Size: a a a a    Colour: a a a
WOMEN WHO SPANK MEN: VOLUME 8

by LSF Publications


New House, New Arrangement

by Jonathan Quincy Graves

Madge and I have been trying to get this house built for quite a long time. More than three years ago, we bought five acres in the country - plenty of room for horses, a large garden, some fruit trees, and whatever else struck our fancy. The property is about an hour's drive from where we lived in the city, in beautiful rolling hills, mostly devoted to growing wheat and alfalfa. We saw it as the place for us to eventually retire, and for Madge to finally be able to move her horses (she has three) from the stable where they were boarded to our very own property. I loved being on the land, and spent many hours putting in fence posts and stretching wire. All we had to do now was to build the house and barn so that we could begin to actually live there.

The first architect that we hired proved to have no imagination whatsoever, and even worse, he seemed incapable of incorporating the design features that we had set our hearts on. After wasting many months trying to work with him, we finally decided to start all over with someone else.

With some effort, and a lot more care in the selection than we had exercised before, we found an architect that really seemed to understand what we were after. Naturally, since he was starting all over at the beginning, and because we were not the only ones who had discovered his skills, it took almost six months before we had the final sets of plans. Madge and I were overjoyed; it was finally coming together.

The next step, of course was financing the build. Not really a problem, I was working and making very good money. Bankers actually smiled at me when I talked to them about borrowing for a new home. They smiled, that is, until about three days before we were scheduled to close the loan and my employer announced that my services were no longer needed. This was not a total surprise, I knew that the economic downturn was hitting them hard, but I really had not expected that I would be included in any redundancies. Nonetheless, the banker traded his smile with a look of sincere condolence for my loss of employment, and our plans had to once again be put on hold.

It was a good year later, by which time I had replaced part of my lost income. We had trimmed down the house design a little, and deleted the barn for now (in my youth, I had built one myself, and was toying with the idea of doing it again). We finally received financing to complete our dream - albeit modified, but still our dream.

If you have ever built a house, you know that it can be very stressful. Skilled workmen are not always reliable; the amount that you thought that things would cost is never quite as much as they actually do cost; and the whole process takes longer than you expect or than you wish that it would. At the beginning, you are amazed at how quickly the walls go up and the roof goes on, and you start to tell yourself that this won't take long at all. Then the interior work begins with electric, plumbing, heating, insulation, sheet rock, painting etc, and everything seems to proceed at a crawl.

With the unexpected and adverse change to my employment, along with the whole multi-year effort to get our house built, this period had been difficult and often very frustrating. Madge and my marriage remained fundamentally sound throughout, for which I am very grateful, but it did occasionally suffer from the strains associated with this long drawn-out struggle.

Long before we could actually move into the house, I set up a woodworking shop in a corner of the new garage, and started building the bookshelves that would go into our library. Madge and I have been buying and saving books all our lives, and by now had well over two hundred small, heavy boxes containing volumes near and dear to our hearts, many of which we have not actually seen in decades.

I envisioned this final move to be a real life-changing event, and had decided to take the opportunity to make it so, and not let it be just a change to our address. So, it was not only bookcases that I worked on in my shop. Hidden in the stacks of materials and clutter was another little project that I intended to finish in time for our initial house warming. It was, in a sense, a tool for warming of a different sort.

In my fantasies, I have been a spanko all of my life. I imagine that in total I have spent years fantasizing about being taken over a capable woman's lap and soundly spanked on my bare bottom with hand, hairbrush, paddle, strap, or whatever, for any number of reasons, or for no good reason at all. And not just spanked, but dominated in whatever way the lady might enjoy. The spanker might be a mother, sister, aunt, babysitter, girlfriend, fiancée or spouse, but the spankee was always me. During my moments of honest introspection, I admit that I've devoted more attention to my fantasies than I should have, and less than I should to my real life partners.

Madge may have guessed at my obsession, but in our thirty years of marriage she has never let on, and I have never had the courage to tell her. I decided that this situation was about to end. I was finally going to bring up the topic, and hope for the best. New location, new situation, and new dynamic... I hoped.

At long last, the day was at hand. The inspectors had given us permission to occupy, and the movers had delivered all of the stuff that we have been accumulating during a long life together. The garage and the living room were still full of boxes yet to be opened, but the bedroom was set up, and we had a serviceable kitchen. We would sleep in our new home for the first time that night.

With considerable trepidation, I approached Madge that afternoon as she was just finishing making the bed. The windows were open, and you could smell the new mown hay in our neighbor's field. I held the results of my woodworking, nicely wrapped in tissue paper, behind my back. "Dear," I said, "could we talk for just a minute?"

"Sure, I was about to take a break anyway. I can hardly believe that we are finally in our new home. More than once, I doubted that we would ever make it."

"Me too," I agreed, "and I've been thinking that in our new home, and especially here in our new bedroom, I'd like to make some changes."

"John, we've been over this before. You agreed on this color scheme, and it is way too late to change it now. I do not want to talk about any more changes," she said, the memory of past frustrations bringing her irritation immediately to the fore. We had had several discussions regarding colors or other features as the house was being built, some of them were a little tense due to the stresses we were both under.

"No, no, that's not what I meant. I'm fine with the color of this room, and love the way that you have decorated it. That really goes for the whole house, with the exception of the bold colors in the laundry room, and I've already given up on that debate. I wasn't really talking about the house, so much, as about us."

"Us?" Madge said, taken aback. "Now you've lost me."

"It's like this," I said. "We really haven't had much of a sex life in recent years. I don't think that I have been living up to my responsibilities in that regard, and I think we should make a change."

"We really haven't been very... active, I guess you might say," Madge agreed, "but I don't really blame you. I suppose that it is natural for you to be a little less enthusiastic at your... I mean our age. I do miss it sometimes, but we're not kids anymore."

"I know that you miss it, and I miss it too, but it just seems that we've... or rather that I have just let it slip away from us. I just have not been really sure of your feelings or your desires at any particular time, and have not made the effort to take the lead and find out. I'd like that part of our life together to change, along with the changing of our home."

"Okay, that sounds nice, what did you have in mind? How do you suggest that we proceed?"

"Well, I thought that to make this work, we will have to change the nature of our relationship in a major way. What I propose, is this." I was up to it now. There was no way out, and I was probably as nervous as I have been since the first time that I asked a girl for a kiss. "I would like it if you would take over in the bedroom from now on."

"What do you mean 'take over'?" Madge asked, obviously curious.

"Just what I said," I responded, still nervous, but less so now that my foot was in the door (hopefully not just in my mouth). "I think that you should call the shots in the bedroom. I would be happier if you would make all the decisions about whether, when, and how we play in this room. If you want me to please you, for example, you should tell me what to do, how to do it, and hold me accountable for getting it right."

"Let me get this straight. You're suggesting that if I want something from you, you will provide it... even if I'm not really in the mood to reciprocate?"

"Yes."

"And you also said I should 'hold you accountable'," Madge said. She had folded her arms under her more than ample breasts, and was looking at me intently. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"Here, I made you something," I said, handing Madge the results of my shop work.

"What is this?" she asked.

"Unwrap it," I said. My throat was getting a little dry and tight.

Madge untied the ribbon, and tore the tissue paper off of a beautifully laminated, wooden paddle with a contoured handle and a working surface of about fourteen inches by four inches and only about three-eighths of an inch thick. She gripped the handle, turning it in her hand. The highlights of the wood grain gleamed in the light from the window.

"You made this?" she asked.

"Yes."

"And I presume that you think that I should use it on you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"That's entirely up to you. When we are in the bedroom, if you ever have reason to be angry with me, or disappointed in what I have done or not done, or even if you just feel like it, this is available for you to use as long and as hard as you like. It is entirely up to you."

"And if I do happen to be in the mood to paddle your butt with this truly lovely paddle, you will cooperate? You won't try to fight me?"

"No, I won't fight you."

"I don't know," Madge said, stroking the satiny smoothness of the wood. "You're not as resilient as you used to be, I would not want to hurt you or cause you any real damage."



© LSF Publications
Not to be reposted, reproduced or distributed, in part or whole.