Hindsight

You might recall that I promised an explanation for my tardy arrival at our weekly spanko brunch. Well, here’s what I was doing…

Early in the week, I asked Randy what he wanted for Fathers’ Day. “You,” was his only response. Never mind that he can have that pretty much any other day of the year. As the week progressed, he dropped some subtle and not-so-subtle hints that he might have something special up his sleeve for Sunday.

After so many years together, he might as well not ever bother acting coy. I can just tell when he’s cooking up some special treatment. The dead giveaway was Friday evening when he just looked at me and grinned like a fool. At that moment, I recognized that something was afoot. My attempts to query him were rebuffed with annoyed amusement.

Saturday came and went without incident. Not another word was spoken about the present he planned to claim. By Sunday morning, I had almost forgotten. When I awoke, the clock read 7:45am. I noticed that Randy was up and out of bed before me. That’s a rarity, especially on a Sunday. I got up, used the bathroom, got a drink of water, and brushed my teeth (just in case). I got back into bed because I was still tired and it felt very comfortable to slip between clean sheets. Soon, I was slumbering again.

Some time later, I awoke to the presence of my dear husband kneeling beside me. Even in my sleepy state, I would have welcomed his touch. But he didn’t touch me. He was instead working above me. I lazily rolled over to gaze at his masterstroke in the making. He was busy rigging cords so a framed mirror could hang from the hook he installed in our bedroom ceiling. He struggled for a bit before settling on a position where the edge of the mirror closest to the head of the bed was tipped up toward the ceiling.

“Sorry, Hon,” he said as he settled in next to me. “I couldn’t stop to explain until the mirror was right.” “OK, whatever,” I thought. I squeezed my eyes shut against the undeniable daylight streaming through the blinds. When he began kissing my neck, however, I started paying more attention. Before long, he was nibbling at my breasts and sending erotic shock waves straight through me. Randy now had my interest.

“Turn on your stomach,” he directed. I did, knowing full well what would soon follow. My lover arranged a couple of pillows beneath my hips. I couldn’t avoid considering the irony that I would soon need to employ pillows on the opposite side. He tugged up my nightgown to expose my bottom, still clad in a pair of comfortable white cotton briefs. Rather than lower my panties, he raised them – right up between my cheeks.

Randy then handed me a small hand mirror. It was, appropriately, shaped like a paddle, though it was too delicate for that purpose. He told me to turn it so I could see the mirror hanging overhead. When I did, he asked me what I saw. I told him I could see the back of my head (“Does my hair really look that?”). He jiggled his overhead assembly and then repeated his request. This time, I told him I could see my lower back, bottom, and thighs. “Perfect,” he proclaimed.

I now realized that he wanted me to witness my own spanking. Not only would I feel every swat, I was expected to watch them land as well. I was simultaneously intrigued and unnerved by this prospect. Fortunately, he didn’t leave me much time to ponder my fate.

I wasn’t even watching when the first blow from the wooden hairbrush made contact with my pale skin. I sure felt it though. It detonated across the surface of my upturned bottom with an intense burn. I struggled to regain my composure enough to allow me to reposition my small mirror. I missed the second sizzling swat delivered to the opposite side as well. By the time my lover returned his sadistic attention to the first cheek, I witnessed the savage collision between polished wood and rounded flesh. Although it was every bit as painful as the two preceding whacks, I was suddenly and surprisingly fascinated by this spanking show in which I was the star. Down came the brush. Up came the blush. Again and again, I stared and cringed, cringed and stared as Randy repeated his percussive Fathers’ Day message.

Somewhere around the halfway point, it occurred to me that I rather liked enjoyed being both spankee and voyeur at the same time. It was almost an out-of-body spanking experience, except that I still felt every single blazing impact. There was a brief golden moment, frozen in time, where I watched the wicked punishment brush descending, as if in slow motion. Far from dreading the violent contact, I resolved to welcome it. I wanted to be the proud owner of that red, red bottom I saw in the mirror. I wanted to be the horny, spanked wife. It suited me. In fact, I totally deserved it all. I woke up for a spanking. All day long, I was destined to carry a distinctive glow put there by my lover.

I buried my face in the pillow and watched no more. Undeterred, Randy continued whacking away until he decided I was finished. My bottom throbbed, but all I could think about was the heat between my thighs. The very air was scented with my arousal.

Apparently, Randy’s thoughts ran in parallel because, as if with a single motion, he rolled me onto my back, slid off my panties, lifted and parted my knees, and lowered himself upon me. As quickly as that, our coital tango had begun. The speed with which my first orgasm overtook me robbed me of both my breath and my senses. Later, I reflected that Fathers’ Day is not an occasion for slow, romantic warm-ups. In the depths of passion, though, I knew only that the pleasure and pain were my yin and yang. Together, they blended to produce a wondrous explosion of joy.

Afterward, as we were lying close, Randy asked me if I watched our lovemaking in the mirror. I told him that thought hadn’t even occurred to me until after the events had concluded. Both mind and body, I explained, quite fully occupied with his ferocious love. I did, however, enjoy watching my bottom compress, recoil, grow pale and then redden with each stroke of the brush. We had played with mirrors before, but never so effectively. This was an excellent Fathers’ Day celebration, even though I felt like the one receiving the gift!

Keywords: spanking, hairbrush spanking, spanking story, spanko, erotic spanking