The Spanking Letters

The following were inspired by letters I read in Penthouse Forum and similar publications in the 1970s and 1980s.

Dear Sir:

I've read your letters on spanking with great interest and would like to relay my own experience.

Some months ago, my wife and I were having an argument. She had done something irresponsible and was laughing about it. Finally I got annoyed and said, "What you need is a good, hard spanking." She dared me to do it, which was a mistake on her part.

I wasted no time on further discussion, but instead just put her across my knee, flipped up her skirt and began spanking her through her lacy white panties. After a while, I pulled her panties down and turned her white buttocks crimson. She howled and kicked, but I kept on going.

When I finally let her up, she ran off to the bedroom to sulk for a while, but later on she was very loving and admitted she had deserved it. We had our best sex ever.

This experience, repeated when I deem it necessary, has made my wife far more mature and responsible. It's only about once a month that she needs a reminder.

In the days of yore, most women had their bottoms warmed by their husbands when they displeased them. I think men today should return to this practice to keep our wives and girlfriends in line.

In addition, a female friend of ours, who recently graduated from college with my wife's younger sister, is living with us for the summer, and she too has felt my hard palm on her upturned butt. The experience has ensured conscientiousness on her part in performing the household clean-up chores that we've given her in lieu of rent. I allowed her to keep her panties on for this session, though she might not always enjoy that layer of protection. My wife views this disciplinary regimen with enthusiasm, and indeed has offered to help out in keeping our tenant on her best behavior.

Sincerely,

Mr. A.K.

Dear Sir:

My husband is a mild-mannered accountant, but recently he surprised me by how assertive he can be when he feels it's necessary. I was supposed to stop at the gas station on the way home, but instead I'd left the car almost on empty in the garage. I knew my husband had an important meeting in the morning, and that needing to get the car filled would make him pressed for time. But I just didn't feel like getting gas and didn't bother to tell him either.

So, he drove off the next morning, noticed the gauge was near E, got gas and still made it to his meeting on time, but barely. Later that morning, he texted me, "Why didn't you tell me you didn't have time to get gas?" I replied: "You can get gas as well as I can. I don't need to be scolded by you."

"A scolding isn't what I have in mind," he texted. I replied with a simple "Suck it."

Late that afternoon, I heard him drive into the driveway, and I smirked as I sat in the living room. I'd put on a little black skirt, dark tights and high heels. I knew what my husband liked, and I felt confident I could placate any irritation he might still be feeling about the gas. I'd always found dressing sexily could get him to be cooperative and compliant quite quickly.

He walked in and immediately eyed my outfit. "You look great," he said with a smile.

"Thank you, dear. Sit down next to me," I said, patting the sofa.

"Gladly," he said, and sat down. Yes, he was following my instructions, just as he often had done.

This time, there was a difference. He looked me in the eye, and said, "But we need to talk."

"I'm sure it can wait," I murmured, running my hand up his pants leg and onto his crotch.

"No, it can't," he replied. And with that, he grabbed me and pulled me across his knees.

"What do you think you're doing, mister?" I said defiantly.

"I'm doing what one of my clients told me he does when his wife misbehaves," he said. At that point, I realized he was lifting my skirt, and I started squirming and reaching back, trying to block him. To no avail. My skirt was up in no time, and his hand started landing again and again on my backside. Before long, he'd pulled down my tights and panties, continuing on my bare butt.

When he was done, he had me stand in the corner for a while, my reddened butt on display. Eventually he told me to come over to him on the sofa. I stood before him, skirt in disarray, and he motioned for me to kneel in front of him. Soon I gave him a slow, luxuriant blow job.

After he came, I wondered if I should expect more of this new assertiveness from my husband. I soon had my answer. A package arrived several days later, and he told me to unwrap it, for "an early anniversary present." Inside was a ping-pong paddle with the words "Attitude Adjuster" on it. He asked if my attitude needed some adjusting, and I assured him that it did. I yelped through the resulting session, but my pussy got as damp as it's ever been.

The "Attitude Adjuster" is now kept on a shelf in our living room, in plain sight. The other day, we had some company--a couple who are important clients of my husband's accounting firm--and I noticed them eyeing the paddle as we sat down for a drink. "I'm glad I could help out with some personal advice," the man said, patting his wife's nylon-clad thigh. "What works in our household will work in yours."

Sincerely,

Ms. Y.P.

Dear Sir:

I recently moved in for the summer with a couple I know. The wife, who's the sister of a friend of mine, is five years older than me, and the husband about ten years older. I get a nice room rent-free, with the understanding that I'll help out with housework while I'm living there.

However, I got caught up in the excitement of living in the city, going to lots of parties and making connections in the fashion industry. I was off to a good start on my modeling career and didn't exactly make my household tasks into a priority. So dishes were often piling up, and so was laundry, and my friend's sister wasn't entirely happy with my performance. After a while, her husband spoke to me.

"Your work around the apartment could improve," he said genially. "You've got a good deal living here, and it's not too much to ask."

"Don't worry about it," I snapped, turning away from him. "It'll get done." I looked in the mirror to apply some makeup. I was in a little red spaghetti-strap dress, and high heels, and had a party to get to. Besides, I didn't really take him that seriously; I'd kind of assumed his wife was the one more focused on how things went in the household.

"You may need to adjust your attitude a bit," he said, a slight edge now in his voice.

"I told you, I'll get it done," I shot back. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some important people to meet." I started brushing past him with a dismissive wave.

"Excuse me," he said calmly, putting his hand around my bare upper arm. Then to my consternation, he began pulling me over to the sofa. He sat down and started pulling me across his lap. "What are you doing?" I cried out.

"I'm about to apply some discipline," he said. "To ensure an orderly household."

Now, at 5'10" I'm an inch taller than he is, but nowhere near as strong. As I tried to pull away, it soon became clear I wasn't going anywhere. I was still struggling over his legs, as he pulled my dress up.

"You can't do this," I cried out. "I'm not a child."

"You sure act like one," he said, bringing his palm down not too hard on my red panties. I let out a howl, not in pain so much as at the sheer indignity of it all. But his hand landed again and again, as I kicked and squirmed. When he let me up, I marched straight to the kitchen, sniffling. I spent the next 30 minutes getting the dishes and pots squared away. It wasn't that big a job; I wondered why I'd been so difficult about getting it done.

When I emerged from the kitchen, both husband and wife were waiting for me. "You'd better get going," she said, smiling. "You have a party to get to."

"Thank you," I replied. "I hope the kitchen's in good enough order."

She stepped into the kitchen and looked around with a hard-to-read expression, keeping me waiting for a long moment. "It's fine," she finally said, her smile returning. "And don't worry, we'll make sure you stay on top of your chores."

I smiled and said good night. Walking down the street, I contemplated that this probably wasn't the last such session I'd receive this summer. It occurred to me, also, that it might be her hand, as well as his, that would be serving as my incentive. Either way, I looked forward to it.

Sincerely,

Ms. R.T.

Dear Sir:

I recently started dating a vivacious young woman who's an editor at a fashion magazine. We'd been set up by a friend of mine who's an accountant and had done some work for her. She invited me to come visit a photo shoot, where a model she knew was posing with a guy. Some of the poses were a little risqué, where the guy would have his hand on or near the woman's butt, as if he were giving her a spanking. For one photo, she lay across his lap, while he held his hand up in the air.

My date and I went to dinner after watching this. I was a little reluctant to bring up what we'd seen, but after we ordered our meals, she pushed the conversation in that direction.

"There's a lot of that kind of thing in the industry now," she said. "Since Fifty Shades, whatever. The assumption's become that all woman are just yearning to be disciplined by a man."

"Which I'm sure isn't true," I offered, thinking I was saying what she wanted to hear.

"It's totally not true," she said. "In fact, there's quite a few women who want to be on the other side of it, holding the paddle, the handcuffs, whatever."

"Really?" I asked. I was interested but a little shy about letting her know.

"Yes, really," she replied, sounding a bit impatient "I'd be happy to show you."

"O.K.," I said. Then, I added, "Show me what exactly?"

"Well, for starters, this," she said. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a paddle that had the words "Attitude Adjuster" on it. Our mutual friend, she said, had given her this. He'd bought a pair of such paddles: one that he used to keep his wife in line; the other that he'd given to his friend, to use as she saw fit.

That night I got to experience that paddle at work, as I lay across my date's lap with my pants and underwear down, and my cock trapped in between her thighs.

As the paddle whacked against my ass, I asked her, "Do you do this on every first date?"

"No way," she said. "It's not often that I find a man who so clearly needs it."

The paddle landed again with a thwack. Some of my friends, I knew, were macho guys who wouldn't be in this position. But I had to agree, I was right where I belonged.

Sincerely,

Mr. S.L.