So there I had it, stockings and suspenders no problem and a choice of black knickers from which I selected a full fitting high waisted pair with shiny satin front and fine mesh rear and just a teeny bit of floral lace trim, not too fussy, I know how P likes them.
I tucked them all together in a corner of my drawer, then all I had to do was decide when to wear them, bearing in mind the likely outcome, I mean you have to be in a certain state of mind to do something which you know full well is probably going to get your bottom striped.
In fact as I sit here typing and thinking rationally I have to say that it would seem the most ridiculous idea to do something so provocative as to get that tender and personal part of your anatomy assaulted. Still, easy to think that now because I’ve recently had it done and my twisted desire for such brutality has been sated, but prior to the ‘assault’ my thinking was quite different, driven by strong sexual feelings and the prospect of being made to submit to what is a painful physical experience only enhanced them.
The thought of being intentionally ‘naughty’ and being taken in hand by my stern husband just does it for me and as the event gets closer, lust takes charge and every aspect of what happens carries kinky erotic impulses to my brain. The cries, physical struggle, firm commands, superior strength and even the wicked bite of the cane as it swishes across my bottom are all part of it, they are darkly pleasurable and the sex which usually follows is intense in the extreme.
There, I’ve revealed what a kinky bitch I am, a glutton for punishment you might say:)
I decided to wear them last Saturday night, because we had the house to ourselves for the weekend and we were going out and I could flirt with P in a particular way which would let him know I was up for being dealt with. We had a light early meal in town and then listened to a Dido concert in the Guildhall, the singer was really talented and I wouldn’t be surprised to see her on TV.
The place was packed, we sat on rows of foldaway seats and I took off my jacket and placed it across my knee so that I could encourage my husband’s hand to rest under it without anyone seeing. He got the idea when I guided his hand across the linen fabric to the bump of a suspender fastening which his fingers examined expertly and then slithered of their own accord lightly down my inner thigh before retracing back up past my stocking tops and stroking between my legs where I was starting to get moist. The Dido sing alike had just finished a number and as my husband withdrew his hand to join in the loud applause he leaned across and whispered in my ear that he could see someone was feeling naughty. Ha! Not half as naughty as I was going to feel soon, I thought…
Of course she got what she wanted, in due course and after he got what he wanted:
We entered the house and P took my upper arm and told me I was coming straight upstairs with him, he was going to teach me a lesson I wouldn’t forget, he wouldn’t tolerate the sort of lewd behaviour I’d displayed, I was in for a sound caning. Oh god he shouldn’t say things like that, I whimpered again and shuddered my shoulders, it made me feel all liquidy inside hearing him talk sternly and now hurrying me along with such deliberation.
In the bedroom he made me stand at the foot of the bed while he lifted his side of the mattress and brought a long black handled swishy cane across to me.
He stood behind me and his hands went around my waist to unfasten my trousers, I pushed my bottom back into his groin and asked him in the smallest voice I could manage if he was going to cane me with my knickers down for my naughtiness…