{ASSTR 06} Taming a Wildcat {Big Billie} (M/F con, 
matrimonial, sex, slipper, cane, tattooing, piercing, 
religion, controversial)



Taming a Wildcat


By Big Billie

© Big Billie 2003. Not to be distributed or sold for monetary 
gain.

Author's Statement: Big Billie is opposed to spanking except 
for consenting adults. However, spanking sexually excites 
him, so he writes about it. For more information, see Big 
Billie's Author Profile.



  My name is Bill Doyle. I am an academic, aged 26, 
specialising in Shakespearean studies. I was recently 
appointed as a lecturer at a Teacher Training College 
attached to one of our big redbrick universities here in 
England.

  I have just been awarded my doctorate, and I am currently 
preparing my thesis for publication, some of it in book form, 
and the rest in two or three academic articles that I am 
hoping will be accepted by refereed journals.

  While I was a graduate student I got married. You have 
probably heard the old proverb, "marry in haste, repent at 
leisure." Well such, it seemed, would be my case. I am a very 
bookish sort of a chap. I am also a committed Christian and a 
regular churchgoer. These two character traits, taken in 
conjunction, seemed to put off females, both at school and at 
university. Thus, what with working hard at my studies, and 
playing an active role at church, I arrived in my early 
twenties without even a girlfriend, let alone a lover. I was, 
in short, a frustrated male virgin, and a bit of a geek.

  All of this, however, changed abruptly a couple of years 
ago. One of my fellow graduate students was an older, 
divorced lady and she had a daughter. This daughter, who was 
called Mandy, was eight years younger than me, and just 
sixteen when I first met her.

  It was, in fact, hard to avoid meeting Mandy. She used to 
come along to most of the graduate social events and parties, 
and she always stuck to me like glue. I was amazed, but she 
really seemed to like me. To say that she threw herself at me 
would, perhaps, be overstating the case, but she left me in 
no doubt at all that she wanted a romantic relationship. 

  Well, to cut a long story short, a few months into our 
acquaintanceship, when Mandy was just seventeen, she and I 
began a whirlwind romance. I know that I should not have let 
it happen. Mandy had been badly upset by her parents' recent 
acrimonious divorce, and she needed time to get her emotional 
house in order. But, oh, forgive me, God! Mandy is the most 
beautiful girl that I have ever seen, and she was only 17. 
She encouraged me, and what could I do to resist?

  Luckily, Mandy's mom welcomed our relationship. She told me 
that Mandy needed a steadying influence. It was as well, she 
added, that I was older than her daughter, and a practising 
Christian. Mandy's father was now living with another woman 
who disliked her. Her world had fallen apart. She needed 
support, and a safe pair of hands, to help her to pick up the 
pieces of her life. Well! The "safe pair of hands" crack was 
a bit strong. Definitely out of order. But OK, I thought, 
let's give it a go.

  Thus, before I was twnty-six years old, I found myself 
married in a modest church ceremony. In the weeks before the 
wedding I was challenged by almost insufferable temptation. 
Nevertheless, I successfully confronted the Devil, in the 
guise of the deadly sin of Lust. I managed to stay a virgin 
until the honeymoon.

  For the first few months of our marriage it was hard for us 
living on my student scholarship. But, despite my previous 
sexual inexperience, our love life was idyllic. I was 
besotted with my stunning bride, my "trophy wife" as I called 
her. I wanted so badly to please her. I read up on all the 
sex manuals, and I watched sex education videos. I then put 
every ounce of my ingenuity and effort into giving my young 
wife as good a time in bed as I could manage.

  Mandy reciprocated my efforts with gusto. She is a redhead, 
fairly small, but very buxom and curvaceous, and with the 
most gorgeous, strawberry blonde hair. Her eyes are bright 
blue, her skin is milk-white, and she has the most delicious 
little freckles all over her face and upper body that fade in 
the winter and then come out into beautiful, glorious deep 
russet brown spots when heated by the summer sun. Her figure 
is breathtaking. Her breasts are full and firm. Her bottom, 
for a girl with quite a small bone structure, is beautifully 
meaty. And she is so young. She exudes youth, freshness and 
charm, like a playful, skittish kitten. Oh, praise to you, oh 
Lord! What beauty is in your Creation! If Eve was as stunning 
as this, no wonder that Adam followed her out of Paradise. 
How I loved my Mandy! All that I wanted to do was to live 
with her until death, and have some lovely little babies.

  Oh, yes, dear reader! But, you see, you are more worldly 
wise than I! "What an ingenuous fool" I can imagine you 
thinking! And so I was! I was besotted with my Mandy, and I 
did not see the clear warning signs. But I was soon to learn 
that playfulness and skittishness can all too easily turn 
into temper tantrums, fights and violence. My Mandy was 
beautiful and charming, but she had a stormy and violent 
temper that was a lot more than I could handle. Young as she 
was, she could be a spitfire, a wildcat from Hell.

  I remember that once, for no very good or obvious reason, 
Mandy hurled a scalding hot cup of coffee at me with 
tremendous force. The cup was made of thin, fine bone china, 
and it smashed to fragments against my skull, inflicting 
several open, gaping wounds that bled copiously and needed 
lots of stitching up. Then, when they healed, they left 
permanent, ugly, nasty scars all over my forehead. As for the 
scalding hot coffee it cascaded all over my face delivering 
extensive burns. I shut my eyes quickly, and they, luckily, 
did not get damaged. But most of my face was cut, red and 
sore for more than a week. Worst of all, I had to go to the 
local medical centre to get my wounds dressed, and I was 
forced to endure the interrogation of a young nurse as to 
exactly how I had been hurt.

  Our tempestuous relationship continued for several months. 
Sometimes we were locked into the most violent and ecstatic 
sexual couplings, and sometimes Mandy was spitting and 
fighting like a hellcat. As for me, I just could not cope. If 
she had not been so stunningly beautiful, and so engagingly 
youthful, and if I had not been so madly in love with her, it 
would, perhaps, have been easier. But as it was I was on a 
fast, uncontrollable roller coaster ride between elation and 
despair.

  When the end came I did not know whether to be relieved or 
sad. One night Helen, Mandy's mother, came around to our 
flat. Then yet another violent argument broke out, this time 
between mother and daughter. It ended with Mandy storming 
off. We later learned that she had gone into the bar at the 
Student's Union (our flat was on the edge of the campus), and 
had picked up a first year undergraduate. That night she 
slept with him, in his Hall of Residence, and she went on 
sleeping and living with him for several months.

  Well, dear reader, what was I to do? I had been a complete 
fool. I had been swept off my feet. I had married a 
beautiful, youthful girl without taking anything like enough 
time or trouble to get to know her. Within a very short 
period, the relationship had broken down and a divorce looked 
inevitable. But yet, I did not want that. I was still 
besotted with my wife. We had sworn our vows to God, for 
life, and I took the old-fashioned view that, even if we 
never again lived together, our contract was still an eternal 
bond. I decided that I would search for no other woman, that 
I would live my life alone. Well at least that is how I saw 
it at the time. Whether I would have felt the same 10 or 15 
years later I do not know.

Anyway, for 3 or 4 months I eked out a solitary and miserable 
existence, morosely pondering on my fate and pouring all my 
energies into my researches. At the same time, I ruminated on 
the way that I had been treated. I was already steeped in 
Bible studies, and I reflected upon what the scriptures say 
about marriage, about the authority of husbands, and about 
the duties of wives. How, I thought to myself, would those 
Patriarchs in the Pentateuch, or St. Paul, deal with a wife 
like this? As you can imagine, the answers that I arrived at 
to these questions did not fall within the currently 
fashionable, politically correct, liberal consensus.

Then, one Friday evening, the doorbell rang. I opened the 
door and standing there, looking very dejected, was Mandy. 
Her call was completely unexpected, and I was knocked off 
balance. When I saw her, my mouth went as dry as sandpaper, 
and my heart began to knock fiercely against my ribcage. For 
a few moments, I thought that I would fall, and I had to 
steady myself against the doorframe. "Hello, Bill," said 
Mandy dully. "Can I come in?"

Twenty minutes later we were both drinking cups of coffee, 
and engaging in polite and embarrassed small talk. I could 
sense, however, that Mandy had something to say, and I tried 
to help her. Over the next half hour or so, prompted by me, 
this is what she said.

Her relationship with her first year undergraduate had broken 
down. For the last 6 weeks she had been living with her 
mother. Helen had promised, however, that she would not tell 
me where my wife was, if Mandy would do something in return. 
"Oh!" I replied with interest. "And what was that?" At this 
point, Mandy gave me a leaflet. It detailed the meetings and 
the other activities of a Women's Therapy Self Help Group. 
Here is a quotation from the leaflet: "The therapy sessions 
are led by Mary Michaels. Mary is an experienced and 
respected volunteer therapist who follows a novel method of 
marital reconciliation. This is based upon the ideas of Laura 
Doyle, the best selling US author of Surrendered Wives, and a 
self-styled "former shrew." Laura believes that women's 
nagging, controlling behaviour prevents emotional intimacy, 
and that in order to achieve marital success a woman must 
give her husband her money, hand over management of their 
home and submit totally to his sexual desires." Well, as you 
can imagine, my interest was immediately aroused! "Have you 
attended these sessions, Mandy?" I asked. Mandy said that 
indeed she had. They were held twice a week, and she had been 
to 12 of them. "Oh, Bill," she said, shaking her head sadly, 
"All of the other ladies there were far older than me, and 
they had some harrowing tales to tell. Lives have been 
wrecked, marriages destroyed, and children left fatherless 
and broken. Mary guided us through it all. It was not always 
the ladies' fault. Some of them were married to right 
bastards who were cruel, thieving or adulterous. But that was 
not what happened in our case. You did nothing wrong. You 
just loved me and tried to look after me. And I acted like a 
spoilt, vindictive bitch. Oh, God! Help me Bill! Please don't 
let me end up like some of the other members of our group. 
They have had wretched, miserable lives. They had it in their 
power to change things, but they were too stubborn and too 
stupid to try. Give me another chance, I beg you. I'll do 
whatever you say if you will only have me back."

  Well, dear reader, what was I to do? Fine generous words, 
spoken in the heat of the moment, are all very well. But will 
they stand the test of time? There was a good chance that the 
coffee cup that Mandy was holding at that precise moment 
might not end up wrapped around my skull. But would that also 
be true of other cups, and of other potential missiles, in 
the future, when Mandy's blood ran hot again, and her temper 
boiled over?

  "OK, love," I said, kindly. "But I need time to think about 
this. Give me a week to ponder things over. In the meantime, 
you can live here. You are welcome to my table, and to my 
bed, but until this thing is sorted out I will sleep in here 
on the couch. I will give you my answer next Friday night."

  "OK, Bill," replied my wife gratefully. "Whatever you say."

  For several days, I prayed hard, and I thought hard, about 
what I should do. The more I thought, however, the less 
prayerful and Godly, and the more lascivious and kinky, my 
thoughts became. I wanted, and I thought God was telling me, 
to take back my wife. But for all my Bible study and my 
church attendance, I am, I fear, a poor, inadequate 
Christian, a sinner unworthy to call myself by that title. 
Oh, yes. I knew exactly what I was going to do, and I knew 
that it did not come from God, and that it was wrong. And it 
was not only the condemnation and punishment of God that I 
feared. Mandy would surely be appalled and outraged at my 
proposals, and it would almost certainly end in partings and 
tears. But I was so sexually excited by my fantasies that I 
decided to go through with my audacious plans.

  The next Friday night I made my offer to Mandy. Yes, I told 
her, I would have her back. But there were conditions. The 
way that she had treated me was outrageous, and she would 
have to be punished for it. And as for that vicious temper of 
hers, well, it would have to be sweated and tamed. All the 
adultery and the violence would have to be purged out of her, 
and I warned her that this would be a long and, for her, 
painful process. So here, I said, was my offer.

  Firstly, the wearing of a wedding ring on its own was not 
enough as a sign that she belonged to me. I also wanted her 
to take a tattoo on her arse, like a branded heifer. 
Secondly, I wanted to physically prevent further acts of 
adultery. I wanted both of her labial lips pierced right 
across the opening to the pussy, and a lock to pull them 
together and secure her chastity. Finally, to keep my 
boisterous and stroppy wife in order, I wanted a system of 
physical punishment. This would employ a slipper and a cane. 
Oh, and the victim must subject herself entirely to my 
discipline, and must take whatever was dished out with silent 
humility, thanks and good grace, upon pain of incurring 
further penalties.

  As I unveiled my plan to my spouse, my blood raced and my 
cock stood rock hard in my crotch, pushing and leaping within 
my tight underpants. Meanwhile, I gazed into my young wife's 
beautiful freckled face and translucent bright blue eyes. Oh, 
God! She was gorgeous! I think that if she had rejected my 
preposterous proposals there and then I would have relented, 
claimed that I was only joking, and had her back on whatever 
terms she would accept. But, to my amazement, Mandy assented 
to my offer.

  "Oh, Bill," she cried in a weak, pathetic and submissive 
voice. "I love you. You can do what you like with me. But 
please don't hurt me too much. Please don't be _too_ cruel."

  "Never fear, my love," I replied. "You must be chastened. 
And your punishment must be effective. You have wronged me. 
You have betrayed our marriage and your wedding vows. And you 
have physically injured me. For all of that you deserve to be 
punished. You must be made to tingle and smart. I will make 
sure that you feel it, and that you regret the wrong that you 
have done. But, on the other hand, my discipline will be 
measured and appropriate, not excessively cruel. Always 
remember that you are my beloved wife. I will always look 
after you, and I will never desert you."

  Eight days later, on the Saturday morning, Mandy's 
chastening began. I had phoned during the week to set up an 
appointment at a parlour run by a locally famous tattoo 
artist who was also a specialist in body piercing.

  The tattoo that he inflicted on Mandy was a big one for a 
bum that, like its owner, was small and pert. It was 
positioned on the inside undercarriage of the right buttock, 
just above the thigh and a short distance from the protruding 
auburn hairs of Mandy's hirsute pussy, right where the pussy 
meat was at its plumpest and sexiest. First, the tattoo 
artist cut a thick, very black, lined circle, with a diameter 
of 2.5 centimetres, or just over an inch. Then he added a 
second thick black lined circle, inside and concentric with 
the first circle. This second circle had a diameter of just 
less than 2 centimetres. Inside the smaller circle the artist 
etched the legend "Prime Rump". Then, in the space between 
the two concentric circles, he added "Property of Bill 
Doyle". I could see that the tattoo artist was hurting Mandy 
as he pierced her skin. She seemed shocked by the unexpected 
sharpness of the discomfort, and winced and gasped at the 
pain. But our man was very talented, and he did a beautiful 
job. "Lovely," I thought. "Yes, my girl! I bet you will not 
be wearing any more high cut shorts or bikini bottoms! That 
is, not unless you want the whole world to know that your 
arse is mine!"

  Hot on the completion of Mandy's tattoo came her second 
operation. The artist pierced both of her labial lips with 
two adjacent holes, right across the middle of her cunt. 
These holes were much bigger than the usual holes made at a 
piercing. For the time being, two thick studs kept the holes 
open. The artist sprayed the labial lips, on both sides, with 
local anaesthetic, but this only deadened the surface pain. 
Then the first stud was shot from the gun, and pierced my 
wife's right labia. She let out an anguished squeal of pain.

  "Oh! Oh!" she gasped. That hurt. Oh, God! That really, 
really hurt. Oh! No! Wait! Stop! Not again! Please!"

  The artist, however, was pitiless. He showed his victim no 
mercy. He was a professional, and he had his living to earn. 
(I also suspect that he was rather enjoying himself!) While 
Mandy was howling from her first wound, and begging to be 
spared from having to take another one, he gave it to her. He 
deftly shot the second stud right through her left labial 
lip.

  "Wow," I thought, "that is beautiful. Those studs are 
exactly opposite each other, and positioned exactly over the 
centre of the cunt hole. That is just what I need for the 
next stage of my plan!"

  Meanwhile, as the second shot bit through her, Mandy cried 
out again, much louder than before. "Aaaagh! Oh my God! This 
is awful. I cannot take it! Please! Please! Not again! Not 
that again!"

  But, even now, Mandy's ordeal was not over. On the way to 
the tattoo artist I had revealed another little secret to my 
spouse. It was not just her pussy that was getting pierced. 
Her belly button was down to be punched as well. In her 
agony, Mandy seemed to have forgotten this. But she was soon 
reminded of what was to come when her tormentor carefully 
marked the spots on her midriff that were about to be joined 
up by a hole. Then he sprayed painkiller in and around the 
belly button.

  "Oh, no!" cried out Mandy, outraged. "Not another one! This 
is ridiculous!"

  But our man deftly pinched her tummy meat between the 
pincers of his gun, and phut! He shot a third stud right 
through the flesh and out the other side.

  "Aaaagh!" yelled Mandy helplessly, far louder than any of 
her other complaints. Then, at last, she subsided into 
silence. The artist smiled courteously.

  "There you go, madam," he said. "That's it. Thank you. You 
were very brave." (A bit of a false statement, that one, I 
thought, but then, I suppose that he has to keep the 
customers happy.)

  A week later, on the Saturday night, I completed my plan 
for Mandy's pierced pussy. I had purchased a small, high 
quality security lock with a thin clasp. I now took the studs 
out of my wife's labia, and carefully threaded the end of the 
opened lock through both of the holes. Then, with a flourish, 
I snapped the lock shut. The result was that my wife's honour 
was now protected by a discreet but highly effective chastity 
lock. Mandy has a tight little pussy, and there was not an 
erect cock in the world, no matter how modestly endowed its 
owner, that could force itself either in front of or behind 
that lock and into her honey pot. Perhaps, I mused, my 
darling would storm off again. Perhaps she would throw 
herself at another callow first year undergraduate. But this 
time, when he got her into bed with him, he would be in for a 
very sexy and frustrating little shock!

  "I shall, of course," I told my wife imperiously, "Be 
removing this myself from time to time in order to use and 
enjoy my property. But you will never remove it. The key will 
be kept around my neck, and the spare key in a security safe 
at the bank that only I can access. You will, I think, be 
able to pee without problem as long as you hold the lock out 
of the way. You will also be allowed access to your pussy as 
and when necessary for cleaning, and in order to attend to 
your monthly cycle. Oh, and one more thing. For my delight 
and gratification you will from henceforth remove you belly 
stud and wear a piece of jewellery in your midriff. Here, fit 
this please."

  I then pulled out of my pocket a large, showy belly 
ornament on a gold wire, inset with a large, semi-precious 
stone that sparkled with all the colours of the rainbow. 
Mandy removed her belly stud and gave it to me for 
safekeeping. Then she threaded my gift into her navel and 
fitted it neatly into place. Wow! She looked gorgeous! 
Mandy's tummy is beautifully trim and voluptuous, and her new 
belly ornament set it off beautifully. For what seemed a long 
time I stared at her, transfixed.

  "OK," I said at last, "You may go to the bedroom now. 
Please contemplate what has been done to you, and how richly 
you deserve your humiliating pussy bondage. Your pussy 
offended and your pussy has been punished. But I am not 
finished with you yet. We will leave this now, but you will 
report to the bedroom for physical chastisement at bedtime on 
Monday."

  On Monday night I told my wife to strip naked and stand by 
the side of the bed. I stood in front of her, and eyed her up 
admiringly from top to toe.

  God, but she is beautiful! Her medium length hair is 
slightly curly, and somewhere between auburn and strawberry 
blonde. It is thick and luxuriant, and cut off in a neat, 
straight line just above her shoulders. Mandy is about 5 feet 
4 inches tall, with quite a small body frame. But, my 
goodness, it is beautifully packed! Her breasts are big for 
such a small boned girl, voluptuous and bouncy, but pert and 
firm with the suppleness and elasticity of youth. Her waist 
and tummy are beautifully thin and tapered. As I gazed in 
admiration, her big rainbow stone sparkled invitingly from 
her trim navel. Mandy's pussy hairs are thick, bushy and 
crinkly, and a slightly darker shade of auburn than the hairs 
on her head. Then, clearly visible through the middle of this 
inviting and hirsute clump were the thin, delicate, serrated 
coral pink edges of her pussy lips, and the discreet silver 
coloured chastity lock that pinched them together. Finally, 
below this, Mandy's thighs, nubile and shapely, bulged out 
invitingly.

  I grinned roguishly as I told Mandy about the first 
instalment of her corporal punishment. "Your initiation will 
be gradual," I said. "I will be using the slipper. It is one 
of my favourites because it stings effectively without doing 
any real damage. Tonight, you will take 2 slaps across your 
bare bottom. Tomorrow it will be 4. Then on Wednesday it will 
be 6, on Thursday 8, and on Friday 10. On Saturday night you 
will take 12 of the best, so that by the Sabbath it will all 
be over. I promise that I will never ever punish you, but 
only love and cherish you, on the day of the Lord. Right, 
stand on that mat, face the window, and touch your toes 
keeping your legs straight."

  At this stage, I was deliberately brusque and brisk, and 
the rapid build up of my disciplinary initiative disconcerted 
Mandy. Nevertheless, she obediently did as she was told, 
presenting me with a fetching view of her derrière, with that 
delicious clump of auburn pussy hair sprouting and protruding 
from the back of her crotch.

  My wife stretched and strained to bend over, and, with 
straight legs, pushed her fingers to her toes. The muscles 
and tendons in her thighs rippled and twitched, and she 
displayed two delicate, white, concave hollows on the inside 
tops of her legs, filled with thick, wiry auburn locks of 
pubic hair where they met her vulva. Despite the restraining 
force of my chastity lock, Mandy's labial lips pouted ever so 
slightly open, revealing the tantalising glimpse of coral 
pink inner pussy flesh that I have already alluded to, its 
pale red tones in sharp and fetching contrast to the 
colourful orange tinges of her pubic thatch.

"Right," I said. "Now I want you to take this openly, 
generously, and without resentment. It is meant to sting, and 
it is meant to humiliate. It will almost certainly annoy you. 
But I want you to sweat your temper. Accept what is coming 
with humility and gratitude, because from now on every temper 
tantrum, every spat of rage, and every outburst of anger and 
violence, however justified you may think it is, will be 
punished with one or more cuts from the cane. Is that clear?"

  "OK, Bill," replied Mandy obediently.

  "Yes, my girl," I pondered lasciviously. "You are compliant 
enough at the moment. But just you wait until I have finished 
with you! I will stir you up! I will inflame your sense of 
outrage! By the time I have finished with you, you will be 
hopping mad! If this goes to plan tomorrow night you will be 
feeling the cane, and not the slipper, across your meaty 
little bum!"

  I then took up my stance next to Mandy's bottom, with my 
slipper in my hand. The slipper itself is a gym plimsoll. It 
is a size 10 and very flat, well-worn, light and floppy. I 
lined it up in the centre of Mandy's bum, with its bottom 
edge touching her thick clump of backwardly sprouting auburn 
pussy hair, and the top end of the sole covering her big, 
newly etched, circular tattoo. I then removed the pump for a 
few seconds to get a strategic overall view of the target 
area. One thing that I noticed again was that, like a lot of 
redheads, Mandy has very white, delicate skin. I knew that 
she had to be very careful in the summer sun, because it did 
not tan brown. It just went red and sore. I looked at Mandy's 
plump, meaty little milk white bottom and my cock began to 
stiffen up in my underpants.

  "Wow!" I thought to myself. "That is gorgeous. I bet my 
slipper will make beautiful, sexy red indentations on those 
globes! They are as white as alabaster, and the marks should 
show up beautifully."

  Then I had another sexy thought. Although Mandy's bottom 
was plump and meaty it was, like her, really quite small. And 
my slipper, in contrast, was very big! In fact, when its flat 
sole was placed against her pussy meat it looked enormous.

  "Ah, what a shame!" I thought to myself in mock sympathy 
and outrage. "It isn't fair to welt such a pert, pretty 
little bottom with such a huge, serious instrument of 
correction. And the young lady is so youthful and tender! The 
poor girl! It is an inhumane, cruel and unusual punishment!"

  I grinned wickedly. "You bet it is! And she's got it coming 
to her!"

  I then lined up my slipper again onto the target area, 
gently pushing it into the soft, plump, nubile pussy meat at 
the base of the buttocks, just above the upper thighs and 
right across the back of the twat. I wriggled my wrist to get 
the pump absolutely flush with its target. Taking careful 
aim, I pulled back my right arm in a big arc, holding the 
plimsoll high in the air.

  I brought round the slipper with all of my strength and 
whacked it home, right across Mandy's plump, meaty, milk 
white pussy meat. There was a gentle swish as the pump 
descended towards its target. Then it hit home. My aim was 
true, and the pump struck absolutely flush across both bare 
buttocks with a sharp, almost deafening crack.

  I had given it my best shot, and the undercarriage of 
Mandy's pert, juicy little bum quivered and wobbled 
deliciously, and the protruding auburn pussy hairs were 
scattered and rearranged by the force of the blow.

  Immediately, at the other end, Mandy let out a mighty, 
high-pitched scream of anger and outrage: "Aaaagh!!!"

  Wow! They must have heard that in the student bar on 
campus!

  I gave a smile of satisfaction, and drew back my pump for 
the encore. I waited 4 or 5 seconds, for the bare bum to 
fully feel what had hit it. During that time, a deep red 
indentation mark appeared across Mandy's bare buttocks, 
dramatically displayed against the milk white flesh of the 
rest of the bottom. It stretched across her left buttock, and 
covered most of the sharply etched tattoo on her right 
buttock. Oh, yes! My pump had really bit into Mandy's arse, 
and, where it had landed, it had left a sharp, clear 
impression, as if her rump had been branded with a red-hot 
iron.

  Well, dear reader, you may, jesting, ask, "Did Mandy like 
it?" Well, I think you know the answer to that one! No, she 
did not. She had not been expecting anything as sharp or as 
sexy as that, and she was caught completely on the hop. She 
was shocked, angered and outraged at what had been done to 
her, and, as the initial sharp sting was supplemented by a 
keen and infuriating tingling, she started to scream and yell 
in the most urgent and vituperative fashion against the 
injustice which had been inflicted upon her.

  "Oh! You bastard! Oh, you utter swine! You complete rotter! 
Oh, that stings! That really, really stings! How dare you do 
that to me! I'll get you for this, you absolute sod! You just 
wait! You'll live to regret this!"

  And so on.

  I listened in amused satisfaction to Mandy's ravings for a 
few seconds and then, just as her stinging and tingling 
reached a crescendo, just as she was at the height of her 
vexation and fury, just when the last thing that she wanted 
to take in the entire world was another one like that, and 
the last place in the world that she wanted to take it was 
across her bare, nubile arse, I gave her another one.

  This second swat was every bit as hard as the first one, if 
not harder, and it landed on exactly the same piece of arse, 
slap across both bare buttocks, including the tattoo on her 
left cheek, and right across the back of the pussy meat, with 
a loud, sharp, crisp crack. For a second time bare bum flesh 
shuddered, wobbled and quivered deliciously, and auburn pussy 
hairs flew.

  "Aaaagh!" yelled the victim as this second injustice and 
humiliation added insult to injury. Then, as the stinging and 
tingling from slap number 2 was incrementally added to that 
from slap number 1, Mandy could control herself no longer. 
She exploded into uncontrollable fury. She straightened up 
from her bending position, turned through 90 degrees so that 
she was facing me, pulled back her right arm, and slapped me 
with great force, across the face.

  Ouch! It really hurt! Then she started grappling me, and 
kicking at me, trying to force me to the floor. But I was 
starting to get to know my Mandy, and I had been expecting 
this. Outraged and furious as she was, I am much bigger than 
her, and she is no match for me physically. I got her into an 
arm lock, and forced her onto the bed, tummy down, so that 
she could not rub her smarting derrière.

  I held her there for between five and ten minutes so that 
she would experience the full effect of her stinging and 
tingling punishment. Then, as the effects of my 2-of-the-best 
began to subside, Mandy got her temper under control. When 
she had finally calmed down I told her to put her hands on 
her head and go and stand in the corner, with her face to the 
wall. She obediently complied, and I kept her there for 10 
minutes. I then instructed her to turn towards me and to 
listen to what I had to say.

  Next, when I had my wife's undivided attention, I started 
the next stage of my disciplinary plan. I really bawled her 
out over her violent and uncontrollable temper. As she stood 
there, stark naked, I walked up to her, put my face a few 
inches from hers, and eyeballed her determinedly.

  "Just who the hell do you think you are?" I yelled, much as 
a sergeant major might address a squaddie on jankers. "I've 
had enough of you and your tantrums, and I am not prepared to 
tolerate them any longer. Now, what am I not prepared to 
tolerate them any?"

  "Longer, Bill. You're not prepared to tolerate them any 
longer," replied my wife in a demure and submissive voice. 
"I'm sorry for what I did, Bill. I'm really sorry."

  "Not as sorry as you soon will be, young lady," I replied. 
"What did I tell you that you would get if you lost your rag 
again?"

  This was followed by an embarrassed silence. Mandy lowered 
her eyes to the floor, and the white skin of her freckled 
face blushed a fetching shade of red. "Well, go on! Tell me!" 
"You said that I would get the cane. But please, Bill. Don't 
cane me. I couldn't stand another slippering like the one you 
have just given me, let alone the cane. Please don't cane me! 
I promise that I will never, ever, lose my temper with you 
again."

  I paused for dramatic effect, to let the tension build up. 
"OK," I said. "Just this once I will go easy on you. But I 
cannot let you off completely. You will report to the bedroom 
tomorrow night for one stroke, a single cut, from the cane."

  "Oh, please, Bill, no! Not that! Anything but that!" 
pleaded Mandy in shock and fear.

  "Now! Be quiet!" I ordered, "or you will get two cuts."

  I then sent Mandy to bed and went off to the couch in the 
living room for my night's sleep. Sinner that I am, my head 
was full of lascivious fantasies, and I eventually dozed off 
with a cock like a rock.

  The next evening, Mandy went to the bedroom for her caning. 
I followed her in and I told her to strip completely naked, 
and to lie on the bed on her tummy. I then placed four heaped 
pillows under her pussy. This raised her bum into the air, 
and presented it in the perfect position to take a cut from 
the cane. I got a glorious view of my wife's auburn haired 
pussy, and of its restraining chastity lock. As I leered 
lasciviously between and above her inner thighs from the rear 
I noticed once more the concave rippling hollows on the 
insides of her thighs where her legs met her vulva, and her 
bulging, pouting pussy lips, pulling outwards against the 
restraining chastity lock.

  "Right, young lady," I said. "That is the position you will 
assume for your punishment. But firstly, please rise from 
your bed, and fetch me my cane from the bottom drawer of the 
dresser."

  Mandy obediently did as she was told. I had bought the cane 
by mail order from an Internet sex shop. It was a rattan cane 
with a curly handle. The product was available in a variety 
of thicknesses, and I had chosen the thinnest. It was no 
thicker than a pencil, and very light, flexible, whippy and 
supple. Ever since it had arrived I had been anointing it 
every day with copious amounts of linseed oil to make it even 
suppler.

  Mandy apprehensively handed to me the instrument for her 
own chastisement. I could see that she was very nervous, but 
she said nothing. I gazed into her eyes. They seemed an even 
brighter shade of azure than normal. And, oh my, what a 
pretty, freckled face! Then I let my eyes wander over my 
wife's glorious naked body, her neck, her breasts, her 
pierced, adorned tummy with its big, sparkling jewel, her 
hairy crotch and her bulging, meaty thighs. Why, oh why, 
months into our marriage, was I still so excited by her? It 
was as if she held me in a sorceress's spell.

  And what was I doing? Was I mad? For these next few years 
of youth Mandy's body would be just about the nearest thing 
to total perfection in this sinful world. And yet here I was, 
about to lay an ugly and disfiguring welt across it. I knew 
that it was vindictive, unchristian and wrong. But I was so 
sexually excited at the prospect that I could not stop 
myself. I decided to go for it and push home my advantage.

  For the moment, however, I continued to gaze into Mandy's 
eyes. She returned my gaze with a steady, doleful look that 
once again challenged my resolve.

  "OK, love," I said at last, not unkindly. "Let's get this 
over with. Come on, there's a good girl. Lie on the bed 
again, with you bum propped up on the pillows."

  Mandy complied quietly with my instruction, and soon she 
was in position to take the cane.

  I then got a grip on my resolve. To tell the truth, this 
time, unlike with the slipper, my heart was not really in my 
job. I knew that what I was about to do would really hurt 
Mandy, and I did not want to do that. But, on the other hand, 
she did deserve it, and half of me wanted to see her take it. 
I therefore measured my cane across the plump undercarriage 
of Mandy's rump, with the far end of it lying across the 
middle of her large, circular tattoo.

  Having taken my aim, I drew back my arm in a big, wide arc, 
holding the cane high in the air, almost touching the ceiling 
of our flat. I had spent the last week, when Mandy was not 
there, perfecting my caning technique upon a cushion. I had 
at that time promised myself that, when I came to cane Mandy, 
I would put every ounce of my strength into the stroke or 
strokes that I inflicted upon her. I renewed that vow to 
myself now. Then, summoning up all of my strength, I brought 
down the cane with tremendous force. It cut through the air 
with a brisk, loud swish and bit into the naked cheeks of the 
victim's arse with a crisp, deafening crack. Although the 
cane was only thin and light, it landed with such tremendous 
force that it made Mandy's pert, nubile bum cheeks wobble and 
dance, and her pubic hairs twitch.

  There, I thought, harsh as her punishment might seem, Mandy 
had deserved that. I had really let her have it. I had kept 
my pledge to myself, and now I was glad that it was all over.

  Except, of course, that for Mandy it was not over.

  "Aaaagh" she yelled in the most shrill and piteous fashion 
as the cane smacked home. Then, over the next few seconds, as 
she began to feel the full effects of my handiwork, the sharp 
and almost unbearable tingling and stinging, she cried out 
repeatedly.

  "Oh! Oh!! Oh!!! OH! OH!! OH!!!" This time, however, Mandy 
did not get angry with me. The pain was too sharp and serious 
for that. After her final shout of "OH!!!" she screwed up her 
pretty, freckled little face and burst into uncontrollable 
sobs. Soon salt tears were streaming down her cheeks and 
wetting the counterpane of the bed. My wife seemed very 
frightened, almost terrified, by the unbearable pain. She 
could not cope with it, and, in her agony, she called out to 
me, her tormentor.

  "Oh, Bill! Help me, darling! What have you done to me? Oh, 
my God! This is awful. I cannot stand it! It is more than I 
can bear. Oh, Lord! I wish I were dead! Help me! Please!"

  I lifted my wife gently off the bed, and held her tenderly 
in my arms. "There, there," I said gently. "Don't be a Drama 
Queen! It's all right now. It's all over now! You're all 
right! You're all right."

  We must have stood there like that for 10 or 15 minutes, 
with me whispering words of condolence and comfort into my 
wife's ear, until the worst of her pain began to subside.

  The next night we had a bottom inspection. I was both 
appalled and fascinated by what I had done. Right across my 
wife's pussy meat there was a thin, dark red, striped ridge, 
already well on its way to turning blue. It stretched right 
across Mandy's left buttock to bisect the tattooed circle on 
the pussy meat of her right buttock. The cane had really 
bitten into the plump, tender, nubile pussy meat, so that the 
indentation was deep and sharply defined.

  "Oh, wow, love!" I said gently. "Look what I have done to 
you."

  By now, however, Mandy was well on the way to recovery from 
her ordeal. Indeed, now that the worst of the pain was gone, 
she even managed to see the funny side. "Wow!" she replied as 
she scrutinised her injured pussy meat in the dressing table 
mirror.

  "Yes, I know, darling," Mandy continued. "That hurt you 
more than it hurt me, didn't it? _Not_!"

  Anyway, there were a lot more saucy comments from my wife, 
interspersed with remarks to the effect that she had deserved 
her comeuppance. It had hurt, she said, but she was an 
adulteress and a violent woman, and she had had it coming to 
her.

  Then Mandy posed, in the raunchiest, most sensual, come-
hither poses, while I took celebratory and souvenir pictures 
with my Polaroid and digital cameras.

  I gave my wife two weeks to recover from her ordeal. During 
that time, her welt first went black. Then the indentation 
was gone, leaving just a thin, dark blue-black bruise line 
across her pussy meat. Then, eventually and very slowly, the 
bruise line faded until it could be seen no more. The Monday 
after it had completely disappeared I summoned my wife to 
another rendezvous in the bedroom.

  I told her that she would never be slippered that hard 
again, and that she would never be caned again as long as she 
kept her temper.

  "I know that you are a high-spirited girl, Mandy," I said 
to her, "And I love you for it. I do not want you to lose 
that fiery temper. Like a thunderstorm that sets alight the 
midnight sky, your rich anger is a beautiful thing. You can 
shout and rave at me all that you want. I may inflict 
moderate chastisement if you go too far, if you use foul 
language, or if you are disrespectful or disobedient. But I 
will only ever cane you again if you are violent. I have to 
drive that out of you. After all, how many skulls does a man 
have for you to crack open?"

  Mandy grinned, rather wistfully and mischievously I 
thought, but said nothing.

  I then went on to remind Mandy that her punishment was not 
over yet. Thus far, she had only taken the first two of her 
slaps with the slipper, the dose for Monday. She still had 
the four whacks for Tuesday, the six for Wednesday, the eight 
for Thursday, the ten for Friday and the twelve for Saturday 
to go. This completion of her chastisement would start 
tomorrow, on Tuesday night. But she need not fear. Although I 
would be slapping her hard enough for her to feel it, I would 
not be putting every ounce of my strength into the blows like 
I had before.

  Last time, I explained, I had had to teach her a strict and 
sharp lesson that she would never forget, and I had been 
deliberately severe with her. "From now on, however," I 
concluded, "Although I doubt that you will see the funny 
side, your spankings will be more amusing and relaxed. I 
intend to enjoy them, and to have a bit of fun with you. I 
doubt that you will see the joke, but remember, sweat your 
temper or it is the cane for you." Mandy gave me an 
apprehensive glance, but accepted what I said in silence.

  On Tuesday night I started the first session of my firm but 
playful slipperings of Mandy. These have continued ever 
since. What I do is make her sting sharply enough so that she 
is annoyed, and resents it. Both before and after the 
slipperings I do my best to stir her up and make her hopping 
mad. These spankings do no great or lasting damage. But they 
sting and tingle very keenly at the time, and they really 
make her boil with rage and frustration.

  Then, after she has taken it, I make Mandy stand up 
straight and put her hands on her head. She finds this 
infuriating too, since what she wants to do more than 
anything else in the world at that moment is to massage and 
rub her stinging and tingling rear.

  Mandy thus stands before me, naked and exposed, and hot and 
bothered, with her bum ringing like a bell from the firm, 
hefty swats of my trusty slipper.

  That is when I start to give her GBH (Grievous Bodily Harm) 
of the ear hole. I assault her mercilessly with sexy and 
salacious repartee and badinage. My object is to try, if I 
can, to annoy my beautiful wife, to stir her up to such a 
pitch of anger that she uses violence on me. And yet I know 
that she will never do that because, despite her keenest 
annoyance, she is too fearful of the cane. She is therefore 
at my mercy. I can do what I like to annoy her. In reply she 
will rail and curse, but is otherwise helpless.

  As an example, let me describe what happened on that 
Tuesday night.

  Firstly, I got Mandy to strip naked. Next I stood up close, 
eyeballed her, and asked what was going to happen next. I was 
officious and brusque, and I really bawled her out. "You, 
young lady, have got it coming to you! I will no longer 
tolerate your outrageous behaviour. Tonight it is four slaps, 
and it is just the beginning. Do you know exactly what I am 
going to do to you? Well? Go on! Tell me!"

  Mandy sweated her temper, looked at the floor, and said 
nothing.

  "Well! Do I get a reply, young lady, or do you get booked 
for another 6 of the best?"

  Mandy lifted her gaze and glared straight into my eyes. Her 
anger was already boiling over, but she knew that she had to 
keep it under control or get the cane.

  "You are going to make me bend over," she replied at last.

  "Correct. And what next? What comes after that?"

  Then, Mandy lost it. "Oh, you bastard! You cunning, 
conniving bastard! You know what next. I am going to get my 
bare arse walloped, and walloped hard, aren't I? For God 
sake, just get on with it and get it over."

  This, of course, was the reply that I had been angling for.

  "Oh! It's like that is it? Feeling shirty are we? Well, 
madam, what do you say to another two spanks of the slipper 
across your bare arse, eh? Go on. Tell me the answer to that 
one. That's six. Any advance?"

  At this, Mandy glared daggers at me, but said nothing.

  "Now, let's start that again, shall we?" I said. "The 
question is this: What am I going to do with you? Come on. It 
isn't all that hard."

  This time, Mandy gave a halfway polite answer to my 
question, so I let that one go.

  "Right, next," I continued, "Tell me how old you are. Go 
on! Pronto!"

  "You know how bloody old I am," fumed Mandy.

  "I know I know," I continued, but I still want you to tell 
me."

  "I'm nearly 18." Mandy spat out her reply.

  "Oh, you are, are you? You're a big girl, then, aren't you? 
I can see that you've got lovely, bouncing little boobies."

  At this point, I placed my hands under Mandy's gorgeous, 
pendulous breasts and rubbed them gently, working the palms 
of my hands over the nipples, which started to go hard and 
engorged as I massaged them.

  Mandy groaned a groan somewhere between ecstasy and fury, 
but said nothing.

  "And what a beautiful, hairy little pussy," I said, taking 
my right hand off her left boob, and holding it gently 
against her crotch. "I can see that it is full-grown and 
primed for action, otherwise it would not need security 
measures to keep it on the straight and narrow."

  And I gently flipped the security lock up and down.

  "Now, turn around, please."

  Mandy sighed and reluctantly did my bidding.

  "Wow! What a beautiful butt!" I enthused. "This is the bum 
of a fully grown lady, at the height of her physical beauty 
and succulence."

  And I tapped her undercarriage a few times with the flat of 
my hand, concentrating on the area of the lower pussy meat 
that was covered by my tattoo.

  "Right, turn around again, please. Now, I think that we 
have demonstrated, beyond fear of successful contradiction, 
that what we have here is a beautiful, fully developed young 
lady, with big, bouncy boobs, a meaty, succulent rump, and a 
lovely hairy pussy."

  "Oh, get on with it," retorted Mandy impatiently.

  "Well, my point is, my dear, don't you think that you are 
just a little bit too old to get your bum smacked like a 
naughty little girl? To be made to bend over and take the 
pump across your bare arse? Don't you think that you are a 
little bit too big for that? Don't you find that humiliating? 
What a stinging indignity! How embarrassing! I bet you're 
feeling mortified!"

  "Oh! You absolute sod! Of course I am, you bastard, you 
utter, utter bastard!"

  "Oh dear! Still can't control that nasty temper, can we? 
That's another two of the best! Eight whacks awarded! What do 
you say to that then?"

  "Oh! Fuck you! Fuck you! You bastard, you crafty, cunning, 
conniving bastard! You cunt! You absolute fucking cunt!"

  "My, we _are_ over-excited, aren't we? Well, two more slaps 
for the swearing. That's six extra strikes in all and you, 
madam, are out! That's another two slaps for persistent 
offending. Twelve of the best is the most that can be applied 
at any one time, so be careful. Any more will be carried over 
until next time and doubled."

  Well, dear reader, by now my breaking in of my spirited 
little filly was getting results. Mandy took these last 2 
penalties in silence, although I could see from her agitated 
demeanour, and from her heaving bosom, that her emotions were 
in turmoil.

  "You see, my dear," I explained kindly. "You just have to 
learn to control that vile and vicious temper of yours. You 
need plenty of practice. And I intend to see that you get it. 
I intend to confront the problem head on. I will tease, tempt 
and humiliate you to distraction. I will irritate and annoy 
you until you seethe and boil. Then, when you snap, I will 
have you slapped down, and slapped down hard. Oh, yes! I am 
going to enjoy this. I will pull you up short in your tracks! 
I will make you sweat your temper! I will tame you and make 
you as docile as a lamb. I will convert you into a virtuous 
and well-governed young lady who never needs to get her 
bottom smacked. But we are, I fear, very far from that 
position at the moment. Anyway, enough of this persiflage. 
Kindly take up your position on the mat, face the window, 
straighten you legs, and touch your toes."

This time, I did not slipper Mandy all that hard. But I tried 
to make it just hard enough to rile her, and to drive her to 
distraction.

  I started with a brisk, sharp slap across the pussy meat.

  "Aw!" yelled the victim, who found the whack considerably 
harder than she was expecting, or than she liked.

  Then I waited a few seconds for the bare bum to tingle 
before striking it again. Crack!

  "Hey, that hurts!" cried a miffed Mandy, with more than a 
hint of petulance in her voice.

  Then, wait an few more seconds… Yes, it must be tingling 
nicely now… Here is another one. Crack!

  And so it went on. For me it was a relaxed, leisurely and 
enjoyable spanking. Indeed, as slap after slap hit home it 
gave me exquisite sexual pleasure. My cock hardened up and 
wriggled around in my underwear.

  Mandy was not amused, however. She puffed and blew as the 
slaps hit home, and winced and fumed when she was made to 
stand, completely naked, for 10 minutes, with her hands on 
her head, afterwards. I was gratified, however, to see that 
she had learnt her lesson, and took her humiliating 
chastisement in silence.

  As for me, since Mandy was still a rookie at taking the 
pump, I went easy on her. Just this once I let her stand out 
her 10 minutes in silence, and did not subject her to my 
usual barrage of insults and wind-ups.

  Since Mandy had taken a full 12 of the best on Tuesday 
evening, I gave her a night off and did not resume the 
introductory chastisement programme until the Thursday. In 
all it took the best part of two weeks to get the whole think 
over with since, unfortunately for Mandy but pleasurably for 
me, she still could not always control her temper when 
confronted by my sexy and infuriating teases. At last, 
however, she received her final dozen wallops, and was, for 
the moment anyway, a free woman.

  Now, during the entire period of Mandy's introductory 
discipline programme I had resolutely fought against my 
strong desires to resume sexual relations with her. I found 
the denial of sexual gratification to my wife during her 
chastisement a big turn on. It was part of her punishment, 
and it made her even more furious and outraged at what I was 
doing to her.

  I could see that my "taming of the wildcat" act was turning 
both of us on. We would both have loved to consummate our 
frustrated passion for one another. But no, I thought, not 
yet. I will keep her in her chastity lock until all this is 
over.

  But now, as Mandy was standing there naked with her hands 
on her head after her final saucy slippering, I decided that 
the time had come to have a bit more fun with her.

  I took off all my clothes, and stood next to her, pushing 
myself gently against her. I started by flicking the big, 
pendulous jewel that was threaded through her pierced navel. 
Then I put my hand around and playfully tapped her tingling, 
tattooed rump, quite sharply, with my fingers.

  "Hey," she said gently, "That hurt!" Then she grinned 
playfully. "Go on!" she said, "Do it again!"

  I, of course, obliged as requested, but with a very gentle, 
affectionate pat. Meanwhile my cock was rock hard and pushing 
into her taut, pneumatic tummy.

  "Permission to take hands of head, sir."

  "Granted. Now what are you going to do with them?"

  Mandy's little freckled face beamed impishly. Then she 
slowly reached down, took my cock into her hands, and tugged 
at it gently, pulling the shaft skin down towards the tip.

  Next, my wife was on her knees, gently darting her tongue 
along and across my frenulum on the underside of my cock 
head.

  Meanwhile, I stretched down and, with my left hand, gently 
fingered underneath her gorgeous, full, pendulous breasts. At 
the same time, with my right hand, I removed the small key 
from the chain around my neck, reached to the floor, twisted 
the key in Mandy's pussy lock, and, for the first time since 
it was first put on, gently worked it out of the holes and 
off her labial lips.

  Well, dear reader. You get the picture. I will leave it 
there, not wishing to overexcite either you or myself.

  Needless to say, the effect upon my frustrated wife of 
having her pussy free and available to a cock for the first 
time in more than 3 weeks was electric. She threw herself at 
me with passion and fervour, and very soon we were both 
stretched out on the bed locked into an ecstatic coupling. I 
had been without sex for so long that I exploded inside 
Mandy's pussy within a few seconds of entering it. But I was 
so excited that I just kept on thrusting and pumping. Within 
the next 30 minutes or so Mandy had enjoyed three explosive 
orgasms, and I had come again another twice.

  Since then I have continued with my saucy wind-ups, and my 
erotic slipperings, of Mandy. They infuriate her, but they 
also get her very sexually aroused. There is a penalty points 
system, like with motoring offences, and when she amasses 
twelve points she gets the slipper. The dose is always twelve 
of the best across her bare, tattooed bum.

  She fumes about it at the time, especially when I wind her 
up afterwards as she stands thee with her hands on her head 
and her bum ringing. Then, if I can goad her into backchat 
and award her a few penalty points for next time, she gets 
very annoyed and very sexually stimulated at the same time. 
As soon as her punishment is over, she will leap onto me with 
great passion, and drag me to the adjacent bed. The explosive 
sexual couplings that follow are often so intense that my 
body shakes, my heart pounds, and my mouth goes as dry as 
dust.

  Then, when I have had my wicked way with her, I tell my 
beloved to go and wash her pussy before I lock it up again. 
Both Mandy and I find this a real turn on. She can only have 
sex with my permission. Her sexual pleasure is in my gift, 
and, if I wished, I could frustrate her for a few days, or 
even longer. This, I will tell her, is another reason why she 
should sweat her temper and be nice to me. In fact, I never 
deny my wife sex if she wants it. Sometimes, however, I will 
playfully refuse to take her lock off the first time that she 
asks me. That really infuriates her. I can usually get her to 
concede at least 3 penalty points over that one. Then the 
fact that, later on, she has got to strip off and take a 
further 3 swots across her pert, meaty little bum irritates 
her intensely, and turns us both on. When I finally do take 
off the lock, her pussy is almost always warm and wet, 
beautifully prepared and ready to receive my eager truncheon.

  Finally, dear reader, please allow me to be somewhat 
controversial. You may skip this section if you find it 
offensive, or email to complain or put another point of view 
if you wish. But the fact of the matter is that I agree with 
Laura Doyle and the thesis contained in her book Surrendered 
Wives. So I think, when they consider it carefully, will a 
lot of other Christians. In my view, aggressive, assertive 
feminism causes enormous suffering. The worst damage is done 
to the children. How many broken and shattered adults do we 
find who had irretrievable emotional damage inflicted upon 
them by their parents' broken relationships? And women cause 
a lot of the trouble. Many of them are not prepared to make 
do with second best. They will badger and harass their man as 
the try to mould him into something that they find 
acceptable.

  But this is a hopeless task, doomed to failure, and to 
attempt it can only weaken a marriage. And women are 
frequently the parties pushing for divorce. So OK, ladies, 
maybe most men are not perfect. Maybe many of us _are_ 
useless slobs, a waste of space. But it was your free choice 
to have us in the first place. If you chose to let us father 
your babies then you no longer have just yourselves to think 
about. You have serious responsibilities, and you are no 
longer free agents. Remember, all of us are responsible for 
our own actions, and one day an account must be given to a 
greater one than us. Think about it. That is all I am saying.

  However, I think that I was lucky because my Mandy was so 
youthful. An older lady would almost certainly have been more 
set in her ways and much less likely to benefit from Laura 
Doyle style therapy.

  Anyway, if any of you ladies do decide to go for it and 
become "surrendered wives" it is up to you how you put it 
into practice. If, like Mandy and myself, you are 
spankophiles, you could do worse than base your regime on 
ours.

  I took a gamble, and I was lucky. When she was introduced 
to spanking Mandy embraced it as enthusiastically as I did. I 
was also lucky in that my Mandy is not really a nagging wife. 
It is her violent temper that is the problem. This is a great 
stroke of luck, since when her temper tantrums are converted 
to sexual frustration they lead to wild, violent and ecstatic 
intercourse. A nagging wife might be more difficult to 
discipline and tame. The thing to do, I think, would be to 
rib her mercilessly about how you are the boss, and how she 
had better show you proper respect, etc. Then, when she 
replies with the standard feminist claptrap, award her 
penalty points and, when she has amassed a suitable total, 
slap her bare arse for her, hard.

  My views on the role of women, of course, are not really 
based upon Laura Doyle's writings. I get them from my 
Christian faith. St. Paul is unequivocal that wives should 
obey their husbands. And yet even good Christian women often 
cannot accept this clearly articulated tenet of their faith. 
The result is that Christian families, like other families, 
sometimes reap the whirlwind. It is not as though it is just 
St. Paul. David's wife Michel nagged him for dancing in 
public. It was only a brief nag, but just for that he never 
slept with her again. Anyway, I could cite more scripture, 
but I will desist. You get the point.

  However, I know in my soul that what I am doing to Mandy is 
unchristian. Husbands have to love their wives. And all 
Christians have to forgive others, including their wives. If 
I had been a saint I would have taken the wrong that I 
suffered with patience and humility. I would have let Mandy 
strike me and turned the other cheek. I would have forgiven 
her adultery and rejoiced to receive her back with no thought 
of punishments and penalties. I do not think that God has 
completely deserted us. Indeed, Mandy too now accepts his 
word. Now, apart from the fact that she still cannot always 
control her temper, she is a better Christian than I am. And, 
this being the case, I know that it is even more wrong for me 
to smack her.

  But forgive me, Lord. I love it, and it sexually excites 
her more than almost anything else. So does the pussy lock. 
And I love that tattoo, and the pierced navel adorned with a 
large, sparkling gemstone. I will stop it all, and do my best 
to make amends, if Mandy asks me to. But for the present, 
Lord, forgive me my sins.