Jack’s wife, sidelined by a wrist injury, ensures his discipline continues by engaging a female family friend accomplished at spanking two generations of males in Jack’s family.

Chapter 2: Spanking Outsourced

Our Female-Led Relationship

Both my wife and I took my discipline seriously.  She wasn’t dominant in the sense that many people see female dominants today, not into wearing leather nor carrying the discipline strap around all the time.  We had normal sex lives and looked like any 1970s couple both in and out of our home with one exception:  Ours was a female-led relationship (FLR) ruled with her taking a leather strap to my bare bottom whenever warranted. At the time we were not aware of any label for this kind of relationship structure.  I had a professional job where I wore a suit every day. At home, I performed many of the daily tasks which she didn’t care to do such as cooking and housework.  We handled our finances together since that was important to both of us.  I devoted myself to my wife and making her happy because that was the relationship we both wanted.  Whatever she asked of me, I always did it to the best of my ability.

Domestic Discipline

Our female-led relationship grew and flourished through domestic discipline (DD). This was a total role reversal compared to how I treated her before us having the “talk”.  From the first time she needed to take the strap to me, she became better and more efficient at delivering sound and thorough bare-bottom correction on both an emotional and physical level. Those talks that preceded a strapping become more effective yet more embarrassing.  When she said, “It’s time,” I obeyed immediately and reflected deeply as I followed through the steps of her established protocol: During the walk to the bedroom; during the time I was removing all my clothes; during my time naked and in position; during my anxious wait for her entry into the bedroom, I became acutely aware of what I had done wrong and how I would improve myself.  Over time her strap-wielding accuracy and power grew with frightening effectiveness painfully evidenced by the swelling and marks left behind. While I did not dare to clench my bottom cheeks, I learned to endure the punishment by letting my whole body absorb every burning stroke as I mastered breathing through the agonizing pain. Both techniques enabled me to survive the necessary increase in the domestic discipline that my wife became so accomplished at administering.

My Wife Sprains Her Wrist

In 1977, almost a year after working to put our marriage back on track, my wife suffered a badly sprained wrist on her dominant arm.  Before her accident, I averaged a strapping once every three weeks.  Her injured right wrist required a trip to the doctor, but fortunately didn’t require surgery. However, she could not engage in the rigors of discipline during the two-month recovery period. Since it had been a couple of weeks since I was last disciplined, unknown to me she was coming up with a “Plan B”.

Miss Ruby

Miss Ruby was my dad’s lady friend, they lived together.  She was an older woman whom I estimated to be between twenty to twenty-five years senior to my dad making her sixty-five to seventy years old.  While I was still partial to my mom through their separation and divorce, I still loved my dad very much.  I respected both parents in their decision to end their relationship,  as well as my dad’s decision to befriend Miss Ruby.  In the approximately five years my dad and Miss Ruby had been together, I visited their home many times.

Miss Ruby was widowed for almost twenty years.  She lived in a very upscale home on nearly three acres of land.  During our many visits to her massive two-story home, my wife and I spent most of our time with Miss Ruby in her elegantly decorated sitting room, dining room, and kitchen.

About a week after my wife’s injury, my wife informed me that my dad was on his way to our home to take me to visit Miss Ruby.  At the time, I didn’t think anything of it since I had been at her home with my dad on several occasions.

My Spankings Revealed

Dad and I arrived at the home he shared with Miss Ruby.  We entered through the front door that adjoined the entry foyer which led to her dining room on the left and sitting room to the right after passing through an archway.  Removing our shoes, we proceeded to the sitting room. As we turned the corner, I saw Miss Ruby waiting for us. Sitting on her upholstered throne-like chair, she invited us to sit on the couch indirectly facing her. Dad and I sat on opposite ends of the couch. Miss Ruby had a heavy sofa table positioned about three feet from the wall across from the couch.  It was approximately two and a half feet tall, five to six feet long, and about a foot wide. Nothing stood out about this item of furniture until I noticed the sturdy L-brackets that bolted the legs to the floor rendering it immovable. The four eye hooks, each firmly secured to a table leg, further increased the incongruity in this otherwise elegant room. It would soon make sense.

After some casual talk about the weather and traffic, her tone changed and became serious.  She told me she had spoken to my wife on several occasions during the past year about the details of the discipline I received.  With my head lowered in embarrassment, I looked towards the floor overwhelmed with thoughts of how my wife could share such a private matter with anyone. My embarrassment only intensified as Miss Ruby recounted in my father’s presence the intimate details of my bare bottom strappings.

Dad was never present when Mom disciplined me. He always managed to be out of the house whether he was out-of-town working or down the street at the neighborhood bar.  Miss Ruby tried to comfort me in a more caring tone with assurances that I shouldn’t be embarrassed that I had agreed to improve my life by whatever means necessary.

Two Generations Spanked

She told me how fortunate I was to have my wife who loved me deeply and cared enough to provide both the personal and marriage-saving discipline that I very much needed.  Then, the shock escalated.

She proceeded to tell me that all the men in my family were held accountable for their actions or shortcomings.  I looked up at her, visibly confused, as she must have seen the expression on my face.  Miss Ruby then laid it out quite matter-of-factly:  She told me that she paddled my dad and had taken the cane to my grandfather when he was alive after my grandmother had passed.  Driving her point home, she reached down beside her chair from the side I couldn’t see and displayed a cane.  So many thoughts were going through my head from what she said.  Then, I was drawn back to a time visiting my grandparents when I was about five years old.  I remember finding a cane, like the one she held, behind the door in my grandparent’s bedroom and would play with it like it was a rifle.  I looked at my dad on the other end of the couch, he was looking down in embarrassment.

Miss Ruby then told me that she and my wife had spoken during the week to discuss my need to be disciplined.  It had been about three weeks since I last received a strapping and there were some actions and missed tasks for which I needed to be held accountable.  She had volunteered to help my wife while she was recovering, and my wife agreed.  Miss Ruby proceeded to inform me with definite authority that she was going to administer a hard strapping just as my wife gave me and the same she had given her late husband. But first, she announced, I needed to witness the punishment of my father.

The Paddle

Miss Ruby said that my dad needed to receive a spanking that day and that I was to observe the protocol, carefully — carefully, because I was going to be next and was expected to follow it, exactly. While she said that, she reached down beside her chair again and, this time, retrieved the paddle: It was beautiful, frightfully beautiful.  The punishment surface was about fifteen inches long, five inches wide, and about an inch thick.  I had never seen that type of grain; the finish was a clear lacquer that brought out the beauty of the wood.  Truly a work of art, it was so different from the paddle I received in Catholic school.  She told my dad to get the table ready.

A shiver ran through me as the unusual sofa table that I studied earlier began to make sense. Miss Ruby always had three vases with beautiful fresh-cut flowers, the center one was a bit taller with smaller matching vases on each side.  Dad carefully moved the vases to the kitchen and returned with a pillow bolster from the coat closet placing it on the table. Hiding in plain sight, the table’s signature role became chillingly clear: A spanking platform fashioned for restraints.

Dad returned to the couch, took off and neatly folded his clothes before placing them where he sat.  I was seated on the end of the couch closest to Miss Ruby’s chair, to her left.  His white underwear was still on when he walked over to her.  This gave me a flashback to what I would have looked like as I was preparing to be strapped by my mom.  It was the same ritual, while I could never see it from her perspective, now I did.  Miss Ruby lowered my dad’s underwear to the floor and exposed his hair-covered pubic area.  I could also see some faint purple marks on his bottom evidently from a previous paddling.

Dad then walked to the table and lowered himself over the pillow bolster. In position, his feet were off the floor, he waited until Miss Ruby arose.  With several ropes in hand, she proceeded to deftly secure his wrists and ankles to the table, arms and legs all spread wide.

Miss Ruby’s physical strength was not to be dismissed for a female sixty-five or even seventy years of age. She was in awesome shape and worked out regularly at the “Y” by swimming and lifting some weights. Taller than my mom, she was slightly shorter than my 5’ 10” wife.

She swung the paddle into my dad’s bare bottom with full force – he gasped. Each stroke expertly landed causing poor Dad’s entire ass to turn from pink to red, to purple, and finally to blister-white in some spots.  She delivered strokes in sets of ten, not stopping until the spank count reached forty. I don’t know if my dad needed his wrists and ankles bound as he didn’t seem to tug on the ropes throughout the intense paddling Miss Ruby had just administered.

She laid down the paddle next to him and walked over to the apex of the inverted “V” his bound legs made.  Her left hand made its way to his cock and balls while her right hand caressed the multi-colored marks on his blazing flesh.  After a short time, she unbound his ankles and wrists, thoroughly spanked, Dad unmounted the table.  Overwhelmed, I tried to process what I just witnessed.  I could not ever remember seeing my dad naked, and I most certainly never saw him spanked or even knew that he was.   Then I realized I wasn’t the only adult who was disciplined by a good old-fashioned spanking. And I was next.

The Razor Strop

I hadn’t been spanked in daylight since the two years which passed when my mom last took the strap to me.  As I wrote in my previous chapter, my wife needed a darkened room with a dimmed light just enough for her to see her target accurately.  Miss Ruby motioned without speaking that it was my turn as she sat back in her chair.  I knew with the respect for women that both my mom and wife instilled in me, I needed to obey – and obey I did, immediately.

I removed my socks while still sitting and then stood up only to realize that I was standing in front of the huge picture window, which would allow passers-by to see in although the house sat back on the property from the street, just a little.  I began to unbutton my shirt while scared about what was coming next.  As I reflected on the man bikini briefs I was wearing, I couldn’t remember the color I had put on that morning.  Underneath my briefs, I had to stay shaved because my privilege of having pubic hair was revoked as part of the original discipline contract set out by my wife. While had gotten used to my privates being hairless, now was the first time I would be seen shaved bare by anyone other than my wife – fear compounded by embarrassment.

With my shirt off, I unbuckled my belt and lowered my jeans.  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Miss Ruby’s face.  I stood back up fully after pulling off my jeans and folding them.  She asked me if I was wearing girl’s panties with a smile that radiated femdom delight.  I told her that they were for men, she insisted they were girl panties.  I walked over and stood in front of her.  My dad had to stay naked.  He sat on the couch where I had been sitting and to my right as I faced Miss Ruby with the picture window behind him.  The table with the bolster pillow was to my left.  I felt Miss Ruby’s fingers on each side of my underwear hooking into the waistband,  my semi-hard cock was freed as she lowered them.  To further my embarrassment, she said I was the first guy she had ever seen without hair on his cock and balls.

I stood in the silence for what seemed like an eternity while staring at the light-yellow wall behind Miss Ruby purposely not looking down at what she was seeing.  I was naked in front of her with my underwear at my ankles.  The silence was intentional by Miss Ruby.  So many thoughts were racing through my head: thoughts of the knowledge Miss Ruby shared with me regarding my dad and grandfather, thoughts of the paddling I had just seen my dad suffer, thoughts that I wasn’t the only adult who needed to be spanked, and thoughts of the hard strapping promised I was now about to receive.

Miss Ruby reached down and placed the razor strop on her dress-covered lap.  My eyes were riveted to the well-worn strop of disciplinary leather measuring two inches wide, twenty inches long that would soon leave a lasting impression. She explained that her late husband always went to a friend who was a barber for his haircuts and shaves.  In the 1930s, her husband asked his friend for the strop and it was gifted to her husband.  After he brought it home, he removed the metal hook from the non-handle end leaving the copper-riveted leather-reinforced end untouched.  There were two sides to the strop, one smooth, one coarse leather.  It was cleaned and oiled which led to the darker-brown color.  From that time until his passing, Miss Ruby’s husband received the razor strop for his discipline.  She explained it had been almost twenty years since its last disciplinary service.  I remember being honored that she would use it on me.  Grabbing me by the balls, she squeezed firmly telling me it was time to be disciplined. Upon release, I stepped out of my underwear and walked over to the sofa table.

FolIowing the exact procedure I was ordered to observe when my father was punished,  I carefully positioned myself over the bolster pillow on the sofa table so that my head and shoulders pointed in a downward position leaving my feet completely clear of the floor.  Dad must have been binding my ankles spreading them as far apart as possible.  At the same time, I could see Miss Ruby take the doubled-up cotton rope and pass the ends through the loop and around my wrists.  She pulled it tight and tied it off to eyehooks screwed into the lower part of the legs near the floor.  I also noticed heavy L-brackets that secured the legs of the sofa table to the wooden floor.  The table didn’t move even with my 180 pounds of body weight.

Secured and Strapped

After I was bound securely in place, Miss Ruby stood up and began rubbing my back.  She was standing close to my head and when I breathed in, I could smell the sweet aroma of her erotic juices that began to flow.  I’m sure she knew she was turned on and wet.  Inhaling her fragrance made me totally relax in addition to her rubbing my back.  I was prepared mentally as much as possible for what was going to happen next.

Miss Ruby moved behind me so I could no longer see her.  I felt the strop tapping against her intended target. The first stroke landed with a fire that took my breath away. Paced with practiced skill, she delivered the first set of ten strokes and then paused. The strop felt heavier than the black strap used by my wife.  When the next stroke landed, I could feel that she was standing on the other side of me by where the strap-end landed.  The strokes continued until another ten-count was reached.  Getting a set number from different positions was completely foreign to me.  My wife would always land the strikes from the same side, without pattern or count.  During the first twenty licks, my bottom began to swell.  As the next set burned deeper, I started my breathing exercises to endure the pain.  I relaxed completely, surrendering to the torment as my consciousness focused on each blazing lash. I had entered this mental space several other times while being thrashed by my wife, but never to this level. I counted the sets as each pause occurred.  Miss Ruby laid into my bare bottom with surgical precision and fiery force until the merciless count of sixty was reached. She was an accomplished disciplinarian, a master of delivering punishment.

My body remained limp, and my eyes remained closed in a trance-like state.  The ropes did their intended purpose of keeping my arms and legs spread wide.  Now there was total silence.  After a couple of minutes, I felt a soft hand caressing my sorely punished flesh.  Moving up my spine, she stroked my shoulders as she walked from the side of the table. Once again, the aroma of feminine wetness wafted over me – but, it was not hers. It was the absolutely unmistakable scent of my wife.  As my eyes jarred open, I was unable to raise my head enough to see anything other than her immediately recognizable shoes and skirt. My wife told me to relax, saying “it was over.”  My spirit calmed as I allowed myself to luxuriate in the fragrance of wet heat that radiated from my wife.  My ankles were released, my legs fell together. My wrists were unbound, and my arms dropped closer to my head.  I rolled my body back to stand: At first, my legs were weak, I slowly regained the ability to stand but struggled to balance. With my head slowly clearing, my wife and Miss Ruby helped stabilize me.

The four of us engaged in several topics of conversation without addressing the spectacular display of discipline that had just been administered. Dad and I were required to sit naked on the floor at the feet of both Miss Ruby and my wife respectively.  We were only allowed to stand to refill the wine glasses of the women.  I was finally allowed to get dressed, but not until it was time for my wife and me to leave. My dad had to stay naked.

The Drive Home

The drive home was quiet, at first.  I drove since my wife still had her right arm in a sling. Eventually breaking the tense silence, I asked how much she had seen. Everything Miss Ruby divulged about my dad and grandfather, but noting she had heard it before when speaking with Miss Ruby.  She said she slipped into the foyer out of sight when my dad’s underwear was coming down.  From where she was standing, she could easily see both my dad and me being soundly and thoroughly spanked.  When I was standing in front of Miss Ruby, she poked her head out of the foyer and saw the back of what was happening.  Both Miss Ruby and my dad knew she was there.  She told me that throughout the year, Miss Ruby was schooling her on how to improve her discipline sessions.  She told me that today’s event had been in the works for some time and that spraining her wrist merely sped up that which was already destined.

Many things had changed that day including being disciplined in daylight.  I also had a new understanding that discipline was not something I should be ashamed of.  As we approached home and I turned into the driveway, I opened the garage door with the remote opener.  My wife said that after I parked the car, I needed to close the garage door and remove my clothes and enter our home completely naked. Before closing the door to the house, she said “we need to talk.”  She closed the door and I started to get naked once again.  Still very sore from the strapping, the pain bore on from the forced naked sitting on Miss Ruby’s floor, and the drive home. My severely whipped bottom was reflected by the car’s side mirror vividly detailing the thoroughness of Miss Ruby’s razor strop punishment. Wincing, I folded my clothes and entered the house.

Domestic Changes: Spanking and Nudity

I found my wife sitting on the couch in the family room.  I set my clothes down and stood in front of her.  She hiked up her skirt intentionally revealing her panties then directed me to go over her lap. Kneeling to her left, I bent over her slightly spread legs and immediately detected her aroma of arousal. Her soaked panties did not escape the corner of my eye. I repositioned myself so that my cock and balls hung between her legs.

While I knew this was the classic spanking position, I never recalled being spanked that way. Welted and swollen I feared that could not endure any more punishment, pleading was forbidden.  To my great relief, my dear wife began to apply soothing cream to my aching flesh – cream which Miss Ruby had given her. Gently applying the cream, she said there would be some changes to the way I was disciplined.

The location and position of spankings in the bedroom would remain the same, but two things would change. My spankings would no longer occur under dim lighting and I was not required to dress after a spanking. Both conditions were originally included in our domestic discipline contract so that she did not have to see the results.

From now on, she stated, there would be more nudity on my part around the house and possibly in the backyard. Whenever told to get naked, I was expected to strip immediately and then sit on the floor by her feet. As she finished applying the cream, I slipped off her lap and kneeled between her legs.  With her still sitting on the edge of the cushion, I removed her drenched panties and thanked her for the entire day. Burying my head between her legs, I brought her to multiple orgasms.

Epilogue

There were many times I had to visit Miss Ruby to be disciplined for various reasons.  All the subsequent sessions were private.  I never saw my dad disciplined again and neither my wife nor dad witnessed Miss Ruby disciplining me after that first time.  At times while I stood in front of her after she dropped my underwear to my ankles, she would slap my semi-hard cock until I was hard and felt like I would burst out of my skin.  I was always bound over the sofa table and corrected with the old-fashioned razor strop. The number of strokes gradually increased to one-hundred-twenty always careful that she wouldn’t break my skin.

Quite often, my mouth was filled with her folded panties so I could taste the wet crotch.  During the short pauses between ten-stroke sets, Miss Ruby would often caress my cock and balls.  Afterward, I remained naked until I was free to leave for home. While many times I was required to bring Miss Ruby to orgasms with my tongue, no penetrative sex was allowed.  She would set the scene for oral service by placing an outstretched towel on the wooden floor where I lay on my back.  Next, she would stand over my head expecting me to look up her dress to see that she was without panties.  Miss Ruby would then kneel over my face, spread her dress out, and lower herself to my outstretched tongue and would remain in that position until exhausted from repeated orgasms.  Each time when I returned home, I had to strip from the waist down so my wife could inspect the welts and my swollen bottom – a view she once avoided, she now relishes.

Jack invites and encourages your feedback in the comment section below or via email where he can be reached at spnkswtch@gmail.com.

The journey continues in the next installment – stay tuned.