Erin Ch. 08: Homecoming
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Erin Ch. 08: Homecoming
By Jonathan Quincy Graves
{Note: This is the eighth in a multi-part story series describing the evolving relationship of a woman who provides leadership and discipline for her husband. Each installment can stand alone, but they read much better if you start at the beginning. Go to: Erin Ch. 01 – Female led Relationship. JQGraves}
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How humiliating. I am standing in front of my mother-in-law, pants and panties down around my knees, while she handles and examines the wound at the end of my penis. No, it was not self-inflicted. It is a Prince Albert (PA) piercing I agreed to so that a more reliable chastity cage can be placed on my member. I agreed to the piercing, but to be honest, I would not have if my MIL had not caught me with my dick in hand while my wife, Erin, was in Asia on business. I was wearing a chastity cage, but it was not sufficiently escape proof—in the opinion of my wife and MIL, it was just fine as far as I was concerned. (Picture me with a satisfied grin ;>)
“You really have no self-control, do you?” MIL said. I was growing tumescent thanks to her handling.
“It’s not my fault, and certainly not my intention. The piercing still aches when my penis inflates.”
“Well, whose fault is that? If you had more self-control, which you obviously do not, neither a chastity cage nor this piercing would be necessary. The wound is healing nicely; you shouldn’t be experiencing much pain. Is it really bad? Should we go to the clinic and ask the nurse to take a look?”
“No, it’s getting better. I don’t think it’s infected. It’s all the handling makes it swell. Are you about done?”
“Yes, I am, but remember courtesy, my dear,” MIL said, warningly, dropping my dick. “You may pull up your panties.
“Erin should be home Saturday evening. I think you’ll be mostly healed by then. You may not want to enjoy intercourse quite so soon, but the two of you can probably go ahead and order a new, reliable chastity cage. I’ll give her my recommendation, of course.”
“Of course,” I muttered.
“Pardon me? Did you have something to contribute?”
“No, ma’am. You were mentioning a chastity recommendation?” I said, quickly, to get her back on track and away from my unsolicited remark. I’ve learned that this woman takes no crap from either her husband or her son-in-law. Even the least untoward comment can lead to a twisted ear and a quick march down the hall to a bar of soap and a painful hairbrush.
Erin’s return on Saturday is great timing. Finally! When Erin is home, I receive a maintenance spanking every Saturday evening. Up until Erin’s mother caught me masturbating, I got a pass when Erin was traveling. But since I’ve moved into my in-law’s house, Erin’s mother has lined me up with her husband on a weekly basis (assembly line domestic discipline). Both of us are stripped bare and placed with noses in opposite corners of the room to await our turn to be lectured and spanked.
It is torture standing naked in the corner, listening to mother-in-law’s heavy hairbrush landing on her husband’s defenseless bottom, time after time, until he breaks down, snuffling back tears and pleading for mercy—all the time knowing that my turn is coming. I’m sure he tries his hardest to not cry with me in the room, I certainly do when it is my turn over her knee, but with Erin’s mother delivering domestic discipline, it’s impossible for either of us to hold out.
The only good fortune I have over my father-in-law on maintenance night is that I do not have to go to my knees in front of my mother-in-law and demonstrate my gratitude for the time and effort she has taken to discipline me. I enjoy going down on Erin, I get lots of practice when she wants sex but does not want to remove my cage. However, the thought of going down on her mother, or any woman her mother’s age, does not appeal to me.
Erin’s maintenance spankings aren’t nearly as bad as her mother’s, unless I’ve committed some major transgression of her rules that week. In which case, I might be spanked twice, once at the time of commission and again with a harder Saturday maintenance. Hopefully, Erin will be home early enough this Saturday to get me out of her mother’s weekly lineup, and I will not have to experience that level of pain and humiliation ever again, as long as I live.
“Yes,” she said, resuming her discussion on worthy chastity devices for the married man. “It’s my belief that a device that actively punishes artvin escort any undesired hardness is a good choice for wayward husbands. There is a selection of Kali’s Teeth and Iron Maiden devices designed to work with a Prince Albert piercing. My man benefits from such a device—he rarely suffers from unwanted erections since we purchased it for him—and I’m sure that you would too. I believe hubby has a crown-of-thorns that would fit your little thing quite nicely. He would be happy to loan it to you until Erin can get you properly equipped.”
Swell. Even involuntary hard-ons are to be punished. So much for morning wood, I thought, but had the brains to keep to myself. My old chastity device made attempted erections uncomfortable, pulling on the ball sack and tightening around my swelling dick. But she advocates something beyond this merely tolerable discomfort. I hope I can dissuade Erin from her mother’s approach.
“A stiff cock only has one valid use, and that is not to provide illicit pleasure to its bearer. You will notice that I used the word, ‘bearer,’ not ‘owner.’ After marriage, a husband’s cock is the sole property of his wife. Best you keep that in mind.”
My MIL looked up at me, obviously waiting for a response to her last statement. As it was not a question, I hoped to keep my thoughts to myself, but that clearly was not an option. We were in her bedroom and she was seated on her vanity bench with her heavy hairbrush close at hand. I’ve felt that brush on my naked bottom three times since she caught me in the act and moved me to her house, and I certainly did not want to feel it again now.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, reluctantly.
She nodded and pushed me out of her way so that she could stand. “Pull up your panties.”
Panties. That is another change instituted by the old lady. She has kept me in them since my piercing—even buying some in pastel colors to be my very own—on the pretext that the material is softer than most male underpants and therefore less likely to inflame my PA. Not sure this is true, they fit more snugly around my crotch than my boxers do and, until recently, the wound has been covered with a bandage, but she’s given me no choice but to acquiesce to her opinion. This is another change I intend to reverse when Erin gets home.
Erin did arrive at her mother’s house that Saturday evening at 8:45. I heard her come in the door and ran to greet her with a big kiss and hug. We held each other for a long minute before walking together—Erin’s arm around my shoulders, mine around her waist—to the family room where her mother waited.
“Welcome home, dear. How was your flight?” her mother said.
“Awful,” Erin said. “I had to rush to the airport to make my plane, then we sat on the tarmac in the blazing sun for almost two hours. There was a mother with a crying baby in the seat in front of me, and a very fat man seated next to me. I got zero sleep on the flight home.” She did look really beat.
“You must be exhausted,” I said.
“I am. Would you mind terribly, dear, staying one more night here with mom? I’m in desperate need of sleep. It would take a load off my mind knowing that you were well taken care of, and I did not have to worry about you waking me when you get up in the morning. The way I feel, I may sleep through the rest of the weekend.
“I hate to impose on you further mother. Is that okay?”
“But I’ve been looking forward to your return, and…” I started to say.
“I know, dear. I’ve been looking forward to it too, I really have, but I’m so worn out. I know it sounds selfish, but right now I would really appreciate one long night of total quiet and solitude.”
“Perhaps you should crash here,” Erin’s mother said. “Are you safe to drive?”
“I can drive the short distance home, and I just want to collapse in my own bed tonight. You can’t imagine how much I have looked forward to that on this trip. Do you mind terribly?”
“Not at all,” MIL said. “Drive very carefully going home and call me when you are rested tomorrow. I can bring your hubby to you. You get plenty of sleep and don’t worry about us.”
“Thanks, mom, I really appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it. Oh, I haven’t conducted the weekly maintenance spankings yet today. I was not sure whether you might want to see to it yourself when you got home, but in your current condition, I doubt you’re up to it.”
“Can’t we…” I began.
“You aydın escort got that right, mom. I’m not up to dealing with bad little boys tonight.” Erin gave me a little squeeze. “Again, I hate to impose.”
“Not at all. You get your rest and don’t give it another thought. It’s no trouble at all to spank one more deserving bottom.”
“Erin, please, I want to come with you.” Panic was starting to set in. I fully expected Erin would want to spank me for the trouble I got into while she was gone, and I was resigned to it, but Erin’s mother does maintenance spankings that are much harder and longer than her daughter, even when I haven’t done anything wrong. I thought last week’s session was the last. I was almost looking forward to being spanked by my wife instead of her mother, but now…
“I know, dear, but don’t whine. I’ll see you tomorrow, sometime after noon, and you can bring me up to date on everything that has happened while I was gone.” Erin gave me another squeeze and kissed me on the cheek. “I love you,” she whispered before letting go and turning back toward the front door. The sound of the door closing behind her left me in shock.
“A mother’s work is never done,” mother-in-law said. “Go get yourself ready and report to my bedroom.”
Getting myself ready is no big chore. I go to my bedroom and strip completely; I use the toilet if there is any chance at all of my bladder letting loose over her knee, then I hurry down the hall to the master bedroom. Mother-in-law is not a person of great patience when it is maintenance time.
When I arrived in the master bedroom, my father-in-law was already standing completely still and completely naked in one of the corners. I always keep my eyes down rather than look at him at these times, but I still notice his presence out of the corner of my eye. I am not sure how long he has been standing there, tonight’s session was delayed by Erin’s expected return, so he may have been in position for an hour or more. Their usual Saturday routine is for him to receive his weekly discipline at eight o’clock, leading to an early bedtime.
I scurried to my usual corner and stood at attention, as deep in the corner as I can get. Once there, no movement is allowed, no matter how long I must wait.
“You may come out now,” MIL says. The pattern has been the same every week I’ve been here, so I know that she is not yet summoning me. Then it’s, “You’ve had a good week, dear. There was that one hesitation Monday when I asked you to re-iron one of my blouses, and your expression was less than fully accepting when I asked you to run a few errands for me on Thursday, but overall your deportment has been satisfactory. Assume the position, please, and we will proceed with a basic reminder.”
I can picture my farther-in-law putting himself over his wife’s left knee and her right leg covering his thighs to hold him in place. She does not need to ask him to reach back with his right hand, I’m sure it is automatic for him after their many years of female led marriage. I can imagine the scene at this point, because this is how she treats me when it is my turn. I doubt that she varies much from this routine. It must be habitual given all their experience together.
What I do not have to imagine is the first crash of heavy hand to cringing bottom. The resultant SMACK! always makes me jump, even though I know it is coming. My muscles tighten and my ass constricts in instant sympathy to the spank delivered behind me. The number of hand spanks varies from week to week, depending upon MIL’s judgment of her husband’s performance that week, but even on a good week, there will be at least thirty and FIL will be grunting with each spank before the final hand spank is delivered.
She spanks with a steady rhythm, and I know that hard, punishing spanks are landing to all parts of his defenseless bottom. Sometimes, two or three or four will be delivered to the exact same spot, causing him to struggle to stay still. At other times, they fly to the four corners, striking high on each cheek, then low a couple inches down his thighs. Those to the thigh seem to hurt the most, at least they do for me, but every spank stings no matter where it lands.
There is a pause. MIL is smoothing her hand over her husband’s bottom, assessing the heat and color. I’m not watching, she always does this with me. I’ve counted the number of spanks he received—I can’t balıkesir escort keep myself from doing so—it totaled thirty-four this time, all of them hard. I try to use this information to judge what kind of mood MIL is in, to estimate how bad it will be when it is my turn. Not sure there is any real correlation, but if his spanking is short, it gives me hope that mine might prove to be at least bearable.
In empathy with my father-in-law, I am glad that the first part of his spanking is over, even though it will soon resume, and that the next portion will be worse. No, not worse; it will be a great deal worse, for next comes the hairbrush.
I have broken out in a sweat by this point, just standing here. Strange when you think of it. It is not as if I am doing any hard work standing in the corner, but let me assure you that staying still while listening to the prelude leading up to my own discipline is very hard work. Plus, of course, there is the isometric workout my muscles are receiving, clenching when I am not watching, relaxing only when I consciously take control.
The intermission may last a minute or longer up to four or five. Time enough for the target to regain its sensitivity. All too soon the sound of the hairbrush, WHACK!! tells me that the second stage is under way. My father-in-law reacts with a grunt from the first of these spanks, and his vocalizations grow a little louder and more distinct with each subsequent spank. When I am under the brush, I hate this. I hate the fact that I cannot remain stoic while there is another man in the room to hear me cry.
When I was young, I was a fan of James Fenimore Cooper. He wrote The Last of the Mohicans, The Pathfinder, The Deerslayer and many others. One of the elements of his stories that entranced me was the stoicism of his Indians in the face of pain. Now, I wonder if even they could be outwardly unaffected by my mother-in-law’s hairbrush. I’m thinking not. I’m betting that even one of Cooper’s Indians would begin to tremble when she reaches for that brush.
I try to count the WHACK!!s the hairbrush makes, but usually lose the count by about nine or ten when the accompanying vocal responses become more pronounced. As I hear them, I know that in a short time, it will be my voice trying to mitigate my discipline. And I also know that no matter what I may say, how I may plead, the spanking will continue with no diminishment of intensity.
This stage—the excruciating spanking with her hairbrush—seems to last forever, even though it is probably shorter than the hand spanking was. The intensity changes the perception of the passage of time. For my father-in-law, I want it to be over as quickly as possible. For me, I’m ashamed to admit that I would like his spanking to last forever. Anything to delay my own experience over-the-knee/under-the-hairbrush.
Eventually, FIL’s maintenance spanking will come to an end. The steady WHACK!! of the hairbrush descending on what must, by now, be a red-and-purple bruised bottom will cease, and MIL’s hand, now empty of implement, will go back to cupping and smoothing. Her right leg will move out from behind his, and his right arm will be released from its hammerlock behind his shoulder blades. She will not order him up immediately, but rather allow him as much time as he needs to regain control of his breathing and his tears.
When she thinks he is ready, she’ll say, “You may get up now, dear. You took your spanking well. Let it be a reminder for you this coming week so that there will be no necessary repetitions mid-week.”
“Thank you, ma’am, I’ll do my best.”
“Good man. You may go back to the corner now while I attend to my other naughty boy.”
If it were me who’s been spanked and given permission to stand, there would be a struggle for me to gain my feet. My legs would have gone all wobbly, my normal agility absent under fire, and my sense of balance turned nonsensical. Once upright, my hands will fly back to sooth my ass, but they will not quite make contact. Rubbing is not permitted by either Erin or her mother until permission is granted, and that permission will not be given until subsequent corner time is completed. When Erin spanks me permission is further delayed until after I have finished “thanking” her in the appropriate manner on my knees between her thighs. I’m guessing the same applies for this couple.
Mother-in-law will sometimes take a break at this point to rise and stretch out the kinks, visit the bathroom, or get a drink of water from the kitchen, during which time, my anxiety will reach new heights. Or, I may immediately hear the words, “You may come out of the corner, now.” It requires every ounce of my courage to follow this instruction and take the few steps to my mother-in-law’s waiting lap.
END of Erin Ch. 08: Homecoming
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