It’s almost 7 p.m. and John will be home soon to face the spanking I promised him this morning. I told him at breakfast what his punishment would be for staying out late last night when I had specifically asked him to be home early. In fact, I was already in bed and asleep when he got back.

    He looked a bit downcast but not surprised and he knew it would be pointless to argue. I made it clear, firmly but without raising my voice, that I was extremely displeased by his disobedience and that the spanking would be severe. In fact, it would be a thrashing. He’ll have been worrying about that all day.

    These spankings happen about once a month and vary in severity.

    I first put him across my knee shortly after our marriage and that was 30 years ago when I caught him masturbating in the bathroom. He was red faced and defiant but I was determined that he would submit to me then and in future.

    A regime of  silence, no dinner or fresh laundry and sleeping on the living room sofa soon convinced him. He came to me looking very hangdog and said, or rather mumbled in a small voice, that he accepted his punishment although he had not been spanked since he was a small boy.

    What happened next has been my unvaried practice ever since.

    I led John up to our bedroom and told him to remove all of his clothes. I remained fully clothed myself and always do in order to make it clear that the occasion is punitive and not sexual. When he was fully nude, I took a chair and made him stand in front of me. Naturally he was embarrassed and wanted to cover his genitals with his hands but I wouldn’t let him.

    I lectured him in a kindly way about the need for good behaviour and obedience. I said I was upset and disappointed that he should still feel the need to masturbate. Poor John. He was almost in tears, in part because he felt humiliated and exposed standing naked in front of me but also because he realised he had let me down.

     It had been my intention to demand an apology but he offered one on his own initiative in which he recognised my right as his wife to command him and to treat him as I saw fit if our marriage was to work successfully.

    I had bought a wooden paddle in readiness and I now instructed him where to find it and to bring it to me. I motioned to him to lay himself face down across my thighs and with my left hand, I pulled his right arm by the wrist across his back.

    I had the paddle in my right hand. Warning him that any attempt to wriggle free would mean a doubling of the punishment, I brought the paddle down hard on his buttocks. It made an impressive and satisfying thwack. I knew it hurt because he gasped and flinched. I hit him again and again and the flesh of his bottom reddened.

    Neither of us spoke as the paddle plied sometimes his right cheek, sometimes his left but his yelps and whines grew ever more anguished. John is a big man and a rugby player. I can hardly describe the sheer pleasure I felt at having this powerfully built, nude man utterly submissive to my will as I thrashed him like a child. I must have hit him 34 or so times.

    When at last I did stop and let him get up, tears did well from his eyes and I knew that I had broken him for ever. My last act was to hand him the paddle and instruct him to kiss it and thank me before he put it away.

     That was the first time I had seen John cry. He was ashamed then but has since learned that his tears are a way of dealing with pain and humiliation I inflict on him.

     There will certainly be tears before bedtime tonight.