Think Carefully 15

Friday Spanking

By Jonathan Quincy Graves

{ Note: This is the fifteenth 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. }

It was Friday, and going over Gloria’s knee for the weekly maintenance spanking was on my mind through most of the day. I’ve started avoiding Friday meetings at work as much as possible without raising questions from my coworkers. My mind does not stick with work topics on Friday spanking day, no matter how important the subject may be. I haven’t had to explain my distraction to my boss, so far, but having to confess that the anticipation of Friday spankings from my wife drives everything else out of my mind would be a little much.

On my commute home after work, my mind was going over the scores I received on chores during the past week. Overall, I was feeling pretty good about myself. I logged a couple of fives, though mostly fours with two threes. The hairbrush penalty I’d pay this week was going to be well under half of last week. Plus, I don’t expect to see Cynthia, Gloria’s friend from work, tonight. Or, more importantly, Cynthia won’t be seeing me—stripped to the bare, kicking and crying under the application of Gloria’s brush.

On reflection, I did not expect Cynthia’s presence last week, either. Although, I thought, Gloria said something about allowing Cynthia to witness a spanking in payment for the graphics arts work she did on the “Rules for Hubby” plaque. Then there was the “John’s Chores for the Week” chart on our fridge. I understand she designed that as well. But with last week’s spanking, Cynthia is paid in full, and I won’t mind if I never see that young twit again. Okay, she produced two separate documents, but one spanking paid for all, didn’t it? Gloria wouldn’t invite her back for a second week in a row, would she?

A honking car horn snapped me back to the present. I didn’t look around. Probably nothing to do with me.

I am willing to admit to a deep-seated, love-hate relationship with femdom and spanking. And while I hated having Cynthia attend last week’s Friday spanking, if I think back on it—picture her cute girlish body watching mine kicking and crying over my wife’s knee—it really turns me on. Even though she came off as being a mindless twit. So, I never want to go through that again, but I’ll relive it in my mind dozens of times when I masturbate.

“Masturbate,” now there’s an embarrassing word to use in mixed company (or company in general, for that matter). And, of course, I no longer indulge because self-pleasure is forbidden under Gloria’s rules for me to live by. (Number 7:  “Prioritize Gloria’s Pleasure Above My Own. Never Take Pleasure Without Permission.”) Implied in that rule is that I only need to ask. Sure. Somehow, I cannot picture myself going to my wife to ask permission to masturbate. I like a good wank as much as the next guy, but… Well, I may have a subconscious predilection for F/M humiliation, but I am not the sort to consciously and actively seek opportunities for mortification.

Gloria beat me home, as she usually does, and although I entered with some trepidation, I did not hear any women’s voices. [Not trying to be sexist here, but if there were more than one woman in the house, I would hear voices.] “I’m home,” I called.

“Welcome home, dear,” Gloria responded.

I smelled garlic and onion as I approached the kitchen. Gloria had changed out of her office clothes and was into jeans and a plaid shirt. Her back was to me as she chopped some leafy greens at the kitchen counter. I may have still been a little “activated,” shall we say, from my musings over cute young things and spanking on the drive home and couldn’t help but notice my wife has a nicely shaped ass in those jeans.

“Whatcha fixin’?” I said, grasping her hips and looking over her shoulder.

“My Greek chicken and a salad. I want to keep it light so we can properly enjoy our festivities later. Well, I said we, but I expect I will do most of the enjoying. I just don’t want you puking on the rug halfway through.”

She twisted in my grip as she spoke and wrapped her arms around me for a hug and a kiss. It was a proper kiss, not a peck on the cheek such as a wife might give her husband upon their reunion after a long day at work. One might suspect I was not the only one having semi-erotic thoughts on their drive home. My spanking kink seems to have brought us closer. It could have gone the other way, with her repulsed by my unmanly suggestion of accepting domestic discipline. Fortunately, she did not take it that way at all.

When she broke the kiss, I continued to hold her and said, “You know, there are other things we could do right now. Things even more enjoyable than eating your admittedly excellent Greek chicken.”

“Sure,” she answered, “and in ten minutes you’d be complaining and demanding: ‘Woman, where’s my dinner!’”

“Ten minutes!” I protested.

“Oh, was I being too flattering?” She slapped my chest and pushed me away. “Go put on the news or something and let me get this done.” Her words and actions pushed me away, but she wore a smirk with a glint in her eye. The woman clearly had ideas of her own, and they were planned for after dinner.

I turned on the flatscreen in the family room and sat down to watch the news. I was still hard and had to do some rearranging for comfort’s sake. And I know what you’re thinking, but it was just rearranging with no excessive manipulation.

Dinner was excellent, and I was left to do cleanup after. Gloria adjourned to the family room and changed the channel. We are not in complete agreement when it comes to politics, so we don’t discuss it much. She has commentators she likes to listen to, and I have mine. We definitely agree on many of the larger issues, so it works just fine.

I kept my mind on my work. It would not be wise to overlook something obvious just hours before atonement was exacted through my Friday spanking over Gloria’s knee. Still, my mind drifted like a skiff on a flooding tide back to the look in Gloria’s eye when she diverted me before dinner. The woman intended to enjoy herself this evening. I hoped some of that enjoyment flowed in my direction.

When I was finally satisfied with my chore, and was reasonably certain my inspector would be likewise satisfied, I turned off the overhead light and left the kitchen. I had some time before the weekly showdown. We’ve agreed to meet at eight o’clock in the kitchen on Friday evenings—time to let dinners settle—and it was a little after seven. I wasn’t interested in what was on the TV, so walked down the hall to the den. There are several productive things I can do on my computer in the evening, but not on a Friday spanking evening. So, I called up FreeCell and played solitaire to pass the time and take my mind off the near future.

I heard Gloria coming down the stairs and glanced at the time on the monitor. Time to get my ass in gear. I don’t want to be late. There are several things that can piss off Gloria when she is in the mood to be critical, and I don’t want to be the cause of any of them on a Friday spanking evening. I entered the kitchen in time to see my wife pulling out a kitchen chair and sitting down. Her hairbrush was on the table within easy reach. Funny, there could be a flashing neon beer sign on the table, but on a Friday spanking evening, her hairbrush would be all I would see.

Without being told, I opened my pants and let them fall. My member was a little plump, but half the impertinent size of earlier. Gloria was watching closely. The next part is still hard for me. I gripped my boxers and lowered them to my knees. Gloria lifted her hands off her thighs and spread her arms to open the way for me to lay my body across. It had required no directions from my disciplinarian to get me stripped and in position. We both knew what was expected, and we acted accordingly.

Gloria’s warm right hand stroked and cupped my waiting bottom. “We’ve had a good week, John,” she said. “You are adapting well to your evolving reality. So, this week’s maintenance session will not be a punishment. Rather, its purpose will be to remind and encourage you to perform up to the ever more exacting expectations I have for you. Having said that, once this maintenance spanking is complete, you will be punished for your failures at achieving perfect scores on all of your chores.”

My wife’s soothing hand lifted from my naked cheek and returned with a resounding  SMACK!  I fear she’s come to enjoy these quick snaps of her wrist that deliver such a sting when they land and immediately rebound. I’m nearly certain she has been researching the science behind painful and effective spankings on the internet. She can become very focused when pursuing a subject, and the results of her study, the theory behind painful open hand to bottom contact, are proven on the surface of my naked ass.  SMACK!

I submitted to this session with an open mind and a willing attitude (“an Accepting & Penitent Spirit,” as my Rules would phrase it), but it still hurt. And it was hurting more and more with the repetition of those stinging  SMACK!s.

This was not a punishment, she said. A reminder, an encouragement, she said. I was coming to realize as the spanks were falling, it was impossible for me to tell the difference. Okay, her hairbrush would hurt a lot more—WILL hurt a lot more, damn it—but as the minutes drag on, this hurts plenty. I was struggling, losing the battle to be stoic under pain, when Gloria stopped and lay her burning hand casually upon my smoking ass.

“Did you get paid today?” she said.

It took me a moment to process her words, so out of context with our current activity. Then: What?! I thought. Where did that come from?

“I think so,” I said. “It goes directly to my bank account, so I don’t actually see it unless I go online to my bank.”

“I was just wondering. There must be a more efficient way to handle our money,” she said.

This mystifying interruption was suddenly over when a harder  SMACK!  crashed back on my punished ass. Now, I was struggling to remain still. I thought it was over. I was not prepared for this resumption. There was no crying, but I was finding it increasingly difficult to remain still across my loving wife’s lap under the lashing pain of her hand.

The spanking continued for another minute or so (a very long time when you are in pain), then Gloria stopped again. I was holding my breath, praying this was more than another brief pause.

Her hand was stroking my cheeks this time. In my condition, even that contact was a little painful, but comforting at the same time. An occasional squeeze caused me to tighten up. She’d give me a little slap when I did, so I tried to keep those muscles loose.

“I trust you’ve accepted this reminder of proper action in the spirit it was given, John. We’re done for this week.”

There are no words in the English language I could have received with greater joy. I even tried to get up off her lap, but she held me down.

“There is, of course, still the penalties for less than perfect chore performance.”

I groaned, and said, “I tried, and I did a lot better this week. Do we really have to?”

“Of course, we have to,” she said. “Those are the rules. If people do not live by the rules, what would we have? Chaos, that’s what we’d have. Still, as you say, you did better this week… I’ll tell you what. If you’ll play a little game with me this weekend, I’ll cut the number of penalty strokes in half. What do you say?”

“Sounds fair to me,” I said. Time spent playing some silly game has got to be far, far better than time spent in my current position, with Gloria smacking me with her damned hairbrush. No matter how boring and inane the game might be.

“Good,” Gloria said and gave my ass a resounding  SMACK.  “On your feet.”

I scrambled off and up, mostly to avoid any more encouragement from my loving wife.

Gloria lifted a small dark blue box off the kitchen table. I had not noticed it there earlier. The top came up and off to reveal a velvet bag. My curiosity was peaking. What the hell?

Gloria loosened the drawstrings on the bag and dumped its contents on the table before me. It was a pale blue plastic…

“Damn, woman,” I said. “You don’t expect me to wear that, do you?”

“You said you’d play,” she said. “And it’s only for the weekend. It’ll be fun.”

“Yes, but when I agreed, I didn’t know what you had in mind.”

“True, but still, you agreed. But you’re right. You can back out if you want to. Of course, your hairbrush strokes will go back to the full number. Plus, another dozen, I think, for this unnecessary delay.”

I felt the blood draining from my face, and it was not heading for my groin. My member was about as small and shriveled as it gets. Panic will do that.

“Just the weekend,” I said for clarification.

“Just the weekend. You’ll be free before you go to work on Monday. It’s called chastity, but a mere two days…”

“Almost three,” I interrupted. “Friday night to Monday morning is more than two days.”

“Okay,” she said, sounding a little exasperated, “three days, if you insist. But as I was about to say, three days in confinement can hardly be called enforced chastity. I mean, it would have to be… I don’t know… months for it to add up to real chastity. We’re just talking about the weekend. That’s more of a little game than any kind of deprivation.”

“And if I agree, there will be no spanks with your hairbrush?”

“Half as many, I said,” she corrected me. “I’m starting to reconsider, though, so…”

“Okay, okay. I’ll play.”

“Good. This’ll be something new in our sex lives. It’ll be fun, you’ll see.”

Gloria took a tube of lubricant off the table (another item I hadn’t noticed), squirted some on her hand and massaged and coated my entire package.

“I’ve been reading up on this, so I think I’ve got it right,” she said. “The trick is to coat your penis and scrotum to make it easier to get them in without stimulating you so you no longer fit. You’re small enough now, though, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“That tube looks awfully short,” I said. “I don’t think I’m going to fit. Is it the right size for a full-grown man?”

“I placed the order according to the measurements we took last week,” she said as she fitted my balls, then my penis through the retaining ring. “It will fit.”

I’d forgotten those measurements she talked me into. The numbers seemed small, shorter, at the time, but from what I found online are about average. Some poking with the aid of a cue tip got my penis positioned in the tube, and Gloria fitted all the pieces together. It came with an integral lock that held everything in place.

“How does it feel?” Gloria asked as she removed the key from the lock. “Any discomfort? Sharp edges? Pinching or binding?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s snug, though. No room for growth. And baby blue? Couldn’t you get something in a more manly color, like navy or chrome?”

“It’s supposed to be snug to prevent erections. As to the color, this model is also available in pink. Be thankful I didn’t choose that one, although I was tempted,” she said with a giggle.

Gloria grasped my hips and turned my body from side to side. “Looks good on you. I like it. Let’s get you back in position,” she said, pulling me back over her lap, “so we can finish your Friday spanking and then play.”

I didn’t understand how I could play with my toys locked away, but I had little time to puzzle on this question before Gloria’s hairbrush came down with an explosive crash.

END of Part 15

The story continues with: Think Carefully 16 

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.

I can alert you to my next posting: