Right after that genuinely teary morning confession I let SugarAnne know that we would discuss the matter "as soon as I got home" from work. Among the short list of tasks I gave her to do for the day was this threefold directive: 1) be prepared when I get home; 2) girl up girly completely; and 3) wear a nice pair of bikini panties. I had a pretty good idea as to what was in order for this situation. In spite of this situation, I still don’t think of SugarAnne as a deceptive person. That’s just not her character. My main concern was that I didn’t want this pattern of behavior - deception and delayed confession - to become a tool effective to avoid punishment in the future. I spent the day organizing my thoughts and occasionally wrestling with the idea of granting her a full and complete pardon. By the time I got home that evening SugarAnne, having thought about it all day, was wound up tighter than the E-string of a violin tuned two-fifths above standard pitch. And even though I had called her during the day she wasn't sure what her fate would be. Frankly, it was a tough situation for me too. I wanted to do what was best, but I wanted what was best to be easy. And the easiest thing would be to let her be. I was completely honest with her as we talked about it over dinner. I suppose I talked mostly. But I let her know how much I appreciated her genuine confession. I let her know I wrestled with granting a full pardon and letting her be. I told her that her voluntary confession did warrant some mercy. And, I honestly felt that mercy was in order. The discussion was quite sobering, It was reminiscent, somewhat, of our “earlier” talks when we first started “this thing we do”. As a matter of fact through this situation we were able to dichotomize “this thing we do” (which is what had actually happened the night before and led to wild, passionate and intimate lovemaking), from “domestic discipline” (which historically, to this point, has had little to do with any immediate sex at all).
The easiest thing would've been to let her be. But I knew that that wouldn't be the most beneficial thing. By the time we were done with dinner she knew I could not completely let her be. But when I told her that I would mercifully forsake “the shredder” - the agreed upon implement for this infraction - a smile that betrayed her joy came to her precious lips. Instead I told her that I would completely “Letter B” (see previous post). The last swallow of the last bite of food brought the first instruction, a gentle, “Go pull the shades down in the den and wait there for me”. I sat still at the table for a few minutes wrapping my head around the task at hand. She waited gripped in nervous anticipation. I pushed myself away from the table, shifted my pants, took a deep breath and headed for the “weapon of ass destruction”. To my satisfaction, the bow that would play this wound up E-string had already been retrieved by SugarAnne, waiting in thin striped, every color of the rainbow bikini panties. I could not conceal my excitement. Bent over the back of the sofa she neither had position or capacity to notice.
Wrapped inside of a scorching scolding was a spanking that had SugarAnne’s booty wiggling and wrangling with demands to desist. She squirmed uncontrollably and strained unsuccessfully to hold back the tears. There was, quite literally, “weeping and gnashing of teeth”. It turned out to be a pretty tough spanking for SugarAnne. She says it was probably the worst one yet. I left her in position to glare lustfully at the beauty of her behind. History proved consistent. That would be the last, save a brief check for welts, that I’d see of it that night.
When it was all over she leaned her sobbing existence against me and rested her head on my shoulder. There I kissed her and whispered words of wisdom: “don’t beat yourself up over this”; “this is all behind us now”. Letter B.
The easiest thing would've been to let her be. But I knew that that wouldn't be the most beneficial thing. By the time we were done with dinner she knew I could not completely let her be. But when I told her that I would mercifully forsake “the shredder” - the agreed upon implement for this infraction - a smile that betrayed her joy came to her precious lips. Instead I told her that I would completely “Letter B” (see previous post). The last swallow of the last bite of food brought the first instruction, a gentle, “Go pull the shades down in the den and wait there for me”. I sat still at the table for a few minutes wrapping my head around the task at hand. She waited gripped in nervous anticipation. I pushed myself away from the table, shifted my pants, took a deep breath and headed for the “weapon of ass destruction”. To my satisfaction, the bow that would play this wound up E-string had already been retrieved by SugarAnne, waiting in thin striped, every color of the rainbow bikini panties. I could not conceal my excitement. Bent over the back of the sofa she neither had position or capacity to notice.
Wrapped inside of a scorching scolding was a spanking that had SugarAnne’s booty wiggling and wrangling with demands to desist. She squirmed uncontrollably and strained unsuccessfully to hold back the tears. There was, quite literally, “weeping and gnashing of teeth”. It turned out to be a pretty tough spanking for SugarAnne. She says it was probably the worst one yet. I left her in position to glare lustfully at the beauty of her behind. History proved consistent. That would be the last, save a brief check for welts, that I’d see of it that night.
When it was all over she leaned her sobbing existence against me and rested her head on my shoulder. There I kissed her and whispered words of wisdom: “don’t beat yourself up over this”; “this is all behind us now”. Letter B.
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