I Recieve Maintenance Spankings From My HusbandI posted this story on another spanking group but I thought it was relevant to this group too. Apologies if you've read it twice!
I'm Pol, I'm 42 and I'm from the UK. I've been married to my husband John, a General Practitioner, for 17 years. We adopted a voluntary sub-dom approach to our marriage pretty soon after our wedding. He told he wanted to be dominant and take control while I was submissive and followed his instructions. I actually laughed out loud at this ridiculous suggestion. I was a pretty wayward, head-strong young woman and I was convinced that I'd never submit to any man. However, I decided to humour my husband because I thought a sub-dom relationship might be great from a sexual perspective. He explained that he didn't want to use the sub-dom approach just for sex but in every aspect of our married life. I was confused about how he intended to implement it across our whole marriage. He told me he wanted to care for me to the best of his ability, and that would mean I'd need to accept spankings to correct my head-strong behaviour and remind me of my submissive place.
I was an enormously wayward and stubborn young woman. John came from a well-to-do family who were all about the British stiff upper lip and all of that nonsense. I was the polar opposite. I spoke my mind, waded in to situations without thinking, didn't care a jot for the almost professional way in which John conducted his friendships and other personal relationships in order to climb the British social ladder. What you saw was what you got, and my attitude caused many a social embarrassment for John. In retrospect I can see why he made the decision to take me in hand. In many respects, I haven't changed, but here's my spanking journey.
When John first told me he intended to spank me, I thought he simply meant he wanted to swat me a few times before we had sex and jovially agreed. I completely misjudged his intentions. He began spanking me for minor wrong-doings such as back-chatting or sulking. He would pull me over his knee, pull down my underwear and use his hand to correct me. I'd hate such outrageous invasions but he reminded me there was nothing to invade - I was his wife, I was submissive to him and I had to be accountable for my unacceptable behaviour. I hated the spankings but l began to love the feeling of safety and being cared for.
Spankings weren't the only discipline on the agenda. He dealt with my appalling habit of being late for everything by sending me to bed earlier. If I was 20 minutes late for something, I'd be sent to bed 20 mins before him. If I made him really angry, he would send me to stand in the corner until he cooled off enough to spank me. He never spanked me when he was angry because he didn't want to blur the line between anger and correction. I was sent to face the corner like a 4-year-old until he felt he had enough self-control to correct me. It was such a humiliating experience, tinged with the nervous wait, knowing that a spanking was coming. My bottom cheeks would tingle in anticipation. If I back-chatted him whilst standing in the corner, he would tell me to lift up my skirt, pull my panties down and expose my bottom. Exposing my own bottom 20 mins or so before a spanking added even more humiliation and anticipation to the proceedings!
He introduced some other implements to spank me with depending on what he could get his hands on at the time. I was rude to him while cooking bolognese once. He took the wooden spoon out of the pan, washed it in the sink and then told me to pull my panties down. He paddled me 15 times on each cheek while I bent over a chair, panties around my knees. We went on holiday to a remote cottage in Scotland one year. There was a huge weeping willow leaning over a lake in the back garden. I misbehaved on our first night and I knew I was in for a spanking. I pulled my panties down to my knees for him without even being asked. To my surprise, he told me to pull them back up, take a pair of scissors into the garden and choose a twig from the weeping willow for him to switch me with. I was expecting a hard hand-spanking so I thought I'd got off lightly. Aside from the humiliation of being watched while I walked into the garden to choose my own switch, I felt pretty blase about it. I could feel his eyes on me as I looked closely at the branches, trying to find the thinnest twig with the least buds and leaves on it to minimise the pain. I found a switch and took it back to him. He flicked off the leaves with a penknife and told me to go and stand outside near the patio table with my panties down. Lifting up my own skirt and pulling down my own panties to make it easier for him to give me a sound spanking is a constant humiliation. I could just refuse to make my experience even more painful for myself, but I'd only get a longer spanking in the long-run. I waited, panties to my knees, bending slightly over the patio table. He came out and explained that he was going to switch me 10 times on each cheek. To help him, he wanted me to move my bottom from side to side so he could alternate my switches more easily. How humiliating! The first stroke landed on my left cheek. The pain made me skip a breath in surprise - I genuinely thought I'd be in for an easy ride but that switch hurt more than any experience I'd ever had. He told me to move my right cheek closer. It took me a few moments to gather the courage, but I did. He switched my right cheek with all his force. I did a strange sort of dance, moving my own nude bottom from side to side so he could adminster harder switches to both cheeks. He wrapped up at 20 switches and I was glad because I was about to collapse. He switched me 5 times during that one week holiday - that's almost once a day - and each time I had to move each cheek from side to side while he administered it.
After 2 or 3 years of receiving on-the-spot spanks with a variety of implements whenever I misbehaved at home, John told me he wanted to take my discipline a step further. He felt I'd become somewhat immune to spanks and he wanted to step it up a gear by introducing a slipper and a strap. He showed me a really old, worn tartan slipper, the kind with the beige rubber sole, and an old belt that he had customised into a strap by cutting off the buckle and adding more holes. He explained that he was aware that I was probably committing minor misdemeanors while he was at work and that these wrong-doings needed to be corrected too, even if he didn't know about them. He told me he planned to set aside some time every week to take me to hand and spank me for all the things I'd done wrong that he didn't know about. My heart sighed - I hated spankings and the thought of being routinely spanked every week. Knowing that a spanking was coming up while all I could do was wait for it was hugely humiliating.
When I thought about the humiliation and how he had chosen to spank me routinely, I suddenly began to find the idea rather exciting. He decided 8pm on Thursday evenings would be my punishment session. I would wait all week, cooking for him, ironing his clothes and sleeping beside him, knowing full well that he planned to spank me at 8pm on Thursdays. On punishment nights he would go into our study and close the door to prepare. I would knock on the door and wait outside to be summoned in. It reminded me of waiting to be slippered at school. Once called into his study, I'd be given the chance to confess any wrong-doings. Confessed wrong-doings earned me 3 strokes of a slipper. Unconfessed wrong-doings earned 4 strokes of his belt and he would always 'guesstimate' that I'd done at least 3 things wrong, so I'd get strapped 12 times. I quickly learned to make up a wrong-doing, such as spending too much money or swearing in public or putting my knickers back on after he had ordered me not to wear them before he went to work. I'd get six strokes of his slipper on average. He'd ask me to fetch the slipper and then pull down my own knickers for him. He'd bend me over a chair or the desk and deliver my systematic, routine correction. Once finished, I'd be expected to thank him.
I began to adore the control he had over me. I still hated spankings but I loved him more for his strength of character and leadership. My on-the-spot punishments continued if he 'caught me in the-act'. As we were dressing in the morning, he'd sometimes tell me not to wear any underwear all day just to remind me that he was in control. I'd dutifully dress with no knickers or bra. On one occasion he came home early from work and caught me with my knickers on. I got an immediate helping of six strappings. He told me he knew what to expect and that I knew what to do. Without being told, I lifted my skirt, removed my knickers and bent over the dining table. The belt strokes came slowly, with 30 seconds between each, just to give me time to appreciate the sting and pain. He never caused bleeding or left sore welts, I'd just have a few hot, red lines to think about for a few minutes.
There was one occasion where he held a cocktail party for some friends in our home. I can't remember what I did, perhaps I was rude to his boss, but he took me by the arm and said 'excuse me' to his audience before leading me to his study. He didn't have to say anything, I knew the drill. I bared my bottom for him and waited for the strokes, all the while feeling so embarrassed that his friends would be able to hear the strap making contact with my skin and my inevitable low groans of pain. It was humiliation but 1000-fold. I was surprised to find I actually enjoyed it!
A few years ago, John gave me a hairbrush as a birthday gift. It's made of wood and about the size of a small hand. I thanked him for it and he explained that I was to keep it in my handbag at all times. When I asked why, he said so I could brush my hair whenever I needed to, but also so that he would have an implement to spank me with if I misbehaved when we were out and he couldn't summon me to the study for a strapping. I felt so humiliated dropping the hairbrush into my handbag, knowing that I was effectively carrying my own punishment tool around with me all the time. He didn't use the hairbrush for months. I was responding well to maintenance strappings and misbehaved less in public. However, on one occasion we were in a family restaurant when I got over-excited and knocked a glass of coca cola all over the table. I thought it was hysterically funny and laughed. John gave me a disapproving look and whispered into my ear 'I don't approve of this behaviour!' A waitress brought a cloth to mop up the spilled drink and looked equally disapprovingly at me. She was about 19 years old and looked at me like I'd expect my grandmother to look at me. I can't remember what I said to her, but I was rude enough to earn myself my first public hairbrush spanking. John took hold of my arm in a certain way that 'tells' me I'm due a good spank. He led me to the mother-and-baby room and locked the door behind him. He told me to look in my handbag for my hairbrush. I searched around in my bag until I found it while all the while my bottom cheeks were tingling in anticipation. I handed him the implement and, without being prompted, I lifted my skirt and pulled down my panties for him. He told me to lean with both hands on the sink and to move from left to right to make it easier for him. I got paddled 15 times on each cheek, and once again I moved my cheeks from side to side as he spanked them alternately. By 7 paddles I felt tears in my eyes. I wanted to cry out in pain (during a strapping, I give a low, animal-like groan and this helps with pain control somehow) but I was aware of all the other people in the restaurant and I knew I had to take my spanking in silence. I bit my lip, moved from left to right, and let him paddle me hard until I reached my allocated number. When we got home that night, I was asked to join him in the study. I couldn't quite believe my ears. I pointed out to him that I'd already been spanked for my rudeness and that should be enough. John raised his eyebrows and told me he would be the judge of that. He asked me to ***** completely naked for an additional strapping. I'd never been strapped or even spanked nude before and this new twist added to my humiliation. I took off all my clothes and bent over for him. I got a hard strapping that took my breath away. Now, every time I misbehave in public and earn a paddle with my hairbrush, I get an additional strapping in the nude when I get home.
We've been living with this arrangement for a long time now and I've come to love my spankings. I feel cared for and managed when I'm immediately corrected for wrong-doings. My routine, planned spankings are a constant reminder to be on my best behaviour as I both anticipate and dread them. I've learned that if I'm not spanked weekly, I feel irritable and down. As soon as I get my slippering or strapping, I feel the negative moods wash away and they are replaced with a sense of calm and peace. My spankings have become a medicine for my soul.
I'm due a maintenance spank on Thursday this week. Not long to go now. Wish me luck!