Spanking Ceremony II - Habit

I've been writing some ideas and thoughts about spanking. What do you think of this story? I've been having fun with spanking thoughts today.

Spanking Ceremony II - Habit


A husband has a small ritual for his wife to perform for him each day when he arrives home from work.


Each weekday I await my husbands arrival from work at precisely 6:20PM. Dinner is warm and waiting, as am I, just a few steps into our house, facing inside, bent over, pants down, knickers down, legs straight, my right arm outstretched, a soft brown leather belt in my grasp.

Five swats each day are all I require, swiftly applied, expertly applied.

But today he is late. I check the time, 6:25, and assume the position again, for I know what is in store for me if I disobey.

I hear the key in the lock. I hear the door open. And I hear a shriek, a woman's shrill voice. I yank back up my pants and my knickers, and rush into the kitchen wondering what had transpired. Who was that?

Looking out the window, I see a woman, tall, built, dark hair, very attractive, arguing with my husband. Dare I venture out? Dare I ask what the hell is going on? Dare I ask who the fuck this woman is? Dare I ask what interest my fucking husband has in her?

No, I dare not.

The next day there is a knock on our door. It is she. I prepare some coffee and serve some cookies, for it is only polite. As we talk about this meaningless item and that, I notice her gaze is focused beyond me, upon a chair, over which the belt is hanging, the soft brown belt, that has only one purpose in our household.

She asks, nicely and quietly, to see it. I breathe with some relief. Does this signify all is forgiven for the prior day's events? Perhaps the start of a friendship? Gingerly she touches it, running her forefinger along it as if it were a pet. She asks, nicely and quietly again, to hold it, to grasp it in her hand, to swing it through the air.

"What is is like?" she asks. Like? "Yes, to be struck? What is it like? To have this belt hit your backside, your bare backside?"

My throat is dry. My skin is moist. I'm not sure if I'm breathing or not.

My husband strikes me every day, at 6:20PM, five swats with this belt. It is our habit. Every day. But I'd never had this feeling before. My throat is never dry. My skin is never moist. My breathing is never . . .

Like I ask again? Or I attempt to ask, as my words are caught in my throat. She is standing in front of me now, tall . . . tall, built, dark hair, very attractive . . .

Without understand why, I bow my head. I feel her fingers in my hair, clenching, pulling, lifting me up, bringing my face to hers, bringing my lips to hers . . .

I part my lips, she extends her tongue . . . But we do not kiss.

I know better than to do so.

I drop my pants. I drop my knickers. I bend over. Legs straight . . . and we count together.

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Author
Wotton
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