tagBDSMCalled to Account

Called to Account

byLaurelAspen©

For Maria, who was kind enough to express appreciation of my stories...

Touching up her lipstick an attractive woman of 'a certain age' pouts at the mirror. As well she might, Judith is in trouble, again.

She twirls around the bedroom, not out of vanity - well maybe just a bit - to check her appearance; Hmm, not bad. A Pilates-trim figure and good legs; have years of consensual spanking contributed to an admirably firm derriere, she wonders distractedly? Focus woman, she thinks fiercely, a lack of concentration got you into this mess...

There are few chores more boring than the household accounts, unless you're fortunate enough to be reckoning up your wanton wife's misdemeanours with a view to undertaking some overdue domestic discipline. In order to ensure smooth running most things in life require periodic maintenance - and spanking is so much a part of their life Darren's other half becomes distinctly restive if not 'properly attended to' for a while. There's no set time-scale but every few weeks Judith spends an anxious half hour waiting as her husband enumerates her various transgressions and unacceptable behaviours. By the time she's bought to book 'J' - as she's usually known at home - has often completely forgotten her sins, but unfortunately he's possessed of an almost eidetic memory...

"You've a lot to atone for," Darren tells J, who has come downstairs to stand apprehensively before him. "It's been far too long since my hand has made contact with your shapely rear; perhaps that's why you've been so scatty and contrary of late?"

He peruses a list of her misdemeanours: "Nice to see some old favourites, such as the ever popular lost diary," says Darren sarcastically. "And by the most charitable estimate you've delighted me with your rendition of 'where are my car keys, you must have them', at least twice in the last week. "Followed - after a protracted search - by, 'oh here they are at the bottom of my handbag'."

"You probably hid them to discredit me," mutters J, stubbornly. To err is human, to fail to repent when Darren is in punitive mode most ill advised.

With a long-suffering sigh Darren continues: "Not forgetting hours spent hunting a mobile phone which is always switched off. Why, and I know I'm going to regret asking, have a mobile if you don't switch it on?"

"So I can call people, when I want to," answers J in a tone more appropriate to addressing a particularly dim five year old.

"Stress levels tend to rise when it turns up in the pocket of the coat you 'definitely weren't wearing when it disappeared'," responds Darren with leaden understatement, his patience beginning to fray.

"I can't help it if I sometimes mislay stuff," pouts J, now uncomfortably aware her position as resident household amnesiac is becoming untenable. "It's probably an endearing character trait?" she adds hopefully.

"No it isn't" says Darren shortly. "I however do remember where I put things, for example I can immediately put my hand on any of our spanking implements."

Such as?" asks J warily.

"The cane."

"Oh no!"

"Oh yes, even by your appalling standards you've been far too trying and air headed of late, a short, sharp, shock is in order."

"I could make amends," suggests J archly, peering coquettishly over the top of her glasses. "This is my 'significant' look by the way," she adds, "in case you hadn't noticed."

"Yes I had" replies her husband, just about succeeding in keeping a straight face despite this blatant attempt at seduction, "but you can make 'amends' afterwards. J's attempted distraction has uncharacteristically failed.

"Finally, let us consider your most serious transgression, the impressive trick of making my car disappear." Darren's displeasure is clearly evident.

"Didn't know you'd need it, I'm not clairvoyant," she sulks.

"Well I did, such is the joy of self-employment and rush jobs. "I however, can predict your immediate future."

"Will I meet a tall, dark Olympic athlete?" enquires J cheekily. "No, but you'll meet your nemesis, six of the best with the cane as promised."

"Aren't you going to spank me first?"

"Of course," confirms her husband, relishing the prospect. "And what," he enquires, ''do you also deserve for constantly contradicting me.

"A smacked bottom," replies J without hesitation and not in the least contritely, anything to postpone her painful encounter with cane.

"Then you'd better get across my knee, this is going to take some time." With no hint of reluctance J lifts her skirt and lies obediently across his lap, pale peach of a posterior beguilingly clad in semi-transparent lingerie; she'd no more present her bottom for chastisement in everyday knickers than go out without makeup. Purposefully Darren tugs her black panties tightly into her bottom cleft - eliciting a sharp yelp of protest - and sets to work.

Despite an obligatory initial squeal J wriggles with delight, enjoying the physical proximity of being OTK. "Keep still," Darren growls theatrically, gripping her firmly around the waist; J adores being forced into compliance.

For the next 10 minutes every inch of J's behind receives a very through hand spanking, interspersed with some intimate temperature testing. Watching her animated rear quickly reddens and smarts under this onslaught he occasionally pauses to stroke the taut, hot skin of each cheek. She moans with pleasure, the girl can't help it, when being punished J invariably becomes aroused.

Long practiced in domestic discipline she knows how to take a hard spanking, keeps her hands out the way, bottom (relatively) still and involuntary cries muted. There are, J reflects ruefully, worse things than surrendering to a dominant man.

Finally, ordered to face the wall with her hands on her head for five long minutes contemplation of her sins J pleads for permission to rub. "Rub all you like," he concedes, "I haven't finished yet." Modest request granted she gratefully massaged her blazing buttocks.

"You're not really going to cane me?" she asks plaintively, fluttering her eyelashes and looking downcast.

"I'll take that as a rhetorical question," replies her husband.

J looks reproachful. "I'm being good now though, aren't I?" says J.

"Quite good," he answers and, determined to make it clear who is boss, pulls J's knickers to her knees, "but I did tell you a mere hand spanking wasn't going to be sufficient."

"My bottom's already very sore," she complains, one hand sneaking between her legs to address an altogether different ache, the other caressing the front of his trousers. "And since you seem to be find chastising me arousing why don't I take care of that bulge for you?" J whispers, seductively shaping her lips into an erotic 'O'.

"Certainly not. Now bend over and touch your toes."

"At least I can touch my toes," mutters his mutinous spouse, murmuring a silent prayer to the great god Pilate as she effortlessly assumes the required stance. Ignoring this final provocation Darren looks appreciatively at his poised and flexible partner, bottom presented with pleasing prominence.

"Should I hold onto my ankles?" queries J.

"Definitely," answers Darren. "I rather think the cane across your bare bottom will soon have you squirming. Don't forget to count each stroke out loud please."

J tenses, grits her teeth. The slender rattan swishes loudly through the air behind her and she gives an involuntary shudder, only to discover Darren is simply measuring his swing. Bastard she thinks, prudently keeping this opinion to herself.

Once again she tenses, then yelps as the first band of fire hits home. "One", J groans, holding on tightly to her slender ankles. Darren allows a long pause between each stroke to let the stinging aftermath deeply suffuse his wife's burning bottom; applying the rattan slowly and methodically at roughly 10-second intervals. J gamely absorbs the first three strokes in silence but the next trio draw a succession of ever-louder gasps and cries of distress.

"Ooooh, it hurts," she wails, the initial discreet jiggling of her buttocks escalating into frantic writhing of hips as the caning continues. Thank goodness for flat ballet pumps, had she been wearing heels J would certainly have lost her balance by now.

Her full, pale curves are now scored with half a dozen red lines, hot to the touch; truly, thinks Darren, truly a most erotic, mature derriere. "Six," J calls loudly, anguish clearly discernible in her tone, hands flying from her ankles to grasp her tender buttocks as she shoots upright. "Oh Darren, that bloody stings," she cries, dishevelled, damp-eyed and vigorously rubbing her rear.

Darren holds her tightly in his arms: "One part naughty to two parts gorgeous,' he whispers. J leans into him, rests her head on his chest, safe and secure.

"Feel," she murmurs, pulling his hand down to cup her hot cheeks, "I bet my poor bot's got nasty red stripes all over?"

Carefully his fingertips trace the raised red wheals: "A little first aid, some ice cubes perhaps?" he suggests, stiffening at the sensual prospect of soothing her punished posterior.

"Later," she replies, voice urgent, breasts and hips pressed hard up against him. Damp-eyed, every bodily sensation heightened, Judith seductively inches her legs apart. Her husband's fingers slide deftly between soft thighs and find his wife wet and willing, She presses back eagerly against his questing digits, seeking release. The pace inexorably increases and Judith rapidly reaches orgasm. "Thank you," she whispers, "but right now I need more than fingering and a cuddle for comfort. Bad girl or not I think I took my caning rather well," continues J boldly, "so seeing as how I've had a hard punishment I'd now like an even harder seeing-to please."

Darren raises his eyebrows. "Upstairs?" he suggests.

"Not on my back with my bum is this state," responds J, wincing, "besides I'm in a hurry, kneeling on the sofa will do nicely. Especially," she adds provocatively, "as I seem to have lost my knickers..."

"Go on then minx, it seems this chastisement hasn't done anything for your memory'

"Oh I think I'll remember it," says J.

The above being a pretty much true and accurate account of events during January 2019, somewhere in southern England...

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by Anonymous

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by Anonymous02/05/19

A True Story Well Told!

A most fortunate couple who assure their respective sexual needs in a very romantic way!

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