Rose and Terry enjoy a long term romantic relationship built on a cornerstone of strict old fashioned domestic discipline with Rose most definitely in charge. Read on as they have graciously shared how it all began.

You are welcome and invited to contact the authors Rose and Terry.

My wife and I began dating about 1976. I had just finished a messy divorce so marriage was not something I wanted to jump into. I had bills and a four year old daughter as well as my job to worry about; a relationship was something I really didn’t need at the time.

To fast forward, understanding that a man has only enough blood to run one organ at a time, things proceeded and a life together was beginning to seem like a good idea. The problem was I was afraid I might be making another mistake.

As background you should know two things. I was raised in an environment where transgressions were taken care of right away and then forgotten. Trips to the woodshed were a euphemism for a lot of immediate pain and the need to stand for a while. Sitting is a privilege, not a right is a phrase I heard all too often. This was true at home, at relatives’ houses, and at the schools I attended.

My second concern was that my first wife was a nagger who would never let go of anything. One mistake and you would be reminded of it over and over and over, etc. It drove me crazy and led to my shutting down completely to the point where I just didn’t say or do anything. Needless to say that led to a very unhappy marriage that ended in divorce.

Rose and I talked often about my inability to cope with nagging. After long discussions we agreed that the way I was raised might work as a means of settling issues between the two of us. Actually we agreed that it was a way for her to get her anger out when I had done something she didn’t like without doing the one thing that would drive us apart – unrelenting nagging. She didn’t seem to have the same really negative reaction to verbal correction that I did so there was really only going to be one set of cheeks at risk in the agreement we made.

The rules were really quite simple, when she wanted to vent her anger, my backside was available.

For the first couple of years the occasions were few and far between. Even then the experiences were fairly mild and could probably be seen as more fun and games, or foreplay to something much more enjoyable. I am using the term “mild” in comparison to what it is like now. A hairbrush hurts quite a bit and leaves bruises and a red glow in a very short time.

About six months before we got married we were at a party and I did the following: a) had too much to drink, b) flirted with a couple of her friends, and c) thought it would be a riot to walk buck naked into the room where everyone was sitting.

My party was over and on the way home I was informed that after she was done I might want to rethink our marriage plans.

She started spanking me with a hairbrush we bought and it hurt like the dickens. I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, stay in place because it hurt too much. I was still groggy when she decided that affixing me over the work bench in the garage, so I couldn’t get away, was a good idea. In my silly state I thought she was being cute when she made cloth strips out of an old sheet and tied me so I was bent at the waist with my wrists and legs secured to the bench legs. She made sure I wasn’t going anywhere.

Her next move was to a small wood storage bin I used to keep scraps where she found a flat piece of hard maple about two feet long, a couple of inches wide and a little over a quarter of an inch thick.

As I recall, the lecturing began and it went something like this.

“I have never been so embarrassed in my life: You, buck naked in front of all of our friends and acting like such an ass. Now I know why you got the whippings you got as a kid, you probably earned more than you received and should have been harder than they were. Well mister, you are about to take a stroll down memory lane that I hope will have a lasting impression. You may decide you don’t want me any more before I am done, but you are going to remember this night for as long as you live, I promise you that.”

I was actually giggling as she was telling me what she was going to do.

“Go ahead and laugh, you won’t be laughing long.”

With that she brought the flat side of that piece of wood down hard across both my cheeks and I yelled in pain. God it hurt. Without going into all the details, she whaled on my poor backside with that board until I was babbling like a baby begging her to stop. I knew she was going to kill me with the pain. It didn’t seem to faze her no matter how much I complained and begged her to stop, she just kept slapping my bottom and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Finally she stopped.

“My guess is that you won’t want to use that ass for sitting any time in the near future. You can’t see what I nice job I did but in addition to the red burning and bruises, your bottom cheeks are full of little broken blisters and the edge of this nice board has broken the skin in several places, your ass is truly a mess.”

As I lay there sobbing, and in a lot of pain, she got a shop cloth and draped it over my bottom. Then she left me in the garage for a few moments while she went into the house.

Returning, she told me she had gotten the bottle of grain alcohol that I had bought to see what 180 proof alcohol tasted like.

“Since you seem to like your booze so much let’s see how this feels.”

With that she opened the bottle and soaked the shop cloth with alcohol. The burning that resulted as the liquid reached the open cuts and blisters was pure hell.

Leaving me again, she went into the house and I stayed right where I was with by backside writhing in pain from both the blistering I received as well as from the burning of the alcohol in my open sores. A while later she returned to see her very sorry husband-to-be still whimpering. She had brought a light blanket and pillow.

She told me to lift my head and put the pillow under my face, poured another round of alcohol to soak the shop rag again and tossed the blanked over my back.

“Enjoy your evening, I’m going to bed.”

Eventually I fell asleep even with the pain still nagging at my bottom.

In the morning she returned to the garage and untied me from my perch. Commenting that she really believed I would want to stay in an upright position as much as I could for several days, from the looks of my bottom, we were still going out for breakfast and any discomfort I had when I had to sit down was well deserved.

Breakfast was pure misery. Upon returning home I was told that three hours of corner time with my bare bottom on display would commence at noon. If we had any guests stop in, it was just too bad if I was embarrassed like she had been the night before. Two of the couples and three of her girl friends did stop in, which I later learned was by Rose’s invitation, and they all had great conversation at my expense.

Later that day we discussed what had happened and I apologized profusely for my actions. I was told that all was forgiven and forgotten, just like when I was a kid. No more reminders or bringing the matter up again.

I was also informed that what I received was about bad as it was ever going to get, but she would have no hesitation of doing exactly what she had done again – every time she felt I needed it. That night, even though I slept on my stomach, as I did for several days following, she insisted that we make love and she took the top position, just to remind me of who was in charge.

This was probably the big turning point in our relationship. Restraints are now a little more formal and easier to work with and we have a bench like device that is made for the specific purpose of keeping me vulnerable. Corner time is a regular experience and, after much going back and forth, it really makes no difference if we have people in the house or not when I am to be punished. Not everyone, but a goodly number of friends and relatives, know of our house rules and how they are enforced.

Our in-laws certainly learned of our arrangement as described in One Hot Fourth Of July

I seem to get into enough trouble to really regret my actions six to eight times a year. This is not an every day event, but over the past 30 years some have been real doozies.

You are welcome and invited to contact the authors Rose and Terry.