The Spotless Bench

They say if it doesn't rain in pours, and at least in my case, rains a flood of smacks on my bottom.

It was Thursday night, just three days after Pam had spanked me for leaving the kitchen in a mess. For the past three days my bottom had gradually recovered from her strict hand, though I'd still had a mild tingle on the train ride home from work that day.

We were lying in bed when Pam's hand snacked down to cup my bottom.

"It's been sore for the past few days," I told her.

"Good," she said. "And the kitchen has been cleaner too. But I want you to come home early tomorrow night so we can discuss the finer details."

***

On Friday's I often go out for a few drinks after work, but not this week. I declined an invitation to meet up at the pub and was on an early train wondering what was in for me.

That night seemed to drag on forever. Pam was watching Orange is the New Black with her friend Helen while I wasted time on YouTube. When they started a second episode that would take the time to eleven PM, I figured I wasn't in any trouble and may as well have gone out after work.

At last, after about the tenth yawn, I closed down my computer, kissed Pam, and went to bed. Activity seemed to accelerate from there. I'd barely laid down in bed when Pam came in, wearing only a T-shirt and a pair of panties. Clearly, something was going to happen tonight, maybe even some love-making action!

Pam quickly put that thought to rest. She reached into the drawer beside her and retrieved a pile of implements. She sat up on the bed and patted her lap. After years together, I obeyed without question, knowing Pam would explain if I'd done something wrong, but also knowing she could spank me whenever she felt like it.

I adjusted my hips over my wife's firm thighs. Her palm rested on my bottom. I wasn't sure whether this was maintenance or discipline yet, though the difference is typically only one of duration. Pam always spanks hard, always.

"What's this for, Ma'am?" I asked.

"Well, the kitchen has definitely been an improvement the past few days. The plates have been cleaned and put away. However, there were pasta stains splattered near the cook top on Wednesday. Nobody cleaned the benches."

 "Oh," I said, remembering that was the part of the chore I always forgot about.

Nothing further was said before Pam started spanking me. She started with "Mr Floppy", a black rubber paddle we'd acquired online. Rubber paddles sting like crazy and soon was squirming on my wife's lap.

"No hand tonight," Pam said as she spanked. "Too loud. Besides, this is only a little reminder but I want it to sting."

After warming me up with Mr Floppy, Pam reached down for another implement.

"What's this?" she asked, getting me to look at the paddle she had chosen.

"It's new," I said. "It should be quiet. I packed it when we went on holidays but we didn't get to use it."

"It's thick... and heavy," she said, resting it on my warm cheeks. From the delight in her voice, Pam was clearly looking forward to applying it.

"It's called the Cry Baby. The website said it is good for making naughty boys cry."

Actually it had said it would make the strongest willed bottom cry like a little baby and beg for mercy. I'd bought it from cane-iac in a moment of aroused stupidity. Pam did not need any help making me cry from a hard spanking, but the thought of truly bawling like a baby from one of her spankings had my Visa card out. I'd tried it out on my bottom and had discovered new levels of sting, but I couldn't spank myself like Pam does.

"It's so shiny too," Pam said, still admiring the paddle. "This is how shiny I want my benchtop, or you'll be getting a good spanking with the Cry Baby."

Pam started tentatively. At first the Cry Baby felt similar to Mr Floppy, a nasty burn that would bring tears after a while. Then Pam started spanking harder. Oh my, what a fool I'd been to purchase that paddle. It was hell on earth. I was sobbing after a dozen or so smacks, with tears coming shortly after. Pam just pinned my hand behind my back and really gave it to me.

Ladies, if you want to keep your man in line, the Cry Baby is the tool.
Gentlemen, if you've never been able to cry from a spanking or think your wife spanks too softly, the Cry Baby is the tool.

I must have only received about fifty with the Cry Baby, but it left me crying my eyes out over Pam's lap. Even my experienced bottom couldn't cope with the thick rubber strap with holes in it.

As this was more of a maintenance spanking than a "Pam is super angry" spanking, she rubbed my bottom for a while before continuing. Slowly I calmed down and stopped crying. However, I knew she wasn't finished yet. It's a rare spanking when only two implements are applied.

"Where is my favourite spoon?" she asked, talking to herself.

The wood was cold on my bottom, though it wouldn't be for long. The heavy wooden spoon was my wife's preferred implement for leaving nests of little blisters carpeted over my sit spots.

"Give me your hand again," Pam said. "I'm going to make sure you feel this sitting down at the cafe tomorrow morning. Let's see if I can get some of those tears back too."

And she did, on both counts.

[And here is that nasty Cry Baby paddle! I'm sure it will get a lot of use now Pam knows how effective it is.]

The Messy Kitchen (F/M spanking story, real-life)

I walked into the war zone that was the kitchen: dirty plates upon dirty plates, crumbs carpeting the bench top, discarded cartons a diorama next to the sink. The boys were meant to clean the kitchen each night after dinner, but they had disappeared an hour ago when the Internet lock kicked in. Ostensibly, I was ultimately responsible for the kitchen's cleanliness - it was on the list of tasks on the iPhone app Shared Lists that I was meant to complete.

If the boys didn't clean the kitchen, it was up to me... or else.

But I hadn't been spanked in months. Lately, even when I'd clearly not completed my tasks, Pam would complain about being left with the task. But instead of my bottom suffering the consequences, she would do the job herself. With no consequences to worry about, I sighed and went back to my computer. Pam wouldn't be home for hours. There was plenty of time to clean the kitchen, or not...

Back at my computer, I struggled to concentrate. Not so long ago Pam didn't need to try hard to find a reason to spank me. I'd even tried pushing her deliberately a couple of times, a dangerous game, but that hadn't left me with a sore bottom either.

I was un-spanked, and I really didn't think either of us were happy about it. If she followed through, Pam could have anything she wanted: chores, neck massages, cleaning, orgasms, sleep-ins. All she had to do is add the items to my "todo" list and enforce them with her chest full of implements, like she had started to a couple of years ago. And after a trip over Pam's lap it was impossible to get her out of my mind for days, especially when I usually couldn't sit comfortably for days!

Knowing I was part of the problem and yet still feeling frustrated, I went into the kitchen, added a dirty coffee mug to the mess, and went to bed.

***

It was nearly midnight when Pam returned home from the movies with her girlfriend Helen. She flicked on the lights as she moved through the darkened house, at last reaching the kitchen.

"Ducking hell," Pam cried aloud, taking in the mess on benches that had been clean when she left. "I'm sick of coming home to a pigsty." She stood staring in disbelief, taking in the details.

Finally, shaking her head, Pam went to the bathroom to change for bed. Clearly, the current arrangement of relying on their sons to clean the kitchen wasn't working. To be truthful, it had never worked. Not even turning off the Internet delivered a consistent performance. Overall responsibility needed to go back to her husband. He could use the damn dishwasher if he wanted, but since she did the cooking, her husband could make sure she didn't have to clean up first.

Resolving to nip the problem in the butt, she steeled herself into "Strict Wife" mode and slipped into the darkened bedroom she shared with her husband.

***

Although going to bed an hour earlier, I was awake when Pam came in the front door. I had lain staring at the ceiling, wondering at my wife's likely reaction when she saw the kitchen. What would she do? Probably just clean it up before going to bed, though my mind wandered to alternatives both arousing and fearful.

I listened intently as Pam reached the kitchen. Her reaction was unexpectedly loud and cross, easily heard from our nearby bedroom. Gulp! Maybe I should have cleaned it up at least a tiny bit…

A few minutes later Pam entered the dark room. I was lying on my side facing away from her, thinking it wise to be "asleep" after the kitchen reaction. It didn't work. Pam laid down beside me and immediately shuffled over to spoon from behind, draping an arm over my hip.

"I know you're awake," she said.

"Barely. Did you enjoy the movie?"

"Hmm," Pam said. "Well, it was great. Really funny. Not so great was the mess I came home to in the kitchen."

"Didn't the boys clean it?"

"You know damn well they didn't. I didn't even eat here tonight, so none of it is mine."

"I did tell them - twice - they mustn't have gotten around to it. Too busy with gaming, I suppose."

"You're responsible for the kitchen. Remember? So if you can't get them moving, do it yourself before coming to bed." Her hand dropped down to my bottom and squeezed it. "Do you understand your wife?"

I swallowed, understanding her intent and slipping into an obedient mode. "Yes, Ma'am."

"And are you going to obey your wife, like the wise paddle says?" Pam asked, referring to her wooden paddle with 'Obey Your Wife' engraved into it.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Good," Pam said. "It's too late to deal with this now, but tomorrow you are to clean the kitchen as soon as you get home. Then I want you naked and waiting for me in the corner at 9:45pm. I will deal with you once the boys are asleep. Got it?"

By now my penis was rising with nervous excitement. "Yes, Ma'am."

"You'd better. You are going to get it super hard tomorrow night. You have all day tomorrow to think about all that crying you're going to do over my lap while you're getting your bottom blistered beet red. Things are going to change around here. Now kiss me and let's get to sleep."

There wasn't much sleeping that night, at least not for me, wondering whether that dirty coffee mug was the icing on the red cake my wife was going to bake tomorrow night.

***

I was nervous about my impending spanking all day, but the nerves really set in after dinner, looking at the clock, counting down the hours until I'd be over Pam's lap. Two. Have a shower, iron a shirt for tomorrow. One. Make sure the damn kitchen is clean! Get ready for bed. Pam hadn't said anything, so I wasn't sure she was going to follow through.

As ordered, come 9:45pm I was naked and standing in the corner waiting for Pam. The boys were still roaming the house in search of more food, so Pam didn't come in for another ten minutes. She sat on the bed, waiting for all activity in the house to cease. I noted that she'd put clothes into the washing machine down the hall as cover for noisy activities...

"Good," Pam said, finally addressing me at around quarter past ten. "Everyone is asleep, so it's our turn to make some noise. Come here and get your just desserts." While I moved to the bed, Pam grabbed a handful of implements from her collection and put them on the bed beside her. From my angle, I couldn't see what they were.

I laid over my lovely wife's lap, though found my legs hanging over the side of the bed. "Can you please move a little to your left?" I asked.

"Isn't it me who should be giving orders?" Pam said, though she moved so I could fit entirely over her lap. She gave me a pillow to hold on to, then started rubbing my bottom. "Get comfortable. We could be here for a while."

Almost immediately Pam started warming up my bottom with her hand, crisp slaps that as I hadn't been spanked in a while stuck from the start. She didn't spank as hard as sometimes, but that was more for keeping the noise down rather than from any concern for my bottom. After leaving my bottom red and hot to touch, she switched to her heavy wooden spoon and began roasting my bottom in earnest, peppering my bare cheeks with the thick wood, one side then the other.

"Are you going to be better behaved in future?" she asked.

"Yes, Ma'am. I'm sorry."

"Not yet you're aren't."

After a few dozen more with the spoon, Pam thought she heard a noise in the house (only healthy paranoia thankfully) and switched to our OTK-sized cane. This was far from a respite for my poor bottom. The cane cut the air as it brought hot lines down upon my bottom, my wife giving a couple of strokes at a time intermingled with scolding.

"To think, after a long day at school - my first day back from holidays - and I have to come home and deal with you. Lots of naughty students all day, but the naughtiest one of all is you, over my lap and getting the cane!"

"Sorry, Ma'am," was I was allowed to respond with.

After leaving my bottom crossed with red lines, Pam picked up the dreaded black rubber paddle. "I like this one," she said. "Super stingy." Sure enough, she started demonstrating how stingy it is. I cried out with each smack, starting with "ow's", but becoming more desperate as the rubber left searing rectangles over my bare bottom. Tears were forming in my eyes.

"Don't think I'm going to stop just because it's starting to hurt," Pam said, in a stern voice.

"No, Ma'am. I'm so sorry."

Talking was difficult now as my crying intensified. There was no point asking for clemency and I never did - none would be coming regardless. Pam was giving me exactly what I deserved. At some point she had switched to a wooden hairbrush, though once my bottom gets to a certain tenderness anything stings like crazy. Certainly she was using enough wooden implements that I'd be feeling it at work the next day.

"Are you going to be a better husband?" Pam asked. "Because you've been particularly unhelpful lately."

"Yes, I will. I promise."

After about fifty or sixty with the brush, Pam put the hairbrush down and added a couple of dozen "bonus" stripes from her cane. She switched back to the wooden spoon for the finale.

"This is such a good implement for correcting naughty boys, nice and thick," she said.

With that she resumed spanking, harder now, determined to leave a strong impression on her errant husband. I was squirming under the blows, to the point of throwing a hand back in self-protection. Pam merely pinned it behind my back and continued without missing a single smack.

"I want that kitchen spotless. Every night."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"And what's going to happen if it isn't?"

"My wife will spank me."

"Yes, I will. Hard."

For the next few minutes Pam set out to show me precisely how hard. She brought that thick wooden spoon down with considerable expertise and even greater determination. Anyone watching or listening to the hard smacks would have winced, but the impact on me was far greater. Under those searing smacks I was crying freely, tears in my eyes, chewing my bottom lip,  sniffling and sobbing between spanks. There was no escaping my loving wife's discipline.

Finally, with my bottom ablaze, the spanking stopped. "My shoulder is beginning to hurt," Pam said. "That's enough for this time."

Dimly, through my sniffles, I couldn't help thinking that my bottom hurt a lot more than my wife's shoulder!

Pam let me up. We cuddled and kissed for a time. "Thank you," I whispered in her ear, meaning it too. We resumed kissing, more passionately, until we were making out like teenagers.

I was more aroused than I'd been in a long time, but it was Pam who deserved pleasuring. I laid underneath her as she climbed over my face, straddling my mouth with her steaming wet pussy. Pam had given me a spanking; now it was my turn to give her an orgasm!

***

It is now the day after this spanking. I am sitting on a sore, blistered bottom while posting the account to my blog :)