Why is the Paddle Across My Pillow?

Why Is The Paddle Across My Pillow?

For the last few months I have been working like a fiend. Up until last week, I would leave the house at 6am and return home around 8pm to simply fall into bed and start the process all over again the next day. I managed to make time for friends and for my husband, but housework was not a priority. My husband also works long hours, but in addition he managed to do the housework and shop for groceries, all with just simple reminders to me that I was not doing my share. Each reminder I would promise to do better.

Well, on Monday I called Thomas at work in the morning and told him I would be home early. He was surprised. He said something along the lines that we would finally have some quality time together. I grinned back over the phone, thinking that he was talking about anything but a discipline spanking.

I walked in the door of our bedroom Monday afternoon to find, to my immediate heart stoppage, the three foot, thick, and holed paddle lying across my pillow. I froze in the bedroom doorway. What had I done? The paddle? No way. What had I done?

And then I realized, I was slacking off, and doing nowhere near my share of anything. I knew I was in for it. So, stupid me, I called him. "Thomas, why is the paddle on my pillow?"

He laughed at that question. "I put it there over lunch today to remind me that you are getting a paddling tonight for not doing your chores and putting everything else first. It has been way too long since that bottom of yours had a good dose of that paddle. Now, you have one hour before I get home, I had better be overly impressed with the looks of that house when I get home young lady."

I looked around the house, devastated. He had not done any housework all weekend, obviously preparing for this encounter, and of course I had not done any and I had not even noticed how dirty it could become when left alone. I scrambled, started laundry, managed to clean the kitchen and the bathroom, but really did not even scratch the surface of the mess. I heard the front door click open as I scrambled to empty the washer. He was home and I was dead.

"Tara Marie, come in here." He said in his deep voice. Slowly I entered the living room. "I expect your bottom bared and well positioned over the bed when I get in there. Is that understood?"

"Yes Sir," I stammered back. I headed to the bedroom, took off my clothes and positioned myself on the bed, already dreading the feel of that cold, hard, hole-filled paddle against my bare bottom. Discipline spankings are never, ever fun. There is never a warm up, and they are always delivered slowly and with much force. I know the rules, hold position and make sure that ass does not move from position, because an aggravated 300 pound NY Italian is a scary thing to have swinging a paddle.

I waited, and I waited and I waited, shivering in the cold of the AC blowing on me. Finally I heard him come in, but I knew better than to look back at him. I felt him pick up the paddle and slowly brush it across my quivering, not-yet-paddled-but-soon-to-be-raw bottom. WHACK The first strike took me by surprise. It hurt like hell. Everything burned and it took every ounce of me to hold position.

"Now, Tara Marie, do you know why you are going to be paddled?"

"Yes Sir" I croaked back.

"And why is that young lady?" Again I felt the hard wood of the paddle lingering against my bottom.

WHACK

I guess I did not answer fast enough, because that whack sent me out of position. It burnt, It felt raw back there and we had just started! I quickly raised my bottom back up, knowing another was right behind for breaking position. WHACK

"I have been doing everything but my share of the housework lately. I am sorry Thomas. I promise I will do my share, please, not so hard, please."

Again the paddle lingered, just touching my warming bottom. I felt him lean over to me on the bed and then into my ear he said, "Am I so hard on you that you feel you have too many chores around here?"

"No Sir" I quickly responded. "I knew he did way more than most spouses ever do, plus all the grocery shopping."

"What exactly are your chores young lady?" He asked, still leaning over me with the paddle resting on my bottom.

"Laundry, pick up after myself, the dogs, empty the dish washer and clean the bathroom."

He stood up and took the paddle. I heard it whish through the air. WHACK

"And, Tara Marie, do you think that is too much to ask, even if you work more hours and have a longer commute?"

"No Sir. I am so sorry. I will never slack off again. I know you do way more chores than me. PLEASE THOMAS"

"I know you will not slack off again any time soon." As he said that he wound up and delivered another stinging whack to my bottom.

"I am thinking of a number of swats that you should receive", he stated as the paddle re-aligned itself against my stinging/burning behind. "If you guess under, we add the difference times two, if you guess over, you get that amount. How many more swats do you deserve Tara Marie?"

My heart dropped. I already was struggling to hold position. My head was pounding, my butt felt as if the skin was already gone. I could picture the welts and the blisters forming. I knew I had it coming, but he seemed pretty calm, just disappointed in me more than anything. But, if he really was mad and I guessed under, I was toast.

"10" I stammered, my eyes tearing and my nose running.

"Well, I would have said eight, so ten it is. DO NOT BREAK THAT POSITION, Is that understood?"

"Yes Sir"

WHACK

"One, Thank you Sir." My butt was on fire, he was hitting hard, really hard. My face burned.

WHACK

"Two, Thank you Sir." Yep, definite lasting marks. Sitting will be a problem.

WHACK

"Three---WHACK WHACK

"Five. Thank You SIr." "Please T, no more, I promise" I was sweating now, my legs quivered from presenting my bottom for punishment.

WHACK

Sobbing now, "Six Thank You Sir."

WHACK Your chores are to be done each week by bedtime on Sunday. I will not tolerate this selfish behavior any longer.

"Yes Sir, Seven Thank YOu Sir."

WHACK "You will be paddled each and every Monday if they are not done, and, Tara Marie, it will be worse than this."

"Yes Sir, Eight thank You Sir."

WHACK "Do not break that position"

"Nine Thank You Sir" (I am sure I breathed a sigh of relief, because the last one is usually not that hard.)

WHACK The tenth hit harder than ever. It sent me flopping to the mattress, bawling, hands reaching back. I was on fire.

"What did you just do?!?!"

"No, Thomas, please, no more, no more. I couldn't help it, it hurt so badly." I Cried as I slowly and gingerly thrust my very tight, throbbing bottom back towards the paddle's path.

"You have one more coming."

WHACK

"Eleven, Thank YOu Sir." The tears just burst forth. I felt terrible.

"Alright, you can relax." Thomas said in his now deep and smooth voice. As he said it, he grabbed me in his arms. I curled my naked body up on his lap and cried into his broad chest while he rubbed my head. My bottom throbbed in pain, sending piercing bolts through me each time it touched a blanket differently, but it was a good pain. I had taken my punishment and things were okay. I truly felt closure to the entire situation, and a new commitment to my share of the housework.

Needless to say, today is Thursday and this paddled bottom is finally feeling back to normal. Also, the laundry is almost done for the week and I have full plans to clean the bathroom on Saturday. In addition, a few of his chores have been done for him this week, but who knows if that will last.

Crossing the Line

His right eyebrow went up seconds after the disrespectful comment left my mouth… a subtle yet powerful sign that he was not happy with me. Everyone at the table laughed and continued sipping their after-dinner drinks, but my heart lept to my throat and I knew I had crossed the line. My eyes lowered to the white napkin in my lap and then I continued nonchalantly with the conversation, expertly covering the emotions churning inside me.

Dinner with his boss and his boss’ wife continued uneventfully. We knew them well enough, but there was a small air of awkwardness whenever the conversation dwindled. Although dinner with them could be uncomfortable at times, I always welcomed the opportunity to go into the city, especially during the holiday season. We left the restaurant just before ten and he hailed a cab. Before opening the back door to the cab his left hand reached up and strongly pinched the tender skin behind my right arm, sending shivers through my body, confirming his disappointment in me. I climbed in first, sliding across the vinyl seat, acutely aware of the tingling in my bottom foretelling the spanking that was to come when we arrived home. He climbed in beside me, saying nothing, just placing his strong left hand on my inner thigh. I dared not move.

I followed him out of the cab, saying nothing, longing for him to hold my hand, but he didn’t and we waited in silence for the train home. It was cold, the wind whipping through the terminal. The cold did not bother me; my thoughts were on the discipline session that was sure to occur as soon as we arrived home. How could I have been so cutting?

It was only a twenty five minute train ride but it seemed like an eternity. It was crowded and we were forced to sit separately. As we boarded he pointed to where I was to sit and he moved along farther in the cabin and took a seat near an older couple. I was left alone with my emotions and the tingling in my bottom. I knew I had disappointed him. For many wives I am sure it would be nothing, but for us, making a joke at the expensive of the other is disrespectful and completely over the line. It meant a severe spanking. Having been married for eight years, the boundaries were clear, as were the consequences for crossing them.

We walked out of the station to our car; I led the way, wrapping myself tightly in my long black wool coat. He opened my door and kissed me gently as I tucked myself into the familiar seat. We almost always kissed when he opened the door to let me in the car, and I felt relieved that he did not break that tradition. It had been awhile since I crossed this line and I honestly did not know how upset he was. I followed him with my eyes as he circled the car and climbed in. He started it up and we waited a few minutes in silence before pulling out of the lot. I longed to ask him what I was in for, but held my tongue. His fingers tapped the wheel gently and the engine purred as the warm air from the heater took the chill out of the interior of the car. He seemed calm and composed, but my heart raced.

“You crossed the line Tara Marie.”

“I know Sir.” My heart beat faster, almost choking me.

He nodded, eyes straight ahead, calm.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“No Sir. It just slipped out as a joke. I did not mean to be disrespectful, but it was and I am really sorry.” No point in arguing this one. I was toast. Disrespect, especially in public, is not permitted in our relationship.

“And what happens when you are disrespectful Tara ?”

I swallowed hard. “I am spanked Sir.”

He turned left at the light, eight blocks now to our home.

He nodded slowly and then spoke, clearly accentuating each word: “Your spanking tonight will be severe. I am very disappointed. There is nothing funny about making a joke at the expense of others. Do I make fun of you… ever… much less in front of others?”

“No Sir.” Tears forming behind my eyes.

“It was my boss Tara. Have I ever said anything to embarrass you in front of your boss?”

I shook my head.

“Answer me young lady.” His deep calm voice filled the car.

“No Sir, never. I didn’t think. I was just trying to make conversation, but I knew the minute I said it.”

“Well, you should have known the minute before you said it. Do you know now how sore you are going to be when I get done with you this evening?”

“Yes Sir.” I mumbled.

“No Tara , I don’t think you have any idea. Stay right there.”

He pulled into the driveway and walked around to open my door. He helped me out onto the slippery pavement and we made our way inside. He removed my coat and hung it in the front closet. I waited submissively beside him in the entryway, longing for him to hold me tightly, but knowing he wouldn’t, not until after.

“Go upstairs and prepare yourself. I will be up shortly to paddle you.”

I lowered my head and made my way up the steps. The dogs were so happy, bouncing along beside me eager to be pet, but instead I shut the bedroom door tightly, shattering their excitement. I stripped down, carefully hanging my black dress in the closet and removing my nylons, underwear and heels. I quickly used the restroom, checking to make sure I was properly shaven and threw on a little baby powder. I then pulled the large lexan paddle and the heavy wooden paddle from the closet and took out the bag of other implements, placing them all neatly on the dresser. I assumed my position on our bed, bottom up with my knees at my chest, cheek to the comforter, bottom fully exposed. I waited.

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The door opened. I could feel him staring at me.

“Stand up.”

I stood beside the bed; hands locked behind my head, but dared not make eye contact.

He picked up the lexan paddle and walked behind me. I stepped sideways two feet to give him more room. Using the tip of the paddle he traced a line from my wrist to the right arm pit. Thankfully I was properly shaven. He then went slowly down my back and tapped my bottom lightly. He moved to the front of me, still moving the paddle across my skin and went down my naval to between my legs and then down my inner thigh. He tapped the inside of my legs, indicating that I should separate them a bit more and I did, breathing deeply, struggling to contain my emotions.

“Grab your ankles.”

Already trembling from the knowledge of what was to come, I assumed the position. This, in my opinion, is the worst position for a paddling… everything is stretched tightly and fully exposed. I bent over, resting my head on my cool skin and circled my arms around my long bare legs, shivering.

He stepped back and without any warning the first strike of the paddle hit hard, covering both cheeks at once and sending me lunging forward so that I broke position to catch myself with my hands on the floor. The pain was intense, almost unbearable, yet I quickly went back to position.

“One Sir.”

The tears rolled down my face, but I did not out cry loudly. 

WHACK!

“Two Sir.”

His pace was slow and methodical. He landed strike after strike, evenly spaced and very hard. He did not speak, just spanked- the intensity of the paddling serving as words enough. I struggled to hold position, breaking it from time to time due to the force of the strikes. My hair was in my eyes, wet from tears, everything hurt and the strikes continued, seemingly never ending…

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“Twenty Four Sir.”

I was bawling. The searing pain was diminishing because the numbness of a severe paddling was starting to set in. He stopped spanking and placed the paddle on the bed while I gained control.

“Go to your corner.”

I stood slowly, feeling the stiffness set in on my raw, blazing bottom. My bottom felt as if a thousand needles were pricking it all at once and I wanted to dance and rub, but didn’t. I quickly wiped my tears and then placed my hands back behind my head and walked to my corner, burying my nose in the cool paint. I pushed my bottom out and waited, counting my heart beats in the pulsing pain of my bottom.

I heard him sit down on the bed. I felt him studying my backside. I knew the next question that was coming.

“How many penalty strikes did you earn Tara ?”

My heart sunk. I had lost position five times, which meant five additional strokes.

“Five Sir.”

I prayed I was right, but he did not confirm if I was right or wrong. Instead, he lectured.

He reviewed the events of the evening, repeating my comment slowly and expressing the disappointment and embarrassment it caused him. He discussed the quiet cab and train rides and how the trip home was ruined. I only nodded, quietly crying in my corner, becoming more and more convinced that I had a lot more discipline to come.

“Turn around and hand me the wooden paddle.”

I inhaled deeply and turned. I walked to the dresser and picked up the heavy wooden paddle. As I retrieved the paddle I noticed a small present in the mirror. It was about one foot long and quite thin, located on the bed near my pillow. It was wrapped in gold and red paper. I turned and gently handed him the paddle, still daring not to look up to his disappointed eyes but also wondering about the gift.

He took the paddle as I bent back over, tightening the raw bruised skin of my bottom, and again presenting the most tender area of my bottom perfectly for the harsh, heavy frat paddle.

He placed the wood against my red hot bottom, his target, my now very raw and tender sit spot.

“Put your hands on the bed for support.”

I closed my eyes and readied myself for the hard strikes.

WHACK!!!!!!!!

The first strike hit with a loud thwack, lifting me up onto my toes and sending pain straight through me. I cried out and the tears started flowing.

“One, thank you Sir. May I have another?”

WHACK!!!!! The second strike hit in the exact spot as the first. I kicked my feet, struggling to keep my hands on the bed.

“Two, thank you Sir. May I have another?”

WHACK!!!!

The third strike hit a bit higher, perfectly covering both cheeks at the roundest spots, sending a pulse of pain through me.

“Three, thank you Sir. May I have another?” I barely finished speaking the words before the next strike hit. It was softer in force, but across my upper thighs so the pain was almost blinding.

“Ouch, Please, Oh. Four Sir. Thank you Sir. May I have another?”

My eyes closed, the last one was lately always the worst. I clenched and then forced myself to relax and stick my bottom out for the last strike. I trembled as I fought my inner self to keep my raw bottom properly presented for the last strike.

I heard the paddle go back….

WHACK!!!! Right to the underside of my bottom. The wood connected not only with my bottom’s raw skin, but with the even more tender private area as well.

He waited until I was composed enough to breathe normally and then took me by the ear to the straight backed wooden chair by the dresser. He sat me down hard and the needle-like pain pounded in my bottom. I instinctively raised my hands, locking them behind my head and straightened my back. Pain was everywhere. I started crying again, unable to stop trembling.

Ten minutes later I had re-gained control and sat on a very sore, well paddled blazing bottom. He stood and walked over to me from the bed, gently handing me the gift.

“I was going to put this in your stocking, hopefully to be used for a good girl spanking. However, I think your comment tonight warrants that it be used in a not-so-pleasant manner.”

I lowered my arms, they were stiff from being behind my head. I swallowed hard, fingering the paper so as to guess exactly what it was… I knew.

“Open it Tara .”

I opened the festive package, but did not feel any excitement, only gloom. It was a light, thin, foot-long, maple paddle… a slap paddle as we called it, and I knew exactly where it was going to be applied.

“He studied me as I opened it. He knew I knew that not only was my bottom deservedly beaten raw, my inner thighs were about to be paddled as well.”

“Oh, please Sir, not there. I will never do it again.” The tears started up again and true fear mounted within me.

“On your back on the bed Tara .” He spoke very matter of factly and I knew not to argue or plead.

I placed the wrapping neatly on the dresser and climbed onto our bed, belly up, placing the soles of my feet together. I stretched my legs out in the butterfly position, perfectly exposing my inner thighs for the paddle. My hands locked behind my head and I focused on trying to stop my body from trembling and my mind from racing.

He climbed onto the bed beside me, leaning in close as he drew a line down my body with a paddle for the second time that evening. It stopped between my legs, ever so briefly, again checking that I had properly prepared, and then came to rest on my right inner thigh.

“Twenty on each side Tara Marie, and then you are done. I expect you will hold position.”

I nodded, clenched my teeth, closed my eyes and silently told myself to hold position.

Again the first strike landed, sending intense pain through me. A spanking on the bottom is one thing, but a paddle to the inner thigh is sheer agony. He spanked with quick, sharp, smacks, punishing every bit of the tender skin of my right thigh multiple times. I sobbed heavily and with each strike arched my back up slightly off the mattress, but I never closed my legs.

After twenty well delivered smacks he paused, allowing me to regain composure. He stood and walked around to the other side of the bed, again climbing up close to me, further punishing me by being so close but offering no affection.

The paddle tapped the inside of my left thigh lightly. I braced, tightening my hands behind my head and again closed my eyes.

THWACK, THWACK, THWACK………

He delivered twenty solid strikes to the left side. I counted silently in my head, but on the twentieth I cried out, “Twenty!”

I looked into his eyes, still in position. I could see that it was over. Thomas gently straightened out my legs and then stretched out next to me, rolled me on to my side and then held me tightly. I cried as he brushed my tear-soaked blonde hair from my face and kissed my cheek, neck and shoulders. My thighs pounded and my bottom burned, but it was over and now I was safe in Thomas’ arms.

“Shhhhh.”

His voice was soft. He continued to comb my hair with his fingers and cradled my blazing bottom in his strong body, kissing me gently.

“I am soooo sorry Thomas.” I cried softly.

“I know honey. Shhhh, it’s over. You took it very well.”

I snuggled in tighter and was asleep before he turned off the lights.