by Cynthia W. Gentry
(03/16/05)

I had just finished putting the grandkids to bed when Bob called to me from the study. I tiptoed down the hallway and found him standing in front of the bookshelves, grinning.

He was holding a book, and as I walked toward him, he made a big show of hiding it behind his back. But I could see what it was: The New Joy of Sex.

I raised my eyebrows at him. We have a standing agreement that when we babysit for Deb and Scott, we'll resist our parental urge to be nosy, so I didn't approve of him poking through their library, and he knew it.

"What've you got there, Grandpa?"

He flashed a few pages at me. Black-and-white drawings of couples in various sexual positions jumped out at me.

"Oh, for Pete's sake," I said. "I don't want to know my daughter's reading sex manuals. Put that away this second and let's go watch our movie."

But when Bob came into the living room, I saw that he still had the book in his hand. He winked at me as he slipped it into my tote bag.

"Don't worry. I'll give it back."

"What if they notice?"

"If they say anything, I'll confess. But I bet they won't."

But I couldn't concentrate on the movie on television. I couldn't forget that inside my innocent canvas tote bag, with its cheerful needlepoint sailboats and seagulls, was a book depicting couples performing every kind of sexual act.

When Deb and Scott finally did come home, I felt like I was blushing as I described what the children ate, what they did, how many times they went potty, and what they did at bedtime. All I could think of was those black-and-white pictures. I kept forgetting things and stumbling over my words. I could hardly wait to get out of there.

Driving away from their house, I was seventeen again and leaving on a date with Bob, all the while knowing that our destination wasn't the sock hop but actually Inspiration Point, and that instead of drinking punch in the church social hall and dancing the Jitterbug, we'd be guzzling beer and doing everything we could think of short of losing our virginity. I remembered how guilty I felt kissing my mom goodbye when my mind was on how soon I could get my hands down Bob's pants. I began to laugh.

"I haven't heard that giggle in a while," Bob said.

"I was thinking about Inspiration Point."

"Oh," was all he said. "Oh." He kept his eyes on the road. After forty years with the man, his silence didn't bother me anymore. Eventually, he always told me what he was thinking.

When we got home, I decided to take a little more care than usual getting ready for bed. I put on the red satin nightgown Bob bought me for Valentine's Day, rubbed his favorite lotion into my skin, and took my hair down. Then I looked at myself in the mirror. I was a little heavy around the tummy and hips, but I didn't care: Bob had always loved my curves. I peered at my face, but things were in pretty good shape. I gave my image a coy smile. You silly old bag, I told myself affectionately. Go out there and seduce your husband.

But when I came out of the bathroom, Bob was sitting on the bed in just his pajama bottoms, the book next to him. He wore a dejected look on his face, and he slumped slightly, letting the flesh of his belly roll over his waistband.

"Carol, I feel very guilty about taking this book," he told me.

"Well, if you feel that badly about it, I can take it back tomorrow while the kids are at work. They'll never know."

"No, Carol. That's not enough."

I looked at him closely. "What are you talking about?"

"I need to be punished."

I suddenly felt a little lightheaded, so I sat down on the bed next to him. "You do?"

"Yes, Carol, I do. I need to be punished."

I stared at him. Seeing that I wasn't getting his point -- whatever it was -- he tilted his head to the side, indicating the book. I gingerly turned it over and saw that it was open to a page showing a man about to administer a sound slap to a woman's bum. Maybe this was one of his jokes, I thought. Well, I could play along.

"Punished. Yes. You've been a very, very bad boy." I spoke in a voice I hadn't used for more than twenty-five years. "You certainly have to be punished before you can have any treats." To emphasize the last word, I ran my hands over the red satin covering my breasts.

I saw from the expression on his face that he was trying not to laugh -- as was I -- but I also noticed that a bulge was growing in his pajamas. I picked up the book and studied it long enough to get a few ideas. I stood up.

"What are you going to do?" Bob asked. His tone was both nervous and excited.

"First, you have to call me 'ma'am' until I say you can stop."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Very good. Now, take your pants off and lie down on the bed."

He eagerly slipped off his pajama bottoms and I saw, much to my surprise, that he was completely hard. There'd be no need for Viagra that night!

I pointed to his penis. "That is very bad. I might have to punish you a little more for that. Now, lie down."

"Yes, ma'am." He lay down on the bed.

"What kind of punishment do you think you deserve?"

"A spanking, ma'am," he whispered.

I was surprised. We hadn't spanked our kids -- just a swat on the butt now and then to get their attention. My parents had done the same with me, and I certainly never felt abused. But Bob's experience had been different. He joked about the whackings his parents had given him, especially his mother, but I could always tell how painful these memories were. Why in the world would he want to be spanked now?

"Are you sure?" I asked him. I kept my tone severe.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, his voice muffled by a pillow.

Well, he was a big boy. If that's what he wanted, that's what he'd get. I knelt on the floor beside him and put my lips to his ear. "How many spanks do you think you deserve?"

"Ten. No, twenty. Ma'am."

"Twenty! Have you really been that bad?"

"Yup. I mean, yes, ma'am."

"All right then."

Climbing onto the bed next to him, I knelt by his side. I looked at his poor ass cheeks. They seemed to quiver slightly. Could I really do this? Even though we'd had some awfully big fights over the years -- you can't be married as long as we have without some big disagreements -- I had never even thought of raising a hand to Bob. I took a deep breath. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Just as I raised my hand, I had a moment of uncertainty. What if I was doing this wrong? I quietly stole a glance at the book. "Uh, Bob?"

"Yes ma'am?"

"How will I know if what I'm doing is too much?"

"I'll say the word 'silver,' ma'am."

"Good. Be sure you use it. Don't try to be macho."

"Yes, ma'am."

I took a deep breath and then brought my hand down on Bob's butt. He hardly reacted other than to say, "One. Thank you, ma'am."

His voice startled me. Why was he talking? I glanced over at the book.

"It's okay, Carol," came Bob's muffled voice from the pillow. "I saw it in a movie."

What movie? I wanted to ask him, but I didn't want to break the mood. However, the thought of him watching dirty movies without me -- well, I can't say it outraged me, exactly, but it definitely irritated me. I brought my hand down on his butt a little harder than before. This time, he jumped a little.

"Two. Thank you, ma'am."

"Did I give you permission to watch movies like that? I don't think I did!" Whack!

"Three. Thank you, ma'am."

I can't say that I enjoyed spanking him -- I was too worried about hurting him -- but I guess I was, as our kids would say, "getting into it." I decided to pretend I was just acting another role, like the high school plays in which I'd starred so many years ago. I made the next spank even harder. Whack!

"Four. Thank you, ma'am."

As I continued to paddle Bob, his butt cheeks began to turn a fine shade of cherry red. I kept waiting to hear 'silver,' but I didn't. Instead, when Bob counted his tenth spank, I heard a catch in his throat, a choking sound I hadn't heard since the birth of our children. Was Bob crying? Suddenly, I was terrified. Maybe I'd gone too far.

"Honey, are you okay?" I said, leaning forward.

"Yes, ma'am. Please continue."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, ma'am. Please continue."

You could have knocked me over with a feather, I was so surprised. But I thought to myself again, he's a big boy. If this is what he wants, I'll give it to him. Whack! Eleven. Twelve. I watched him carefully. If he started sobbing, I would stop, but his voice only got more quiet and dreamy, like he was in a trance. If I hadn't known better, I would have said he was stoned. But Bob never let anything stronger than alcohol pass his lips. Whack!

Then I started to notice something. I had an urge to touch myself -- something I'd never done in front of Bob. But with his face pressed into the pillow, I knew he couldn't see me. I pushed up my nightgown and slipped my fingers between my legs. Whack! With each spank, I got more turned on. In fact, I was getting wet. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty.

"Twenty. Thank you, ma'am."

I fell down onto the bed beside Bob and rolled him over. I saw immediately that his eyes were wet, and yet he was smiling.

"Honey, are you okay?"

"Okay? I'm more than okay. That hurt like hell. Get on top of me, woman!"

I looked down to see his erect penis pointing straight toward the ceiling. I was wet, but just to make sure, I grabbed the K-Y from our bedside drawer and quickly put some on both of us. He pulled me on top of him and began thrusting as though his life depended on it. I kept watching his face for signs of hurt and anger, but there were none: His smile stretched from ear to ear. He squeezed my breasts, tweaked my nipples, and ran his hands over my hips and bottom. It felt so good, I decided what the hell and moved my hand back between my legs. "Do you mind if I do this?"

His eyes lit up.

"Are you kidding?"

As I rubbed myself, I moved faster and faster on Bob. Suddenly, I felt his hand on mine.

"Show me how to do that."

I took his fingers and put them in the right place. With both our fingers moving together, the pressure was just right. I felt the tingling begin deep inside me. My eyes flew open as the waves of pleasure raced through my body. I threw back my head and moaned. "Oh my God, Bob, I'm coming!"

Bob let himself go, too, and together, we bucked and thrashed on the bed. We held onto each other for dear life as our orgasms shook us.

Afterwards, as we lay on the bed, Bob pulled me close. "Do you know how beautiful you are to me?" he whispered, kissing my forehead.

"Did I hurt you, dear?"

"No. It was incredible. At one point, I felt like crying. I was embarrassed. But then that passed and my whole body began tingling. Like I was waking up under a cold shower after a long sleep." He raised himself onto one elbow and looked down at me. "You know, Carol, there are times when I've felt guilty about our lovemaking."

"Guilty? What on earth for?"

"It wasn't until you mentioned Inspiration Point that I realized why. I always felt that we were doing something bad. I kept waiting for my parents to barge into the room and tan my hide. But I didn't feel that way just now. I think it was because I got punished before we had sex! And it was great!"

"That's the craziest thing I've ever heard!"

"Hell, I know! But it worked!" He raised an eyebrow. "Now, don't get the idea that you get to spank me all the time."

"Only if you're very, very bad."

He chuckled and leaned in to kiss me. My foot bumped against the book at the end of the bed, and I gently pushed it to the floor. We wouldn’t need it again.

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