“I think I’ve been very clear with you in the past. When we are walking on the sidewalk together you should stay slightly behind me. I know it might seem petty, but it's important to me.” Jessica had turned to confront me just as we arrived at the restaurant.

I did know this to be true, that’s a fact. Still, I did not expect such a display from her.

She continued. “You are getting spanked for this one. And we are not waiting till we get home. Follow me to the restroom.” Then she opened the door and led the way in, asked the hostess where the restroom was, and went down the hallway to the left. All I could do was follow, there was no opportunity to explain or apologize. This sort of treatment in public can be very embarrassing. Please do not think I was surprised by this. We have an agreement. I really want to act a gentleman and be polite and considerate of other people, but my skills are weak in that regard. She has offered to help me improve. The motivation is a wicked wooden hairbrush she carries in her purse. At any time that evil device is liable to make an appearance. I always regret those moments, even though it was my idea.

Moments like this really reinforce her authority, and they thrill me to the core. I don’t want to have my bare bottom blistered. It hurts like the dickens. But the fact that someone cares enough to pay attention and then exert the effort to force me to bend to her will reassures me in a deep, maternal vein.

Jessica is all business when it comes to spanking. Fortunately for me, nobody saw us enter the restroom together.

She came right up to face me, hooking her thumbs around the waistband of my pants.

“Do you agree you have this one coming?” I think that was a rhetorical question. It didn’t matter what my answer was, although I like to believe she will go easier on me if I agree with her.

“Yes, ma'am," I managed to mumble. Then she slid my pants off my hips and exposed my nakedness.

“Please take those off. Since we are in public, you can keep your shirt on.” As is customary, I stepped out of my shoes and removed the pants. She likes me to perform that act myself as a gesture of submission. I can testify that it is effective in that regard.

“Now get the hairbrush from my purse.” Another gesture. I’m constantly amazed at the punch this smallish brush packs. It's solid wood, about one inch thick, with stiff bristles. I shivered slightly in anticipation as I handed it over.

“Hands on the sink.”

I turned around and presented my bare backside to the woman I loved for her to paint with strokes of pain until she was satisfied I had learned my lesson. The more I resist, the worse the spanking becomes so I’ve learned to do as I am told. This pattern extends to daily life as well. Some cringe at the idea of a woman exercising so much control over a man but I find a fountain of power and energy is released from within me when she adopts such a dominant stance.

The first strokes shock me. Stand up spankings are the worst! She alternates cheeks with crisp, rapid blows and soon I was involuntarily twisting to escape the onslaught.

“If you don’t hold still, we are starting over.”

I whimpered.

Then she stepped up, placed her hand on the small of my back and got back to work, this time repeating strikes on one cheek. She used a low-angle targeting my sit spot and the fleshiest part of my bum. Then she would rest a bit and resume on the other cheek. She stepped away, and I straightened up.

“Oh no. You aren’t finished yet. Stay in position, please.” She is always very polite when blistering my ass. “Can you tell me why you are getting spanked tonight?”

“Because I was not deferential enough when walking.”

“Exactly. Good answer. Not that its going to help you. I’ve mentioned this many times and you just don’t seem to be able to get the message. I intend to help you.”

Then she began more precision shots. Soon, my bum was red all over, and some spots were even turning a bit white. The breaks always made the next strikes worse. The skin gets tenderized and a break only magnifies that effect. But also, there is always the hope that the session is over and when it's not, the emotional blow amplifies the punishment.

As she continued, I felt complete and utter devotion to her. Being treated like this, under her control, at her mercy, only fills me with more love than I can stand. This is not a violent act. We enter into a union with clearly defined roles. We are a unified whole, a yin-yang diagram. The more submissive I act, the more powerful she becomes. I know she will not take advantage, and that trust percolates deep. The ritual ends, as always, with a deep and meaningful hug.

In the car on the way home, my bottom still stung from the pre-dinner trip to the bathroom. Jessica explained in no uncertain terms that the regularly scheduled maintenance spanking would still occur. What we just concluded was a punishment spanking and those are different. Punishment spankings are usually short and intense, especially the ones in public. It’s a cause and effect scenario. Some mutually agreed upon cause carries an inevitable effect. They hurt like the dickens and are quite humiliating but never degrading or cruel. Its the sort of humiliation that promotes a humble demeanor, and who can’t use more of that. Maintenance spankings are “message” spankings. They are intended as reminders to behave during the week. They are longer and deeper. The sensations they evoke usually last until the next day.

“Can you review your behavior from last week? Especially in regards to your exercising.” How she remembers what the focus is each week surprises me every time.

“I feel great,” I replied. “But I did skip my workout once. No, maybe twice.”

“And why was that?”

“Well. On Tuesday, I stayed up late the night before. Wednesday, I needed to be at work early, so put the workout off until after work. Then I never got to it. It's only a couple days.”

“Two in a row! You have been really solid in following your routine. I’m proud of you for that. But once you start lapsing, all the work you’ve done could be a waste. It's important to stay regular. Tonight we will make sure you remember the next time you feel like skipping.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I agreed, although to me it seemed like minor transgressions. She is right; it is important to stay on track.

“I’d like to watch a movie when we get home, so let’s take care of you first thing. Please undress in the foyer and fold your clothes. You won’t be needing them the rest of tonight. You can keep your panties on if you have been smart enough to be wearing them. Then select the bath brush and the rubber strap for me and place them on the bed along with some pillows. Come get me when you are ready.”

She was in the kitchen drying dishes when I padded in to tell her everything was ready. Being naked in her presence, save a pair of white panties, while she still wore the skirt and blouse from dinner, drove home the idea that she was in charge here. My purpose in life was only to follow her wishes and please her the best I could. I could have curled up like a puppy right at her feet.

“Very well. Let's get going. I hope you are ready for this.”

I followed her big bottom down the hall, my own cheeks hanging in the fresh air and still pink from the restaurant bathroom, little penis growing with each step as I contemplated the inevitability of the coming spanking and her complete discretion at how it was to be meted out. At this moment, my fate is utterly in her hands. I have no say. Watching that stride and the way her hips ripple, I could only feel total devotion to keeping her happy. Knowing that voluptuous backside would remain pure and white while my own would be painted red with pain in only a few short minutes only magnified the devotion. That expression of womanhood brought a surge of excitement to my most private areas. The feeling is delicious, but I knew it would be short-lived. As it happens, thinking about a spanking and relishing in the clarity and purity of our roles at these moments is much more stimulating than actually getting a spanking.

Once inside, she stepped aside to let me get in position over the pillows, bottom exposed and vulnerable.

“You look so cute,” she offered.

“Make yourself comfortable, you won’t be that way long.”

Jessica never demeans me in this position. That would be taking advantage. This is a dance between us. She is all business but never mean or cruel. We both know that the next fifteen minutes or so will penetrate us both to levels that bind us more tightly than we can imagine. Its intense. Its powerful. But only if we both take it seriously. This isn’t for fun, it’s beyond fun.

She picks up the bath brush from the bed beside me.

“We are going to team up on this, sweetheart. You need to work out every day. It's important to you and it's important to me. Together, we will help you remember. If you continue to miss workouts like you did last week, I can promise you that the consequences will be much worse than what you are about to feel. This is for your own good. I wish I could say that its going to hurt me as much as it will you but I think that would be wrong. Now, remember to breathe.”

She swung that bath brush hard right from the start and went from cheek to cheek in a rapid-fire pattern. My rear end instantly blazed, tender as it was from just a couple hours previous. I tried to stay still because I know that is important to her. After a brief rest, she then focussed on my left cheek with hard and more methodical blows. Then the same treatment on the right. That pattern repeated again. Then again, and I didn’t think I could take any more. Every stroke penetrated past my skin, down through my bones, and into my soul. I tried to relax into each one.

“I know this hurts, sweetheart. It’s supposed to hurt. Do you agree that this is what it takes for you to remember how to take care of yourself?”

All I could do was sniffle and nod.

“Have you learned your lesson? Will we be missing any workouts next week?” She gently caressed my bottom. The soft touch of her hands in stark contrast to the bite of the paddle.

“Yes, ma’am. "No, ma'am."

Jessica picked up the rubber strap. In this position, with my raw and tenderized butt cheeks elevated to just the right height, this instrument was at its most potent.

"Let's just make sure, shall we. Lift up for me.”

Jessica pulled my panties down to my ankles, measured her stroke, and began laying that strap to my poor hindquarters, using regular pacing, beginning mildly and steadily increasing the power until she was using the weight of her body for extra oomph. The physical body I consider mine then shrank to encompass only my butt cheeks and the rhythmic strikes of that notorious strap.

At that point, my world collapses, sucked down into the spinning vortex of throbbing mounds of flesh. There is no past and no future, only now, the culmination of events that began at the restaurant the moment she objected to my walking in front of her. At that moment, pregnant with her power, drawn up from generations of female strength and suffering, flipped the day on its head. That simple gesture opened a channel to the universe. Now, under the barrage of the strap, I could peer down the well and feel it. Nothing is theoretical anymore. This role she adopts when we perform this ritual together acts like a magnet and attracts the strength and dignity from all the great women in history. That strength is always there, but sometimes a lightning rod is needed to activate it.

Throbbing authority fills me as well. With each stroke, centuries of feminine power transfer directly to my core and balance my male psyche. She knows that it's not about heavy hits at this point. The lasting impact comes from repetition. I’m past the point of pain now and immersed in one continuous sensation. It hurts, but in the way a runner’s high hurts. I’m now floating, drifting down the well. The troubles of my world cease in deference to pure energy. My heart is filled with love and undeniable devotion. Every fiber of my being wants to do nothing other than cater to this woman’s every need. Its not from fear or pain. She has graciously applied her energy to my backside and chemically altered me in the process. Sometimes I feel like uncooked meat put on a skillet.

The torture continues with another dose of bath brush, much more painful than before. By now, we are one, a sweaty quivering naked male and a proud, confident, strong female, secure in their roles and each feeding the other exactly what they need to flourish in life. Reaching this point is miserable and painful, but glorious and special. Like any great summit, it takes sacrifice and grit, but once the flow state is reached, a whole different light is shed upon the world. If only we could always be like this.

Finally finished, Jessica announces “You are done. Good job. I’m proud of you.” I rise stiffly, and we share a strong hug that further locks in the bonds we have both worked so hard to build.

She says, “I’d like to watch that movie now; please make me a drink. And don’t forget my instructions to remain undressed. I’d like to enjoy my handiwork for a while.”