Veronica – Ronnie – is my second wife. She wasn’t aware of all the problems from my first marriage at the time of our own nuptials. Oh, I had been quick to tell her how Suzanne could be such a bitch and how she had eventually turned into the Mother of all icebergs on me a year before the divorce, but I had managed to leave out a few salient details. Like how I was fucking two different secretaries at work, and her baby sister Erica, to boot.
It wasn’t that I wanted to lie to Ronnie, or start out under this dark cloud. It’s just that I loved her so much—she’s smart, beautiful, together, savvy, and everything else, and I just didn’t want it ruined by the past. I swore to myself I would change, making my lies one day become truth. I didn’t feel great about it—but a desperate man will do anything to be happy.
The trouble was, I couldn’t keep it zipped. I guess you could call me one of those “sex addicts,” although I’m not sure I buy giving people an out for being responsible for their own behavior. The fact is, we had a college intern at the architectural firm, a little brunette and I ended up in bed with her. A stinking hour and a half in a hotel room…at the cost of my one and only last chance to be anything in this life.
I guess it was to my credit that I went to Ronnie. For a week this thing ate at my conscience. I just couldn’t do this to her. She deserved better. Better than my lies. And me, for that matter.
I fully expected her to leave me, to yell and scream, or maybe cry, but she seemed so calm. Sitting there on the sofa, long, lean forty-year old legs crossed. I was across from her on the hassock, sweat pouring, tears pouring, my head in my hands because it was too heavy to hold up.
“I won’t contest anything,” I choked. “You can have it all. The house. The cars.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said.
I looked at her. “What do you mean?”
“Well, do you want to be divorced?” she asked.
I blinked. “Hell, no. Ronnie you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I’ll never forgive myself…but what can we do? There’s no way to go on. After what I did.”
“I won’t lie to you,” said my infinitely wise and better half. “I’m hurt, especially because you went outside our marriage looking for things I might have been able to give you at home. But I love you, too, and I’m not going to throw away our relationship. I married you for better or worse, Mister, and that includes infidelity.”
“So you are saying you will forgive me?”
“I will always forgive you. But we are going to work through this. And we’re going to make changes, too.”
I’ll admit she had my attention. The first thing she pointed out was that in order for her to forgive me, we needed to have some kind of closure. Her suggestion, much to my amazement, was corporal punishment. She would, she said, apply a paddle to my behind as retribution.
“Could it be so simple?” I wondered aloud. “A few minutes discomfort for such a big sin?”
“It won’t be quite so simple,” she grinned impishly. “I have had some experience in this realm. A paddling can be a lot bigger deal than it sounds. And that won’t be the end of it. Yes, we’ll move on, but there will be new rules. You have had too much freedom, my love. Your behavior screams out for discipline.”
I’ll admit I felt a little twinge in my cock at this. I didn’t know if it was appropriate to get turned on by what was supposed to be bad, but it was definitely directed toward Ronnie, which couldn’t be all bad.
We arranged for me to receive my punishment the next evening, after supper. Ronnie had me cook her a steak, medium rare, just how she likes it and a Caesar salad. I was instructed to wear an apron, and nothing else. My cock was so hard all through dinner I thought I would explode. I was dreading my torture, but relishing it at the same time. I had no idea what kind of paddle my seemingly demure wife would come up with.
I hoped for something along the lines of the ping-pong variety.
Imagine my surprise when she produced something more along the lines of a canoe oar. The thing had to be two feet long, varnished with the carved initials of a fraternity.
“Do you like it?” She wanted to know. “I borrowed it from my brother. They used to use it for initiations back in the day.”
“Ronnie,” I swallowed, my mouth dry. “Are you really sure…”
“Don’t go getting cold feet on me, buddy boy, you’re the one who did this to yourself,” Veronica reminded me.
Her stern look made me hang my head, though my cock remained at peak interest level.
“That’s quite a weapon you’re packing yourself,” she noted. “I hope that’s for me.”
“Yes,” I nodded, sheepishly.
“Good. Because that dick is mine from now on. And only mine.”
I was ready to shoot off right there. All her talking about power and control was doing things to me. It was like the rush I got from cheating, only more so. I had that same feeling of giving in and being overcome by something stronger than me, but in this case it was to my own wife, the one woman in the world I really loved and desired.
God, I had never seen her look so desirable, in her red heels, her hair swept up, all business, green eyes alert as sin, her fit and trim body so nicely accentuated in that tailored red skirt suit. All day long she gave orders as VP of a major manufacturing firm, so why shouldn’t she take things in hand here at home? Especially with me so obviously out of order.
All afternoon I was wondering how she would do it. She chose the dining room table. She had me lean over it, my cheek down on the smooth wood surface, shellacked like the paddle. Jesus, I could not imagine what this was going to feel like. I mean this was a serious piece of wood. But my transgression was serious, too, wasn’t it?
I lost the protection of the apron, as you can imagine. Buck-naked was how I would meet the savage, wicked piece of wood. I’m not the thinnest man in the world, but I don’t have a whole lot of padding back there, so I was understandably scared shitless. Damn it, I nearly peed myself. I mean, you don’t know Ronnie. She did things all the way. She did them right. I was going to hurt—I was going to pay.
“I want you to count the strokes, lover.”
“All right,” I croaked, adoring how even now she acknowledged me in such tender terms. Never had I felt closer to her, never had I been more sure of her commitment. Rather than lose me over my infidelity, she was prepared to take this route of punishment, giving me a chance to prove my willingness to rebuild trust from the ground up. I was accepting my guilt and taking consequences for it. She could hit me once or a million times, I would hold fast to my humble acceptance…she was right, I was wrong.
The thing I could never prepare for, though, was the pain. And the sensations that lie on the other side—not quite pleasure, but hardly pure pain either.
“Remember to breathe,” she told me. “Steady and calm.”
I didn’t know what she meant. Why would I forget to breathe?
After the first hit, I understood plenty. I forgot breathing and the whole rest of my world besides. The pain hit me like a thud, a rude awakening, an upending of my complacent life. I was being punished. By my wife. So many were the thoughts and feelings in my mind. It had all been theoretical up to this point. Now it was real. I’d hurt Ronnie, she was hurting back. Far from destroying her, though, I’d only made her stronger. She would survive. We would survive.
“Sweetheart, you forgot to count. We will have to start again,” Ronnie fretted.
I tried to rise. “Veronica, that’s not fair!”
She took hold of my ass cheek, pinching the bruised flesh between thumb and forefinger. “You really shouldn’t have done that, lover.”
The pinch hurt bad. Real bad. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” I pleaded.
“I won’t be disrespected.”
“No, I won’t do that, I swear!”
“Forgive me if I’m a tad, skeptical.” She patted my ass in a way that was both demeaning and torturous at the same time. “I think you need it anally. When we’re done with this. That will cool your jets.”
Anal…as in anal sex?
The paddle crashed down on my behind before I could think another word. “One,” I called out, acknowledging the recommencement of my beating.
My entire backside felt like lava had been poured over it. There was nothing gentle or female about this. She was pounding me. Wailing on me—fucking hard. I would have welts. I would have bruises. I would not want to sit down any time soon. I would also not be real anxious to make Ronnie upset with me anytime soon either.
“Two.” There was no respite. The one bled right over into the other, the throbbing unceasing.
“Three.” I had tears in my eyes. I was fighting back wholesale sobs. It was humiliating. Me, a grown man, feeling like a child. Trapped and cornered, confused and scared. Ashamed and ready to do anything to get out of what was coming to me. But did I dare open my mouth again to complain or even to negotiate?
Not on your life. The only way through was to keep counting.
Four. Five. Six. For the love of god, how much longer would it go on? My ass felt numb and swollen and ripped apart all at once. I was gasping for air, hissing for breath, trying to work through it as best I could. Imagine my amazement, then, in the midst of this torture, to find my cock fully erect and ready. My body was completely enflamed, totally in love with the idea of being fucked by this gorgeous, cool and domineering woman.
Seven. Eight. Nine…
I was crying out loud, wailing, making a spectacle of myself. My beloved was unmoved. She had every intention of finishing out my just desserts. We went until fifteen before she finally and abruptly stopped.
“You will remember this,” she predicted, lightly caressing my tenderized posterior. “Whenever you so much as think of dishonoring me or our marriage again.”
Her soft touch felt worse than everything else put together. The jazzing, tingling of her finger tips, making my cock twitch even as she re-traced the horrific course of the paddle’s work, sent me into a brand new dimension. One of soul splitting agony. And yet at the same time, if she had touched my cock and whispered the words in my ear, I would have shot my load all over, completely surrendering my manhood.
I wanted to be fucked so bad. I wanted her to take control. To show me my sex belonged to her and she was woman enough to handle me and control my cock, making sure it stayed where it was supposed to at all times.
Ronnie had every intention of doing this, though she intended to make me beg more. She wanted me more desperate and compliant.
“Get on the floor,” she ordered me to all fours.
I lowered myself to the level of her knees. I was breathing hard, panting and covered in sweat.
“I want you to crawl to the bedroom,” she instructed. “You will get on the bed on your hands and knees, facing the headboard.”
My belly flipped with dread excitement. The bedroom. She was sending me to the bedroom. Something sexual was going to happen for sure. Would it feel good or would there be more pain? She had told me I needed anal sex. Was I going to be fucked in the ass, then, for real—used for the first time anally, and in our own bed, no less?
If there was one thing I knew about Ronnie, it was that she kept her word. If she told you she was going to do something, you could bet the farm on it.
God, I was in so much pain. Every little motion on the way to the bedroom set off more explosions in my nerve endings. She must have blown them wide open. What did my ass look like? Was it red? Black and blue? Both? My dick swung beneath me, throbbing in the open air. I was desperate for relief, but I knew this wasn’t about me. Ronnie was the one wronged here; she was the one with the debt to collect. And I owed her. Out of my heart, and my body. She would take what pleasure she wanted and she would exact her revenge; for my being where I never should have been.
I felt like a stranger in our own bedroom. Like a brand new dog, alert to every little sound and motion. I crawled, onto the bed, trembling like a leaf. I nearly collapsed, right then and there. Only the thought of more punishment kept me in place, the good, obedient husband.
What if Suzanne had thought of this, I wondered. Would we have managed to find marital peace? She didn’t have it in her, though. She wasn’t a born dominatrix, not like Veronica.
My wife made me wait building the anticipation. My cock stayed rock hard the entire time.
“Good boy,” she praised, her voice husky as she entered at last. “You’re still in top form.”
I glowed at the compliment, wanting to please her more than anything.
“You really are a beautiful man, you know.” She caressed my back lightly, making me moan. “You are just misguided. You think you’re dominant, for example and you’re not. You’re a slut, through and through. That’s why you seek out sex and let yourself get caught. That’s why you end up in such pathetic situations. It’s why you’re divorced. You’re a male slut and you need a woman to pull in the reigns. To call a spade a spade. To give you what you want. Deep down.”
I gripped at the bedspread. How could she know what I wanted deep down when I wasn’t sure myself?
“I’m wearing a strap-on,” she told me matter-of-factly. “I’m going to take you. I’m going to make you submit. I want to hear you squeal, husband. I want you to acknowledge what our wedding bands mean. What it means to be chained to another.”
Yea, she had what it took all right. I was panting for it. Terrified, aroused, ready to piss my pants and come in them at the same time—and I didn’t even have any fucking pants on.
Ronnie lubed my hole up, getting me good and ready. The gel was cold, clinical and exciting. I knew what it meant—that I was going to be irresistibly violated, made into the receptacle of her vicarious pleasure. It also meant I was going to squeal.
Ronnie took hold of my waist, positioning herself behind me. I could feel her warm body, her soft breathing. Even now, that she was about to be my torturer, she brought me comfort with her presence. That’s how I knew I was hooked and that I loved her.
That’s how I knew, too, that I would take everything she ever had to give. And love it. Ronnie moved with precision, advancing steadily. She made me take inch after inch, thoroughly and completing dominating me in the process. I shivered and cowered and boiled with heat, all at once. I was literally incapable of my own thoughts at this point, my own independent reactions. I had become an extension of her. Ronnie’s play toy. A thing for amusement.
I was home, where I had always wanted to be. Not using other women, but being used by the one that mattered, the one that owned me heart and soul. I couldn’t get enough. I felt like I would explode inside, but still, I wanted more. I wanted her so deep inside she would never leave. I wanted her in there so much that I would never doubt or fear anything again. I wanted to be completely claimed, my world reduced to a moon around her sun. Catching my light, my orbital patterns, my instructions for rising and setting, fattening and thinning.
“Down, boy,” she said, and I knew what she meant. Not face down on the bed, but prostrate, inside my heart. I did as I was told, willingly. Letting her deeper between my cheeks, even as I opened to her completely.
“Lover…” She reached around with her fingers. I shuddered as she touched my cock. “Go on,” she urged. “Let go.”
I came right then, a warm spray into her hand. She fed it to me a few moments later, the dildo still firmly planted.
I was in a dream. Star-filled. Floating. And grateful.
“Come on, boy, time to get back to basics,” she purred.
Veronica went to her back, naked. Legs open and ready for my thirsty tongue. Respectfully, worshipfully, I fell between her gaping thighs. Her pussy lips were so pretty and pink, and so swollen, glistening with juices. I lapped at her opening, finding immediately her clit.
“Yes,” she ran her fingers through my hair. “That’s it, darling. Give me back some of those orgasms you owe me.”
I devoured with fierce enthusiasm, confident now that I could make things right. In addition to punishment, there was restitution. Brilliant! I did a quick calculation in my head, trying to figure how many climaxes my love was due. It wasn’t just all the cheating; it was all the extra neglect that went along with it, the distancing myself from her out of guilt and the half-hearted efforts because my mind was elsewhere.
Restitution, yes. Hundreds of orgasms were due, and maybe more spankings, too. My beloved Veronica. Leave it to her to think of something fun to add.
And it has been fun. A year has passed in our new roles, and I have never been happier. I think my mistress is, too. Certainly she smiles constantly and always has that contented female look in her eyes. I am so proud to serve her, to be the man, the one male on the planet devoted to her pleasure.
I don’t miss old freedoms at all. They only got me in trouble. Now I have built-in willpower. And a whole lot of incentive. The only thing that really worries me is what we will do when I have repaid my debt. I like paying restitution so much I do hope I can go on atoning.
Maybe she will let me pay for my sins against Suzanne, as well. Okay, so maybe this is selfish of me, but can you blame a man for trying? Especially one who has found himself through slavery to a strong woman? I’m only a man, you see, and I have my limits. I have been lassoed, and from here on in, I am free to be the slut I always wanted to be.
And Ronnie is more than happy to let me be the slut. So long as she is the one and only beneficiary of my slutiness. Rather kind of her, don’t you think? I sure think so—not that I would disagree…unless I wanted a good tanning.
And I would never want that…wink, wink.