Think Carefully 6

Rules for Hubby

By Jonathan Quincy Graves

{ Note: This is the sixth 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. }

WHAP!!  WHACK!!  SMACK!!  I kept my hairbrush delivering sharp spanks to John’s bottom, which was turning a nice shade of red. Marissa gave me some tips before this spanking session began, and they were having a strong effect on the results. By using less arm and more wrist, I wasn’t tiring as quickly, and by John’s reaction, the strokes were even more effective.

I had my eye on the clock. I was delivering spanks every three seconds, give or take. So, about twenty stinging smacks per minute. I once told John I’d have him crying five minutes into one of my spankings. He started kicking and squirming in under three. He did not beg me to stop, probably because he had an audience and did not want to appear the wimp in front of Marrisa. Still, I expected real tears in well below five minutes.

I paused before John entered blubbering incoherence and smoothed my hand over his ass. The heat he gave off was impressive. I gave him a minute to calm down, then said, “Tell me, John, did you masturbate in the shower this morning?”

He was slow in answering, and “What do you mean?” was the best he could come up with.

I resumed smacking him with the brush, a little harder than before, until he blurted, “Yes! Yes, I did!” I gave him three more and paused again.

“Never again,” I said. “Do you understand me?”

“I understand,” he muttered. He sounded like a petulant little boy.

I resumed his spanking. The total duration of the pauses was about two minutes, and we were approaching five minutes since we began. I still wanted to see if I could get him to cry in under five minutes, but the time spent not spanking him should not count. So, which is more fair, to subtract those two minutes from the total until he cries, or should the resumption of the paddling restart the clock at zero? Damn, I thought, I’ll have to time the next discipline spanking to get a valid answer.

While I was pondering this question, John had gone back to kicking and squirming. Well, kicking as much as possible while I had his legs clamped between mine above his knees. He also began to cry, and since he had not been a very naughty boy today, I slowed my rhythm and eased to a stop.

If anything, his ass was hotter now than it was before.

I again waited for him to regain control, then said, “Are you going to be my good boy now, John?”

“Y… yes.”

“You’ll treat me and my friends with courtesy from now on?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll never masturbate without me, right? Promise me.”

“No, I promise.”

“I expect you to keep that promise. If I ever catch you masturbating, I’ll give you a hairbrushing much worse than this one. Do you understand?”

“I understand. I won’t masturbate. Promise. You never told me you were against it.”

“You say you didn’t know I was against it, but I’ll bet a part of you, perhaps just a teeny tiny part, felt guilty, like you were getting away with something naughty whenever you stroked one out. Now you know, and you also know the consequence if you disobey me.”

I wondered what my husband was thinking as he made this promise. Did he mean he wouldn’t masturbate, or did he mean he would not let me catch him? I believe him, but Marissa may prove me wrong. She’s got me curious about the site she promised to send me that sells chastity devices.

“I’m going to let you up now, and when I do, you may pull up your boxers. For convenience’s sake, leave your trousers at your ankles. Then I want you to face Marissa and ask her if she would like to spank you. Your rudeness earlier was not done just to me.”

“Do I have to?” He sounded like a naughty little boy.

I gave John four very hard spanks with my brush.

“Okay!” John wailed. “Okay, I’ll do it! I’ll do it.”

“Yes, you will,” I scolded. “And I want to hear the word ‘please’ in your request.”

I unclamped John’s legs and helped him to his feet. He was unsteady, and I helped him pull up his boxers. He looked down pleadingly, but I returned his gaze with my most resolute expression. An expression with which he is quite familiar.

I saw the reluctance in his movements as he turned to face Marissa and said, “Marissa, would you…”

“Stop,” Marissa interrupted. “Do not address me from across the room. It is not courteous. Approach me; stand by the table, then you may ask your question.”

John shuffled across the kitchen, his pants limiting his stride, until he was at the table around the corner from where Marissa sat.

His nose was running, associated with the tears he’d been shedding moments before. He sniffed and said, “Please, Marissa, would you like to spank me?”

“I haven’t decided,” Marissa said. “Why do you ask?”

“Uh,” John stammered. He clearly did not expect that question. “Uhm, because Gloria told me to.”

“You can do better than that,” I said. “Explain to Marissa why you deserve a spanking from her this afternoon.”

John sniffed again and said, “Because I…”

“Start over,” Marissa scolded. “Do not begin your sentence with a conjunction. Ask me your question in a complete sentence and tell me why it is justified.”

“And don’t forget to say ‘please’,” I added. I smiled behind John’s back. It was okay for me to start with a conjunction. My ass was not in danger. Marissa caught it and fired a quick smirk back at me.

“Please, Marissa,” John said, “would you like to spank me for being rude to you earlier?”

His voice kind of trailed off toward the end. The poor boy was fighting back tears. It almost made me feel sorry for him. I would have if he had not asked for a disciplined lifestyle.

“Yes, John,” Marissa said. “I would like to spank you, and I will spank you, but not today. Your wife has given me a raincheck.”

I saw the tension that filled John seep from his body with the news Marissa was not going to immediately take him over her lap. The off-white walls of the room heaved a sigh of relief in sympathy with him. I did likewise, glad Marissa declined, at least for now.

“You may pull up your pants, John,” I said. “Why don’t you go up to our room, wash your face and rest for a while. I’ll be up to join you later.”

John left us saying nothing further.

Marissa and I talked for a little while, but our mission was done for the day. We had worked out the rules for John, and the tactics for my near-term objectives. So, she did not stay much longer.

I put all my notes in my briefcase to take to work with me on Monday, then climbed the stairs to see to my husband. John was lying facedown on the bed, still fully clothed.

I got a jar of cold cream from the bathroom and put it on the bedside table where John could see it. “Raise up, John,” I said, “so I can unfasten your belt.”

John lifted his midsection off the bed. I undid his belt and zipper, then removed his shoes, pants, and boxers. His bottom was an angry mix of red and purple. Heat still radiated from his ass.

I uncapped the cold cream and climbed on the bed next to him. I put a generous dollop of the soothing mixture on his right cheek and gently smoothed it around, then applied some to the other mound. Other than the one short sentence I needed to remove his pants, neither of us had said a word.

John’s ass glistened with the cream, and the sight and feel of it was turning me on. I put some more cream on my fingers and slid them up the crack of his ass. I played with his anus in passing, but did not force an entry. Instead, I smoothed the cream down to coat and massage his perineum, flirting with the edge of his scrotum.

Finally, I elicited a groan from John. I took this as an invitation, and with my cream-slicked fingers, I gently massaged his balls. John moved his legs further apart and arched his back, allowing me to reach underneath him. He was as hard as he ever gets. I used more of the cold cream and began to stroke his tool.

I sensed John was close to coming, and so was I, but this was about him rather than me. A situation that was to become ever more rare in the future. I slowed my hand to stretch the moment out, but he could no longer be stopped. So I tightened my grip and sped up. I caught his ejaculate with my other hand so I would not have to change the sheets or sleep in a puddle that night.

A diabolical mood took me, and I almost decided to force my husband to lick his cum from my hand. Next time, I thought. The boy has had enough for today.

I climbed off the bed, put the cover on the jar, washed my hands in the bathroom, pulled the window shades down, turned off the lights, and left John to rest. Neither of us spoke, but I felt good about what we had both done this day. I made progress, not just with Marissa, but also with John. He’d earned the spanking and humiliation, and I needed it to guide him down my chosen path. Soothing his burning ass with cold cream and bringing him off were just as important; he needed to know he was still loved.

Sunday was a typical weekend day, except John ate breakfast standing at the counter. We spoke as often as before, though neither of us mentioned the changes to our lifestyle. Monday and Tuesday were typical workdays. John did nothing that would earn him a trip over my lap, and I did not go out of my way to find an excuse.

Then it was Wednesday evening.

I was home before John after work and selected a nice place on the kitchen wall to mount my latest acquisition. I placed it at head height for John in a location that could not be missed by anyone entering the kitchen. Eager to witness John’s reaction, I changed out of my work clothes and parked myself at the kitchen table with my laptop and a pot of tea.

John arrived home at his usual time and called out in his usual manner as he entered, “Hello the house!”

It’s a little silly. I think it’s a line from some old western, or maybe John Wayne in “The Quiet Man” but wherever it’s from, John has made it a tradition, and uses it when he knows I’m home. Now there’s a thought… Does he also use it when he knows I am not at home? How would I know? But I digress.

“I’m in the kitchen, dear,” I called.

John entered the kitchen and stopped as if someone had pushed his pause button. I didn’t even have to look up from my laptop to know what had captured his gaze.

“How was your day, dear?” I said.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” John said.

“What, dear?”

“This, this list, or whatever. Are you serious?” He turned to me for that last sentence.

“You seem surprised. You knew Marissa and I were working on the rules for your behavior Saturday.”

“Yes, but I didn’t expect… this,” he said, waving at the rules.

“It came out rather nice, didn’t it? I enlisted Cynthia’s help in the graphics department. She wanted to embellish it with hearts and little cherubs, but I thought that would be too much.”

“Have I met Cynthia?”

“You may have met her at the office Christmas party last year—petite, blond, early twenties.”

John moved closer to the Rules and studied them. “And did you share with Cynthia what the last two, ‘taking pleasure’ and ‘discipline,’ were all about?”

“She had to understand the list to do a good job of organizing it,” I said.

He turned back to me. “So now there are two women in your office who know you spank me, and have forbidden masturbation? I assume that’s what ‘Take Pleasure’ refers to.”

“Of course,” I said. “Well, not just Cynthia in graphics. The other girls were curious about what she was working on. It seems she was laughing out loud. I understand several of them have asked her to do versions with their names on them. There was one who included some fancy scroll work as well as hearts and flying cherubs. It was impressive, but our plain version has more impact. Don’t you agree?”

“I can only guess,” John said. “So, this Cynthia is also into spanking?”

“Not before I gave her this commission, but she is now considering taking her boyfriend over her lap. She wanted to see what it was like first, though. I told her, as payment for her work on that poster, that she could witness one of your maintenance spankings.”

“You told her what?!”

“That she could watch me spank you. Just a maintenance spanking, not a real discipline spanking like the one Marissa witnessed. And I did not tell her she could spank you. So, you don’t have to worry about that, assuming you are good that day, of course. Like it says on the placard, take your discipline with an ‘accepting and penitent spirit.’”

John stared at the placard again. “You’ve decided on maintenance spankings?”

“Yes, dear. You’re aware of what they are, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“Good. Well, I decided each Friday evening, you and I will get together here in the kitchen for a nice little spanking. Nice if you’ve been good that week. Less nice if you’ve been naughty. Weekly reminders will help you live up to those rules. Which reminds me. You must memorize that list and be able to recite it when I ask.

“There are eight major bullets. They begin with the letters: M, E, T, K, O, P, P, R. Remember those letters in that order. They will help you remember the rules. By this Friday evening, prior to your maintenance spanking, I expect you to have memorized those letters and the rules they stand for. I suggest you take a picture of the list with your phone. Then you can have it with you to study when things are slow at work.”

“Things are never that slow,” John said, taking his phone from his pocket and photographing the list. “This really is too much.”

“Nonsense, dear. This is precisely what you asked for. You really should reread the agreement we both signed. This should come as no surprise to you.”

“And this Cynthia person, is she going to be here Friday evening?”

“No, not this Friday. I want to establish the maintenance spanking routine before we invite witnesses.”

“That’s good of you,” John said.

“Now John, that sounded a wee bit like sarcasm, which violates the first rule. I suppose it actually violates the first three rules. Not a good idea when your maintenance spanking is just two days from now.”

“Sorry,” John said.

“Everyone who enters our kitchen is going to see this list,” John continued. “It’s more than a little embarrassing for me. I don’t want all our friends to know I get spanked. Could we put it somewhere a little less public? Like face down under the couch in the family room?”

That got me to chuckling. John really was taking this well. “I’ll make you a deal. If you can recite that list, letter perfect, before your spanking this Friday, I’ll move it up to a spot in our bathroom. If you don’t have it memorized, it stays there until your maintenance spanking next week. To make it even more interesting, I may ask you to recite your rules at any time in the future. If you stumble over them, the placard goes right back there on the kitchen wall for at least a month. Sound fair?”

“The whole thing is not fair,” he said.

“True, but when you asked me to spank you and you signed the agreement, giving me the right to discipline you in any way, at any time, with anyone I choose, fairness stopped being a factor.”

My boy turned back to the rules again. It was starting to sink in what good advice I’d given him when I told him to “Think Carefully” before he signed his name to the bottom of our spanking agreement.

END of Part 6

The story continues with Think Carefully 7 

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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