Think Carefully 4

The Naughty List

By Jonathan Quincy Graves

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

I went to sleep on my side last night but woke up Saturday morning lying on my back—no pain! The hand spanking Gloria gave me did not leave me so bruised that I could not put weight on my ass. I was rested, relaxed, and ready to enjoy my Saturday. I looked to my wife, lying next to me, and smiled.

Gloria smiled back, then said, “You snored again last night. I should have used the brush on your little bottom.”

“What’s with this ‘little’ business?” I elected not to deny the snoring bit. With Gloria talking about using her hairbrush, no sense taking chances.

“I just like to think of you that way,” she said. “Since you asked me to spank you and I agreed, I picture you as my ‘little man.’ It makes the whole spanking thing seem more natural; you know? Perhaps you don’t, but it does.”

“Whatever you say,” I responded and threw back the covers. While I was rising slowly, Gloria bounded out of bed, raced for the bathroom, and shut the door. “Hey, not fair,” I called. “I need to pee.”

“Go down the hall,” she said. “I’m taking a shower. You should take one after. Remember, we have company coming.”

After last night’s activities, I did need a shower, but first, I needed to pee. We have two guest bedrooms upstairs with the master, and there is also a bathroom off the hall. That’s where I headed. ‘Company coming,’ I thought as I walked down the hall. Gloria said Marissa would help her write the house rules, but I wouldn’t think we need any help. I mean, what is there? Don’t cuss. Don’t pick my nose in public. Don’t run with scissors. Oh, and always do what Gloria says. That should about cover it.

I stood in the hall bathroom, taking my morning whizz while thinking, We agreed to a little playful spanking, and Gloria put it down on paper. I didn’t sign up for any major life changes or kinky stuff. At least I think I didn’t. I also didn’t sign away my position as Head of Household, or Co-Head of Household. Our marriage has always been one in which we each jockey for position. Sometimes Gloria is dominant, but most times it’s me. I need to go through that agreement again. It’s not legally binding, of course, but I’ve always taken pride in being a man of my word. Kind of hard to deny you committed to something when it’s down on paper with your signature at the bottom.

Heading back to the bedroom and my delayed shower, I was thinking, Gloria gave me a copy of the agreement. What did I do with it?

A totally baseless anxiety was building. There was no reason for it. It’s not as if I don’t know my wife; we’ve been married for more than a decade. (I always have to do the math to figure out which anniversary is coming, and for some reason I’m too nervous to concentrate this morning.) Surely a person you’ve known for years doesn’t just change overnight.

After my shower, during which I fired my cannon—the memory of last night provided great ammunition—I dressed in a T-shirt and worn-out jeans. Basically, my standard laid-back attire for the weekend. I can sit on the couch with a beer and watch a game on the tube, or mow the lawn while smoking ribs on the grill in these jeans. They’re all-purpose comfortable. I wore out the holes in the pant legs myself.

When I walked into the kitchen, Gloria cautioned me to limit my breakfast because Marissa was going to come have brunch with us later. Brunch. The word sounds hoity toity to me, much too civilized. I toasted a bagel and had it with cream cheese and coffee, being sure to keep my pinky in the air while lifting my mug. Gloria ignored me.

When I was done, Gloria reached across the kitchen table, took my hand and said, “John, you asked me to spank you, and I agreed. Now you’ve experienced real spankings, do you still want that lifestyle? Think carefully. I’ll give you this one last chance to change your mind.” The tone of her voice was warm, loving, and sincere.

I flashed back to the hand spanking Gloria gave me last night, and the sex afterward. I blushed. That entire scene was straight out of my fantasies. My willy rose to cast its vote. The hairbrushing Thursday night, while also one of my fantasies, was more impactful (excuse the pun). It hurt!

With Gloria watching me, I ignored the need to reposition my erection in my pants, and said, “Well, I have wished for it ever since I was a kid, but now it’s getting… I don’t know, a little scary? Maybe if we mark up the agreement… make a few changes here and there…”

“The time for negotiation—for ‘marking up the agreement’— was before we both signed it,” Gloria said, her voice more stern. “I’m asking whether you want to scrap the whole idea and pretend it never happened, or if you want to proceed down the path we’ve started.”

My mind gave a little emotional shiver, and I remembered screwing Gloria last night with a freshly spanked ass. It was wonderful! I’d take a dozen hairbrush spankings to do that again. At least if you asked me now, I’d say I would. Might have given a different answer last Thursday night.

“No,” I said, “I don’t want to scrap the agreement. I trust your sense of fair play and will stick to it as written.”

Gloria’s smile became slyer, and she said, “If that’s really what you want, then okay, but life will be very different for you with me in charge.”

“What do you mean, ‘in charge’?”

“Alright,” she said, brushing off my question, “that’s settled. We’ll stick to the agreement, but it needs a few additions or clarifications. We talked about establishing some rules. When you first proposed this arrangement, you said something about wanting consequences when you are late doing chores, or when you treat me thoughtlessly. Why don’t we start there?” A pad of paper and a pen sat at the edge of the table—not previously noticed by me. Gloria pulled the pad in front of her and picked up the pen.

“I suppose we could make up a list of chores that will be your responsibility going forward, but I’m not sure that would be a good idea. That approach doesn’t allow for changing circumstances. Sometimes it’s easier for me to do a job you would normally do when you aren’t around or are busy with something else. What do you think?”

I was distracted, still hearing her words, “with me in charge,” but shook that off for the moment and said, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. There’re some chores only I ever do, but lots of others could be either of us.”

“So, for now, let’s just put, ‘John will complete his chores in a timely fashion.’ Marissa will help refine the wording later.”

“About Marissa,” I said, “are you sure we want her involved with this?”

“John, dear,” Gloria said, “Marissa has been involved since day one. I’d still be puzzling over your initial request if not for Marissa. It seems she has vast experience with adult spanking, wife-led marriage, and the like.”

“See, now that’s what we don’t want,” I said.

“What is what we don’t want?” Gloria asked.

“That ‘wife-led marriage and the like.’ We want the successful marriage we already have, plus a little loving discipline and occasional spanking scenes for fun. Now I think of it, why don’t we have your friend Marissa draw up another agreement, but with the roles reversed, where I spank you when you mess up? You know, to even things out.”

“You can forget that,” Gloria said. “Nobody’s spanking me. Being spanked is your fantasy, not mine. And don’t fret over Marissa’s wealth of experience. She is just helping me understand and deal with this kink of yours.

“Now, where were we? Chores. We’ll leave it as, ‘John will complete his chores in a timely fashion,’ for now. Another bad habit you brought up was you being thoughtless. This is an area that really pisses me off.”

“It’s not a habit,” I objected. “It’s just something I do now and then… without thinking… not intentionally.”

“Right. You do it THOUGHT-LESS-LEE.” She paused, glaring at me. “So,” she continued, “what do we want to put down as a rule?”

“I don’t know. Uhm… I have no THOUGHTS on the matter,” I added with a grin to lighten up the mood.

“Backtalk,” Gloria said. “That belongs on the naughty list. Then there’s being late and not calling. Acting or talking disrespectfully to me or my friends is a no-no. What else?”

I was tempted to offer my earlier thoughts: ‘picking my nose in public’ or ‘running with scissors’, but Gloria might conclude I was not taking this exercise seriously. I shook my head and said, “Nothing comes to mind.”

Gloria must have read something in my expression because she said, “Being grouchy or displaying a bad attitude.” She wrote it down. “That’s a start.” She tapped her pen against her bottom lip. “We’ll see what Marissa has to say.”

I opened my mouth to once again object to Marissa’s involvement in our marriage, but Gloria raised an eyebrow. My mouth closed as her eyebrow rose. I remembered what she said when we awoke this morning. “I should have used the brush on your little bottom.” Not sure if that was a serious threat, but I sure as hell did not want to prompt it. Didn’t she also say she owed me one after we had sex last night? I think she was kidding. Whatever. The last session with Gloria’s brush was Thursday night, less than two days ago. Its impact on my mind, not to mention my body, was far too fresh to risk a repeat so soon.

“That’s all the time we have to work on your naughty list now,” Gloria said. “I need to prepare the casserole for our brunch. While I’m doing that, please do a quick scan of the house and make sure it’s ready to be shown to a guest. We don’t need to get too carried away, but I want it to look somewhat under control.”

I sometimes accuse Gloria of being a neat freak. She’s not that bad, but other than a magazine or newspaper being out of position in the TV room, she insists on keeping our house looking nice.

I performed the quick scan Gloria requested, and found a few things to straighten up, cover over, or move out of sight. Of course, the messes I found were of my making. I tend to collect mail and magazines in disordered piles at various places around the house. I always mean to review and disposition them at some later—yet to be defined—time when I’m feeling especially organized. My copy of our discipline agreement was in one of those piles, but I did not have time to worry about that now.

When I was done, Gloria was putting a sausage, egg, mushroom, cheese, and tomato creation into the oven. I don’t know the full recipe, but it is very good.

“How does the house look? Are we ready for company?” she asked.

“We’re ready. The house looks great.”

“Good. Now you need to get yourself ready.”

“What do you mean? I showered this morning, and I was sure to wash behind my ears.”

“Cute. Go up and put on some nicer clothes. Clean slacks, without holes in the knees, and a nice shirt would be good. You look good in the blue button-down dress shirt. Don’t leave a mess in the bedroom when you change. Scoot. She could be here any minute.”

I scooted. Well, I sauntered like it was no big deal, which it wasn’t. On the other hand, considering who was coming, and for what purpose, perhaps giving a good impression might be in my own best interests.

Sure enough, I tied my shoes and was depositing my old clothes in the laundry hamper (this was not the first weekend I’d put them on) when the doorbell rang. I took a deep breath, looked around the room to make sure I had not left a pair of soiled boxers on the carpet, and headed back downstairs.

The women were in the kitchen talking up a storm as if they had not seen each other in the office yesterday. When I walked in, Gloria introduced us, and Marissa shook my hand. She had a solid grip. Marissa is tall for a woman, about 5’ 10”. She was in heels, so more like 5’ 8” which is still a respectable height. She has a nice figure, a little heavier in the bosom than I prefer, but nice. As we shook hands, I had the impression I was being evaluated from top to bottom, from the strength of my grip to the balance of my stance. I caught myself sucking in my gut, but did not relax those muscles until her attention returned to Gloria.

From that time through the brunch—about which Marissa was complimentary—she paid no more attention to me than if I were a waiter at a restaurant. The next time she addressed me was after the table had been cleared and we were getting ready to bathe in the wisdom of Gloria’s guru. She looked me in the eye and said, “Gloria tells me you have requested a domestic discipline arrangement with your wife as the disciplinarian. Is this true?”

“Uhm, I guess so.” I guess so? I thought. Yeah, that was a manly response. For some reason, I felt my manhood was under threat just sitting at the same table with this older, and by Gloria’s reports, far more worldly woman.

“Well, either it is, or it is not,” Marissa said, still spearing me with her gaze. “Assuming it is true, your future arrangement has been detailed in the agreement Gloria and I developed and you signed. I assume you’ve read it. Are you still committed to its contents?”

Determined to be a little less wimpy with this response, I said, “Yes, I am.” There, I thought, clear and concise. One might almost say ‘manly.’

Marissa held my gaze for a few more seconds, then turned to Gloria, smiled and said, “Did you two get your homework done? Have you sketched out rules for John to follow?”

“We decided not to get too detailed, as situations evolve over time, but we listed a few general ideas.” She slid the naughty list across the table to Marissa, who picked it up and read it.

“Not much here,” Marissa said. “Well, I can help you flesh it out. But tell me, have you considered periodic maintenance, bondage, pegging, feminization, or chastity? A total ban on masturbation must be added to your list. It is a vile, selfish act antithetical to a loving, trusting relationship. You should control all John’s orgasms. Then there’s total body shaving? Cuckoldry? Butt plugs? Other forms of punishment beyond spanking, strapping, paddling?”

Gloria and I looked at this bizarre woman, and although I did not glance in my wife’s direction, I’m guessing both our jaws dropped.

After a long pause, Marissa said, “Look, Gloria, you really need to take firm control of John and of your marriage.”

Breaking free from the trance Marissa put me in, I said, “Whoa. Wait one minute! This is getting out of hand. I never agreed to be Gloria’s slave.”

The women turned toward me, then to each other, then burst out laughing.

After Gloria regained control of her mirth, she turned back to me and said, “You’re not my slave, dear, but you did sign an open-ended agreement to be punished. You agreed I could spank you, however, whenever, wherever, and as often as I choose. If you disappoint me, I can choose to spank you three times a day until the problem is resolved. I’ll no longer have this be a marriage in which you don’t obey me immediately and without question. It may take some time to achieve your total cooperation, but you’ve given me the tools needed to make it happen. And, as you’re aware, I can be very persistent when seeking a worthwhile goal.

“You shouldn’t fret, though, John. There’s no contradiction between your being happy in our marriage and obedient in all things to me. On the contrary, if you’re disobedient, I can ensure you will be very unhappy indeed.”

Marissa then offered her opinion. “Enforced chastity, regular discipline and loving female authority will eliminate any conflict in your relationship, leading to a happy life for both of you. Humans, by nature, prosper in a structured environment. Husbands are more comfortable knowing there are rules to follow and consequences if they break them.”

“There is much more involved here than I realized,” Gloria said. “John, you can leave us for now. I’ll work on this with Marissa. We won’t need your input. I’ll call when we’re ready for you.”

“What should I do in the meantime?”

“Watch TV. Read a book. Whatever you like. Think of it as free time. That’s a commodity you may have less of in the future.”

I rose from my chair and left the kitchen. In a tone too low for the women to overhear, I muttered, “Think I’ll take my ‘free time’ at the pub over on Broad Street. That sexy bartender works Saturdays. Can’t blame a man for looking. And a few unsupervised beers sound good about now.”

END of Part 4

The story continues with: Think Carefully 5

Copyright © 2023 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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