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TALES OF CHASTISEMENT: VOLUME 3

by Rick Marlowe


Her Cheating Heart

Carissa is undoubtedly the sexiest woman I have ever met. She is beautiful, flirtatious, provocative. We ended up in bed on our first date for some of the most intense love-making I have ever experienced. It was this affinity for jumping into bed at the drop of a hat that would eventually get Carissa in big trouble.

We had been dating for three or four months when I began to have suspicions that I was not the exclusive recipient of her amorous attention. When through some friends I received conclusive proof, I confronted my lover. Her first defense was to deny everything. As I recounted what I knew, however, she changed tactics.

"I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings. But we never made our relationship exclusive. You can date whoever you please. We're not going steady or anything."

"'Going steady?'" I asked incredulously. "We're not in high school. What was I supposed to do, give you my ID bracelet? We go out a couple times a week. You stay over most of those. I take you to and from the airport when you visit your folks. You come to my parents' house for Thanksgiving. I don't know what more you need. It sounds like it's pretty exclusive to me. But just for one of us, apparently."

She stood there meekly. "So what are you going to do, dump me?"

I had thought this over long and hard ever since I learned the truth. Dumping her was not something I wanted to do. She was great in the sack - there is no doubt that that was part of it. But there was more. I enjoyed being with her. She was funny. She was witty. When I had been sick, she had taken care of me; I later did the same for her. My dog liked her. We liked doing the same things - dancing, going to basketball games, biking, skiing. We liked the same music. I had seen her with my brother's kids - she was excellent with children, as might be expected of a teacher. In short, I loved her. If only she could stay out of other guys' beds.

"No, I'm not going to dump you. But if we're going to stay together, some things are going to have to change. Are you willing?"

This was the test. If she said no - if she needed her freedom to go bed-hopping, then it would be over between us. But if she said yes - if she would commit to me, then maybe she did love me. But I wasn't going to let her make that choice too easily. I had already decided what I must do to enforce her promise.

"Honey, I do love you. And I'm sorry, really I am. You're the one I want to be with. Come on, let's make up." She sidled up alongside me, taking hold of my arm, kissing my neck.

"I'm sorry, Carissa. It's not that easy. What you did to me is awful. I can't let you off the hook that easily."

"Aw, come on, honey. Let's talk about it in bed." Her leg rubbed provocatively against mine. I knew that I had to act now before I lost my resolve.

"No, Carissa. Not yet. First I gotta do this."

My left arm grabbed her around the waist, bending her face down over the back of my couch. My right hand took a big windup before landing with a whack on the seat of her pants.

"What are you doing?" she managed to sputter before my hand landed again. Several more times I struck, as she hurled a string of obscenities at me. I wasn't getting through. Holding her in place, I fumbled with my belt and pulled it from my trousers. Doubling it, I went back to work. Again and again I swung the belt, all the while admonishing her on promiscuous behavior. To my surprise, instead of crying, she began to argue with me. Apparently, as fearsome as it seemed, the belt wasn't being very effective. There was one more thing I had to do.

"Stop it! Don't you dare!" She screamed at me as my hand struggled to undo the button and zipper on the side of her slacks. I gave her a few solid whacks with my hand as she struggled. At last I was able to wriggle her pants and panties down to mid-thigh. In addition to baring my target, this also had the effect of limiting her ability to kick.

I again took up my belt. The next time it landed, I was answered with a loud squeal. Much better! Carissa struggled desperately as I wielded my belt, but with her arm held twisted behind her back, and my leg hooked around her knee, she had no place to go. At last she broke down into the pleading sobs that I had envisioned, promising never to cheat on me again, begging me to stop. With a stern admonishment, punctuated by several well placed whacks from my belt, I concluded. Her bare backside was a sea of nasty red welts and she was crying uncontrollably.

Carissa slid forward over the back of the couch, curling up into a fetal position, whimpering as she did so. Concerned about the condition of her raw bottom, I slipped into the kitchen and returned with a small bowl of ice cubes. She nearly jumped when I applied the first one to her backside, but then reached back to take the ice and rub it around herself. The two of us worked soothing her pain for maybe fifteen minutes. Well, so far she hadn't pushed me away.

She pulled herself up into a kneeling position, her pants still down around her knees.

"Oh, Dougie. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I don't know what came over me. It'll never happen again, I promise."

She stretched out her arms for a hug. I gave it to her, but a short time later, when I felt her hand stroking up the inside of my thigh, I pulled away.

"Oh, Dougie - please, please, please, please, please. Let's make up."

The woman was incredible. No matter what happened, she was always ready for a roll in the hay.

"Carissa - you've been fucking other guys. Who knows where they've been or who they've been with. We can't make love until you get tested for HIV and VD. That's the way it has to be. It's for your own good too."

She didn't accept this verdict easily - for Carissa it may have been worse than the strapping. At last, however, we settled down for the night - with her in the bed and me on the couch.

Our enforced celibacy over the next week was almost as hard for me to bear as it was for her. Carissa was so attentive and sweet - and constantly urging me toward the bedroom - that I was glad to go out of town on a two-day business trip to avoid the temptation. Her test results were due back on Thursday, the day I was to arrive home. If all worked out well, there would be a joyful celebration. Things didn't work out on my trip, however, and I cut it short when it became clear there would be no deal.

I decided to give Carissa a surprise. Sex or no sex, I was still eager to see her. Coming straight from the airport, I stopped off at Carissa's apartment. It was getting late, and she often went to bed early - whether or not there was a man around. I knew her doorbell wasn't working, so I rapped on the door lightly. Nothing. I put my ear to the door, and thought I heard music. I rapped a little harder. Still nothing. The apartment was just a small efficiency, and so if she was home and awake, she would have to hear me. I got out my key to let myself in. I could at least leave a note.

As I opened the door, I heard a rustling from the bed.

"Who the hell is that?"

The words might have been mine, but they came instead from the man scrambling from her bed. I flicked on the light. Both Carissa and the guy were still partially dressed. He was hastily trying to get his clothes back on.

"What are you doing here, Doug?"

"No, Carissa, the question is, what is he doing here, and, for that matter, what are you doing here? What about your promise? 'Oh, Dougie, I'll be faithful, really I will.'"

"I'm sorry, Doug, or whoever you are," the guy apologized. "I had no idea she was attached."

My beef wasn't with him, and I let him flee the apartment. Then I closed the door. Carissa shrank away from me, knowing what was coming next. As I closed in, I picked up a hairbrush from her dresser. She gasped. I grabbed her by the wrist, and sitting on the edge of the bed, dragged her across my lap. Her pants were already off. I made quick work of yanking her panties down to her knees. She tried to cover her posterior with her hand, begging me not to spank her, but I cleared my target by twisting her arm behind her back. Her pathetic whine turned into a shriek when the brush landed on tush. I swung the brush again, delivering a satisfying smack. Her legs flutter kicked at the pain. I locked them down with my own leg to hold her still. The spanking began in earnest. I don't know how many times the brush fell, but when I was done, her bottom was a rosy red. My ears were ringing from her cries. I released her.

She curled up on the floor as I unleashed a lecture decrying her infidelity. As before, she then groveled, apologizing again and again, promising that this was the last time she would ever consider doing such a thing, pleading with me not to leave her. She seemed so sincere, I eventually forgave her. As I sat there consoling her, she locked her lips to mine, probing with her tongue, and pressing my hand against her breast.

"Carissa! Not 'til the tests come back. You know that." What was it with this woman?

I kissed her, and put her to bed, before fleeing home to my own apartment.

The next day she called me gleefully at work to let me know her tests had all come back negative. We made plans to meet. When she came to my apartment, she ran up to hug me. She shoved the sheet with the test results in my face, like an eager child looking for praise for a good report card. Again she apologized, saying how lonely she had been, and starved for love, but promising she would never, ever again give in to those urges. We kept busy far into the night.

I wasn't sure what to think about her behavior, her promises, or indeed my own resorting to corporal punishment. Was this normal? Too embarrassed to talk it over with anyone else, I began surfing the 'net, looking for answers. To my surprise, I found quite an array of websites on 'domestic discipline.' All offered assurance that a man who properly disciplined (i.e. spanked) his wife or girlfriend would be most appreciated for it. I wasn't convinced. Nevertheless, I was enticed to order a hand-crafted leather strap to use on my lover should the occasion arise again. When it arrived, I studied the short, thick implement carefully, and even tried it out on my thigh. Yes, it was far superior to either my belt or a brush.

It was quite some time before I needed to use my strap. We were due to go to a Friday night party, but I got delayed at work. I told her to go on without me, that I would meet her there.



© Rick Marlowe
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