She's Leaving Home

She got to her feet and went out the door. I started pacing back and forth in the kitchen. I was so agitated I couldn't sit. I wondered what Margie would say if she ever knew what a backstabbing bitch her sister was. I never would have guessed it if I hadn't just witnessed the entire fiasco. I was pissed!

I had calmed down a lot, but I was still pacing half an hour later when the bell rang again. I felt my anger start to build again as I headed for the door. Judy had forgotten to get Margie's stuff and she was probably back to get them. I jerked the door open and saw Margie!

"Judy just told me that you threw her out of the house! I sent her over to get some of my things and you tossed her out? Is that what happened?" asked Margie but with less anger than I would have expected.

"No, I didn't. Well, I did throw her out," I admitted, "but she had it coming. It wasn't like that exactly."

Instinct was kicking back in. I had learned the hard way that I could never bad-mouth any of my in-laws to Margie. She was fiercely loyal to her family. She could bitch and complain about her relatives, but my ass was grass if I even so much as agreed with her observations. I worked to think of a reason for asking Judy to leave without revealing the vile names she had called Margie. I was having a hard time with it.

"Margie, she said some things that I didn't like and I was losing control. This whole thing has been hard on me and I'm under a lot of stress. I thought it best if she left before I said or did something I regretted," I answered weakly.

Margie looked so beautiful to me. Her clothes weren't new and her eyes looked dark, but she was a stunning woman. I tried to swallow the lump that kept plugging my throat as I waited for her to lower the boom on me. Seeing her again was painful for me.

"Did she call me a slut, Jim? Did she call me a whore?" demanded Margie. "Did she tell you that she'd sleep with you and give you great sex? Did she tell you she had better tits than I do?"

"Margie, I don't remember what all was said," I lied. "It might have been a little like that. I'm pretty hazy on the conversation because I was so upset."

"That's funny. Judy was able to tell me word for word what you said about me," revealed Margie. "She said you told her that I had class and that I had been the perfect wife for 22 years. You told her I was a wonderful wife and lover. You told her I did a great job with my career, the kids, and the house. You said all that about me, didn't you?"

"Well, is that so wrong? I meant it all, too. I don't care how you try to convince me otherwise, Margie. You've been a wonderful wife, way better than I could have dared hope those many years ago when I asked you to marry me. You've only messed up the one time. It was only once wasn't it?" I asked, practically begging Angie to tell me it only happened once.

"Yes, it happened once, and that is too often. I've been thinking and talking a lot with Judy since I left yesterday. I did you dirt, Jim. That is something I will never accept or excuse. Almost as bad, I denied you the right to decide what you wanted to do with my cheating ass. I was the one that screwed up and I tried to be the one to determine what the punishment should be.

"That was unfair, Jim. I realize that know. I don't expect you to forgive me. I can't forgive me. I do want you to tell me what you want to do about my stupid, unacceptable actions. It's your call, Jim. What do you want me to do? What do you want to do with me?" asked Margie with tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Now that's more like it! I'm the husband in this house and I'll decide what punishment is handed out. I want you to take off your skirt and panties and lay across my lap!" I declared. "I have decided what to do with your "cheating ass" as you called it.

"What did you say? You want me to remove my skirt and panties and lay across your lap?" she repeated.

When I was a kid, I always preferred a plain old ass whipping to a series of embarrassing talks about how my actions disappointed my parents and how sad I made them. As I got older, I received more lectures and fewer physical punishments. I came to realize that when the spankings were over, the debt was paid. That was so much easier to deal with than the guilt and embarrassment of psychological punishment, which had no actual official end. It just went on until the misdeed was forgotten. Margie wasn't going to forget her misdeed, so I decided to get it over with and move on.

Margie didn't need me to tell her what she did wrong. She didn't need to have the burden of her actions hanging over her head for the rest of our days together. She needed closure and so did I. It may sound cruel, but I believed it would actually be the kindest way to rectify the mess she had created. She needed me to forgive her and to somehow demonstrate that I did.

In our entire marriage, I had never even come close to striking Margie, regardless of how angry she made me. Another of the lessons I had learned growing up is that men never hit women. The difference here, I reasoned to myself, was that I wasn't angry. It was, therapeutically speaking, better than the alternatives.

"You just said that it was my call, Margie," I answered as I removed my belt from my pants and held it up for her to see. "You will be punished for your actions, as you should be. This is not an angry reaction. This is a corrective measure and you do have an option. You can accept your whipping as an errant wife should, or you can leave and we can get the divorce you seem to feel is necessary."

"Are you saying that you want to tan my hide as punishment for my indiscretion? Once you do that, you'll love me again? You'll keep me?" asked Margie in disbelief.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, except that I never stopped loving you, Margie. If you'll come over here and accept your medicine, I'll show you just how much I do love you," I promised.

Margie was a real firecracker in bed that night. She hugged me, she cried on me, she promised me undying love and devotion; she rubbed her sweet breasts in my face and against my chest. At least, she did that when she wasn't sucking my cock, or riding it! She had to be on top, of course, but in a few days, she'd be able to bear my weight again. We both looked forward to that.