A Progressive Spanking

I believe I’ve mentioned before that Randy and I are somewhat active in our local arts scene. Back before the holidays, we had the pleasure of being guests at a special fundraising event. It was expensive and exclusive. We were able to attend because a couple we know had a last minute change in plans.

The event was a themed progressive dinner. Each course of the meal was served at a different downtown arts venue. For example, the appetizers were in the concert hall, the main course was offered in the art museum, and so forth. Each venue featured a different motif and was presented by a different chef. We had a great time. The food was fabulous and we had the opportunity to talk with many interesting arts people.

Last night, my dear Prince Charming announced that he decided it would be fun to adapt this concept and give me a progressive spanking. “OK,” I replied. “This could have possibilities.” I played along. His version was not as well choreographed as the arts event, but it was certainly a memorable evening!

He began in the living room. This, he informed me, was the principal’s office. I was instructed to lift my skirt and place my hands on the coffee table. I complied. He produced a long wooden paddle and began tapping my derriere.

“You’ve been talking in class again, Miss Bonnie, chewing gum, passing notes, spreading unfounded rumors, and teasing the boys too. This behavior is completely unacceptable. As I'm sure you realize, I’m going to have to punish you now. You’ve been here several times before so I won’t bother explaining how the process works. Just remain in position and think about what you might do to avoid more paddlings in the future.”

“Yes, sir.” I was totally enjoying his stern principal role play.

With that, Randy brusquely yanked down my panties to expose his target. He stood silently for a moment, presumably to admire the scene he had set. Without another word, he swung the big paddle and unleashed the first swat. It exploded across my bottom with a fiery fury. Before I could fully assess the impact, let alone catch my breath, the paddle struck again in the very same spots. I recall thinking that it could be a short progressive spanking if he uses me up in the first venue. Three more monumental swats followed, just as intensely hard as the first pair. Still, I held my position. My bottom burned, tingled, and ached, all at once. When he told me that I was excused, I breathed a sigh of relief.

The next stop, I was informed, would be the chef’s kitchen. As it turned out, the chef had a kitchen that was remarkably similar to ours. I was informed that the executive chef wanted to speak with me immediately. Randy broke into a stilted French accent that sounded like a goofy cross between Pepe LePew and Inspector Clouseau. It certainly didn’t sound much like anyone from France. He carried on regardless.

“Mademoiselle Beau-nee! You haf inzulted ze gyreat zhef. You tell ze guest zat ze zoufflee iz no good. You tell zem to awder ze cheekun instead! Zis iz ze outraige!” I tried to be serious, but I just couldn’t. Before Chef Rawndee completed his mock tirade, I was giggling uncontrollably.

“Ze girl, she mocks me!” he exclaimed, choking back a laugh himself. “All right,” he finally said in his normal voice, “Just get over that counter.” Still laughing, I did.

He used most of the usual kitchen implements to reheat my bottom. Randy’s choices included a bread board (ow!), a plastic spatula, and of course, a large wooden spoon. He applied each skillfully to bring added warmth to my already smarting posterior.

Our next stop was the garage. This, I learned, was the woodshed. It didn’t take too much imagination to guess what would happen there. “Git that skirt up, young ‘un! Y’all’s gitting a bad whuppin!’” As he pulled his brown leather belt through the loops of his jeans, I valiantly fought back the urge to inquire which member of the Hee Haw cast he was attempting to imitate. He had me bend over his workbench. In truth, it was too tall to actually bend over, so I merely placed my elbows upon the top. I lifted my skirt as directed. Turning my head, I saw Randy double the belt in preparation for use as a spanking implement.

“Now, little lady. This here’s gonna hurt me a whole lot more’n it’s gonna hurt you. But y’all gonna be the one that cain’t set fer a whahle.”

I heard the belt whistle through the air a split second before it snapped against my crimson flesh. A loud crack accompanied a searing burn sensation. Subsequent impacts stoked and spread the fire. In an odd way, it was painful, but not unpleasant. In fact, as the leather fell again and again, I began to become increasingly aroused. Being on the receiving end of a well executed spanking virtually always turns me on. But this feeling had a bit more immediacy than most. I fancied Randy taking me right there in the garage. When there was a break in the action, I told him so. His response was that our journey still had a couple more stops. “Hrmmpf!” I mumbled.

Back into the house he led me again. We moved, of all places, into the master bathroom. Randy ordered me to strip naked. I did so without hesitation. When he started the water running in the tub, I thought we might jump in. Not so. This was to be an aquatic spanking.

Randy asked me to bend over and place my hands on the side of the tub. He retrieved a plastic bath brush from the closet and dipped it in the stream of water. Employing the flat back of that damp brush, he delivered yet another scalding spanking. Every few swats, he would wet the implement again. Each whack yielded a loud pop and an intense sting. At this stage, my husband’s strokes weren’t that hard. He was instead snapping his wrist to land sharp, crisp blows upon my well punished backside. Fortunately for me, this entertainment didn’t last too long. I suspect the sight and feel of my naked body might have distracted him (at least I want to hope so).

He carefully dried me with a towel and then we exited into our bedroom. He sat on the side of the bed and beckoned me to approach. The final stage, he explained, would be a lover’s spanking. When I took my familiar place across his lap, my seat was already throbbing. I certainly didn’t need anything more. But there I was. Randy spanked me using his hand. This felt wonderful, especially when that hand wandered. I enjoyed my first shuddering orgasm as his fingers danced between my thighs.

Soon after, Randy grew tired of spanking and decided that he too could benefit from some attention. I happily took his member in my mouth and explored the boundaries of his sensual pleasure. As I tended to his carnal desires, I thought about how fortunate I am to have a husband willing to indulge my kink. For this, I am most grateful.

Before he reached completion, Randy stopped me and had me kneel at the edge of the bed. There he entered and filled me completely. I adore that sensation. Amid his piston-like motions, he began to again swat my bottom. I panted with lust. He kept his pace. Before long, each of us reached a teeth clinching, fist squeezing, toe clenching, eye squinting crescendo. It was beautiful.

After it was all over, we lay on the bed side by side. A gentle haze of contentment surrounded us. We were aware that we had an entire house full of spanking implements to clean up, but at that moment, it simply didn’t matter. We embraced before climbing beneath the warm comfort of the covers.

I’m sore today, but not nearly as much as I would have thought. At this point, around lunchtime, it’s little more than a happy reminder of a wonderful evening. I have to rate Randy’s progressive spanking experiment as another great success. Laughing and loving are two elements that make our lives worthwhile. So far, 2006 has been a fine year for both!

Keywords: spanking, spanking story, sex