It's like this, beloved: I need to be spanked

I've been meaning to share this letter with you (had it in drafts for ages)  It's fiction and found at Taken in Hand. I think you'll enjoy it.

My dear husband,

I have something to tell you. This is possibly the most important letter I have ever written to you. OK, OK, so it is the only letter I have ever written to you—but humour me, will you? This is important.

No, I haven't been up to no good with the milkman (though that strapping young man who is his son might be difficult to resist!), and no, I don't have any (more) complaints about you, and no, I haven't gone to the Dark Side and joined a religious cult or started using Microsoft products.

I don't know whether you have noticed, but I have been a pain in the backside lately. Actually, you don't seem to have noticed. And you know what? One of the things I totally love about you is that you are so serene, unruffled, and even-tempered. I love how you never lose your calm—it makes me feel so safe and relaxed and happy. Never change!

But given your marvellous imperturbability, I have realised that I need to be more direct when making requests. Telling you in words would be a good start. You can't be expected to be a mind reader—though you so often seem to know what I'm thinking... especially the other night when you.... well anyway, where was I?

Do you remember the other day when you were lying on your front watching that that old black and white film I wanted us to see—The Vagabond King—and you thought I must either have got the wrong film or that I must have completely lost my marbles? And you know how, when you complained and wanted to watch the rugby instead, I grabbed that wooden ruler and whacked you on the bottom with it? (Yeah, like you could forget that!)

Well the good news is, I haven't turned violent, I was just trying to get a reaction out of you. You see I wanted you to get physical with me, really physical. I wanted to experience your considerable size and strength in a bit of old-fashioned wrestling roly-poly rough-and-tumble slap-and-tickle—with the emphasis on the “slap” bit.

What am I driving at?

Goodness, this is difficult! But I must do it, it's gone on too long and I want it out. I have to have it out.

You see, darling, I want you to put me over your knee (or on the bed, on the couch, or anywhere really) and—not to put too fine a point on it—give me a jolly good thrashing; and then, if you want, give me a jolly good seeing-to, as only you can. And I don't mean just a one-off: I'd like this as often as your age, inclination, health issues, work commitments, and required TV viewing, will allow.

Incidentally, when I say “thrashing”, I mean hard, using all your strength! I want to be in tears, crying and wriggling and begging you to stop, which of course you won't do. Really! (Just think, you can get an arm workout without going to the gym!) And I mean everything from spanking to whipping.

I know you wondered if I'd taken up riding when you saw that I'd bought a riding crop. And you must have thought it a bit odd that I suddenly felt the urge to buy a set of extra strong wooden spoons—obviously, it couldn't be for cooking, given my singular lack of interest in that department! And then there is the old-fashioned schoolmaster's cane that appeared on your night table and that you asked me to remove. You didn't wonder about that at all? Did you think I was going to a fancy dress or something?

And since I am coming clean here, you know how I've been behaving more and more like an irresponsible schoolgirl of late? You know—I've unaccountably started forgetting to take my mobile phone with me when I go out, I've been not getting enough sleep, and on more than one occasion I have become so engrossed in er… my er… "Internet research", that I have quite forgotten the dinner cooking in the oven and then cheeked you when you said it was a tad charred. I cheeked you on purpose, blatantly, I even burned your dinner on purpose, don't you think I'm irresponsible? I don't give a monkeys, what are you going to do about it?

The reason I have been doing all these things is that I have been wanting you to take control and take me in hand, and this was my way of attempting to communicate that to you. Spank me mercilessly, take my knickers down and cane me, reduce me to tears, deal with me, don't worry I shall love you all the more for it really I will.

Yes, I know, I know, was this letter really necessary and what's wrong with the direct approach? And how did I expect you to guess this particular interpretation of my out-of-character behaviour? I concede that it hasn't worked at all, and I feel quite silly for having done this, and more than a bit remorseful.

I am so embarrassed! I don't know why, but it has taken a lot of nerve for me to pluck up the courage to tell you all this. But now I have, might it be possible for us to talk about it? I mean do you think you could help me out with all this? Do you have any questions? Is this something you could do? Please? You don't hate me for asking?

Yours, as ever,

Etc.

[Husband reads the letter…. I look to see how he is taking it, and wonder how I am ever going to be able to introduce the idea of even more serious “discipline” to him if we can't even manage to get to grips with the relatively light-hearted rumpy pumpy contained in my letter….]

"Hey, you're smiling! Splendid! Oh how lovely! What shall we…."

"HEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! PUT ME DOWN! I didn't mean NOW! No No Not HERE! Oww! Oww! Owwwwww! Hey, Oh that HURT! Cut it out, no no Please NOOOOO!! You don't know your own strength! Ooh! Owww!.....

[Swoon… My hero....]

Have a good week.

Ronnie
xx

If the letter is yours, please let me know so I can give credit or remove.