Spanking In Marriage: Traditional Husband Spanks Lazy Wife

This is a fictional story that is only allowed to be read from the age of 18

Table of Contents

Traditional Man Gives Wife Tasks For The Day

I slip into my light blue apron, tying the bow tightly around my waist, feeling the cotton glide over my hips. The kitchen floor shines, freshly mopped, lemon cleaner scent lingering. Humming, I fill the coffee maker.

Morning sunlight floods the window, warming the room, while birds chirp outside. A typical Tuesday morning, almost perfect—until Alexander strides into the kitchen.

He dominates the doorway, tall, broad-shouldered, his tailored suit flawless. His black tie sits perfectly knotted, polished leather shoes gleaming. His chiseled face, sharp jawline, and piercing dark eyes fix on me.

Cool, distant, as always before work. His deep voice slices through.

“Clara, the apartment must be spotless tonight. Dust, scrub floors, tidy everything. Guests arrive tomorrow.” His eyebrow arches, demanding my nod.

I nod, smile faintly. “Of course, Alexander.” My fingers clutch the coffee pot handle as I hand him a cup.

He takes it without a glance, sips, sets it down. Grabbing his briefcase, he throws me a final, unyielding look and leaves. The door clicks shut. I exhale.

Lazy Housewife In Trouble: Husband Scolds Woman

The day drags. I start eagerly, dusting living room shelves, aligning sofa cushions. But Anna’s call derails me. She gushes about her new lover, and I sink onto the couch, laughing, losing track of time.

Later, I chop vegetables, leaving cutting boards, knives, and bowls scattered on the counter.

“I’ll clean later,” I tell myself. Hours slip by. I scroll through my phone, lost in vacation photos, dreaming of sunlit beaches. The apartment stays messy: cushions crooked, dust bunnies drifting, newspapers piling high.

The door swings open that evening. My heart pounds. Alexander steps in, sets his briefcase down, loosens his tie. His footsteps echo on the hardwood into the living room.

I scrub the counter frantically, as if I could erase the mess. He stops, eyes scanning the chaos. His gaze locks on me, sharp, piercing. “Clara,” he says, voice calm but cutting like a blade. “What is this?”

I stammer. “I… Anna called, I didn’t finish.” My voice shakes, hands wipe on the apron. He raises a hand, silencing me.

“No excuses.” His shoes click closer. “I gave you a clear order. You had all day.” Cold, controlled, but disappointment seethes beneath.

He points to the leather armchair in the corner. “Sit.” My legs move, stomach twisting. I sink down, leather cool against my thighs. Alexander unfastens his cufflinks, rolls up his sleeves. Muscular forearms, strong hands, veins visible. Silent, his eyes scream my failure.

Bare Bottom Spanking: Husband Spanks Wife Properly

“Stand up,” he commands. I rise, knees trembling. He grips my arm, firm but not rough, guiding me to the dining table. “You’ll learn obedience.” Final.

He sits, pulls me close. My pulse races. He grasps my skirt, slides it slowly over my hips. Cool air brushes my skin as he gently tugs my panties down. They pool at my ankles, exposing me. Shame ignites my cheeks, yet I freeze, rooted in place.

He positions me over his lap, my stomach pressing into his thighs, face near the floor. His suit fabric grazes my skin. One hand pins my back, unyielding, while the other glides over my bare buttocks.

Slowly, almost tenderly, his fingers trace the curves, squeezing lightly, testing firmness. I flinch as he grips briefly. “You’ll tidy,” he says, “after your punishment.”

The first strike hits hard. His flat hand smacks my right cheek, pain surging through me. I gasp, fingers clawing his trousers. The second lands left, skin burning. His left hand holds me like a vice.

Each spank is deliberate, rhythmic. His palm slaps bare flesh, the sound echoing. My cheeks quiver with each hit, heat spreading, a throbbing glow.

He varies: quick slaps, heavy strikes, targeting the center. My skin stings, reddens, sensitive to every touch. I squirm, but his grip stays firm. Tears prick, born of pain, shame, and his intense presence.

Spanking In Marriage: Domestic Discipline And True Love

He stops, my buttocks blazing, tender to the slightest brush. He strokes them gently, easing the sting.

“Stand up.” My legs wobble as I rise. The skirt falls, panties stay at my ankles. He points to the kitchen. “Clean now.”

His eyes follow as I stack bowls in the sink, bending, my red buttocks peeking under the skirt. Each move stings, a reminder of the spanking.

I scrub the counter, stack newspapers, dust shelves. Alexander watches, relaxed, eyes sharp. My hands tremble, but I work fast, determined not to fail again. When the apartment gleams, cushions straight, floor pristine, he nods.

“Good.” Warmth softens his voice.

He rises, steps close, lifts me onto his lap. His arms wrap around me, strong, secure. I sink into his chest, his shirt scented with woody aftershave. His hand strokes my back, soothing. His breath grazes my ear.

“You’ll learn to do your duties, Clara,” he murmurs, “but I’ll care for you.” Fingers glide through my hair. I close my eyes, melting into his warmth, the sting fading.