Eroticizing Discipline: Dominance, Submission and Exquisite Pleasure. H. Hargrove

around, male or female…but without knowing it.

      But her chronic tardiness was a nuisance. After she showed up late once again I remarked in an offhand manner, “I might have to give you a good spanking the next time you’re late.”

      It was on my second or third threat that she gave me a look that meant something. I wasn’t sure what.

      We were in her living room when I decided to follow through. I don’t remember the exact circumstances, but we were next to each other on the couch, she had misbehaved, and I told her I was going to give her a spanking. Looking at me she said, “No” - but not very convincingly. I told her to lie across my lap and she stared at me. When I pulled her arm toward me she didn’t resist, and let me turn her over. She had on a short skirt, which I pulled up over her waist, and sheer, high cut nylon panties, which I pushed down to her knees. She shivered noticeably. Although in her later thirties, Sheila has the body of a woman years younger.

      From that first time, there has always been a wave of fascination and desire that runs through me when I expose the creamy skin of her beautiful, tight little ass, get a glimpse of the tiny, pink, puckered opening only partially hidden between her firm cheeks, and the thatch of hair and pink folds just above the smooth, muscular loveliness of her thighs.

      Something told me to spank her fairly soundly that first time.

      After a few minutes she started reaching back and trying to cover her behind with her hands, half-heartedly it seemed to me - but she never asked me to stop. I remember telling her, “This is what you will get every time you misbehave. And I sense you are going to misbehave a lot.” When I finished, I talked softly about her need for discipline as I gently caressed her pink, warm bottom. She panted audibly. The sex that followed was phenomenal. Slow, delicious, wild, wanton - with both of us all over the other’s body. An hour, two hours - it’s never fast. It’s always furious.

      It was a week or so later when I sent her into the back yard to get a switch, then ordered her into the bathroom to wait for me. After leaving her alone for a good ten minutes, I walked in and told her that what I was about to do could be expected every time she has one of her little “going crazy moments.” A few too many glasses of wine after dinner and a political argument that turned into personal insults was the reason I was now ordering her to bend over and grab her ankles. She only had on running tights, which I pulled down until they were bunched at her feet. The view of her gorgeous, tanned legs and white bottom, arched over so that the hair between her thighs and folds peeked out - made it very hard to concentrate on my primary responsibility of giving Sheila a switching she would remember. Regaining my composure, I managed to use the switch on her bottom until she was squirming, but also panting lightly. She never asked me to stop. After I finished she immediately turned, went to her knees, frantically pulled my zipper down, pulled my dick out, and took it deep into her mouth. She was incredibly skilled, and wouldn’t release me from the warm, wet paradise of her mouth until I exploded.

      Later that evening, snuggled up very close to each other in bed, we had the first of what would become a ritual for us - long, intimate, open conversations about Sheila, me, sometimes discipline, and sex. She said in a whisper, “When you pull my panties down to spank me, or make me take them down - it drives me crazy. I’m nervous, but God I’m turned on.” And then later, “It wasn’t the first time, you know. The only time in my life I’ve ever been really good was when I knew my crazy mother would go nuts if she thought I messed up. I got yelled at and punished all the time. Sylvia told me she’d send us to get a switch. I guess I managed to forget some of the details.”

      “When did Sylvia tell you that?”

      “I asked her. I was curious after you started giving me spankings.”

      “Did you tell Sylvia how I discipline you?”

      “Sylvia? God no! She’s really straight. Don’t ever tell her. Some people…I mean…it would probably turn me on if they knew. But then I’m finding out that everything turns me on. But not Sylvia.”

      “Tell me more about your Mom spanking you.” I slowly pressed my hard dick between the cheeks of her ass, spooning up closer and slipping my hand between her breasts.

      “I hated it…what I remember. Then sometimes she would tell me that Dad was going to wear me out when he got home.”

      “Did he?”

      “Yeah…sometimes.”

      “Did it turn you on at all?” I asked.

      “I don’t think so, no. I never thought about it like that. I used to dread it, but it was kind of weird. I need to think about that.”

      My fingers found the slick lips of her pussy and after a few moments I slowly replaced them by pushing my steel hard dick deep into her…to return the pleasure she had so unselfishly given me earlier.

      One of the troublesome issues Sheila and I have is my ex-wife’s family. I was married for twenty years, and had a sixteen-year-old daughter when Sheila and I met. My ex has a large family, most of them live locally, and over the years I had grown very close to some of her siblings and her parents. And, of course, they are still my daughter’s family. I enjoy seeing them on occasion, and there have been numerous events that my daughter has been involved in that my ex and members of her family have attended. Sheila has never understood why I still need to see them. Much of her attitude originates from her lack of a cohesive family, and then there’s her severe insecurity. Funny - how extreme beauty often exacerbates that condition. I always try to be sensitive to her feelings. But at times it becomes too much to take.

      I was working in my home office one afternoon when she came in and immediately attacked me for accepting an invitation for us to go to my ex’s to celebrate an award our daughter had won. It was at least the third time this particular gathering had been hotly debated. I listened patiently for a few minutes and explained, again, that it was important to my daughter that I be there. When the anger in her voice rose dramatically, I spoke slowly, but forcefully, “Watch out, you’re about to get in trouble.” She ignored me, and continued to rant and rave.

      “All right, Sheila. I’m too busy trying to finish this contract to deal with you now, and we have to meet Terry at 7:30 for dinner. But some time tomorrow I’m going to take my belt off - and I think you know what that means.” By now I was used to it - the shudder and slight shake that runs through her body when I tell her she is going to be disciplined.

      “No. I don’t want a spanking.”

      There is always this dilemma for me when Sheila truly needs to be disciplined. Looking at her - the innocent, little girl beauty and pleading look, and realizing that she knows she’s going to get a sound spanking - it’s hard for me to focus only on punishing her properly.

      “Then don’t ever start on me again about Laura’s family. Because every time you do, I’m going to tan your behind.”

      It was 6:30 the next evening when I heard the car door shut in the driveway. Sheila walked in with salads and sushi, kissed me, and stepped into the kitchen. “God, I’m hungry as a horse. I’m going to have a glass of wine. Want a beer?”

      “I have some unfinished business with you - before we have a drink.”

      Sheila looked up in time to see me unbuckle the leather belt and pull it slowly out of my jeans, then double it.

      “Bob, no. I don’t want a spanking,” she said, as the very visible shudder shook her body.

      “Get in the bedroom. Right now.” There was a tone to my voice she had learned to obey, and she didn’t say a word as she walked by me. I followed, watching the muscles of her beautiful, tanned legs flex beneath the short hem of the pale blue sundress.

      I pulled one of the large decorative pillows into the middle of the bed. “Lay on your stomach, with the pillow under your hips.” She did as she was told. I reached over, pulled her dress up over her waist, then pulled her sheer, blue panties down to her ankles. She still had on her heeled sandals, and when I stepped back the scene was well past alluring. The pillow arched her bottom