Are Lessons Learned Like Bridges Burned?

I could feel her nervousness and worry the moment I walked through the door.

“Hello”. Her greeting was soft and submissive.

I liked that. It was comfortable for me, like a cool pillow on a warm night. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to rest my head. I was due across town in a couple of hours. Besides, I can never really stand to see her pre-spank misery for too long. She had already stewed in that crock pot of anticipaton for over 3 hours.

As instructed on the phone she had compliantly “girled up”. She went with my favorite hairstyle of late: a loose curled ‘fro sorta thing with a headband that pulls her hair back to present all of the pretty in her face. She added a solid blue shell-like blouse to match the headband. And a light blue floral print skirt, that sways when she sashays. Her skin was aglow with a fresh coat of oil-based lotion. I like the shine. Very pretty. I mean, a big part of me don’t wanna spank someone so pretty. But the other part of me wants to give someone a pretty good spanking.

“Let’s take care of this now. Get the paddle and the bath brush." There’s a purpose in my voice that peeks over the edge of matter of fact.

With little reluctance, a small amount of planning and a tinge of fantasy (I confess, I just might be getting the hang of "this thing we do"), I put my adorable wife into punishment position. I placed a dining room chair sideways next to the sofa in the den. “What’s the hell are you doing?!” She's still SugarAnne. Isn’t she charming? I think sarcastically.

The den is where this type of iniquity (as she just might call it) takes place in our home. “I’m constructing a spanking station." I patted the chair with the paddle. "Kneel on the chair." She hesitated but, not wanting the situation to go from bad to worse, she complied. I made her fold herself over the arm of the sofa where I had mercifully (I'm just that sweet) placed a pillow to soften the rub on her mid-section. Her head rested on the seat cushion of the sofa just a tad below the level of her knees. This caused a high rise to her behind - a vulnerable and ready target for my "ass-crackin" assault. It was quite a position – if I must say so myself. I’m thinking about calling it “the bend and slap”.

Why? Why why, why? For what reason is SugarAnne getting her “bubble popped” again you might ask? Phonecalls, Workouts and Lies, that's why.

I pulled up the big leather chair from the desk. I bent down low as I sat to bring my eyes level to look into hers. The heat of my glare – like a high watt bulb – forced her head to turn away from me. “Look at me!"  I demanded.

Locked in, a stern but controlled interrogative tirade began:
“You went to the gym when I expressly told you not to didn’t you?!”
“You know I told you not to go for your own good, right?!”
“You should’ve called me and asked about it before going, shouldn’t you have?!”

Quivers of trepidatious regret became her affirmative responses. I continued:

“You’re supposed to contact me everyday between 11:00 and 2:00 right?”
“You had time to chat with online friends though didn’t you?" She froze. "Didn't you?!”
A near imperceptible quivering nod confirmed my aggravated suspicions.

“You had just two more days of that rule and you would’ve been scot free right?”
“Now you’re extended until the end of July!” I pointed a finger to emphasis the edict.

Then I said, “You’re lucky, SugarAnne”. She knows better than to be duped by the word “lucky”. She’s pretty much knows she won’t be pulling one of her neo-Houdini escape acts this time. “You’re lucky because that little going to the gym against instruction act gets you a little bit extra. Consider it the warm up you would not have otherwise received.” I snicker inside myself.

I lifted the hem of her pretty skirt and gravity inhaled it. It landed perfectly on the small of her back. Her "virgy whites", made taut by the flare of her ass in this position, appear laminated onto her roundness.  When I “delaminated” her I exposed a world of beauty. Booty. Considering my previous post this ain’t bad…not bad at’tall. I can't help salivating - or bending down to steal a very personal predatory kiss.

At two strokes for every minute beyond 2 o’clock, she had earned the full weight of 26 strokes with the dreaded and feared bath brush I call “Heatstroke”. The so-called “warm up” with the paddle, the “Weapon of Ass Destruction”, wouldn’t be easy either. She writhed and squiggled and squirmed and jiggled. At one point I had to “Captain Morgan” her by putting my foot on the chair to keep her from kicking her heels to protect her bottom.

Ah! She took it like a champ though. Nah...no she didn't. SugarAnne never takes her punishments like a champ.

She still working on the spanking dignity and grace she so admires and desires to attain. If this lapse in conduct isn't nullified she'll get more practice at it before the end of the month.