Story: Sheila’s spanking

As you know, I occasionally write stories…this is the second part of my big story,  here’s  the first part of this story. !!Please do comment… I wonder often if the stories matter at all to the readers here. Should I stop posting them?

Sheila’s spanking

“Sheila!” Eamon’s voice boomed from the basement.

“What!” her answer was petulant and irritated.

“Where are my black shorts?” he’d moved to the foot of the steps.

Sheila growled and rolled her eyes. Her husband was in one of his now, now, now moods and she was not in her patient mood, the one that was necessary to cope with it. The sooner he got organized and out of the house the better off she would be.

“They’re in the basket by the dryer!” she called down.

“Damn it Sheila! They’re still wet!” came the answer Sheila fully expected.

“Put them in the dryer for twenty minutes and they won’t be,” she hissed an answer she knew he couldn’t hear. A second or two passed before she heard the unmistakable hollow clong of the dryer door closing, and then the rumbling shifting hiss of the barrel as it began to turn on its next load.

Eamon’s feet were heavy on the steps as he came up to the kitchen with the basket full of the sheets and t shirts that had been in the dryer.

“You left this down there all night,” he dropped the plastic basket on the table.

“So?” Sheila dismissed the complaint. She was busy on her hands and knees on the floor with their two year old, who’d barely let her catch him, and was now doing his best to make the diaper change a chore. “Give me that wash cloth,” she looked up at Eamon and pointed to the folded cloth that was on the table near where he put the basket.

“What are you doing that down there for?” Eamon handed her the cool cloth.

“Just fold the laundry and shut up ok,” Sheila hissed again. She wasn’t in the mood for cranky small talk and stupid questions. His or hers. For one thing, she was already well over her quota of saucy retorts for the morning. She could feel Eamon reaching his limit.

Her two year old tried squirming away from her and was starting to whimper.

“Stop it Toddy pod!” Sheila tugged and pulled his little legs back to where she could clean him off without twisting her back. “Just let mommy clean you up and then you can get up.”

“NoOoooooooo!” came the frustrated child’s squealing wriggling objection.

“Yes!” Sheila snapped, firmly pulling the little legs of her toddler back toward her. She gave her son a look that warned him mommy was not fooling. The two year old stopped his wiggling, and returned a defiant glare. There was a second of quiet stillness, and then he landed a solid kick to Sheila’s middle.

Sheila grimaced and held on to the momentary surge of temper that the kick threatened to let out. The youngster seemed to get the message from her expression though, and he stayed still until his mother had him cleaned diapered and his clothes situated again.

“Go play with Christopher,” Sheila patted his backside sending him down the hallway to freedom. Todd waddled off giggling and happy. A few grunts and whining complaints came from the bedroom signaling his arrival and intrusion on what ever his four year old brother was in to, and then there was quiet.

Relieved to have one chore done, Sheila pulled her knees up in front of her and wrapped her arms over her head on them for a moment of peace.

“He feeds off your mood Sheila. It’s not the baby’s fault his mother’s on a grouch,” Eamon looked down at his wife’s wilted frame folded up on the linoleum.

“No it’s his father’s fault!” Sheila snapped back, regaining some stiffness and fire. “Just don’t talk to me OK. You’re bugging the hell out of me right now.”

“You’re going to get your butt smacked if you don’t cool it Sheila,” Eamon warned.

Sheila knew it. In fact she felt like things were past the point where she could reverse the tide toward trouble with her husband. She wasn’t anxious to push the last button though. Even if a spanking would calm her down, it would hurt a lot too, and she wasn’t keen on that part. She resisted the urge to issue another retort, and just tipped her face up from her arms to look at him, resignation with a hint of arrogance in her expression.

“Go put on your jean shorts please. They’re in the dresser. The sooner you get there, the sooner you can get back. If we’re going to go to this stupid picnic we may as well get there on time.” Sheila grumbled getting up to get on with her own chores.

“Why do you hate these things so much?” Eamon caught Sheila as she moved past him. He pulled her to him and wrapped her in a bear hug against his torso.

“I don’t,” Sheila objected and tried to pull away.

“You always get like this when we get invited,” he pointed out with a questioning tone, and refused to let her go.

“I’m tired Eamon, that’s all,” Sheila buried her face in his T shirt, hoping to hide the half truth.

“Want me to call and say we aren’t going?” he offered.

“No. I want to go, and so do you,” Sheila sighed, irritation still clinging to the edge of her voice. She did want to get out even if she didn’t care for the company that would be there, or for all the rigmarole of getting two rambunctious boys ready to go with them. “Just go take care of the crap you have to at school and get back here so you can help me with the kids.”

Eamon sighed and let her go. Sheila headed down the hall to the boy’s room.

Eamon turned his attention from his churlish wife to the things he had to get done. Summer school just let out the day before. There were a few things to tidy up in his classroom over the next week, and then he would say good bye to high school English for good.

The picnic planned that afternoon on Lake Ontario was a kind of send off for him; put together by some of the other teachers whom he’d worked with for the past nine years. Eamon was retiring early, and changing careers. In two months he’d be a Kentucky State Trooper. In less than a month, he and his young family would be uprooted and transplanted into a new home, and a new country.

When it first came up, Sheila encouraged the change. She supported Eamon as he took distance learning courses. But she hadn’t given any real thought to what it would mean if it really happened.

Eamon didn’t bat an eye when she’d changed directions half way through her degree. Not even when it meant that she’d added a year and a half to her schooling. The adaptation was easy, because he made it easy. Sheila wanted to give him the same luxury, but now that she was faced with it and what it was doing to her comfortable little world, it wasn’t so easy.

Eamon would be making more money as a policeman than he did as a teacher. That was a nice thing. But they would be moving so far from everything she knew. Hell! They weren’t even moving closer to his family. They were moving to what felt like an empty place halfway between homes; thousands of miles from homes; new jobs, starting over, no friends, no support, just a small family of four, on their own. Sheila was scared, and she was tired. Three twelve hour night shifts per week in the ER, a four and a two year old, along with the stress they were about to face all conspired to keep her that way lately.

If he made any more obtuse comments today, she was going to kill him.

Todd and Christopher did sense their mother’s mood, and both seemed more testy and irritable because of it. Christopher clung, and Todd acted out. They fought, whined about, or actively undid every single thing she tried to do with and for them all morning. By the time Eamon got home, Sheila was torn between dissolving into tears and exploding into a dervish of mayhem.

“Fuck it all! God damned, eat shit, fuck a duck, stuff it all in a sack and drown it!”

Eamon somehow snuck in behind Sheila when she issued that epithet to the walls and the books and nick knacks in the living room she was finally getting around to dusting.

“Go lie down!” he smacked her bottom.

“Ow!” Sheila yelped. “Don’t!”

“Don’t nothing! I heard you in there,” he pointed to the boy’s room, “and I heard you in here just now,” Eamon warned.

“Hey!” Sheila complained when Eamon took her arm and pushed her toward their bedroom. “Stop!”

Eamon smacked her bottom hard. “Don’t argue! I said go lie down.”

Sheila struggled against the tears that threatened to well up in her eyes, and the very compelling urge to haul off and kick her husband in the shins. “I’m finishing this!” she shook the duster in his face.

“Go lie down!” Eamon took the duster out of her hand, and again pushed Sheila toward the hallway and the bedroom. The smack he landed on her bottom to punctuate his order was enough. She went, and without any question in her mind, she pulled back the sheets and comforter and crawled under them.

**********

Sheila was asleep in minutes. Her dreams went from chaotic to confusing, and then to annoying and last to calm. When she woke up at 1:20 PM, she could hardly believe it wasn’t dark out. Of course they’d been up since before 5AM, and she’d been in bed since just before 11AM, but still, it felt like she’d been asleep for hours.

As her life woke her up and brought her into the land of the living, Sheila became aware of the sounds of her children playing outside. They were squealing with the kind of glee that only the very young know.

“What is your daddy doing with you now?” she wondered as she yawned and sat up. The thickness of sleep from her nap held on. It blended and twisted with the moody holdovers from earlier, wound and wove in her mind and got Sheila up and moving.

“There better still be coffee in the machine,” she growled getting up to stagger to the kitchen.

There wasn’t any coffee. Worse, Eamon was sitting at the table reading the paper.

“The kids are outside!” Sheila announced with severity.

Eamon startled. His reaction to her sudden intrusion made Sheila startle too.

“They’re fine, listen?” Eamon looked up from the sports section he was reading.

Sheila ignored his assurance and the sounds that were clearly happy kid sounds, and move to the screen door to see for herself.

“Geezuz Eamon!” she exclaimed.

“What?” his answer indicated surprise and worry.

“Where are their pants?” Sheila complained letting the screen door close on the quaint tableau in front of her. Her children were happily romping around the yard, the sand box and the unplanted garden, bare assed and filthy.

“In the laundry,” Eamon answered pointing to the basement door. “Chris had an accident and Todd’s diaper was loaded. It got on his pants.”

“They have more clothes Eamon!” Sheila grasped and shook the table edge.

“They don’t need any right now, and they’re happy as pigs in shit,” Eamon chuckled.

“Geezuz Eamon! They aren’t pigs, and if they’re really playing in shit so help me I’ll shoot you!” Sheila turned back to and pushed open the door and trotted down the steps to rescue her children.

Her boys were not playing in poop, although Todd’s legs were streaked with mud and sand where it found and clung to at least two different urine streams and all their related trickles. Her boys didn’t want to be rescued. They were happy as boys in mud and dirt, which might equate to pigs in shit; but if only by a hair, the distinction was enough to let Sheila smile.

“Come inside Sheila!” Eamon called out after her. “They’re fine!”

Sheila knew they were, but she didn’t want to go in. Why was it that a lazy sloppy father could get away with stuff like this and keep his kids happy, and she ended up the bad meany mommy because she hauled her kids in and made them submit to diaper changes and potty training?

“They’re fine!” Eamon spoke with a firm inflection. Sheila looked up and saw him standing behind the screen door.

“So?” Sheila sniped back up at him. “Put some coffee on please. I’ll come in when it’s ready.” She turned away and joined her boys in the sand box. Sheila could play too, and at that moment, she wanted to. Coffee be darned. But God help Eamon if he dared turn of the coffee pot before she got back in.

He didn’t. Sheila eventually had her coffee. It wasn’t enough to take the edge off her aggravation and the dull ache that was developing behind her eyes, but it was enough to lift her back into the world of adults before it was time to go out.

In an hour Sheila was mean old mommy again. Eamon reminded her they had a picnic to go to. Baths and clean clothes were the ultimate destruction of fun time with mom and effectively disintegrated the novelty of mommy’s terrific sand castle. Mommy could sculpt a super sand castle and push a great dump truck, but she also wielded a mean grip when it came to getting squirming boys into the tub. Daddy helped mom a little, but mainly he just played the good guy and rubbed the icky wet water off his little men and then helped them pick out the mismatched clothes they wanted to wear.

********

There were diapers, a change of kid clothes, kid food, potato salad and half broiled beef skirts to make ready. Sheila had done most of it before Eamon came home, but her defection to the sandbox did leave him with a few chores to do on his own.

When they got to the picnic grounds without Todd’s juice cup, Sheila glared at her husband.

“Where is it?” she grumbled, when the little boy pleaded for it for the umpteenth time.

“I rinsed it,” Eamon answered. “It was full of sand.”

“Right!!!!” Sheila nodded and hissed. “You left it home on purpose!”

Eamon frowned, and seemed to let the accusation go. But Sheila could see by his expression that he was counting a private tally of her attitude infractions.

“Aw hell, who cares!” she told herself after she looked at him carefully, realized what he was doing, and shrugged it off.

With some effort and cajoling, Sheila worked out an alternative to the juice cup with her toddler. She made a game out of a couple of straws and a double lumen coffee stirrer for her baby. Thankfully the remnants of the earlier cranky spell seemed gone from his memory, Todd molded and happily adapted to like the novel new “sippy” that his mom created with him.

The picnic would have gone perfectly if one of the worst of the busy bodies hadn’t stuck her nose in and suggested that Todd was too indulged. ‘Most kids would have been silenced or banished over a dispute over what they had been given to drink from. That is, most kids with the exception of Sheila’s youngest. He was given choices until he was happy. He’d been allowed to disrupt the adult’s party!’

That Sheila had limited patience with the teacher crowd to begin with was bad enough, that one of them would dare cast a pall on her husband’s last night among them, over something so minor as what a 2 year old was willing to drink from was too much.

Sheila lashed out. She made a point to say what she felt needed to be said, what she’d been itching to say to the woman for a good long while.

It made for a good excuse to leave the gathering soon after the meal was done. Eamon chalked it up to tired kids and parents when he made their excuses. A few of the other men tried to encourage him to ignore the old biddy who’d upset Sheila. While Sheila appreciated knowing she wasn’t being blamed by anyone there for letting the woman have a piece of her mind, she could feel Eamon seething.

If it hadn’t been for all of the accumulated minor sass and petulance from the day, Eamon might have let it pass, and even come to Sheila’s defense, but he knew her, and he knew that she wouldn’t have let the woman get to her except that she was already in the mood for and itching for trouble, and had been courting it all day. There would be a reckoning when the kids were put to bed.

On the drive home, in the few snippets of silence between Christopher’s happy chatter, and Todd’s exuberant bubbling, Sheila looked over at her husband, and grimaced seeing the set of his jaw. He hadn’t said a word, but she knew his mind was made up and there would be no changing it. Fortunately her children kept her mind occupied so she didn’t have much of a chance to work up much dread.

*************

“Are they down for the night?” Eamon asked when Sheila came out to the living room after tucking Christopher in. It had taken three stories and a two good night prayers. Cookie monster, Bert ‘n Ernie and Kermit were well blessed, so was everyone else the four year old could think to list while he plotted to delay his bedtime.

Putting Todd down earlier was easy. Worn out by his day, Mommy barely had time to sit and rock him through naming the parts of her face. His tired fingers gently touched her eye lids after she kissed his saying, “and these are?” “Eyes,” the little one crooned.

“And this?” Sheila stroked and kissed his little button nose. Todd’s eyelids flickered. He was loosing the battle with sleep.

He smiled through sleepy eyes. “Nose,” he answered.

“This?” Sheila tickled the small soft chin that crinkled briefly to her touch. There was no answer. Todd had drifted off. He didn’t even whimper when Sheila laid him down in his bed.

“Todd is, Chris might get up in a few minutes,” Sheila sighed and sat down heavily on the sofa next to Eamon. “You go if he does.”

“Mmm hmm,” Eamon agreed.

They rested together watching the TV for almost half an hour. Neither of their children stirred after all, and soon it was time for bed.

“You’re getting a spanking tonight Sheila,” Eamon spoke quietly when the news came on.

“I know,” she answered without any sign of objection, surprise of fight.

“Why do you have to get like that honey?” he asked, curious because it felt like she was resigned to it and almost welcomed it.

“I don’t know?” Sheila sighed. “It’s everything and nothing and I just can’t stop it sometimes.”

“Go get washed up. I’ll be in there in a minute,” Eamon pushed his hand between her bottom and the sofa seat cushion, and gave her a shove.

“You helped too you know,” Sheila spoke as almost an afterthought.

“Me?” Eamon’s eyebrow lifted in the characteristic way he had when he was warning Sheila that her logic could be moving onto shaky territory. “How’s that?”

“You were bugging me sometimes,” Sheila answered honestly.

“Bugging you?” Eamon almost smiled.

“Yes!” she turned and put her hands on her hips. “Pestering me about laundry you could do yourself when I was busy, and then criticizing me when I changed the baby on the floor. You didn’t have to do that you know,”

“I pestered you? Criticized?” his eye brow was all the way up now. Sheila knew he’d have an answer that blew her logic out of the water. “Since when is asking you questions a criticism?”

Sheila shrugged. “It felt like it.”

“Maybe because you wanted it to be so you’d have a reason to be snotty?” he offered her the truth that she already knew in her heart.

“You did too,” Sheila held her ground.

“I knew you were working on a mad,” Eamon nodded. “No question about it. Doesn’t mean I should just get out of your way and let it happen though does it?”

“No, but you didn’t have to needle and push to make it worse either,” Sheila sighed.

“You know better than that Sheila,” Eamon’s voice carried a hint of warning. The stern expression on his face went well beyond a hint. “Go! Go get washed up.”

Sheila fought her defiant streak, and managed to turn and go into the bathroom to do as Eamon told her to do. As much as she hated submitting to being ordered to do things, something about doing it for Eamon at times like this felt comforting, hopeful and reassuring.

All day she’d felt restless and unable to get a handle on herself. In a few minutes, Eamon was going to help her focus redirect her energy. A familiar surge of energy pulsed through her and seized and yanked at her groin. Sheila’s heart pounded with the anxiety and anticipation that came with knowing she was going to get a spanking. She only gave herself a second to acknowledge the schizoid blended urges to run for her life and ask him to spank her as hard as he could.

When she walked into the bedroom to find her husband sitting expectantly on the side of the bed holding a hairbrush in his hand, Sheila wasn’t sure which part of her felt her heart beat the strongest; her chest, the roaring in her ears, or the swelling tingling lips between her legs.

“Come here and bend over,” Eamon wasted no time.

Sheila couldn’t help balking. Everything about a spanking was positive, except the actual spanking. It was going to hurt, and she was afraid of that.

Knowing a spanking was coming had an intriguing energy to it. Submitting to one gave her a sense of lightness and freedom. The aftermath was the very best part. Sheila never felt as calm as she did after she’d been spanked past the point of worry and anger. Eamon’s commitment to her was always something she felt and trusted, but when he stuck with her and hung in there even through the crap that made a spanking make sense, something renewed for her and reassured her that all was right with her world, that he was right in her world, and she was right in his.

“Now Sheila,” Eamon warned.

“OK,” she whimpered. “Just give me a minute please.”

“Come on over here now,” Eamon shook his head.

“Not hard ok?” Sheila winced and shuffled over to Eamon.

“Bend over,” Eamon growled, taking her wrist and tugging her down across his lap. He tucked his fingers under the waistbands of her panties and shorts, and pulled both down in a quick maneuver.

“Honey please!” Sheila sobbed.

“I haven’t even started yet?” Eamon responded to the plea that sounded more like something that would come in the middle of a spanking than the usual defiant interchange that started one.

“OK! But I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it!” Sheila was crying. It was true. Nothing about the day went the way she would have planned or made it happen.

“I know,” Eamon’s answer was matter of fact.

He spanked her. In a few minutes Sheila was desperate for him to stop, in a many more minutes she was furious that he wouldn’t stop, and in many, many more minutes she was completely resigned to it. And then it was over.

Eamon cuddled with Sheila until she stopped sobbing and her breathing returned to normal. Then he helped her change into her nightgown, and tucked her under the covers.

In an hour, Eamon was showered and changed, the lights were out, and they both renewed their intimate bond well beyond the willingness to face and address stress together through the consequence of spanking.

 

Also, since you already are here  🙂 I put a very comprehensive How-To together, for all the people out there who want to get in domestic discipline…

There are chapters on the lifestyle and introducing it, living life in the lifestyle, a detailed description of tools, and much more… Each chapter contains valuable tips and habits that you can apply to your life. I wrote this book because there are no such books out there (!), and … we have developed our relationship with Domestic Discipline so far, that I now consider myself as an expert 🙂

 … write me you like it !

Click here to read a detailed description, or go to Amazon and click here for more!

Love,

Constance

 

4 thoughts on “Story: Sheila’s spanking

  1. A very touching story constance. One that I am sure many women and even their men can relate to.

    Sometimes life just builds up emotions and frustrations like a pressure cooker. A woman, at least I think, has fewer options of release than men. It just seems like we have more responsibilities (not being sexist here, just an observation, granted it is biased, but I don’t think it is less true).

    The more the pressure builds the more the atmosphere of the household suffers.

    We in this lifestyle, whether spanking and/or other bdsm activities are used for punishment in a DD 24/7 lifestyle, just for fun, or combination of both or others are very fortunate.

    A good hard spanking for instance is extremely therapeutic for many. A way of cleansing away all of life’s crap and refilling the space with such love and gratitude to our partner for recognizing what we need and providing it.

    The replaced feelings can at least in my case, and many of my friends, lead to some amazing “make up sex”

    A good spanking is a fantastic anti-depressant among its MANY benefits.

    Nicely written, constance. Thank you.

    amber xxx

    Like

  2. Hi Constance,
    I`m just dropping by to say please don`t stop posting these stories, I always read them with much interest.
    It`s just that with a story, I find it much harder to comment than when you tell us something about your personal life. I always feel I`d have to write like a literature critic, and that`s a little hard to do 😉 But that doesn`t mean we don`t enjoy your stories. 🙂

    Have a nice evening,
    Charlotte

    Like

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