Christopher hurried home through the drizzling rain. It was Friday, and that meant just one thing: making love to his beautiful wife. As so often on the days set aside for sex, she had called him teasingly at the office in the afternoon. He’d hoped that none of the other staff could see him going crimson in his cubicle, as she’d outlined some of the things she would be doing to him, and giggling at his stammered, coded responses.
His wife, Janice, was beautiful, sexy, intelligent and…so creative in the bedroom. Christopher sighed. He knew how lucky he was. Other men would kill to have a wife like that – and he’d often caught his colleagues looking longingly on the occasions she came into the office, sashaying across the floor with the confidence that only a beautiful woman can muster. Yes, he was very lucky. It was just that…he found that perhaps he didn’t always enjoy having sex as much as he had imagined he would. Sometimes, to be honest, he would rather just watch TV.
His first time
It had started on his wedding night. Christopher had had a very sheltered upbringing. Brought up in an all-female household, and educated at home, he had been carefully shielded from inappropriate and vulgar material. He knew nothing of sex, although he was aware it was something to be experienced only with a wife – and where was he to find one, as he never left the house? His mother had therefore been delighted when the niece of an old friend of hers had taken an interest in her lad at the tender age of seventeen, and after a brief courtship they had married two days before his eighteenth birthday. She was eight years older, and when – in perhaps the most excruciating conversation of his life – Christopher had stammered out that he was still a virgin, and knew nothing of lovemaking, she had simply laughed, taken his hand in hers and told him that she knew precisely what to do.
By the time Christopher and his lovely bride reached the bedroom after all the wedding festivities were complete, Christopher was in a state of intense excitement – while still almost entirely ignorant of what was supposed to happen. “Don’t worry” she had whispered. “I’ll just do everything this first time.” And she had slipped off her bridal gown, to reveal her lithe young body clad only in sophisticated lingerie in pure, innocent white. And beckoning to her virgin husband, she had gently tugged at his belt until it came free, slipped his trousers down and hooked both thumbs over his shorts before sliding those slowly and deliberately down around his ankles. The she looked up at his panting face, smiled and breathed “Over you go” and Christopher had felt a hand in the small of his back, pushing firmly, and he found himself lying there, across the warm bare thighs of his bride.
She made a few adjustments to his position, stroked him slowly up the inside of the thighs and then the sexual intercourse had begun. Christopher’s first time. He smiled now to remember how much noise he had made, as the flat of her hand came down first on one cheek, then on the other, cracking down in a steady pace. ‘So this is sexual intercourse?’, he’d thought to himself. It was a strange sensation. A lot more uncomfortable than he’d expected, as his buttocks turned red under the relentless slapping of her palms.
By the standards of their later love-making, it had been very mild. She had used only her bare hands throughout, but still Christopher, after an initially brave start, had found himself first wriggling, then bucking about as he tried to keep the tears welling up in his eyes from falling to the floor. He was yet to learn that it was no shame to weep during their trysts – indeed these days, it was a rare encounter that did not result in tears. It had seemed like an age across her lap, the blows coming harder and harder and faster and faster, as she also began to pant in rhythm until…just when he thought he must scream and beg for release from the pain, she began to make some extraordinary gasping noises, then little cries and finally an almost roaring sound of release…then pushed him hard to fall on the floor, and lay back on the bed, panting and murmuring to herself.
This, she told him when she had caught her breath, helped him up and they were discussing the extraordinary event that had just occurred, this had been an orgasm. Women had them. Men did not. The culmination of love-making for the woman was the orgasm, while for men it was the bright red, sore bottom that he had just received. She had laughed when he asked nervously whether the orgasm hurt – and told him that it was an agony that he could barely begin to conceive of. “But in our shared pain – my orgasm and your whacked bottom – we become one and celebrate our love.” she had said.
He had always wondered what sex was like. That night he discovered, and was grateful to his lovely wife for teaching him.
They had made love twice more that night. On the second time, almost exactly the same thing had happened. Of course, Christopher’s bottom was already sore when the love-making started, so after just a few strokes he had begun to yelp, and to beg pathetically for mercy. Fortunately, soon after he had started to plead in this way, the panting and gasping had begun – it seemed that nature had designed things so that when he was brought more rapidly to a state of agony, her orgasm would come along more quickly.
When she had teasingly asked if he was man enough for a third time, he had experienced an uncontrollable sense of fear, and sobbed – while being lovingly cuddled in her arms – that his poor bottom was in too much pain. So she had introduced him to what she called a ‘hand job’. Positioning herself in front of him, she had instructed him to hold his hands out – palm upwards – and while smiling sweetly into his eyes the whole time, she brought out a short leather strap.
“Ready?” she breathed, and without waiting for a reply swung the strap down hard, making him yelp in pain and surprise. The pain was different – in many ways worse – but at least it gave his aching bottom a rest. And, as she pointed out afterwards, the advantage of the hand job was that they could make love face to face, staring lovingly into one another’s eyes as she gradually built up the pattern of welts across his palms and lower wrists.
After this third bout of love-making, they had gone to sleep, cuddled in one another’s arms. Christopher had been confused – and very much in pain – but he also felt more in love than ever with this woman, who had introduced him to the sacred mysteries of sex.
He just hadn’t expected it to hurt so much. Did all men find it that difficult, that painful?
Getting used to it
He found it almost impossible to talk to any of his friends about sex. But one evening, in the pub, with his oldest and closest friend, he had nervously ventured onto the subject of sex. “Janice is” he had coughed “very active, you know. Very forceful. In bed.”
His friend had simply congratulated him, in a beery way, and made a rather crude remark about his luck and needing to watch no one else took her away from him. Swallowing his distaste, Christopher had pressed the point.
“Only” he had whispered. “I was wondering. After a really hard session….is it normal for me to feel, well…a little sore?”
His friend had stared at him. “I mean down there.” He whispered urgently.
His friend had roared with laughter, and told him that it was perfectly normal to feel sore after a heavy bout of lovemaking, if you were lucky enough to get one. Sometimes, he said, ‘down there’ could be left so sore it could be sensitive to the touch for days. Christopher had been reassured, as he often found after making love, that his bottom was so bruised that he could hardly bear to sit down for, as his friend rightly said, days at a time.
“And er…well, about orgasms, you know” he’d gone on, wondering whether he would ever be able to speak to this person sober again (he could not, it turned out).
“She, well she usually screams when she, you know and er…”
“And you scream as well, I’ll bet, you lucky devil.” His friend had laughed, digging him painfully in the ribs.
“Yes, I frequently do. I scream a lot.” He’d admitted candidly.
“Gets you pretty hot down there, does she?” his friend had embarrassingly continued, and Christopher had mumbled that yes, indeed, he often felt burning hot during a bout of intercourse and left it at that, mortified at how far the conversation had gone, but reassured that their love-making was ‘normal’.
A troubling development – and Janice’s solution
There was one aspect that was not. From the wedding night onwards, the newlyweds had noticed a peculiar development during their lovemaking. Christopher’s penis had a tendency to go stiff, usually just at the point at which they were about to begin. During the intercourse itself, as the blows came thick and fast, it would usually go down again, but sometimes the stiffness would return soon afterwards when, with reddened bottom and tears in his eyes, he lay beside his panting wife on the bed.
He had been summoning the courage to go and talk to a doctor about the little problem, but fortunately one of Janice’s friends was a nurse and she had been able to raise the issue with her on their return from honeymoon. It seemed quite a number of men were afflicted with this complaint, although it was so embarrassing that it was never discussed in public. Apparently the stiffening was essentially harmless, but Janice’s friend had said that if it ever progressed to a discharge of milky-looking fluid it was important to take measures, such as suppressing the stiffening by encasing the penis in a metal or plastic tube. Christopher had not liked the sound of a fluid discharge at all, so when Janice had pointed out that the stiffening – even if harmless – impaired their lovemaking, by getting in the way when he went over her knee, he had readily agreed, and had been fitted with a medical device that very night.
He was relieved to have the thing locked away, as it reminded him of an excruciatingly humiliating conversation on the third night of their marriage, in which his total ignorance of sexual matters had been exposed. He thought he had heard from somewhere that the penis could also be involved in lovemaking (although he had no idea how) and had shyly suggested this to his wife.
“What – you mean the dangly thing you pee out of?” she had asked, taken aback.
He was hastening to reassure her that he must have misunderstood, and she should forget the idea. But she had shrugged and said that she’d try anything once. With some difficulty, he had positioned himself across her lap facing upwards, his penis embarrassingly stiffer than ever. It had taken only the first few spanks across his penis and – especially – his testicles, to convince him that whatever he had read about the role of these organs in love-making, he had somehow got completely the wrong end of the stick. He had shrieked and pleaded with Janice to stop, but she had said that it was worth trying to go through with it, and did, eventually, manage to reach orgasm, finishing up with a firm sequence of swats on his testicles.
Christopher had never mentioned the ridiculous idea again, and was most relieved that his penis was locked away in its tube. Occasionally, Janice’s love-making did extend to a few swats on the testicles, but he never again had to experience such a full-on, passionate spanking applied to them. Christopher did know from reading that some men apparently used their genitals in love-making all the time. It made him shudder even to think about the pain it must involve.
Becoming more adventurous
It was now two and a half years since that wonderful wedding night, and the spark had not left their marriage. Janice was a great believer in spicing up their love-making, and barely a month went by without her producing one or other new sex toy to experiment with. They now had a fine collection of paddles and straps, each producing a slightly different sensation and sound, each quite satisfactory in its own way in working his bottom into a state that made Christopher cry with pain, and his wife cry in ecstasy. On their first wedding anniversary, she had produced a cane – which had taken their intimacy to a whole new level. From the very first stroke, Christopher had screamed in shocked agony, and he had begged for mercy, for relief from any more such awful blows. The pleas had been to little avail, but fortunately the cane, while producing ferocious angry weals on his bottom, also seemed to excite Janice immensely, and after ‘just’ six strokes, he had heard the cane clatter to the floor, above the sound of his wife in the throws of rapture.
Since then, the cane had been kept for special occasions. Janice seemed to understand that he needed sometimes to make love at a lower intensity, that the pain from the cane was not something that could be inflicted every single week. But he would often see her looking longingly at the feared instrument where it hung on the wall, and would take the greatest possible pride occasionally – when he could bear it – in murmuring shyly “perhaps you’d like to cane me tonight, darling.” Anniversaries and birthdays brought the cane, and on one occasion Janice had had an exceptionally bad day at work, and was waiting for him cane in hand, when he arrived home. Without formalities, he had bent across the kitchen table and she made love to him right there, with nine searing strokes of passion.
Not all the ‘spicing up’ had reached such passionate heights of pain, though. Once, she had gigglingly asked him whether he thought corsets were sexy. He had readily replied that he did, and was charmed when she delved into the department store bag in front of her and brought out a heavily-boned, red lace-up contraption. It had taken a while to get him into it, and as she pointed out, when he bent over to receive the blows of their love-making, it did seem rather to cut into his stomach and restrict his breathing. But it had nonetheless become an important part of their sex life, and he had learnt to love the feeling of the heel of her shoe in the small of his back as she strained to pull the laces to achieve the greatest possible constriction.
(to be continued…)
