{ASSTR 06} Taming a Wildcat {Big Billie} (M/F con, matrimonial, sex, slipper, cane, tattooing, piercing, religion, controversial) Taming a Wildcat By Big Billie © Big Billie 2003. Not to be distributed or sold for monetary gain. Author's Statement: Big Billie is opposed to spanking except for consenting adults. However, spanking sexually excites him, so he writes about it. For more information, see Big Billie's Author Profile. My name is Bill Doyle. I am an academic, aged 26, specialising in Shakespearean studies. I was recently appointed as a lecturer at a Teacher Training College attached to one of our big redbrick universities here in England. I have just been awarded my doctorate, and I am currently preparing my thesis for publication, some of it in book form, and the rest in two or three academic articles that I am hoping will be accepted by refereed journals. While I was a graduate student I got married. You have probably heard the old proverb, "marry in haste, repent at leisure." Well such, it seemed, would be my case. I am a very bookish sort of a chap. I am also a committed Christian and a regular churchgoer. These two character traits, taken in conjunction, seemed to put off females, both at school and at university. Thus, what with working hard at my studies, and playing an active role at church, I arrived in my early twenties without even a girlfriend, let alone a lover. I was, in short, a frustrated male virgin, and a bit of a geek. All of this, however, changed abruptly a couple of years ago. One of my fellow graduate students was an older, divorced lady and she had a daughter. This daughter, who was called Mandy, was eight years younger than me, and just sixteen when I first met her. It was, in fact, hard to avoid meeting Mandy. She used to come along to most of the graduate social events and parties, and she always stuck to me like glue. I was amazed, but she really seemed to like me. To say that she threw herself at me would, perhaps, be overstating the case, but she left me in no doubt at all that she wanted a romantic relationship. Well, to cut a long story short, a few months into our acquaintanceship, when Mandy was just seventeen, she and I began a whirlwind romance. I know that I should not have let it happen. Mandy had been badly upset by her parents' recent acrimonious divorce, and she needed time to get her emotional house in order. But, oh, forgive me, God! Mandy is the most beautiful girl that I have ever seen, and she was only 17. She encouraged me, and what could I do to resist? Luckily, Mandy's mom welcomed our relationship. She told me that Mandy needed a steadying influence. It was as well, she added, that I was older than her daughter, and a practising Christian. Mandy's father was now living with another woman who disliked her. Her world had fallen apart. She needed support, and a safe pair of hands, to help her to pick up the pieces of her life. Well! The "safe pair of hands" crack was a bit strong. Definitely out of order. But OK, I thought, let's give it a go. Thus, before I was twnty-six years old, I found myself married in a modest church ceremony. In the weeks before the wedding I was challenged by almost insufferable temptation. Nevertheless, I successfully confronted the Devil, in the guise of the deadly sin of Lust. I managed to stay a virgin until the honeymoon. For the first few months of our marriage it was hard for us living on my student scholarship. But, despite my previous sexual inexperience, our love life was idyllic. I was besotted with my stunning bride, my "trophy wife" as I called her. I wanted so badly to please her. I read up on all the sex manuals, and I watched sex education videos. I then put every ounce of my ingenuity and effort into giving my young wife as good a time in bed as I could manage. Mandy reciprocated my efforts with gusto. She is a redhead, fairly small, but very buxom and curvaceous, and with the most gorgeous, strawberry blonde hair. Her eyes are bright blue, her skin is milk-white, and she has the most delicious little freckles all over her face and upper body that fade in the winter and then come out into beautiful, glorious deep russet brown spots when heated by the summer sun. Her figure is breathtaking. Her breasts are full and firm. Her bottom, for a girl with quite a small bone structure, is beautifully meaty. And she is so young. She exudes youth, freshness and charm, like a playful, skittish kitten. Oh, praise to you, oh Lord! What beauty is in your Creation! If Eve was as stunning as this, no wonder that Adam followed her out of Paradise. How I loved my Mandy! All that I wanted to do was to live with her until death, and have some lovely little babies. Oh, yes, dear reader! But, you see, you are more worldly wise than I! "What an ingenuous fool" I can imagine you thinking! And so I was! I was besotted with my Mandy, and I did not see the clear warning signs. But I was soon to learn that playfulness and skittishness can all too easily turn into temper tantrums, fights and violence. My Mandy was beautiful and charming, but she had a stormy and violent temper that was a lot more than I could handle. Young as she was, she could be a spitfire, a wildcat from Hell. I remember that once, for no very good or obvious reason, Mandy hurled a scalding hot cup of coffee at me with tremendous force. The cup was made of thin, fine bone china, and it smashed to fragments against my skull, inflicting several open, gaping wounds that bled copiously and needed lots of stitching up. Then, when they healed, they left permanent, ugly, nasty scars all over my forehead. As for the scalding hot coffee it cascaded all over my face delivering extensive burns. I shut my eyes quickly, and they, luckily, did not get damaged. But most of my face was cut, red and sore for more than a week. Worst of all, I had to go to the local medical centre to get my wounds dressed, and I was forced to endure the interrogation of a young nurse as to exactly how I had been hurt. Our tempestuous relationship continued for several months. Sometimes we were locked into the most violent and ecstatic sexual couplings, and sometimes Mandy was spitting and fighting like a hellcat. As for me, I just could not cope. If she had not been so stunningly beautiful, and so engagingly youthful, and if I had not been so madly in love with her, it would, perhaps, have been easier. But as it was I was on a fast, uncontrollable roller coaster ride between elation and despair. When the end came I did not know whether to be relieved or sad. One night Helen, Mandy's mother, came around to our flat. Then yet another violent argument broke out, this time between mother and daughter. It ended with Mandy storming off. We later learned that she had gone into the bar at the Student's Union (our flat was on the edge of the campus), and had picked up a first year undergraduate. That night she slept with him, in his Hall of Residence, and she went on sleeping and living with him for several months. Well, dear reader, what was I to do? I had been a complete fool. I had been swept off my feet. I had married a beautiful, youthful girl without taking anything like enough time or trouble to get to know her. Within a very short period, the relationship had broken down and a divorce looked inevitable. But yet, I did not want that. I was still besotted with my wife. We had sworn our vows to God, for life, and I took the old-fashioned view that, even if we never again lived together, our contract was still an eternal bond. I decided that I would search for no other woman, that I would live my life alone. Well at least that is how I saw it at the time. Whether I would have felt the same 10 or 15 years later I do not know. Anyway, for 3 or 4 months I eked out a solitary and miserable existence, morosely pondering on my fate and pouring all my energies into my researches. At the same time, I ruminated on the way that I had been treated. I was already steeped in Bible studies, and I reflected upon what the scriptures say about marriage, about the authority of husbands, and about the duties of wives. How, I thought to myself, would those Patriarchs in the Pentateuch, or St. Paul, deal with a wife like this? As you can imagine, the answers that I arrived at to these questions did not fall within the currently fashionable, politically correct, liberal consensus. Then, one Friday evening, the doorbell rang. I opened the door and standing there, looking very dejected, was Mandy. Her call was completely unexpected, and I was knocked off balance. When I saw her, my mouth went as dry as sandpaper, and my heart began to knock fiercely against my ribcage. For a few moments, I thought that I would fall, and I had to steady myself against the doorframe. "Hello, Bill," said Mandy dully. "Can I come in?" Twenty minutes later we were both drinking cups of coffee, and engaging in polite and embarrassed small talk. I could sense, however, that Mandy had something to say, and I tried to help her. Over the next half hour or so, prompted by me, this is what she said. Her relationship with her first year undergraduate had broken down. For the last 6 weeks she had been living with her mother. Helen had promised, however, that she would not tell me where my wife was, if Mandy would do something in return. "Oh!" I replied with interest. "And what was that?" At this point, Mandy gave me a leaflet. It detailed the meetings and the other activities of a Women's Therapy Self Help Group. Here is a quotation from the leaflet: "The therapy sessions are led by Mary Michaels. Mary is an experienced and respected volunteer therapist who follows a novel method of marital reconciliation. This is based upon the ideas of Laura Doyle, the best selling US author of Surrendered Wives, and a self-styled "former shrew." Laura believes that women's nagging, controlling behaviour prevents emotional intimacy, and that in order to achieve marital success a woman must give her husband her money, hand over management of their home and submit totally to his sexual desires." Well, as you can imagine, my interest was immediately aroused! "Have you attended these sessions, Mandy?" I asked. Mandy said that indeed she had. They were held twice a week, and she had been to 12 of them. "Oh, Bill," she said, shaking her head sadly, "All of the other ladies there were far older than me, and they had some harrowing tales to tell. Lives have been wrecked, marriages destroyed, and children left fatherless and broken. Mary guided us through it all. It was not always the ladies' fault. Some of them were married to right bastards who were cruel, thieving or adulterous. But that was not what happened in our case. You did nothing wrong. You just loved me and tried to look after me. And I acted like a spoilt, vindictive bitch. Oh, God! Help me Bill! Please don't let me end up like some of the other members of our group. They have had wretched, miserable lives. They had it in their power to change things, but they were too stubborn and too stupid to try. Give me another chance, I beg you. I'll do whatever you say if you will only have me back." Well, dear reader, what was I to do? Fine generous words, spoken in the heat of the moment, are all very well. But will they stand the test of time? There was a good chance that the coffee cup that Mandy was holding at that precise moment might not end up wrapped around my skull. But would that also be true of other cups, and of other potential missiles, in the future, when Mandy's blood ran hot again, and her temper boiled over? "OK, love," I said, kindly. "But I need time to think about this. Give me a week to ponder things over. In the meantime, you can live here. You are welcome to my table, and to my bed, but until this thing is sorted out I will sleep in here on the couch. I will give you my answer next Friday night." "OK, Bill," replied my wife gratefully. "Whatever you say." For several days, I prayed hard, and I thought hard, about what I should do. The more I thought, however, the less prayerful and Godly, and the more lascivious and kinky, my thoughts became. I wanted, and I thought God was telling me, to take back my wife. But for all my Bible study and my church attendance, I am, I fear, a poor, inadequate Christian, a sinner unworthy to call myself by that title. Oh, yes. I knew exactly what I was going to do, and I knew that it did not come from God, and that it was wrong. And it was not only the condemnation and punishment of God that I feared. Mandy would surely be appalled and outraged at my proposals, and it would almost certainly end in partings and tears. But I was so sexually excited by my fantasies that I decided to go through with my audacious plans. The next Friday night I made my offer to Mandy. Yes, I told her, I would have her back. But there were conditions. The way that she had treated me was outrageous, and she would have to be punished for it. And as for that vicious temper of hers, well, it would have to be sweated and tamed. All the adultery and the violence would have to be purged out of her, and I warned her that this would be a long and, for her, painful process. So here, I said, was my offer. Firstly, the wearing of a wedding ring on its own was not enough as a sign that she belonged to me. I also wanted her to take a tattoo on her arse, like a branded heifer. Secondly, I wanted to physically prevent further acts of adultery. I wanted both of her labial lips pierced right across the opening to the pussy, and a lock to pull them together and secure her chastity. Finally, to keep my boisterous and stroppy wife in order, I wanted a system of physical punishment. This would employ a slipper and a cane. Oh, and the victim must subject herself entirely to my discipline, and must take whatever was dished out with silent humility, thanks and good grace, upon pain of incurring further penalties. As I unveiled my plan to my spouse, my blood raced and my cock stood rock hard in my crotch, pushing and leaping within my tight underpants. Meanwhile, I gazed into my young wife's beautiful freckled face and translucent bright blue eyes. Oh, God! She was gorgeous! I think that if she had rejected my preposterous proposals there and then I would have relented, claimed that I was only joking, and had her back on whatever terms she would accept. But, to my amazement, Mandy assented to my offer. "Oh, Bill," she cried in a weak, pathetic and submissive voice. "I love you. You can do what you like with me. But please don't hurt me too much. Please don't be _too_ cruel." "Never fear, my love," I replied. "You must be chastened. And your punishment must be effective. You have wronged me. You have betrayed our marriage and your wedding vows. And you have physically injured me. For all of that you deserve to be punished. You must be made to tingle and smart. I will make sure that you feel it, and that you regret the wrong that you have done. But, on the other hand, my discipline will be measured and appropriate, not excessively cruel. Always remember that you are my beloved wife. I will always look after you, and I will never desert you." Eight days later, on the Saturday morning, Mandy's chastening began. I had phoned during the week to set up an appointment at a parlour run by a locally famous tattoo artist who was also a specialist in body piercing. The tattoo that he inflicted on Mandy was a big one for a bum that, like its owner, was small and pert. It was positioned on the inside undercarriage of the right buttock, just above the thigh and a short distance from the protruding auburn hairs of Mandy's hirsute pussy, right where the pussy meat was at its plumpest and sexiest. First, the tattoo artist cut a thick, very black, lined circle, with a diameter of 2.5 centimetres, or just over an inch. Then he added a second thick black lined circle, inside and concentric with the first circle. This second circle had a diameter of just less than 2 centimetres. Inside the smaller circle the artist etched the legend "Prime Rump". Then, in the space between the two concentric circles, he added "Property of Bill Doyle". I could see that the tattoo artist was hurting Mandy as he pierced her skin. She seemed shocked by the unexpected sharpness of the discomfort, and winced and gasped at the pain. But our man was very talented, and he did a beautiful job. "Lovely," I thought. "Yes, my girl! I bet you will not be wearing any more high cut shorts or bikini bottoms! That is, not unless you want the whole world to know that your arse is mine!" Hot on the completion of Mandy's tattoo came her second operation. The artist pierced both of her labial lips with two adjacent holes, right across the middle of her cunt. These holes were much bigger than the usual holes made at a piercing. For the time being, two thick studs kept the holes open. The artist sprayed the labial lips, on both sides, with local anaesthetic, but this only deadened the surface pain. Then the first stud was shot from the gun, and pierced my wife's right labia. She let out an anguished squeal of pain. "Oh! Oh!" she gasped. That hurt. Oh, God! That really, really hurt. Oh! No! Wait! Stop! Not again! Please!" The artist, however, was pitiless. He showed his victim no mercy. He was a professional, and he had his living to earn. (I also suspect that he was rather enjoying himself!) While Mandy was howling from her first wound, and begging to be spared from having to take another one, he gave it to her. He deftly shot the second stud right through her left labial lip. "Wow," I thought, "that is beautiful. Those studs are exactly opposite each other, and positioned exactly over the centre of the cunt hole. That is just what I need for the next stage of my plan!" Meanwhile, as the second shot bit through her, Mandy cried out again, much louder than before. "Aaaagh! Oh my God! This is awful. I cannot take it! Please! Please! Not again! Not that again!" But, even now, Mandy's ordeal was not over. On the way to the tattoo artist I had revealed another little secret to my spouse. It was not just her pussy that was getting pierced. Her belly button was down to be punched as well. In her agony, Mandy seemed to have forgotten this. But she was soon reminded of what was to come when her tormentor carefully marked the spots on her midriff that were about to be joined up by a hole. Then he sprayed painkiller in and around the belly button. "Oh, no!" cried out Mandy, outraged. "Not another one! This is ridiculous!" But our man deftly pinched her tummy meat between the pincers of his gun, and phut! He shot a third stud right through the flesh and out the other side. "Aaaagh!" yelled Mandy helplessly, far louder than any of her other complaints. Then, at last, she subsided into silence. The artist smiled courteously. "There you go, madam," he said. "That's it. Thank you. You were very brave." (A bit of a false statement, that one, I thought, but then, I suppose that he has to keep the customers happy.) A week later, on the Saturday night, I completed my plan for Mandy's pierced pussy. I had purchased a small, high quality security lock with a thin clasp. I now took the studs out of my wife's labia, and carefully threaded the end of the opened lock through both of the holes. Then, with a flourish, I snapped the lock shut. The result was that my wife's honour was now protected by a discreet but highly effective chastity lock. Mandy has a tight little pussy, and there was not an erect cock in the world, no matter how modestly endowed its owner, that could force itself either in front of or behind that lock and into her honey pot. Perhaps, I mused, my darling would storm off again. Perhaps she would throw herself at another callow first year undergraduate. But this time, when he got her into bed with him, he would be in for a very sexy and frustrating little shock! "I shall, of course," I told my wife imperiously, "Be removing this myself from time to time in order to use and enjoy my property. But you will never remove it. The key will be kept around my neck, and the spare key in a security safe at the bank that only I can access. You will, I think, be able to pee without problem as long as you hold the lock out of the way. You will also be allowed access to your pussy as and when necessary for cleaning, and in order to attend to your monthly cycle. Oh, and one more thing. For my delight and gratification you will from henceforth remove you belly stud and wear a piece of jewellery in your midriff. Here, fit this please." I then pulled out of my pocket a large, showy belly ornament on a gold wire, inset with a large, semi-precious stone that sparkled with all the colours of the rainbow. Mandy removed her belly stud and gave it to me for safekeeping. Then she threaded my gift into her navel and fitted it neatly into place. Wow! She looked gorgeous! Mandy's tummy is beautifully trim and voluptuous, and her new belly ornament set it off beautifully. For what seemed a long time I stared at her, transfixed. "OK," I said at last, "You may go to the bedroom now. Please contemplate what has been done to you, and how richly you deserve your humiliating pussy bondage. Your pussy offended and your pussy has been punished. But I am not finished with you yet. We will leave this now, but you will report to the bedroom for physical chastisement at bedtime on Monday." On Monday night I told my wife to strip naked and stand by the side of the bed. I stood in front of her, and eyed her up admiringly from top to toe. God, but she is beautiful! Her medium length hair is slightly curly, and somewhere between auburn and strawberry blonde. It is thick and luxuriant, and cut off in a neat, straight line just above her shoulders. Mandy is about 5 feet 4 inches tall, with quite a small body frame. But, my goodness, it is beautifully packed! Her breasts are big for such a small boned girl, voluptuous and bouncy, but pert and firm with the suppleness and elasticity of youth. Her waist and tummy are beautifully thin and tapered. As I gazed in admiration, her big rainbow stone sparkled invitingly from her trim navel. Mandy's pussy hairs are thick, bushy and crinkly, and a slightly darker shade of auburn than the hairs on her head. Then, clearly visible through the middle of this inviting and hirsute clump were the thin, delicate, serrated coral pink edges of her pussy lips, and the discreet silver coloured chastity lock that pinched them together. Finally, below this, Mandy's thighs, nubile and shapely, bulged out invitingly. I grinned roguishly as I told Mandy about the first instalment of her corporal punishment. "Your initiation will be gradual," I said. "I will be using the slipper. It is one of my favourites because it stings effectively without doing any real damage. Tonight, you will take 2 slaps across your bare bottom. Tomorrow it will be 4. Then on Wednesday it will be 6, on Thursday 8, and on Friday 10. On Saturday night you will take 12 of the best, so that by the Sabbath it will all be over. I promise that I will never ever punish you, but only love and cherish you, on the day of the Lord. Right, stand on that mat, face the window, and touch your toes keeping your legs straight." At this stage, I was deliberately brusque and brisk, and the rapid build up of my disciplinary initiative disconcerted Mandy. Nevertheless, she obediently did as she was told, presenting me with a fetching view of her derrière, with that delicious clump of auburn pussy hair sprouting and protruding from the back of her crotch. My wife stretched and strained to bend over, and, with straight legs, pushed her fingers to her toes. The muscles and tendons in her thighs rippled and twitched, and she displayed two delicate, white, concave hollows on the inside tops of her legs, filled with thick, wiry auburn locks of pubic hair where they met her vulva. Despite the restraining force of my chastity lock, Mandy's labial lips pouted ever so slightly open, revealing the tantalising glimpse of coral pink inner pussy flesh that I have already alluded to, its pale red tones in sharp and fetching contrast to the colourful orange tinges of her pubic thatch. "Right," I said. "Now I want you to take this openly, generously, and without resentment. It is meant to sting, and it is meant to humiliate. It will almost certainly annoy you. But I want you to sweat your temper. Accept what is coming with humility and gratitude, because from now on every temper tantrum, every spat of rage, and every outburst of anger and violence, however justified you may think it is, will be punished with one or more cuts from the cane. Is that clear?" "OK, Bill," replied Mandy obediently. "Yes, my girl," I pondered lasciviously. "You are compliant enough at the moment. But just you wait until I have finished with you! I will stir you up! I will inflame your sense of outrage! By the time I have finished with you, you will be hopping mad! If this goes to plan tomorrow night you will be feeling the cane, and not the slipper, across your meaty little bum!" I then took up my stance next to Mandy's bottom, with my slipper in my hand. The slipper itself is a gym plimsoll. It is a size 10 and very flat, well-worn, light and floppy. I lined it up in the centre of Mandy's bum, with its bottom edge touching her thick clump of backwardly sprouting auburn pussy hair, and the top end of the sole covering her big, newly etched, circular tattoo. I then removed the pump for a few seconds to get a strategic overall view of the target area. One thing that I noticed again was that, like a lot of redheads, Mandy has very white, delicate skin. I knew that she had to be very careful in the summer sun, because it did not tan brown. It just went red and sore. I looked at Mandy's plump, meaty little milk white bottom and my cock began to stiffen up in my underpants. "Wow!" I thought to myself. "That is gorgeous. I bet my slipper will make beautiful, sexy red indentations on those globes! They are as white as alabaster, and the marks should show up beautifully." Then I had another sexy thought. Although Mandy's bottom was plump and meaty it was, like her, really quite small. And my slipper, in contrast, was very big! In fact, when its flat sole was placed against her pussy meat it looked enormous. "Ah, what a shame!" I thought to myself in mock sympathy and outrage. "It isn't fair to welt such a pert, pretty little bottom with such a huge, serious instrument of correction. And the young lady is so youthful and tender! The poor girl! It is an inhumane, cruel and unusual punishment!" I grinned wickedly. "You bet it is! And she's got it coming to her!" I then lined up my slipper again onto the target area, gently pushing it into the soft, plump, nubile pussy meat at the base of the buttocks, just above the upper thighs and right across the back of the twat. I wriggled my wrist to get the pump absolutely flush with its target. Taking careful aim, I pulled back my right arm in a big arc, holding the plimsoll high in the air. I brought round the slipper with all of my strength and whacked it home, right across Mandy's plump, meaty, milk white pussy meat. There was a gentle swish as the pump descended towards its target. Then it hit home. My aim was true, and the pump struck absolutely flush across both bare buttocks with a sharp, almost deafening crack. I had given it my best shot, and the undercarriage of Mandy's pert, juicy little bum quivered and wobbled deliciously, and the protruding auburn pussy hairs were scattered and rearranged by the force of the blow. Immediately, at the other end, Mandy let out a mighty, high-pitched scream of anger and outrage: "Aaaagh!!!" Wow! They must have heard that in the student bar on campus! I gave a smile of satisfaction, and drew back my pump for the encore. I waited 4 or 5 seconds, for the bare bum to fully feel what had hit it. During that time, a deep red indentation mark appeared across Mandy's bare buttocks, dramatically displayed against the milk white flesh of the rest of the bottom. It stretched across her left buttock, and covered most of the sharply etched tattoo on her right buttock. Oh, yes! My pump had really bit into Mandy's arse, and, where it had landed, it had left a sharp, clear impression, as if her rump had been branded with a red-hot iron. Well, dear reader, you may, jesting, ask, "Did Mandy like it?" Well, I think you know the answer to that one! No, she did not. She had not been expecting anything as sharp or as sexy as that, and she was caught completely on the hop. She was shocked, angered and outraged at what had been done to her, and, as the initial sharp sting was supplemented by a keen and infuriating tingling, she started to scream and yell in the most urgent and vituperative fashion against the injustice which had been inflicted upon her. "Oh! You bastard! Oh, you utter swine! You complete rotter! Oh, that stings! That really, really stings! How dare you do that to me! I'll get you for this, you absolute sod! You just wait! You'll live to regret this!" And so on. I listened in amused satisfaction to Mandy's ravings for a few seconds and then, just as her stinging and tingling reached a crescendo, just as she was at the height of her vexation and fury, just when the last thing that she wanted to take in the entire world was another one like that, and the last place in the world that she wanted to take it was across her bare, nubile arse, I gave her another one. This second swat was every bit as hard as the first one, if not harder, and it landed on exactly the same piece of arse, slap across both bare buttocks, including the tattoo on her left cheek, and right across the back of the pussy meat, with a loud, sharp, crisp crack. For a second time bare bum flesh shuddered, wobbled and quivered deliciously, and auburn pussy hairs flew. "Aaaagh!" yelled the victim as this second injustice and humiliation added insult to injury. Then, as the stinging and tingling from slap number 2 was incrementally added to that from slap number 1, Mandy could control herself no longer. She exploded into uncontrollable fury. She straightened up from her bending position, turned through 90 degrees so that she was facing me, pulled back her right arm, and slapped me with great force, across the face. Ouch! It really hurt! Then she started grappling me, and kicking at me, trying to force me to the floor. But I was starting to get to know my Mandy, and I had been expecting this. Outraged and furious as she was, I am much bigger than her, and she is no match for me physically. I got her into an arm lock, and forced her onto the bed, tummy down, so that she could not rub her smarting derrière. I held her there for between five and ten minutes so that she would experience the full effect of her stinging and tingling punishment. Then, as the effects of my 2-of-the-best began to subside, Mandy got her temper under control. When she had finally calmed down I told her to put her hands on her head and go and stand in the corner, with her face to the wall. She obediently complied, and I kept her there for 10 minutes. I then instructed her to turn towards me and to listen to what I had to say. Next, when I had my wife's undivided attention, I started the next stage of my disciplinary plan. I really bawled her out over her violent and uncontrollable temper. As she stood there, stark naked, I walked up to her, put my face a few inches from hers, and eyeballed her determinedly. "Just who the hell do you think you are?" I yelled, much as a sergeant major might address a squaddie on jankers. "I've had enough of you and your tantrums, and I am not prepared to tolerate them any longer. Now, what am I not prepared to tolerate them any?" "Longer, Bill. You're not prepared to tolerate them any longer," replied my wife in a demure and submissive voice. "I'm sorry for what I did, Bill. I'm really sorry." "Not as sorry as you soon will be, young lady," I replied. "What did I tell you that you would get if you lost your rag again?" This was followed by an embarrassed silence. Mandy lowered her eyes to the floor, and the white skin of her freckled face blushed a fetching shade of red. "Well, go on! Tell me!" "You said that I would get the cane. But please, Bill. Don't cane me. I couldn't stand another slippering like the one you have just given me, let alone the cane. Please don't cane me! I promise that I will never, ever, lose my temper with you again." I paused for dramatic effect, to let the tension build up. "OK," I said. "Just this once I will go easy on you. But I cannot let you off completely. You will report to the bedroom tomorrow night for one stroke, a single cut, from the cane." "Oh, please, Bill, no! Not that! Anything but that!" pleaded Mandy in shock and fear. "Now! Be quiet!" I ordered, "or you will get two cuts." I then sent Mandy to bed and went off to the couch in the living room for my night's sleep. Sinner that I am, my head was full of lascivious fantasies, and I eventually dozed off with a cock like a rock. The next evening, Mandy went to the bedroom for her caning. I followed her in and I told her to strip completely naked, and to lie on the bed on her tummy. I then placed four heaped pillows under her pussy. This raised her bum into the air, and presented it in the perfect position to take a cut from the cane. I got a glorious view of my wife's auburn haired pussy, and of its restraining chastity lock. As I leered lasciviously between and above her inner thighs from the rear I noticed once more the concave rippling hollows on the insides of her thighs where her legs met her vulva, and her bulging, pouting pussy lips, pulling outwards against the restraining chastity lock. "Right, young lady," I said. "That is the position you will assume for your punishment. But firstly, please rise from your bed, and fetch me my cane from the bottom drawer of the dresser." Mandy obediently did as she was told. I had bought the cane by mail order from an Internet sex shop. It was a rattan cane with a curly handle. The product was available in a variety of thicknesses, and I had chosen the thinnest. It was no thicker than a pencil, and very light, flexible, whippy and supple. Ever since it had arrived I had been anointing it every day with copious amounts of linseed oil to make it even suppler. Mandy apprehensively handed to me the instrument for her own chastisement. I could see that she was very nervous, but she said nothing. I gazed into her eyes. They seemed an even brighter shade of azure than normal. And, oh my, what a pretty, freckled face! Then I let my eyes wander over my wife's glorious naked body, her neck, her breasts, her pierced, adorned tummy with its big, sparkling jewel, her hairy crotch and her bulging, meaty thighs. Why, oh why, months into our marriage, was I still so excited by her? It was as if she held me in a sorceress's spell. And what was I doing? Was I mad? For these next few years of youth Mandy's body would be just about the nearest thing to total perfection in this sinful world. And yet here I was, about to lay an ugly and disfiguring welt across it. I knew that it was vindictive, unchristian and wrong. But I was so sexually excited at the prospect that I could not stop myself. I decided to go for it and push home my advantage. For the moment, however, I continued to gaze into Mandy's eyes. She returned my gaze with a steady, doleful look that once again challenged my resolve. "OK, love," I said at last, not unkindly. "Let's get this over with. Come on, there's a good girl. Lie on the bed again, with you bum propped up on the pillows." Mandy complied quietly with my instruction, and soon she was in position to take the cane. I then got a grip on my resolve. To tell the truth, this time, unlike with the slipper, my heart was not really in my job. I knew that what I was about to do would really hurt Mandy, and I did not want to do that. But, on the other hand, she did deserve it, and half of me wanted to see her take it. I therefore measured my cane across the plump undercarriage of Mandy's rump, with the far end of it lying across the middle of her large, circular tattoo. Having taken my aim, I drew back my arm in a big, wide arc, holding the cane high in the air, almost touching the ceiling of our flat. I had spent the last week, when Mandy was not there, perfecting my caning technique upon a cushion. I had at that time promised myself that, when I came to cane Mandy, I would put every ounce of my strength into the stroke or strokes that I inflicted upon her. I renewed that vow to myself now. Then, summoning up all of my strength, I brought down the cane with tremendous force. It cut through the air with a brisk, loud swish and bit into the naked cheeks of the victim's arse with a crisp, deafening crack. Although the cane was only thin and light, it landed with such tremendous force that it made Mandy's pert, nubile bum cheeks wobble and dance, and her pubic hairs twitch. There, I thought, harsh as her punishment might seem, Mandy had deserved that. I had really let her have it. I had kept my pledge to myself, and now I was glad that it was all over. Except, of course, that for Mandy it was not over. "Aaaagh" she yelled in the most shrill and piteous fashion as the cane smacked home. Then, over the next few seconds, as she began to feel the full effects of my handiwork, the sharp and almost unbearable tingling and stinging, she cried out repeatedly. "Oh! Oh!! Oh!!! OH! OH!! OH!!!" This time, however, Mandy did not get angry with me. The pain was too sharp and serious for that. After her final shout of "OH!!!" she screwed up her pretty, freckled little face and burst into uncontrollable sobs. Soon salt tears were streaming down her cheeks and wetting the counterpane of the bed. My wife seemed very frightened, almost terrified, by the unbearable pain. She could not cope with it, and, in her agony, she called out to me, her tormentor. "Oh, Bill! Help me, darling! What have you done to me? Oh, my God! This is awful. I cannot stand it! It is more than I can bear. Oh, Lord! I wish I were dead! Help me! Please!" I lifted my wife gently off the bed, and held her tenderly in my arms. "There, there," I said gently. "Don't be a Drama Queen! It's all right now. It's all over now! You're all right! You're all right." We must have stood there like that for 10 or 15 minutes, with me whispering words of condolence and comfort into my wife's ear, until the worst of her pain began to subside. The next night we had a bottom inspection. I was both appalled and fascinated by what I had done. Right across my wife's pussy meat there was a thin, dark red, striped ridge, already well on its way to turning blue. It stretched right across Mandy's left buttock to bisect the tattooed circle on the pussy meat of her right buttock. The cane had really bitten into the plump, tender, nubile pussy meat, so that the indentation was deep and sharply defined. "Oh, wow, love!" I said gently. "Look what I have done to you." By now, however, Mandy was well on the way to recovery from her ordeal. Indeed, now that the worst of the pain was gone, she even managed to see the funny side. "Wow!" she replied as she scrutinised her injured pussy meat in the dressing table mirror. "Yes, I know, darling," Mandy continued. "That hurt you more than it hurt me, didn't it? _Not_!" Anyway, there were a lot more saucy comments from my wife, interspersed with remarks to the effect that she had deserved her comeuppance. It had hurt, she said, but she was an adulteress and a violent woman, and she had had it coming to her. Then Mandy posed, in the raunchiest, most sensual, come- hither poses, while I took celebratory and souvenir pictures with my Polaroid and digital cameras. I gave my wife two weeks to recover from her ordeal. During that time, her welt first went black. Then the indentation was gone, leaving just a thin, dark blue-black bruise line across her pussy meat. Then, eventually and very slowly, the bruise line faded until it could be seen no more. The Monday after it had completely disappeared I summoned my wife to another rendezvous in the bedroom. I told her that she would never be slippered that hard again, and that she would never be caned again as long as she kept her temper. "I know that you are a high-spirited girl, Mandy," I said to her, "And I love you for it. I do not want you to lose that fiery temper. Like a thunderstorm that sets alight the midnight sky, your rich anger is a beautiful thing. You can shout and rave at me all that you want. I may inflict moderate chastisement if you go too far, if you use foul language, or if you are disrespectful or disobedient. But I will only ever cane you again if you are violent. I have to drive that out of you. After all, how many skulls does a man have for you to crack open?" Mandy grinned, rather wistfully and mischievously I thought, but said nothing. I then went on to remind Mandy that her punishment was not over yet. Thus far, she had only taken the first two of her slaps with the slipper, the dose for Monday. She still had the four whacks for Tuesday, the six for Wednesday, the eight for Thursday, the ten for Friday and the twelve for Saturday to go. This completion of her chastisement would start tomorrow, on Tuesday night. But she need not fear. Although I would be slapping her hard enough for her to feel it, I would not be putting every ounce of my strength into the blows like I had before. Last time, I explained, I had had to teach her a strict and sharp lesson that she would never forget, and I had been deliberately severe with her. "From now on, however," I concluded, "Although I doubt that you will see the funny side, your spankings will be more amusing and relaxed. I intend to enjoy them, and to have a bit of fun with you. I doubt that you will see the joke, but remember, sweat your temper or it is the cane for you." Mandy gave me an apprehensive glance, but accepted what I said in silence. On Tuesday night I started the first session of my firm but playful slipperings of Mandy. These have continued ever since. What I do is make her sting sharply enough so that she is annoyed, and resents it. Both before and after the slipperings I do my best to stir her up and make her hopping mad. These spankings do no great or lasting damage. But they sting and tingle very keenly at the time, and they really make her boil with rage and frustration. Then, after she has taken it, I make Mandy stand up straight and put her hands on her head. She finds this infuriating too, since what she wants to do more than anything else in the world at that moment is to massage and rub her stinging and tingling rear. Mandy thus stands before me, naked and exposed, and hot and bothered, with her bum ringing like a bell from the firm, hefty swats of my trusty slipper. That is when I start to give her GBH (Grievous Bodily Harm) of the ear hole. I assault her mercilessly with sexy and salacious repartee and badinage. My object is to try, if I can, to annoy my beautiful wife, to stir her up to such a pitch of anger that she uses violence on me. And yet I know that she will never do that because, despite her keenest annoyance, she is too fearful of the cane. She is therefore at my mercy. I can do what I like to annoy her. In reply she will rail and curse, but is otherwise helpless. As an example, let me describe what happened on that Tuesday night. Firstly, I got Mandy to strip naked. Next I stood up close, eyeballed her, and asked what was going to happen next. I was officious and brusque, and I really bawled her out. "You, young lady, have got it coming to you! I will no longer tolerate your outrageous behaviour. Tonight it is four slaps, and it is just the beginning. Do you know exactly what I am going to do to you? Well? Go on! Tell me!" Mandy sweated her temper, looked at the floor, and said nothing. "Well! Do I get a reply, young lady, or do you get booked for another 6 of the best?" Mandy lifted her gaze and glared straight into my eyes. Her anger was already boiling over, but she knew that she had to keep it under control or get the cane. "You are going to make me bend over," she replied at last. "Correct. And what next? What comes after that?" Then, Mandy lost it. "Oh, you bastard! You cunning, conniving bastard! You know what next. I am going to get my bare arse walloped, and walloped hard, aren't I? For God sake, just get on with it and get it over." This, of course, was the reply that I had been angling for. "Oh! It's like that is it? Feeling shirty are we? Well, madam, what do you say to another two spanks of the slipper across your bare arse, eh? Go on. Tell me the answer to that one. That's six. Any advance?" At this, Mandy glared daggers at me, but said nothing. "Now, let's start that again, shall we?" I said. "The question is this: What am I going to do with you? Come on. It isn't all that hard." This time, Mandy gave a halfway polite answer to my question, so I let that one go. "Right, next," I continued, "Tell me how old you are. Go on! Pronto!" "You know how bloody old I am," fumed Mandy. "I know I know," I continued, but I still want you to tell me." "I'm nearly 18." Mandy spat out her reply. "Oh, you are, are you? You're a big girl, then, aren't you? I can see that you've got lovely, bouncing little boobies." At this point, I placed my hands under Mandy's gorgeous, pendulous breasts and rubbed them gently, working the palms of my hands over the nipples, which started to go hard and engorged as I massaged them. Mandy groaned a groan somewhere between ecstasy and fury, but said nothing. "And what a beautiful, hairy little pussy," I said, taking my right hand off her left boob, and holding it gently against her crotch. "I can see that it is full-grown and primed for action, otherwise it would not need security measures to keep it on the straight and narrow." And I gently flipped the security lock up and down. "Now, turn around, please." Mandy sighed and reluctantly did my bidding. "Wow! What a beautiful butt!" I enthused. "This is the bum of a fully grown lady, at the height of her physical beauty and succulence." And I tapped her undercarriage a few times with the flat of my hand, concentrating on the area of the lower pussy meat that was covered by my tattoo. "Right, turn around again, please. Now, I think that we have demonstrated, beyond fear of successful contradiction, that what we have here is a beautiful, fully developed young lady, with big, bouncy boobs, a meaty, succulent rump, and a lovely hairy pussy." "Oh, get on with it," retorted Mandy impatiently. "Well, my point is, my dear, don't you think that you are just a little bit too old to get your bum smacked like a naughty little girl? To be made to bend over and take the pump across your bare arse? Don't you think that you are a little bit too big for that? Don't you find that humiliating? What a stinging indignity! How embarrassing! I bet you're feeling mortified!" "Oh! You absolute sod! Of course I am, you bastard, you utter, utter bastard!" "Oh dear! Still can't control that nasty temper, can we? That's another two of the best! Eight whacks awarded! What do you say to that then?" "Oh! Fuck you! Fuck you! You bastard, you crafty, cunning, conniving bastard! You cunt! You absolute fucking cunt!" "My, we _are_ over-excited, aren't we? Well, two more slaps for the swearing. That's six extra strikes in all and you, madam, are out! That's another two slaps for persistent offending. Twelve of the best is the most that can be applied at any one time, so be careful. Any more will be carried over until next time and doubled." Well, dear reader, by now my breaking in of my spirited little filly was getting results. Mandy took these last 2 penalties in silence, although I could see from her agitated demeanour, and from her heaving bosom, that her emotions were in turmoil. "You see, my dear," I explained kindly. "You just have to learn to control that vile and vicious temper of yours. You need plenty of practice. And I intend to see that you get it. I intend to confront the problem head on. I will tease, tempt and humiliate you to distraction. I will irritate and annoy you until you seethe and boil. Then, when you snap, I will have you slapped down, and slapped down hard. Oh, yes! I am going to enjoy this. I will pull you up short in your tracks! I will make you sweat your temper! I will tame you and make you as docile as a lamb. I will convert you into a virtuous and well-governed young lady who never needs to get her bottom smacked. But we are, I fear, very far from that position at the moment. Anyway, enough of this persiflage. Kindly take up your position on the mat, face the window, straighten you legs, and touch your toes." This time, I did not slipper Mandy all that hard. But I tried to make it just hard enough to rile her, and to drive her to distraction. I started with a brisk, sharp slap across the pussy meat. "Aw!" yelled the victim, who found the whack considerably harder than she was expecting, or than she liked. Then I waited a few seconds for the bare bum to tingle before striking it again. Crack! "Hey, that hurts!" cried a miffed Mandy, with more than a hint of petulance in her voice. Then, wait an few more seconds… Yes, it must be tingling nicely now… Here is another one. Crack! And so it went on. For me it was a relaxed, leisurely and enjoyable spanking. Indeed, as slap after slap hit home it gave me exquisite sexual pleasure. My cock hardened up and wriggled around in my underwear. Mandy was not amused, however. She puffed and blew as the slaps hit home, and winced and fumed when she was made to stand, completely naked, for 10 minutes, with her hands on her head, afterwards. I was gratified, however, to see that she had learnt her lesson, and took her humiliating chastisement in silence. As for me, since Mandy was still a rookie at taking the pump, I went easy on her. Just this once I let her stand out her 10 minutes in silence, and did not subject her to my usual barrage of insults and wind-ups. Since Mandy had taken a full 12 of the best on Tuesday evening, I gave her a night off and did not resume the introductory chastisement programme until the Thursday. In all it took the best part of two weeks to get the whole think over with since, unfortunately for Mandy but pleasurably for me, she still could not always control her temper when confronted by my sexy and infuriating teases. At last, however, she received her final dozen wallops, and was, for the moment anyway, a free woman. Now, during the entire period of Mandy's introductory discipline programme I had resolutely fought against my strong desires to resume sexual relations with her. I found the denial of sexual gratification to my wife during her chastisement a big turn on. It was part of her punishment, and it made her even more furious and outraged at what I was doing to her. I could see that my "taming of the wildcat" act was turning both of us on. We would both have loved to consummate our frustrated passion for one another. But no, I thought, not yet. I will keep her in her chastity lock until all this is over. But now, as Mandy was standing there naked with her hands on her head after her final saucy slippering, I decided that the time had come to have a bit more fun with her. I took off all my clothes, and stood next to her, pushing myself gently against her. I started by flicking the big, pendulous jewel that was threaded through her pierced navel. Then I put my hand around and playfully tapped her tingling, tattooed rump, quite sharply, with my fingers. "Hey," she said gently, "That hurt!" Then she grinned playfully. "Go on!" she said, "Do it again!" I, of course, obliged as requested, but with a very gentle, affectionate pat. Meanwhile my cock was rock hard and pushing into her taut, pneumatic tummy. "Permission to take hands of head, sir." "Granted. Now what are you going to do with them?" Mandy's little freckled face beamed impishly. Then she slowly reached down, took my cock into her hands, and tugged at it gently, pulling the shaft skin down towards the tip. Next, my wife was on her knees, gently darting her tongue along and across my frenulum on the underside of my cock head. Meanwhile, I stretched down and, with my left hand, gently fingered underneath her gorgeous, full, pendulous breasts. At the same time, with my right hand, I removed the small key from the chain around my neck, reached to the floor, twisted the key in Mandy's pussy lock, and, for the first time since it was first put on, gently worked it out of the holes and off her labial lips. Well, dear reader. You get the picture. I will leave it there, not wishing to overexcite either you or myself. Needless to say, the effect upon my frustrated wife of having her pussy free and available to a cock for the first time in more than 3 weeks was electric. She threw herself at me with passion and fervour, and very soon we were both stretched out on the bed locked into an ecstatic coupling. I had been without sex for so long that I exploded inside Mandy's pussy within a few seconds of entering it. But I was so excited that I just kept on thrusting and pumping. Within the next 30 minutes or so Mandy had enjoyed three explosive orgasms, and I had come again another twice. Since then I have continued with my saucy wind-ups, and my erotic slipperings, of Mandy. They infuriate her, but they also get her very sexually aroused. There is a penalty points system, like with motoring offences, and when she amasses twelve points she gets the slipper. The dose is always twelve of the best across her bare, tattooed bum. She fumes about it at the time, especially when I wind her up afterwards as she stands thee with her hands on her head and her bum ringing. Then, if I can goad her into backchat and award her a few penalty points for next time, she gets very annoyed and very sexually stimulated at the same time. As soon as her punishment is over, she will leap onto me with great passion, and drag me to the adjacent bed. The explosive sexual couplings that follow are often so intense that my body shakes, my heart pounds, and my mouth goes as dry as dust. Then, when I have had my wicked way with her, I tell my beloved to go and wash her pussy before I lock it up again. Both Mandy and I find this a real turn on. She can only have sex with my permission. Her sexual pleasure is in my gift, and, if I wished, I could frustrate her for a few days, or even longer. This, I will tell her, is another reason why she should sweat her temper and be nice to me. In fact, I never deny my wife sex if she wants it. Sometimes, however, I will playfully refuse to take her lock off the first time that she asks me. That really infuriates her. I can usually get her to concede at least 3 penalty points over that one. Then the fact that, later on, she has got to strip off and take a further 3 swots across her pert, meaty little bum irritates her intensely, and turns us both on. When I finally do take off the lock, her pussy is almost always warm and wet, beautifully prepared and ready to receive my eager truncheon. Finally, dear reader, please allow me to be somewhat controversial. You may skip this section if you find it offensive, or email to complain or put another point of view if you wish. But the fact of the matter is that I agree with Laura Doyle and the thesis contained in her book Surrendered Wives. So I think, when they consider it carefully, will a lot of other Christians. In my view, aggressive, assertive feminism causes enormous suffering. The worst damage is done to the children. How many broken and shattered adults do we find who had irretrievable emotional damage inflicted upon them by their parents' broken relationships? And women cause a lot of the trouble. Many of them are not prepared to make do with second best. They will badger and harass their man as the try to mould him into something that they find acceptable. But this is a hopeless task, doomed to failure, and to attempt it can only weaken a marriage. And women are frequently the parties pushing for divorce. So OK, ladies, maybe most men are not perfect. Maybe many of us _are_ useless slobs, a waste of space. But it was your free choice to have us in the first place. If you chose to let us father your babies then you no longer have just yourselves to think about. You have serious responsibilities, and you are no longer free agents. Remember, all of us are responsible for our own actions, and one day an account must be given to a greater one than us. Think about it. That is all I am saying. However, I think that I was lucky because my Mandy was so youthful. An older lady would almost certainly have been more set in her ways and much less likely to benefit from Laura Doyle style therapy. Anyway, if any of you ladies do decide to go for it and become "surrendered wives" it is up to you how you put it into practice. If, like Mandy and myself, you are spankophiles, you could do worse than base your regime on ours. I took a gamble, and I was lucky. When she was introduced to spanking Mandy embraced it as enthusiastically as I did. I was also lucky in that my Mandy is not really a nagging wife. It is her violent temper that is the problem. This is a great stroke of luck, since when her temper tantrums are converted to sexual frustration they lead to wild, violent and ecstatic intercourse. A nagging wife might be more difficult to discipline and tame. The thing to do, I think, would be to rib her mercilessly about how you are the boss, and how she had better show you proper respect, etc. Then, when she replies with the standard feminist claptrap, award her penalty points and, when she has amassed a suitable total, slap her bare arse for her, hard. My views on the role of women, of course, are not really based upon Laura Doyle's writings. I get them from my Christian faith. St. Paul is unequivocal that wives should obey their husbands. And yet even good Christian women often cannot accept this clearly articulated tenet of their faith. The result is that Christian families, like other families, sometimes reap the whirlwind. It is not as though it is just St. Paul. David's wife Michel nagged him for dancing in public. It was only a brief nag, but just for that he never slept with her again. Anyway, I could cite more scripture, but I will desist. You get the point. However, I know in my soul that what I am doing to Mandy is unchristian. Husbands have to love their wives. And all Christians have to forgive others, including their wives. If I had been a saint I would have taken the wrong that I suffered with patience and humility. I would have let Mandy strike me and turned the other cheek. I would have forgiven her adultery and rejoiced to receive her back with no thought of punishments and penalties. I do not think that God has completely deserted us. Indeed, Mandy too now accepts his word. Now, apart from the fact that she still cannot always control her temper, she is a better Christian than I am. And, this being the case, I know that it is even more wrong for me to smack her. But forgive me, Lord. I love it, and it sexually excites her more than almost anything else. So does the pussy lock. And I love that tattoo, and the pierced navel adorned with a large, sparkling gemstone. I will stop it all, and do my best to make amends, if Mandy asks me to. But for the present, Lord, forgive me my sins.