Caned for Nagging

I could have entitled this post 'Afternoon Delight' or 'Mauve Knicker Caning' (there's a separate story to those knickers) or '30 Strokes of Pleasure' or all sorts of things to attract attention but, down to earth soul that I am, I decided to just say it plainly, just what it says on the wrapper as they say.

Canings don't happen all that often, and punishment ones hardly ever although I've often tried to create perfect circumstances to qualify for a punishment caning but not cause friction between us and I've never got it quite right. Ridiculous isn't it, and I've posted about it before but anyway, mustn't digress too much about what I'd like to happen, stick to what did happen, Ronnie, and be grateful for it.

So on Saturday I got caned with the long whippy one, 

it wasn't punishment it was for nagging, or that's the reason I was given. On Saturdays we have a kind of established pattern, like most people, of doing things. P usually works for a few hours while I sometimes do a bit of work if necessary plus some housework, then there's a period when P will fix this or that, practical things, then there's usually a shopping excursion of some sort, then a gap followed by whatever we're doing that evening which could be cooking for ourselves or others, visiting or eating out with friends (we hardly ever eat out of our own volition on Saturdays, having worked in the industry we figure it's the worst night of the week to eat out). The afternoon gap is an interesting time, things happen in it, I should keep a diary then I could analyse it objectively, but I don't so just take my word.

I had to work on Saturday, quite a few orders came in late Friday and I wanted to get them cleared and let my customers know I'd done my bit and got them away, the rest was in the hands of Royal Mail. It didn't take me long and then I went home, I asked P not to be too long and reminded him he's got a job to do in the kitchen, a hole has appeared in the corner of the ceiling where we had an old water heater removed, don't get me wrong it isn't very big but it lets draught in and needs to be investigated anyway as to why it's happened, apart from covering it. I know P doesn't see it as a priority because I've mentioned it a few times with no action. He grunted acknowledgement as I left the office.

About an hour later or so later he came home and I asked him if he wanted a mug of tea while he took down a wall cupboard to give access to the ceiling hole. He said yes to the tea but the hole didn't get his attention, instead he went out to the garage to fix the door which has gone a bit lopsided since a Naked Wines delivery man dropped off earlier in the week (they're very good, not knocking them but it does seem a bit of a coincidence). He came in later without his toolbox, I asked him about the hole, didn't ask him how he'd got on with the door. He told me anyway, he'd fixed it temporarily but it needed further attention and a trip to a DIY store, then he turned his attention to what we were going to serve for dinner later, we had his brother and new girlfriend visiting. I told him I was sure he'd come up with something but what about the hole in the ceiling. He said not to worry about that, he'd deal with it but he didn't make a move, instead he started making a little list of items he needed to show off his culinary skills later. I was annoyed and went to the garage and returned carrying his heavy tool box and said I'd take a look at the kitchen then if he couldn't be bothered (I could hardly carry his toolbox let alone tackle the job). P was amused but also irritated.

He got up and came across, took his toolbox off me easily and stood it on the dining table. I said he couldn't put it on there but he said he could and would and it wouldn't do any harm and then he took a grip on my upper left arm and marched me upstairs telling me I needed a good spanking. In the bedroom he went to his side of the bed and felt under the mattress, he obviously couldn't locate whatever he thought should have been there and he looked up at me accusingly and asked what had happened to his 'bogey paddle' 

(Oh it's his now is it, even though it was sent to me), I couldn't help laughing and told him it would be wherever he left it as he was the one who used it. Anyway his momentum had been broken and he did look a bit silly having propelled me manfully up to the bedroom to give me a good spanking and then not being able to find his spanking implement. I'm sure he was aware of the fact but he wasn't going hunting for it, instead he reached further under and his hand came out holding his long whippy cane. My eyes widened. He said he'd soon wipe the laughter off my face. I had to think very quickly, I told him he couldn't and that I hadn't done anything wrong and then, as an afterthought, he better not dare use that on me .....which probably sealed my fate.

As you can imagine with my husband, he did dare thank goodness. He came over and undid my jeans, pulled them roughly down and manoeuvred me over to the bed causing me to trip onto it, almost centrally as it happened, because my jeans were restricting my legs. He pulled the bottom of my hoodie jacket up over my bum, I still had my knickers on but I felt the cool air in the bedroom. Then his hand went to the waistband of my knickers and I was on the edge of a gasp when his voice said 'No need, they don't give you any protection'. Then he started caning me. Six from the left of the bed and six from the right. No warm up. Fiercely stingy biting strokes which made me squeal.

"Not laughing now are you," he said. It wasn't a question and thank god he couldn't see my face.

"No," I managed in a tiny voice trying to keep the elated huskiness out of it.

"And you'll find that paddle for me after I've finished with you, won't you," he said as he returned to the left of the bed and started on another six.

"Owww!" I exclaimed as the first one landed, "Yes P I'll find it.....OUCH!...really I will," I whimpered after the second stroke followed too quickly. I don't like the strokes to come too fast, I prefer to savour them.

I got another four with him standing to my left, which had me wriggling cstatically painfully trying to bury myself into the mattress but keep my buttocks raised for more strokes at the same time. Another six wickedly searing strokes were delivered from my right and then a pause and I froze, listening, ears tuned for a clue as to what would come next. I felt his hand on my bum, lightly, feeling across both cheeks. He told me I'd got little lines creeping out from either side of my knickers. I made some whimpering noise. He said he'd have to take them down and see if the lines went all the way across and I felt the back pulled down far enough for his fingers to tease my punished buttocks. The lines weren't adequate, he said, and I needed another six, three from each side, on my bare bottom. I didn't notice any difference in intensity but just the words 'bare bottom' were enough to set me off and I squealed and wriggled for all I was worth. When he was done he gently pulled the back of my knickers up and told me to let that be a lesson to me not to nag. I didn't move, I was hoping he might join me on the bed but he didn't, instead I heard a camera click, he must have had his phone in his pocket, then on his way out of the bedroom he reminded me to find his paddle if I didn't want a second dose. 

Ten minutes later, horny as hell, I went downstairs. His toolbox had gone off the table, he'd looked at the kitchen ceiling and declared it was nothing, no need to remove the cupboard he could fix it easily and I'd never even know a hole had been there. We had to go out, so he dropped me in town while he drove on to a DIY store on the outskirt, we met an hour later in a local cafe. Sitting with a coffee P asked me how my bum was, I said it still stung, in a snuggly way and I touched his hand. We queued in the (real) butcher's, not the supermarket, because P wanted some proper meat and he squeezed my bottom as we shuffled along the counter. When we got home and put stuff away, P asked me if I'd remembered to find his paddle. When I said not yet, he said 'Right young lady', I like it when he says that, and told me it was back upstairs for me. I thought another dose of the cane would be delicious the mood I was in, but I didn't get it. Instead I got fucked, with my jeans and panties around my thighs, bending over the foot of the bed and I came and came as my husband pumped hard into me telling me I was a very lucky girl not to be getting another caning.

Later he sent me the photo he'd taken. Photos never seem to show things as vividly as you imagine they must have been but you can definitely see little lines tracing out from my knickers. With the photo he'd said don't forget the paddle or it'll be worse next time. What paddle?

Have a good week.

Ronnie
xx