Almost ready for bed, she sat at her desk, mostly undressed, wearing only her favorite white blouse.  The room was dark; there was only the light from her desk lamp, and the feeble moonlight seeping through the curtains.  She was going over the latest credit card statement.  Partway down the list of merchants, the words jumped off the page at her: Ling-Ling Massage.  That scoundrel, she thought, as her anger blazed.

Rising from her chair, she headed toward the bedroom and her husband, on impulse stopping on the way to remove his belt from the trousers he had carelessly discarded on the bathroom floor — again!  Honestly!  Didn’t his mother teach him anything?

Angrily, she entered the bedroom and confronted him, brandishing the belt.

“What is this Ling-Ling Massage?” she demanded.

“I-I can explained,” he stuttered feebly.  “You-you were out of town and I needed...”

“Shut up!” she interrupted. “And roll over!”

Looking at her with a puzzled expression, he did not move.  She briskly brought the belt down on his legs, just above his knees. Two pink marks appeared on his legs.

“Ow,” he said, “that hurt!” But he did not turn over.

Again came the belt across his legs, harder this time and higher on his legs.

“Roll over!” she commanded again, brushing the belt against his penis. But he did not move. She lightly tapped his penis with the belt.  Then she raised her arm, preparing to strike his penis with much greater force.

“Okay, okay,” he mumbled feebly, turning over.

She began to beat his buttocks forcefully with the belt. She enjoyed the smacking sound as it made contact with his tender skin.  He jerked and whimpered as the belt hit him. She was beginning to become aroused.

“Tell me about your visit to this Ling-Ling place,” she said.

“I went and had a massage,” he said.

“Be more specific!  How did she massage you?” she demanded, striking his butt again for emphasis.

“It was a nice relaxing massage to soothe my sore muscles. I had worked hard that day and…” His voice trailed off.

Realizing he was not being fully honest, she brought the belt down forcefully, six strikes in rapid succession.  His butt, no longer white, was showing overlapping stripes of deep pink from the impact of the belt. She was pleasantly surprised to find herself enjoying the sense of power and domination.

“Tell me the truth: did you have sex with her?”

“No,” he replied, his breath coming in short gasps as he reacted to the pain.  “She doesn’t do full sex…”

“So that’s the only thing that stopped you!” She was furious, and swung the belt harder and harder against his buttocks, harder than she thought she was able.  She recalled the harsh whipping she received as a teenager when she was caught lying, and knew the punishment she was giving him was far worse.

He squirmed with pain and tried to catch his breath. His butt was now displaying a deep red, and she wondered if he would have bruises. Her arm tiring, she stopped beating him.

“It was a very sensual massage,” he confessed as he gasped for breath.  “She does wonderful things with her hands and fingers, and yes, she gave me a tremendous climax,” he said, somewhat defiantly.

At this she found her strength and, tears streaming from her own eyes, not of pain but rather emotional fury, she once again took the belt to his butt, striking over and over again, not wanting to stop until her own pain went away.

At last she stopped. For a few minutes all was quiet except for the sound of her deep breaths.

Then she said, “Don’t think your punishment is finished, mister!”

She left the room and returned to her desk. Opening a drawer, she found the old wooden ruler from her school days. Seizing it, she stormed back into the bedroom.

“Turn over!” she commanded. This time there was no hesitation and he quickly rolled onto his back.

She climbed onto the bed and knelt over his head, her own butt toward the top of his head.  Then she lowered herself onto to his face.

“You’re smothering me!” he said, as she pressed her private area against his face.

Ordinarily, when she was anticipating oral pleasure, she would carefully clean herself, wanting her private area to be fresh and inviting.  Sometimes she would apply fragrant lotion between her thighs and a touch of perfume to her small mound of hair.  But tonight, she wanted him to taste and smell the products of her passion, her anger, her fury — her natural moisture, her sweat, her urine.

“Lick me!” she demanded.  “All the way from the front to the back!”

He began to do as he was told. She leaned forward and teased his balls and penis with the stiff wooden ruler. When he showed any sign of arousal, she would strike his penis firmly with the ruler, causing him to jerk with the unexpected tinge of pain.

She was surprised to realize she was becoming more intensely aroused.  Perhaps afraid of further punishment he was taking his assignment seriously.

Suddenly a thought entered her mind: did he perform this service on “Ling-Ling?”  She struck his penis several times with her ruler and he responded, his lips and tongues working feverishly.  Thoughts of “Ling-Ling” receiving this sort of attention faded from her mind.  His tongue flicked her clitoris, and his lips gently sucked and pulled it.  Somehow the tip of his tongue found her pee hole, and pressed against it.  She found the sensation interesting, pleasurable, not caring if some urine leaked out—he deserved it.  He licked her private lips and probed as far as he could with his tongue into her vagina, something she had always enjoyed. She thought about her moisture covering his face and became more aroused.  She was startled at first when his tongue brushed her anus, but found the sensation very interesting.  This was something new and she was surprised at how much she enjoyed it.  She had, after all, told him front to back.

Her tension rose, and she bent forward and placed her hands on the bed, crouching over him.  He might have expected that she was about to take his somewhat sore penis in her mouth, but that was not going to happen tonight.  No treat for him!

Instead she began moving her private area back and forth over his face, becoming wetter and wetter.  Frantically, his mouth and tongue continued their work.

Her tension mounted, and she tried hard to contain it, to prolong the pleasure.  But at last the sensations overcame her will, and her pants of pleasure became deeper gasps.  Losing control, she arched her back and groaned, a cry of passion, as waves of pleasure overtook her.

Afterward they lay side by side on the bed, not touching; not speaking.  The orgasm she’d had released her immediate tension, but she was still angry with him.  She thought about the events of that night and a rather devious plan formed in her mind.

After many minutes he weakly asked, “Are we good?”

She could see and smell her secretions on his face. She did not answer.

Several weeks later, almost ready for bed, she sat at her desk, mostly undressed, wearing only her favorite white blouse.  The room was dark; there was only the light from her desk lamp, and the feeble moonlight seeping through the curtains.  She was going over the latest credit card statement.  Partway down the list of merchants, the words jumped off the page at her: Ling-Ling Massage.  Briefly, a smiled flickered across her lips.