Disciplining Ford

A New Home

2007-02-11T18:44:00.000+11:00

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FORD

Holiday Vignette #5

2007-01-06T21:14:00.000+11:00

I’m getting out of the shower and reaching for my towel from the rack. As I glance through the door into the bedroom, I can see in the mirror that DW is seated on the side of the bed facing the chest of drawers. The punishment panty drawer is open and she is leafing through its contents to select the pair of panties that I will be required to wear at work for the day.

Once she is content with her choice, DW neatly lays out the selected panties on my side of the bed.

Holiday Vignette #4

2007-01-05T21:17:00.000+11:00

I’m doing some supervised corner time in the office facing away from DW, with ball-gag in place, my hands on my head, and wearing only the briefest and tightest fitting pair of lacy white nylon panties that DW could find. DW rises from her desk where she has been working, stands behind me and reaches around with both hands to ever so gently caress my nipples. They immediately become hard in response to her attentions, but as I give muffled moans and my knees start to buckle at the teasing arousal that DW is causing, I’m also aware of my cock straining to harden within the unyieldingly tight confines of the panties.

After awhile DW reaches down and gently rubs her finger across the tip of my cock, now aching for release. As she detects the pre-cum that has started to appear through the nylon panty material, she comments, “Looks like you are getting a bit damp there Ford”. DW then sits down once again at her desk and continues with her work.

Holiday Vignette #3

2007-01-04T22:30:00.000+11:00

We are in our shared office at home, apparently hard at work at our respective desks. DW pauses in her activity at the keyboard and muses, “You know Ford, when you have finished going to work and all of the kids have left home, I'm going to have you spending a LOT of time tied stark naked to that chair”.

Holiday Vignette #2

2007-01-03T19:58:00.000+11:00

I’m totally naked and face up on our bed with my wrists bound tightly together, arms folded behind my back using the cord of my own dressing gown. My ankles are tied together with the cord of DW’s dressing gown, crossed so as to keep my knees apart. DW slowly and sensuously removes her clothes, climbs onto the bed and straddles my chest, facing me. She carefully props my head with pillows and then gradually eases herself up my body brushing me with her mound to leave a trail of her scent until she towers over me with her inner thighs beside my ears and I can feel the warmth of her pussy on my face. Wrapping her hands gently around the back of my head, DW pulls my face into her pussy and whispers, “I want your tongue deep inside me - now”.

Some Daily Vignettes for the Holidays

2007-01-02T21:15:00.000+11:00

Vignette #1:

I’m bent over the back a chair as far as I can reach, perched on my toes with my perspiring hands gripping the front legs as far down as possible. DW has just administered 50 of what seem like her absolute best swats with the oak Spencer Paddle to my now agonised, panty-covered backside. As I struggle to deal with the pain being engendered by her exertions, she pauses, slowly pulls the panties to half way down my thighs and gently lays the Paddle back across my now bare and red raw butt. Sliding the Paddle back and forth a little in readiness to continue, DW murmurs, “Well, now that I have you warmed up, let’s start the punishment shall we?”.

Quick Turnaround and Rapid Turnover

2006-12-30T22:19:00.000+11:00

Touching and caressing each other is something we certainly seem to do - often. Any occasion on which we pass within range during course of a day is typically the excuse to touch each other in some manner, and the more private the situation, the more intimate and enjoyable the mutual caressing tends to be. There are also definitely times when DW will deliberately present an opportunity - for example by finding an excuse to bend over nearby - that I am absolutely expected to exploit. On those rare occasions that I happen to be too otherwise engrossed to take advantage, it will draw a comment from DW such as “…so, the honeymoon’s over is it?”

As DW also happens to be extremely ticklish, we have quite frequent teasing discussions about what constitutes the distinction between tickling and caressing.

Nevertheless, there are a few exceptions when my attentions of this sort are less welcome, one of which was fiercely reinforced to me recently when we were preparing for bed and DW was in the process of cleaning her teeth.

Just when DW bent right over to rinse at the sink and her short nightie rode up to reveal the silky blue nylon panties that she was still wearing, I responded in the way that I might commonly do in those circumstances. Once I’d deftly positioned my thumb and middle finger on each side of her pussy to gently grasp its thinly covered bulging softness, I simply stroked my first finger along its full length from front to back - very nice.

Well DW’s reaction was certainly spectacular, although not quite of the nature I’d been anticipating. After a considerable amount of spluttering as she disengaged her mouth from the tap, she reeled around as she stood up, quickly wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Ford, I don’t know how many times I’ve told you NOT to do those sorts of things just when I have my mouth at the tap - you know my reactions to your touch and I could just as easily have cracked my teeth or inhaled some water.”

Unfortunately for me, DW was quite right. In my enthusiasm to exploit her rather tempting pose, I’d overlooked the fact that just at that moment, her mouth had been in close proximity to the tap. Also unfortunately for me, we were alone together in the house and DW was striding back into the bedroom to where the hairbrush always sits on the low chest of drawers in readiness for immediate use on just such occasions as these. With hairbrush now in hand, DW ordered me over the back of the bedroom chair, quickly grasped in turn the elastic of each leg on my underpants to reef them up out of the way and after briefly laying the cold back of the brush on my right butt-cheek, set to work with total enthusiasm.

The forceful strokes that DW applied as she alternated between the sensitive “sit spot” on each side of my butt were absolute stingers that immediately set me gasping.

“You had better count - or I won’t be able to decide when to stop!”

In the light of that statement, I made my best endeavours to do exactly that, intermingled with the involuntary responses that the ferocity of each stroke was eliciting from me, and with DW’s reiteration of her earlier comments. Given the intensity and location of the spanking that I was receiving, I was more than grateful when DW determined that 20 strokes would be sufficient for this particular infringement.

Cradling my now very sore backside, I repaired to the bathroom to now clean my teeth, while DW returned the hairbrush to its resting place, finished undressing and climbed into bed.

Once I’d somewhat gingerly done likewise, DW moved across to my side and cuddled in so close behind me that I could feel her shaven pussy pressing against the most painful area of my backside.

“Hmm, your butt is so nice and warm.”

With that DW attempted to cuddle in even more closely, reached over with her other hand and wrapped it around my now rapidly hardening cock.

Happy New Year's!

Attitude and Underwear

2006-11-20T22:21:00.000+11:00

As a suitably private opportunity to administer a prompt spanking for an infringement is quite rare, DW has become progressively more adept in the use of panties as an interim method of discipline. She considers panties not only as an integral part of my mental preparation for a spanking session, but also for what she perceives as their beneficial effect on my demeanour. So where an immediate spanking is not practical, an infringement of our Disciplinary Agreement will most often earn me a quick trip to the bedroom to initiate some “attitude adjustment”.

“Can I speak to you in the bedroom for a moment please Ford?” generally signifies what’s to follow. Once the bedroom door has been closed behind us, I’m instructed to remove my shoes, trousers and underpants while DW makes a selection from the punishment panty drawer that she feels most befits my infringement and that I’m required to wear under my usual clothing. Other times I may think that an infringement has been overlooked, only to find DW’s selection of panties on my pillow or when I peel back the covers ready to climb into bed for the night. Some quiet time facing the corner in panties may also be in store before I’m permitted to join her in our bed.

Over time, I’ve experienced most of the panties to be found in that second drawer down and have come to realise, as has DW, that they represent various grades of severity in panty discipline.

Despite their silkiness and lace trim, the high-cut day-of-the-week “Manties” constitute a relatively mild form in that they are at least reasonably comfortable and brief, with a fairly low risk of becoming visible above the waistband of most trousers. Nonetheless, they do have the basic design of women’s panties with a cotton gusset that, combined with their nylon material, impart a decidedly foreign feel that serves as a fairly constant reminder of my disciplinary status. They also leave me with the niggling concern that the rear seam of the gusset or lace leg elastic might form a visible panty line through some trousers and thereby give a hint that my underwear may not be of the conventional male variety.

Regrettably this collection also includes 3 pairs of “Fancy” high-cut Manties that are a quite different proposition - with generous flounces of lace stitched around the legs and across the butt that are relentless as a constant reminder of my “pantied” state. DW generally reserves these for occasions such as corner time, disciplinary weekends away or if she feels that some escalation is warranted of a panty discipline that’s already in progress - the latter intended as a deterrent to committing any further infringements. DW selected from these for my work wear on two days of last week.

Quite a few panties have also been purchased on expeditions instigated by DW to the lingerie departments of local department stores. It is with some care that she has selected panties that are specifically for disciplinary use and that I’m required to pay for. Perhaps the worst example is a set of three brief, lace bikinis that, whilst marked as being the nearest female equivalent of my size, actually turned out to be a VERY snug fit. Although they are just wearable, they are extremely confining, definitely not accommodating of an erection, and cut so high and tight across my butt cheeks that a glaring panty line is obvious, irrespective of my choice in trousers. Essentially these represent the ultimate sanction in panty discipline from DW that I do earnestly seek to avoid. They also reveal so much butt cheek area that there really is no point in lowering them for a spanking.

DW originally purchased another set of three for her own wear, but then bequeathed them to me as more suitable for disciplinary use. Although these high-cut, high-waisted nylon panties are ostensibly my size and appeared as if they shouldn’t be too uncomfortable, one experience of wearing them was enough to understand why DW was not interested in retaining them.

“So how are the new panties Ford?”
“I think you know already - they give a whole new meaning to the term ‘wedgie’”.
“So you noticed eh? - well do please enjoy!”
“Thank you Ma’am.”

Even worse, they are high-cut to such an extent that any over-enthusiastic movement results in a “containment” issue (let’s say), an additional feature that DW wouldn’t necessarily have foreseen.

DW also has her subtle ways of ensuring that I remain mindful that I’m undergoing a panty discipline:

while showering in the morning, I can’t help but notice when DW is selecting my panties for the day and then laying them out on the bed;
resting her hand on my clothed backside and subtly rubbing her fingers where it is traversed by the rear gusset seam, especially cute when we are in company;
reaching with two fingers inside the waist of my trousers and tugging gently on waist band of my panties, as if threatening to expose them;
although 24 x 7 panties do not amount to chastity, DW likes to ration our lovemaking so that I remain somewhat horny, the sight and feel of my bulging hard-on in panties obviously giving her more than a little satisfaction;
little SMS or email reminders while I’m at work during the day.

I may not welcome the spanking when the opportunity for it finally arrives, but at least it gives some prospect that the punishment panties will remain in the drawer, at least for a time.

Discipline delayed, but not denied.

2006-10-09T21:20:00.000+10:00

“Ok, I want you over the back of this chair”, said DW as she drew one of the wooden dining chairs away the table and slid it across the floor into the middle of the room, “but first, drop your track pants”.

Once I’d stood behind the chair, I slid my pants down to my ankles, revealing the white nylon panties that DW had selected for the occasion and then made to lean over the back of the chair. Presumably because DW anticipated that I’d be in position for some little time, she had me pause while fetching a towel, folding it, and placing it as cushioning over the top of the chair’s hard wooden back. It was of such a height that I needed to rise slightly onto my toes in order to get my hips at just the right height to bend fully over the improvised padding. I then firmly grasped the front of the chair seat and waited.

“Now lower you elbows onto the seat.”

This proved just possible by rising a little higher onto my toes and then bending the extra distance so that the entire lengths of my forearms were now resting flat against the wooden seat. It felt like I couldn’t have been more rigidly pinioned across the chair if I’d been tied to it, and as I bent further, I could feel my panties riding up slightly further - adding to my feelings of exposure and vulnerability.

“If your elbows come off that seat, we’ll be starting all over again, understand?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

It was now Sunday night and we’d been staying in this cottage since we’d arrived early Friday evening. I knew that the spanking I was about to receive was the result of multiple infringements over a quite period and decidedly overdue - there simply had been no previous opportunity for DW to administer it with sufficient privacy at home. As the weekend away was also for the purpose of participating in a sporting event, DW had determined that discipline would be scheduled for the final night, the only exception being 50 stinging swats with the hairbrush she had delivered on Friday night while I was positioned over the side of the bed, “just to give a taste of what’s to come”.

About an hour earlier, DW had disappeared off to the bedroom and returned clad in her dressing gown with Spencer Paddle and hairbrush in hand, placing them in readiness, one atop of the other, on the dining table. Once she’d again sat down with me on the lounge, DW queried whether I knew the reasons for the spanking I was about to receive. As often seems the case, my powers of recall had largely deserted me at the imminent prospect of one of DW’s spankings, and the best I could offer were some comments about bad language, and lateness to bed. DW was ominously non-committal in her reply.

“Well yes, but let’s see what else comes to mind as we go along shall we?”

With that DW stood up and removed her dressing gown to reveal the bright red lace, nylon teddy that was hugging every delicious curve of her body. I recognised it immediately as one that I’d bought for her some years ago and if anything, DW now looked even more stunning in it than she had originally. Supported by thin shoulder straps, the front revealed plenty of cleavage whilst its high cut showed her milky smooth thighs and bulge of her shaven mound to perfection. As DW had gone to fetch the dining room chair, I was also reminded of how well it revealed just the right amount of her butt.

It was shortly after that I was following her instructions to pinion myself across the back of the dining room chair, to the accompaniment of her lightly tapping the Spencer Paddle against the palm of her hand. Once I was positioned to her total satisfaction, she laid the flat cool oak paddle across my butt, just above the lace leg elastic of my panties.

Even though I had expected nothing in the way of warm-up strokes, the pain of the first when it landed still took my breath away, “Ah! … one … mm!”, this being just the sort of involuntary “verbal” feedback that DW was seeking.

I quickly realised that my immobility across the chair’s back was ensuring that I would feel the total force of each stroke. DW then followed up with 19 equally painful landings of the Spencer Paddle across both cheeks, pausing only momentarily here and there in their delivery to renew her grip and to ensure that the severity of each stroke was maintained. DW then decided that it was time for my panties to be lowered. This she did by gripping their lace waistband at each of my hips and peeling them down just far enough to expose my rapidly reddening cheeks. I renewed my grip on the front of the chair in expectation of what was to follow.

This amounted to another thirty absolutely blistering strokes from the Spencer Paddle that DW delivered in steady, measured fashion, again pausing just sufficiently to reassert her grip on this intense instrument of my punishment and to maintain its painful effectiveness.

After fifty strokes with the paddle, DW casually laid it aside and took up the hairbrush. With her swinging arm and wrist now fully warmed up, the snap of her wrist that accompanied the delivery of each stroke had me gasping anew at the sting it could impart, even in comparison with the paddle. By the time my counting had finally reached fifty, I was, as usual, perspiring profusely from the effort of managing the pain and remaining in position, lest the whole exercise be repeated.

“Now stay right there!”

From my prone position it was difficult to see what DW might now had in mind, but “thankfully” it was simply her intention to record the results of her labours with the digital camera. This step completed, I was permitted to stand and gingerly pull up my panties.

“Now turn the chair around and be seated.”

As I eased myself onto the hard wooden seat, DW sat back on the lounge facing me.

“You also must learn not to lose your cool unnecessarily - remember - yes, thought you might, and you really must stop being so negative on occasions. Just think about that while you sit there for another half an hour - no, you may not take any weight on your arms, sit up straight and fold them behind your back.”

As the minutes slowly passed, I could feel the lace hem and seat of my panties progressively impressing themselves onto my well-blistered butt. Meanwhile, DW clicked the TV back on and made herself comfortable with her feet up on the lounge, the ample central heating ensuring that neither of us felt the cold.

Finally DW motioned that I come and join her on the lounge and, not before I had eased the panties away from my backside, I carefully set myself down beside her.

Soon afterwards I came to realise that I was now the one to be sat upon.

An Agreeable Relationship

2006-08-31T22:11:00.000+10:00

The month of August has been a very busy one in our household, with a family member returning from a long-term absence overseas, combined with hectic times at work and business providing virtually no opportunity for DW to administer discipline - or even for me to attend properly to this Blog. Finally we did manage to schedule a weekend away to participate in a sporting event and then stayed over an additional night, primarily so that DW could ensure I received the very severe spanking for which by then, I was well overdue.

About one and a half weeks later, with my backside still bearing some visible evidence of that spanking, we were travelling together in the car to pay a surprise visit to some friends and fell to discussing our relationship and in particular, just how relaxed and comfortable we are in each other’s company after some 16 years together.

Obviously there are many aspects of any relationship that would contribute to that situation, and we had discussed quite a few before we came to our Disciplinary Agreement and its role.

We had to conclude that our particular journey has not been into a more general D/s lifestyle arrangement, but “simply” one that, on those occasions when my behaviour warranted, gives DW the right to pull me into line by the administration of an agreed regime of Domestic Discipline, to which I have consented. Furthermore, DW made it absolutely clear that she values that right very highly, whilst both agreeing that it is by no means the raison d’être for our relationship.

So while our relationship may appear to outside observers as proceeding no differently than usual, that may well be the case - but on the other hand, it's quite possible that DW has only recently meted out some severe bottom medicine or has me in the most humiliating pair of panties she can find as a direct result of some behavioural infringement on my part. If my offence is committed in public however, she has her way of subtly communicating that there will be consequences.

Probably as a result of this discussion, DW and I have taken the opportunity to review our Domestic Disciplinary Agreement, originally drafted in July 2000. For those interested, and with DW’s agreement, the updated version (now at Draft C) can be found here.

Practice!

2006-07-31T22:20:00.000+10:00

“If you want to be really good at something you need to make it a priority and work at it. You need to practise. This is true in sports, in music, in any craft or area of knowledge you wish to master.” Seemingly sound advice that DW is now applying seriously to the further development of her skills in application of the cane to my backside.

DW’s renewed enthusiasm for this implement appears to have arisen primarily as a consequence of the delays to my most recently scheduled punishment. Although a suitably private opportunity to administer this particular spanking did occur at the expected time, as it turned out, DW had by then succumbed to a rather heavy cold that necessitated its postponement… and hence a considerable extension of the time that I was required to spend “on notice”. Although DW was not well enough to perform the spanking I so clearly deserved, this didn’t prevent her from ensuring my heightened anticipation of the event by dictating that I spend the remainder of my time “on notice” 24x7 in white, day of the week panties.

Under the terms of our Disciplinary Agreement, the intent of this measure is to provide me with an incentive for submission to a scheduled punishment as soon as practicable, remembering also that lovemaking can only be at DW’s initiative during a period of notice. As no suitably private opportunity for use of the hairbrush or paddle appeared likely for some time after the postponement, DW resolved that it was time to further develop her competency in the use of a much quieter implement - enter the cane. We currently possess two relatively light canes, one being straight with a woven leather grip, the other being very slightly heavier with a traditional crooked handle. To date, DW has shown a marked preference for the former.

As you may have read in some of my previous posts, DW has often employed the cane to quite good effect as an adjunct to a spanking, but the real and lasting after-effects have been more a consequence of her skill and persistence in use of the hairbrush and Spencer Paddle. It seems the time has now arrived for a caning alone to meet DW’s Measures of Effectiveness in a way that demands less effort, less privacy and hence less delay between my infringements and punishments.

Our previous research of the web has identified two particular articles on the subject that have helpful to us - one is still to be found on Aunt Kay’s DWC site, whilst retaining a link to the other has been more elusive. At the time of writing, it can be found here (unfortunately without the diagram on another site that has only recently shut down). On the basis of this information, DW appears to have set the goal of achieving a nicely parallel set of individually identifiable tramline bruises from top to bottom of my backside that last for up to a week. Consistent with the advice in the articles above, her initial focus has been on accuracy, but I can also vouch for a progressive improvement in the power of her strokes.

So once DW’s cold had sufficiently improved, over the week that followed I was to be found with panties lowered and providing DW with the opportunity for some practice with a live target. After some experimentation, it’s become apparent that my positioning over the back of a chair facing away from the bed will provide DW with a totally uninhibited swinging space. After some 4 “practice” sessions, DW was finally content to release me from panties.

An Addendum Required

2006-07-15T16:37:00.000+10:00

Our Disciplinary Agreement identifies a number of specific behavioural infringements that entitle DW to administer punishment. One of these is my tendency to agree on a specific time that we’ll retire to bed of an evening but then, for whatever reason, fail to keep to it. Although I’ve received more than a few severe spankings and spent extended time in panties as a consequence of this particular infringement, it has remained perhaps the most frustratingly intransigent aspect of my behaviour for DW. Even as I write this post, DW has me confined in some purple nylon panties and “on notice” to receive a spanking for precisely that behaviour last night. That spanking is scheduled to be administered tomorrow evening, and given my previous history in this area, I can rightfully anticipate a pretty severe blistering.

The very understandable source of DW’s frustration is that when she goes to bed, she really wants me to be there also, intertwined with her - and if she does elect to go off to bed at the agreed time before I do, too often it’s only to find herself lying awake wondering just when I AM going to come and join her. The result is that far too often, we both stay up, usually working in the office, well beyond the time we should simply have quit and retired to bed - together. My offense is only compounded if I interpret DW’s continued presence as implicit agreement that she has agreed to a delay in our retiring to bed - WRONG!

Given how much I enjoy being in bed with DW once I get there, even I find this behaviour difficult to fathom and can really offer no excuses.

In light of the apparent difficulty in overcoming this aspect of my behaviour, DW has determined that it needs to be corrected by applying an appropriate and clearly defined penalty that will be covered in a newly drafted Addendum to our Disciplinary Agreement. As this particular infringement relates to time, it seems appropriate, that the defined penalty also be time-based. In essence, the duration of the time penalty will equal the accumulated minutes by which I have been late arriving in bed after the agreed time. Although DW has imposed simple corner time on occasions, this new Addendum will formalise the application of time-based penalties.

So at this stage, the draft of the Addendum reads as follows:

PREAMBLE
In view of Ford’s persistent and intransigent behaviour in failing to comply with an agreed time to retire in the evening, DW has been granted the right to impose time-based penalties for this category of infringement.

BEDTIME
Whenever practicable each evening, DW and Ford shall discuss and agree on a time for retiring to bed. If such a discussion and agreement has not occurred, the default agreement shall be for a time of 10:45pm.

RECORDING AND DURATION
A progressive record shall be kept of the accumulated number of minutes by which Ford has been late in complying with the agreed bedtime. The duration of the penalty shall be the number of minutes that has progressively accumulated by the time the penalty is scheduled to be served. There shall be no credits for any time by which Ford has retired before the agreed time, and DW retains the right to impose all other forms of discipline for this infringement that are her entitlement under the existing Disciplinary Agreement.

SCHEDULING OF PENALTY
The penalty shall be served at a time of DW’s sole choosing, taking into account other commitments, accumulated duration of the penalty and maintenance of privacy.

NATURE OF PENALTY
The nature of the penalty shall be entirely at DW’s determination with respect to Ford’s:

state of dress;
level of discomfort;
physical constraint;
ability to communicate; and
location.

As might be gathered, this now leaves DW with the discretion to apply virtually any measures that she deems appropriate for the duration of the time penalty that can include feminisation, bondage and use of a gag. Consistent with the principle behind this penalty, it also means that I will effectively forfeit any time I may appear to have gained by delaying bedtime beyond our agreement.

The practical outcomes of this addition to our Disciplinary Agreement now remain to be seen.

Holiday Spanking Round Up

2006-07-02T21:54:00.000+10:00

So, turning now to the long weekend’s spanking summary.

Friday saw Ford in panties for the day as part of mental preparation for his participation as a contestant in the much-anticipated weekend of spanking action - and under strict instructions to be home early so as to depart for the tournament venue well before the evening’s rush hour traffic. Already named in Team Discipline that he would be facing were Hairbrush, Spencer Paddle, and both Canes, along with Panties. Noticeably absent from the team line up was Male Underwear - and even then, it was strongly tipped that Panties would be dropped for at least some of the tournament matches.

The Team’s tournament accommodation was located some two hours from its home base where, after a friendly reception from the locals for DW as the Team owner and for Ford as the other contestant, all participants checked into their comfortable quarters and settled in for the weekend.

Friday night saw a warm up match in which Hairbrush and Paddle scored 100 solid hits between them, leaving the other contestant somewhat breathless and contemplating the intensity with which the remaining matches of the weekend would be played.

Hairbrush was the sole scorer during Saturday morning’s game, stinging the other contestant with 50 rock solid hits scored from both sides of the field, once again demonstrating its ability to overcome any opposition with embarrassing ease and to redden a few cheeks in the process.

The surprise recruitment to the Team of S.T. Whip during Saturday afternoon caused more than a little consternation for the other contestant who could only wonder whether such a new import to the Team would play a significant role in the tournament so shortly after joining.

Saturday evening’s match was preceded by a players’ conference at the local spa, the highlight of which came when DW as owner of Team Discipline outlined the previous infringements by the other contestant that she expected her Team to redress during the evening’s match. The whole of Team Discipline obviously took this to heart in their efforts against a now softened-up opposition with each of the longer-standing team members playing a decisive role in its emphatic score of more than 100 hits. Just to emphasise her team’s domination over the other contestant, the team owner dropped Panties for the second half of the match, serving only to intensify the opposition’s suffering at the hands of her team that was now completely on target to take out the tournament.

As it turned out, Whip played only a minor role in match proceedings, but showed some strong potential to become a key player in future team selections.

By Sunday morning it was clear that Team Discipline had achieved virtually all of its goals for the tournament, but this didn’t prevent it from handing out yet another thrashing by another 100 hits to a now completely submissive opposition.

Interviewed back at home base after the tournament, the owner of Team Discipline indicated she was well satisfied with the Team’s performance with her only regret being the lack of a further match on Monday that with hindsight, would have provided the opportunity to give the other contestant an even more lasting message of her dominance in this field of spanking endeavour.
No injuries were reported to the understandably drained but untroubled members of Team Discipline who will now be rested until the next match.

Standing nearby and appearing decidedly less comfortable was the other contestant - who declined to comment on the outcome of the tournament other than to suggest that he obviously needed to lift his game.

A New Found Toy

2006-06-21T21:24:00.000+10:00

The 2nd weekend of June was a long holiday weekend here and regrettably, the last one to occur until November. As winter has well and truly arrived, fewer folks were inclined to go away for this particular holiday; so DW and I decided to make the most of the opportunity by renting a quiet and private cottage in the nearby mountains for some long overdue time, just to ourselves. The weather may well have been cold and damp for practically the whole weekend, but this was really of no consequence to our plans for simply enjoying each other’s company and rekindling the loving chemistry between us. Once we are freed from the need to consider others in the household, we never cease to be surprised at how little time this takes and how our desire for each other builds in direct proportion to the amount of time we can spend together.

So this was a weekend of relaxing, enjoying red wine, spending time in the big double spa, DVD watching, impulsive and passionate lovemaking, sleeping, reading and yes…I was also due for some remedial discipline, from which my butt has really only just now recovered.

On the only day that we felt inclined to venture outside (after DW had administered a morning spanking), we spent some of our time wandering through some second hand shops in a small nearby country town. In the backroom of one particular shop we came upon a couple of pure leather surprises that made my already sore backside “hurt just thinking about it” to slightly paraphrase you know who. The owner of the shop is a leather worker who specialises mainly in saddle repairs and leather pet accessories such as leashes and muzzles but there, also on display, were two formidable woven leather whips - one a single tail about 1.5 metres long and the other a nine-tailed affair with a rather threatening knot at the end of each tail.

The fact that they had become the immediate focus of DW’s attention was more than patently obvious to the shop owner who explained that they were not of her making, but came from another craftsman interstate who specialised in the manufacture of woven leather items. SO obvious was DW’s interest, the owner also felt compelled to add that we could have anything we wished made specifically to order and, that “she was very open-minded about it”!

After some little discussion, we settled for the single tail (although with hindsight, I suspect that DW now wishes we had bought both) and it was duly rolled up and packaged. It would be an understatement to say that the price was reasonable but as is customary, it’s my responsibility to make or purchase the instruments for use in my discipline.

Saturday evening saw DW’s first brief and tentative use of our newest implement - with DW confessing that “L” plates may be appropriate for a time until she fully learns its use. Irrespective, it made a great accessory to the outfit that DW ambushed me with later that same night.

An Omen from the Tenderiser

2006-06-15T20:45:00.000+10:00

After the demise of our original pine Spencer Paddle (as related in my earlier post “Over Again”), I’ve now had a couple of experiences on the receiving end of its much more substantial replacement. In each case, DW has taken advantage of a holiday period for the “running in” of her new implement, so to speak.

My first paddling with DW’s brand new oak Spencer Paddle came on the eve of a public holiday back in late April when the rest of the family happened to have left us to ourselves for the night. My first serious inkling that a spanking was in the offing came late in the afternoon when DW sent me off to the bedroom for a change into panties and some lightweight track pants, “… so they can be easily pulled down when I’m ready to spank you”. Some 5 minutes later I’d returned to my desk in the office having changed in accordance with DW’s instructions.

“So what colour panties are you wearing?”

“Monday’s panties are red Ma’am.”

“Umm… it sounds like the colour of your butt will shortly be matching them.”

However, it was only after another two hours’ of work at her computer that DW pushed back from her desk and wandered out of the office for a break. When she returned soon afterwards it became apparent that this break was also to include the promised spanking. It was only once I’d lowered my track pants and presented my panty-covered backside in a well bent-over position, that the reason for the spanking was explained. DW reminded me of a specific request she’d made on Sunday that I help with the preparation of a rather large and heavy item for shipment on Monday. In the end the request had been forgotten, and DW and her casual staff member had been left to package the item themselves - with some difficulty and in some haste on Monday morning. While in the process of this reminder, DW had taken up the new paddle and was rubbing it sideways across my vulnerable, nylon-covered butt.

As DW started to apply some pretty solid strokes, it was quickly becoming apparent that this paddle bestowed a quite different character of pain to that of its predecessor. Whilst there could be no denying the VERY severe sting from the impact of each stroke, the additional density of the oak and its slightly greater thickness also wrought a much more deep-seated feeling that this was also to be a very bruising encounter - despite the fact that DW appeared to be exercising some initial caution in her application of this new instrument for my punishment.
After she had administered fifty strokes across both cheeks, DW decided that it was time to lower my panties and inspect her progress to date. This she did by running her finger down my back, hooking it into the waistband and simply following through until they were down to knee-level. After then running her hands gently over the target area, my sharp reaction to her sudden grab of each cheek confirmed immediately to both of us the now very tender state of my backside. Another twenty somewhat stronger strokes my now bare cheeks then followed in fairly quick succession.

“Stay there.”

Just for good measure, DW had also brought the hairbrush into the office. After briefly rubbing its cool smooth back across my bare backside, she launched into a set of what turned out to be 20 absolute stingers that REALLY gained my attention. It seems to me that whenever DW has swapped from the paddle to the much lighter hairbrush, she tends to put much more “wrist” into each stroke - and my butt pays the penalty.

Still not content, DW re-applied the paddle for a further 20 hard strokes that rounded out my counting to 110 in total.

Then, after she had indicating that I was permitted to stand, DW added, “You are to remain in panties tonight and for the holiday tomorrow. Do you understand?”

“Yes Ma’am”, I replied somewhat breathlessly.

“That’s good Mister!”

The christening of the new paddle came a little later when, in response to one of DW’s characteristic queries about the state of my butt, the best description that I could come up with was “thoroughly tenderised”. After that, DW didn’t need to think twice about the name of her new implement for my discipline!

Even more ominous was the still tenderly aching state of my backside some 3 days later, even when seated on my normally very comfortable office chair.

That First Weekend - Sunday ...

2006-06-05T22:35:00.000+10:00

I can most readily separate my memories from the Saturday and Sunday of that first disciplinary weekend by recalling the markedly different state of my backside on those two days. Whilst Saturday morning had certainly provided some distinct reminders of the 100 hairbrush strokes I'd received on Friday night, Sunday morning was a wholly new experience of spanking after-effects that ensured a virtually constant reminder of the three butt-blisterings DW had administered during the previous evening.

Perhaps in an effort to provide some protection for my severely tenderised flesh, I had retrieved and re-installed my panties at some stage during the night. I had slept rather well in the afterglow of our lovemaking but now, come morning, even relatively small movements tended to re-intensify the stinging from the worst affected areas of my butt. Judging from the extent to which the nylon material of my panties tended to adhere to the blistered area on each cheek, DW had very nearly achieved her objective of an even treatment for both the left and right sides. After gingerly extricating myself from the bedcovers and climbing sideways out of the bed, I carefully lowered the back of my panties to survey the damage in the mirror. The two damp and slightly red patches in the seat area of the panties simply confirmed what I could make out as a clearly distinguishable area of raw flesh on each cheek. After carefully restoring my panties, I donned my dressing gown and wandered out of the bedroom. Meanwhile DW had set about making some breakfast.

After we had exchanged a warm good morning hug and a kiss, and being in no hurry whatsoever to sit down, I decided that a shave should be next on the agenda. Just as I was getting that underway in front of the bathroom mirror, DW wandered in, and with somewhat exaggerated casualness enquired, "How's your butt?". I suspect that my reply must have been along the lines of "pretty damn sore, thank you" because with that, DW lifted the back of my dressing gown to inspect the outcome of her handiwork. As the state of my butt was quite apparent without the need to lower my panties, DW simply commented, "Well I'd hate to think that all my exertions were to no benefit. Perhaps THAT will teach you to behave."

"Yes Ma'am, I certainly hope so."

A delicious breakfast was ready by the time I had finished shaving, and I can remember sitting on one of the soft living room lounge chairs to eat it from the coffee table as I leaned well forward. After leisurely enjoying DW's coffee, I announced my reluctant intention to go and shower and stood up - carefully. Just as I did, DW reached forward from her seat, deliberately grasped the paddle and said, "Well... just one thing before you do".

For some reason, I didn't attempt to argue. Perhaps it was my total surprise that, after all that had been visited upon my extremely tender backside, DW now planned yet more punishment - or perhaps it was an instinct that the future of our DW lifestyle depended on my willingness to submit this one further time. Instead, I shed my dressing gown, eased down my panties, and with the aid of that same lounge chair, assumed once more the now familiar position - absolutely knowing that this was about to hurt far more than any previous spanking I had ever experienced. As DW laid the paddle across my already desparately sore butt in preparation, I gritted my teeth in readiness.

DW applied herself just as enthusiastically as on the previous evening, mitigated only a little by the fact that she chose to apply her strokes to both cheeks at the same time. Even so, the intensity of the pain from the very first stroke was enough to make me gasp at its arrival, and I only managed to count it after a long swallow. As the paddle strokes just kept on coming I think the agonising pain simply transformed into a blurred continuum as I felt the blistering from the previous night being freshened and then rapidly aggravated. I must have been counting largely from instinct, because I seemed to have lost all sense of how many had gone before, and how many might be to come with the shear effort of coping with the pain and remaining in position. But after 50 strokes, DW did finally desist and carefully replaced the paddle back on the coffee table.

"NOW you know what will happen if you don't behave - you know it's for your own good."

"Yes Ma'am", I gasped while still trying to get my breath.

After some little time I'd recovered just sufficiently to consider standing. Rather than face the prospect of having to bend over again, I grabbed my panties as I straightened and pulled them up to about thigh level. I then very carefully lifted the waistband over my flaming backside and adjusted them for the least discomfort that seemed achievable.

The agony provoked by the shower was almost as traumatic as the spanking itself, matched only by that of the antiseptic DW insisted on liberally applying as unwelcome but essential aftercare. Once again a fresh pair of white nylon panties was waiting on the bed as I returned from the bathroom - at least these were somewhat less scanty in front than the previous day's. By the time I had managed to ease my jeans over the panties and zip them up, the stinging of my backside seemed to have settled to a slightly more manageable level. I think my movements for the rest of the day could best be described as "careful" in an effort not to reignite the intense stinging that sudden movements would provoke. Climbing out of the driver's seat once we had arrived at home was just one of those occasions.

With regular treatments of antiseptic lotion, it was still to be some 3 or 4 days before the red raw areas of my butt showed no further signs of their weeping and meanwhile, thick cotton underwear was a necessity! Not content with that, the outer layer of skin then dried out and gradually peeled off over the course of the next 3 weeks, just as would sunburn or a blister. Now when anyone talks of a blistered butt, I can be in absolutely NO doubt as to their meaning.

Hard to Leave

2006-05-27T22:35:00.000+10:00

It was early Sunday afternoon and I was in somewhat of a hurry.

I'd just been dropped home by a friend from a bike ride that lasted somewhat longer than planned - and now I needed to get showered, dressed, and out the door again quickly if I was going to make it in time for a concert performance that I'd promised to attend. So once inside the front door, I shed bike and gear in all directions, raced into the bedroom, pulled off my riding clothes and was into the shower. Normally a nice, longish warm shower is one of the highlights after cycling, but that was not a luxury the time would allow today.

Once I had finished showering and was reaching for a towel, DW offered to help by getting some clothes ready and in fact, had already retrieved a some jeans and a belt, shirt and jacket from the wardrobe and laid them out on to the bed for me. Then, as I continued rapidly toweling off, she headed for the chest of drawers to get some socks and underwear. After finding some socks in one drawer, her hand hovered for a moment over my underwear drawer, but then ominously moved down one level to the punishment panty drawer. As DW pulled it open she asked, "What colour are Sunday's panties?"

I thought for a moment and answered "umm... white, I think". As the drawer contains two sets of day-of-the-week panties, one that is all white and the other multicoloured, DW had to start sorting through the white pairs. "Let's see, that's Monday, Wednesday, Friday, ...ah Sunday", she said holding them up by the waist with both hands, "Oh, and look they also have a little butterfly embroidered on the front. I would just like to be sure that you're thinking of me while at the concert this afternoon."

By that time I'd already put on my socks and shirt, so once DW handed me Sunday's panties, I had little choice but to pull them on as quickly as possible - and to try and ignore the fact that I was definitely starting to get quite hard. Meanwhile, DW sat herself down on the side of the bed and set about tidying the punishment panty drawer. All of the panties had been pulled out onto the bed, and DW was examining each pair, carefully folding them in halves and returning them to the drawer - that was, until she noticed the all too evident bulge in my knickers that was about to be covered by my half raised jeans. With an exclamation she jumped up from the bed and wrapped her warm hand around the now bulging "Sunday" and embroidered butterfly. "Now that's what I really enjoy seeing - hmmmm...".

After she reluctantly withdrew her hand, I had the difficulty of zipping my now even tighter jeans and just managed to do up the top button over the top of my now solid hard-on. The just as obvious bulge in my jeans prompted more comments from DW - "so you managed to get them done up then - such a nice bulge". Fortunately no other family members were around as I made my way toward the front door, my state of arousal then being further reinforced by a very passionate goodbye kiss from DW. I was well down the road before the strained swelling in my jeans finally eased.

That night, as I climbed into bed still wearing Sunday's panties, DW reached down to rub her hands over them once again -"you can take them off if you like, you're not 'on notice'. I just wanted to know that I'd be on your mind. From what followed, I'd say it was pretty obvious that she had been.

That First Weekend - Saturday

2006-05-14T07:49:00.000+10:00

One of the other real advantages of this particular weekend cottage is the placement of the well-curtained main bedroom on the western side so there is no real hint of sunlight until late into the morning. Once outside of our normal home environment, it's not unusual that we sleep soundly until 10:00 or even 11:00am - perhaps a symptom that our normal daily routine leaves us somewhat sleep deprived. When we do awaken, the lack of any pressure to get on with the business of the day leaves us free to relax and simply enjoy the warmth of the big double bed ... and of each other. The intermingling of our scents from the lovemaking of the night before is also a special, shared and intimate reminder that is often a prelude to a repeat performance ... and once again drifting back to sleep.

Eventually the mutual desire for coffee and brunch stirred us from our fits of dozing - and yes, once I sat up on the side of the bed, I received a strong reminder that my butt had that definite, freshly spanked feel to it. The panties that DW had imposed the day before had been shed during the course of the evening somewhere back in the lounge room and as I stood up and turned my back towards the mirror in the wardrobe door, I could readily observe the rosy-cheeked legacy left behind the hairbrush. At least the swollen, welted area that I had felt by hand immediately after the completion of DW's handiwork seemed to have subsided. Much to DW's approval, showering further enhanced the sting and rosiness of my butt cheeks - helped along by a few of her playful grabs and mock surprise at my discomfort. I then returned to the bedroom to find a fresh pair of panties awaiting me on the bed. Being one of the first pairs that DW had employed for panty discipline, they were quite familiar - their most distinctive feature being a front panel composed entirely of flowery lace material that left virtually nothing to the imagination and offered no compromises to assist the comfort of a male wearer. DW watched as I did my best to adjust them while she made a comment that no male underwear seemed to be amongst the clothes that had been packed for the weekend.

Once both dressed, we enjoyed a leisurely brunch of bacon and eggs on the outdoor table and (hard wooden) chairs on the verandah. To the best of our recollection, the rest of the Saturday was spent reading, relaxing, walking and perhaps watching some TV. It's also typical that we venture to the nearest town and bring back something special for the evening meal - about an hour's round trip. But after we had eaten, and as evening was falling, I found myself again sitting on the lounge at DW's behest, clad in nothing but "my" panties, glancing periodically at that large station clock on the wall as the minutes ticked by toward 7:00pm - the hairbrush and Spencer Paddle still placed strategically on the coffee table.

An "Ok Mister!" from DW signified that 7:00pm had arrived. I raised myself from the lounge and assumed the same position at the front of the lounge chair as the previous evening, while DW grabbed the paddle. My panties were not tight and DW grabbed the elastic at my hips on each side and peeled them slowly down my legs and let them fall to my ankles. At that point in our DW lifestyle, I seem to recall that the Spencer Paddle was relatively a new acquisition (perhaps made in anticipation of that weekend), and this was to be my first real taste of it for a serious spanking.

My first impression was of the seemingly deafening noise from that first impact across both sides of the fleshiest part of my backside. This was almost immediately replaced by an alarmingly painful sensation that was, as best I can describe it, a combination of intense sting and burn. Although made of relatively light pine, I came to realise that this paddle engenders a very different variety of pain to the almost pure sting of the hairbrush. The second stroke arrived while I was still in the process of digesting the first but this time, it left me with a more deep seated impression, suggesting that this was also likely to be a rather bruising encounter.

"You had better count!"

"Twoooo Ma'am", I responded. To my relief, DW didn't correct me so as to exclude her first stroke from the total.

Nevertheless, to my escalating concern, it seemed DW had resolved that strokes with this paddle should be administered at about the same pace as those from the hairbrush, but to both sides of my backside simultaneously. As a consequence, I found it necessary to re-assert my grip on each arm of the chair and become mentally resigned to what was shaping up to be the most severe spanking that I had received. As the stroke count advanced through the thirties and into the forties, the only sign of relief was that the pain induced by each stroke was beginning to plateau, or even reducing slightly - in a manner that had never been apparent with the hairbrush.

At fifty, DW stopped to inspect the progress of her efforts. After gently running her hand over each butt-cheek, she must have determined that a slight change in technique was called for if both were to receive their fair share of the punishment. So from the 51st stroke onwards, it became clear that DW had decided to apply the end of the paddle alternately to each side. The much more localised and intense pain from each swat immediately banished my previous slight sense of relief that the pain-level seemed to have stabilised. Perhaps from my reactions with each stroke, the tone of my counting, or the developing appearance of my backside, DW must have detected the re-invigorated effect from each stroke, and gave a slight murmur of satisfaction.

Finally, after the 100th stroke had been delivered, and I was perspiring and breathing much more heavily than from any previous spanking, DW called a halt, and gently placed the paddle back onto the coffee table.
"That will do for this hour, pull up your panties, and come and sit down."

I was not in a position to do either of these with any degree of urgency. I felt somewhat light headed as I straightened and gingerly reached around for my butt with both hands to make some assessment of the damage. I could feel a large area of swollen, welted flesh as I gently ran my fingers over each cheek - and at one particular spot on the right hand side, could feel a sign that the skin was slightly broken and had started to weep - just noticeably. I reached down for the panties and eased them carefully over my fiery backside, spread out my dressing gown over the lounge and very tentatively, sat down. Progressively I lifted myself toward the back of the seat to get into a somewhat more comfortable position against the backrest. When I was able to sit still, the stinging of my butt would subside somewhat and enable me to transfer a little more of my weight to it - however, any slight movement tended to result in an acute, throbbing reminder.

After I had been more than content to sit still for the rest of the hour, I rose carefully for my 8:00pm spanking. As I started to lower my panties, I received confirmation that the welted area of my right butt-cheek was indeed weeping a little. This time it was to be the hairbrush and DW laid on another 100 strongly delivered, alternating strokes, working her way over the previously spanked area, plus a little more I suspect. By the end of it, I was well into new territory in terms of the pain that could be induced from a spanking, having never before experienced the repeat of such severe medicine after such a short interval - and as ever, the sting from that brush never let up, from the first stroke to the last. By the end of it I was almost gasping from the pain and my eyes were definitely starting to water.

This time as I gradually recovered some composure, it was readily apparent that an area of skin on both sides was now broken. DW bade me bend over, this time to apply a little antiseptic - that also stung like hell - before I raised my panties. Assuming and maintaining a comfortable sitting position had now become a much more problematic endeavour.

Any doubts I may have had that DW would follow through with a 9:00pm spanking were soon dispelled. Once again I was bent over facing the lounge chair, panties at ankle level apprehensively contemplating how I would cope with another round of Spencer Paddle strokes on the still very fresh feeling results from an hour before. I'd say it was this round that had the greatest effect in terms of the longer lasting physical and mental reminders that would persist from the weekend. By the time that DW had completed another 100 hundred alternated strokes with the paddle, apart from the agonising ordeal of the strokes themselves, I knew that the now raw areas of my backside that had started to weep quite noticeably, would provide a consistent remembrance until they had fully healed.

This weekend was to prove a watershed in terms of commitment to our Disciplinary Agreement and the development of our disciplinary relationship. It left me in no doubt that if my behaviour was sufficiently aberrant, DW would follow through with the application of spanking punishments that would make me seriously reconsider before I indulged in it. I suspect for DW, it was a real test of whether I meant to standby my commitment to fully submit to her discipline. Although the most severe spankings that I've since received have not quite rivaled the regime of that weekend (although some have approached it), I can be assured that if my behaviour warrants it, spanking punishments at that level, and perhaps even beyond, will await me.

The 9:00pm spanking proved to be the last for the evening and we retired to bed not long afterwards. Interestingly, despite the care required to minimise the pain and discomfort from my comprehensively blistered backside, it was not long before my panties had again been slipped down for some rather extraordinary lovemaking - but as I was to find out in the morning, the disciplinary component of the weekend was not quite complete.

So Ford, what do you fantasy?

2006-05-13T21:04:00.000+10:00

In late April DW had been rather unwell with a cold that had hung around for a few days making her feel rather miserable with the aches and pains that typically go with it. After we'd climbed into bed one night, I suggested that she roll over so that I could massage her back and shoulders. This I did for about ten minutes or so but inevitably (DW would say), my hand progressively strayed downwards to caress and fondle her backside - well after all, it is such nice backside...

After a few more minutes, DW turned her head toward me on the pillow and commented rather dreamily, "You know Ford, I suspect that you do entertain some thoughts of spanking my butt". Not quite a comment that I was anticipating because, as far as I am aware, DW doesn't harbour any particular desire to be spanked, but the discussion that followed went pretty much like this.
"Well ... not because you've done anything to deserve it", I responded somewhat hesitantly.
"Yes... but if you were to spank me, how exactly would you go about it? Where would you have me?"
"... draped over my knee I should think."
"Where would you be sitting?"
"... the chair over there would probably suit quite well."
"... and would you be wearing any clothes?"
"Well as the spanker, I think I'd be clothed, but you would be a different matter however."
"So what you have me wear?"
"Hmm ... perhaps your white torsolette with suspenders, stockings and some panties that show quite a bit of cheek."
"What else?"
"... perhaps a French maid's outfit with plenty of lace petticoating that I have to pull up out of the way to get to your butt.''
"And what would you spank me with?"
"Oh definitely my hand... that is unless you really want to feel how much the hairbrush stings?"
"No... I don't think so, but how many times would you spank me?"
"Perhaps 25 for starters, but you would have to count and ask for each one, along the lines of 'that's 5, thank you Sir, may I please have another Sir?' So I'd give you as many as you asked for, and I'd be able to tell how effective each one has been."
"... and would you pull my panties down?"
"Yes, or alternatively, I'd pull them up out of the way so that my hand could get to your bare cheeks."

Now it was DW's turn to reach across the bed to wrap her hand around a now very rigid part of my anatomy. "Hmmm...! - I think that you had bring that over here!"

It's just an impression, but I think that DW was starting to feel better.

That First Weekend - Friday Night.

2006-05-08T19:49:00.000+10:00

Although my punishment spankings first entered our relationship (to our best estimate) in about mid 1998, it was not until late 2003 at around the time of our wedding anniversary that DW first decided it was time for a weekend away that was primarily dedicated to remedial discipline. Certainly we had been for weekends and holidays that included spankings of varying intensities, but for this particular weekend, DW made it clear that spanking punishment would be the main order of business and that anything else would be scheduled around it, rather than the reverse.

In discussing our individual re-collections of this weekend, neither of us can now recall much about the particular aspects of my behaviour, or perhaps the frequency of its recurrence, that resulted in the decision for a discipline-focused weekend. DW did express the view that, as I am "consistently naughty", she would not have had to look very far for ample justification. Our recent discussion of this history also led to a (probably unfortunate for me) reminder from DW about specific aspects of our Disciplinary Agreement that I continue to infringe all too often.

As one of the favourite cottages that we rent on a regular basis provides more than enough privacy and is within only 1.5 hours driving distance, it was selected and booked about 2 weeks in advance from Friday evening through until early Sunday afternoon. When the Friday morning prior to that weekend finally arrived, I can remember that DW sent me off to work in a quite lacy pair of white nylon panties that go by the brand name "No knickers" - I think intended to indicate that they are designed to avoid visible panty lines. It seemed surprising to me that I can recall that particular detail, but what I endured whilst they, and other pairs, were successively lowered over the course of the following weekend is hardly something I'm likely to forget in a hurry.

Although I had managed to leave work a little early, the Friday evening traffic out of the city had been quite heavy and after picking up the key, we arrived at the cottage around 8:30pm, unloaded the car and made ourselves at home. DW's spanking implements for the weekend consisted of the hairbrush and homemade Spencer Paddle (the one recently broken) and these found a place on the coffee table in the cozy living room that opens onto the back verandah. Beyond was a view of the valley below and the first lights were becoming visible from a small town in the far distance. As it was coming into summer, the weather was probably quite warm but nevertheless, the cottage is well heated with a choice of either a (bottled) gas space heater or slow combustion stove. As we'd previously experienced, this meant that it was cozy to the point that the wearing of clothes could be optional.

DW had already required that I strip down to just my panties and left me seated on the lounge watching some TV from the few channels available while she disappeared into the bedroom. Some few minutes later she emerged wearing only a white and very lacy camisole that didn't by any means cover the matching G-string. Looking at my crotch and observing the progressively appearing bulge, DW couldn't resist her quite characteristic comment that - "I see I have your attention, turn off the TV". Her next move was to pick up the hairbrush, tap it a little menacingly onto her other hand - "well up you get then!".

Rising somewhat hesitantly I was instructed to face one of the low-armed lounge chairs that furnished the living room - "pull down your panties and get into position". I slipped the panties down and let them fall to my ankles. Grabbing each arm of the chair toward the back, I bent over until my elbows were bent to about 90 degrees and DW was content that the target for her hairbrush was being adequately presented. Standing by my left hip she placed one hand firmly in the small of my back and used the other to rub the smooth back of the hairbrush from side to side on the most sensitive lower area of my backside. She then uttered a brief murmur of satisfaction. "Don't forget to count for me." "No Ma'am!"

Perhaps it was a combination of the absolute privacy, the available space or simply my deservedness, but the strokes that DW then administered were by far the most severe that I had received up to that time. Alternating from side to side in classic fashion, the sting from virtually every stroke caused me to gasp before gathering just enough self-control to give out the count. By thirty, I was starting to breathe as if I had been playing a strenuous sport, and as DW progressed toward fifty, I could feel that I was breaking into a cold sweat. Not being accustomed to such strong and involuntary physiological responses to a spanking, I was beginning to wonder just how long DW would continue when finally, a pause did come after (I think) about 73 strokes - 73? Huh?

In reality, DW had simply paused to renew her grip on the hairbrush. Once she had done so, the brush was again rubbed across my now stinging backside. "Where was I up to?" I sought for an unambiguous answer. "The next would be 74." The only other thing resembling a pause was at 99, just long enough to ensure that the 100th was a real stinger.

I remained in position, panting, sweating and wondering if any more strokes were to come. "You may stand up." After I'd done so somewhat breathlessly, I said "Thank you Ma'am", and instinctively cradled my now tortured butt with both hands. I could feel a large area toward the bottom of each cheek that was becoming more swollen and hard by the moment but couldn't feel anywhere that the skin actually seemed to have broken.
"Hmm... yes that's right, your backside is very bright red, except for some rather pale-looking patches in the middle", observed DW. "Pull up your panties please."
I raised them carefully and after some adjustments to at least reduce their discomfort, I turned around and we fell into each other's arms. "Thank you for disciplining me Ma'am."
"That's alright Ford. Now tomorrow evening, I will be spanking you every hour, on the hour from 7:00pm onwards - understand?" DW glanced at the rather large station clock on the wall as if to emphasise the point.

As we sat down close together on the lounge (gingerly in my case) and started to relax, our warm, almost naked bodies blended into a progressively more passionate embrace. The lovemaking that followed was very special.

... in with the new.

2006-04-20T21:10:00.000+10:00

After the completion of my second spanking instalment on Saturday (and a not unexpected tenderly butt-stinging time in the shower), DW determined that I was to remain in panties until Tuesday morning, when I was due to return to work after the Easter holiday break - assuming that my behaviour remained of an acceptable standard meanwhile.

Sunday morning saw me repairing to the hardware shop in search of some raw material from which to fashion a suitable replacement for the faithful Spencer Paddle that DW had succeeded in splitting across my backside. This I found in the form of some 12mm thick sections of oak in widths of approximately 70 and 90mm, the latter being closest in width to the old paddle. On (I suspect a rather bad) impulse, I also purchased a short length of 180mm wide good quality pine, about 12 mm thick.

The reason behind the last purchase has some history that dates back my meanderings through the F/m world and when I was subscribed to a website that specialises in photos and videos of men being spanked by women. One video set in particular that I shared relatively recently with DW shows a male spankee secured over the back of a rather large arm chair receiving multiple sets of six from an attractive disciplinarian in a rather short skirt. On the whole he is coping reasonably well with the strokes from a variety of implements, with his counting becoming just a fraction agitated by the sixth, and occasionally the fifth stroke - that is until his disciplinarian produces a majorly serious paddle which coincidentally, looks about 180mm wide and about 12mm thick.

The volume and tone of his responses to each stroke is radically different right from the very first. Only with what seems like a monumental effort of will after the fifth stroke does he manage to get his call of the count back from a rather high-pitched almost squeal, to a more male-sounding register. "How efficient!" remarks DW, "being able to get such a good reaction from so few strokes". Mind you, if I produced the profanities that he did during this set of six strokes, I would be in panties and unable to sit comfortably for an indefinite period!

So while that particular piece of timber remains parked in the shed at the moment, I have had the time and opportunity to produce an oak replacement for our broken paddle that is virtually identical in size and shape. However, my first heft of the completed article revealed its decidedly increased weight in comparison to its pine counterpart...

Incidentally, I've also found the work of manufacturing the implements for use during my punishments to be a very strongly affecting aspect of my submission to DW's discipline - and can recommend it to those so inclined.
Right now I am back in male underwear, but the manner in which DW has eyed off the new paddle gives some cause to believe that its maiden application to my backside may not be far away.

spanking, domestic discipline, paddle, submission

Over Again

2006-04-18T22:18:00.000+10:00

The rest of the spanking that DW had so generously promised at the completion of Thursday's exertions had to wait a few days, again because of unscheduled arrivals by various family members. Even on Thursday, we hadn't realised just how tight the window of opportunity would be and exchanged some rather knowing looks as we emerged from the bedroom and heard the sound of the front door opening not long afterwards. But come Saturday, DW managed to catch me unaware with a well-improvised ambush.

I'd been out playing sport (thankfully whilst temporarily exempted from panty-wearing) and rather than diving straight for the shower on arriving home, had sat down for about 10 minutes to catch up on some email. Once done, and finding that DW was no longer at her desk, I wandered toward the bedroom with the vague intention of heading for the shower - where I found DW standing at the door - "Coming to have your shower are you?" Thinking that this was a not so subtle hint that I should really get serious about doing so, I entered the bedroom. It only took a few seconds for me to conclude that certain 'preliminaries' were to be conducted first however.

Four pillows were back in the position that had become familiar from Thursday, only this time accompanied by the hairbrush, Spencer Paddle and one of our two canes - the straight one with the leather grip. Up until that moment, the serious spanking that all this portended was possibly about the last thing I was expecting but nevertheless, my submission to it was absolutely what DW was requiring. I left my top on, but pulled off my shoes, socks, shorts and underpants before once again assuming my position over the pile of pillows and taking firm grip on the end of the bed.

The hairbrush was to be first and DW set to work, alternating from one side of my butt to the other with real enthusiasm. Meanwhile, I struggled to maintain an accurate count of the strokes and by fifty, the brush had done its usual job of turning my knuckles white as I reflexively gripped the end of the bed and was breathing quite hard. DW then paused, and reached for the cane. This is a fairly new addition to our relatively small collection of implements, and its full ability to inflict pain and create longer-lasting marks is still largely an unknown quantity to both of us. It's approximately 8mm in diameter, just over 900mm in length and reputedly of rattan - a combination that seems to put it at the "sting" end of the sensation scale. I've also read of the alleged potential for such a cane to cut flesh and wrap around. Although this has not been our experience to date, it also leads me to suspect that we have yet to realise its complete potential as a quiet achiever (certainly quieter than the hairbrush and paddle).

After 20 quite rapidly applied strokes, DW had turned the stinging in my backside to a feeling that it was radiating heat like a fire.

DW then reached for our homemade Spencer Paddle. Fashioned out of knot-free pine about 10mm thick with three rows of holes to ensure that no cushion of air spares the recipient, I am well and truly familiar with its potential for pain and lingering after effects. DW has made a specialty of applying it either across both butt cheeks, or much worse, to one cheek at a time. After about 15 absolutely ringing strokes, DW decided that she might even up the effect a little by trying her hand at some backhand strokes from the other side of the bed. I slid across a little grudgingly to facilitate this and away she went. After about 5 strokes, it happened - our old, tried and true Spencer Paddle, veteran of many a punishment campaign had had enough, and split into two pieces! We were both more than a little stunned.

DW chose to make up the rest of the 100 she had mentally allocated with the hairbrush and left me to recover some composure.

"I think you were about to go and have a shower?", DW mused. That had certainly been the plan before I was waylaid - but with the thought of how the hot water would amplify the stinging pain in my freshly tanned butt, the urgency for it somehow seemed to have subsided.

spanking, domestic discipline, paddle, submission, caning, hairbrush

Measures of Effectiveness

2006-04-16T20:34:00.000+10:00

As near as I can tell, DW has three primary ways of determining whether a remedial spanking has adequately achieved its purpose:

1. It must be sufficiently painful during the course of its delivery.
Based on a combination of the sound of its delivery and my reaction, with practice, DW has learnt to judge whether each stroke has proven effective for the particular instrument in use. For the hairbrush and Spencer paddle, DW knows that a well-delivered stroke makes a resounding report that echoes loudly throughout the room and beyond - whereas a stroke that produces only a dull thud has added little of value to the punishment.

In my experience, certain assumed positions and locations seem more conducive to the delivery of effective punishment strokes. Perhaps all too obviously, the most painful lessons have occurred when I am bent over the farthest, and when DW has had confident "swinging room" to deliver more fulsome strokes. In terms of sheer pain 'value', I'd have to rate being straddled over the side of the spa as perhaps the most memorable - something about that particular arrangement seems to put DW into stride and my memory of the last 100 rapid, perfectly delivered strokes from the hairbrush that I received in that position is still very fresh. A closely ranked second would be over the back of a captain's chair at a hired cottage that provided just the right combination of height and reach - yeeouch!!

DW is also not in the custom of nominating beforehand the number of strokes that I am to receive - preferring, I believe, to rely on the progression of my responses and the visible state of my backside to deem what is sufficient, and quite often, that a punishment should be paused or even split over multiple days in order to maintain the effectiveness of each stroke. After all, there is not much point in continuing on immediately if it has become obvious that a spanking has reached a point of 'diminished return'. An hour's break usually seems sufficient to ensure a renewed effectiveness - and when they occasionally occur, on-the-hour repeat spankings over the course of a day are something to be reckoned with!

For more rapidly delivered strokes, the interval between them is kept pretty constant, allowing just sufficient time for any involuntary exclamatory response on my part, and to announce the count. Nevertheless, I feel sure there are times when DW is deliberately raising the rate to test the limits of my endurance, and so that my response and counting become intermingled.

I expect that as our inventory of spanking implements progressively grows, the role will become clear for a more leisurely rate of delivery from items such as a severe cane or large paddle - where I suspect that the progression of pain sensations from each individual stroke is an event in itself. That red ball gag in the drawer may then find a use in keeping my noise level below that of the spanking strokes themselves.

2. Its effects must be visibly apparent for several days after the event - as a minimum.
When DW has decreed a punishment spanking, I can be sure that it will continue either continuously or in stages, until she is convinced that I will carry the visible signs of it for an appropriate period of time. As this is often difficult to judge on the same day that a spanking has occurred, DW has made a frequent practice of inspecting my backside over the days following a punishment spanking to ensure that she has 'left her mark' on me. As the general redness of a spanking fades, DW is content only if she finds more lasting signs such as tell-tale dark red lines and/or more generalised bruises. We've also been somewhat surprised by the ability of a hot shower to restore that healthy glow to my butt for a week or more after the event.

If, contrary to expectations, the markings are not sufficiently persistent, repeat performances can be expected until such time as they are.

After one particularly punishing weekend, the blisters on my butt cheeks took a full 3 weeks to resolve themselves. This in itself gave rise to the codeword between us of 'weekend' - which when used by DW, can be translated as an extremely severe warning to cease any particularly bad behaviour on my part.

3. The pain should also persist for some days as an ongoing reminder .
As this can also be difficult to judge at the time of the spanking, DW has adopted more of a prescription approach based on her experience that a certain number of strokes from a specific implement will produce the right outcome. Whilst the hairbrush appears to be the most severely painful of our implements during the course a spanking, DW has found that the more solid Spencer paddle is best for producing those long term painful reminders of a spanking. Once the more immediate stinging subsides, I then find it is replaced by a duller but continuous reminder that is there even when seated on the most apparently comfortable seating.

The delicacy with which I adopt a sitting position over the following days, particularly on a hard chair, can provide DW with a good indication of the lingering after effects. Alternatively, she also can adopt the more direct method of unexpectedly grabbing a piece of my butt, and observing my reaction. I expect that the penalty for her detection of a faked response on my part would not be worth the attempt.

Instalment (Over)Due

2006-04-14T19:28:00.000+10:00

It seemed only just after the last of our daughters had left the house, and as I was settling down at my computer, that DW decided that an opportunity is an opportunity, and was not to be missed on any account. Her instructions were very simple and to the point - in the bedroom right now, strip down to your panties, face the corner, arms folded behind your back, get ready for what you know you deserve, and is now coming.

My anticipation over almost the last week paled into insignificance compared to what I now felt. As ever the case, and despite my best efforts, the expectation of an imminent punishment made the removal of my clothing a less than graceful undertaking - almost tripping over my jeans as I pulled them off. This was all somewhat to DW's amusement, who feigned not to understand why I should be in such an agitated state. So while I stood there in only Thursday's purple panties, with a mix of vulnerability and foreboding growing by the minute, DW made ready.

First the wooden hairbrush was transferred from its pride of place on the dresser onto the bed. In terms of the amount of sting it can inflict for the full duration of a spanking, this is a truly fearsome instrument. While I see comments in blogs and websites about how the release of endorphins, progressive deadening of the butt nerves, or whatever, can reduce the sensation of pain over the course of a spanking - absolutely none of them apply to my experience on the receiving end of this particular hairbrush. Whether it's ten, fifty, or a hundred strokes, I can attest that the last one stings just as much as the first - and although it's NOT DW's practice to tell me how many are coming, it's my job to count every single one, irrespective of the speed of their delivery, or pauses for Q&A or lecturing. It fits exactly the descriptions I've read of a hairbrush designed for spanking - solid hardwood with an absolutely flat back - and came into our possession quite by accident (or fate), but that's another story.

Meanwhile DW had place a pile of four pillows almost half way down the bed - "OK, do you know where I want you?". I turned, nodded and somewhat awkwardly, placed myself facedown with my butt raised upwards over the pillows, and grabbed a firm hold with both hands to the board at the end of the bed. Once I'd settled into position, DW placed the smooth, cool back of the hairbrush on my backside, just about where the "protection" of my panties ended - "Do you know why you are getting this?". I managed to semi-coherently explain that it was the result of my bad language in front of our girls. "Yes that's right, and maybe this will help you remember not to do it!"

For remedial spankings, DW does not even consider the luxury of warm-up strokes, and this was no exception. Alternating from one cheek to the other, DW set a steady cadence of (I estimate) about one stroke per second - fast enough to have a cumulative build-up in my pain level, but not so fast that she can't give each one her full force, and listen and watch for the right responses from me. From the combination of my flinching, involuntary exclamations and tone of my counting, DW can clearly determine which of her strokes have REALLY struck home. Probably from a combination of this particular position and DW's determination to make her point, every stroke was finding its mark - and as she progressed through thirty, to forty and then fifty, the tone of my counting had become progressively more acute, my breathing quite rapid, and the first signs of a cold sweat were emerging from my efforts to deal with the agonising build up of the stinging pain in my backside. At fifty strokes, DW paused, again placed the back of the brush gently on my backside - "Can you remember what else you are receiving this for?"

This is one of the more difficult aspects of DW's punishments. Up until now, my sole focus had been on mastering the pain being inflicted on my backside and on keeping an accurate count of the strokes but now, knowing that there was obviously more to come, I was being asked to perform some minor feat of memory. I tried to re-focus from the pain and cast around mentally and finally came up with the only thing that I could recall - that I had been too late in coming to bed earlier in the week. Now this situation can be a lose-lose from my position - to not recall may, or may not be worse than reminding DW of a yet different offence to the one she had in mind. Fortunately in this case, I picked the right one.

DW successively hitched up each side of my knickers to expose my bare butt-cheeks, expressed some limited satisfaction at the state of their colour, and set to work once again. Any illusion I had that thin nylon panties offer virtually no protection from a well-used hairbrush were dispelled by the end of the 51st stroke. There really is nothing to compare with the stinging pain of each well-aimed stroke from that hairbrush on my bare butt cheeks. As ever, DW was undeterred by my reaction to the escalated pain-level. It turned out that she had 100 strokes in mind, and inevitably, that's what I was to, and did, receive.

As I lay on the bed, breathing hard and seriously perspiring, and as I gradually relinquished my grip on the end of the bed, DW simply said, "That will do for now, we'll save the rest for later".

Attitude and Inevitability

2006-04-13T19:29:00.000+10:00

After I have committed an infringement, in that (majority of) occasions when a spanking cannot be administered immediately, the serving by DW of spanking 'notice' has the effect of restoring our relationship to a level of civility and stability. DW can become comfortable in the knowledge that she will exercise her agreed right to perform discipline once a suitable opportunity arises - whilst I am (somewhat less comfortably) aware that I have deserved, and will inevitably receive, a level of remedial discipline that's appropriate to my infringement.

Meanwhile, DW doesn't feel a need to maintain an angry or resentful attitude in response to my aberrant behaviour - because she knows there will be an opportunity to deal with it. Likewise, I can be certain that the level of discipline inflicted will ensure that I express genuine repentance, with the additional expectation that I'll express gratitude for receiving it. That will then be the end of the matter.

Family circumstances have meant that this particular period of notice was one of the longest that I have had to endure. Blue, yellow and purple day-of-the-week nylon panties have successively appeared from Tuesday through to Thursday, with still no clear prospect that a suitably private opportunity would be available for a spanking. Although these particular panties could be described as relatively comfortable, their silkiness and unmistakable femininity have kept me continually mindful of my status throughout the workday - and of the punishment ordeal to come.

For someone that's accustomed to wearing nothing in bed, I've found the nightly enforced wearing of panties to be a real privation - that is also an exquisite tease. With the initiation of any sexual relief being solely at DW's discretion, and with her unique ability to arouse me to the state of a raging hard-on, sometimes I am left to fall asleep with her cuddled behind me, often with her hand gently surrounding my cock in its silken prison. On other occasions, just when I have virtually given up hope of relief for the night, DW relents.

When the opportunity for my spanking ultimately did arrive, it came in instalments that made the Easter Weekend a rather painful affair.

On Notice

2006-04-09T22:18:00.000+10:00

After preparing for bed on Friday night, I exited the bathroom to find a pair of pastel green nylon panties sitting on my side of the bed. They were high-cut, with lace trim to the waist and legs, a gusset of white cotton and "Friday" embroidered at the front, along with a small flower. The meaning being quite clear, I resignedly slipped them on (while DW looked on knowingly) and climbed into bed with her.

The panties were not really unexpected as DW had already placed me 'on notice' for a spanking earlier in the evening - just as I had been preparing to go out for dinner with a couple of our daughters. There was no point in denying it - I had used some rather inappropriate language to one of our girls in expressing my opinion about a particular website that was giving trouble. This is clearly covered as a punishable infringement in our Disciplinary Agreement. DW had then simply followed me into the bedroom while I was putting on a jacket to go out and quietly but firmly advised "You are 'On notice' - you shouldn't be using language like that, and I and the girls shouldn't have to be hearing it".

'On Notice' is a term defined in our Disciplinary Agreement that means I am due for 'Remedial Discipline' in the form of a serious spanking. As there are other members of the family in the household, it is rarely possible that I receive such spankings immediately, so being 'On Notice' is designed to be a constant reminder that some well deserved physical discipline is inevitably on the way. Requiring that I wear panties is simply DW's method of ensuring that I am continually reminded of that fact. In my experience, my continual awareness of the silkiness and the femininity of the panties serves to moderate my temperament somewhat, and serve as a warning that any further infringements will only make the coming punishment more severe.

This relatively 'mild' form of feminisation is a private affair between DW and myself, although my choice of outerwear does need to take account of the potential for visible panty lines that might make it apparent that my underwear is designed for the female anatomy. Being placed in panties is also not something that I will simply 'get used to' to the point where it loses its salutary affect - my awareness of being in panties is almost continual throughout the day, serving as an ongoing reminder of the spanking to come, and that I need to avoid any possibility that my style of underwear becomes apparent to anyone else.

Once I am in panties it is also only at DW's initiation that we can make love. Sometimes I feel that she is teasing me rock hard and absolutely bulging but it stops at a close embrace with her cuddled tight in behind me as we go to sleep. As it was some 48 hours on Friday evening since we had made love, Friday and Saturday nights were exquisitely teasing but thankfully, Saturday morning saw some welcome respite as I was allowed to remove my panties for a some well overdue sexual relief - for both of us.

Although it had been originally planned that my disciplinary spanking session would be scheduled for Saturday night, this did not prove possible due to changes in plans by other family members. Now it is Monday and I am required to work progressively through a set of 'day-of-the-week' panties being pink for Saturday, white for Sunday and right now, red for Monday. Unfortunately, a drawer full of specifically set aside panties in our bedroom is capable maintaining a ready supply - including some that are just ridiculously frilled, tight or just plain uncomfortable, according to DW's purpose at the time.

If the intent of being 'On Notice' in this manner is to give me the incentive to submit to a scheduled discipline as soon as practicable, this is certainly achieved. I won't say that I can hardly wait to assume the position(s) of DW's choosing, but that combined feeling of real foreboding but relief at finally submitting will be more than welcome, when it arrives.