You can read more of my stuff here. 

I always swore that I wouldn't allow any man to put himself above me, let alone punish me.

Yet, here I am, in an orange bra and panties, stretched over the muscular thighs of my boyfriend, getting myself ready for the very first smack on my firm, modern woman's bottom. What's worse, I see a hairbrush on the bed that Marc will use on me as soon as his hand hurts too much, while my ass definitely won't stop hurting. I didn't want to close my eyes. I had to perceive my situation with all my senses, even though my buttocks would perceive most of it.

How did I get into my humiliating position?

It's like sailing the river in a canoe when the current sweeps you away at a waterfall when it's too late. I was maturing at college, where I originally wanted to become so independent from men that I made contact mainly with girls. I did a striptease for black twins Liz and Emily for a few nights, and then we didn't fall asleep until we all were satisfied at least three times. Later, Crystal joined us with her long slender legs and ass in the shape of a giant heart.

But times are changing. Liz and Emily went on evangelical missionary work, and even though Crystal and I enjoyed each other's nudity for a long time, we eventually found jobs and partners. Marc is a feminist, just like I am, and I didn't think he'd have a problem obeying me, just like I am obeying my lady boss at the company where I work as a manager.

I loved the feeling that as an independent woman, I was only aiming upwards. That's why I was so disappointed when I heard about Crystal's decision to leave the progressive publishing house to be the housewife of her love - Gerald. I was determined to get her back on the right path, so I visited her at her house one morning while Gerald was at work.

Since our last meeting, Crystal had an even longer skirt and chestnut heir. She looked optimistic, but among her kitchen tools, I checked that the women's prison was built of wood, as evidenced by the spoon, rolling board, and chopping board. An oval wooden paddle even hung on the wall, which I didn't understand as Crystal hadn't had children yet.

"So, this is how your studies end?" I asked and sat up.

 "I've always got a lot of work to do, and I'm making my own decision when to take a break," Crystal snapped and began to wash a jar with a polished portrait of Martin Luther King. "And I always hated my mom when she was coming up with a strategy for selling gummy bears, and sis and I didn't have anyone to tell who pissed us off in the school."

I was about to come up with a more intelligent answer, but someone walked into the house. I hoped to get some surprises, but that was Gerald who didn't manage only the working pauses but the whole working time.  

"Tathagatha Buddha," he spat the course and tugged at his redneck beard. "Penelope is here? I thought we agreed that the woman was a disaster for you and me, for both of us. I don't see how you could have thought of opening the door for her!"

"I just tried to explain to her how our lifestyle is much more natural and harmonious," Crystal said.

"And I would strongly disagree with that!" I shouted.

"Can't you put your nose out of my life, Penny?!" Crystal was so raging that her hand struck the glass, pushing Dr. King into the ground, shattering it, not even letting the man's face whole.

"That's how it ends when a cursed woman comes to us!" Shards were now between Crystal and Gerald, but her husband had long arms. All it took was for Crystal to turn a little, and Gerald slapped her butt with his broad palm.

"OWWWWWW!" Crystal screamed so loud that it surpassed the earlier sound of shattered glass. She did a little dance and rubbed the affected area. Not for long, because Gerald grabbed her arm and led her to get past the shards to him. With his other arm, he took the paddle off the wall.

"You should leave, Penelope, and I ensure Crystal never speaks to you again!" Before I could count to three, Gerald hiked his wife's skirt. She had black panties, but they stayed with her only until my first breath. Gerald pulled on them and turned them into two pieces that joined the glittering remnants on the floor. I saw the lovely ass I loved to play with again, but even the full cheeks weren't supposed to stay intact for long. Gerald smacked her once, then a second and third time with the oval wood. Crystal moaned while her ass showed suffering with a significant flush. Gerald finally threw it over his shoulder as if she were some cattle thief detained by the sheriff. He took her to where I knew they had a bedroom, but his will to punish her didn't weaken. I had the impression that he was adding punishment to the separate blows. The strokes sounded more sinister, and Crystal's scream- More stimulating.       

I casually gathered most of the shards and left the house. Of course, my face was flushing, but I had a hard time chasing away my fascination with what I saw, how my girlfriend had been overpowered, and how the paternalistic blows on her behind and her tearful screams of regret echoed through the house.

I was glad I got on the bus because I would be nervous behind the steering wheel. I thought about it until the evening when I curled up in bed beside the sleeping Marc. I put on my nightgown and wondered what I had seen. I couldn't believe that there are still men who punish their wives, and there are women who put up with it.

Wouldn't I put up with it? What would I expect to happen if I did something stupid and Marc had moral ground? There was no other way. I freed my shameless thighs and buttocks to rest on the sheets. My lightly trimmed slit had been burning since I witnessed Crystal's fate. One finger wasn't enough to silence its request. I had to stick two in there, recall the image again, and fill in the missing details. How Crystal cries, how her husband scolds her for talking to me, how a good housewife hisses in pain whenever she bends down while cooking or cleaning. I arched my back and exhaled in a pleasure that Marc had never brought me.

The desire to pay attention to my crotch didn't leave me, but I was starting to be too lazy to do that and soon fell asleep. When I woke up, Marc next to me still hadn't woken up, and I had strange feelings about my dream. What happened there? I was convicted, and they tied my hands, but what did they sentence me to?

I remembered the image of an executioner with a cruel smile - lifting a cane from a pedestal. For God's sake, I have to satisfy myself somehow! I started showing myself in a submissive light to Marc. I got up, made eggs for breakfast, which was usually his job, and brought them to his bed.

"Penny, what happened? Did I oversleep?" my boyfriend asked timidly.

"No, don't worry. I want to reorganize our household a bit. I'll explain it to you tonight." I aroused his curiosity, but he didn't ask any more questions. I printed out many of my emails with documents at work to do a little experiment with him. He made dinner, but mainly because he came home first. After we ate, I stripped down to my underwear and dragged Marc into the bedroom, but I had something non-erotic with me. I showed him my printed papers and sighed. "Look at what my job entails."

"You want to quit?" screamed Marc anxiously.

"No, but sometimes I'm not far from it. I work hard and have money and respect for it, but sometimes I'm exhausted. I need firmer bosses. I thought it would be nice if my boss were a man, and he would spank my ass like a lazy little teenager. Please don't laugh at me. Discipline is discipline."

For a moment, it looked like Marc was going to cry. "You know how it reminds me of what men once did to their wives with impunity. How do they still beat them worldwide without anything happening to them?"

"Yes- I know that. But this is motivation. The pain will bring me back to reality, and I'll be able to remind myself that I'm a real woman who asked for this herself and knows her man will never do it if she doesn't agree to it!" I tried to appear energetic to let him know that I was serious. "Sometimes we swap places at home. You punish me in the evening, and then I turn into a woman who does something very submissive. Like this morning, for example."

Marc held back all the tears now, nodding his head. He stood up, opened a drawer from my side table, and took out a hairbrush, which he placed on his pillow. Then he stretched out his legs.

"Honor my lap," he commanded.

Lying down, I lay over his legs and lifted my pelvis to his face for a moment. Well, I got to the position I described to you at the beginning. Sorry about the filler.

Marc showed his kind soul. He stroked my neck with one hand and followed the lines of my butt with the other palm just as lovingly. Suddenly, he stopped, and I saw him roll up his sleeves. He stroked my ass once gently, as he did during foreplay, and then he reached out, and that kind hand ended up on my cheek with an arousing SLAP! I squirmed, but Marc immobilized me with a good grip and struck again, this time harder and on the other cheek. I enjoyed it. Although I reproached him a little in my mind for leaving my panties on, I hoped that he would put more force into the following strokes.

SLAP!!!

Mary did not disappoint. He rhythmically altered between the right and the left cheek. I laughed for a while, but soon I got over it. The spanking hurt. It definitely strengthened my senses. I felt my blood flowing a little faster, and the warmth in my ass would have been pleasant under other circumstances. Not to mention how, for the first time, I saw my boyfriend as a strong being who could match me. However, I couldn't get used to the aching, which remained under the protective layer of my underwear. And it grew. God, it grew. I would have expected my ass numbs after some time, but it didn't happen. Well, that's why it was always such a popular punishment.

I started crying. Among other things, I hoped that Marc would awaken his bleeding heart and decide to stop. But I achieved the exact opposite. My boyfriend pulled my panties down and finally took a hairbrush. Why didn't we agree on a safe word?  Maybe because I didn't think this was BDSM.

Marc hadn't let up before, but now I felt like he had found a new energy that he put into every beat of a much harder instrument, much to the chagrin of my heated buttocks. The hairbrush has always struck forcefully on this or that spot. I made a drawn-out "AAAARGH!" very often, which sounded more acceptable than admitting that I was screaming and twisting while doing it, but the wooden thing never missed. Marc's words were muffled because of the noise, but somehow I understood them.

"You have to concentrate at work.- WHACK!- because one day we may have children-WHACK!! -and son and daughter must see-WHACK!! -how strong mommy is-WHACK!! WHACK!! -to understand what a woman can achieve. You're strong, aren't you, darling?" WHACK!! WHACK!! WHACK!! WHACK!! WHACK!!

"Yes, I am!"

"Then you'll hold out for twenty more strokes!" I was lucky that I didn't have to count them. He wouldn't understand me through tears. However, that doesn't mean I don't feel every single one. Marc was beating me with all his might and found a new one in himself. It pleased him, judging by movements under his pants, so he lost the reason to spare me. 

And who was the damn cow that allowed him to do that?

"AAAAAHHHH!"

Relief flooded my body with the last stroke, but Marc held me even as I got up from his lap and my legs tangled in my panties hanging at my knees. 

 "Don't rub it and stay bent over," he admonished me. "Do you feel horny, too?"

I didn't know how to answer that. The pain was terrible, but I felt something was liberating me, and Marc seemed more attractive to me. 

"I want to make love to you like I'm drunk."

Marc smiled. "So, we're in the same situation. We have to end it spectacularly!" He helped me completely free myself from my panties, but he continued in a completely different way than I would have imagined. He pulled me out of the bedroom, paying no attention to the fact that I was sobbing from sudden movements. He guided me to the table with the mirror.

"Bend."

I bent down and stared directly at my tearful face and breasts in a bra. With my ass sticking out, I was scared because it was clear to me that something more was going to happen to it.

Marc surprised me because he held our carpet beater when he returned. Rattan. The very same material from which they made they made the canes.

"How much do you feel?"

I am a strong woman. "I don't think less than twelve would make sense."

 This time, I had a good view of him, including the moments when he smiled devilishly, stretched out his arm, and started beating me as if I needed to be cleaner,  too.

 THUD!

"That's not enough! Say - Know your place, foolish female!"

"Yes, dear! Know your place, foolish woman!"

He multiplied my suffering eleven times more, and I always looked greedily for every stroke in the mirror. As soon as he finished, I took my bra off and even though it hurt, I jumped on Marc so I could hold on to him, wrapping my legs around his waist.

I have to say that after the events of that evening and eventually the night, I get excited even just cooking. And if I feel like I'm doing something wrong? At that moment, for example, a long wooden paddle, which Marc bought the next day, comes in handy...