I delivered a very severe strapping to my husband on Saturday. I enjoyed it immensely.
He was reading the newspaper and sipping his coffee in the kitchen, I came downstairs with the strap in hand. I put it down in front of him and said with a cheerful attitude and a smile, “I think you need some discipline today.”
“Why? What did I do???” he asked me.
“Nothing at all,” I answered. “I just feel like you’re in need of some disciplinary attention from your wife today. Don’t you agree?”
“yes ma’am,” he responded. So docile.
I handed him the strap. “As soon as you’re finished with your coffee,” I said, “get the leather conditioner out and give that strap a good going over. I want it nice and moist and supple for your ass and thighs. You get it right after you’re done, and it’s going to be a scorcher, so be prepared.”
“yes ma’am.”
“After your spanking, we’re going for a nice long bike ride. About 50k today I think.”
“Ohhhh…” he said, concerned about the state of his hindquarters on that bicycle. He has a nice hard seat on that racing bike, and I would be sure to get right in there where the contact was greatest. Poor baby.
I left him and went about my business. I was doing some low-carb baking (I make a terrific bread-like thing from mainly flax seeds) so I could keep an eye on him from the kitchen.
After his coffee he went upstairs and quickly pulled on his jeans and a T-shirt. He went outside to the garage (where he keeps the leather conditioner that he uses on the car seats), and brought it back in. He laid out some newspaper and rags at the kitchen work area. He put the strap and the leather conditioner down and sat in front of it.
The leather conditioner is a thick cream-coloured lotion. The directions say,
“Rub Leather Care Cream Conditioner into the leather with your bare hands as you would skin lotion. A cloth absorbs too much and wastes product. Allow to penetrate for several minutes. Buff dry with a soft, clean cloth.”
He squirted out the thick cream onto his fingers and began massaging it into the strap. It’s a twin-tailed doubled-up leather tawse that’s 18″ long, 1½” wide, and just under ½” thick (the doubled layers together). It feels heavy in the hand, and is known to be capable of seriously tearing up my husband’s hindquarters.
“You get that nice and moist and supple, now,” I called out to him cheerily as he massaged the cream in with his fingers. “Nothing but the best for my husband’s ass!”
He groaned in response. He was looking a bit nervous. I wondered what was going through his head as he fondled that heavy leather strap knowing that it would soon be used to sizzle his rump and literally bring him to tears like a big baby. The weight of the strap. It getting more and more supple and heavier with the moisture as he worked. Shinier. Bringing out the smell of the leather.
He called over to me to let me know it was done. I walked over to him and picked up the strap. It looked cleaner and shinier than it had been before. I held it up to my nose and sniffed it along its length. I touched it, it felt more supple in my hands. The handle end felt a bit greasy though.
“Hold out your left palm,” I told him. He did so. I choked down on the strap a bit. I laid the tips on his outstretched palm. I brought it down gently once, then twice, then three times, measuring the distance and speed I would need. I let it rest in his palm for a couple of seconds. Then I brought it up and brought it back down hard onto his open palm. He shrieked in pain and snatched his hand away squeezing it between his legs. “Other hand,” I said. He held out his other hand very reluctantly and grimaced as he held it there.
I lined it up again, took a couple of practise taps, and then brought it up and straight back down with a CRACK onto his open palm. He again cried out and clutched his hand between his legs.
I placed the tawse back down on the table and said, “give it two more applications. No more on the handle end.”
“yes ma’am,” he said and got back to work using his sore hands. I noticed they were shaking a bit as he applied the cream a second time.
“You’ll have two more coming to each palm after your done, and then we’ll start in on your backside,” I told him as I went back to my baking. I wanted him to get to know the strap intimately as his object of correction. The initial hand strapping focused his mind.
Why, really, was I doing this?
I know that he needs my undivided attention from time to time, and it had been too long since his last seriously severe spanking. The last one he got was almost two months ago in front of my sister and her two friends, and while it was a decent hairbrushing, it was over quickly, and I held back considerably for fear of spooking our guests. It was nowhere near his limits, but the humiliation factor and novelty certainly made up for it. In fact, the most recent good spanking since then was delivered to my butt, with my sister again involved, and David took a Dommy role in that. So tables definitely needed turning, and my man needed some quality alone time with his wife for a good looking after.
As well, it’s not everyday he gets a really hard strapping. In fact, my most popular blog post is Beating your man properly, with over 120,000 page views to-date (next highest is only 80,000).
But it’s been a dog’s age since I’ve really given him a proper seeing to, and he really needs it from time to time. He simultaneously does not want yet craves these events. I need to keep him satisfied. And I thought some alone time with me, where we could rekindle and reinforce our 1-1 disciplinary relationship, was sorely needed.
So that was why I was whistling away happily in the kitchen doing my baking while he worked away at moisturising and conditioning the heavy leather spanking strap.
A little while later he came up to me and said, “I think it’s pretty good now,” and handed me my strap. I ran it through my fingers. It had a shiny glean and was definitely even heavier and more supple than before. I slapped it against my own palm, “this is going to really hurt,” I told him. He looked nervous and worried, but I could see he had a hard-on under his jeans. “Go upstairs, undress, and sit quietly on the side of the bed and wait for me. No screens. You wait quietly there for me and think about what’s coming.”
I took my time. I wanted to give him plenty of time to get naked, use the toilet, and sit quietly on the side of the bed and contemplate, awaiting my footsteps up the stairs. He needed to really think about and focus on what was coming his way.
When I believed the time was right, I went up the stairs and stepped into the room holding the tawse. He was sitting there bare naked by the side of the bed. His back was hunched and his hands were folded over his crotch.
I made him move his hands. He had a raging erection. I tickled his penis with the end of the strap and teased him about his erection, “you’re obviously excited to get your strapping,” I told him. “I’d have thought you’d have been more scared than excited,” I said as I softly caressed the fronts of his thighs and his genitals with the strap.
“Do you want a warm-up before your strapping?” I asked him.
“yes please, ma’am,” he said.
I tossed the strap down on the floor, exactly underneath where I intended his head to be. I reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out a hairbrush. I indicated that he should stand. I then took his place seated on the side of the bed and brought him over my knee. He could definitely see the strap lying there on the carpet, poised and ready.
I put the hairbrush aside and started in with my hand. I could feel his hard erection poking into me. That’s nice, that’s the way I like him.
I thoroughly covered his butt all over and down the backs of his thighs as well. By the time I was done, he was a uniform pink colour all over his butt and thighs.
I then picked up the hairbrush. I continued where I left off with my hand, going easy on him at first but then increasing the intensity.
This created some mild distress in him. I could tell by his wriggles and ouches. Again I covered his butt and high thighs uniformly, bringing them up evenly from a hot pink to a light red. As I was finishing him up, he looked like he had a sunburn on his butt and legs.
I kept him across my lap, staring at the strap, fondled his ass and genitals, and told him, “ask me for your strapping, now.”
“Please, ma’am,” he said, “would you please give me my strapping.”
“Ask for it to be a very, very hard strapping,” I said.
“Ohhhh… please ma’am, would you please give me a very, very hard strapping.”
Ahhhh! Music to my ears. Ask and he shall receive.
“Ask me to please not spare your thighs,” I continued. I was just teasing him now. My cat to his mouse.
“ohhh no… ohhh… oh please strap my butt and my thighs, ma’am.”
“Until they’re both bruised and blistered?” I asked. I wasn’t sure how much I would actually blister him, but light bruising at least was sorta’ a given.
“yes ma’am, until they’re bruised and blistered, badly,” he said submissively. He added the “badly” part himself. Yumm!
“Shall I strap your palms first, like I promised downstairs?” I asked him.
“No thank you Ma’am, that’s ok, really…” Poor baby. He was not just kidding around.
“Oh, baby, that’s the wrong answer,” I told him, sounding very disappointed in him. “Now I’m going to have to double it. Come on,” I said, swatting his butt, “stand up and take your medicine.”
He stood up. He is completely naked and I am completely clothed. “Hold out your right hand,” I told him. He did so, holding out his palm for punishment like a naughty schoolgirl, bracing himself for the worst.
“Don’t move out of position or I add extras,” I warned him. I lined up the strap and brought it down with a crack onto the center of his palm. He cried out a little and grimaced in pain. His left hand shot out to support his right at the wrist, steadying it so that he would not be as tempted to move it. That was two in total to that palm. I gave him four more before I was done. He was crying out and his palm was literally shaking before the last stroke, but he took it bravely.
“Other hand,” I told him, giving him no respite. I could see him gritting his teeth and the tears starting to form in his eyes. But he held out his other palm for me.
I started in on the other palm. After even the very first he cried out again and started shaking anew. If you’ve never experienced this type of punishment, it is excruciating.
Remember, he is standing there completely nude, holding out his palm for me. There is sweat rolling down his body and his knees are literally shaking. His penis has gone soft many strokes ago. It just dangles there and jiggles impotently as I resume his palm smacking. I finish off the complete set of six to that palm. As soon as I am done he pulls back his hands and buries them into his underarms, squeezing them tight. This must be very instinctual.
“Hands out,” I tell him.
“noooooo,” he wails, fearing more. But he pulls both hands out and presents them to me palm up. His palms are definitely red!
I get a short length of nylon rope out from the bedside drawer (I mean, who doesn’t have short lengths of nylon rope in their bedroom drawers?). I have him turn his hands so his palms are facing inwards and I quickly and expertly bind his wrists together in front of him. I can do it so that he definitely will not break away, but it’s not so tight as to cut off his circulation or cause (undue) discomfort.
“Kneel,” I tell him. He obeys. I go back into the bedside drawer and pull out his ball gag and approach him with it.
“I’m going to tie you up and gag you, sweetheart, so you won’t be tempted to squirm away, cover up, or cry out for mercy. You have no say,” I added.
“yes ma’am,” he said.
“And there you went and said something,” I said with a smile, “that’s why you’re getting the gag. You have no say.” With that, I fastened the ball gag into his mouth and around the back of his head tightly. You need to tighten it more than you think because it will slip a bit and his mouth will relax over time and open wider, and you need it to still be snug once that happens. I tightened it down a little extra for his impertinence.
The ball gag can be quite a challenge during an intense strapping. First of all, it makes it more difficult to breathe. His breathing is confined mostly to his nose, especially as he starts to salivate freely, and that can induce a little panic. As well, he is acutely aware that he cannot make himself understood (but if he starts blurting “RED RED” I can still hear that through his gag, we tested that a long time ago). So you need to be super sensitive as a top and understand your bottom’s bodily reactions and be very experienced with them.
Public Service Announcement: Gagging and binding for a serious strapping is not recommended for beginners, or for couples who are new to one another!
I then piled three large pillows onto the middle of the bed near the left-hand side. I had him get up onto the bed and then drape himself over the pillows. I made him put his bound hands under the pillows so he was lying on top of them. I then got another short length of rope and used it to bind his ankles together.
Finally, I retrieved our many-holed belt out of the bedside drawer.
That went around his thighs, just above his knees. Before tightening it, first I tucked his junk well out of the way, then I tightened it down very hard so that it would not pop out for a reappearance at any time, and to keep him effectively immobile and completely controllable with my one free hand.
He was properly trussed up and ready for his whipping.
Mostly I don’t bother binding and gagging him like this. I mean, he is as good as gold and does not get out of position no matter what anyways. But the bonds and the gag make it so that he literally can’t. It renders him under my complete mercy, and he is acutely aware of this at a deep, visceral (not even intellectual) level. He will lie there and take it for as long and as hard as I choose to dish it out. A frightful thought as I am no shrinking violet with the strap and do have a definite sadistic streak where his (fully consensual) suffering really does turn me on something fierce. I always have to watch that, but today I was letting my inner sadist loose, baby!
Oh man. Did I ever give him a STRAPPING!
His time for warming up was over. Every stroke was designed to bring pain. If one was lighter than another, it was only to allow him a brief respite before the next crushing stroke of the strap. I didn’t want to break him, I just wanted him at the very edges of his limits.
As usual, I confined the very hardest strokes to his “spank spots”. In the photo below, that is the upper half of the indicated rectangle. On these strokes the tip always landed somewhere in there, and just above the crease. Wrap around into his crack was ok as his cheeks were tightly held together by the belt. I never wrap around to his flanks on these strokes. The upper indicated area is where God intended for the most extreme strokes of the strap to go. He has the most layers of fat and muscle protecting him, the skin is thick, but all the nerve endings are hanging out right out there near the surface to be punished and abused at my discretion.
The next hardest strokes were aimed at the lower half of the indicated rectangle, at the tops of his thighs just underneath the crease. This is pretty decent area as well, though you do need to hold back somewhat as their are nerves in and around there that could be damaged if too brutal. Yet what is lost in force of the strike is more than made up for in impact to poor hubby. I also delivered other strokes more to his upper butt, and some wrap-around, and down his legs and even to his calves (avoiding his knees and ankles of course), but these were very light by comparison. No, the main strapping was his lower butt cheeks nearest the crease and the crack, but of course with lots of collateral damage to all his hindquarters.
What was his reaction? Well, he was already in considerable pain from the hand strapping, and being bound and gagged and bent over increased his discomfort further. The strap caused him to cry out in pain on practically every last stroke. Contrary to popular belief, the ball gag does not quiet him, it just makes it so that his words are unintelligible. So he made very inhuman sounding grunts and cries as he was strapped. And of course, the more he does of this, the more difficult it is for him to breathe freely. So from beginning to end it was a major struggle for him.
At the start of his strapping he reacted more, shaking his butt what little he could and screaming out more. As we proceeded past the first hundred he became more docile, more accepting of his fate. He moved less with each stroke and his sounds had less the quality of a scream, and more the quality of a pitiful sort of whelping, the sound I imagine a beaten dog would make. By the time I was done, maybe a couple of hundred total, his ass and thighs were well and truly marked and bruised. Epic.
What was my reaction? This is where I find I differ from many women, and have more in common with a professional Dominatrix such as Mistress Violet. I can literally enjoy his pain and take satisfaction from inflicting it. Many women cannot bring themselves to do this, and I certainly understand. Not me.
The first part is all intellectual. It is all about engineering the setup and the anticipation for him. I am playing a role. Even the first spankings were more along the lines of preparation, and I executed them well and competently to ensure his butt was warmed up for what was to come. The first real twinges of sadism emerged as I strapped his hands. I could tell he was in real pain. It excited me. Then it was back to being “professional” as I prepared him for his strapping.
Once he was all trussed up and ready to be whipped, and I brought the strap down on his ass for the first time, really really hard, and he screamed into his ball gag. Well I honestly wet my panties at that moment. You see, this is the difference. Do you truly enjoy doing this, or do you just do it because he wants it? david tells me I go a bit “glassy eyed” when I really get into beating him. I don’t want to stop, I don’t even want to give him any sort of a break; but I do, with some lighter strokes, because I know I need to in order to keep under his limits, but I don’t want to.
Eventually I pull myself out of my trance. I notice his ass is a mess! I’m aching to give him more, but intellectually I know we are done. I feel sort of transcendent as I come back down to earth. I was in a complete “flow state”.
After I stop, he is just continuously mewling into his ball gag. I untie the belt around his thighs. I pull out his cock and balls and haul them back between his legs. I refasten the thigh strap to keep them there. His junk is totally limp.
I get the lube from the drawer, and a dildo. I lube his asshole and the dildo and I shove it in quickly and deeply. He yells out again into his gag. I dribble the lube down his cock and balls and start rubbing him. I fuck him with the dildo with one hand while I rub his junk with the other. Not satisfied with just the beating, I need to own him completely. I am rough with him. He hardens. I leave the dildo in to the hilt and continue rubbing his cock as I squeeze and scratch his beaten up ass which makes him cry out anew into his gag. Before very long at all, he shakes and spews his seed out onto the backs of his thighs. I scoop up his sperm and massage it gently into his beaten up ass cheeks and high thighs. His “lotion”.
I pull his legs to the side of the bed (he’s heavy!) and onto the ground. His chest is still on the bed. He’s still bound and gagged and with a dildo up his ass, his spent cock and balls locked behind him, and his own ejaculate all over his ass and thighs. I get him to put his hands up above his head and I untie them enough that he ought to be able to do the rest himself.
“Untie yourself, get that cock out of your butt, and shower up. I’ll give you an hour and then we’re cycling,” I tell him. “No complaints!” I say, anticipating him, as I smack his wet and sticky ass. I leave him there like that.
An hour later he comes down the stairs, walking funny. He has on his tight cycling shorts and jersey.
“Very good!” I tell him. “A bit sore?” I ask.
“Oh Yes.”
“Pump up the tires and do whatever to the bikes. I’ll change and be down in a jiffy.” I run up and get myself changed as well, and come back down.
“Let’s see the damage, champ,” I tell him.
He pouts, turn around to face away from me, and gingerly lowers his cycling shorts. He has nothing on underneath, of course (they are padded though). Deep red, purple and black abounds. I did a number on him.
“Nice,” I say. “That’ll keep you up off your seat.”
We go off for a big cycle, all the way from uptown down to the lake, out to the spit, and then back home again. About 50km all told.
“How’s your ass?” I keep asking him throughout.
“Hurts like hell!” he says.
But he’s tough. He’s a “man”. He can take it. Ha ha!
Nice ride.
Source: Strict Julie
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