My Wish Was Her Command

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

A couple of days later, Justine mentioned the spanking and asked if I still felt okay with it, and if I still wanted more, if I wanted it to be included in our marriage. I said yes to both.

“I can’t pretend to understand why it turns me on,” I told her. “Whatever it is, I just love it. And I love you.” I kissed her then, and she smiled.

“I love you, too,” she said, looking into my eyes. “And you don’t have to explain it or understand it. I just want to make you happy. I can get into this. I’ll get better with time.”

“You’re already great,” I assured her. “You were wonderful the other day.”

“Oh, but I’ll make progress,” she said. “And so will you. You’ll see.”

A few days later, I got an e-mail from her while I was at work. Let’s not cook tonight, it read. I don’t have the energy, and we could use more time, so you should get us some take-out. I e-mailed back to say that I’d pick something up on my way home, but she replied: No. Come home first. You can go get the food later. I puzzled over this but wrote her a message that it was fine.

When I got home, I stepped into the kitchen and saw a note on the counter. Come to the bedroom, it read. I smiled and hastened upstairs, thinking that it was time for a quickie. I pictured Justine lying in bed in some sexy lingerie, perhaps with a bottle of massage oil or something.

When I opened the door, I saw that she was indeed in bed. But instead of lingerie, she wore the same clothes she’d put on that morning for work. She was propped up with a couple of pillows behind her back, and she was reading a book. I noticed a laundry basket in the middle of the floor; it contained my clothes, which I’d washed several days before.

“Ah, good,” she said when I entered, closing her book and sitting up. “This laundry of yours has been here for days. You said you were going to put it away.”

“I’ll do it right now,” I said, moving toward the basket.

“Stop,” she said, and I did. “You certainly will put away those clothes. But you will be punished for not doing it when you should have. Yes, you’re in for another spanking, my dear. Your little butt will regret being so lazy. First, you’ll put away the clothes while I watch. And since you seem to have trouble with clothes, you’re going to take all of yours off. Now.”

I hurried to comply, unbuttoning my shirt and tossing it into the dirty clothes hamper, then peeling off my undershirt. She stared admiringly at my muscled torso, but then her eyes went down and her look became stern. “You wore your shoes in the house?” she said. “You know you’re supposed to take them off at the door. Mmm, I’ll have to add to your punishment for that.”

I was once again nervous and joyously excited at the same time as I stripped before my wife’s hungry eyes. She sat on the bed and watched as I put all of my clothes away, and when I was finished, I returned to stand in front of her, hands at my sides.

“Now,” she said, “I’m going to give you a lesson about remembering to do things on time. Over my lap.”

I did as I was told, lying face down and feeling my erection rubbing against the fabric of her pants. “And these are clean pants,” she told me. “Don’t you dare come on them. Don’t even ooze.”

I nodded my assent, and without further ado, she began smacking my ass with her hand, using a slow and steady rhythm. None of the whacks were too hard, but after twenty or so, my cheeks were growing quite warm and began to hurt. I had no idea how long she would go on. After what seemed like fifty, she paused.

“I’m glad you got me this paddle,” she said, and I knew she must have picked it up from somewhere nearby—I hadn’t even noticed it. “My hands start to hurt after a while. Now your ass is getting pretty rosy, so we’ll keep the paddling part small. Say, ten smacks for each day you didn’t put your laundry away. That’s thirty by my count.”

“I agree,” I said.

“I thought you would,” she said. “You’ve felt the paddle now and know what it can do, so when you agree to thirty, I won’t have any qualms about you yelling and squirming in pain.” And with that, she began.

I started squirming after only five or six. She must have been practicing or something, or maybe doing more pushups, because these definitely felt harder than the last time. After the first dozen or so, I cried out at each smack. She just kept spanking and spanking, bringing the paddle down again and again, remorselessly. When I started shifting my hips around, vainly trying to avoid each smack in spite of myself, she quickly draped her right leg over both of my legs, about a foot below my stinging buns, and she kept on going. For good measure, she used her left hand to hold both of my wrists behind my back so that I was completely immobile and powerless in her hold. The swats kept raining down, and through the pain, I felt that mysterious elation that came from being in this position. My c**k was hard as stone, and it was difficult to keep thinking about not coming on Justine’s pants. With every loud smack on my bare flesh, I felt like letting loose and shooting my huge load, but I didn’t dare.

Eventually I received all thirty of my smacks with the paddle, and Justine let go of me and told me to get up. My ass burned terribly, but I knew better than to rub it. Besides, I was rather enjoying the deliciously agonizing glow. I stood before her once more, my c**k pulsing and jumping in the air in front of her.

“I’m glad to see you’re satisfied so far,” she smiled. “But I must tell you that we’re not finished. I want you to grab a few pillows and stack them in the center of the bed.”

I did this thing, trembling with anticipation. She told me to grab one of the towels we always keep by the bedside—our “come towels”—and drape it over the pillows. When I finished and looked up, I saw her holding the riding crop in her right hand, tapping its tip lightly against her left palm.

“Now this thing is going to sting,” she said. “I tested it a little on my own leg, and it doesn’t take much. So we’re going to do a little test round since it’s new to both of us. Before we determine how hard I’ll be swinging this, let’s discuss your strokes. I’ll give you two for each day you neglected your laundry. That’s six.”

She looked at me and raised an eyebrow inquiringly. I understood that this was my implicit chance to protest or dispute the number or just refuse any more punishment. I needed it, though. I simply nodded silently.

“It’s settled, then,” she said, her expression firmly resolved once more. “Six it is. Then, of course, there’s the matter of not taking your shoes off....” She drifted off, once again looking to me for confirmation.

“Another three,” I said chokingly.

“Very well,” she replied. “Lie face down on the bed. I want your ass propped up high by those pillows.”

I slowly complied, savoring the anticipation of the moment, aching to have the crop across my ass.

“First, our little test,” she said. The she flicked me lightly. “Too light?”

“Yes,” I said, and almost before the word was out of my mouth, I felt the crop again, much more solidly. I took a moment to think about it.

“And that?” she inquired.

“Just a bit harder,” I said, then thought: What am I saying? That last one really hurt! I’ve got to take nine more of these!

But it was too late. She did just as I asked, whipping me just a little harder, and it took a couple of seconds for the sting to fully ripen. “Owwwww...” I said in a slightly protesting tone, not feeling the pain go away.

“That sounds like it was just about right,” she commented. “And now that I know how much force to use, let’s begin your six strokes.”

I nodded, no longer sure that I was ready for this punishment. Then I heard a light swish through the air and felt the first stroke. “Ahh!” I said sharply. Then the second came down immediately, the line of the crop falling across both buns, just below the spot where the first had hit. The third was slightly lower than that. The sting was intense, always building after the hit. The fourth really hurt; when I winced, I felt a tear start to run down the left side of my face.

“That hurts, does it?” she asked, and when I nodded, another stroke whipped across both buttocks. “Good,” she said as it fell, then, “Get ready for number six.”

I took some deep breaths and waited for the inevitable. Finally it came down, the hardest one yet, and I yelped. My ass was on fire. I wriggled my hips, somehow trying to relieve the pain without reaching back and touching my butt. It did not relieve the pain. It did, however, bring me very close to orgasm. Still I held back.

Justine paused and walked toward the head of the bed. She ran her fingers gently over my bottom as she spoke to me. “I just wanted to let you know that you have very definite welts,” she said. “I know you like this, or thought you would, but I want to take a time-out here. I just want to make sure that I’m not really hurting you too much. Is it more painful than you thought it would be?”

“Yes,” I said, in a voice slightly louder than a whisper. “But it’s OK. Really. I’m all right. I love that you’re doing this for me.”

“Are you sure? You’ll probably have marks on your butt for a day or two after this. I don’t want to damage you. I know that you have three more strokes coming, but I want to give you a chance to escape those. Or maybe you can just postpone them. I don’t need to whip you any more right now. It’s up to you.”

“Thank you,” I said. “But I really want to. I want to take my remaining three. You’ve got me electrified, and I really want release.”

She smiled. “Okay. As long as you want it. Get ready for your three strokes. This should teach you to take your shoes off when you come home.”

And then there was a Whoosh! I felt a renewed sting. I ground my hips against the pillow, and as the next stroke whacked my ass, I knew I would come. My balls tightened and my legs tingled, and I felt an enormous delight and warmth wash over my whole body. My c**k spasmed and the last, hard stroke of the crop slashed into my ass as I shot my huge load, spurts erupting from my body, drenching the towel and spattering onto the blankets. I sobbed and gasped as I slowly came back to myself, still feeling the agony in my butt, and still loving it.

Justine stroked my head. “Are you OK?” she asked, looking concerned and kissing me. “Did I hurt you too badly?”

“I’m... okay...” I said, still panting. “I’m wonderful. Thank you. Thank you so much. God, I love you.”

I rolled over then, taking her in my arms and pulling her to me, careful to avoid pulling her into the puddles I’d created. We kissed long and deep, and finally she stood up and began taking her clothes off. “Before you get our dinner,” she said, “I think you’d better have something to eat.” And she jumped into bed, lying on her back, spreading her legs, and pushing my head down toward her crotch. I was only too happy to serve her, to give her whatever she wanted, this lovely wife of mine who had thrown herself into the unfamiliar role I had asked her to play.