Think Carefully 13

Spanking Witness

By Jonathan Quincy Graves

{ Note: This is the thirteenth installment of this story. If you have not read the earlier chapters, this one will make more sense to you if you do. The opener can be found here: Think Carefully. }

For anyone who works the typical nine-to-five, Monday-thru-Friday for a living, Fridays are by far the best days of the week. If, that is, their job is not their most favorite way to spend their time. People who “love” their job make me sick. Not really, but I do find them irritating.

I had mixed feelings driving home from work this Friday. It was the end of my work week, both at the office and at home. I’d completed the last of the “chores” Gloria assigned for the week when I did the kitchen Thursday evening. So, in terms of work, Friday was living up to its billing. In my case, however, Friday is also the day my wife designated for weekly maintenance spankings. I definitely had mixed feelings about those. The idea of a little over-the-knee smack-bottom turns me on, but Gloria warned me that maintenance will also include punishment for failures to achieve a perfect five on any of my chores. And by punishment, I do not think she meant I would be forced to eat all my broccoli that night.

I thought I did pretty well on the chores, especially since it was the first week and I was still learning all the extras involved in a simply stated chore like, “Change the Sheets and Straighten Bedroom.” The hidden landmine in that statement is the word “Straighten.” A myriad of tasks can be inferred from that one word, and Gloria instructed me to assume that all of them are included for me to achieve a perfect five rating.

I achieved a perfect five on, let me see… ah yes, there were precisely zero chores that scored a five this week. I managed a few fours—of which, given Gloria’s nitpicky inspections, I was exceedingly proud. The rest were threes except a single two which earned me a scolding and an over-the-knee attitude adjustment on the spot.

Dwelling on the coming spanking as I drove home, wondering how hard and how long, was giving me a hardon I had to adjust when my clothing bent it out of shape. I asked my wife for spankings, culminating a lifelong fascination. And while the result has exceeded my expectations, I’m mostly glad I finally worked up the courage. I’ve since learned, however, that while the anticipation before and the afterglow (significantly after) meet my former desires, the time spent actually receiving discipline is far less pleasurable.

Gloria has given me little hand spankings several times as foreplay leading up to sex, and I’ve enjoyed those. All my spankings have led to sexual pleasure, just not always my pleasure. Apparently, Marissa, Gloria’s workmate and spanking guru, told her I should always thank my wife for spanking me. And by thanking, she meant physically with my face buried deep between Gloria’s thighs.

Remembering those scenes—me on my knees, my bright red ass thrust out behind, while my tongue thrusts into my wife’s pussy—does not help alleviate the problem I’m having in my crotch as I drive. I’m tempted to pull to the curb and satisfy my itch with my good right hand. Tempted, but of course not the sort of thing I would do in real life. Certainly not at the side of a busy road. Instead, I rearrange myself inside my clothing again, while keeping my attention on the surrounding traffic.

When I pulled up to our house, Gloria’s car was not in our driveway. She usually beats me home after work, but not always. Sometimes she is delayed by a crisis at work or shopping on her way home. When she plans the latter, she normally lets me know that morning, so I won’t worry. If it’s work, she’ll call when she gets the chance.

I casually masked the bulge in my pants with my hand as I got out of my car and walked up the path to our house. In the past, especially given my aroused state, I might have taken advantage of the empty house to rush to my computer, call up my favorite light porn sites, and beat one off before my wife got home. But those days are truly in the past. For one thing, I can no longer get to those sites, nor any like them, since Gloria took control of my computer. For another, it would violate one of my rules. The codicil to Rule Seven states: “Never take pleasure without permission.” Gloria said this specifically outlaws masturbation, and that she would know if I violated it. I haven’t tested that assertion yet, and the evening just before a maintenance spanking does not seem to me to be the best time to take the gamble.

One other nice thing about Fridays is our company believes in “casual Fridays.” I don’t have to go up and change into my jeans when I get home. Instead, I went to the kitchen to look for a snack to hold me until dinner. Gloria has been into health and fitness lately, so I cut up an apple and poured a glass of ice water from the door of the fridge.

I’ve been watching the news after work lately. With the fighting in Ukraine, war in the middle east, China’s threats over Taiwan and the South China Sea, and North Korea’s vows to destroy South Korea and the USA, it seems the whole world is coming apart on a scale to rival that of the 1940s. I spend little time fretting over the likelihood of global nuclear war, but on the other hand, we do live about thirty miles from one of the ten worst places in the US if there is an attack. So, I like to check the news now and then to see if it has started yet.

No one has yet pushed the button, fortunately. So, with the news droning in the background, my mind turns to wondering whether having a beer would negate the health benefits of eating an apple. I was about to dump the water for that alternative when Gloria’s car pulled up the driveway. Still nibbling on slices of apple, ice water at the ready, I heard Gloria come in the door. And she was not alone.

Gloria was laughing as she came in the house, and so was another female person. I don’t remember the last time my wife brought anyone home from work, so this was new. It immediately occurred to me this development would delay my maintenance spanking. Internally, silently, I let out a cheer at my unexpected reprieve, even if temporary. With a smile, I turned to greet Gloria and the other woman as they came into the kitchen.

“Hello, welcome,” I said to Gloria’s…friend? Workmate? Whomever she was, she was young, early twenties, I would guess, and cute. Do women like to be called “cute” these days? Probably not, but this girl sure matched that descriptor.

“John,” Gloria said, “this is Cynthia. I’m sure I’ve mentioned her to you. She works in graphics. You’ve seen her work. Cynthia, meet John, of whom you’ve heard so much.”

Oh yes, I do indeed know of Cynthia, and she damned well knew of me, along with details of Gloria and my new domestic discipline relationship.

Cynthia stepped across the kitchen toward me, and I held out my hand to shake hers. She brushed it aside and wrapped me in a hug. After a moment, she leaned back and looked up at my face. I was more than a head taller than her.

“You’re bigger than I expected,” Cynthia said. Releasing me from her arms, she took a step back and added, “Certainly taller.” Turning to Gloria, she said, “How do you manage this big boy? My boyfriend isn’t nearly this tall, and he can be a handful when I want to correct him.”

“John is no problem,” Gloria said. “He initiated our domestic discipline relationship and has been very good accepting his place in it.”

“Oh,” Cynthia said, pointing at the fridge where my chores were posted, “I see you’re using my form to keep track of his chores. How is that working out?”

“It’s great,” Gloria said. “It has made the process much easier than I’d feared.”

“Let me know if you’d like to make any changes.” She stepped closer to the list. “His scores for the week are not very impressive.”

“No, they’re not, though this is just his first week. Still, he knows there are consequences for every mark below a perfect five. Which is what you are here to witness.”

The blood drained from my face as I realized what was coming. Gloria told me some time ago that she agreed to let Cynthia be a spanking witness in payment for designing the rules plaque hanging up on our bathroom wall.

“I see you know what’s coming next,” Gloria said. “Hop upstairs and fetch my hairbrush, please. We’ll need it to account for deficits in your chores performance.”

I opened my mouth to object, to plead for privacy, to beg for mercy, but Gloria raised her finger to stop me. I headed for the stairs. Gloria’s open hand can raise a fire in my backside, but nothing like the inferno stoked by that damned brush.

“Move along, dear,” Gloria said. “You do not want to keep us waiting.”

Recognizing the likely truth to that admonition, I sped up my pace. I heard a girlish giggle behind me as I left the kitchen.

Though I’d rather be anywhere else in the world, I was soon back handing Gloria her accursed brush. She had pulled a chair out from the table and arranged it so once I was over her lap, Cynthia would have a good view of both my bottom and the side of my face. Perfect arrangement for a spanking witness.

Gloria took the brush, set it in her lap, and reached for my belt. Very businesslike, she opened my jeans and yanked them down past my knees. With her hand gripping my arm, her other hand holding the brush, she guided me down over her lap.

“Ah,” Cynthia said, “aren’t you going to spank him on the bare? I’ve been looking forward to seeing that.”

Gloria put her thumbs in the waistband of my boxers, said, “Lift up,” and when I did, she skimmed my boxers down my legs to my knees. “You needn’t have worried. A spanking isn’t a spanking if it is not delivered to a bare ass.”  SMACK!  She delivered a hard, open-hand spank to my pale, proffered cheeks.

An involuntary yelp escaped my lips and my body jerked with surprise at this first of many. I clenched my jaw, determined that Cynthia, our spanking witness, would not hear another sound from me, no matter the pain of this spanking.

With a  WHAP!  SMACK!  WHACK!  Gloria began a very hard hand spanking. “Unless John has been very naughty in the past week,” she said to Cynthia, neither slowing nor lowering the intensity of my spanking, “I use my hand for the weekly maintenance portion of his Friday spanking. And other than some laxity in completing his chores, he has been a good boy, overall.”

The blaze was building, each hard  SMACK!  acting as a pump at the bellows of the forge fire, bringing my bottom to a hot red glow. My jaw tightened a little further.

I can take this, I told myself. This is nothing. A few pats, just as in my fantasies. No need to fuss or squirm in front of Gloria’s friend. She’s just a kid, a teenager. Can’t be more than twenty or so. No sense in a grown man adding to the show for the likes of her.

Along with my jaw, I kept my body rigid, my feet planted on the floor to mirror my thoughts. I was trying to use anger to solidify my resolution. I had to fight thoughts about receiving a bare-bottom spanking over the lap of my wife while a cute young girl acted as spanking witness, lest arousal undermine my determination. But it was arousing. The hand spanking alone would have been arousing, though Gloria was putting more into it than usual. The addition of a witness, a female witness, a young, female spanking witness just added to the image I was trying to exclude from my thoughts.

Is Cynthia ever spanked? I wondered. I’d love to be the spanking witness as her nubile, young, naked body is held over Gloria’s lap for a session under her hand or hairbrush. She would squeal and squirm like a little girl, her hair down about her face, sticking to the tracks of tears on those cute young cheeks as the cheeks of her ass take on a rosy glow. Her feet kicking, her breasts swaying with the motion as she cries and pleads for an end.

What am I doing?!

I felt my cock trying to grow against Gloria’s thigh. If she also sensed it and guessed the reason, I was in big trouble. I turned my attention to other things—the pattern of the floor tiles, the legs of the kitchen chair, my toes still firmly planted on the floor behind me. Other things, not naked young girls being spanked. No, not that!

Gloria’s efforts were taking effect. The heat of my ass was rising above the level that stoked my fantasies and entering the realm of punishment. Oh, no doubt it’d make great material for my fantasies once it was over, but now… now it was moving into the realm of painful discipline. I was back to clenching my jaw and straining not to kick my feet.

After what seemed to me hundreds of hard spanks, Gloria slowed her pace to deliver a few extra hard  SMACK!s  to choice locations of my ass and upper thighs.

“I think that’s enough of that for this week,” Gloria said, resting her hot hand on my flaming red cheeks.

I wondered if she was referring to the maintenance portion of my spanking or to the pressure of my cock against her jeans-clad thigh. Hopefully, it was the former.

“Cynthia,” Gloria said, “perhaps you’d like to calculate the chores performance penalty for this week from the numbers posted on your form. John knows there is a penalty for every score below a perfect five. One stroke of my hairbrush for each score of four, two for each score of three, and three strokes… no, let’s make it five strokes for each chore judged as deserving a two.” As she spoke, Gloria had taken her brush in her hand, and was gliding its hard, cool surface over my already heated buns.

Cynthia rose from her chair and stood before the chores performance form posted on the fridge. “I don’t see any fives on this form,” she said. “Too bad. There are a few fours, and, oh look, there’s a two. Tch, tch, I know one little boy whose bottom is going to be very sore based on these numbers. Let me see… that’s two, six, eleven…” she continued, adding up the total and announced it with an obvious note of girlish glee in her voice.

The number was too high. Surely my chores performance this week does not deserve that many strokes from Gloria’s hairbrush. I wanted to object, demand a recount, but I would not show weakness in front of Gloria’s friend, coworker and this week’s spanking witness.

“That sounds about right,” Gloria said. “I hope, John dear, that this provides you with the incentive to work more diligently in the coming week.”

SMACK!!

I was determined not to cry, but it was so bloody painful I could not hold in the tears. Of course, it wasn’t just the pain, terrible as it was. The humiliation of being spanked in front of cute little Cynthia, looking half my age, made this torment infinitely harder.

END of Part 13

The story continues with: Think Carefully 14 

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

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