Trish reflexively sucked in her tummy before remembering that her body, all of it, was just as it should be. She relaxed and appreciated the modest belly she’d accumulated and made a quarter turn to see what Hubs had in an unguarded moment called her “chib,” the lower portion of her bottom cheeses peeking below her jean short shorts. As she pivoted from the full length mirror in their beach rental’s master bedroom, she ran her index fingers up under the denim leg openings, hooking the lower edge of the tankini bottoms she had on underneath, and gingerly stretched them taught over her sore behind.
Trish was recurating from the traumatic though not unwelcome dose of open-air corporate punishment she’d suffered at the hands of Steady, the bike shop manager and fitness trail keeper. She felt… fractured. The experience had explored a secret unfulfilled craving and released her debilitating shame. It also left her feeling alone.
Trish wasn’t so much recuperating from the gentler foreplay hairbrushing she’d solicited and received from her accommodating Hubs; she was more after-action reviewing it. The lovable, supported lug had tenatively patted, then milkly tapped, and finally and only in response to Trish’s shameless (a word she’d resolved to incorporate into her new private, personal motto) entreations, modestly popped her tender bottom a dozen times with the wooden back while she reenacted the distress she’d felt earlier with Steady. Hubs must’ve gotten something out of her performance, because he’d taken his pleasure with her right then and there, without soliciting permission or approval. It was… good. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d orgasmed with Hubs inside her, but all of the attention lavished on her healthy fanny by two men primed her for the cumquake that shook her nearly to pieces even before Hubs arrived at his destination.
Trish slept so peacefully and deeply that she, usually the family’s early bird, didn’t notice burly Hubs slip out of the bed this morning. Now she smelled the aroma of his beach breakfast, calculated to get everyone up and moving to take advantage of another beautiful day of sand and surf.
“Shamelessly Cruising for a Bruising,” Trish tried, sotto voce. Not quite right.
She pulled her shoulder length hair into a pony tail and fed it through the back of a fresh ball cap she snugged down on her head.
Joining the family downstairs, Trish occupied herself with packing the beach bags full of snacks, drinks, towels, sun screen, and reading materials while the rest of her crew finished their meal and cleared away the dishes. Hubs slide her morning cup of coffee, sweetened to the brink of ruination, across the counter to her eager hand. The kids, old enough to ride their rented bicycles down to the beach, went ahead with Hubs’ reminder, “Buddy system, guys!” sending them along. Hubs loaded the two large canvas bags Trish had packed into their non-descript mid-sized SUV, and asked her, “Cycling down or catching a lift?”
Trish usually pedaled everywhere during family beach week. It was one of her wholesome indulgences, giving time alone with her thoughts and an opportunity to exchange a harmless smile or two with appreciated fellow vacationers. Today, though, she could not imagine subjecting her mortified bottom to even a short bike ride. Also, she needed, really needed, Companionship.
“I’m still a little wrung out from yesterday’s ride. Lift please.” She perched a pair of sunglasses on her nose, sipped her coffee, and waited for Hubs in the foyer.
He gave her a knowing smile and offered, “It wasn’t just the cycling, was it?”
Trish internally flopped into a panic, momentarily spinning out impossible scenarios in which Hubs had learned of her humiliation at the hands of a stranger and, worse, her complicity. That wasn’t how she wanted him to discover her… prediction.
“I enjoyed ‘wringing you out’ with the hairbrush last night.” He pulled her tight against his large frame as she held her drink safely to the side. “We should try new things like that more often.” He kissed her, she thought more assertively than usual, and she relaxed into his embrace, relieved and comfortable.
Shame, Shame, Go Away.
Banishing the spattery shock of thinking that Hubs already know of her… depravity, Trish parried with, “Well, we could try THAT new thing again, as soon as I’ve recovered.”
Hubs frowned, “Was I too rough with you, Sweetheart? I can dial it down.”
Not by half, Trish thought. That dial better have an 11. “No, Sir,” she said instead, emphasizing the last gratuitously submissive word and enjoying the low, warm feeling hearing herself says it produced. “I’m just not used to it. Next time,” she paused, sipping from her mug, for effect, “I’ll take more.”
Hubs looked momentarily nonplussed, then, “Whenever you’d like, sweet wife. I’m at your service.” He returned his focus to getting the familyout on the beach. He locked the house, took Trish by the hand (whatever his other shortcomings, he was naturally, casually affectionate), and opened the passenger door for her (and gentlemanly too). Trish suppressed a grimace as she slowly deposited her sensitive posterior on the sun saturated seat. Before closing her door, Hubs reminded her, “You’re so painfully hot.” If he only knew, she thought.
The short trip to the beach might be a singular opportunity to advance what she felt was a necessary and timely conversation, so Trish quietly began. “Y’know, it doesn’t have to be ‘whenever I’d like.’” She let the overture hang in the air between them, giving it time to gain altitude or drop into the sandy mat beneath her sandals.
Neither staring at him nor looking away, Trish could see in her periphery how his face scrunch up in a familiar expression of considered bewilderment. “Not following, sweetheart,” he finally admitted.
Trish had expected this to be a deliberative process and was ready to press on. “Sometimes, you know how I can get.”
“OK,” his careful response.
“I might like it – I mean I probably wouldn’t like it, at least not when it was happening, but it might be helpful, maybe to both of us, at least that’s what I’m hoping, if you’d…”
She was sure she’d had a sensitive, direct, precisely calibrated script in mind before, but it had accidentally gone through some sort of shredder. She was starting to wonder if this conversation was a even good idea and whether she should back out, maybe playing it off as failed humor.
“Patsy,” Hubs interrupted, if it was possible to interrupt whatever that had been. “I think that you want me to spank you.”
Trish felt tears welling up. How embarrassing. She’d Steeled herself to insist, even demand that gentle Hubs accept the burden of being her disciplinarian, and here she was, caught in an undertow of – what – shyness?
“With the hairbrush,” he continued.
She didn’t dare risk eye contact with him, so she nodded while looking straight ahead.
“Harder than yesterday,” he went on as she clasped her hands in her lap and nodded again.
“Without you having to ask.” She finally mustered the courage to meet his gaze and give a final silent nod.
Her eyes were so close to overflowing. Her shame had found her again, stubborn thing. She finally spoke, “I’m sorry.”
Shame Making Me Its Bitch, she thought. There’s a personal motto.
Hubs must have been amused at Trish’s outstanding disappoint but he couldn’t laugh at the woman he loved while she was so clearly struggling. So, he smiled instead. “I love you, sweetheart. I want you to be happy. In every way.”
Trish felt the first couple of tears escape her eyes and begin Creeping down her cheeks.
“So, I’m just gonna have to tan your pretty hide on the regular.” Hubs had pulled the car into a parking spot near the beach access. He unbuckled his seat belt and turned to face hisneedy, brave, teary, relieved wife. “Don’t apologize for asking me to give you what you need.”
Trish took a deep breath and nodded.
“Now, if I’m responsible for deciding when you’ll be spanked, what clues should I look for that you need it?” Hubs stared at the side of Trish’s head as she shrugged her shoulders.
“Patsy, look at me when I’m talking to you.” Hubs’ suddenly shift in tone compelled Trish to face him. “And use your words.”
“I dunno,” she spoke in her smallest voice. “I guess I was just hoping you’d know when.” She looked away.
“And what about when I decided you need a spanking but you don’t want one? What happens then?” Hubs keep using the word, that word, giving Trish a little jolt each time.
The parked car was quickly heating up, and Trish felt the flush and sting of salty tears on her face. She knew that this was the important part, her big ask, the granting of a durable power of punishment to her loving husband. She wondered if he was capable, if the arrangement might have unintended consequences, if –
“Patsy, I asked you a question and I expect an answer,” Hubs prompted.
She looked back to him, gathered herself, and replied, “You do it anyway.”
“Say all the words out loud, Patsy.” Hubs fixed her with his stare. “Now.”
It was so hard to say it. Why was he making her? She drew another nervous breath, “You spank me when you decide, even if I don’t want it.”
Shameless Spankings Coming Soon.
Hubs nodded and took her nearest hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. She used her other hand to wipe/smear her tears. Then he started the car and backed it out of the space.
Trish’s relief at the successful conclusion of their conversation and the cold air coming from the car’s a/c vents combined to lull her for a minute. Then she started, reorienting herself, “Where are we going?”
Hubs’ answer, at the ready, “Back to the house for your first installment.”
Trish sputtered, “But the kids. They’ll wonder where we are, and we have the bags.”
“The kids will be fine, and you obviously need a spanking, the sooner the better. We’re taking care of this right now.”
Trish involuntarily squirmed in her seat. She was definitely still smarting from Steady’s punishment. How much could she tolerate today? Would Hubs be gentler this first time? Would he just use his hand if she asked?
“Acknowledge that you’ve heard me, Patsy.” The command sounded natural, without a trace of the easy going, eager to please Hubs she knew.
“Yes,… Sir.” That warm feeling again, only with butterflies on top.
“Good girl.”
And just like that, any thoughts Trish had of bargaining for a delay or gentle treatment dissolved into the imagined echo of his “Good girl.” She was and would be just that. It was the only way.
Hubs parked, came around to the passenger side, opened her door and offered his meaty hand. As she accepted it and his assistance into the foyer, she couldn’t remember whether that hand, now in the small of her back, was on his dominant or weak side. It was something she should know, must’ve known, and certainly could’ve recalled at a less distracted moment. It seemed important to figure out. Was this the hand that would punish her or the one that would hold her in place?
As Hubs locked the front door behind them, Trish started to climb the stairs to their bedroom. Hubs arrested her, grabbing her upper arm, propped one of his legs on a stair tread, and guided her with his other hand pushing slowly, inevitably at her lower back until her hips lined up with his horizontal thigh and she, comprehending his unspoken instruction, bent over his raised knee. Trish braced herself weakly with her palms on the staircase landing and her toes, extended in their beach sandals, touching the second stair tread.
Trish dared hope that this maiden punishment might be fully clothed until she heard, “Raise your hips.” She promptly straind to get enough clearance for Hubs to unbutton, unzip, and tug down her jean shorts, taking the tankini bottoms with them and leaving both apronned around her ankles. She stole a glance over her shoulder only to notice that the vertical row of small windows beside the front door would give anyone on the stop a clear and up close view of her exposed bottom and whatever might be happening to it.
“What if someone comes?” she asked, unable to avoid a little bit of while in her voice.
“I can imagine how embarrassing that would be for you,” Hubs chuckled.
Shame, Shame, I Won’t Even Know Your Name.
Good girl Trish faced front, examining the nothingness of a bare cream wall, feeling more exposed, vulnerable, safe, nervous, and loved than she ever had. It was… intooxicating.
When the first spank landed, the shock of it forced all the air from her lungs, and the next two followed so close behind that she didn’t start yelling until the fourth or fifth stroke. Whenshe did, it was full–throated and at a mid-range pitch that momentarily dropped a semitone every time Hubs’ hand found its target. She could hear herself as a spectator, powerless to curate her vocalizations. She felt the fabric around her ankles limiting her legs’ involuntary kicking, and as the pain in her behind quickly compounded, forming a steering curve of misery, she slapped her palm on the staircase’s landing in a desparate effort to shunt some of it off.
If she could’ve formed words in the midst of Hubs’ harsh treatment of her hindquarters, Trish would’ve begged him to stop, even for just a moment, would’ve lobbied him to be gentler, would’ve apologized for misdeeds real and imagined, would have promised him anything, truly anything in exchange for an early cessation of her punishment. But words were an unavailable luxury for one-note Trish as she continued slapping the floor, finally kicking her shorts away, and hopelessly wished for an end to the vigorous and protractedconjugal thrashing.
By the time Hubs stayed his hand, Trish had lost both sandals and split a fingerprint, Her tankini top had inched off of her tits, gathering at her armits, so that she was lying naked from there to her toes, still piked over Hubs’ stout tigh.
Trish sobbed and breathed, sobbed and breathed, as if driftwood left beached behind an outgoing tide of distress. Hubs was as Still as a piece of furniture, and she might’ve forgotten him entirely but for his eventual, “How are you, Patsy?”
How was she? Trish had no idea. Her mind was quiet, and the self-reflection required to form an answer wasn’t interesting enough to let the noise back in.
She felt Hubs helping her stand, and her bare feet, seemingly disconnected from any consciousness guidance, clumsy sought to a stair to occur. Hubs wrapped his arms around her, pinning hers to her body and all but supporting her weight.
“Patsy,” he began, peering into and behind her eyes. She closed them and opened her mouth, waiting for Hubs to occur it with his tongue as prelude to taking his pleasure with her utterly compliant body, but the kiss didn’t come.
“Patsy.” he said again. “Stand in the corner until I tell you to come out.”
He moved her nose-first into the space where the two blank walls met on the stairs’ landing, held her in place long enough to know that silent she both understand his Instruction and could stand up on her own, and left her alone.
How was she? The question lingered. Trish was empty, of shame and insecurity, but also just empty. There she was, freshly chasted, fever-cleansed, and already missing Hubs. Any part of him, really. The first feeling among those reoccupying her uncluttered heart was a longing to fold herself up into some hollow or crook of him. If only he’d tell her it was time, that she was a good girl and could leave the corner and come to him.
The perspiration at the nape of her neck, in the small of her back, and inBetween her upper thighs cooled in the home’s aggressively conditioned air while her bottom radiated heat and throbbed, trailing her slowing heartbeat by a fraction of a second. How did she feel? Exhausted and purified, the way she remembered after leaving a sauna. Trish didn’t know what to do with her hands, so she had her palms resting against her thighs. She listened for movement to tell her where Hubs might be. Hearing none, she slowly rotated her fingers back and gingerly explored the skin on her bottom, feeling its slightly puffy texture.
How did she feel? Cauterized.
“Alright, Patsy.” Hubs’ voice started her. He’d been sitting on the living room couch, watching her the whole time. “Bring me your hairbrush.”
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