The beginning of a marriage.

My wife of 8 hours stood in the corner of the hotel room, nose firmly pressed into the corner, the hem of her skirt pinned well-up her back. 1976 and Barbara, at the age of 20, had just been given her third and hardest spanking. This was evidenced by her trembling, from head to toe (her quivering bottom and thighs) the overall red color of her full cheeks, the bruises showing on them and the nasty red covering her upper thighs. As I waited and watched, the bruises took on a deeper red color, a more painful deep red, outlined and surrounded by her fair white toned skin.

Otherwise she was nude from the waist down, barefoot as well.

This wasn’t a game; she was being punished. It wasn’t over yet.

After mixing myself another drink I said: “Barbara, it’s time to finish this. Come here.”

She gave a deep sigh then turned and walked to join me at the chair. After having her turn around I unpinned the dress, unzipped it down the back then pulled it to allow it to fall in a puddle around her ankles. I told her to take off her bra which she did obediently. Taking her by the arm I moved her to my right side, sat and waited. Without being told she slowly placed herself back over my lap, reached down to grip the chair legs firmly and waited, her toes rested on the carpet. There was a sharp gasp as I slipped my hand between her thighs and pulled her roughly into a better position; higher over my lap.

There was more gasping and moaning as I made a few more adjustments then inspected the areas I’d previously spanked hardest. Any thoughts of resistance, of struggling, had long since been replaced by the reality of stinging, burning, bottom-wrapping pain. The harsh reality of discipline administered to a bare 20 year old bottom.

It would end quickly. A few minutes of concentrated, well-aimed, smacks to finish, then to the corner and then bed. I never give or gave any ‘after-care’ following punishment other than some reassurance of love with hugs and kisses. Unlike play the person being punished should suffer the continued stinging, the long lasting continued burn that comes with the humiliation and pain of the spanking or use of another tool. The lingering reminder that they have done something to warrant punishment and it has been given.

It was swift and hard!

The first few were an absolute painful shock which brought a growling gasp that rose in volume. As I concentrated on the areas already bruised this turned into a series of shrieks which quickly turned into shrill howls of pain coupled with convulsive crying. Barbara, pinned tightly at the waist, other than arching her back a few times, simply bounced and howled.

Once I was finished the crying continued for a minute before she slowly calmed then slumped across my lap to bawl. Once she’d calmed a little I told her to get up then helped her stand on some very shaky legs. When told to, she hobbled slowly back to the corner like any naughty girl.

I grew up in a home where discipline was common,for everyone. I realized there was no age limit the first time I saw my mother go over my father’s knee to have her bottom bared for a spanking. I was aware she took occasional walks to the barn to be paddled or, worse, get punished with the dreaded strop.

It was common for others I knew to be punished this way. Other wives would say: “Oh god, I’d be spanked ‘til I couldn’t sit for days,” or: “I’d get a dose of the wood (paddle) for doing something like that.” Or: “I’m afraid (insert husbands’ name) would get out the strap/belt for me over that.” You didn’t hear about divorces back then; you did hear about a wife who walked funny for a while or couldn’t sit for a while. My mother was, on occasion, one of them. I remember a few times when I thought I’d never sit again! A few of those times my sister was in the same shape.

Barbara had never, although she did need it on occasion, been punished in any way that would affect her behavior in the future. It was obvious at times that she needed some sort of discipline but her family had allowed her to get away with things for quite a bit. Her older sister, Mary, had grown up the same way. The attention-getting, attitude-adjusting shock of a bare bottomed spanking had been overlooked with both of them.

I’d met Barbara when she was 18 (I was 6 years senior to her) and realized, after a few months, there was some attitude adjustment needed on occasion. It wasn’t long before I was sitting on the lowered tailgate of my truck with her over my lap. Following a very nasty and embarrassing time at a party, we had a long talk as she began to sober up a little.

Other than these occasional drunken outbursts of pure nasty she was a great person. A little more arrogance than needed, more attitude than needed but, overall, generally nice and sweet. Nice to be around and very loving.

What she needed was a firm hand to give her some direction.

Once I made the decision to handle the problem it was only a matter of acting on it. Some time, some coffee, a long talk which turned into a lecture and a drive into a secluded area on the way home (she was sharing an apartment with some other girls) and acting on the decision. I felt that she would probably make a good wife and was willing to find out. If we were still together as a couple after the spanking, it could probably be worked out.

I didn’t tell her what I was planning to do; simply that some changes in the way she was behaving needed to be made, or something like that.

On my way around the back of the truck I lowered the tail gate then went to her side of the cab and helped her out. We walked to the back. I sat on the lowered tail gate and pulled her close for a short hug and a kiss. There had been no mention of spanking, it was going to be a complete shock.

Barbara was wearing a short wrap-around skirt. She stood watching as I found the tie, untied it, pulled the skirt off and placed it on the tail gate. Pushing her hands away from her sides, I then reached up under the tail of her blouse, hooked the waistband of her brief, lacy bikini panties with my fingers and slipped them down over her bottom. She did as I asked her to.

“Step out of them and give them to me.” I then placed them on top of the skirt.

Allowing no hesitation to break the momentum of what I’d started to do, I then grasped her left arm firmly, moved her around to my right side and quickly, using my other hand to cup her one cheek and lift her slightly boosted her up and over my lap. At about the same time she landed across my lap, the reality of what was about to happen set in! She was about to shatter the cool silence of the early morning along a deserted back road in the woods. In her slightly confused and fuzzy alcoholic haze there was a sudden sharp explosion of pain in her cute bottom.

The shock was so total that nothing happened for a while from Barbara, except some bouncing on my lap. Some sharp grunts and gasps but that was about it. I spanked each bouncing cheek in turn; middle to bottom and side to side, as hard as I could smack them. Once they’d been well covered, I started all over again. In a very short time she found her voice but, not forming her words too well, at the same time she began twisting around, wiggling and kicking while trying to get her right hand back to protect her bottom.

Taking her right wrist in my grasp, it wound up pinned to her side as I tucked her in good and tight. The spanking continued, the wiggling and kicking intensified, the squealing became yelling, I didn’t slow down, she tried to break my grasp on her right wrist, she tried in vain to get her left hand back, she kicked like hell, I just spanked harder and lower on those burning cheeks. Suddenly it was over. In an instant Barbara went from a major handful to lying over my lap. Her only sounds were yelps of pain as my hand found its target; the only movement was a bounce and a jerk as my hand made contact with her bottom or upper thigh. I’d spanked the fight right out of her.

I stopped, resting my hand on her red hot bottom. Barbara was crying. Barbara was sobbing convulsively like a little girl; big hard wet open sobs that shook her body from head to toe, huge waves of sobs that she couldn’t control.

At that point I began a little lecture which was also a series of questions. Each point was punctuated by a quick hard smack to the lower part of a burning cheek. When I didn’t get an answer to a question there was a smack to get an answer; she was a quick study. Between these I was treated to a display of jiggling bottom and thigh; this was also out of her control. As she listened and waited there was a lot of gasping, moaning and sniffling. This first spanking was a major shock to her.

I slowly and carefully explained that, if we were going to continue, some things in the way she was behaving would have to change. She agreed without hesitation. I also explained that, if it was necessary, she would be spanked to change things and get her attention in the future. She would be warned first. She understood and agreed with some hesitation but, I hoped, some understanding.

It took about an hour of comforting to calm her down. By the time I walked her to the door of the apartment she realized that I did love her. She realized that I wasn’t going to tolerate her being an unruly brat in the future. Poor Barbara was walking funny, there were still some tears but, the brat had been spanked away for a while; about 6 months.

Our wedding had been a civil ceremony at her family’s farm near Waynesburg Pa., followed by a small reception at an older but nice hotel in town. There had been a little drinking at the farm which increased during the reception. Along the line a tone of nastiness had crept into some things that she and her friends were doing. To this day I don’t have any idea what was going on and, when I tried to tone things down, they seemed to get worse. I gave Barbara a few warnings; they did no good at all. In the end I quietly made some apologies then took her in hand and helped her find the door. That became an instant problem, a loud one, a loud profane one! Stuffing her into the elevator became a struggle but, once inside and with the doors closed, I pulled the ‘stop’ button. As I did that she advanced on me ready to give me a slap.

Barbara ended up firmly tucked under my arm. I gathered-up the thin but long velveteen dress to tuck it up her back, exposing the gray stockings, garter belt and thin tight bikini panties stretched tightly across her bottom. The garters and stocking-tops seemed to outline the target area perfectly. She struggled like hell; I began spanking like hell.

By the time the door opened on our floor, she was a mess. Barbara’s hair was disheveled, her dress was askew, a few garters had let go so her stockings were sagging. Her makeup was a little smeared (she’d started crying), she was carrying her shoes (which she’d kicked off) and I had her firmly by the arm. I marched her directly past the older waiting couple and straight to the door of our room. Once inside I stood her in the center of the room then locked the door as she huffed, puffed and sniffed. That finished, I moved the armless chair away from the desk before confronting her.

Back then, someone getting a spanking was not really unusual. Although others on our floor or in the rooms above or below could have heard something, I wasn’t too worried about anyone complaining about the noise. It was simply a wife being given a good dose of discipline by her husband.

She’d been given a pretty good warm-up on the elevator; her bottom was beginning to sting like hell and all of the fight had been replaced by resignation.

“Barbara,” I began. “You are about to get a damned good spanking! How you take it is up to you. There’s no reason to explain why. You know.”

I then paused to allow that to sink in. As it did, she nodded slowly, sniffed a few times but just stared at the floor. Placing a few fingers under her chin I raised her head so that our eyes met. She blinked a few little tears away.

“Ok, take off your panties, garter belt and stockings, now.”

As she slowly obeyed I opened her purse and found a couple of the ever-present Bobbi pins. When she finished I pulled up the hem of her dress and pinned it. Barbara was now bare from just above her waist to her toes. I placed the lingerie on the small night stand.

I seated myself then beckoned to her. Slowly, almost carefully, Barbara made the few steps and then placed herself across my lap with a heavy sigh. I adjusted her position, pushed the extra parts of the dress out of the way then tucked her in good and tight. The first thing I noticed was that the little warm-up in the elevator had done a pretty good job. Barbara was always very fair-skinned; she reddened quickly and bruised very easily. It was stinging and sore but it looked worse; her entire bottom was the color of a very ripe tomato. There were a few spots where the outline of my fingers could clearly be seen as well, quite clearly.

With no reason for any conversation, I simply began spanking all over again. There was some wiggling, bouncing and kicking as the burning pain exploded on her bottom and spread. Her grunting and yelping quickly turned to howls of pain, accompanied by convulsive crying as the discipline went on. And yes, it wasn’t a game. Barbara was being punished.

In the end I put her to bed then held her as she slowly calmed down then drifted off to sleep. That took a while; her convulsive crying, the embarrassment and shame had unnerved her totally; she was a mess.

It was worse the next morning. Barbara not only looked like hell but was quiet and sullen, pouting. As we packed and prepared to leave, dressing was an issue for her. Other than the wedding dress she’d only brought a pair of jeans and a very tight pair of denim shorts. Finding the jeans very uncomfortable to get into and, very hot once on, she changed into the shorts for the ride home. They were so short that the bruises on her upper thighs were showing a little. I’ve often wondered what some of the people in the dining room thought that morning during breakfast. The girl in the sunglasses walking slowly and carefully to a table then, bracing herself with her hands, sat down ever so slowly. The small careful little wiggles as she tried in vain to get comfortable on the hard wooden seat. Picking at her food with little or no interest then, a little later, rising slowly and limping carefully out of the dining room.

The comment no one heard was about half way through breakfast. After wiping a few stray tears, following a big sigh, Barbara said: “God, I hope you never spank me that hard ever again.”

I don’t think I did but, about a year later, I made a paddle that fit her bottom very well.