Like many men who are spanked by the woman in their life, there's an embarrassment aspect. I'm simultaneously horrified at the thought of people finding out my wife spanks me as well as aroused by the thought. However, I *think* a few people know. Certainly our neighbours at various houses and flats we've lived in over the years know a lot of spanking went on (Pam doesn't care much if they hear). And years ago, during a big night on the town, Pam had too much to drink and told one of my best friends, even hinting that I received the cane when I was "very very bad". Fortunately he never mentioned it again. Maybe he gets it at home too :)
But one fantasy I've had for years is to be spanked in front of one of Pam's friends. Over the years, as best friends come and go, the friend has changed, but it's still common. Would I really want it to happen? Dunno. On one hand, it's terribly exciting. I know I'd be ribbed about it for years, which would be fine, but it's the keeping her mouth shut aspect that would be the unknown. My wife would not do this anyway, so it's purely a daydream for the morning ride to work...
Here's a fantasy along the theme...
It was a typical Monday night. I was sitting in the lounge shooting stuff on the PlayStation while my wife and her best friend Helen were watching DVDs of their favourite show in the sitting room. It was late, and the kids were fast asleep. I was engrossed in my game, though I could hear occasional giggling from the other room. That was nothing unusual. Monday was champers and Law & Order night.
"Hey honey," my wife called from the other room.
"What?" I replied in male monotone. An important gun battle was in progress. If I got up, I'd die and have to wait three seconds to respawn.
"Come here a sec?"
"Can it wait?"
"Surely you can stop shooting things for thirty seconds."
I threw my head up to the ceiling, threw down the controller and strode into the sitting room.
"What's up?"
"That's not much of an attitude," Pam said, smiling. If there was a warning there, I missed it.
"What would you like?" I asked, my tone a five percent improvement. The five percent from the warning tingling sensation in my bottom.
"Can you get the wine from the fridge from us please? We've empty glasses here and I've got the cat on my lap."
"You can just take the cat off your lap."
"But he's so cute and comfy. Wouldn't you prefer to do it honey?"
"Well not really, but I guess..."
Pam tsk'ed and turned to Helen. "Not much of an attitude is it?"
"I'll say," Helen pipped in. "You should do what your wife says. She's so good to you." This was standard stuff from Helen - extremely supportive of my wife.
"It's like ten metres away," I persisted.
"Honey?" Pam said; the glint in her eyes now a clear warning.
"Alright, alright; I'll get it. Where is it, fridge or freezer?"
I'd offered to get the wine, but my tone hadn't changed. It was clearly - go get it yourself.
Pam raised an eyebrow."I think someone needs an attitude adjustment."
Helen snickered.
My heart jumped like an Olympic pole vaulter. "I'll get it now."
"I'm sorry, but it's too late for that. Come here. You know the drill."
I literally froze, a kangaroo in the lights of the oncoming car, unable to believe what my wife was asking. She wouldn't. She wouldn't. But what else could she possibly mean? She picked up the cat and put it on the floor. Her lap was empty.
"Oh, so you're embarrassed?" Pam asked, her tone of voice switching to *that* one. "You should have thought of that before you decided to lay on the attitude young man. Yes, I'm going to punish you, right here in front of Helen. You'll soon forget she's here, believe me."
Still I hesitated. Helen was sporting perhaps the biggest grin in human history, trying not to burst out laughing.
Pam patted her thigh. "Hurry up, or you *know* it will be worse."
I shuffled over, staring at the carpet, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone, particularly Helen. I stood beside my wife, unable to move further. Pam took over. In a single motion she pulled down my shorts and boxers. I was acutely aware that my naked bottom was facing Helen. My only consolation was she could not see anything more private.
One arm tug and I was in position. Pam's hand rested on my bare bottom.
"You deserve this, don't you? What were you thinking with that attitude? Did you think you'd get away with it because Helen is here?"
"I don't know," I replied, my voice croaking. I hadn't even been smacked and emotion was rushing over me. "Sorry."
"No you're not. You will be though." A pause. "What do you think Helen? Should I spank him here in front of you, or wait until you've left?"
"Go for it Pam. I've always wondered why your husband was so nice to you!"
Pam chuckled. Then she spanked. Her hand cracked down, smack after smack. I groaned; there had been no warm up. Perhaps inspired by the audience, my wife was skipping the warm-up. Crisp slaps echoed, committing the television to background noise. Twenty, then thirty smacks, fast and hard on the lower half of my bottom.
"Well mister," Pam said. "Wishing you weren't so full of attitude now? Does it sting?"
"Yes," I whimpered. I was trying to be stoic in front of Helen.
"You know I'm just getting started?"
My voice was low. "Yes..."
Five particularly hard smacks. "What was that?"
"Yes Ma'am."
Helen laughed. I couldn't help but look back - she was leaning forward, mesmerised - like she was she was in the mosh pit of her favourite band.
My wife's hand kept raining down without respite. I'd forgotten stoic. I squirmed and concentrated on holding in the sting. I wouldn't beg. Silence, that was my only way to save face.
The spanked stopped. My wife's hand rested on my burning cheeks. "Hey Helen, my hand's sore. Can you please duck out and get me a wooden spoon from the kitchen? Second drawer. The biggest one."
"No..." I protested.
Pam laughed. "Honey, you're hardly spanked yet, are you? This is barely more than a warm up. What do you think Helen? Does he need more?"
"Absolutely. Don't hold back on my account. I'll get it."
Helen left the room. I knew the respite would be brief. The kitchen was not far.
With Helen gone, my wife's hand switched to rubbing. "You OK?" she whispered.
I nodded. I'd never expected this - so out of our comfort zones. "Yes," I said, as absolute as I could put in my voice.
"You're going to get it good, OK? Same as usual."
"Yes Ma'am."
Helen returned. "Here you go," she said, handing over the spoon. "Wow. This looks like it will really sting!"
"Oh it will," Pam said.
I hung my head and tried to steel myself.
My wife rubbed the heavy spoon against my burning cheeks. It began. The first of many flicks of my wife's wrist brought the spoon down smartly. Pam always spanks hard, always long, but this was right up there. I can only imagine what Helen thought as volley after volley had increasing effect. First I twisted. Then I threw my hand back to protect my bottom, only to have it pinned and Pam to deliver a dozen sharp smacks as additional punishment.
"Please..."
"Please spank me harder?" my wife offered. "Is that what you need?"
"Sorryyyyy."
"You nearly are. Time for the finale."
"This is so cool," Helen interjected. My face was as red as my bottom.
My spanking resumed. On and on, my fingers curling into the sofa, spoon smacking tenderised cheeks, harder now, my eyes watering, showing my regret, promising to be extremely good. When I had laid over Pam's lap, I had hoped for a token spanking, a show more than a lesson. But this was a serious lesson, and I squirmed and kicked and pleaded to no avail.
At last, minutes later, Pam's hand replaced the spoon, rubbing the heat in. "Are you sorry? Will you remember this lesson?"
"Yes Ma'am," I sniffled.
"Apologise. To Helen too."
"Sorry Pam. Sorry Helen. Really sorry."
"Wow," was all Helen could say.
"OK," my wife said with one final smack on my bottom. "Pants up. Now do what you should have done without argument."
I rose, legs shaky, pulling my boxers and pants up in the same motion, wincing at the burn of cotton on swollen skin. I returned quickly with the wine, avoiding eye contact as I filled up the glasses of the two beaming women.
"Come back when you've put it back into the fridge," Pam directed.
On my return, Pam rose off the couch and met me at the doorway. Taking my hand, she led me into the corner and pulled my pants and boxers to my ankles. My bare bottom was on display next to the TV.
"Don't move unless I say or you'll go over for another dose."
Helen make a sneaky comment. "Nice view."
"Yep," Pam said. "Forget Fifty Shades of Grey. I prefer Deep Shades of Red."
They both laughed.
The girls watched TV for about thirty minutes. It took all my self control not to rub my burning bottom. Besides the occasional comment about my red bottom, they had switched into "two girls watching TV" mode - totally normal, talking like only women can about random topics whilst a naked man's bottom is three metres away.
Finally Helen left, with a final jibe about "No way he'll be sitting tomorrow".
My wife came up behind me and kissed the back of my neck tenderly, lingering.
"Was that OK?" she asked, her breath hot on my neck.
"Thank you," I whispered, aroused by her touch. Her hips pushed into my sensitive bottom.
"Not too much?"
"Perfect. I just don't know how will I look at her again?"
"We talked beforehand. Helen was not a bit surprised. She's always suspected I was the dominant one. She'll tease you, probably suggest you need it again. But only when the kids aren't around. She pinkie promised."
"But what if she tells people?"
"Oh she'll tell her boyfriend, in her own way. But his bottom deserves to be red more often than yours, and that's saying something. Trust me, he won't be saying anything."
