On the Bench

 by Sonny

"I'm going to whip you so hard you won't sit down for a week," said my wife after finding out I'd forgotten to enter yet another ATM withdrawal. "How many times do I have to tell you. I don't care if you make them, just write them in the checkbook." I didn't have an answer because she was right. I always manage to forget to enter them, and it finally got to her.

"Since tomorrow is your day off, don't expect to be doing anything other than what I tell you," she informed me. Do you understand?" "Yes ma'am," I replied, knowing I was in trouble and deserved it. When she wants to, she can give me a spanking that leaves my ass sore for days, but I'd never made her this mad before. I wasn't looking forward to tomorrow. I was unaware she planned to start tonight.

During dinner, she was her usual sweet self, but as I was finishing, she said, "When you're done eating, I want you to take a shower. Then present your bare butt to me in the living room." I didn't answer right away and she glared at me, waiting for a response. "Well," she demanded. "Yes ma'am," I meekly replied and went to do as she ordered.

As I showered, I reflected on how I came to be in this predicament. After we were married, we started telling each other our fantasies, and my favorite has always been a good, old-fashioned, bare-bottom spanking by a beautiful woman. She was hesitant at first, but once she started, she proved to be an expert. She even takes me out to the woods and uses a switch to blister my bare bottom.

Aside from the obvious benefits in bed, she discovered that soundly spanking me markedly improved my behavior. The more often she applied the strap or paddle, the better it worked. We were to the point where she was spanking me at least once a week, but lately she had been distracted by work, and more than a month had passed since my last one. Obviously, I had lapsed back to my old forgetful self. Now I would have to pay for it.

The sudden blast of cold water brought me out of my reverie and reminded me that we have a small water heater. But even the cold water couldn't wilt my erection. The thought of what my wife was going to do to me had me hard as a rock. I was actually looking forward to the whipping I would soon be getting.

After drying off, I dressed in my uniform and walked into the living room, where she was waiting to begin my punishment. She was sitting on the couch holding her small paddle, and she smiled when she saw the condition I was in. "I don't think you're going to find this whipping all that exciting," she said as I stood before her. "This one won't be fun, but if you're still hard when I'm finished, I just might make use of it." Patting her lap, she said, "You know where to go; don't make me tell you."

Slowly, I crawled across her lap and was no sooner in position then the paddle landed, hard. And it kept landing hard. This was no ordinary warm-up. She meant business, and my bottom was on fire after only a few swats. If this was the warm-up, I wasn't looking forward to what was going to happen on the bench. She has a wide variety of paddles, straps, canes, and switches from which to choose for the real punishment, and she knows how to use them all.

I tried to keep count of the swats she was giving me, but she had that small paddle landing so fast, I lost track around 80. She had to be well on her way to two hundred before she paused to check the heat of my inflamed bottom. "Hmm, not quite ready yet," she commented and resumed paddling my stinging buns.

After another furious burst, she slowed the pace and made sure every inch of my bottom was thoroughly reddened. From the tops of my cheeks to halfway down my thighs, she made sure I was beet red and ready for the bench. She had never paddled me this long or this hard before, and I began begging her to stop.

"I'll stop when I'm good and ready," she told me. “And for the next few days, you're going to think about why you got this whipping every time you sit down." She gave me another thirty or so swats before she laid her paddle on the table and said, "That should be warm enough. Now I want you to get up and go in the bedroom. I'll be in in a couple of minutes, and you know how I want you." "Yes, ma'am," I replied, standing up. "Tell me," she demanded, wanting to hear it from me.

I hesitated, eyes downcast, hoping I wouldn't have to answer, but she was in no mood to be patient with me. "Tell me," she demanded again, "if you know what's good for you." "On the bench," I mumbled and turned to go. "Yes, and I want you to think about why you're being punished," she said as I left the room.

I really was being punished. This was no play-acting on her part; it was the real thing. The worst part was she was right. I should remember to write down the withdrawals, but for some reason, I usually forget. Now my ass was paying for it, and if the warmup was any indication, it was going to be a long, painful evening. I didn't know how right I was.

As I lay there, draped over the bench, my flaming ass high in the air for her to punish further, I realized how lucky I was to find the woman of my dreams. Though she was really punishing me this time, I've always liked being spanked, and now was no different. I was looking forward with a mixture of fear and anticipation to what she had in store for me.

My heart started pounding as I heard her walking down the hallway. My time was up. The execution of the sentence was at hand, and it was going to hurt. She walked into the room and commented on what a nice target I presented, and then proceeded to tie my hands to the bench. "I know you're going to wiggle tonight, so I'm going to make sure you stay put," she said as she pulled the strap tight around my legs. She was right. I couldn't get up if I wanted to, and now, I was completely at her mercy. She didn't give me any.

"I'm going to paddle and strap your bottom for a while before I cane you," she informed me as she pulled her large paddle from the drawer. "And since you neglected to enter a fifty-dollar withdrawal, you're going to get fifty swats with each one.

The paddle whooshed through the air and laid a streak of fire across my tender cheeks. Nine more followed in quick succession, and then a pause to let them sink in. "I guess I'm just going to have to start spanking you on a regular basis again," she said as she paused. "You were doing so well when I kept your butt red all the time. I guess mom was right, boys never do grow up."

I heard her raise the paddle again as she resumed my punishment. This time it was forty strokes, slow and measured. Each one bringing an involuntary cry of pain from me as the paddle burned across my naked bottom. "I see I'm getting your attention," she sarcastically commented as she laid a particularly hard stroke at the bottom of my cheeks.

"OW, please not so hard," I cried, hoping she would show a little mercy, but the next stroke was just as hard and she was far from finished. 

"You're in no position to tell me how hard I should spank you," she said. "You earned this and you're going to get all of it. Just hope I don't lose count and have to start over." The paddle continued to leave its mark, and I did my best not to disrupt her count.

After she gave me the last stroke, she replaced her paddle in the drawer and told me I had a few minutes to reflect before I received the strap. She walked out of the room, and I lay there clenching my poor cheeks trying to relieve some of the sting.

This was the hardest I'd ever been spanked, and I knew I wouldn't be sitting comfortably for a few days. As the sting subsided to a warm glow, I began to relax. My breathing returned to normal, and my thoughts turned to the punishment I still had coming. The strap I'd had many times before. It burned, but it was infinitely more tolerable than the cane. Unless, of course, she used the tawse. Which is a wickedly painful instrument all by itself. Split down the middle like it is, it feels like two straps landing at once. Fifty with it would be more like a hundred.

Lost in my reverie, I didn't hear her enter the room and was brought abruptly back to reality by the first stroke of the strap. The crack of the leather on my naked bottom rang like a gunshot in my ears, and I was too startled to cry out. "That was just to make sure you weren't sleeping," she told me. "Now that I have your undivided attention, we will begin."

I heard her step back and raise that wicked strap. The pain was indescribable as she worked her strap from the tops of my cheeks down to the middle of my thighs in five strokes. I clenched my bottom in anticipation of the next stroke, but it didn't land. "Unclench those cheeks, young man," Doris commanded, "I want to see them bounce when I strap you." With a moan, I relaxed my bottom, but she still didn't resume. Instead, she patted my blazing bottom and said, “I know you want to get this over with as fast as possible, but I'm enjoying myself. Besides, if I give it to you too fast, you'll get numb and I want you to feel every swat."

She let another minute pass that seemed like hours to me before delivering another set of five identical to the first. She was right, I felt each searing stroke, and my bottom felt swollen to twice its normal size. She paused again to let me relax and absorb her handiwork. She gave me three more sets and then laid her strap across my back, patting my inflamed bottom, she said, "Don't go anywhere. I'm going to get a drink, then I'll pick up where I left off. You'd better hope I remember."

I prayed she'd remember. I was halfway through my strapping and didn't want to start over. No matter how much I like her to spank me, I never wanted another punishment like this. I might not be sitting down for a week after this one.

A few moments later she breezed into the room, sat her glass on the table, and asked, "Let's see, now where were we?" She picked up the strap off my back and said, "Ah, yes, strapping my naughty boy’s bottom. I believe you still have twenty-five strokes coming, isn't that correct?" 

"Yes ma'am," I knew better than to lie and say it was less. "Why are you being punished?" she asked. "Because I forgot the ATM," I quickly replied, not wanting to anger her further. "Very good, your memory's improving already. By the time I'm finished with you, you'll remember those ATMs, won't you?" 

"I'll remember them now," I pleaded, hoping she'd end my punishment here and now. "Oh no, you're not getting off that easy," she told me. "You still have twenty-five coming with the strap, and you have the cane to look forward to after that."

I heard her step up and begin her swing. I involuntarily clenched my cheeks, anticipating the blow at the top as before, but it landed across my thighs instead. "Unclench those cheeks, or I'll start over at one", she commanded. I willed my bottom to relax just as the next stroke landed right above the first. She worked her way up this time, and number five landed at the top of my poor cheeks. "OWWwwwww," I moaned, but I only had twenty more to go.

She paused as before and enjoyed a sip of her drink. I began to relax as the fire spread throughout my blistered bottom and faded to a hot glow. CRACK! I hadn't heard her start again and was caught unprepared for the wicked stroke across the center of my bottom. "Nice bounce", my wife commented "That's the way I like it." CRACK! She wasn't following any pattern now. The strokes were landing at random and for the rest of my strapping she would watch for my bottom to relax and lay her leather across the very center. It was definitely a strapping to remember.

When she finished, she told me I had fifteen minutes to think about what was yet to come and walked out of the room. I relaxed and tried to calm my breathing until her words struck home. The Cane. Fifty with that and her prophecy would come true. I wouldn't be sitting for a week. Oh, why did I forget that ATM.