The wife takes charge
Part 2 - Mike is ordered to strip naked
I heard his car arrive, and then his key in the front door. I downed the rest of my G&T and stood up. I put my hands on my hips, with the paddle and riding crop on the coffee table in front of me.
“Mike!” I barked. “Come in here at once!”
“Honey?” he stammered, “is everything…”
He didn’t finish his sentence, as he was rendered speechless when he pushed the door open and saw me in my leather dress, fishnets and boots. A smile spread across his face, and he started to move towards me, his arms outstretched.
“Stop right there!” I ordered. “You’ve been a very naughty boy, and you're going to be punished. Take off all your clothes – you won’t be need them for the rest of the weekend.”
He hesitated, still half smiling, not fully comprehending what was going on. “Wow, uh, sure honey. That sounds, um, great! Let me, ah, just go and…”
I silenced him by picking up the riding crop and giving him a sharp stroke across the back of his thighs. I could tell it had stung, even through his trousers, and he turned to face me again.
“Take all of your clothes off, right this minute, or there’ll be several more of those!”
He undid his shirt a threw it on the arm of the sofa. I whacked his legs with the riding crop again. “Fold it up! Or do you expect me to wait on you hand and foot?”
“Oh, ah, sorry, honey…”
I whacked the back of his thighs again. I was beginning to really enjoy myself. “And don’t call me ‘honey’. Until I tell you otherwise you will address me as ‘Miss’, or ‘Mistress’. Is that clear?”
He nodded, still smiling. I whacked his legs again. “I said is that clear?”
“Yes, yes, um, Miss. Yes, it’s clear.”
He took off his shoes and socks, then dropped his trousers. There were already several red lines across the backs of his thighs where my riding crop had landed. I could also see from the bulge in the front of his underpants that he was enjoying this as much as I was.
He dropped his underpants, this time making sure to fold everything neatly, and awaited what was to come next.
“The first part of your punishment,” I explained, “will be to receive twenty strokes from this.” I held up the paddle, and he gave a little gasp. We had experimented a little with gentle spanking, but only using our hands. This formidable wooden implement was something quite new.
“Get down on all fours,” I commanded, “and count the strokes as I give them to you. If you lose count I will start again. If you move I will start again. If you make a sound, other than counting your strokes, I will start again. Is all that clear?”
He nodded, and with a mixture of excitement and fear he got down on all fours. I pushed his legs slightly further apart, so that everything was just that bit more exposed, and then began.