Barbara and Bill had just thrown a party, a party where Barb had embarrassed herself by getting inebriated. Worse, she’d embarrassed Bill by drunkenly blabbering about how uncaring a husband William T. Meade was.
When the last couple left, voices were raised.
“Get upstairs!” Bill ordered.
“I need to clean-up down here first,” Barb replied, knowing the poo-poo was about to plop into the propeller.
“Let the maid do it tomorrow!”
“That’s not her job. Her job is general maintenance. It wouldn’t be fair to her…”
“Suddenly you care about being fair! All our friends think I’m an ogre. How is that fair?”
“I just said that you aren’t a very good listener… you’re a penny-pincher… you could show more empathy… I don’t feel loved sometimes…”
“You’re still drunk! Be upstairs in five minutes!” and he stormed upstairs to remove himself from the situation, lower his blood pressure.
Barb sauntered up four minutes and thirty seconds later. She slowly slithered out of her evening gown, then her stockings. Bill caught Barb by the arm when she was wearing only a matching blue lace camisole and panties.
“Hey!” she objected in surprise.
“You don’t air our dirty laundry in public! Kneel on that chair and stick your ass out!”
“I didn’t do anything wrong by telling some girlfriends the truth!”
“I’m going to punish you until you realize that was wrong, and then I’m going to really punish you!” He forced Barb onto her knees on the bright red, bedside chair. Her backside was fair complected in keeping with his wife’s porcelain skin, unblemished by pimple or bruise. It’s been far too long since I punished her, Bill thought to himself.
He’s probably going to spank me briefly and fall fast asleep, Barb told herself, thinking that he was as drunk as she was. She was disabused of that notion when she heard him unbuckle his belt and whip it through his pants’ loops to double the leather in his hand. Barb’s thoughts went to her lingerie instead of her flesh.
“If you’re going to use the belt, take my panties down. They’re very expensive!”
Bill did as asked, ranting all the while. He gave her a sharp crack across her bum with the belt confirming in her mind that Bill was very mad. “That right there! You go out and buy expensive lingerie, often several sets at once. If you’d just spread those purchases out, so we could budget it better…” He started strapping her, hard, quick licks, and lots of them. He intended to use his belt only on her fleshy fanny, but in the position she was in, Bill focused on the elaborate tattoo on Barb’s upper back. He gave her another set as he ranted on, “And there’s another expense! You go out and get the beginning of this tiger tattoo on your back, then want to get it finished as soon as possible! Do you know what all those parlor visits came to?” Soon Barb’s pure white bottom was flaming red from hip to hip and from where her crack started down to where cheeks met thighs, confirming that he was furious.
Barbara could see her husband’s points. He’d just never said so before, either articulated so clearly with his voice or emphasized so clearly with that belt.
“Why didn’t you say something, Bill?” she sniffled.
Incredulous, he responded, “Talk about not being a good listener! I did say something! Over and over again!” In frustration, he gave her another set of licks with the leather.
“Oh…” was all she could manage in return.
“So, you see my points?”
“I’m not so uncaring?”
“No… I’m sorry…”
“I’m going to show you my love now by punishing you for saying as much to all our friends, is that clear?” Barbara thought that she’d received harsh consequences for her faults already. Hearing that more was in store made her cry more concertedly. “Go get the cane and bring it back here…”
“Not the cane…!” she wailed.
“Now!” and she exercised her sore seat muscles by sprinting to the closet to fetch the thin rod hanging there and run it back. Her flimsy underpants went flying off her ankle as she ran. Bill noticed that she didn’t pick them up off the floor, didn’t fold the expensive garment, just left them wadded-up in the corner. It fueled his righteous indignation further.
“…I’m sorry!” she sincerely proclaimed as she wisely re-assumed the position on the red chair on her knees.
“You will be! You deserve this, Barbara. You’re getting what you need, what your bad behavior screams that you need! A big dose of distasteful punishment! Take it like a good girl or you’ll get more, double the dose…”
Barb screwed up her face like it was a spoonful of castor oil held to her lips instead of a thin wooden rod brandished against her split bottom cheeks. He really unleashed a sound lesson on her now, hard cane stripes, one after the other, administered faster than she could absorb the pain! If she thought she’d had a good, cleansing cry before, that was nothing compared to the deluge that opened up. This was a full-on ugly cry. Tears flowed, but, as was always the case when Barbara really balled, her nose ran, too. Clear, thick mucous filled her nostrils, dripped, hung down in a comical long string off the tip of her button nose.
He stopped thrashing her. Twenty bright stripes blazed on top of already reddened and tenderized backside. He’d beaten a tattoo into her bottom with the cane to match the inked one between her shoulder blades. This was a full-on thorough thrashing. Barb boo-hoo’ed and wouldn’t be able to stop for minutes from now. Bill got the handkerchief out of his back pocket, caught the massive stalactite of snot that hung down from Barb’s face, then held the cloth to her nostrils.
“Blow,” he said.
She obeyed, with the loud sound of a seltzer bottle spraying out its contents, Barb filled the handkerchief with a handful of her nasal cavities’ contents. Bill was now perplexed what to do with it. He couldn’t put the sodden cloth back in his pocket. He looked at it, clear as Karo syrup, body temperature, viscous as motor oil, slicker than KY gel, and a thought came to him, a brain storm actually.
Bill knelt down behind the proffered posterior of his wife. He couldn’t help but admire his handiwork; he’d spanked Barb to a uniform crimson red with his hand, then administered twenty hard, tightly bunched, perfectly parallel cane stripes on top of that. Barb couldn’t appreciate it, but he’d just treated her to a really expert thrashing. And now he knew that it wasn’t over. You see, Barbara was not a submissive, was not a spanko. She tolerated the spankings that Bill gave her, on the order of one a month or so, whenever she got to be too much to bear. Rarely had he taken measures like caning her butt to boot. She knew she was a bitch, knew that she deserved everything he gave her ever since he first spanked her on the night he proposed marriage. It was more like she put up with this comeuppance, she indulged his desire to punish her. And spanking her always got him so aroused, the make-up sex afterward was as intense as that first time nearly twenty years before, when he got down on one knee, and then turned her over both of his knees. Now, a middle-aged Bill took a firm pinch of the well-punished but still youthful buttock of his spouse and parted her. He applied the snot-laden handkerchief to her winking anus. Barb was just about to inform Bill that it was her time of the month, if he hadn’t already noticed the tampon string tucked into her labia. She was just about to suggest that she be excused to put her diaphragm in place, wash up, and they’d be ready to fuck. She’d done it dozens of times before in their years together.
But today was different. Today Bill was smearing her snot up her ass! What the fuck was going on? She’d gotten her tears under control, and was just about to ask this question, when Bill spoke up.
“Naughty girls don’t deserve to be pleasured with fucking…”
“So you intend to fuck me in my butt?”
Bill was taking his trousers off, hanging them neatly on a wooden hanger, putting them away in his closet, modeling for his slovenly spouse what an adult does with ones’ clothes. Then his boxers came off and were deposited in the dirty clothes hamper. Only then, when he was rubbing the remains in his handkerchief on his erection, did Bill nod and mutter, “Yep.”
“With my snot as the only lubricant?”
“Let’s see how it works…!” he responded brightly.
Because there was quite a lot of it, it worked better than either of them expected. But it was still tight, and therefore, the friction made it hot, in more ways than one.
“Oh… it… burns, Bill…!”
“Take it. Take it as part of your punishment.” He was increasing in speed with his thrusts, now that he got it in there. Butt fucking wasn’t a part of their usual repertoire of tricks. Bill liked it, Barb didn’t, so they only did it a few times a year. But it usually entailed the application of lots of legitimate lube and the investment of lots of time and care. This time it was raunchy to the point of rude, which pleased Bill immensely. And, surprisingly, it pleased Barbara, in ways she wasn’t expecting.
“Do you like fucking me up my butt?” she grunted.
“Yes,” came a growl of a reply.
“Because you think it’s dirty and beneath you. But, because it has a reputation for being forbidden, and you want to like it. I like it because it’s more intimate than any other way. And even when we prepare for it thoroughly, it still hurts you a little. This time it’s hurting you more than just a little. Am I right?”
“Yes,” came her grunt of a reply. “Fuck me hard, make it burn, make it dirty, make it punishing! I need it, fuck me, Bill!”
Barbara climaxed, harder than usual, harder than she had in a long time. And her throes of ecstasy made Bill cum, hard. The afterglow, therefore, was warmer than usual. Barb cuddled close against her husband’s collarbone. Enjoyed his loving caress of her wounded butt cheeks and thrilled at his digital penetration of her wounded butt hole. It was the sexiest connection they’d felt for one another in a good, long while.
“Am I forgiven… for earlier, at the party?”
“Until the next time,” he replied. His finger ventured in further, making Barb wince, and then cream.
“I’ll try to… keep the next time… from happening too soon… You know, I really do love you, Bill…”
“I know you do, in your own way..”
(This story was inspired by the two accompanying photos. In the top one, I loved the red chair, her position on it, her pretty bottom, the nicely matching lingerie, and of course, that elaborate back tattoo.
And then there is the phenomena where some people’s noses run profusely when they cry. I was fascinated by photos like the one to the left. I don’t find it gross; I wanted to include it as a detail in a piece. So here you are; enjoy!)