Memory Lessons

Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1985-2020 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

Purchase this story in print form!

Don't like reading on screen? This story is available in print form in Ultimate Archive: Volume 4 at the Flogmaster's Bookstore. Purchase your copy today to encourage the Flogmaster to write more cool stories.

Memory Lessons

(***, M/F, Intense, semi-nc, birching)

A woman goes on a camping trip with her strict husband and learns the meaning of obedience. (Approximately 2,727 words. Originally published 1998-11.)

Girls, whatever you do, don't forget to bring your spanking paddle if your husband tells you to bring it. That's the lesson for today.

Last Christmas husband had made me a special paddle, carefully cut from a premium chunk of Missouri cherry and varnished and polished until I could see my reflection in it. He carved "Maria's Paddle" in bas relief letters on one side. It was a stout piece of board and when he used it I hated it -- that board covered my whole ass with agony.

So in the spring when we went on our first camping trip of the season (we're avid campers), I "accidently" left the paddle at home, defying my husband's specific instructions to bring it. I knew if I brought it I'd get a paddling or two (or three) -- and the last thing I wanted was for everyone in the Ozark mountains to know that Maria Lopez was getting her tush warmed once again. (Let me tell you, that paddle sounds like a gunshot when it connects to quivering bare flesh.)

Of course, confident in the absence of the paddle, I was more of a brat than usual. The trip up I was obnoxious, doing silly things like asking "Are we there yet?" ten minutes into a four hour drive. At first it was amusing, then Hector began to get annoyed. Twice he warned me to "shape up," and then he threatened to pull over to the side of the road and make me get out my paddle. At least that got my attention and I was more restrained until we got to the campsite.

The hike to the site was a couple hours, and then we had to set up camp and prepare dinner. I enjoy camping, but it's a hell of a lot of work, especially at the beginning. I kept whining and complaining, earning plenty of black looks from my husband. By that nightfall I'd certainly earned a good spanking, and Hector promised me one before going to bed. I was nervous as we ate dinner, wondering how he'd react to the paddle being missing.

As I washed the supper dishes, I felt Hector watching me. I could tell from his glances he was as horny as I was -- the out-of-doors always does that to us. But I also knew that in such a state he wouldn't be likely to forget my spanking, either.

Sure enough, as we got undressed for bed, he cleared his throat and asked me if there was a particular item I needed to get before retiring for the night.

"Huh? What are you talking about, dear?" I said, playing innocent. It didn't work.

"Your paddle," he said sternly. "You've got a thorough spanking coming, remember?"

"Oh, but honey, we don't need the paddle! I'm sure your muscular arms and big hands are more than enough for what I need."

"Spanking you with my hand hurts me more than it hurts you," he growled. "Get me your paddle. Now."

I'd heard that tone before and I scurried away, rummaging through the backpacks as though I was really looking for it. "Gee, honey, it's not here. We must have left it in the Jeep."

I almost regretted leaving the paddle at that moment, seeing the crushed look on Hector's face. He'd obviously been looking forward to paddling my tush for a long time. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Positive," I said sadly, as though I was genuinely puzzled and frustrated.

"Somehow I wonder if you didn't leave it on purpose," he said thoughtfully. He grinned at my shocked expression. "Tell you what -- since you forgot it, _you_ can hike back and get it tomorrow."

I groaned, both at the prospect of a long hike, and at the knowledge that it would be a pointless trip. I almost confessed to him right there, but chickened out.

"Come to bed, honey. I guess I'll have to spank you with my hand tonight."

He did, and despite his protests to the contrary, it hurt my ass _much_ more than his hand. Still, compared to the paddle it was bearable, and though I made sure I cried plenty of tears, I really was quite delighted by the whole process. And afterward, Hector and I made frantic love more passion than we'd done in, well, weeks, at least.

The next morning I earned another spanking during our ice cold "shower" at the stream near our campsite. It was either something I said or the way I burned the breakfast pancakes. Hector was obviously frustrated by the missing paddle and announced that my first duty of the day would be trekking back to the Jeep to fetch it.

"Yes, sir," I said sullenly, thinking that if he's this mad for me leaving the paddle in the Jeep, how was he going to react when I told him the paddle was at home? Suddenly my brilliant scheme seemed incredibly stupid!

I didn't hike back to the Jeep. What was the point? Instead, I took a walk by the lake and found a nice cozy spot in the shade for a nap. I set my watch to wake me up at about noon, and after a short, intense jog to get me out of breath and sweaty, I headed back to camp.

The instant he saw me, I winced. Hector could tell I wasn't carrying the paddle. I hadn't seen his face so dark with fury since he had that row a few years ago with that telemarketer that wouldn't quit calling.

"Maria Hope Lopez!" he roared, "just what is the meaning of this?"

"I couldn't find the Jeep?" I said with a light playful smile. It didn't work. In fact, my joking irritated him further. I quickly interjected, "The paddle wasn't in the Jeep, Hector. I'm sorry. I looked everywhere. It must have gotten left at home. It was so chaotic while we were packing to go... I was _sure_ it was there, positive. But--"

By this time Hector was upon me, grabbing me by the ear and dragging me into the camp.

"Hector, please! I'm sorry! It's not my fault!"

"Who's fault is it then, tell me that! Didn't I tell you to bring it? Didn't I tell you to double-check to make _sure_ it was in the Jeep? Didn't I ask you if it was there and you told me it was?"

"I thought it was, honey, I really did," I moaned. I'd never seen him so angry. I was becoming really frightened. I felt horrible. I know how much he loves that paddle and yet I still acted incredibly selfishly.

"I think you knew all along it wasn't in the Jeep! I think you were just lying to me when you said you'd checked and it was there!"

"No! The bag I thought it was inside was there, I checked. I just didn't open it up!" I cried, pleading my case with tears and kisses.

Hector pushed me away. "None of that, you hussy! Now, since we don't have paddle, we'll have to improvise. Here we are in the forest, miles from anywhere... I wonder what we can find to whip you with...."

I stood trembling as my husband looked at the trees surrounding us. His eyes were bright with excitement and I could tell he was becoming less angry and more aroused. He was grinning now, a devilish, wicked grin that made my knees quake.

"W-w-what are you doing, h-honey," I asked, wiping my eyes and following my husband. He had pulled out a pocket knife and was walking into the forest with his jaws locked and lips pursed. I had to trot to keep up with him he moved so quickly.

Near the stream where we'd bathed earlier in the day he stopped. "Ah, I thought I remembered seeing that."

I looked and saw he was heading for a tall birch tree right near the water's edge. Fear gripped my chest. I couldn't move. Hector ripped several branches from the tree and began to cut them into two foot lengths, stripping off the larger twigs and leaving a thin switch.

"Oh, God, Hector, sweet Hector, you can't be serious!"

"I am utterly serious, dear. Without a paddle, I have to instill discipline somehow. This is the only thing available."

He faced me then, his expression as serious as I'd seen him. He was holding the bundle of thin birch rods in his strong right hand and swinging them lightly in the air. He didn't have to say anything -- I knew was waiting for me to disrobe.

Then he said something that really scared me. "Since this is a punishment spanking, dear, no safe-word."

Now I'd better make something clear. Hector and I have a long-time spanking relationship, but its mostly entertainment, a prelude to sexual gratification. I enjoy a good spanking, but too much pain turns me off. Hence my dislike for the paddle. My husband likes my ass scarlet and hot when he takes me, and I allow it, for it makes me feel good to make him feel good. But that doesn't mean I like that much pain. So Hector's never really whipped or switched me. We tried a razor strop once, and even a thin "light" cane, but I couldn't take more than a couple strokes without screaming my safe-word.

But today there'd be no safe-word. I'd have to take whatever he dished out. The thought terrified me, but it also excited me. The unknown was just ahead -- how would I react?

Slowly I began to strip. Leaving my hiking boots on, I pulled down my shorts and underwear and carefully stepped out of them. I wore no bra, so once my T-shirt was off, I was naked except for my footwear. I was moving like an automaton, helpless to do otherwise. It wasn't fear of Hector that motivated me -- I knew he loved me more than his own life. It was guilt that I'd disappointed him, disobeyed a direct order and lied to him. I was guilty. There was no question of that. He knew it, too. He could see it in me. I deserved this thrashing.

Hector guided me to a fallen tree and had me bend over it. I was trembling and my eyes blurred with tears. I wanted so much for Hector to be proud of me, to love me, to not be angry with me. Yet I feared this punishment. It was going to hurt unbearably and how could I bear it?

The first stroke landed like fire across my naked haunches. I nearly bit my lip it hurt so badly. I clenched a branch protruding from the trunk beneath me and held on for dear life. More fire. It took all my strength not to run. I had to remind myself why this was happening, that I deserved it, that I deserved far worse.

Pain. My knuckles were white I was gripping the tree so hard, and I heard screaming, only belatedly realizing it was me!

I was having trouble breathing, my gasps choking sobs. My vision was nearly gone through the flow of tears. My whole body racked with wild spasms and shudders. Yet still the pain kept coming. Suddenly I realized I was too tired to run. It was easier to just lie there and accept the punishment, to hope that it would be over soon.

At some point I became dimly aware of the swishing sound of the birches as they swept through the air before connecting with my tender flesh. It was strange -- I hadn't heard it before, yet obviously it had to have been happening. My thoughts were coming back to me. The fire in my loins... God, that's right! I realized with a shock that it wasn't just my ass and thighs burning so fiercely, but my sex screaming with unquenched desire.

I howled and wiggled my legs frantically, earning a stern "Stand still!" from my husband. He continued to whip me. Long before it was done I'd lost all conscious thought. I was aware of the pain, aware of the pulsing desire between my legs, aware of the stillness of the forest and the sudden loud snaps of the birches as they stung me. My buttocks and thighs throbbed with agony.

Then it was over. It was over!

I could hardly believe it. I continued to writhe for it felt like I was still being whipped. Yet there was no lash. The bundle of birch lay twisted and broken at my feet. My buttocks tingled from a thousand cuts as I slowly, achingly got to my feet.

Hector was there. I embraced him, sobbing uncontrollably, and he held me for a long time. Then he was bathing me, soothing my sore flesh with drops of icy stream water. It was wonderful agony. I kissed him again and again. I couldn't get enough of his sweet skin. I loved the feel of power in his strong arms and body. In seconds we were rolling across the dirt, writhing in blissful abandon, our bodies pumping wildly.

I made Hector come twice before I allowed him to rise, and he didn't seem disappointed. I came several times -- I lost count around fourth one. Hector was grinning at me, tousling my hair and telling me I was an insatiable slut. I didn't care. All I wanted was to feel his incredible body next to and inside of mine. I needed him, perhaps more than I'd ever needed him before. I made love like a madwoman, like an animal, without reason or shame.

We bathed afterward. It was incredibly pleasant. My skin was hot and sore and my ass throbbed miserably, but I didn't care. I'd survived! It was the worst spanking I'd ever gotten and I'd survived! I still couldn't believe I'd done it, that I'd laid down and accepted such a thrashing.

I didn't need any more spankings on that camping trip. Hector and I barely needed to talk. We'd never felt so close before. It was like we could read each other's thoughts. He was so gentle with me, so kind and generous and helpful. And I was mild and meek and quiet. Instead of chatting a mile a minute the way I usually do, I just stood next to him with my head on his shoulder and my hand intertwined with his and we watched the stunning sunset on the lake in silence. It was the most wonderful moment of our eight years of marriage.

At night, before going to sleep, Hector would spread ointment across my ass and thighs. It was hideously wonderful -- painful and loving at the same time. He didn't need to spank me. The touch of his lotion-covered hands aroused me into such passion that we made love for hours every night in the dark tent in the quiet forest. I moaned and cried out in ecstasy and even Hector, usually silent during lovemaking, grunted and groaned a few times. Afterward, we'd lay, a grateful me on top, panting and relaxing. Our bodies were hot and sweaty. We'd breathed in each other's smell and it was wonderful.

Early in the morning, we'd awake at the same moment, our eyes opening simultaneously and taking in the other. Then we'd embrace and go at it again, this time slowly and deliberately, taking our time.

We've never quite recaptured those moments. That camping trip was our best ever. But when Hector asked me if I wanted to bring the paddle on our next one, I nodded vigorously.

"Maybe someday I'll forget it again," I whispered, giving him a gentle hug. "But not this time, okay?"

He smiled softly at me, tears of happiness in his eyes, and I saw he understood. He, too, cherished those memories. We didn't want to destroy them in an attempt to recreate them.

So now I'm paddled during our camping trips. The pain is nothing like that horrible switching, but the lovemaking afterward is nearly as good. Hector is gentle and kind and I'm not so much of a brat any more. That camping trip softened both of us. We now love each other more than ever.

Though I can't say I'll be leaving that paddle at home any time soon!

The End