Spanking Foreplay

Jonathan Quincy Graves

She stood there, her mouth open, clearly unsure what to say.

We finished dinner and were about done cleaning the kitchen. Gretchen will not go to bed before the kitchen is back in pristine condition. She’s OCD that way. I like to help her. Many husbands classify doing the dishes as “women’s work” and plunk down in front of the TV while the “little woman” takes care of the mess. I think those men are missing out. My wife and I love to sit down over dinner—TV, smart-phones and other distractions turned off—and share the events of our days. We value this time together, and cleanup after dinner extends our period of sharing.

And before you go thinking I’m pussy-whipped or henpecked, it’s nothing like that. I don’t help my wife around the house because she brow-beats me into it. We just enjoy our time together.

On most days, the topics we discuss are small and mundane. Occasionally we touch on politics when one elected leader or another performs or speaks to our expectations (i.e., foolishly). But mostly we talk about our days, what our friends are up to, our plans for the garden this spring—simple things.

So, where was I? Oh, yes. Gretchen with her mouth open. (By now she’s pissed at me for leaving her so long in that embarrassing posture.) We do occasionally talk about the things we enjoy doing together. Trips we might take, shows we would like to see, and on very rare occasions, our life in the bedroom. The topic I initiated this evening was one of those… sort of.

I finished drying the frying pan Gretchen used to fix the fried chicken for dinner. My back was to her as I put it in its drawer and said, “Do you ever fantasize about taking me over your knee for a good spanking?”

I’d had that question on my mind for years. A strange fantasy percolating through my conscious mind now and then. I felt a sexual attraction to the image of me bare-assed over Gretchen’s lap… Well, you can fill in the details, but occasionally I wondered how I might bring up this topic for discussion. Maybe my wife shared this fantasy from the other side, you know? Well, you don’t know, and neither did I. She’d never said, and I’d never asked her. Somehow, the mood struck me tonight, and I decided, what the hell, and let ‘er rip.

The subject is sufficiently embarrassing for me that I didn’t quite manage to voice it face to face, so spoke the question into the open drawer of attentive pots and pans. Still, I did put it out there for her to pick up. And for a few moments, I was rather proud of myself. I’d overcome my trepidation and asked the question that had been on my mind off and on forever.

The room echoed with a profound silence. I’d expected to hear, “What?” or “You’re kidding, right?” or even outright laughter. A response leading to some playful banter revealing a mutual interest in exploring the possibilities. Or an easy, friendly rejection. I didn’t expect silence. I didn’t know what to do with silence. Finally finished arranging all the pans in the drawer so it would close properly, I stood and turned toward my wife. She stood leaning against the sink facing me with her mouth open, looking totally gobsmacked.

In my turn, I scrambled for a way to turn time back a few seconds. Far enough to put me back struggling to fit the frying pan into the drawer, WITH MY MOUTH FIRMLY SHUT. Failing that, I started to say, “Just kidding,” and laugh it off, when Gretchen said, “Why would I ever want to spank you?”

A simple and obvious question. One I would have prepared an answer for ahead of time, wouldn’t you think?

Now what? I wondered. Geez, I wish I’d thought about this a little more before I opened my big mouth. “You probably wouldn’t. Spanking foreplay is something I run across occasionally on the internet.” Crap! Why did I say that? Gretchen’s gonna think I spend all my time at femdom porn sites on the net.

“Funny,” she said, “I’ve never come across anything like that. You actually see discussions about wives spanking their husbands? On the internet? Or are you saying you view videos of women actually spanking their men? Where do you go to look at such things?”

We share a big old Dell desktop, with our individual logons. Mostly, we check Facebook, the news and weather, and occasional do a little shopping on Amazon. I do any browsing I don’t want my wife to know about (wink, wink) when she’s out or after she’s gone to bed. I assume she does likewise when she browses fashions or other things in the budget-busting category.

Now she was staring at me, and I was feeling more than a little intimidated. “No, no, nothing like that.” Okay, so not all of our discussions involve total honesty. “The topic is sometimes mentioned in passing on some blogs. Hey, speaking of blogs, did you see where RollingStone has bought a majority interest in the ‘Life is Beautiful’ music and arts festival in Vegas? They hold it in September. Think we could get away for a road trip about that time?”

“I wouldn’t expect any bare-bottomed spanking in an arts and music festival. What blog did you see that on?”

“It was on RollingStone-dot-com,” I said, being deliberately obtuse. “Not sure what artists will be performing this September, but we could check it out and decide then.” ‘Bare-bottomed?’ Did I say bare-bottomed, or did she just assume?

“No, not that. We were talking about women spanking their men as foreplay. I asked you where you got such an idea, and you said from the internet, on some blog or other. Then mentioned RollingStone-dot-com. So, is that where you saw it? I’m not a regular to RollingStone, but I check them out on occasion. Never saw any discussion of wives using spanking foreplay with their husbands, though.”

“It, it might not have been there. I don’t remember now, but it doesn’t matter. I was suggesting it to see if the idea interested you. But it’s okay if you’re not interested. It sounds kind of silly to me too, now I think of it.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested; I wondered where you got the idea. It wasn’t likely on RollingStone’s blog, and you don’t seem able to tell me where it was. Having never given a spanking, I thought I might check out those blogs you happened across to see if they would give me any helpful hints.

“I know,” she said, drying her hands on a kitchen towel, “I’ll take a look at your browsing history.”

“My what?” I blurted, then immediately understood. Early in our relationship, I was careful about clearing the trail to my favorite soft porn sites, but lately, I haven’t often bothered. I figured the chances of Gretchen, who is no computer whizz, going to the trouble of checking up on me, were slim. Until now.

“Uhm, give me a second to log off,” I said, “and the computer is all yours.” I was the last one to use our computer, and I didn’t log off. I turned toward the study, and Gretchen caught up and linked arms with me, walking down the hall.

“That’s okay,” she said. “I’ll use your account. Should make it easier that way.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Damn, when did I last clear my trail? I’m not into serious porn. Not really interested in watching some well-hung stud screwing a silicon-chested blond. I do, however, have a couple of spanking sites I like to visit now and then. I just don’t remember if I last went to them before I last cleared my history or after.

As Gretchen sat and pulled the keyboard onto her lap, she smiled up at me and said, “You don’t need to hover over me while I check this out. Earlier today, I noticed the cat’s litter box is full, but I didn’t get to it. Would you mind?”

“Sure, no problem,” I said. I am not a cat person; the three cats we have are all hers. Because they’re hers, she handles all the cat-related chores. It is like her, though, to slough this job off on me, to get me out of her way.

She probably senses the tension in me—clearly indicative of guilt—and wonders what I might be hiding. In truth, I’m not hiding much, but if she tracks me to sites full of full-breasted, semi-clothed women spanking/paddling/strapping/caning naked men, what is she to think? What are my options at this point? I could make a grab for the keyboard and log off my account. That might be tough to explain. Or…

I cleaned the litter box.

While I worked—the ammonia smell of cat urine strong in my nostrils—I realized there were other things my browser history might reveal. Things I enjoy in the abstract but would never want to experience in real life. Things like male chastity, pegging, ass worship, humiliation. There might even be a few images of cuckoldry and forced bisexual activity. Chastity and pegging carry some appeal for me, though as fantasy, not reality. The rest? No way in hell. Those are themes that pop up on my screen I routinely click right on through.

The other thing that kept running through my mind was how much I hate cats.

Done with the litter box, I sat in my favorite chair in the family room, put the news on the flat screen and pretended to be engrossed in what was going on in the world. I wanted to go back to the den and see what Gretchen was finding, but lacked the courage. It would be embarrassing to witness her discovery of the more kinky sites I sometimes visit. She’d let me know when she was done, and no doubt she would share the high points with me. Our relationship is such that I’ll have plenty of opportunity to discuss them with her.

I fretted as the world declined toward anarchy on the screen before me. How was I going to respond if Gretchen wanted to grill me on these various topics? Some of them—well, all of them, really—strike at the heart of what is thought to be a man’s masculinity. I was trying for a little variety in our sex life, not a complete upheaval of the status quo.

As my mind wandered to no useful purpose, Gretchen strode into the room and turned off the TV. She didn’t seem angry, so that was good. “Come with me, husband,” she said. “It’s time for bed.” She beckoned with the fingers of her right hand, and I noticed she held her hairbrush in her left. That may not be so good.

I followed my wife down the hall to our bedroom. She put her hairbrush on her vanity and proceeded to remove her clothing for bed. I wanted to ask if she found anything interesting on the internet, but decided to not push it. Tomorrow, I’ll check her browsing history on my account and evaluate the true extent of the damage, if any.

When Gretchen was down to bra and panties, and I was stepping, awkwardly, out of my trousers, she sat on the bench of her vanity table and watched me. “I’m in the mood for some of that spanking foreplay you mentioned, husband,” she said. “Why don’t you bring your naughty little bottom over here and lay across my lap.”

I stumbled and almost fell over, trying to get my left leg free of my pants. When I recovered, I laid the pants on a side chair and turned toward Gretchen. “Are you sure? I mean, we really don’t have to do this if it doesn’t sound like fun to you.” As reality approached and threatened to trample all over fantasy, I was having second thoughts.

“Oh, I think it will be fun. Truthfully, I found some images you’ve been looking at very instructive and more than a little stimulating. I never knew a woman could roast a man’s bottom the way some of those women do. So, don’t even think about backing out. Get those pasty pale cheeks across my knee. Now.”

I swallowed, took a deep breath, and did what I was told, laying my body over Gretchen’s naked thighs. She reached down over me, clasped my wrist, twisted it back and forced it well up behind my shoulder blades. I grunted with the change in posture and used my other hand to keep me from taking a header off my wife’s lap.

“Comfy, dear?”

“I’m okay,” I managed. “Remember to take it easy. This is foreplay, you know. We will both want me ready to perform when the time comes.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll perform just fine. Don’t worry about that. But having you like this, all vulnerable (she stressed that word as she yanked my underpants down to my knees), I may want to have an especially long session of… foreplay.”

Gretchen smacked my ass with her hand.

At this point, I should mention I have never been spanked. That was probably part of the attraction for me. I was curious. This first spank from my wife stung a little, but didn’t really hurt. I pictured how I must look, naked (except for my white socks) stretched across my wife’s thighs, she in bra and panties, her hand rising up then briskly down on my waiting cheeks. Sure enough, the effect was definitely akin to foreplay, at least for me. I was developing a respectable stiffy. I’m sure Gretchen could feel it against her thigh.

Gretchen delivered another dozen spanks with her hand, then stopped. I could have taken more, but that wasn’t bad for a first time. Next time, I’ll encourage her to spank a little harder. As I started to leverage my self up, Gretchen used her hold on my wrist to push me back down.

“I’m not nearly ready for sex yet, husband. You know women require more foreplay than do men. I had to stop because my hand was hurting. Fortunately, the websites you led me to show all kinds of remedies for that problem.”

I wasn’t aware Gretchen picked up her hairbrush until I heard and felt it collide with my vulnerable ass. SMACK!

“Ouch! What was that?”

“My hairbrush, darling.” SMACK! “We don’t own any of the paddles, straps or canes the women use in those pictures and gifs.” SMACK! “Now don’t distract me,” SMACK! “I’m trying to get into the mood here.”

My wife delivered another dozen hard smacks with her blasted flat-backed hairbrush, then paused to admire her work. Her hand lightly skimming across my heated skin.

“I was surprised at the number of bdsmlr-dot-com sites you frequent, darling,” she said. “I was unfamiliar with those sites. They’re not really blogs, are they? They seem to be mostly pictures with clever comments, but I found several gifs with women spanking and training their men. Those didn’t look too difficult as long as you were willing to cooperate. You are willing to cooperate, aren’t you?”

Suddenly, an especially hard spank—SMACK!!—impacted my unsuspecting backside, eliciting a yell from me.

“I mean,” she continued, “this was your idea, right? I just didn’t realize what a good idea it was until your history led me to all those websites. This is really turning me on. I think with another dozen or so, I’ll be ready for your tongue to take me over the top.”

Gretchen gave me another twenty spanks, then pushed me off her lap to land on the floor. She bounded up on the bed, stripped off her panties and bra, flinging them across the room; spread her legs and giggling said, “Come to momma, naughty boy,” while she pointed toward her pussy.

It’s just as well she wanted my tongue, because unlike when we started our “spanking foreplay,” my ass was now on fire and my tool in hiding. In contrast, my wife was really turned on. I haven’t seen her that wet since our honeymoon.

Gretchen grabbed double handfuls of my hair and used them to steer my mouth between her legs. She must have cum at least three times before she let up and released my head.

My member was at attention by this time, and I slowly planted kisses as I worked my way up Gretchen’s body. When I reached her breasts, she giggled and pushed me off. She lay on her side facing me and said, “Not tonight, darling. I’ve gone ticklish and I don’t want to detract from the pleasure you gave me, both during the foreplay and after.”

“But dear…” I started.

“Now, be a good boy. Thanks to you, I’ve discovered how to handle naughty boys. Speaking of which, I’ve installed parental controls on your computer account. I may want to do a little more research on those bdsmlr web pages, but I don’t think you need to.

“I’m going to have to spend some time on the computer tomorrow. We need a much larger selection of toys if we’re going to get serious with our new spanking foreplay sessions. And there are other games we might want to try. Who would have guessed some toys for men can be worn twenty-four/seven?”

END

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