she added as she undid the belt and dropped my pants to my ankles.  Lucille always insisted I stand meekly as she stripped me below the waist, and, well trained, I offered Vera no interference as she did the same.

My pants were quickly followed by my white cotton briefs, and I suddenly realized I was standing naked below the waist before my younger sister-in-law for the very first time.  Quickly, I moved my hands to cover my package.

“None of that,” Vera ordered, slapping my hands aside.  “I’ve always thought a little embarrassment serves to drive the lesson home when punishment is in order.  Get over my lap, now,” she demanded, taking me by the wrist and pulling me forward.  “It’s time you re-learned a good hard lesson in proper deportment.  I’ll not have you continue to dishonor the memory of my sister in this fashion.”

Once over her knee, Vera positioned me further forward so that much of my weight was on my hands, and my exposed bottom was high over the center of her lap. She then reached down to where she’d leaned the paddle on the floor against the leg of the chair, and without preamble raised it high and brought it crashing down on my right cheek.  A loud WHAP! echoed almost immediately by a surprised yelp from me, bounced around the plaster walls of the living room.  A second WHAP! resounded quickly on the other cheek, eliciting a jerk and another yelp from me.

Slight of stature Vera may be, but she is what would be called “wiry” in a man—strong and athletic in a compact frame.  I managed to stifle further outcry for the next dozen spanks, but Vera was applying the paddle with at least as much authority as Lucille ever did. Eventually I could no longer keep my distress under control, and I began to beg and plead for her to stop.  When this had no effect, I cried out and promised to mend my ways.  The paddling proceeded unabated.  I ultimately surrendered completely and lay sobbing in submission as Vera continued to apply spank after burning spank to my naked and defenseless bottom.

I’m not sure how long the ordeal lasted, but Vera had fully and completely paid homage to Lucille at her disciplinarian-best before she finally stopped.

“Have you learned your lesson, little man?”  Vera finally inquired once I got my breathing somewhat under control.  “Do you acknowledge your bad behavior and recognize your need for continued discipline?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said through my sniffles.  “I’m sorry, and I won’t let it happen again.”  I felt the paddle resting against my bottom, and I prayed Vera would not raise it again.  Surprisingly, my former depression had disappeared, completely replaced by the long-familiar feelings of respect and fear of further punishment.

“And do you acknowledge my right to provide you with the discipline you need as the appointed heir to your wife and my sister’s worldly responsibilities?”

“Yes.  Yes, I do,” I blurted after only a short pause, sensing a slight twitch in the paddle resting on my hypersensitive behind.

“Very well,” Vera said.  “Get off my lap and follow me to the kitchen.”  I did as directed, and Vera led me, hobbled by the pants which my kicking had turned inside out at my ankles, to a hard wooden stool next to the kitchen counter.

“Sit,” Vera commanded.

“Please, Vera, can’t I stand?  My bottom is so sore.”

“Backsliding already?” Vera said.  “Perhaps that lesson wasn’t as effective as I thought.  Perhaps a little added attention from my leather strap would bring about the change so drastically needed.”

“No. No,” I pleaded quickly, and painfully climbed up on the stool.

“That’s better,” Vera said, “but you won’t get off so easily next time,” she added sternly.

“Now, I want you to copy this document in your own handwriting.  And your work had better be neat and legible if you do not want me to motivate you further.”  With those words, she shoved a second copy of the statement and confession I wrote for Lucille those eight years before, but where the words “Lucille” and “wife” appeared, Vera had amended the wording to read “Vera” and “sister-in-law.”

In effect all the rights to in loco parentis that I granted to Lucille as my guardian and disciplinarian were now being transferred to Vera.  All the wording that made it necessary for me to accede to my wife both in private and in public were still there, strengthened somewhat by subtle additions of key words and phrases.  She even added a few statements to make it crystal clear that I agreed that bare bottom spankings would be the order of the day if I should ever contradict, disobey, or upset her in any way.  In fact, under the terms of this agreement, I didn’t even have to be the cause of her disapproval to be the recipient of her attentions.  She had only to make the decision, and I agreed to submit to paddle, strap, switch, whatever implement she elected to apply.

I stared at the paper for long moments, pen in hand poised over a blank page, while Vera stood silently over me.  Finally, I began to write.  I feared this new relationship with this woman I hardly knew, but realized that without her discipline, in Lucille’s absence, my life would undoubtedly continue to spiral down into dark disarray the way our home had already gone.

“Next weekend, I’ll be moving out of my apartment and into the master bedroom here,” Vera stated as I copied what she’d written.  “Make certain it is ready for me.  You may take one of the boys’ rooms.  I’ll need to be near my sister’s records, and all her other responsibilities, if I’m to do an adequate job with them.”

When I completed my writing assignment and signed my name, Vera reviewed it and nodded with satisfaction.

“You’d best get started on the kitchen, now,” she said.  “I’ll have another cup of coffee and watch from the breakfast nook to make sure you do not slack off again.  And take off those pants,” Vera commanded with disgust, indicating the trousers still clinging to my ankles.  “You’re getting them all grimy on this filthy floor.

“And don’t think for a moment I was bluffing about that strap.  I’ve a good, heavy Lochgelly tawse back in my apartment, and more than enough experience in applying it to a deserving male bottom for best effect.”

I could feel Vera’s eyes on my exposed, blistered bottom as I stood teary eyed at the sink, washing a week’s worth of dirty dishes, and the image was making me rise again.  It was very clear my depression, loneliness, and self-pity would no longer be allowed.

I could not help but feel sorry for the unknown person who provided my sister-in-law with the experience to master the application of paddle and strap, but I had very little doubt whose bottom would keep her in practice well into the future.  To my surprise, I found this thought strangely comforting.

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.