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Chapter Three
Brett
While it was Friday, and I’d known I’d have my wife bent over my knee, her ass bare, waiting for her first spanking, I was surprised she’d seemed clueless it would happen less than twelve hours after we’d signed our names to a contract. A contract that specifically stated that on Fridays, maintenance nights, she would be receiving a spanking at the very least and additional discipline if I deemed it necessary. I didn’t care that the contract most likely would not hold up in a court of law. As far as I was concerned, it was as legally binding as the license we’d signed on our wedding day. I’d promised her then to have and to hold, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, until death did us part. And, Hannah, my beautiful wife, had gazed up at me, her blue eyes sparkling, and promised to love, honor, and obey. Those vows had worked for the first few months, but as her ability to say no to anyone but me disappeared, her life had begun to spiral out of control. All it took was a look around our house to see the physical signs of her dereliction of duty in making it a home.
This very morning, we’d added to those vows, and she’d again gazed at me with love and hope in her eyes, her expression doing more to convince me she truly desired I take over than even her name at the bottom of the page. With her signature, she agreed to a marriage that included domestic discipline and that gave me the right to step in, to take charge, to require her obedience, to punish her when she broke that commitment. Hannah had concurred to setting aside one night a week to provide incentive in the form of maintenance to assure she didn’t start backsliding.
We’d spent a lot of time discussing her childhood. When I’d asked what sort of punishment she’d experienced in her youth, I hadn’t been surprised to see her shrug and state she’d never been disciplined as far as she could remember. Her mother had tended to act like more of a big sister, and her father had left them when Hannah was a teen. She’d basically never had any authority figure in her life. I’d told her I thought that explained a great deal, stating that without boundaries, a person could feel lost.
When I’d asked what sort of punishment she’d find acceptable, she’d thrown up her hands and said, “You’re supposed to be the one in control. For God’s sake, just do whatever you think is best.”
“You understand that will include corporal discipline, right? Are you prepared to be spanked like we’ve discussed?”
She’d blushed but nodded, a little smile on her face. “Yes, Brett. It’s not like you haven’t spanked me before.”
“No, this isn’t going to be like that. When you are being punished, you won’t address me as Brett or honey. You will address me as Daddy, remember? Doing so will put you in the proper mindset to accept my decisions and my discipline.”
“Yes, Daddy, when I’m a naughty little girl, you can spank my poor tushie,” she’d said, her cheeks going a little pinker but her eyes also going a little brighter.
I wondered if she was now regretting that flippant remark. She’d not lied. I’d given her a few smacks during sex before, but she’d referred to those as ‘sexy swats’. She’d gasp and whimper but, without fail, would push her bottom up as if seeking my hand. The erotic play never failed to add spice to our lovemaking, but she was about to learn the definition of punishment.
Rubbing my hand over her pale flesh, I could feel her tremble. “Keep your hands on the floor or grip my leg. Do not reach back and try to block me. I don’t want to hurt your hands. You may cry, but do not curse unless you want to pay the additional penalty.”
She squirmed but I saw her muscles relaxing. Hannah was a beautiful woman with an absolutely exquisite ass. Both plump lobes had identical little dimples at the top of each luscious curve. I didn’t worry about the fact that I felt my cock stirring. She was my wife and I’d always found her sexy as hell.
Domestic discipline was not a foreign concept to me. I’d grown up in a household that had practiced the dynamic. My two brothers had followed suit with their wives. I knew now that I’d done Hannah a disservice by not beginning our marriage as one that included discipline. She was so much smaller than I was, so innocent and far more vanilla than I. And, to be honest, those big blue eyes and bow-shaped mouth were weapons she’d used to back me off the need to bring discipline into our marriage.
I’d been surprised when Hannah had approached me about perhaps adding domestic discipline to our lives. She’d told me she’d read a few books, but discovering they were all in the erotic genre, I’d assigned her several sites to research. There she found testimonies given by couples living the lifestyle for real. After listening to her referring to how she’d always felt a little out of control, never being held responsible for her actions, I’d known it was time.
Further discussions occurred during which I’d told her I felt it would serve her well to consider me as an authoritative figure when it was necessary for me to step in. Not as her husband, as I was that regardless, but as her daddy. She’d immediately agreed, and while I was for more skeptical that she’d not revolt when the first night of maintenance came, I was determined to become the rock she truly needed. Anything to help Hannah find the woman she used to be. The calm, happy girl I’d married. And to be perfectly honest, the moment she’d first said, “Yes, Daddy,” I’d found it very easy to slip into the role of not only her guardian, her shoulder to lean on, but her disciplinarian.
Pulling her a bit tighter against my waist, assuring she didn’t need to worry about falling off my lap, I lifted my hand and brought it down, hard, on her right buttock.
“Ow!”
A second swat to her left cheek gave her a matching set of handprints… red blooming across a canvas that would soon become mottled.
“Brett! That’s too hard!”
Two rapidly delivered swats to each cheek obliterated the perfect impressions of my palm. “What did you call me?”
“I meant Daddy! But seriously, that’s enough!”
I chuckled and gave her buttock a squeeze. “Hannah, naughty little girls do not get to decide when they’ve had enough. That’s a daddy’s job, and we are nowhere near done. Stop clenching. I want your cheeks to hang loose.”
“I-I can’t! It hurts!”
“It’s a spanking, it’s supposed to hurt.” When her cheeks grew even tauter, I shook my head and gave her two swats that cracked like gunshots—one to each clenched lobe. She screeched, her back arching and her hands flying back to cover her ass.
“Not a good idea, little one,” I said, moving my hand to deliver a flurry of smacks to the backs of her thighs.
“Ow… ow… stop! Please, Daddy!”
“I’ll stop spanking your thighs when you put your hands back where they belong.” It only took two more smacks before she withdrew her hands, wrapping them around my calf. “Good girl,” I said, wanting to let her know that I appreciated her obedience, even if given reluctantly.
I returned my hand to her bottom, alternating swats from cheek to cheek, watching her flesh jiggle, depress, and then bounce back, ready for the next punishing stroke. The air filled with each crisp swat accompanied by her whimpers and moans. Her bottom was soon evenly colored a very nice shade of red and yet she’d yet to shed a single tear. She needed to learn that naughtiness would have her in tears each and every time. Lifting my leg slid her forward enough to give me my next target.
“I am always ready to listen to you and to discuss options, but you are not to yell at me or treat me with disrespect, little girl. I am your daddy, and I will decide what is best for you. I love you very much, but I most certainly do not love it when you are behaving like a brat. Let these remind you that you made a commitment, and that I will help you keep it.”
