1953's Community Picnic (M/F, F/M)

It's the summer of 1953 and our small town is having its annual community picnic. I'm wearing khakis and a polo, you're in heels, garters, summer dress and full make-up.

I'm off to one side talking to my coworkers and boss, circled up as men want to do. You're off by the table setting down the hot dish you made for the pot luck. Your hand slips and the dish comes crashing down onto table, spilling everywhere and subsequently ruining the dishes that several of the other wives have prepared.

You let out a very unladylike "Oh fuck!" as several of the other wives come running over voicing their dissatisfaction at your actions and their ruined contributions.

Mr. Hart, my boss, walks over to survey the damage and then calls me over.

"DrRedBottom, you can't let this kind of thing slide. Your wife has not only ruined the picnic but she's used vulgar language in public."

I look over at him, uncertain and he gives me a nod. "Son, you're the man of the house. How would her father have handled this situation?"

He pauses for a moment and then hands me a bar of soap from his pocket that's wrapped in a hankerchief. It's obvious he's prepared for moments like this.

I pull your face towards mine, my hand on your jaw. You realize what's happening and open your mouth with a sigh. I push the bar of soap into your mouth and begin working up a lather, ruining your lipstick in the process. The other women have formed a circle around the event, tittering with laughter.

This goes on for fifteen minutes. Your eyes are tearing up from embarrassment and from gagging on the chemical taste of the soap.

Mr. Hart comes over and puts a hand of my shoulder. "Good lad. Now its time to use your belt."

Leaving the soap in your mouth, I put a hand on your back and guide you over a clean section of the potluck table. The men and women watching move to get a better view as I flip up your dress and tuck it in, revealing your garters and silk panties.

Without pretise or show I pull down your panties revealing your bottom and most private feminine parts to the entire community. I slide my thick leather belt out of it's loops and double it over.

I place my free hand down on the small of your back to force you down and hold you in position as the belt comes down and lands on your pale cheeks with a crack. The belt comes down over and over again, laying a crosshatch of welt across your bottom. You're crying publicly and begging me to stop but this is what the crowd expects.

You know your place is to keep up appearances and understand that bruised bottoms are a fact of life. You've enjoyed seeing other women punished in the past and know that public spankings are just an everyday fact of life for a woman of your high station.

Eventually the crowd is satisfied with the crimson streaks cutting across your bottom and the bright white lines where the welts are most pronounced. I take my hand off your back and begin looping my belt back through it's loops. You stand up, your make-up ruined and sobs still forcing their way out of your body. You pull up your panties, fix your dress and blot your ruined makeup as best you can.

The rest of the picnic continues uneventfully for us. A few other women are spanked but it's background noise for both us. You're focused on the pain and soreness of your bottom and thighs and I'm concerned about how you'll react when we get home.

We pull into the driveway and you go inside to washup without saying a word. I'm sitting on the couch reading the evening paper when you come back downstairs still wearing you dress from the picnic but with a fresh face of makeup that completely hides hint of your earlier punishment.

My eyes wonder south on your body, tracing the outline of your breasts and hips. I see the hint of a new, but all too familiar bulge, under your dress. You've put on your strap-on which means you intend to reassert yourself tonight.

You look me in the eyes, "You know whatever happens to me public happens you when we get home. Now take off your pants and hand me that belt."

I sigh, stand up and do as I'm told while you remove your dress. The straps of the fake penis perfectly frame your bruised and welted ass cheeks. It's a beautiful sight and I get hard just at the thought of spanking you. You know it and enjoy it although to feign horror that I would be turned on by it.

Without a word you bend me over the kitchen table and my legs shake as the first fierce blow lands on my butt. As that first strike lands on my naked behind I realize that I'm in for a very long night of spanking and pegging. Neither are things I enjoy terribly but I realize that our marriage can't be broken and that this is the only way to keep peace in our union. I also know that when you're done with me that I'll be bending you over and cumming inside you harder than normal. I hate it, but mutual punishment turns me on more than anything in the world.

After a hundred or so strokes with the belt I hear you drop it on the ground and feel the tip of the strap-on push into me. Thank God it's 1953 and spanking is expected in a marriage.